A MASSIVE REWRITE OF CAUGHT BETWEEN THREE COLONELS
by Rosemary Tarleton
Summary: With varying intent, Colonel's Tavington, Tarleton and Burwell vie for the affection of Beth, daughter of Gentleman and Rebel - Benjamin Martin. Meanwhile, Captain Bordon sets foot on his own life destroying path. Friendships, threatened. Loyalties, questioned. Reputations, destroyed. Can lives be repaired after the storm? STRICTLY ADULTS ONLY. MATURE CONTENT.
1. Chapter 1 - On the Outskirts

Chapter 1 - On the Outskirts:

_Moncks Corner: April 14, 1780_

"Ban!" Major George Hanger shouted, drawing the young Lieutenant Colonel's attention. Hanger had his sabre raised high and sliced it down in a swift arc. He severed a Bluecoat arm off at the elbow and the wounded Continental screamed with agony and shock. There were more Continental's darting in behind the first and Hanger was already hard pressed to keep them back.

"To Hanger!" Colonel Tarleton screamed and lunged his horse toward the Major, his sabre flashed in the moon light as he swung it down indiscriminately. The fight was over in moments, Hangers life was saved. Not so for the Continentals who had dared to defy them. Some lay groaning on the ground but most of them were perfectly still, their eyes unseeing.

Panting to catch his breath, Banastre whirled his horse around to search for more opposition but there was none - the enemy force at Moncks Corner had been subdued, Banastre's night time raid on the small force was a complete success.

Which meant the rebels in Charlestown would have no choice but to surrender the city. A great huzzah was shouted throughout Tarleton's detachment, their victory was secure. Tarleton let his men have their little celebration, he was basking in the glow of it himself. At length, he got the Dragoons under control. Moncks Corner had been taken and most of the rebels there were subdued, yet Tarleton's victory was bittersweet when his men reported that the senior Officers, one enemy General and two Colonels had fled into the swamps.

How wonderful would it have been, if he'd been able to capture another General? He'd done so two years previously, the capture of General Charles Lee had led to Banastre's meteoric climb through the ranks, from Cornet to Lieutenant Colonel in only two years.

At the very least, even without the capture of enemy Generals and Colonels, thanks to Banastre Tarleton, the way to the city would soon be open.

* * *

_The Forks of The Wando River: May 7, 1780_

_7__th__ May, 1780_

_Sir,_

_As you are no doubt aware, your position is compromised; you are surrounded, you are running out of shot and powder, you will not be able to fight much longer. To prevent further bloodshed I am prepared to make the following offers, the like of which shall not be repeated. If you stand and fight, you will be faced with my full force in an unrelenting barrage that will see you destroyed. _

_Sullivan's Island has surrendered, it will only be a matter of time before the rest of the city does likewise. If you continue to fight now, your men will die for nothing. I warn you strongly against further impedance. I offer you the following conditions, the meeting of which will prevent your certain demise._

_1st. All of your Officers are to be prisoners of war but they will be offered parole. If they try to flee they will suffer harsh and certain punishment._

_2nd. All other Continentals are to proceed to Chapin. Rest assured, they will be provided with the same provisions of our British troops until they are exchanged._

_3rd. All of your militiamen are to be paroled to their homesteads._

_4th. All arms, artillery, ammunition, stores, provisions, wagons, horses, etc, to be faithfully delivered._

_5th. All your Officers will be allowed their private baggage and horses and their side arms will be returned._

_I expect an an answer to my generous proposals as soon as possible. If you are rash enough to reject them, the blood be on your head._

_I have the honor to be_

_Will. Tavington_

_Colonel, Commandant of the British Legion._

* * *

Burwell tightened his fist, crushing the letter in his fingers. "Wants to catch himself a Colonel, this one," he muttered. He gazed at his Officers, searching for their resolve and was met with stares of determination.

"Tavington," Corporal Gabriel Martin curled his lip. "He is the one we saw fighting Rogers' unit across the river."

Burwell nodded. It'd been a grisly sight, one Burwell's Company had been powerless to help. Because of earlier rains, the river had been too high, making it impossible to cross. They stood sentry instead, they bore witness as the British force exploded into Rogers' Patriot militia, sabre's swinging, cannons roaring, shot blasting all around them. It was over in moments and at the end, when the smoke cleared, only the British were left standing. Burwell recalled seeing the British turn from the men they'd just killed, they'd approached the river and stared back across Burwell and his small force. The British had been as powerless to cross as Burwell, but he'd seen it in their Commanders face, that the fellow would come for him.

And now he had the Commanders name. Colonel William Tavington.

Burwell had fallen back from the river to take up a defence stance, protecting the many water byways from British invasion. In that time, the fort at Sullivan's Island had surrendered. The surrender had had a profound effect on his men, for many of them had served at Sullivan's Island five years earlier, during which time they had repelled the British fleet. Now, however, it had fallen. He met worried glances, could see what that surrender had done to their souls.

How long before Charlestown fell? Burwell squatted, meeting each Officers gaze in turn. Tavington, who had butchered Rogers men not two days earlier, had surrounded Burwell and after a short but nasty skirmish, had offered him terms.

"Your judgement?" He asked the men.

"No surrender," Lieutenant Gabriel Martin murmured.

"You saw what they did to Rogers' men, we can only die here," Major Bryant said. "With Sullivan's Island fallen, how long before Charlestown surrenders? I'll wager they're in talks this very moment. If we hold here, we die. And for what?"

Burwell nodded. Bryant, who was no coward, was recommending surrender. Burwell continued around the group, his council, receiving differing replies. The decision was his, and he pondered their judgement before making it. At length, he spoke.

"Charlestown has not fallen yet," he slapped Bryant on the back as he rose. "But it will if each Company holding the lines chooses to stop fighting because of Sullivan's Island. No surrender. Have your men take up their positions."

As they did, Burwell sent his reply to the British Officer, Colonel Tavington, who was positioned so close they could see the enemies campfires.

_Sir, I reject your proposals, and shall defend myself to the last extremity. _

_I have the honor to be, etc._

_Harry Burwell, Colonel_

* * *

"So be it," Tavington screwed the missive up in a tight fist and threw it to the ground. He turned his horse and called for his adjutant, Captain Richard Bordon. "Call the advance," he commanded coldly.

The Cavalry and infantry of the British Legion began to move forward toward the Continental lines, pulling their canons into position. Shortly later, the battle commenced.

* * *

Tavington strode through the lines of wounded. The stench of blood and shit hit him like a blow. The battle had been fierce, shocking, even to the hardened Colonel. It had lasted only fifteen minutes and by then, they had wrought so much damage, dealt out so much death - it had been a massacre, pure and simple. Grumbling had already begun from the Continental Officers he had caught, accusing them of slaughter.

Damned fools. This was war. He'd given them the option of surrendering, they had refused. Burwell had fled readily enough, he noted with a look of distaste. So much for fighting to the last extremity, Burwell and many of his Senior Officers had escaped into the swamps! After committing to the battle, and promising to fight to his last breath, Burwell ended up abandoning his men to their fate. Yet here they were, accusing Tavington of butchery.

It was not a reputation Commander and Chief Sir Henry Clinton wanted for the British, and to halt the progress of such talk, Tavington declared his intention to have the Continental wounded shown as much care as his own British. That quieted some of the grumbling, but not all.

"Brownlow," he called to his Cornet, who wound his way through the Continental wounded on the ground and approached quickly.

"Sir!"

"Where is Doctor Jones? I sent for him ten minutes ago!" Tavington snapped crisply. "I want these damned Continentals tended to before any more die on me!"

"Sir, he will not come," Brownlow replied. Tavington stiffened and the Cornet waited for the explosion.

"I beg your pardon?" Tavington asked dangerously. He was in a foul mood, he always was after battle. From the corner of his eye, he could see Captain Bordon approaching.

"He said he was there to tend the British, not a bunch of rebels," Brownlow said.

"Did he now?" Tavington tightened his lips, he met Captain Bordon's eyes. He nodded curtly to both Officers, then turned on his heel, marching toward the newly erected medical tents. Brownlow and Bordon followed smartly, catching up to the raging Colonel quickly. Tavington ducked into the tent.

He stopped dead to take stock, his gaze searching for Doctor Jones through the throng of corpsmen. Tavington was not lacking in medical staff. He had at least ten fully qualified doctors and another forty corpsmen, medics who fought as soldiers then cared for the wounded afterward. Ordinarily, if a troop was short of medical staff after battle, their own wounded were always tended first. But that was not the case now - in the tent at that very moment was a total of three British wounded.

There was absolutely no need for ten doctors and forty corpsmen to care for only twelve wounded. Jones had disobeyed a direct order from his superior, Colonel Tavington.

And that was something Tavington would not - could not - allow to slide.

He slowly and pulled his leather, fur crested helmet from his head and strode deeper into the tent. His cold gaze fixed on doctor Jones. The doctor's sleeves were barely even covered with blood, they had so few wounded. A few corpsmen were tending the wounded but the others were idle. He heard footfalls behind him and did not need to look to know that Bordon and Brownlow had followed.

"Doctor," Tavington drawled quietly when he reached the man. His calm tone belied his rage. "I have requested your assistance with the Continental captives. Why are you and your surgeons still here?"

"I will not waste my time tending dead men," the doctor snapped unwisely. "The rebel wounded will be carted off to Chapin, they can die of their wounds on their way, for all I care."

"I do not require you to care, Sir. I require you to obey. You will see to them now," Tavington said finally, dangerously.

"I will not waste our much needed supplies on rebels!" Jones cried, finally turning to face Tavington in outrage.

"Brownlow, be ready to seize Doctor Jones on my command," Tavington commanded, his patience snapped. "Tell me, Doctor. Will fifty lashes help to recall to you the chain of command?" He asked as Brownlow took up position beside the doctor.

The doctor's face drained of colour. The other occupants of the tent stared with shock, their patients forgotten. Tavington's question was delivered coldly, with deadly intent. Doctor Jones would indeed be whipped and knew it. William glared unblinking at the Doctor, the command to have him whipped ready on his lips if Jones did not answer to Tavington's satisfaction.

"No, Sir, I need no such reminder," Jones said, finally finding his voice. "I shall go and tend them at once."

"Wise decision," Tavington ground out. He took a single, threatening step closer to impart some much needful advice. "I will not tolerate insubordination."

"No, Sir! There will be no repetition." Jones stammered fearfully. He fled from the tent as quickly as his long legs could carry him.

The remaining doctors and corpsmen exchanged eloquent glances before returning to their work. The tent became a hive of activity again as the Officers began taking up supplies, ready to follow Jones out into the field to tend the enemy wounded.

"You put the fear of Christ into him," Cornet Brownlow said. William turned his baleful glare on the Cornet, who took a full step back. "Sir," he added, adopting a meek visage.

The Colonel ducked out of the tent. He caught sight of Doctor Jones further along the avenue, rushing to assist the Continentals.

"Doctors," Tavington spat. "They believe themselves to be in a command chain entirely of their own. I will not have my authority questioned. He should have known better."

"No doubt he does now," Cornet Brownlow said. "Sir, may I ask why you would have whipped him? For refusing to tend enemy wounded…"

"It was his refusal of the Colonel's order," it was Captain Bordon who replied.

"What will happen to them now? The Continentals, I mean."

"They are to be sent on to the ships, those who survive," Tavington said. "Cornwallis will, I would imagine, try to turn them. Offer them amnesty if they chose to fight for us. Beyond that, I neither know nor care what happens to them."

"How much longer until the city falls, do you imagine?" Bordon asked.

"Days, perhaps. If they do not surrender before Clinton's final push, the entire city will be decimated."

"Let us hope for surrender," Bordon said.

"How very humane of you."

"That's me, charitable to the last," Bordon laughed and a ghost of a smile crossed Tavington's lips. "No, Colonel, you need not fear that I have grown soft. I could not care less for the inhabitants of this fine city, it is a bath that I covet."

"A bath, Sir?" Brownlow asked, eyebrows lifted.

"Yes, Cornet. We have spent weeks in these fetid swamps, in this damnable heat, with nary a splash of water on my person to sustain me. It is a bath I covet most just now. A long hot soak in the largest tub I can find. I will have an assortment of pomades and scented soaps, the water will be hot to scalding and will be a very content Captain. And then, I shall climb into bed - betwixt the cleanest sheets on the softest mattress, and I shall sleep for a week."

"Soaps, pomades and clean sheets? And you claim you have not grown soft," Tavington scoffed.

"What will you do when we reach the city, Sir?" Brownlow asked Tavington, who laughed softly.

"First, a bath," he admitted and Bordon chuckled. "I shall borrow Bordon's pomades and soaps, and I too shall be climbing into a nice clean, soft bed."

"Now who has grown soft?" Bordon asked.

"The difference is, Captain, that I do not intend to climb into this bed alone, nor will I _'sleep for a week'_ like you, Captain."

"You expect to spend the week fucking, do you? I doubt you'll last two hours," Bordon laughed outright and Brownlow's face flushed crimson.

"Generous of you, giving me two hours," Tavington laughed his first real laugh in days. "Ah, yes, it'll be a fine thing to get some damned respite from all this. If only it were winter. Remember Philadelphia?"

"Gods, yes, how could I forget?" Bordon asked. The two began to reminisce over their long and very pleasurable winter quarters in Philadelphia, with Brownlow trailing along behind them. It was summer, however, the Senior Officers in His Majesties Army suspected their stay in Charlestown would likely be a short one, and both intended to live every moment of leisure to its fullest.

* * *

_Charlestown: May 8th, 1780_

After the constant cannonade, it was eerily quiet. Miss Elizabeth Martin stood before the large bank of windows and gazed out to the harbour. It was quite disconcerting, seeing the British flag fly high over Sullivan's Island Where before it had been the blue flag with a palmetto tree, the flag of South Carolina. Sullivan's had surrendered and all was in disarray.

It was so quiet. Not outside on the street, that was more of a bustle than ever. But the earthworks surrounding the city were silenced, so too were the British man-o-wars in the harbour. She'd grown accustomed to the constant barrage of fire, but now… Eerily quiet. The British Commander and Chief was allowing a ceasefire, to give General Lincoln time to read the terms he offered if Lincoln would surrender the city. If Lincoln accepted, then all this, the last five years of defending their city, would all be for nothing. If he did not… Beth shuddered to think. The final assault Clinton threatened them with was going to be… spectacular.

_What would my father choose, were he here?_ She wondered. _Surrender_, she decided. Her father hadn't wanted this war to start with.

Outside, men, women and children were rushing past on horseback and in carriages. Charlestown was a bustling sort of place, but during the two years she'd been living there, she'd never seen so much traffic on the streets all at once. The Patriots of Charlestown were fleeing, lest they be caught by the British and punished for their five years of rebellion.

As Mrs. Charlotte Selton came to stand beside her, Beth asked, "where in the world do they think they're going, aunt?"

"Anywhere but here," Charlotte murmured, pulling her cape close about her shoulders as if she felt a chill and never mind that the sun was hot enough to fry corn cakes.

"Should we be leaving too?" Beth asked, turning back to the bustle on the street. For Beth's family were Patriots, every single one of them.

If the city surrendered, the American Army would abandon the city to the British. Soon, in the next few days, perhaps, there would be a sea of Redcoats on the streets where for the past five years, there had been a sea of Blue. Any Patriots that remained would be at the mercy of the British.

Continental Blue Coat Regimentals had dominated the streets for years - well before Beth ever arrived there. She wondered what would become of them if it were true, that the city was indeed about to surrender.

"Your uncle will have the situation well in hand," Charlotte said, sounding confident as she spoke of her brother, Mr. Mark Putman. "If he thought we were in any danger, he would have had us fleeing the city days ago. Besides," she murmured, "it's too late now."

"Too late?"

"The British have surrounded the city, Beth - it might become unsafe here in the next few days, but I assure you, it'll be even more so out there. All of these that are leaving now should have done so days ago, if they were so inclined. They have left it too late, they will be caught on the roads and accosted…"

"Oh," Beth whispered. Accosted? She searched among the feeling Patriots, her eyes picking out one family, a husband ushering along his wife and children. What would happen to the little ones, should the British stop them? Accosted… "they wouldn't hurt little ones, would they?" She asked her aunt.

"Perhaps not," Charlotte placed her hands at her waist, her back straight and tall, the picture of calm. "They are not here to coddle rebels, Beth."

"Rebels," Beth breathed, starting to feel the weight of it settle on her shoulders. "We're rebels. And we've been caught by the enemy."

"You do not need to fear, Beth. You have committed no treason that I can recall," Charlotte sounded amused. "Anymore then I have. We have never overtly shown our allegiance." Beth nodded, her aunt was the embodiment of grace and dignity - she had never done anything _overtly_.

"My father is an Assemblyman," Beth pointed out, fretting. "And my brother is a Continental. Our family have shown its allegiance, even if we have not."

"Your father spoke against this war in that very Assembly. And you can hardly be held to account for what your brother has done. Beth, I doubt the British would even learn you have a brother, let alone that he is what they deem to be a rebel. Please, place your faith in your uncle. As I said, he will have everything well in hand."

"Very well."

"Besides, your father has not yet recalled you, therefore I can only assume he is not particularly worried. Your school is here, your Aunt and I are here, and you still have -" Charlotte cut short with a small indrawn breath. To finish her sentence would be to insult the girl, who indeed _still had a long way to go _with her schooling. Charlotte and her sister in law, Mage Putman, had fought too hard for entirely too long, to get their hands on their niece to begin her much needed instruction. Instruction she would have received at her mother's hands, had she not died in child bed eight years ago. Beth had been allowed to roam free on her father's Plantation on the Santee, for far too long. She'd been almost a savage by the time her father finally relented and gave her over into Charlotte and Mage's care. Well, perhaps not quite a savage, but not far off. The girl was being taught to hunt in the woods alongside her brothers, for goodness sake. Charlotte had the utmost respect and love for her brother in law, but by Gods, Benjamin Martin could be a darned fool at times.

"I still have what?" Beth asked, oblivious.

"Your school will not close, Beth. And Mage and I are still here, so your tuition shall continue."

"And my friends are here," Beth grinned and Charlotte heaved a sigh. It was clear what Beth considered to be more important. But if she wished to continue keeping company with her companions, then her continued lessons were of utmost importance. The girls that had taken a liking to Beth were of families as prominent as her own. The difference was, they had been reared in the correct manner, deportment and gentility were second nature to them. Beth did have some manners, her mother had not been idle when the girl was young. But the years without her guidance had… taken their toll.

A savage aristocrat. Charlotte almost laughed out loud, for that was precisely what Beth was. Charlotte and Mage were doing all they could to temper the savage, and encourage the aristocrat. She gazed down at her niece, eyeing the girls posture and her demeanour, and had to admit too feeling pleased. Two years ago, Beth might have run through the house all the way down to the street to watch the goings on, she might have even called out to strangers to talk them as they passed. Now, however, she stood as regally as Charlotte herself, keeping about herself a sedate air, showing none of her excitement. With a smile, Charlotte placed her arm around the girl and the two continued to watch the goings on out on the street.

Those families fleeing below, were many of the prominent Charlestown families who had been most vocal in their rebellion. Those elitist individuals who had, until now, governed all of South Carolina. If they remained, they risked becoming hostages to the British.

Though she was a Patriot from a prominent family herself, Charlotte Selton did not feel she was in any danger of being taken captive. She held no political power, had no ties of marriage or blood to any who did. Well, except for Benjamin Martin of course. Charlotte gnawed at her bottom lip fretfully and glanced at her young niece, Benjamin's daughter.

Were Beth's concerns founded? Should she fear for her niece? As Beth had pointed out, her father had been an Assemblyman, he held a position on the Governing body that had been steering the state on its present course. Benjamin's views had not been as radical as some of the others, but would the British see it that way? He'd encouraged change, but had spoken quite firmly against going to war.

_Mark said we will be fine_, Charlotte reassured herself, though the worry persisted. Why in the world did her brother wish to remain, now that it was clear the British would be moving in?

"Come, Beth. Sit back down," Charlotte guided her niece toward the chair she had been occupying earlier, she had been absorbed in a book before the eruption of sound drew her to the window. Miss Elizabeth Anne Martin, Charlotte's late sister's eldest daughter. Beth had lived in Charlestown these past two years. She stayed at times with Charlotte, and at others with Charlotte's brother, Mark Putman, and his wife and daughter. Their influence had helped vastly in Beth's improvement, Charlotte was almost of the opinion that Beth had finally become the genteel lady she was meant to be.

Charlotte rang a bell, summoning one of her negroes. The two discussed the menu for tonights dinner, then Charlotte went to sit at her spinnet, where she played through several pieces. Beth was reclined on a chaise, staring hard at the leather bound book she held propped open against her knees. Though she now feigning indifference to what was occurring beyond the parlour out on the street - Charlotte knew better. Beth had been staring at the same page for half an hour now. She sat tensely rather than at her ease and she was a little too pale, her dark brown eyes strained. She hid it well, another indication that her lessons were working, but Charlotte clearly saw that her niece was not insensible to the turmoil outside.

As an Assemblyman's daughter, Beth _could_ be of interest to the British... The enemy was well known for taking key members of prominent Patriot families into their 'protection'. These 'guests' were then used as the British saw fit. As pieces on the game board of war.

_I hope you know what you're doing, Mark_, Charlotte thought. After much consideration, Charlotte dismissed her concerns. Mark himself was staying with his wife and daughter, Beth's cousin Cilla, who was only two months younger. .

_Beth is in no more danger than Cilla. Or than myself or Mage or Mark_, Charlotte decided as she turned the page and continued playing her ballad. The musical sounds of the spinnet did little to drown the noise from outside, the commotion on the street still sounded quite as fraught as before.

Then again, Colonel Harry Burwell, commander of the Continental Army had been courting Beth these past two years...

Charlotte's fingers stopped dead to hover an inch above the keys. Would the lass Colonel Burwell had been so interest in marrying in turn become of interest to the British?

Surely Mark would have taken this into account, when he decided it was all safe for them to stay? Charlotte's agitation returned.

"I've been thinking, Beth."

"Yes, I could hear you from here," Beth replied. Charlotte ignored the quip as she strolled over to a chair and seated herself, arranging her silk skirts around her legs just so.

"Yes, I believe we will go for a walk when the streets calm down. There is somewhat I would like to discuss with my brother."

"Wonderful! Can we have dinner there? Oh, can I sleep over with Cilla tonight?"

Charlotte nodded slowly as her fear began to increase. "Yes. I believe we both shall." She said, feeling worried about what was happening beyond the city walls. "I'd rather we were not alone tonight."

Beth nodded and Charlotte wished she'd kept her mouth shut, for the fear was returning to Beth as well.

"What do you want to discuss with him?" Beth asked.

"Well. He did not want us fleeing into danger, which many of those poor souls outside are no doubt doing. However, perhaps he can have us removed from the city, when the furore dies down. Despite what he has said, I am not so certain that Charlestown is the place for us right now. Besides, I miss…" _your father,_ Charlotte thought, but out loud, she said, "the Santee." Thinking of Benjamin, she smiled warmly and a glow spread through her stomach.

"We should certainly discuss it, at the very least," Beth said finally.

Charlotte's eyebrows climbed her forehead.

"No argument? I'm surprised at you, Beth. I had thought you would want to stay here with your friends."

"And I will miss them dearly. I believe many of my friends will leave. It will be an entirely different place, if the British take the city. Why does uncle Mark want to stay?"

"A question I shall be asking him when we set out this afternoon," Charlotte said. A servant was entering with a tray of cordial, corn cakes and fruit for the ladies when shockingly, the commotion from outside spilled suddenly into Charlotte's two story townhouse.

"Miss Martin!" A man shouted from the front door downstairs. Beth and Charlotte shared a startled glance as they heard the front door slam, then urgent, heavy footfalls thudding up the stairs.

"Is that Colonel Burwell?" Beth marked the page her book and placed it on the table before her.

"It sounds like it," Charlotte replied.

"Miss Martin," the panicked shout was closer now as Beth's would be fiancé pounded quickly up the stairs.

Beth rose from the chaise, straightening her hair and her silk skirts as she did so. She thought she did a fair imitation of her Aunt Charlotte who had also risen from her chair to greet their unexpected guest, polite and dignified as always.

"Miss Martin," Colonel Harry Burwell burst into the parlor, looking frantic.

"Colonel," Beth said, voice urgent. "You should have been gone long ago. I'm shocked that you're still here, the British are on our doorstep!"

"They certainly are," Harry Burwell's sword clinked at his side as he strode across the chamber to stand before her. He reached for her hand and pressed his lips against the back of her fingers. Should he tell her of the battle he'd just fought? Shame seared his soul. Not only had Tavington routed him utterly, Burwell himself had fled the field. It was not something he wished to admit to the woman he loved, whom he wanted to marry. "I would not leave, not without… I went to your Uncle's house first... He said…" a dark cloud passed over Harry's face. He continued, "he said he is not leaving. He said that you and Mrs. Selton are staying too."

Beth cocked her head, she had the distinct feeling that the Colonel had been about to say something else entirely. "Do you think we shouldn't?" She asked, looking him over. She had never seen the Colonel look so disheveled or distressed, even during the most harrowing days of the siege, the days the city was being bombarded by the British man-o-wars in the harbour. His ordinarily immaculate Continental Bluecoat was creased and dirty, even his hair was coming loose from its queue, long strands framing his face in a messy array. Beth's breath caught with worry. He was always stolid and dependable! If he could be fearful now, she should be terrified! "You think we should leave, don't you? You think we're in danger."

Harry took hold of both her hands and pressed them to his lips, a look of agony crossing his face. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to alarm you."

"Why, what has happened?" Charlotte asked in a calm voice. Beth did not think anything could ruffle her Aunt. "Are the Redcoats in the streets already?"

"No, no. Not yet. But it won't be long now, Lincoln will surrender, I believe he has no choice."

"Then you need to leave, Sir," Beth said, voice firm.

"I am, I am going," Burwell's voice was quieter now, almost back to normal as he turned to address Charlotte. "Mrs. Selton, please forgive me the intrusion. Nothing more has happened beyond what you are already apprised of," his fingers wound through Beth's, a strong grip that he did not want to release. "Charlestown will soon fall, there is very little time."

All eyes turned to the door as another man entered the parlor, equally winded. Burwell, in his haste to find Beth, had outrun the younger Lieutenant Gabriel Martin.

"Sir, there is not much time, we have to leave," Gabriel declared urgently. Beth sensed her brother was fighting for calm. "Beth, Aunt Charlotte, are you well?"

The women spared Gabriel a glance and a nod. It was Burwell, however, who held their attention.

"Another moment, Lieutenant. Mrs. Selton, your brother has told of his intention to remain in the city, one that I am most unhappy about, though I understand his reasoning."

"I am glad someone does," Charlotte said and Burwell gave her a look.

"Well, yes, of course he would not have… Madam, I am to escort Governor Rutledge to safety, I have sent my men to protect him and we will soon be ready to ride from the city. I have come to ask Miss Martin," Burwell cast a quick glance at Beth. "To come with me."

Charlotte's eyes widened, at a loss for words. Beth was just as stunned.

"Colonel, Mr. Martin has entrusted my brother and I with his daughters keeping. I will not allow her to leave with the army with no more than her brother for a chaperone, and Gabriel's duties will keep him away more often than not. He will be no proper chaperone. I will not allow it, even if she were to take Mila - "

"I am sorry to interrupt you, Mrs. Selton," he said abruptly. "I understand your concerns. Please hear mine. It is common knowledge that I have been courting Miss Martin these last two years. As the more Patriotic families abandon the city, the Loyalists who were forced from it five years ago will begin to return. It will only be a short time before the British discover my..." Burwell glanced at Beth, his voice softened, "very great affection for her. I fear they may try to use her to gain some advantage over me. Commander in Chief Clinton and Lord Cornwallis are not above taking hostages to control the Patriots fighting against them. Miss Martin _must_ leave, for her safety."

"I have had growing concerns that way myself, I admit," Charlotte said, nodding gravely. "However, with respect, Colonel, I do not believe you are thinking clearly."

"No?" He asked incredulously. "Mrs. Selton - there is no time -"

"Sir," she over rode his protests firmly, with Gabriel and Beth watching anxiously. "You say you are escorting John Rutledge? Would that not make you a very large target?" She paused a moment, allowing her words to sink in. "The British will want to secure all prominent Patriot families, the Governor of our city first and foremost! A fact you know well, or you would not be helping him to escape. There would be no need. Think about it a moment, Sir. You will be riding - as fast and as hard as your horses will carry you, in order to put as much distance between Rutledge and the Redcoats as possible. You may even come under fire, Sir. Almost undoubtedly, you will. Or you might be captured. That is what you are not thinking clearly about. You worry about the potential, eventual danger to Beth, without thinking of the immediate danger you could be putting her in. A stray ball is all it would take," a tremble coursed through her body as she pictured Beth being shot from her horse. "Or if you're captured, how then will she be treated? I am sorry, Sir, but under absolutely no circumstances will my niece be accompanying you on this fraught mission."

Burwell opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and tightened his lips.

"Have no fear, Colonel," Charlotte continued. "I am going to discuss the matter with Mr. Putman this afternoon. He has already assured me that we are all safe here -"

"I do not believe that you are," Burwell said, voice strangled.

"Be that as it may, it is my brother's decision. And her father's. I will express my opinion that perhaps we should consider retiring from the city, but I assure you, Sir, it will be done only after great consideration. Travelling has as much risk as staying, especially the sort of travel that you propose."

"When? How long before you leave?"

"I did not say we would," Charlotte said pointedly.

"Only that you would consider it. Good God, Mrs. Selton, Miss Martin must leave now -"

"Surely Miss Martin should have a say in this?" Beth asked tartly, suddenly irritated with the both of them. It was all Aunt Charlotte, uncle Mark's and Harry Burwell's decision, was it?

Burwell and Charlotte's eyes fell on Beth, both seeming so surprised that she had spoken, Beth wondered if they had forgotten she was there!

"Beth..." Gabriel murmured from the doorway.

"Perhaps not," Beth ignored her brother's warning. "The both of you are debating my future just fine without me, perhaps I should simply sit down," she suited her words by sitting on the chaise and arranging her skirts about her. She placed her hands in her lap. "And you can let me know what you have decided, when it's all settled."

"Forgive me, Miss Martin," Colonel Harry Burwell, high ranking officer of the Continental Army and veteran of the Cherokee war, sounded suitably chastened. "Please know it comes from my great affection for you and concern for your welfare, that I speak so rashly. Could I have a moment of your time, Miss Martin? Alone."

Beth glanced at Charlotte.

Charlotte stood stock still, her eyes widening by the moment. Was this it? Would Burwell propose _now_, of all times? He met her gaze and she had her answer, the blood drained from her face. Gods, he was about to propose. Of all the times… Drawing in a long breath, she inclined her head and began to walk toward the door. Under no other circumstance would she leave her niece alone with a man, but in this… Of all the foolish times… Still, she took hold of her nephew's arm and steered him toward the door.

"There's no time!" Gabriel muttered.

"For this, there must be," Charlotte replied.

Wondering what her aunt meant, Beth watched them both step into the hall, Aunt Charlotte closed the door behind her. Shocked, Beth gaped. She gazed up at Harry, feeling quite strange. Strained. She'd never been alone in a room with him before, certainly not with the door closed.

The silence stretched. Burwell began to pace back and forth, his thumb stroking the sword at his waist. He spun to her, opened his mouth, then clicked it shut before pacing again. Finally, after taking a deep breath, Burwell strode forward and knelt before Beth, taking her small, soft hand in his. Beth's eyes almost bulged from their sockets.

"Miss Martin, will you marry me?" The words tumbled out in a rush. Although Beth knew it was coming, had known for some time now, she could not help feeling shocked to her core.

"Marry you...?" She breathed, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Beth, I am no great orator. I am a simple man, in my way. A simple soldier."

_And one of the most powerful, well respected men in the Colonies. As well as one of the wealthiest... _Beth's mind raced, thwart with indecision. _He is handsome... But he is so much older! Wouldn't it be like marrying my father? __Gods, my father. He wants this, so very much._ Benjamin Martin had served under Harry Burwell in the Cherokee War, their friendship had been forged in fire and blood decades ago. And when Burwell had started showing such keen interest in Beth two years earlier, Benjamin had made it clear he desired for their bond to be more deeply forged - by marriage. Beth knew just how deeply disappointed her father would be, if she refused. _Oh Gods, what do I do? I do care for him, but I don't love him. But my father... There would be no greater match for me and my family... I'd have to have a very good reason to refuse. Oh Lord... What do I do? _Her uncertain mind raced as Harry continued to speak.

"But you must know by now that you have quite stolen my heart," he continued. "I have been widowed for so long, I thought never to fall in love again. I knew you as a little girl, but… do you remember that day, when your father came to the city for the meeting?" Beth nodded, remembering. The entire city had been in an uproar, shouting and men firing off their rifles. And inside the Exchange, the Assembly sat. Beth had been there, sitting beside her Aunts, her father, her uncle, her brothers. She recalled her father, rising up to give a speech, with the entire hall listening to his every word. She hadn't know until that moment, just how important her father was. And then there was Harry Burwell, who also rose and gave his own speech. He'd said then, that he was no orator. But he'd held his audience as captivated as Benjamin Martin had, even though every word he spoke was in direct opposition to that of his oldest friend. Where Benjamin had spoken of patience and caution, Burwell had spoken of boldness and resilience. He had an unyielding belief in the Colonies strength and fortitude. They could free themselves of their oppressors, they could fight, and break the chains. Beth had been enthralled. Nonetheless, she hadn't fallen in _love_. Burwell felt differently of that night, however. "From the moment I saw you, grown into this beautiful, young woman, I knew I wished to spend the rest of my life with you, when before, I never had any intention of ever marrying again. It was too painful, the grief," he paused, struggling as his voice thickened with remembered grief. "I was so helpless, I vowed I could never go through it again. But then you were presented to me, the little girl grown into this glorious young lady. Oh, your aunties both despaired for you, because you did not have the gentle rearing you should have. With your father raising you, how could they expect anything else?" He laughed. "He taught you everything he taught to his boys and yes, perhaps that was wrong of him, but I loved seeing that in you. That wildness and that strength. But that is not all there is to you. Your father influenced you, but as soon as you were turned over to your aunts, Lord, how you thrived! It's been my utter pleasure to witness you grow into the woman you are today, the genteel lady with the wild streak."

"You are no great orator?" She laughed down at him.

A chuckle escaped his lips, a release of tension, despite his panic and need to be away. "No, I am not. You bring out the best in me." Finally, fine words failed him. He shrugged his shoulders and breathed deeply in an effort to steady his nerves. "I love you, Miss Martin. Will you marry me?"

"You love me?" Beth whispered. Gazing down at his earnest and open face now, she finally understood the depth of his feelings for her.

"Indeed I do," he said quietly. "I could not stand it - knowing you are here, under their very noses. Miss Martin, if they took you... Lord, the very thought. I am answerable to a higher authority - Washington would not authorise me to meet the demands that would see you freed."

"You wouldn't be able to protect me," she breathed, stunned. Fear twisted her stomach, Burwell had painted a bleak picture for her indeed. Especially if he would not be allowed to meet the British demands to free her - how long would she be their prisoner? Would they shove her into a small, damp cell and throw away the key?

"I wouldn't," he admitted, cupping her face with his hands. "Please Miss Martin, you must come away with me -"

"You know I can not, not if the circumstances will be anything close to what my aunt just described," Beth shook her head. "I must stay here with them." His face fell, he leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. She'd never been so close to him, so near that she could smell his scent and feel his warmth.

"Please, Miss Martin. Don't let me leave without hope," he whispered. "I love you. Please, will you marry me?"

Gods, what was she going to do? To become engaged, here and now. How her father would rejoice! She was still very uncertain, however. She needed more time! He was demanding an answer, here, now, before he fled with Rutledge to who knew what fate.

"Sir," she wrapped her fingers around his wrists, his hands still cupping her face. She gazed up at him, their lips inches apart. "If you fear what might become of me merely because you courted me, how much worse would it be for your betrothed?"

Harry's eyes widened to sauces and he drew in a long, shocked breath.

"I hadn't thought of that," he whispered. Not quite meeting her eyes, he asked, "do you refuse me, then?"

Gods, her father would be so deeply disappointed, if she did.

"No," she shook her head. "I do not. I… I just… I barely know my own mind right now, I just… I need more time, Colonel."

"Time?" He asked, sounding almost amused. "Of that, I have none."

"But we have plenty, do we not? I am not refusing you, Sir, I am not. I am fond of you, very fond, and I do not mean to cause you pain. I just… I need more time and I do not want to rush into this just because the British are about to take Charlestown and you must be away on the hour. You don't have time just now, but we do have plenty."

She heard him sigh as he nodded, accepting her answer.

"You're quite right, we have plenty," he agreed. "I was just so frightened, I wanted to spirit you away and then when you could not come, I thought…"

"Becoming engaged was the answer?" She smiled.

"But it isn't, becoming engaged would make you a target," he said, agreeing with her there, too. "I could not bear it, Beth, if something bad were to happen to you."

Beth smiled warmly and began to laugh.

"I couldn't bear it either if something bad were to happen to me. I am not particularly brave, you know."

"Not brave..." Burwell snorted. "You are a lioness, dear heart."

"Colonel! We must go." Gabriel was in the doorway again, impatient and tense. His eyes widened at the scene before him, his Commanding Officer's forehead pressed to Beth's, as if they might have been kissing. He paused, then asked, "should we be celebrating, Sir?"

"No, not yet. Your sister is too sensible to marry me."

"Beth," Gabriel hissed, eyes narrowed.

"Do not take her to task, Lieutenant, her reasoning was sound."

"She refused you!" Gabriel sounded outraged and Beth knew how deeply it would distress her family, if she eventually did refuse Burwell.

"Though it's not truly your business, Gabriel, I did not _refuse_ Colonel Burwell," Beth said, folding her arms across her chest, anger stirring at the pressure she was feeling. "I have merely postponed my answer."

"As your sister pointed out, Lieutenant, if I consider her to be in some danger merely because I courted her, how much more would it be if she and I were betrothed?"

Burwell met her eyes and smiled, she squeezed his hand gently. It was to thank him, though he knew it not. None of the pressure she felt was from him. Her family, most certainly. But there was none from Harry Burwell.

"Yes, I see the sense in that," Gabriel said, voice urgent, as if he wanted this settled immediately and to be on their way on the moment. "You could be engaged in secret, no one but her family would need to know."

"Yes, we could," Burwell said. Some panic must have shown on Beth's face, for Burwell's smile deepened, and as he leaned forward to kiss her brow, he whispered, "but you need more time. I'll grant it, Miss Martin. Even if your family prefer otherwise."

"Thank you," she whispered back. In that moment, she wondered at herself. In every aspect of his life, in his dealings with the army, the other gentlemen, and with her, he'd only ever proven over and over again, that he was the best of men. Even now, in his proposal to her. Why was she reticent? What was she waiting for?

"And yes, we must be away," Burwell said. "Lieutenant, please ensure our mounts are ready to ride." He waited as Gabriel disappeared through the door. With a disappointed frown, this time he left the door wide open.

"Promise me you will stay safe," Burwell stroked Beth's cheek gently. He gazed at her intently, trying to memorize her features. It would be some time before he saw her again, of that he had no doubt.

"I promise, Colonel."

Burwell lowered his head to hers. Time slowed, her breath caught in her throat as he gently brushed his lips across hers. Now this, she'd certainly never done with any man. Her first ever kiss and it was every bit as she'd imagined it would be. Even more so. She closed her eyes and leaned into him as his lips moved across hers.

_No, it would not be like marrying my father... _She thought, before her mind ceased working altogether. Her heart began to race and her body grew warm from her stomach to her cheeks. Burwell tightened his hold on her, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. Just as Beth's knees began to feel weak, an urgent voice called up the stairs.

"Colonel!" Major Bryant shouted. "We have to leave, now!"

Burwell moaned against her lips and reluctantly broke the kiss. He drew back to gaze at Beth, then rested his forehead on hers.

"I love you, Miss Martin," he whispered. "Please stay safe."

"I will," she said a little breathlessly. "You be careful out there, Harry. And write to me if you can."

"Harry..." Burwell's smile lit his face, making him appear years younger. "You've never called me that before..."

"And you've never kissed me before," she breathed.

"Did you like it?"

"Colonel!" The shout was even more insistent now.

"Yes," she whispered with a giggle.

"You know that it means we're engaged now, don't you?" He asked, half teasing. "If your father knew I'd kissed you, he'd certainly consider us so."

"I know," she smiled back, sensing he was not entirely seriously.

"Sir!" That insistent shout.

"Yes! I know!" Burwell's bellow was louder than a lions roar and it made Beth gasp. "I'm sorry," he whispered, for the shout. "I'll carry that kiss with me, Beth," he said, using her name for the first time. "A promise of our future." And then he was kissing her again, short but deep, leaving Beth gasping. Burwell drew back, his breath was ragged and his face was flushed. "Walk with me to the door?" He asked, his voice sounded different - thicker, breathier. She nodded and wound her fingers through his and they turned to the hall. Charlotte stood there, in the hall, her eyes wide and stunned. Burwell gave her a short bow. As they passed her, Charlotte fell in behind them.

They made their way through the house, down the stairs, to the back door where at least ten Bluecoat Officers were waiting. There were other farewells to be made, speedy through necessity. Beth released Burwell's hand, she embraced Peter Cuppin first, a lad she had grown up with. Then it was Gabriel's turn. She threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

"Stay safe and write to me, if you can," Beth said against Gabriel's ear.

"I will, I promise. I have to go, Beth," Gabriel unwound his sisters arms from his neck and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She brushed back his blonde hair and stared into his brown eyes, the exact same shade as hers. They resembled each other more than any of their other siblings, both taking after their late mother.

Gabriel embraced Charlotte next while Burwell said his last farewell to Beth. He did not kiss her again, no in front of the others. Not on the lips, anyway.

"Fare thee well, my love," he said simply, kissing her hand with longing.

"Write to me, Harry," Beth said, "I'll be so worried if you don't."

"I promise it, Beth," he replied.

Charlotte came to stand beside Beth and the two women stood on the back porch waving goodbye as the small detachment of Continental soldiers left the yard.

"He asked me to marry him," Beth said quietly. Her arm was raised high, she was still waving as the men retreated down the street.

"I know. So, my dear niece, are you engaged?" Charlotte said in a teasing voice, as if she already knew the answer.

"I…" Beth gazed up at her Aunt, so much taller than she. "I don't know."

"How in the world don't you know?" Charlotte's amusement slipped to confusion, as it so often did where Beth was concerned.

Beth chewed the inside of her lip as she watched the men mount. Harry gave her one last look, he tipped his hat to her, bowed from the saddle, then guided his horse from the yard.

"Can we talk?" Beth asked Charlotte when the last of the Continentals were gone.

"Always," Charlotte said gently. She slid her arm through Beth's and guided her back into the house.


	2. Chapter 2 - Changing of the Guard

Chapter 2 - Changing of the Guard

_Charlestown: May 8th, 1780_

It was still damnably quiet, the lack of cannonade during this ceasefire was deafening. Patriots were still trying to flee the city, and who knew what their fate would be? The city was surrounded, the roads and rivers were being watched by the British, who were ready to swoop down and capture any enemy they deemed important. Burwell and Gabriel would need Providence on their side, if they were to get Governor Rutledge away to safety.

But, while that was a concern, it was far from Mark Putman and Charlotte Selton's minds just now. Beth's engagement dominated all.

Mark Putman's parlour was slightly larger than Charlotte Selton's. There were several chaise and arm chairs, a harp in one corner, a table with four chairs in another. Mark, Mage, Charlotte and lastly Colin Ferguson all sat around the table, the women drinking cordial and the men drinking rum as they played cards. The atmosphere was jovial, celebratory.

Beth sat on a chaise situated in the furthest corner away from the festivities. Her cousin Cilla sat in an armchair near to her, and her friend Mary Tisdale occupied one on her other side.

"It's just… I told him I needed more time," Beth whispered, keeping her voice low so her uncle and aunt could not hear her. "And he granted it. How could we possibly be engaged?" That was the cause for the festivities among her elder family members and her oldest friend, Colin Ferguson. "Perhaps I should not have confided in Aunt Charlotte."

Cilla - who had looked sympathetic before, looked horrified now. "To not tell your aunt that a man had kissed you? In her own parlour? Of course you had to confide in her!"

"Besides, she saw you," Mary added. "You weren't ever going to keep it from her. Colonel Burwell proposed, and then he kissed you. Your family are quite right to expect that you are engaged."

"But Colonel Burwell understood," Beth's hands twisted in her lap. "I didn't want to make a decision on the spur of the moment, when he was all in a rush. He said he understood. He doesn't believe we're engaged…"

"Didn't he say you were?" Cilla asked gently.

"Yes, after kissing her," Mary said, a huff in her voice as if she were agitated. "I'm sorry, I know Colonel Burwell to be a good man, but to kiss you after you refused his proposal? That, he should not have done."

"Well, I didn't truly _refuse_ him," Beth said miserably. "I just said 'not now.'"

"Which meant you were not engaged. Which means he should not have kissed you," Mary said. "For now your entire family considers you to be engaged."

Cilla nodded. "And you said Burwell said _'you know that means we're engaged now.'_"

"Which is why he shouldn't have kissed you," Mary said. "He has forced the issue."

"I don't think he was trying to," Beth defended Burwell. "Besides, he was joking! At least, I think he was."

"This is no joking matter," Cilla replied hotly. "Your father will most certainly consider you to be, especially when he learns of the kiss."

Beth heaved a sigh. "My father would have been less than pleased, if he'd learned I'd postponed my answer. Maybe it's better this way, though someone really should tell my fiancé that we're engaged." Beth tried to laugh but Cilla saw right through it.

"You have misgivings. Tell us," Cilla said.

"I don't know… I don't know what's wrong with me. He is a gentleman. He is a Planter, he owns more than three hundred acres and his tobacco is the finest there is. He is brave, stalwart, honest. He has the respect of his peers, my own father has never found a single fault in him. He is courteous -"

"Except for kissing you," Mary said, pursing her lips. "That was not courteous."

"I believe he feared he'd never see me again, that he might die without ever having kissed me," Beth said. "That's how it felt, he was quite desperate. I don't fault him for it, even if Aunt Charlotte saw it. So yes, Mary, he is courteous. Respectful. Doting. As his wife, I won't want for a single thing."

"But he is very old," as finely bred as she was, Cilla could be quite blunt at times.

"Gods, he's forty and five," Beth groaned, dropping her face to her hands, for Cilla had cut directly to the heart of it.

Mary glanced at Colin Ferguson, who was not a day over twenty. He had been courting Mary for two years now, even she knew a proposal was imminent. Unlike Beth, however, hers was very much wanted. Colin was everything Beth had described of Burwell. Only he was twenty-five years young. Would she have found it as easy to love Colin as much as she did, if he were Burwell's age?

"Do you love him?" Mary asked Beth.

"I am fond of him," Beth replied. "But I feel like I'll be marrying my uncle." - Cilla glanced at her father and then back to Beth, looking scandalised. Beth laughed. "Or maybe not quite like marrying my uncle."

"Well that's a relief," Cilla laughed, then she sobered. "I don't think I'd like that very much, not marrying for love."

"When he kissed you, what did it feel like?" Mary asked.

"It was… like nothing I've felt. I thought my heart would pound out of my chest, and my legs felt so weak. I had this… shiver… up my spine. It was… breathtaking. Oh, Gods, what is wrong with me?" She stared at her cousin and her friend in turn, as if they would have the answer. "Why don't I want this, as my family do? What is wrong with me, why should I feel so reluctant? Is it because he is older? Lord, what does that say about me, how terribly trivial am I? Most women would leap at the chance to marry a gentleman like Harry Burwell."

"Yes, they would," Mary agreed.

"However, you're not trivial, Beth. And what does it say about you? The same as it'd say for me, I suspect. You want to marry for love, just as Mary will marry for love," Cilla said.

"Mr. Ferguson hasn't proposed," Mary shifted uncomfortably. She did not like to assume anything. Cilla laughed out loud.

"We all know he's going too, Mary," she giggled. "I doubt it will be much longer now. We've seen him court you for two years now, we've seen you fall head over heels in love, we've seen the joy it brings you." To Beth, she said, "why wouldn't you want the same? Is it so wrong to want that for ourselves? Yes, he's wealthy, a gentleman, influential. He will be a kind and doting husband. But if you are not in love, then…" Cilla shrugged.

"That's it though, isn't it? It's why I am asking what is wrong with me. Why am I not in love with him?" Beth asked.

"You can't love someone just because they're rich and a nice person," Mary laughed.

"But so often, after marriage, love does come," Cilla said. "I believe you will be content, Beth. I believe you will be happy."

Beth nodded, smiling weakly. "Perhaps you're right. Your father has instructed me to write to Colonel Burwell, to dispel any doubt of our engagement. But, if we're engaged, doesn't that mean I'm in danger?"

"Except for Mr. Ferguson and I, no one outside your family will know," Mary said. "And I assure you, I won't tell a soul, not even my own father." Mary reached out and wrapped her fingers around Beth's. "I'm so glad you're not leaving, I truly do not want to stay here without you."

"And I didn't really want to go, either," Beth said. "I'm a little worried about what is to come, if the city is surrendered. But it's just as dangerous on the roads, Aunt Charlotte said. Better to stay and wait for everything to calm down, than to flee now, which will only raise suspicion and might go poorly for us, if we're stopped along the way. They will wonder what cause we had to leave the city, so it's better to stay put. God, I wish this ceasefire would last forever, I love how quiet it is just now."

"The calm before the storm," Cilla said ominously.

"If the city doesn't surrender, most certainly," Mary agreed with a shudder.

"What does your father say of it, Mary? Does he want to flee?" Cilla asked.

Mary looked startled for a moment, then shook her head. "No, he wants to stay. I don't believe him to be particularly Patriotic. Between you and me, and this can go no further, I believe my father will be pleased to see the back of the Continentals."

"Truly?" Cilla asked, drawing herself up and frowning. "I did not know your father was a Tory."

"Well, I think he is still undecided, though has friends who are, dear ones. And for the last five years, he's had to watch while those friends were attacked. Tarred, feathered, their homes despoiled. And when the Tory's started to flee the city, the Regiments who moved into the empty homes to use as their barracks, have been anything but respectful of them. He hasn't liked to see the destruction - he is leaning increasingly toward the British way of thinking. He thinks the British will deal with our people more fairly than the Patriots did."

"Lord, does Colin know this?" Beth asked.

"Yes, he knows," Mary said. "But he isn't paying it any mind. He loves me," Mary smiled, face flushing as she glanced again at Colin, feeling very much the same. Beth lowered her eyes, worrying that she might never feel for Burwell, what Mary felt for Colin. "And my father is ignoring Colin's very Patriot stance," Mary laughed. "Colin is from a very good family and my father isn't so Tory that he would stop me from marrying him. He just isn't so _Patriot_ that he will be melancholy if the Continentals withdraw."

"So you're staying," Cilla smiled and reached for both girls hands. "Whatever happens, we shall weather the storm together."

"If there's a need," Beth said. "There might not be a storm at all."

"It might just be a changing of the guard," Mary shrugged. "Bluecoats for Red. The British pride themselves on being gentlemen."

"Hmm," Cilla huffed a breath, lips twisted as though she'd tasted something she did not like. "We shall see."

* * *

_Charlestown: May 8th, 1780_

Banastre rode down the narrow street with Hanger at his side. The two Officers were followed by several others of Banastre's unit, all of whom were to be quartered with him during his short stay in the city. He glanced down at the parchment in his hand, as he guided his horse with his knees.

"Number eighteen," he said, glancing up to see the number on the house he was passing.

"Hmm, ten... We have a way to go yet," Hanger observed. They continued their slow way, not in any particular rush despite their need for a bath, clean clothes and warm women to grace their beds. It was early yet.

The streets were filled with people. There were still some signs of the siege, damage to buildings that had suffered from the cannonade. Tradd Street overlooked the harbour; from here, Banastre could see the British ships dotting the waves. But the street itself had gone mostly unscathed. While the local's gazed nervously and whispered to one another as the troop passed, one would not have thought a battle had been fought here at all!

"Well, well well," Hanger murmured in a tone that Banastre recognized. He glanced at the Major and saw his eyes were warm indeed. Following his line of sight, Banastre saw instantly what had drawn Hanger's attention. "Now, if only we were billeted here!"

Number 12, Banastre saw, but they were still only halfway to their billet. While the house was large and very expensive seeming, Banastre knew it was not the reason for Hanger's immediate attention. It was the two women standing just behind the wrought iron gate, watching the Officers watching them. One was older than the other but both were equally beautiful. Both with blonde hair intricately worked and neatly covered with their hats. One with blue eyes, the other with brown. A deep, dark brown, Banastre saw as he drew closer. Much like the shade of his own eyes...

Their silks skirts and the manor house behind them spoke volumes to Banastre, these two women were high born. Husbands? Perhaps they were off fighting, but Banastre hoped not. He hoped fervently that these two were unattached, for he would be billeted only a few doors down and he found he was very desirous of their... Acquaintance. Especially that of the younger woman. He eyed her up then down, his eyes meeting hers as the distance between them grew smaller.

She brushed at her skirts nervously. Because of his attention, perhaps? His eyes were fixed on her, her certainly wasn't trying to hide it. He gave her a very warm smile and she blinked with surprise. He would pass them by soon, so he slowed his horse, wanting to prolong his observation of her. On the spur of the moment, he decided to stop entirely, and make his acquaintance know. He wished to make a good first impression on the young Lady, dismounted only a few yards from her and guided his horse over. Her eyes widened with astonishment but he merely smiled deeply, pulled his leather, fur crested helmet from his head and bowed deeply. She blushed crimson.

"Good afternoon," he said when he was near enough. The gate separated them, otherwise he would have reached for and kissed her hand. "Colonel Banastre Tarleton at your service."

He paused deliberately, allowing her time to take his cue and introduce herself.

"Ah... Beth..." she said nervously, eyes darting to the older woman, who gave a quick scowl. Her mother, perhaps? The woman did not look quite old enough, he thought. "I mean... Ah, Beth Martin." Again that scowl from the older woman. "Miss Elizabeth Martin." The girl finally finished.

He found her flustering to be quite charming and relished the knowledge that he was the cause of it.

"It is my supreme pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Martin," he said warmly. He turned his gaze to the older woman and saw her disapproving expression - not quite a scowl. She was clearly too well bred to scowl. He waited again, leaving her no choice but to introduce herself - to do otherwise would be impolite.

"Mrs. Selton," she said frostily.

Banastre felt a movement beside him and glanced over at Hanger, noting his friend's disappointment. The Major had had his eye on the woman, and to discover she was a married woman was a blow, a definite and disappointing blow.

"Do you need directions, Sir?" Mrs. Selton asked in that same tone, prompting him to state his business and move on. Banastre turned back to her and nodded, but it was the young woman to whom he addressed.

"Miss Martin, I wonder, could you please tell me where..." He held out the the scrap of parchment, hoping she would reach for it - perhaps their fingers would touch, perhaps -

Keeping her hands resolutely to her sides, Beth leaned forward to read the address. She glanced up at him with a perplexed frown.

"Ah, Sir - number eighteen is... That way," she said slowly as though addressing a simpleton. Well, perhaps she had every reason to believe him a dolt, if she thought he could not find his way along a simple, narrow street. She pointed in a northerly direction. "Six houses down."

"Thank you. Do you live here, Miss Martin?" Banastre asked and Beth paused, shooting a quick glance at the older woman. Of course. Banastre was being far too forward. He had been too forward from the moment he laid eyes on her, if the truth be told. He was making her uncomfortable. Still, there was something about her that made him reckless. "I merely ask because I wish to become acquainted with the..." a deliberate pause and a significant smile, "area and the local customs. Perhaps I can call on you sometime?"

"My niece does not live here," Charlotte stated firmly, understanding it was Beth he wished to be acquainted with, not the area or the customs.

"Ah. That is, disappointing," Banastre said, quite truthfully. "Well, perhaps you could guide me now, all the same?" He shook the parchment in his hand. "I would be honoured if you would walk with me." Reckless, forthright, and boorish. Then again, if you don't ask, you don't get.

Banastre did not 'get'; for Mrs. Selton placed her hands on Beth's shoulders and turned her away. "My niece is hardly an appropriate guide for you, Sir. Pray excuse us."

"Well, that went well," Banastre said as Mrs. Selton marched her niece away.

* * *

"Married!" Hanger bemoaned as they continued on down the street.

"And the other one doesn't live here!" Banastre was just as mournful.

"Ah, well, Charlestown will be much like the rest of the Colonies, I'm certain," Hanger continued, regaining his good cheer. "Filled with beautiful women."

"And far more willing than Mrs. Selton," Banastre feigned a shiver. "Lord, she was cold!"

"I would like to warm her," Hanger laughed. "And that other little filly, though it's her Aunt who held my attention."

"Are you blind? The younger was much the prettier," Banastre shot back.

"I guess beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder," Hanger said loftily. "I prefer maturity, myself."

The two debated which was the more beautiful of the two all the way to number eighteen, where they finally stopped.

"Home sweet home," Hanger said as he dismounted and gazed at the large manor house with longing.

"Indeed, shall we?" Banastre asked. He dismounted, tossed his reins to a waiting slave. He entered the house and without preamble took charge of the manor and its occupants.

* * *

May 14th, 1780:

"Why, exactly, are we paying the Tisdale's a call, Mage?" Charlotte asked her sister in law as they climbed into the carriage, Cilla and Beth behind them.

"Because they have Officers billeted in their home, Charlotte. Aren't you even remotely curious?" Mage slid over to make room for Cilla, then adjusted her skirts, settling them around her legs.

"Not particularly; we've already had our fill of those," Charlotte sniffed, sitting across from her, Beth at her side.

"Oh, do tell," Mage said, excited.

A changing of the Guard, Mary had said. That's what she hoped the surrender would be. And so far, it had. Bluecoats exchanged for Red, and so far the British were proving to be gentlemanly enough. Not toward everyone, of course. Some well known Patriots had been taken to prison, Mr. Edward Rutledge was one of those, brother to Governor John Rutledge, who Burwell had helped to spirit away. The British were being particularly brutal to the well known and active Patriots, just as the Patriots had been toward Loyalists, five years before. However, thus far, the British had been quite polite to the womenfolk of the city.

While dreadfully afraid when the surrender was first announced, Beth's fear had lessened with each interaction with British Officers. It was disconcerting, to see the Reds take over from the Blues, but so far, it hadn't proven the lethal, worrying thing Burwell had been afraid of.

Burwell. Beth closed her eyes as a wave of worry washed through her. Her uncle had instructed her to write Burwell a letter to dispel any ambiguity there might be over their engagement, a letter Beth's father would surely desire her to write.

So far, she hadn't.

"Two have taken up quarters just up the road from us," Charlotte said, drawing Beth from her thoughts. "Colonel Banastre Tarleton and Major George Hanger."

"Oh, they're the ones who attacked Moncks Corner!" Mage gasped. The story was well known by now, the attack having happened a month ago. Tarleton had attacked in wee hours of the morning, while the Patriot force there was sleeping. It had been a rout, it had lasted barely fifteen minutes. And it had opened the way to the city's surrender a month later.

"They don't seem that fierce," Beth said, frowning.

"They are gentlemen, supposedly," Charlotte sniffed. "They will show an entirely different side to themselves on the field of battle. Attacking at night, when the men are unsuspecting. And he gets accolades for it?" That sniff again. "Gentlemen, they call themselves. Yet they don't hesitate to call upon us, uninvited, as if we're friends of old rather than the complete strangers we are."

"Call upon you?" Mage gasped.

"Just last night, before dinner," Charlotte replied crisply. "I should have known, I should have had the gate closed, so they would not drop in on us."

"They likely would have anyway, they don't know our custom," Mage replied. "What did they say?"

"Oh, that Hanger, he gave me flowers and spoke of my beauty," Charlotte laughed despite herself. "The conversation was positively riveting," she said and Mage laughed.

"Nothing wrong with being told you're beautiful."

"Not by such an opportunist," Charlotte seemed to be giving Mage a significant look that Beth did not understand, but Mage must have, for she nodded and twisted her lips. Beth glanced at Cilla, who shrugged. She didn't know what the look meant either. "He must have learned I am a widow," Charlotte continued.

"Perhaps he is interested in courting you for marriage?" Cilla offered.

"Oh, he wishes to court me, however I can assure you, marriage is not on that man's mind," Charlotte said primly. "An opportunist. I hope I have given him enough discouragement."

"How so?" Mage asked.

"I was not quite rude, but nor was I far from it. I can't imagine he would return for more of that," Charlotte scoffed softly, but her flare of amusement was brief. "That Tarleton was far too attentive of Beth for my liking."

"Oh?" Mage shifted her gaze to Beth. The carriage had been moving for sometime now, they would be at the Tisdale's shortly. "Do tell, Beth."

"I don't know what Aunt Charlotte means. We all sat together in the parlour, chatting. As Aunt Charlotte said."

"Tarleton bought Beth flowers, too," Charlotte said, voice crisp. "He sat beside her on the chaise, he kept taking hold of her hand and kissing it. He described her beauty in so much detail, she could not have gained a clearer portrait of herself if she'd been looking in a mirror." - Mage laughed softly and Charlotte scowled. "He boasted of his prowess in battle in some ridiculous and desperate need to impress her. As I said, he was far too attentive. I do hope I have deterred them, but just in case, I believe we're going to have to be 'out' as often as possible over the next few days."

"Perhaps so," Mage laughed softly.

"Perhaps this Tarleton wishes to court Beth," Cilla said.

"Beth is engaged to Colonel Burwell," Charlotte said, huffing a breath.

Cilla met Beth's eyes and Beth looked away. Was she truly engaged? She hadn't sent that letter to Burwell yet.

"Besides, I doubt he has marriage on his mind any more than Hanger does. The two are nothing more than conquistadors, both on the battle and off. I, however, will not be one of their victories, and neither will Beth."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Cilla asked but her mother gripped her arm and pointed out the window, distracting her.

They had entered the Tisdale back yard from the carriage lane. Mage was pointing at a gentleman on horseback, Beth leaned around Charlotte to look. The Officer was wearing a redcoat with green lapels, he wore the leather helmet with the fluffy plume - a Dragoon helmet, Colonel Tarleton had one just like it. This Officer's black hair was tied back in a tidy queue, his eyes were a pale blue. He was quite handsome, though there was nothing particularly welcoming in his carriage. His pale blue eyes were narrowed and his full lips were tight. The expression he wore did not seem conducive to smiling. Where Tarleton's face was open and kind, this fellows certainly was not. But there was no doubt he was comely, however, even Charlotte was starting at him, as if unable to pull her eyes away. His features were finely sculpted, and his build strong, athletic. He glanced at them in the carriage, a quick darting of his eyes, then away again. He passed them by without a second glance.

"Well," Mage breathed, peeling her eyes away and meeting Charlotte's gaze. She giggled. "Well," she said again, as if unable to say aught else.

"Good God, I hope you're not going to get caught up in that scarlet fever nonsense," Charlotte said. "You're a married woman, Mage. To my brother, at that!"

Mage laughed. "Lord, Charlotte, even Mark doesn't mind when I look. He certainly does enough of that himself, and I don't begrudge him, either."

"Mamma!" Cilla gasped.

"What is scarlet fever?" Beth said. "I mean, I know what scarlet fever is, but you meant something else, I think."

"There are those poor, silly fools who fall all over themselves, sighing and fainting when a Redcoat happens by. Hence, scarlet fever," Charlotte replied. The carriage had stopped, the driver had climbed down and was opening the door. There was no more opportunity to discuss it further, for the women were climbing out. They were escorted through the side door, through the house, to the parlour. There waited the Tisdale's, sitting down with several British Officers. The women were shown in, Mage was wearing _quite_ a smile - her curiosity clearly getting the better of her.

The Tisdale's welcomed the ladies into parlour, told them how welcome they were and thanked them for their visit. All the while, Mary stood off to one side, staring hard at Beth as if desperate to speak to her. The introductions were made, Beth curtsied three times, once for Captain Bordon, then for Ensign Dalton, and lastly for Cornet Brownlow. They were invited to sit, and as Mary retreated to the far end of the room away from the Officers and the others, so too did Beth and Cilla.

"Is something amiss?" Beth asked Mary, keeping her voice low so the others could not hear. The three crowded together on the chaise and bent their heads together.

"Not truly," Mary said, though her voice was quite serious and there was not a hint of a smile. "I just don't like it, having them here. Has there been any talk of Officers being quartered at your place?" She asked both girls. Beth drew back, shocked by the very idea.

"None at all!" She gasped and Cilla also shook her head.

"I believe they are quartering the Officers with those who volunteer first. However, when they run out of volunteers…" Mary trailed off, a warning in her voice.

"They'll make us take soldiers in?" Cilla asked, her face fixed and stern.

"The Quartering Act," Mary shrugged. "It gives them every right to push us out of our own chambers, they could put an entire family in one room and take over the rest of the house for themselves."

"Is that what has happened here?" Cilla asked.

"No," Mary shook her head, some of her fire fading. "No, papa volunteered, so we're being treated respectfully. We all still have our own rooms. They've taken over the house completely, though. I can't walk into any of the rooms without bumping into a Redcoat."

"That is… unpleasant," Beth said. "We saw one leaving, he didn't look very friendly. I don't think he's ever smiled a single day in his life. I don't know that I'd want that one staying in my house."

"I wouldn't want any of them staying in my house," Cilla said.

"Black hair, blue eyes?" Mark asked and Beth nodded. "That's Colonel Tavington. I felt that way when I first met him, too. However, I found out over lunch today, that he can be friendly. Mamma seems to have drawn him out of what ever ill mood he was in, they get along fairly well. He told her…" she glanced toward the other group, where Charlotte was sitting tall and straight, her face cool and unwelcoming. Mage, by contrast, was all smiles and was chatting with the three Officers as though they were old and cherished friends. Mr. And Mrs. Tisdale were, also. "Tavington told Mamma that before the city surrendered, he had a skirmish with Colonel Burwell."

"What?" Beth gasped, and the other group fell silent, turning to glance at Beth. She blushed crimson, Charlotte gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, reproving Beth's outburst. "Sorry," she said, and pulled her gaze away. Whispering, she said, "he fought Colonel Burwell? When?"

"Demolished, more like," Mary said with disapproval. "And I believe it was the day before Burwell proposed to you, as near as I can tell. I'm a little conflicted about this one. He said he had Burwell's force surrounded, and he sent a messenger to Burwell to offer terms. Burwell would not accept, he said he would fight to his last extremity."

"See? I told you he was brave," Beth said, proud to her core.

"Except, he didn't, did he?" Mary asked, voice gentle but confused. "When it became clear that Tavington was going to win, he and some of his senior Officers fled into the swamps."

"They fled?" Beth breathed, stunned. "They just… left them?"

"Tavington took Burwell's men prisoner, those that weren't dead already."

"Oh," Beth stared at her hands in her lap, feeling as confused as Mary sounded.

"Well, I for one am glad they fled," Cilla said, though with uncertainty. "Gabriel would have been one of those Senior Officers, Beth. I wouldn't want either of them captured."

"Yes, no, I mean, nor would I. But…" _to his last extremity, but then he fled into the swamps?_ Beth pushed the thought away. How would she know what it's like to be caught in the thick of battle, when your options are thin and dire? She shrugged off the confusion as though it had been a cloak draped around her shoulders. "I suppose Tavington was boasting, was he? Tarleton doesn't stop boasting either."

"He didn't say it like he was boasting, though it's hard to tell with Tavington," Mary said. Just then, two of the Officers rose from their seats and came over.

"May we join you?" One of them asked. Brownlow, Beth remembered. The Officers did not look much older than the girls, Beth understood why they were forsaking the others for the company of Beth, Cilla and Mary.

"Of course," Mary gestured and the young men pulled two chairs over a little closer.

"I have to ask you," Ensign Dalton asked them, "how in the world do you handle this heat?"

"We carry these," Beth pulled a fan out of her pocket. Dalton laughed.

"I don't think we'll look very manly carrying those, but perhaps we can start a new trend? What say you, Brownlow?"

"Anything that gives some relief," Brownlow replied, pulling at the front of his Redcoat, as if he wished he could remove it. "I was not born for this sort of weather."

"None of us were," Beth said. "Most retire to their country homes, to escape the heat and the sickly season."

"Is that what you will do?" Dalton asked, the question was posed to all three of them, not just Beth.

"I think my father wishes to stay this year," Cilla replied. "For a little while longer in any case."

"For which I'm grateful," Mary said, "I don't want my friends to leave."

"I have to say, at first I thought the two of you were twins," Brownlow said to Cilla and Beth. "Or at the very least, sisters. But you have different names, are you related?" He took a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed sweat from his brow. When one of Mr. Tisdale's negroes offered a tray with glasses of cider, Brownlow took one happily. They all did.

"Miss Martin and Miss Putman are cousins," Mary said.

"That's your mother," Dalton said to Cilla, pointing at Mage.

"And the other is our aunt," Cilla replied. "My father and my aunt Charlotte - Mrs. Selton, were siblings to Miss Martin's mother, who passed away in childbed several years ago."

"I'm dreadfully sorry," Brownlow said to Beth, bowing in his seat. "I lost my mother a few years ago, also. I've never known pain like it."

"Nor have I," Beth said. "And thank you." Brownlow inclined his head.

"Passing in childbed, it's a terrible thing. I won't dwell on it, Miss Martin, but tell me, did the child survive?"

"She did, Cornet. Little Susan, she is six years old now."

"Well, that is a blessing," Brownlow said. "Does your father live in town then, will he retire for the sickly season?"

Beth grew quite still for a moment, stiffening beside Mary. Why would he ask about her father? He was an Assemblyman and as such, was he of interest to the British after all? But then she realised Brownlow's meaning. He assumed that as Beth was in the city, so too was her father. Cilla had said her family was staying, but Brownlow didn't know she was speaking for Beth, also.

Beth calmed, pushing away the panic - Brownlow was not interested in her father in that capacity.

"Oh, no, my father doesn't have a house in town. He lives on the Santee River with my brothers and sisters." _Don't mention Gabriel, for God's sake,_ she warned herself.

"You don't live with him?" He seemed startled.

"Not for the last two years," Beth replied. The Cornet was as easy to speak to as Tarleton, she found herself chatting away, telling him the same things she'd told Tarleton . "When my mother passed, my father found himself with eight children, and not much idea what to do with them - he especially did not know what to do with a fourteen year old daughter. I was raised alongside my brothers, I'm not certain if my father even remembered I was a girl," she laughed.

"Cousin," Cilla groaned.

"I'm exaggerating, of course," Beth said to Brownlow, who nodded. "But I was not getting the same education as Miss Putman and Miss Tisdale, for instance. That stopped when my mother…" she paused, a wave of grief washing over her. Brownlow was patient and kind, giving Beth time to compose herself. "My aunts," she began again, she nodded toward Mage and Charlotte, "had been trying to get my father to release me to them for years. I needed further instruction in etiquette, deportment. Dancing. Music. Art." Beth lowered her voice and whispered, "which forks to use at dinner."

Brownlow threw back his head and laughed. "Surely not, you are exaggerating."

"I am," Beth smiled. "But to hear them tell it," she nudged her chin toward her aunts, "it was very nearly close. So for two years, I've received instruction in everything I needed to prepare me to enter Society. I don't think my father ever imagined I would enter Society, tucked away as we are on the Santee. It took four years before he finally agreed," she laughed. "But he finally relented. Two years ago, I came to live here and the lessons my mother had begun all those years ago, started anew."

"You must have been an astute student, for I believe you to be a fine young lady," Brownlow complimented and Beth blushed.

"Well, you should tell that to Aunt Charlotte, she thinks I've got a ways to go yet."

"With comments like that, I can only agree," Cilla sniffed. "One lesson you haven't learned is that sometimes, your thoughts should be kept to yourself."

"Oh, as if you're any better!" Mary gasped, rounding on Cilla. "Miss Putman, at times, you are as blunt as an anvil! Your tongue can be sharper than a knife."

"When the need arises, perhaps," Cilla giggled.

"Remind me not to get on the wrong side of Miss Putman then," Ensign Dalton quipped. "So, you will not be returning home for the… sickly season, is it called?" He asked Beth.

"At this point, no. I'm not too certain when I will return home, neither of my Aunt's are reluctant to let me go. In fact, they are trying to get my father to send my younger sister here. Margaret is fourteen now, and they would like to get their claws into her earlier than they did me."

"Beth," Cilla groaned but Dalton and Brownlow laughed.

"They're hopeful that as my father finally let me come, he will let her come too," Beth finished.

"Father's don't like being without their daughters," Dalton said. "How large is your family?

"I have five brothers and two sisters," Beth said and Dalton whistled with surprise.

"Lord, eight of you. I hope your father built a large house," Brownlow chuckled.

"Not truly," Beth smiled. "It's only six rooms, most of my siblings have to share. It's certainly not as large as some of the great houses I could mention."

"Like Aunt Charlotte's," Cilla said. "Drakespar is huge, a proper double house, that one."

"Which is why I think she prefers to stay here in the city, since her husband passed," Beth said. "Drakespar is beautiful, but it's empty and lonely with no children there. She rarely stays there when she retires to Drakespar for the sickly season, she usually always ends up at Fresh Water with us."

"I suspect you're right," Cilla said. "It's beautiful but lonely…"

"Would you tell us what we can expect from the sickly season? I've much about it and I have to own, my concern is growing," Dalton said.

"It's when the Yellow Fever is at its worst, made so by the heat," Mary replied. "It's a horrid disease, deadly if one has a weakened constitution." They continued to talk about the sickness in some detail, with Brownlow and Dalton sharing concerned looks. At length, they moved onto more pleasant topics, with Brownlow and Dalton speaking of their families in England and their travels with the army. Beth was quite surprised to see Cilla open up to the Officers, for all her disdain regarding the British, she was quite friendly with these two. Not so Charlotte, who was still stiff and cool with Captain Bordon on the far side of the room. By contrast, Mage was all smiles, excited curiosity and unceasing questions, her warm interest more than making up for Charlotte's indifference.

At length, Bordon rose and the younger two Dragoons fell silent, glancing at their superior. He nodded to them both and gestured, and Dalton and Brownlow rose, making their apologies. This had everyone else rising also, each bidding the others farewell. Charlotte wore a look that said she was glad it was over, while Mage was letting Bordon kiss her fingers and smiling over his bowed head. The Officers withdrew to where ever it was they were going, and the ladies joined the Tisdale's for some more refreshments.

* * *

"I didn't learn all that much on this visit," Mage said to Mark. The two were seated outside on a seat beneath the shade of an oak tree, sipping whisky.

"No, I didn't expect that you would," Mark replied, taking hold of her hand. "That will come, when they begin to trust you. You'll visit again tomorrow, get to know them so they become comfortable with you."

"Better not take Charlotte then," Mage said. "She was quite cold to the Officers, she did not warm to them in the slightest. The younger two, Dalton and Brownlow, they were quite comfortable with Cilla and Beth, they were chatting together for quite sometime."

"I'll question Cilla in a moment to discover what they said. The younger Officers might have let quite a bit slip without even realising it. It was a mistake taking Charlotte, perhaps take only Beth and Cilla when you go over tomorrow."

"Are you going to tell Beth what you're doing?"

Mark pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Let's just keep it between you, Cilla and myself for now."

"Very well."

"That Bordon, was he amiable?" Mark smiled and stroked Mage's hair back from her forehead. He added suggestively, "biddable?"

"Malleable, you mean," Mage laughed. "I'm not certain yet. He is older than the other two. Wiser too, I suspect. I think he's seen a thing or two."

"It would be good to have the Captain in our pocket, Mage," Mark said, his fingers caressing her cheek. "They say he is from nobility. I have no doubt that he is in Clinton's inner circles."

"I will work on him, see if he will open up to me," Mage whispered, leaning in to her husband's touch.

"I'm certain he will prove no match for you. But be careful," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Gently, Mage. Softly. He may think you are offering more than you intend."

"If so, I will do what I have to, to keep him from becoming suspicious," Mage held Mark's gaze, his widened for a moment, but then he nodded in acceptance.

"Just don't enjoy it too much. And don't ask anything overt, listen for what he _doesn't_ say. Read between the lines. Listen for what the others say, then we'll piece it altogether ourselves."

"Sweet husband," Mage laughed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "You're not going to tell me how to suck eggs, are you?"

Mark chuckled, he kissed her nose. "Yes, I know, you know what you're about. Very well, I won't tell you how to do this. I'm having misgivings, Mage. Perhaps we shouldn't involve Cilla and Beth…"

"Try to keep Cilla out of it now, I dare you," she scoffed. "Besides, husband, those two Dragoons gravitated toward Cilla and Beth as iron is drawn to a magnet. The amount of information Cilla could garner from Brownlow and Dalton without the those British pups even knowing it… I can't split myself three ways, Mark. It's dangerous, yes. But if it comes down to it, if we are caught, you and I shall take the blame and accept our punishment, as is only right. We shall keep Cilla out of it and as yet, Beth doesn't even know. This can't hurt them."

"Alright," Mark nodded. "You're a hard woman, Mage."

"Only when you need me to be, my love."

Mark grinned and pulled Mage closer, he set her glass aside and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her soundly.

* * *

Captain Richard Bordon ducked into the dark interior of the smokey tavern, he stopped for a moment, letting his eyes adjust from the bright outside to the dim within. Brownlow and Dalton passed by him, searching for an empty table. Bordon, however, was searching for something else.

Some_one_ else.

While this was the first time Charlestown had seen British Redcoats on its streets for several years, it was not Bordon's first visit to the town. Nor was it his first stay there. He and Colonel William Tavington had spent some months here, before and during the siege. Spies, they had been then; they'd dressed as simple folk, from moccasins to buckskins to the frilled hunting shirt those from the Back Country favoured. They had sought out the Loyalists still living in the township, those who had been unable to flee when the Patriots took over the city five years before. Mr. Ingles, who owned The Mighty George, a Loyalist through and through, though he claimed to the rebels that his inn was named for George Washington, not His Majesty King George. He had given considerable assistance to Richard and William, giving them rooms above, and alerting them when a rebel of importance was in the common room. William and Richard had been able to listen in on many an interesting conversation, right there in the common room of the Mighty George. He'd helped in other ways as well, putting them in contact with other Loyalists, helping Richard and William to establish a network of eyes and ears within the city, helping them learn of rebel troop movement and other important information that all played a part in the cities fall.

For two months, Richard had stayed at The Mighty George, and he found he missed it profoundly. Or rather, he missed _her_, Mr. Ingles pretty barmaid, Miss Harmony Jutland. She was accustomed to seeing him in those filthy old buckskins and hunting shirts, she'd helped him undress from those many a night.

Now he was returned as himself, he looked forward to seeing the look on her face when she saw him as he was meant to be, crisp and sure in his Dragoon uniform. His eyes had adjusted, he peered into the throng - the tavern was always busy at this time of the day - but he could not see her and he wondered for a moment if perhaps she was not working today. She lived in a room above a cobblers, but she never allowed him to visit her there. Would he have to wait, then? Gods above, he'd waited long enough. Weeks, it'd been, since he'd been recalled to the British lines. Weeks of traipsing through swamps and fighting rebels, of barely sleeping, and certainly not with a woman in his arms. He was bathed, had slept soundly, had spent the morning in council and now, finally, he was here.

Only, she was not.

Damn and blasted. The disappointed was as keen as a knife to the guts. Until… A woman's musical laughter rang out above the throng and Bordon felt such a wave of relief. He finally saw her round one of the tables and come into view and he drank in the sight of her. As tall as he, with a figure so very fine. Her long blonde hair was loosely coiffured beneath a mob cap. Her blue eyes danced above the ever present smile, he couldn't remember ever seeing those full lips do anything but smile, she always looked amused as if mulling over some quip no one else could hear. Except when she was in his bed, when he bought her to pleasure, then those full lips would fall open wide as she gasped and flailed in his arms.

She swayed through the throng to the bar, her eyes flicked his way as she set some cups down. Then she paused, as if frozen, and turned slowly back to him. He smiled as her smile slipped to incredulity, she covered her mouth with her hands and even though he could not hear it over the general din, he knew she had gasped. Then her face lit up with joy and she rushed toward him, her long legs carrying her quickly around the gentlemen standing at the bar. And just like that, she was in his arms, making Richard feel warm all over. He lifted her up off her feet, hoisting in her into the air, both laughing. He felt her warm lips kissing his cheek and he turned his head so it would be his lips hers landed on instead. She sighed into his mouth, gave a little groan of bliss. Feeling much the same himself, he set her back on her feet and gazed at her.

"You weren't wrong," she said, voice breathy. "You do look dashing in this," her hands moved over the front of his Green Dragoon jacket.

"I most certainly do," he laughed. "Did you doubt it?"

"Gods, no," she whispered, laying one hand along his cheek, she kissed him again. "In rags or in uniform, you're the comeliest man I've known."

"I'm pleased to be out of the rags," he admitted. "Pleased to be myself again. Pleased to have you see me as myself again. I can't help thinking though…"

"Hmm?" She whispered, eyes dancing.

"I'd be even more pleased to have you take it all off," he said and she threw her head back and laughed.

"Yours or mine?" She asked, eyebrows lifting.

"Both, my sweet Harmony. Both."

"Well, Mr. Ingles has kept your old room empty… shall we?"

"Gods, yes," he seized her arm and she laughed as he began guiding her, quickly, for the stairs.

* * *

Hot and sticky, Banastre decided, was the best way to describe May in South Carolina. It was already quite unpleasant, yet he'd been told July was even worse. Banastre sighed as he trotted quickly down the steps leading down from the Assembly Hall.

"And why so great a sigh, Banastre?" William Tavington asked at his side. They made through the mass of people to their horses, where they were tied off at a hitching post.

"This heat is foul, already, William. How much worse will July be?"

"Uncomfortable, to say the least," William replied. They reached their mounts, took up the reins, and mounted.

"I prefer a summer campaign to a winter one," Banastre said as he began guiding his horse along the sand road. "But this is going to be ridiculous. I don't think I could stand it, if we're forced to fight the rebels in those damned swamps."

"I could not agree more. Just think of the rewards, my friend. A little discomfort now, for the accolades to come. Just a few more months and our futures are all but assured."

"Months. That's what they said when I first joined and that was five years ago. Five years, William!"

"I know," William heaved a sigh of his own. "Be not so despondent, Ban, just think of the benefits, Ban. Summer in Charlestown means balls, late nights gambling. Women... The opportunities are endless..."

"The women…" Banastre did smile then. "There are plenty of those to divert me."

"Well, there you are! How are your quarters?"

"Very fine, very fine. An elderly couple, however, with their pretty daughters all married and moved away."

"Well, that's a disappointment."

"I'm not complaining. There is a fine widow down the street that Major Hanger has taken a very strong liking to. And her niece is even finer."

"Ah, yes, Miss Martin isn't it? The lass you spoke of earlier?"

"Yes. Though her aunt is less than pleased that Major Hanger and I have been calling on them, I believe Mrs. Selton might try to keep Miss Martin under lock and key."

William began to laugh. "Now I understand your infatuation. 'The heart always wants more what the heart can not have'. And you've always enjoyed the challenge."

"As if you don't. Do you have any more quotes for me?" Banastre asked. "'Absence makes the heart grow fonder', perhaps?"

"'No fool like an old fool'?" William quipped.

"Who are you calling old?" Banastre snorted. "You have two years on me."

"And therefore you should listen to your elders," William laughed. "There are plenty of young lovelies in the Colonies, Ban. Plenty of them wear silk skirts. Plenty of them have golden hair and eyes like a..." Tavington paused as though searching his memory. "Did you say, _doe_?"

"And here it is, the plaguing," Banastre groaned as if the world were ending. He and William always ribbed one another, neither meant anything ill by it. Banastre was wishing he'd never spoke of Miss Martin to William now, however. If Mrs. Selton had her way, he might never be allowed to see Miss Martin. He had spoken quite fondly of Miss Martin to the other Officers - including to William - and now they would be expecting him to embark on a seduction. He was quite up to the challenge, but if he failed… William would never let him hear the end of it. He should have kept his mouth well and truly shut - would he never learn? "I had hoped the sweet Lord would send me my good friend, instead the Devil has sent me... You."

William laughed again.

"And how are your quarters, William?" Banastre asked, to take the subject away from himself and Miss Martin. "Bordon made a curious comment this morning - something about the lady of the house being quite a beauty?"

"She is that. Hot to trot, too. Only one night I've been under her husband's roof and she's already made it quite clear which chamber she'd rather I sleep in."

"Oho, like that is it?" Banastre laughed.

"My ability to read a woman's desire is as keen as yours, Banastre. Unless I am very much mistaken - and I doubt that I am - I will be bedding Mrs. Tisdale tonight, if it is my desire to do so."

"Is it?"

William laughed softly. "You would not need to ask me that if you saw her. Would you like to meet her?"

"And risk that I will steal her from you, as I did Mrs. Pickering?" Banastre quipped and William scowled. "Do you remember?"

"How could I forget? How you managed to seduce her, right out from under me! I will never understand."

"The best fifty pounds I've ever won," Banastre chuckled, filled with pride. "Which made it all the sweeter."

"Bastard," William said without heat.

"Me? I am quite legitimate, I assure you. Have I ever told you how sweet her quim was, William?"

"Many times, just as you told me in great detail, what you spent my fifty pounds on. Many times."

"I wonder, do you think I could seduce Mrs. Tisdale from under you, as I did Mrs. Pickering? We could put fifty pounds on her."

"I told you, Banastre, she's hot to trot. You could fuck her as easily as I could, she's hardly a challenge and certainly not worth fifty pounds. You wouldn't be stealing her so much as sharing her."

"Hmm, I've never baulked at that, shall we go there now?" Banastre asked and William shrugged.

"Why not?"

They kicked their horses flanks and began trotting, William showing the way through the streets to the Tisdale house. As he rode, William thoughts were on Banastre and this Miss Martin. Banastre always coveted what he could not have - unique pistols. Ornately hilted sabres. The fastest, most athletic horse. If the owners of which would not sell or if he could not win them through gambling, it only made him _want_ the more. Women were no exception to the rule. It was only natural, William conceded, he was the same. All men were, he suspected. Especially when the woman was the prize. He wondered what he would do, if he were in Banastre's shoes. To desire the girl, only to have her aunt lock her away where he could not reach her. What would he do?

Everything within his power to side step the aunt, to get to the girl. It would make the challenge sweeter, placing her under lock and key would just be like waving a red flag before the bull. A foolish thing for her aunt to do, if she wanted to keep Banastre away from the lass.

"So... The Butcher," Banastre quipped. He eyed William up and down, then said finally, "it suits you."

"Yes, these Carolinians are quite inventive, though I admit I had not expected the name to stick so quickly." He had earned it several days before, when Colonel Burwell witnessed him devastate Rogers' unit before going on to devastate Burwell's. As if the rebels expected him to coddle them, Burwell had announced that the bloodshed had been excessive, a butchery. Hence Tavington's new appellation, 'The Butcher'.

Banastre laughed. "Well, I know how jealous you've been of me and how desirous you were for these Colonialist to give you your own pet name."

"Oh, I have, I have," William smirked. "I've dreamed of an epithet to match yours. Bloody Ban."

"Thus are we loved by these Colonialists, our brethren," Banastre quipped.

"I think you should be pleased - Bloody Ban certainly suits you!"

"Because of my red hair? It's auburn, not quite the color of blood," Banastre replied aloofly. His red hair was far from the reason behind being coined 'Bloody Ban'. The Patriots amongst the Colonialists often accused him of ignoring men who called for quarter, battling until the last man was down even if the man was calling for surrender. Tavington had developed the same reputation, to be sure. There was nothing Banastre could do to stop the moniker, and if it helped to make his reputation more fierce, if it helped to inspire fear amongst the populace, that was certainly to his advantage.

If they feared him, perhaps they would not defy him.

The two men fell silent as their horses carried them along the streets. Many Colonials stopped to watch them pass by, they each cut a fine figure. Tarleton in his short Green coat with gold buttons, snug fitting tan buckskin breeches. Tavington in his Redcoat with green trim, snug fitting black buckskin breeches. Their black leather boots where shined until they gleamed and their sabres looked deadly at their sides.

"It is pretty, isn't it? A lovely town." Banastre gazed at the houses - they'd left the bustling market district, it was mostly residential homes here with a few businesses on the corners.

"It certainly is. I will show you a few of my favourite places, after I've introduced you to Mrs. Tisdale," a small smirk tugged at William's lips.

"You're so certain of her," Banastre laughed. "Do you truly have her in your pocket?"

"We're here," William said, guiding them into the Tisdale's yard. "You can tell me if you disagree."

"Very well."

To the right of them were several outhouses, two negroes were coming forward from one of them, to take the horses. To the left was a pleasure garden, with several large oaks offering plenty of shade for one to sit and enjoy the see breeze. Beneath one of those were a group of youngsters sitting in a rough circle lounging in the shade on several blankets. He stopped suddenly when one of the group who had been reclining sat up and raised her arms over her head in a languid stretch. A beautiful woman with liquid brown eyes and blonde hair, wearing a white hat with a brown ribbon.

"Miss Martin!" Banastre gasped, then smiled warmly. "And no Mrs. Selton in sight!"

"Where?" Tavington asked, then he saw the group camped within the trees. There was one young man, Mr. Ferguson who was courting Miss Tisdale, he believed. She was sitting at his side. There were several more young ladies and William guessed quickly which was Miss Martin, for his friend had described the young Lady in minute detail. "Ah, I see. And yes, quite the beauty."

"Indeed. And as I said, no sign of her damned aunt. Shall we?"

"Don't you want to meet Mrs. Tisdale?" Tavington asked, a little put out. He was certain Banastre would be attracted to the woman as he was, but despite his earlier flippant remarks, he did not believe Mrs. Tisdale would be the sort to fall for Banastre's charms as Mrs. Pickering had. He'd been looking forward to watching Banastre try, only to be rebuffed by the woman, only to bed her himself in turn. A small vengeance on him for stealing Mrs. Pickering. Now, however, Banastre had lost interest entirely in favour for Miss Martin.

"Later," Banastre replied over his shoulder. "First, I shall introduce you to my lovely Miss Martin."

William gave Banastre's back a speculative frown - his friend was already striding toward the group under the trees, an intend look on his face. Banastre throwing Mrs. Pickering up in his face just now had stung more than he cared to admit; losing the woman to Banastre had been a nasty, painful little defeat, though he'd never admitted just how much it stung - not to Banastre.

William's eyes fixed on Miss Martin who, he saw for himself, was every bit as beautiful as Banastre described. As he drew closer, a plan began to form in his mind, one that might lessen the injury of losing Mrs. Pickering to Banastre. Oh, Banastre losing Miss Martin to William would sting Banastre deeply. And if William secured her, Banastre would never dare rib him about Mrs. Pickering again.

Besides, why contend over old, used whores like Mrs. Pickering and Mrs. Tisdale, when the victor might have a virgin as his prize?

* * *

Beth reclined on the blanket with three of her closest friends, Mary Tisdale, Colin Ferguson and Rebecca Middleton. Aunt Mage and Aunt Charlotte had left a short while earlier. Cilla, who had a friend coming to call, had gone with them. Beth, however, had stayed and she was well pleased that she did, for Rebecca had come to call, and then so too had Colin. She wished Cilla had been able to stay, for the four of them decided to have a picnic in the Tisdale pleasure garden, Cilla was missing out on what was shaping up to be a very fine afternoon indeed. Mary had sent one of her families negroes off with a message to Sarah Wilkins, the last of the small group, to come and join them if she were free.

For now, it was just the four of them.

"Do you find that you miss him?" Rebecca asked as she fanned herself. The heat was growing more oppressive by the day - they were in for a stifling Summer. "Colonel Burwell?"

Beth's breath caught, she cast panicked eyes on Mary and Colin, who both adopted dead pan expressions. Beth was engaged to Burwell now, or so her family said, but it was a secret thing, no one outside the family was to know. Mary and Colin were as good as family, but no one else was to be told. The more that knew a secret, the more chance the secret had of getting out. And that was not something she wanted anyone to know. Not only for the potential danger it posed her, but because if everyone knew…

Well, then it would be real, wouldn't it? She'd be well and truly engaged then.

As her arm was getting tired supporting her, Beth sat up and stretched, stifling a yawn. She rested with her back to the broad tree. The gentle wind stirred the branches, the leaves rustled and sighed above her. The birds whistling over their heads added to the peace and tranquility. She deliberated how to answer Rebecca. Deny any attachment to Burwell, pretend their courtship had come to an end?

No. It was one thing keeping secrets from her friend, she would not lie to her, as well.

"I miss them all," she replied truthfully. "Colonel Burwell. My brother. The Continentals… it's so different now, it doesn't feel the same here anymore."

"Yes, it's passing strange," Rebecca agreed. "The Continentals leave and Redcoats move in..."

"And life goes on," Colin thought of the damaged buildings, scaffolding was already being erected and men were working hard with the reparations. "At least they aren't preventing us from repairing the buildings and the other damage."

The dull thuds of their hammering seemed far away and did not break the peace of the day.

"I can't help but think of the people that have been jailed though, Edward Rutledge!" Mary was wide eyed and held her hand to her throat. "A relation of yours Becky, in jail!"

"I know, it is horrible. My Aunt Henrietta is beside herself with worry. I feel horrible for my little cousins. Though only Henry is old enough to have some small understanding of where his father is, he just turned five you know. Little Edward is only two but he keeps asking for 'Papa'. It is heartbreaking. She plans to leave with them, she is going to retire to her plantation. I hope they let her go. I have to admit, I keep worrying that they will arrest us and we'll end up in jail also for the crime of being a Middleton! But father seems to get along with Clinton - Papa has always been the odd one out of the family, the only Loyalist... I think we'll be alright."

"I worry too, Colonel Burwell was in such a state the last day I saw him, if he could be so alarmed over the Redcoats attempting to take me captive if they found out he courted me, then I should be terrified!" _And if they knew we were engaged… _Beth shuddered.

"He is usually such a calm force even under great strain," Colin agreed. "Don't worry, Beth, your uncle will protect you. Though in truth, I do believe that it might be prudent for you to return home," Colin Ferguson was an old friend of Beth's, having grown up on a neighbouring farm on the Santee.

"My uncle wants me to stay here, he and Aunt Charlotte both say it's too dangerous on the roads. I can't help but be fearful, however. I feel like it is all going to come out and I'll be arrested, taken hostage on the spot."

"Its not as bad as all that, Beth," Colin barked a laugh. "I doubt they'd arrest you, they don't have the grounds for it now, do they?"

"They arrested my Aunt's husband quickly enough!" Rebecca's eyes opened wide with the injustice of it all.

"Becky, dearest, he is a _Rutledge_. He is a Patriot and one of the signatories for the Declaration of Independence," Mary said gently. "That makes all the difference"

"Yeh, Beth is hardly as important as all that," Colin quipped.

"I am so important!" Beth laughed. "Perhaps I would not fear it so much if Aunt Charlotte was clearly not so worried. But…" She paused with a shrug. "Uncle Mark says all will be well, so… Aunt Charlotte is praying that Major Hanger and Colonel Tarleton don't return - and as likeable as they both are, I'd rather they did not either. I'm so frightened I'll let something slip!"

"Oh, Banastre Tarleton," Rebecca said dreamily. "He was pointed out to me this morning, though I've not met him yet. He is so handsome."

"Hmm, I suppose he is," Beth shrugged.

"What do you think Mary?" Colin quipped. "Are your dreams filled with Banastre Tarleton?"

"No, you goose," Mary laughed. "I've yet to meet the fellow myself."

"Tell us about Colonel Tavington - did you know they're calling him the Butcher?" Rebecca whispered. "He is billeted in your home now, isn't he?"

"He is. He has thawed a little since he arrived yesterday but I still find him quite frightening. I think I'd prefer Tarleton, he sounds charming."

"He sounds like a flirt," Colin scoffed. Beth had told them, in detail, of her encounters with the British Officer.

"Oh, my dear Lord!" Beth suddenly hissed. "Speak of the Devil and the Devil will appear!"

Her brown eyes where wide as she watched the men approach.

"Beth, it is fine." Colin noticed her discomfort "Ladies, do not mention Burwell. Or Gabriel, for that matter."

_It's hard to imagine him taking me hostage._.. She thought as Tarleton, and another - taller - Officer drew nearer. Tavington, Beth realised, the fellow she'd seen leaving the Tisdale's a few hours earlier. He was cold and hard, Mary had said. Frightening, she'd said. Gods. _You're merely allowing Aunt Charlotte's nerves to infect you,_ Beth admonished herself. _Uncle Mark insists all will be well, so get a hold of yourself!_

* * *

With his loss of Mrs. Pickering weighing on his mind, William studied Banastre's woman as he approached. Banastre swept his helmet from his head and offered the group a flourishing bow. He addressed Beth directly - the only youth that was known to him in the group. "Miss Martin, what a pleasure! I had meant to visit you at Mrs. Selton's presently - what a surprise to see you here."

"Good afternoon, Sir," Beth replied nervously. Should she ask him to sit? She didn't truly want to, but he seemed to be waiting for an invitation. Then again, surely it was Mary's place to do so? It was her house, after all. Beth saw the conflict cross her friends face, she was taking too long to make the offer that the strict strictures of polite society demanded. Banastre seemed to waiting, and as Mary was keeping her mouth shut, Beth asked courteously, "would you and your friend care to join us, Sir?"

"Well, we would not want to impose," he smiled charmingly at the other youths.

"Not at all, Sir," Colin said.

"Miss Tisdale, it is a lovely day for it, I must say."

"That it is, Sir," the woman replied with her eyes lowered.

"Will you join us then?" Beth asked. Banastre tilted his head as he regarded her.

"If you insist," his smiled broadly. "I can think of no where else I would rather be."

She watched him as he and the other Officer - Tavington - made directly for her. There was plenty of room to sit on the blankets, space enough for three people to sit between Mary and Rebecca. Yet both men strode past the gap and took up position on either side of her. She saw Banastre's face when Tavington began to settle in beside her, Banastre's smile slipped to astonishment, then his lips twisted in fury. It happened so fast, she wondered if she imagined it. Like a flash, his smile was in place again. Both men took up a position on either side of Beth, making her feel crowded. The empty space on either side of Rebecca and on the other side of Mary made it feel more so. The Officers seemed unconcerned that they had cornered her as they stretched their legs beside her.


	3. Chapter 3 - Discoveries

Chapter 3: Discoveries:

"You have not introduced your friend, Sir," Beth eyed the Officer sitting so close to her left side. Two years of being caught etiquette and decorum had not prepared her for a situation like this. She felt like getting up and moving to sit with Rebecca, but that would be rude. But wasn't it rude that the two of them were sitting so close that their arms brushed hers on either side? Mary was not sitting so close to Colin, and they were in love, almost engaged. She had never sat so close to Burwell, not until yesterday, and that was after two years of courtship. Were the Officers being rude? They were gentlemen, were they not? If Aunt Charlotte were here, she would know what to do. She looked at Colin, Mary and Rebecca for guidance, but all three of them were silent.

"Colonel William Tavington, at your service," William drawled, taking hold of her hand and kissing the back of her gloved fingers.

The Butcher. The man who'd surrounded Burwell's force and devastated it so completely that Burwell had been forced to renege on his word and had fled from the battle through the swamps, Gabriel hot on his heels. Gods, it could have gone so wrong. Gabriel might have died. How many had been killed? And Burwell just abandoned them. No, she chastised herself, she must not think like that. He'd had no choice, this man sitting beside her had given him no choice.

Only, he had. Lay down your arms and surrender, he'd cautioned Burwell. Colonel Burwell had chosen to fight to the last extremity, but by Gods, why had Colonel Tavington forced the issue in the first place? The man had done his level best to take Colonel Burwell hostage.

"It... The... The pleasure is mine," Beth said faintly. She swallowed and turned her gaze to Colin and Mary, hoping they would fill in the void and give her time to recover.

Colin, who knew Beth as well as he knew his own sister, stepped in cleanly, providing the remaining introductions.

"Colin Ferguson, Sir," he said to both Officers. He addressed Tarleton. "And this is Miss Mary Tisdale - who Lieutenant Colonel Tavington is billeted with. I don't believe either of you have met Miss Rebecca Middleton?"

"Ah, Miss Middleton!" Banastre gave her a small, seated bow. "I've heard much about you, I met your father today, he spoke of you quite fondly."

"Of course, I had quite forgotten that papa was going to the Exchange today," Rebecca replied. "He is mightily pleased to have the British in Charlestown finally - I do not believe we shall see much of him anymore. I'm certain he will become one of Sir Clinton's Aides soon."

"I believe he already is," Banastre replied. "And I have no doubt that he shall be indispensable. He wants your brothers - twins, aren't they? To join the cavalry."

"Oh, yes, Marcus and Michael. And they would make fine cavalrymen, I think," Rebecca smiled proudly.

"I hope you bought your appetite with you, Sirs," Colin said, pulling the basket closer and opening it. "We have plenty to share," he glanced at the girls with teasing eyes. "You know, the two of you came in the knick of time - I was about to drown in talk of dresses and ribbons."

_He is trying to keep the mood light, _Beth thought. _I had better try to do the same._

"Ah, yes, dresses and ribbons," Banastre adjusted his sabre at this waist in order to sit more comfortably. He had Beth to one side and Rebecca was a little further away to the other. Looking over Beth's head, he caught William's gaze. The other Officer was staring hard at Beth, as if he might devour her on the spot. Stupid fool, he never did learn. Did he not realise that this was the reason he'd lost Mrs. Pickering to Tarleton? Always brooding, was William. Always far too intense. No wonder Miss Martin had become so quiet. She was staring at her hands and seemed almost fearful. No, Tavington would never learn. But he was going to try, he would try to make an attempt on Miss Martin, because he knew Banastre wanted her. Damn and blast the man. Banastre continued, "the Simms family are to host a ball in a few weeks, I imagine most young women will be speaking of aught else. Will you be attending, Miss Martin? The public dance and the Sims ball?"

Beth raised her head and nodded with a weak smile. Both men were close enough to brush her knees with theirs. She tried to make herself smaller, feeling oppressed and hemmed in by Burwell's enemies. She could feel their eyes on her, making her feel even more nervous.

_Get a hold of yourself. You might make them suspicious of you! Smile and do as Colin said, act normal..._

"We shall all be going, Sir," Colin said. "What of you, Colonel Tavington?"

"Yes, it will be a nice diversion from the war, my Officers are looking forward to it." William began pulling his gloves off, one finger at a time. He placed them on the grass beside him before reclining back on one elbow, bringing him even closer to Beth.

"Mine are also," Banastre agreed, his eyes settled on Beth again.

"There is a public dance coming up as well," Colin said. "Did you know about that one, Sir?"

"No, I did not," Tavington said.

"What a cheerfully delightful place Charlestown is, I believe I am going to enjoy my stay here," Tarleton added.

In an effort to break away from them without being too rude about it, Beth leaned forward and began unpacking the fully laden picnic hamper. The men continued to speak, she let the conversation wash over her as she fought to settle her nerves. There were fresh corncake and pastries, fruit, cheeses and crackers, small delicate cakes and scones.

By the time she began handing the plates around, she had recovered much of her equilibrium.

"Ah, yes, American Horses. An exceptional breed, we managed to capture quite a few of them when we raided Moncks Corner." Tarleton was saying.

"Have you thought about joining the Dragoons, Mr. Ferguson? You seem to know your horses," Tavington said.

Beth froze, stunned.

"I, ah..." Colin shot an uncomfortable glance at Mary. "Yes, actually, Sir. I've thought about it."

"Colin!" Mary was horrified. "You've not mentioned this to me."

"Well, I have not decided yet."

"How can you even consider it?" Beth asked, finally finding her voice. "You're…" She trailed off at the look he blasted her with. A Patriot, she'd been about to say. She shot him a hard glare in turn. Why in the world would a Patriot wish to join the British Dragoons? Colin was turning back to Mary.

"Mary, darling. I was going to speak to you about it, but... as I said I have not decided anything yet, don't worry."

"Nothing is decided... That is small comfort, Colin!"

Beth and Colin exchanged another glance as Mary stared at her hands, clearly shaken over the news her beau might be joining the war. Beth, still wondering why Colin would even think of choosing the British side, tried to think of a way to turn the conversation. But everything seemed like forbidden territory now with the two British Officers sitting with them.

"We could use a good man like you, Ferguson," Tavington said. "I have quite a few Loyalists, most of my Green Dragoons are Colonials. We are always looking to enlist more. How well do you handle a rifle?"

Mary seemed ready to weep which enraged Beth. She felt the Officer was being incredibly insensitive toward her friend.

"And here I thought we were on a picnic," she declared, voice hot as she shot a glare at Tavington. "If you are done _recruiting_, Sir," she shoved a plate at him and Tavington sat up quickly to avoid having the pie on the plate dumped in his lap. "The Tisdale's cook is a wonder when it comes to making these little pies."

"Thank you, Miss Martin," he sounded quite bewildered. Still, never let an opportunity pass you by. As he took the plate, he deliberately touched her fingers with his, a lingering soft touch. He held her gaze with a warm smile, and was quite gratified to see her blush.

"Colin is absolutely useless when it comes to firing pistols or rifles, Sir, either one," she said, her voice far less annoyed than it had been a moment earlier. She'd seen Tavington earlier in the day, though he knew it not. She'd thought it then and it came back to her now all in a rush that Gods, he was comely. It was hard not to stare. Those eyes... Such a pale blue. She swallowed and tried pulled her eyes away from Tavington's gaze.

"Beth!" Colin fired up in protest. It was not true, what she had said, not one little bit. And Beth damned well knew it!

"He would not make a decent Dragoon, not at all," she continued in a stronger voice. "I do not think you should try and take him into your ranks."

"How can you say that! Have you forgotten that summer - how old were we, fourteen? I killed more rabbits than you!"

"Rot. You didn't kill half as many as me and I was using a sling shot and stones. No, you simply would not make a decent soldier, do not try."

Mary finally lifted her head and smiled brightly. "That's right! Colin, listen to Beth, she has known you longer than any of us..."

"I suspect your women do not wish to lose you, Mr. Ferguson." Tavington murmured with a slight smirk.

"Oh, I see..." Colin blew out a sharp breath as he realised finally what Beth had been about. "Nice try, Beth. But no, you will not discredit me. You know fully well that all I have to do is fire off a shot or two and these Officers here will know my worth."

"Discredit you?" Beth raised her eyebrows and smiled innocently. "I would never."

"You felled rabbits with a sling shot?" Banastre asked before taking a small bite of a sandwich. "Good Lord, the women of this country never cease to amaze me."

"Only Beth, Sir. I do not know of any other girls along the Santee that grew up as wild as you, Beth," Colin said. He was smirking - this was his revenge.

"I can't be blamed for that! It was your fault, you and my brothers dragging me with you whenever you went out hunting."

"Dragged you," Colin scoffed. "Listen to yourself, would you? You just don't want anyone to know how wild you were before your father finally allowed your aunties to smooth all your edges."

"Oh, hush, I was not so bad as that," Beth giggled, un-offended - it was true enough. She cocked her head and, to get a measure of her own revenge, she asked, "do you remember when that raccoon burst out of the bushes? You nearly dirtied your breeches."

Rebecca's giggle was high with astonishment at Beth's lack of propriety.

Colin shot back with, "do you remember when we came across Peter Cuppin, swimming in the creek in his skin and I had to drag you away because you were hoping you'd get to see his -"

"Colin Ferguson!" Beth shrilled. "That is not true!"

Colin clutched at his stomach as he laughed. On either side of her, Tavington and Tarleton chuckled, amused and mortified at once.

"How about a nice glass of cordial?" Beth offered up quickly, blushing crimson. "And if you continue to tell the tale with that sort of embellishment, Colin my dear, I will tip the jug over your head."

"Very ladylike. Your Aunts have worked wonders on you, I see." Colin's eyes where bright with amusement.

"Colin, you go too far," Mary admonished, absolutely no humour in her voice. She folding her arms across her chest. "That was a terrible thing to suggest. It seems that you could use the benefit of Mrs. Putman and Mrs. Selton's teaching, yourself!"

"Mary, I didn't mean anything by it," Colin said, his laughter fading. "She was teasing me about not being able to shoot!"

"And so you bring her very virtue into question?" Mary asked pointedly, almost snapping. And Mary _never_ snapped.

"I… I didn't mean too," Colin's face blazed crimson. "It was a joke - Beth, you knew it was a joke, didn't you?"

"Yes, Colin," Beth eyed Mary thoughtfully. "But I think we need to remember, we're not on the Santee now… Perhaps it was inappropriate. I shouldn't have said that about the racoon, either."

"Perhaps? It certainly was," Mary said and Rebecca - though she had laughed - was nodding. She'd been mortified to hear such a thing.

"No one is questioning Miss Martin's virtue," Banastre chimed in, trying to calm the situation. "I understood it to be a joke myself. I think it's a pity that you would not allow Mr. Ferguson to continue the rest of that tale, Miss Martin. I would like to know exactly what you did when you saw the boy in the creek," Banastre teased and William chuckled again on Beth's other side.

"Nothing! I did nothing. Colin is prone to exaggeration, it is a failure of his - one of his many. A gentleman, Sir, would help me turn the subject, right about now."

"A gentleman shall, Miss Martin," William held his glass as Beth poured him some of the berry cordial. "Rifles."

"Oh, no... Not back to recruiting..." Beth rolled her eyes. She found her nerves easing somewhat, in part to Colin's teasing. Though perhaps he should not have said what he said, though she wondered if Mary was exaggerating, surely her virtue would not be bought into question over something they had done when they were fourteen?

"No, not back to recruiting. I was merely wondering if you can fire one? You went hunting with Mr. Ferguson and your brothers, and apparently you are quite proficient with a sling shot. One wonders if you are as proficient with a rifle." William's eyes were bright as he watched her reaction. Firing rifles was a very unladylike pursuit and was only encouraged among women in the Back Country, who had need to protect themselves from brigands and Indians. Beth was supposed to be a genteel lass from one of the more prominent families. She knew damned well that none of her friends could fire off a rifle.

"Ah..." Beth glanced at Rebecca, feeling uncertain. "A lady would say no, wouldn't she?"

"Hmm hmmm," her friend affirmed.

"Then no, Sir," Beth said, clearly lying. "I have no idea how to fire a rifle."

"Something tells me not to believe you," William reclined again and idly toyed with the brown ribbon on Beth's hat, which now lay on the grass near his hand. "What of you Miss Middleton? Miss Tisdale?"

"Certainly not!" Both women replied in unison.

"No, Sir," Rebecca continued. "I've not been hunting a day in my life."

"I'd like to see how you would survive in the woods, were you stranded without a man to protect you. Beth would be fine, even with the last two years of living in Charlestown making her soft."

"Colin, you don't learn, do you?" Mary sighed.

"Mr. Ferguson," Rebecca spoke at the same time. "I assure you I do not intend to become stranded in the woods," she arched her eyebrows at Colin. "I intend to stay right here in Charlestown and attend balls and shop for lovely material for pretty dresses."

"And ribbons..." Beth laughed. "Did you hear that Madam Veissielle has some new silks from London? Aunt Charlotte is going to take me tomorrow to go view them; she is going to have a new gown made for me."

"Oooh, I shall come with you, mamma spoke about having a new gown commissioned for me for the Simms ball."

"Oh, your family should host the next ball, Becky. That would be a fine thing - I've always thought the parties your family host are simply the best." Mary's eyes were bright at the prospect, her irritation with Colin forgotten for now.

"You grew up along the Santee, then?" William asked Beth quietly, drawing her away from the main conversation as Mary and Rebecca continued to chat about the parties the Middleton's had hosted in the past.

"Yes, Sir, though I've lived up in the Back Country as well."

"Ah, that explains it, your accent is slightly different to the other ladies here, you have the sound of the back country on your tongue."

"Is that a polite way of telling me I sound like a country bumpkin?" Beth arched an eyebrow. She found it incredible, sitting between these two Officers, chatting on the sunny afternoon. She wondered how differently they would behave if Colonel Burwell suddenly showed up and sat among them. She tried to picture and it could not. If Burwell had been there, there would be an exchange of insults and the possibly a fight as one tried to take the other hostage.

"Not at all," William smiled. "Besides, it is not as strong as some I've heard. I'm to be stationed along the Santee myself soon. It's beautiful out there, with the plantations and manor houses."

Beth smiled warmly, "that it is. You're making me homesick, Sir."

"If I lived out there, I'd find every reason to stay. I'd rarely come to the city."

"Truly?" Beth raised her eyebrows with surprise.

William smiled and nodded.

"Yes, it turns out our Colonel Tavington is a country lad at heart, Miss Martin," Banastre said, joining their conversation. "Despite being raised in the hustling and busy town of Liverpool."

Beth leaned back against the tree again, putting herself slightly behind them - the better to see both Officers while they spoke. "What of you Colonel Tarleton? Is it the city for you?" She pulled her small cake apart to take delicate bites.

"Oh yes, I couldn't stand to be in all that open space for too long."

"You couldn't stand to be away from the gambling tables do too long, you mean," William scoffed. It was a deliberate slur designed to make Miss Martin consider her opinion of Tarleton. And it worked.

"Oh, you don't gamble, do you Colonel Tarleton?" Beth asked, clearly disapproving. She drew her knees up to the chest and arranged her skirts around her, careful to not get cake on the expensive silk.

"No... Not much..." Tarleton coughed delicately. He shot William a scowl for revealing his weakness to the young woman. The truth was, Banastre was a prolific gambler and owed money left, right and centre. He was constantly writing to his mother to send him money to pay his debts. She recently wrote him back to inform him that while she was happy to send him new shirts and a barrel of wine, there would be no more money from her. He would have to either stop gambling or pay his own debts.

"No, not much at all!" Tavington smirked. "He does not drink either..." Miss Martin gave Tavington a wide eyed look, and he knew the seed had taken.

"How long have you been in Charlestown?" Tarleton said swiftly, a clear attempt to change the subject. "If you grew up on the Santee?"

"Two years. Colin was speaking truly there, my father allowed me to stay with my family here, after my aunts convinced him I needed a woman's influence."

"They didn't approve of you running through the woods, spying on naked boys, toting pistols and shooting rabbits with slingshots?" William teased with a small smile. Beth's heart skipped a beat, to hear him say those things in such a way… with warmth and amusement, Gods, that smile. She hadn't thought him capable of it but now she knew differently - his smile altered his entire face, it reached his eyes, making them appear to dance. From the depths of his eyes to the sound of his voice, he was handsome.

"I did not spy on him," she said, and was embarrassed at how breathless she was. She was finding it increasingly difficult to pull her gaze away from him. Now that he was smiling at her, her eyes wanted to linger on his face, taking in every feature. A warm flush bloomed on her cheeks and she forgot what she was saying. She finally managed to drag her eyes away, but he spoke again in that slow, quiet drawl of his, bringing her attention back to him.

William noticed that Banastre, on the other side of Beth, was caught between the two conversations. He wanted to be a part of Beth and William's, but Beth had angled herself slightly away from him, he was positioned to be a part of the other conversation. He was conflicted, answering a question Colin posed him, while trying to include himself in Beth and William's discussion. William pressed his advantage.

"These aunts you speak of, who have taken your instruction in hand. What, may I ask, have they been teaching you?" He asked.

"Oh, aunt Charlotte, Mrs. Selton, that is, she enrolled me in a school - not the like you would have gone to, of course. It's run out of a house around the corner and the teachers were both governess's to quite well to do families. That's how I met Miss Tisdale, she went there too. I already knew my letters, of course, but the ladies taught writing anyway, and some arithmetic. They focused more on sewing than anything," she rolled her eyes and William chuckled.

"That was your particular favourite, I suppose?" He teased and she laughed.

"Oh yes, absolutely," Beth replied, amused voice filled with sarcasm. "No, my favourite was art."

"Indeed?"

"I'd learned some in my youth, but to get back to it was wonderful. Charcoals and pens are my favourite, though I enjoy water colours also."

"You'll have to show me some of your finished work sometime," he said warmly, holding her gaze.

"Oh, yes… Well, they're not particularly good," she whispered, looking embarrassed as she pulled her gaze away.

"I'm sure you're being modest," he said and she gave a small, embarrassed shrug. "What were your other lessons?"

"Languages," she said, seeming pleased to alter the tone of the conversation to something less intimate. "French, Italian. I'm not particularly well versed in either, though I can understand well enough to get by."

"I never liked French myself, the language of the enemy."

"I know, I feel the same!" Beth said. "Though, I suppose you should know your enemy."

"That, Miss Martin, was very wisely spoken," he complimented her. That blush again, he could tell she enjoyed hearing compliments from him.

"And then there's dancing," Beth said. William felt that she was becoming more comfortable with him as she continued to chat. "Mr. Bourreau. He is French."

"With a name like that, I never would have guessed."

Beth laughed.

"I am only allowed to use my French with him, it's rather annoying. But my aunt insisted that he was the best instructor when she hired him, and he is rather good. My cousin, Miss Tisdale and several of our other friends have hired him too."

"Your Mrs. Selton seems to have taken you quite under your wing," William said as a few pieces to the puzzle of Miss Martin began to fall into place. She had lived in the Back Country and now lived on the Santee. Until two years ago, she had been isolated from Society by her father, who finally relented and gave her over into the keeping of her aunts. Her aunt Mrs. Selton had enrolled her into these schools and hired her dance instructor, paying for her much needed training for Miss Martin's entrance to Society. Is that because the father could not afford such? He must be a coarse sort of man himself, Miss Martin was still had quite a few rough edges - her teasing with Colin Ferguson proved that. He began to wonder, was the girl herself from a poor branch of her family, with the wealthier side deciding to take her under their wing?

To gain more insight, he asked, "where is your mother, surely she could provide that 'women's influence' as well as your aunts could?"

Beth's breath caught and grief welled in her, hot and searing. Nearly seven years since her mother had passed and it was still painful to think about, much less talk about. It had been hard enough speaking to Brownlow about it earlier, but at least he understood, having lost his mother as well. William immediately knew he said the wrong thing as Beth's smile fled, he could have kicked himself as she closed to him and looked away.

"She passed away six and a half years ago in child bed," she murmured quietly and swallowed.

Tavington sensed it was still raw for her, losing her mother. He had been relieved, when his father passed away. He and his father before him had squandered the families wealth and almost destroyed the Tavington name. Still, if he could use it as a way to connect with her...

"My father passed away also, some eight years ago, now," he said in as solemn a voice as she had.

"Oh, I am so sorry," she said, opening to him again as she turned back to him. Perhaps he would understand after all, as Brownlow had. As much as she did not wish that sort of pain on a single human being, it always felt reassuring to know that others were suffering as she, a connection through commiseration and shared grief.

"Tragic thing, to lose a parent," Banastre's tone was sincere, though invasive. William saw Miss Martin jump slightly, as if she'd quite forgotten he was there. "I lost my father, also."

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, I didn't know," Beth said.

She herself in such a way that she was no longer angled toward Tavington. He his his annoyance well as Beth included Banastre in the conversation again.

"Thank you, Miss Martin, your commiseration warms me," Banastre said. "I take comfort in my mothers wise words, however. She told my siblings and I that, as painful as it was to lose a parent, it is far more tragic for them to outlive their children. And there are quite a few of us."

"There are? Do you come from a large family, too? I'm one of eight, myself."

"Good Lord!" Banastre laughed, seizing the conversation. He was determined not to look back at the others again, lest he get drawn back in and away from Miss Martin. "Your parents where rabbits! I'm one of five and Colonel Tavington is one of four."

"Oh? Brothers? Sister? Older? Younger? Married? Engaged? Tell me about them," she said, taking in both men at once. She continued to chat quietly with the two Lieutenant Colonels, asking them questions of their lives. She was interested in where they came from and who they were, but she always wanted for them to be distracted enough that they would not ask so much about her. She'd almost been drawn in to speaking of her family - her father, who was an Assemblyman and therefore a traitor in their eyes, and her brother who was a Continental Lieutenant. Definitely best to keep the conversation firmly on them, then on her.

The Officers seemed happy enough to be distracted, Tarleton spoke in his cheerful voice and Tavington in his low, warm drawl. Each time she glanced at him, she found herself looking away and blushing, her heart pounding against her ribs. From his pale gaze came a strength, making her feel as though she were the only woman in the world. When she spoke, his eyes lingered on her lips with an intensity, making her feel as though he might just lean in and…

What the devil was wrong with her? She wanted him to kiss her! She would make a damned fool of herself if she kept staring at him so. He seemed to know it, too, he wore this small little knowing smile, his eyes were hooded and fixed on her, as if he could read the train of her thoughts and was amused by them. Did he know she wanted him to kiss her? Drawing a ragged breath, she pulled her gaze away and tried to focus on what Tarleton was saying. Something about a brother named Thomas…

"Oh, my brother's name is Thomas too," she interrupted Tarleton, pleased to have this rope to cling to.

"You do?" Banastre asked. He continued to prattle away and she kept her gaze firmly on him, trying to focus on his words and not Tavington's nearness - she could feel his breath on her neck, it felt like warm silk sliding over her flesh. She was very much aware of Tavington, even without looking at him, it bothered her how much she longed to glance back at him to meet his gaze. Was he looking at her? Was she as inclined toward her, as she clearly was toward him? "…the course of your life, just by looking at the palm of your hands. May I?" Tarleton asked, taking up her hand.

"Ah…" what was he talking about? She'd lost the train of it again. But by now, he was drawing one of her long silk gloves from her fingers - quite bold of him - he turned her palm over, her skin tingled as his leather clad fingertip traced the lines there.

"See you here? Your line is unbroken," Banastre said as he traced circled her palm with his finger.

"Let me see," William took her other hand and likewise peeled her glove from her fingers.

"Colonel Tarleton," Miss Tisdale called, drawing Banastre's attention away, making William want to kiss the girl. "How do you find your quarters, what family are you staying with?"

As Banastre was forced to turn his attention to Miss Tisdale to answer, William pulled Beth's hand into both of his.

The difference was, he'd removed his gloves earlier and Beth could feel the heat emanating from his hands. When he trailed his fingertip over the long line Banastre had called a lifeline, it did not so much as tingle as blaze. Banastre still held her other hand in his even as he answered Miss Tisdale's questions, but all Beth could feel was William's heat surrounding her. He caressed the lines crossing her palm and she wanted him to never stop. "A long, full life indeed," he murmured, lifting his eyes to hers. "Your skin," he said softly, deeply, as if he himself was transfixed. "So smooth." As if he was working outside his own will and could not help himself, he bought her hand up to his lips and kissed the inside of her palm. Beth's face softened, eased into astonishment, pleasure, the desire for more. Her lips parted and she drew in a ragged breath, her hand completely limp in his. For the life of her, she could not draw herself away. He lowered her hand to their side but kept hold of it, eyes holding hers, he did not release his hold on her fingers, though to his amusement, he noticed that her other hand pulled away from Banastre's. Banastre was too distracted by the others to notice, and Miss Martin barely seemed to know what to do with her now free hand. William's moved over the one he still held, and as if she had no will of her own, she returned the gesture, her fingers enclosing over and slid along his. Lord, her hands were warm, her fingers so soft. "You're a beautiful young woman, Miss Martin," he said, voice pitched low for her ears alone - the others were still asking questions of Tarleton's billet, which he was forced to dutifully answer. Beth's eyes widened and she stared, entranced, as if silently begging William for more. More caresses, more compliments, more attention. "Your eyes, so dark, as gentle and kind and warm as a doe," he said, unashamedly using Tarleton's description of her.

Beth sighed, captivated. Scarlett Fever, aunt Charlotte had called it. Is that what was wrong with her? Scarlett fever? She was certainly feeling faint. His fingers stroking hers made her heart pound, his words dripped like honey from his tongue, her body felt as flushed now as it had when Burwell had given her her first kiss. She swallowed hard, catching her lip between her teeth. His smile deepened, he was enjoying himself immensely.

"Your hair is more golden than Helen of Troy. They say she was the most beautiful woman in the world and whenever I'd tried to picture her beauty, I've never been able. Until now. I know it's damnably rude of me, but I can't help but stare are you. You quite take my breath away."

"Gods, you take mine," she breathed. He hadn't been entirely certain earlier, but in this moment, he knew he had her. The way her brown eyes lingered on his face - from his eyes to his lips, her hand trembling in his, her small sigh as he caressed her skin - her attraction to him was undeniable. Poor Banastre... William almost chuckled. If she was going to choose either of them, it would not be him. She seemed to realise what she'd said, she drew a sharp breath, her face blazed crimson and she snapped her gaze away as if too mortified to meet his eyes. Stifling a laugh, he took pity on her, he finally released her hand, for he knew she was powerless to break the hold.

"I'm pleased to hear that," he whispered, refusing to let her pretend she hadn't made that embarrassing admission. "I'd feared I was the only one affected."

"Affected?" Banastre said, finally returning to the conversation. He seemed quite flustered, frustrated at having been drawn away from his attempt to seduce Miss Martin. Not that it was working. William drew back from her, turning to his forgotten plate, he picked up the pie and bit into it. Now he was not looking at her, she was feeling safe to stare at him and he could feel her gaze lingering.

"You are quite correct, Miss Martin," William said, returning to his usual, crisp voice. The warmth and amour was gone, if not the amusement. "The Tisdale's cook is a wonder."

"Yes," Beth whispered, feeling dreadfully confused. Gods, what had possessed her to say such a thing? She put her hand in her lap, the one he'd been holding, caressing. It felt cold now, without his touch. She ran her fingers over the places he had touched, trying to reclaim the feeling.

William saw it and tried not to gloat.

"Affected?" Banastre prompted.

"I was just telling Miss Martin how beautiful she is," William said, voice strong, unashamed. The others stared at him like he'd grown a second head and Beth shrank in on herself as if wishing the tree would open up and swallow her whole. "You all are," he said, and began complimenting Miss Tisdale and Miss Middleton, so the others were unaware that he had paid any particular attention to Miss Martin.

"Oh, I could not agree more," Banastre said. "I simply can not decide which of you is the more beautiful for surely, how can you compare three sunrises?" Banastre announced of the three women. Beth smiled but it was dutiful, fleeting, her eyes landed on Banastre for all of a single moment, before shifting back to stare at William.

Rebecca blushed but Beth, who William sensed was trying to regain some control of herself, snorted weakly, trying for derision.

"Good Lord. I wonder Sir," she said to Tarleton,"how many women have you caught with that one?" William threw back his head and laughed and she shot him a look that was both startled and shy. Banastre put on his most earnest, wounded expression.

"You doubt my sincerity!" He cried with dismay, and Beth pulled her gaze from Tavington again.

"No, not your sincerity. Rebecca and Mary are quite beautiful, I agree," Beth quipped, her voice growing stronger as long as she wasn't looking at Tavington. "I merely wonder how many times you've used that line before?"

"I am wounded, Miss Martin," Banastre leaned back, eyes wide open as he held his hands to his chest. "I assure you I have never made the observation before, the three of you are the most beautiful of creatures."

"Colonel Tavington," Beth asked, turning back to him. He wondered if she was trying to draw him in solely for the excuse to gaze at him again. "Surely you will tell us, how many women has Tarleton here managed to charm with his flirtations?"

Tavington put warmth into his smile and into his voice. "You have it completely wrong, Miss Martin, Colonel Tarleton is being quite sincere and I agree whole heartedly - three of the most beautiful sunrises indeed."

"Good Lord, what flirts you both are," Beth said, voice breathy. "There must be broken hearts all across the Americas. Colin, dear heart, are you taking notes?"

"Do you think I need to? I can flirt with the best of them."

"Truly? I've not noticed."

"You have far too many brothers, Beth and a father who'd kill me."

"Oh?" Mary said tartly. "So if not for Beth's brothers, you'd be flirting with her?"

Beth began to giggle as Colin rushed to reassure his sweetheart that only she held his affections.

"No, Mary! Dear heart, that is not what I meant."

"Tsk tsk, Colin," Beth smirked. "I've tried to tell you before, you should never try to be clever."

"Oh, I think he is sweet." Rebecca's eyes were open wide as she gazed at Tarleton adoringly.

"And I think he has missed his calling," Beth turned to Tarleton again. "You, Sir, should have been an actor."

"Funny you should say that, Miss Martin," William put his empty plate down and reclined on one arm again. "Our Banastre has a great love for the stage and has acted quite a few times. He was even staging jousting contests right here in the Colonies, with a close acquaintance of ours, John Andre and a few other Officers. They became the 'Knights of the Burning Mountain'."

"That sounds grand," Rebecca said, "I would love to see the Knights of the Burning Mountain in full joust!"

"Banastre does cut quite the impressive figure," William said. "Oh so the ladies of Philadelphia told me."

"The ladies of Philadelphia? I wonder how many of them were beautiful sunrises," Beth laughed and Banastre managed to look wounded again. William found it quite charming, that she was seeing right through him. She had far more sense than Mrs. Damned Pickering. "Oh, that reminds me," Beth said to Banastre. "You know, I never had a chance to tease you, Sir."

"About?" Tarleton quirked an eyebrow, wondering exactly what the girl had found amusing enough about him that she would tease him over it.

"You name!" Beth laughed with delight. "Banastre. I do hope that is a family name - or is your mother particularly cruel?" William gave another, hearty laugh.

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with Banastre?" He ignored William's taunting, he was pleased the girl felt comfortable enough to tease and joke so soon. It was a good sign.

"Nothing…" she said, looking at him slyly. "Nothing at all... _Banastre_."

William chortled.

"My own dearest mother named me for her father, Banastre Parker." Tarleton breathed a tragic sigh. "And the newspapers back home had a Devil of a time spelling it correctly!"

"Oh, spelling your name wrong! That is terrible!" Rebecca commiserated. "But it is wonderful that they write of you!"

"Yes, indeed. I'm considered a hero back home apparently, though I do not like to boast. William is also, but he is not so well loved as I."

William rolled his eyes.

"So," Beth said, "Sir Banastre Tarleton, Knight of the Burning Mountain. I am not surprised to hear you have acted, Sir. What of you, Colonel Tavington?" Again, he had the distinct feeling she was speaking to him just so she had an excuse to stare. Even her voice changed for him, a subtle warmth that he doubted anyone else but he perceived. "Have you joined your friend on the stage?"

William snorted. "No, Miss Martin. Certainly not. I have, however, indulged in the jousting when Ban has twisted my arm."

"Oh, so do we call you Sir William Tavington, Knight of the Burning Mountain, also?" She asked.

"It does have a nice ring," he grinned up at her. Her hand was at her side again, she was plucking some dirt from the blanket. He needed an excuse to touch her, to continue to develop the growing connection between them. He pushed himself up and, after ensuring the others could not see the gesture, he took hold of her hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, her expression sliding into the transfixed on of before. He did not hold on, just a quick squeeze, hidden from the others by his own movement. He was sitting up beside her again, and again, she had grown quiet. He noticed she kept her hand there, at her side, and he knew she was hoping he would find another way to take hold of it again.

"What fun, I would love to watch a jousting contest," Rebecca clapped her hands with delight. "Will you have one here in Charlestown?"

"Hmmm, it would not be a bad idea," Tarleton was excited by the prospect also. "We could stage it on Queen Street! But only if you lovely ladies promise to attend. Every Knight needs a beautiful young maiden to watch him joust and give him her favor at the end, a silk handkerchief or the like, when he wins."

"Oh, I promise," Rebecca said.

Just then, another young woman entered from a side gate, she peered into the trees, saw them, and began to approach.

"Oh, drat, you invited Miss Bryant," Beth said, throwing a glance at Mary.

"Strong words," William mocked. "With so many brothers, I would have thought you could come up with something a little more... Colorful."

"For her, I would, Sir. However, I am trying to behave as lady and not a bumpkin, remember?"

"Friend of yours?" Banastre's voice was thick with amusement.

"Not exactly..."

"It's been a while since I saw her. I sent word to Miss Wilkins, too," Mary sounded apologetic and defensive at once.

"I know, and Miss Wilkins would have been quite welcome," Beth said and Rebecca giggled. Miss Claire Bryant was one of the few amongst Beth's peers who she had never been able to warm to.

"Be polite, Beth." Mary's voice was stern.

"Mary! I always am! Or I try to be... She is the hateful one," this was said softly, sullenly, as the other girl was close enough now to hear.

"Good afternoon everyone," Miss Bryant, in pink and white silks, swooped in to join the group. "I'm dreadfully sorry for being late."

"Not at all. Are you hungry?" Miss Tisdale asked politely. "There is still some left."

"Oh thank you Mary. Well, well! There are still some sweets left! That is a surprise with Beth here..."

William gazed at Beth, watching for her reaction, and was surprised when, instead of rising to the bait, the girl adopted an indifferent, cool expression, showing no emotion on her face as she wrapped herself in dignity and grace.

Interesting.

Banastre tittered behind his hand. "Meow," he whispered to Beth, whose facade broke as she giggled.

"Yes, she is a pretty kitten but she comes with claws," she leaned back against the tree again, still with both Colonel's on either side to her, resolving to not say another word while Claire was with them.

"Have you met Colonel Tavington and Colonel Tarleton? Gentleman, this is Miss Claire Bryant."

The Officers greeted her politely.

"Oh, it is so good to meet you both," Claire folded her legs beneath herself as she sat across from Beth, getting herself comfortable on the soft blanket. "I've heard so much about you."

"I'm sure you have," William drawled. "None of it good, I suppose."

"Oh, no, I've only heard good," the girl said.

"We've been talking about the ball the Simms intend to host at their Plantation," Rebecca said. "Are you going?"

"Oh my goodness, yes. I wouldn't miss it for the world! What of you, Sirs?"

"Indeed we shall be, Miss Bryant." Tarleton nodded.

"Did you hear? There may be fireworks. Just a rumor, of course, but it would be a fine thing!" Claire clapped her hands, delighted. Then she pulled a fan out of her pocket to wave slowly before her face. "The Simms have put those rumors about before and we have been so very disappointed, but I think they will do it this time - the ball is in Sir Clinton's honor after all. The Simms will not stint this time, I am sure of it," Claire said.

Up until this point, Beth had held to her resolve to be silent, but now felt she could not hold her tongue.

"To be fair, Miss Bryant," she said in her best imitation of her aunt Charlotte's gentle tone. "They did not stint last time. The fireworks did not arrive in time, it was not their fault. Sarah Wilkins told me all about it, Therese Simms was most embarrassed."

Claire gave Beth such a look, then rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Hmm. I call it bad planning, myself," Rebecca sat up straight. "It is all in the details, everything must be organized just so and it will come together perfectly."

"Perhaps the Simms should have enlisted your help, Becky," Beth laughed.

"What are you going to wear, Miss Martin?" Claire looked her rival up and down with condescension. "Left to your own devices, you will wear a gown a decade out of fashion made from Back Country homespun."

William felt Beth tense beside him, her entire body growing rigid at the insult. And insult it was - he opened his mouth, ready to take the girl to task, but Beth beat him to it.

"No, Miss Bryant, I have had a lovely new gown made." Beth tried to be cordial, tried to keep the edge from her voice. "And while there is absolutely nothing wrong with homespun, I assure you, it is entirely made of silk."

"Oh," Claire sniffed. "Made by who? Madam Compay, no doubt." Claire waved her hand in dismissal.

"No, dear. Madam Veissielle," Beth said, smiling with condescension. She held back a laugh at Claire's look of astonishment.

William had been in the city prior to its fall, for several weeks, in fact. In that time, he had heard the name often - Madam Veissielle usually only catered to the greater families, the Simms, Middleton's, Rutledge's and other leading families. For Madam Veissielle to make a gown for Miss Martin was quite a compliment, an honor. He supposed her wealthy aunt, Mrs. Selton paid for it, but that did not matter. Miss Martin had set Miss Bryant back on her heels and Tavington felt no further need to dress Miss Bryant down for her rudeness.

"Speaking of the ball, Miss Martin," William said, he leaned his arm against the tree above her head, closing her in. "Would you do me the honor of dancing a few sets with me?"

Beth's eyes threatened to pop out of her head as she stared up at him. She could not speak for a moment, her breath had failed her.

"Ah... Yes, certainly," she said eventually. "That would be wonderful."

"And with me, Miss Martin?" Banastre asked. Beth turned toward toward Tarleton, who took her hand in his again. "I am a far more proficient dancer than Tavington. I have heard women complain after dancing with him - he steps on their feet more often than not!"

Tavington snorted.

"I'm certain that's not true," Beth said, turning back to Tavington.

"It is not. Your feet will be quite safe, you may even enjoy it."

"Of course," she breathed, face flushing again. To cover it, she said, "I shall be honoured to dance with you both."

Banastre was holding her hand again, and that could not go unanswered. William took up her other hand, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and said, "the pleasure will be all mine."

She barely felt Banastre's gloved fingers on hers, but William's… Gods, his bare hand was so warm, so gentle. Beth's heart pounded in her chest and her face felt hot.

"Well, the ball is weeks away yet you've managed to secure sets already," Claire's voice was filled with envy. "It seems you are still quite popular with the Colonel's, Beth. Nothing has changed there, even with Burwell's departure."

If Claire had dropped a bucket of ice water on Beth's head, she could not have felt more shocked.

"Claire, be silent," Mary hissed.

Too late. Gods. It had been going so well. They had managed to make it this far without mentioning him. Beth had even begun to forget the threat... Lord Above, what had Mary been thinking, inviting Claire?

"Colonel Burwell?" Banastre broke the oppressive silence.

"Yes, he's courting her for the past two years, hasn't he, Beth?" Claire continued her poison, blithely unaware of how great a damage she was doing. "Before the Continentals were ousted from Charlestown, of course. There's not a person alive in the city who doesn't know about it. It's serious enough that he proposed marriage to her. Tell me, Beth, did you accept? Are you engaged to Burwell?"

William's eyes widened. He pinned Beth with a suddenly piercing gaze. Beth's brown eyes grew large and her heart began to pound, but this time she took no pleasure in his intent stare.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Long Walk Home

Chapter 4 - The Long Walk Home

"You're being ridiculous," Mary snapped. "It was not two years and it was not that serious."

"Not serious? I would call a marriage proposal fairly serious," Claire snapped her fan shut with a loud click.

Time slowed. Beth's vision narrowed to pinpoints, the darkness threatened to pull her under. The blood drained from her face, she was completely white and her hands were trembling. How could Claire possibly know?

Oh Gods, Major Bryant, Claire's uncle. He'd been at the house, he'd been calling out to Burwell and Burwell had shouted at him to be silent, to give him more time. Had he realised Burwell was proposing? Had he told the rest of the Bryant family?

Tavington sat up abruptly, going on point like a blood hound. Even Tarleton tensed beside her. Both men stared at her intently, she felt like a mouse being stalked by two large cats of green and red.

"Good Lord, Miss Bryant. You have always been prone to exaggeration," Colin snapped. "Colonel Burwell was hardly the only gentleman courting Beth these last two years. As for proposals," he scoffed. "As Beth's oldest friend, I would be the first to know if she were engaged to marry."

Beth remained silent, unsure if Colin's attempt to down play her connection to Burwell and the denial of her engagement would be enough to divert the suddenly alert British Officers. Lord, he'd been right, this was exactly what Burwell had warned her about, exactly what he had feared. The British were interested in any connections to the enemy Colonel.

And Tavington and Tarleton had just stumbled upon one, thanks to Miss Claire Bryant.

"Are you engaged then, Miss Martin?" Banastre posed the question gently and Beth nervously met his gaze. "To Colonel Harry Burwell?"

"No, Sir," she said, still uncertain if that were a lie or not. Feeling every bit the traitor to Harry and their friendship, she continued, "I refused him. He is an old widower looking for a young wife. I have no desire to marry a man the same age as my father."

She almost choked on her words as she said them, she wished Burwell were there so she could beg his forgiveness. Oh, she knew he would understand - she had to grasp at anything she could to protect herself. This was self preservation. But to speak of him to his enemies with such disrespect…

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Claire open her mouth to argue. Her uncle must have told his family that Beth had accepted. Colin shot her a hard glare and after a surprised moment, Claire snapped her mouth shut uncertainly.

William remained silent, allowing Banastre to do the talking. It was a tactic they had adopted long since. William was no diplomat, he spoke what came to his mind and was often too heavy handed. Banastre, however, had a far more gentle nature. Not always, he could be as explosive as Tavington. However, as long as he was not too enraged, he excelled in the art of subtlety. People thought they could relax with him, often learning their mistake only when it was too late. Tavington would watch and listen for the slightest changed in Beth's expressions and the inflictions in her voice, anything that would indicate one way or the other if they had Colonel Burwell's fiancé sitting between them.

Burwell would be a prize indeed - if he were to be caught. Tavington had tried during the battle, but the enemy Colonel had slipped through his fingers like smoke. Tavington had since learned that the Colonel had entered the city and had spirited, Governor John Rutledge out of it. Because William had not captured Burwell, the British ended up deprived of two highly important captives.

William studied Beth carefully, wondering if he had stumbled across the key to Colonel Harry Burwell's weakness. Would he exchange himself, for his fiancé? Banastre obviously wondered the same.

"He courted you for two years?" He was asking now.

"He did, along with two others." She said, trying to make their liaison seem less significant. Banastre was not to be diverted, however.

"How did you meet him?" He pressed her.

_You don't have to answer these questions! They have no right! _Beth began to steel her spine, but one look at Lieutenant Colonel Tavington, his eyes cold and intent, dissuaded her. _Yes... I do._

"At the Assembly Hall, while it was in session. It was the last night the Assembly convened, they met to discuss South Carolina's participation in the war. I met him after the session ended." She lied, she would not tell them that she'd known him her whole life and that he was her father's dearest friend. That would be the end of her. She just hoped Claire had enough sense to keep her mouth shut this time, that she did not despise Beth so much that she would not let Beth lie her way out of the situation Claire had put her in.

"I would not have imagined you would be interested in politics, Miss Martin," Banastre frowned. "That took place what, six years ago? How old were you then - fourteen? Why would you sit in on such a council meeting?"

Gods, why had she said that? She'd been there because her father had intended to speak also, and Beth had wanted to watch him. She reeled, it was getting worse and worse! Rutledge, a former Assemblyman, was in jail! They would go to Fresh Water now, and arrest her father! She tried to think of where the other Patriot Assemblymen were and realized to her chagrin that most of them had, fled, as Governor John Rutledge had.

"Miss Martin?" Banastre prompted, sensing a deeper mystery. Her answer caught him utterly by surprise.

The truth, she decided, would set her free. Parts of it, in any case.

"My father was an Assemblyman," she said reluctantly. "He had been called to Charlestown to attend the meeting and to cast a vote."

"Did he now?" Banastre asked softly, his eyes flickered to William's. "An Assemblyman. You are full of surprises Miss Martin. Tell me, how did your father vote? And where does Burwell fit into this?"

Oh, sweet Lord above. Beth happened to catch Claire's eyes, she was half expecting to see the girl gloating and boastful. Claire, however, was staring wide eyed with shock at the sudden change in the Officers, stunned by what she had wrought. The mood had become quite dangerous indeed. Mary, Colin, and even Rebecca glared at her, Claire seemed to wither under their gazes.

_Yes, you little chit,_ Beth was so angry and frightened all at once, she felt like weeping. _You did this, this is all because of you._

"My father," Beth breathed. "Is... An acquaintance of Burwell's. He introduced us."

"Your father, an Assemblyman, knows Colonel Burwell personally? They must be close indeed for your father to feel free to present his daughter to such a prominent man as the Colonel, and then allow him to court her for two years then."

Beth closed her eyes. It shocked her how deeply Banastre could read into what she was leaving unsaid - she had mistaken him as little more than a flirt.

"Is he a Patriot then?"

"My father?" Beth opened her eyes finally. She caught his gaze then pulled her eyes away to stare at her hands, limp in her lap. "My father voted against the levy - he did not wish to go to war against Britain."

"It's true, Sir," Colin put in, speaking up for the first time. "Mr. Martin came under fire for his stance, was called coward along with other things. But he held firm and voted the same as the many Loyalists present that day."

Very clever, Colin had made Benjamin sound like a Loyalist. At least he was able to think soundly, for Beth certainly was not.

"I see, thank you Mr. Ferguson." Tarleton was thoughtful as he gazed at Beth."A close acquaintance of Burwell, one who would allow to court his own daughter, voting against the levy?" Banastre said skeptically. "That in itself is an extraordinary thing indeed. I am surprised to hear it."

She glanced at him, trying to determine his thoughts. That was when she saw his eyes flick toward his fellow Colonel, as if they were communicating without speaking. Beth was close to Mary and Rebecca, she had the same ability to convey her thoughts with a single glance; in those circumstance Rebecca and Mary understood her, with no need for words. These two Colonel's had that same rapport, they were communicating silently now. Suddenly suspicious, she began to wonder if the two were working together to unsettle her. She abruptly realised that Tavington had been watching her, studying her as closely as he would an insect while - Tarleton fired those questions at her. She knew in that moment that Tavington was the true danger, he would decide her fate.

"You think I'm lying to you?" Beth asked Banastre now, her fire returning.

"Not at all -"

"Yes, you do!" She accused. Color returned to her cheeks, her anger giving her heart.

"Miss Martin, Colonel Burwell courted you for two years. He could not have done so without your father's consent, his blessing. A strong Loyalist would not have allowed a rebel to court his daughter. Was your father in favor of the match between you and Burwell?" Banastre asked, ignoring her outburst. He thought he could quell her, have her unsettled again if he persisted with his questions.

He was also trying to discern where her father's loyalties lay - if Banastre concluded that Benjamin Martin was a rebel, he would be arrested.

Beth was having no more of this, consequences be damned. She was no door mat and she would not allow these Officers to treat her as such. What was the worst that could happen? She would be put into a cell? So be it. This would end now, she would call the Officers down for their manipulation of her.

"No, Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton, I will suffer no more of this," she said, firm voice barely containing her sudden rage. Banastre's eyes opened wide with astonishment. She turned her back on him to face Tavington, the true danger here. His eyes were still cold and piercing, searching for her every secret. Beth held his gaze, too angry to be fearful. She would not bend to their will.

A brave lioness. Burwell's words gave her heart.

"Do you have any further questions for me, Colonel Tavington?" She asked tartly. His eyes widened slightly, Beth ignored his surprise. Did they think she was too foolish to understand their little game? "What I ate for breakfast, perhaps?"

"Miss Martin," he said coolly. "Any connection to Colonel Burwell must be treated with utmost seriousness -"

"I am certain they do," she snapped. "But I hold you to account, Sir. How dare you treat me like this? Trying to manipulate me, putting the fear of Christ into me? Shame on you. Shame on you both!" Beth leaned forward, fixing her stern unblinking stare on Tavington. She was close enough to feel his clean, warm breath on her face. She trembled, but this time, it had nothing to do with pleasure. Fury fired through her very core. He tightened his lips and lilted his chin haughtily. She doubted many dared to confront him. But she was too angry to care. "For shame!" She hissed. "You listen to me carefully now, Sir. I will not be treated this way by you again - nor from your little cohort," her voice was firm, filled with pride. "You've not the right! I will not entertain your questions further, I will not explain myself to you, I do not care if you believe me or not! I have said my piece and I will say not a damned word more. Now, unless you're planning on taking me into custody for further interrogating, I pray you will excuse me. I've quite lost my appetite for your company."

Tavington's eyes crept open wider and wider with shock with every word Beth spoke. Finally, she picked up her hat and she rose to her feet. She threw Claire a withering glare and the girl recoiled and hung her head. Rebecca and Mary both made to rise but Beth waved them down.

"Thank you for the picnic, Mary. I will see myself out," she raised her skirts to her ankles and stepped over Tavington's legs as though they were nothing more than a tree trunk.

"I can walk you home, Beth," Colin said.

"I'm in no mood, Colin. Please stay," Beth said, voice cracking like a whip.

"Farewell, Beth," she heard her friends call out behind her as she began to stride away.

She made it to the carriage way before the two Colonel's fell in beside her, again, one to either side of her. She stopped dead and glared at both of them in turn, her face carved from ice.

"I told you I will not accept any more foolishness from either of you!" She snapped, raising her voice. "Unless you are going to arrest me, Sirs, please be gone!" she was half expecting them to seize her the arms and dragged off to the jail cells, but she did not care. If Edward Rutledge could survive down there, so too could she. Her uncle would come for her. Hell, her father would storm the city for her. "My father will not permit me to remain there long, of that you can be certain. He will come storming to the city and he will be your greatest nightmare!" She snapped, stabbing her finger at Tavington.

"Please calm yourself, Miss Martin. We come only to offer you escort. The streets are not safe for a woman walking alone," to her astonishment, Tavington offered her his arm. She stared at it like she wanted to murder it.

"That will not be necessary, Sir," she snapped. Ignoring his arm, she whirled and began striding away.

"I will join you, also," Tarleton said nonplussed.

"We are not taking no for an answer, Miss," Tavington said.

Beth gritted her teeth with frustration. There was nothing she could do to stop them, however, short of shouting at them both. "One word," she hissed, whirling on them both. "Not one word about Burwell. I mean it."

"Not one word," Tarleton agreed.

"Then start walking; the sooner there, the sooner I can be rid of you both," she set off at a ground eating pace, striding with purpose, her skirts swishing about her legs. To her uncle's place, she decided. It was closer and she truly did want to be rid of her chaperones.

_What will Burwell say if he ever learns of this? _She raged to herself. _He loves me and I have spoken disrespectfully of him. To his enemies! _She strode briskly, in silence. She stared directly ahead, not turning to acknowledge her companions though she could feel their eyes on her, sensed their astonishment. _Did they truly think I had no back bone?_ She almost laughed as she remembered Burwell's words again. "You are a lioness, dear heart." Perhaps he would get enjoyment out of hearing this story, after all.

Banastre tried to break the silence first. "Is it a difficult juggle, Miss Martin? Residing at times with your uncle, at other times with your aunt?"

Beth tightened her lips. The last thing she wanted to just then was speak to either of them, she was too damned angry! Her fists curled at her sides and still Banastre awaited her reply. Aunt Charlotte's two years of training asserted itself - one must always practice poise even under the most strenuous of circumstances. Be the reed in the wind. Bend - but do not break. She finally understood what her Aunt had meant by those words.

Charlotte advised one must always remain cool, allow others to know you will not be pushed over, but always be polite. Never lose your temper in public.

Besides, her point had been made.

"No, I do not find it a juggle, we developed a routine," her voice was still crisp and cool and she still kept her gaze averted, keeping her eyes resolutely on the path before her.

"Do you return home often?"

"I have not been home in two years."

Banastre fell silent. It was clear that Beth would provide short answers only, not giving him much for him to latch on to, to further the discussion. William was no help, he wore a small smile, seeming amused by the whole affair. Banastre wanted to punch him - if Beth noticed the smile she would probably fire up all over again! What a temper!

He gazed at her, feeling surprised all over again.

They were not alone on the street, many others were out walking or riding past in carriages or on horseback. Some waved at Beth and she waved back.

"Afternoon Miss Martin!" A gentleman in a velvet suit called.

"Afternoon, Mr. Flansing," she nodded back and continued walking.

_Quite the little socialite, _Banastre decided. Every single person who greeted her wore expressions of bemusement or outright shock on their faces, to see her flanked by two British Officers. It seemed Burwell's courtship of the girl had not been a secret one, for her acquaintances to look with such shock to see her walking between two Redcoats. He longed to broach the subject, but she had made it clear that she would tolerate no further questions regarding Burwell.

He did hope that chatting with her would calm her down, so he tried again.

"How old are you, Miss Martin? I estimated twenty - was I correct?"

"I will be twenty soon," she said shortly. And, because she understood he was trying to draw her out, she finally relented. She softened her tone, slowed her pace, and tried to return to her normal self. "Though it is rude to ask a woman her age, Sir."

_Ah, there we are, _Banastre smiled._ She's calmed herself. Sweet Lord, just wait until I tell Hanger - what a temper!_

"I quite agree. Very rude," William spoke up for the first time. "That is a failing of Banastre's I'm afraid, Miss Martin, one of his many."

"Shut it, William," Banastre said lightly. They stopped at a crossroads and had to wait a brief time for a carriage to pass by. As they began to walk again, Banastre took Beth by the arm to steer her around a steaming pile of horse leavings.

"One of _his_ many?" Beth said archly to Tavington when they were across the street. "I suspect you have a few also." She could not keep the tartness out of her voice. She met his eyes and he gazed back, amused. "How long have you known one another?" She asked, swallowing her irritation.

"Too long." Banastre replied.

"About six years, I would say," added William.

"We met when our respective father's died and we both retired to London," Banastre supplied. _To spend our respective inheritances! Oh, those were the days._

"He followed me all the way from England when I bought my commission and volunteered to serve here in the Colonies." William shot a smile at Banastre over Beth's head.

"Followed..." Banastre scoffed. "I believe I was the one who proposed our adventure first. If anyone followed, it was you."

"Why did you join the army, Sir?" Beth asked him.

"I needed an occupation and I found Law not to my liking. I am the younger brother and as such, will not inherit the family fortune. I have to find my own way. As most second sons in my predicament, I chose to make my living from the army. I never dreamed I'd take to it so well as I have, like a duck to water."

"Nor I," William agreed. "Like a fish to swimming."

"A bird to flying."

"And you, Sir?" Beth asked William. "You joined because..?"

"The same reason. Small fortune, younger brother, little prospects. Banastre and I met at university, we took some of the same classes. I, too, found law not to my liking. A dreary thing it is."

"Hmm," Beth said, which could have meant anything. Before Banastre could venture further, a voice called out from behind them.

"Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton!" An under Officer was trotting toward them and he saluted both Commandants. "You are needed at the Assembly Hall at once, Sir." He announced, trying to catch his breath.

_Damn and blast it! _Tarleton nodded curtly at the Officer and looked down at Beth. She was not that much shorter - he was not a tall man, was Banastre. "I'm sorry, Miss Martin. I will not be able to escort you after all."

"I quite understand, Sir."

"Never fear, I will escort Miss Martin the rest of the way," Tavington promised. He offered his arm to Beth and her temper had cooled enough by now to accept it. She placed her fingers lightly at his elbow but he took hold of her hand, guiding her to link her arm through properly.

Tarleton looked rather forlorn and resigned. He gave Beth a flourishing bow and placed a light kiss on her free hand.

"I shall call on you again, Miss Martin. In the morning, perhaps," he said as he began trotting back the way he'd come. He needed to fetch his horse.

Beth said nothing, she did not relish the idea of a visit from Tarleton, despite her cooled temper, but it would have been rude to refuse him. Not that he had waited for an answer, either way.

Beth cloaked herself in silence as she and Tavington continued down the narrow street. She tried to walk at a fast pace but Tavington held her back, forcing her to slow. She cast him a startled glance and he smiled down at her warmly. He wished to walk the rest of the way at a crawl, it seemed. She tightened her lips with frustration, but she let him lead her. It was either that, or jerk her hand from his arm and march on anyway.

"Well that was fortuitous," William said cheerfully. "I have you all to myself, at last."

Her breath caught and her heart began to pound. It took a moment but she managed to seek solace in irritation.

"And why would you wish to be alone with me?" She asked. She was vexed more at herself than him, her reaction to him was simply too strong, especially for a man she had only just met. "To continue the questioning, I suppose. I have warned you, though. I will tolerate no more of it."

"You are quite fiery, aren't you, Miss Martin?" William chuckled. He was still astonished at her temerity in standing up to him back at the Tisdale's. Astonished and quite amused.

"Something tells me you are, also." Beth sniffed. "Can't we walk any faster?"

"Hmm, I have been so accused, from time to time." William mused, then answered the second part of her question. "And no - I am enjoying the view."

His eyes were on her, not on the tree lined street - clearly, _she_ was the view.

"So," he ventured, his amused tone thick with condescension. "A marriage proposal from Colonel Burwell?"

"I knew there would be more questions!" Beth bristled and snatched her arm from his. She whirled to confront him, even waggling her finger under his nose. "It is none of your business, Sir!"

"Now, now... temper, Miss Martin," Tavington's voice was quiet but cool, his eyes narrowed as he considered her. "Let's not argue in public, hmm?"

Other passersby had slowed to watch, they made quite the spectacle to be sure, with Beth damned near bristling like a cat. She breathed deeply and stared at him with challenge.

"Come, Miss Martin," he said gently, taking her hand and winding it through his arm again. "Shall we?"

"He is a good man," she protested softly as they began to walk again. "I see no reason for you to be amused."

"So why did you reject him, if he is such a 'good man'?" William was careful to keep his voice neutral this time, leaving her with no cause to be offended.

Beth fell silent, for she _hadn't_ rejected Burwell. Well, actually, she had, but she was betrothed to him anyway - as far as her family were concerned. Which meant she was as good as engaged. What reason could she give to Tavington now, that he would believe? Did she even need to make him believe? It was none of his business.

Then again, this was her opportunity - the most important thing was to have Tavington walk away believing that she and Burwell were not attached. That way, they would believe it a waste of time, taking her hostage. This was her opportunity and if she played her cards right, then perhaps she would have nothing further to fear from them.

"He is a good man, and I respect him. However, I want what Colin and Mary have, I guess," Beth said now. Which was quite true. "They are deeply in love."

William quirked an eyebrow and Beth rushed on, blushing crimson.

"Don't laugh at me, Sir. I am sensible to how marriage matches are made for mutual benefit. My father was looking forward to increasing his connections through Burwell and Burwell," she paused. Perhaps the inheritance her mother had left her, coupled with the dowry her father had promised, had a small part to play - though Burwell hardly needed either. He wanted to marry her, because he was in love with her. But to tell that to Tavington would be as good as admitting that she would be a useful weapon against Burwell after all. She needed to downplay his affection for her. Hoping he would one day forgive her, she said, "and Burwell wanted a pretty, young lady on his arm, a gem to parade before his acquaintances. And that is the crux of it, you see?"

William did not laugh at her romantic notions - he had two sisters and they both said the same as Beth. They wanted to marry for love, but were realistic enough to know they would be marrying for mutual advantage. He quirked an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

"A marriage made to strengthen alliances and broaden business contacts, and a pretty wife to show off to ones friends. Hardly romantic..." Beth trailed off a moment. She couldn't believe how wily she was being, threading so much truth into her words, making the lie sound convincing. Tavington would believe the neither Burwell nor Beth had any emotional attachment whatsoever.

"But our world is built on such alliances, Miss Martin," he argued. It was what wives were for, after all. Men fell in love with _mistresses_, not wives.

"To be sure," Beth agreed. "But occasionally, the two can fall in love. My own father did with my mother, they were well and truly in love." She shrugged again. "I want what they had, having gown up with it."

This pronouncement startled Tavington. There had been no love lost between his mother and father, not one bit. His mother had damned near rejoiced when his father had died. Hell, they all had! The drunken carouser who destroyed their good family name, their esteem and almost bought the family to their knees financially.

"What I don't want," Beth continued into the silence. "Is an arranged marriage with no emotional attachment."

There, she said it - the words she had thought earlier. It was another truth, but not the whole truth, for Burwell loved her and she agreed with Cilla, that her love for Burwell might come.

"I see," Tavington mused. "And is your father wroth with you? For refusing this marriage proposal? Surely he could force you to it, if he had a mind to. If the connection was important enough."

"Oh, I... Ah... Well, that is..."

"You haven't told him yet," Tavington hooted. "Oh, sweet Lord above!"

It was to the good that Tavington believed in that direction. "He'll understand!" Beth protested, to make it more believable. It was quite true that her father would not yet know, as the proposal was so recent, she doubt her uncle would have been able to get a message away so quickly. But with the city surrendered, a messenger could probably carry a letter through now.

The letter would not be advising her father of Beth's refusal, however. He would be informing her father that she and Burwell were engaged.

"You respect Burwell?" William asked, frowning.

"Of course, don't you?" She asked tartly. "You battled him recently, or so I've heard. Can you honestly say you don't respect him?"

"As a Commander, I respect him," William said grudgingly. "I sent him a missive, demanding his surrender and he wrote back declaring he would fight until his last extremity. That, I do respect."

"Yes, I'd heard about that," Beth said.

"I would do no less," William admitted. "I would not have surrendered if I was in the same position he was in. But in the end, he reneged on his claim that he would fight to his last and he fled into the swamps. Many died that day - mostly Continentals - I still ended up capturing half his force and killing the rest. So I ask you, was his defiance worth it?"

Beth was silent for a long time, biting her lip as she considered his question. In the end, Burwell was the commander and it was imperative that he show a strong resolve.

"You didn't catch him, did you?" She asked quietly.

William frowned. "No, I did not."

"Then he deprived you of your trophy, therefore it was worth it."

His eyes widened with astonishment. Hundreds of men had died, been wounded or taken captive. And she believed it was worth the price for Burwell's escape? So that Burwell could continue to fight their Cause, a strong figurehead and rallying point.

He tilted his head as he studied her with grudging respect.

"What happened to the Continentals you captured?" She asked.

"I had their wounds tended to and then they were placed in a prison camp. Cornwallis will be dealing with them now, offering them amnesty or keeping them held for use at a later date - for prisoner exchange and the like."

"Amnesty?" She understood the meaning of the word of course, but not in the context to which he applied it. She did not think she liked the sound of it, however.

"Yes. For a short time, they will be given the opportunity to seek forgiveness for their treason and forgiveness will be given."

"Forgiveness..." Beth frowned. "I don't understand - they say they're sorry and go back to fighting again?"

The two had come to Beth's Uncle's house. A large manor of almost the same construction of Aunt Charlotte's. The difference was, while Charlotte's sported gardens to the rear of the property, Mark's bore gardens at the front _and_ the back. His wife, Mage, was an avid gardener. The path leading from the gate to the house was long and winding, with large oaks to either side, the shade of which provided blessed relief from the stifling sun. Beth opened the wrought iron gate, expecting William to stop there to say his farewells. Instead, he walked with her - never releasing her hand from his arm.

"Only if they fight for the _British_," William laughed as they walked toward the house. "We won't be allowing them back into Continental ranks."

She gasped with shock.

"They wouldn't!" The very idea was outrageous. "No, Sir. I doubt you'll find many who would take up that offer."

"You'd be surprised," he said, gazing at her thoughtfully. She had been courted by a Patriot but Colin Ferguson had said her father was a Loyalist… but she was showing such outrage. Was Miss Beth Martin a Little Patriot? He never had asked her, either way. "We've fleshed out our ranks with men who have seen the light and returned their Loyalty to the Crown."

Beth stopped dead on the gravel path, her jaw hanging open like a swinging door. Realising how ridiculous she must look, she snapped her mouth shut.

"Turn coats," she breathed. "I don't believe it."

"I dislike to burst those innocent little illusions of yours," William scoffed. He stopped also and had turned to face her. "But those Continentals will often return their Loyalties to the His Majesty for a hot meal alone!"

"Such is their resolve!" Beth spat. "A little hunger and they turn? Just like that? If their allegiance is so weak, then you are welcome to them!"

"I believe you're forgetting to whom you are speaking," Tavington murmured and Beth blushed crimson. Her mouth worked but she could frame no reply. "Little one, are you a Patriot?"

Little one? She felt she might swoon, it was an endearment - he should not have called her such. And she should not be feeling the flare of warmth, hearing it.

"I like His Majesty the Good King George just fine," she muttered with embarrassment.

Tavington began to laugh, a rich deep laugh, his eyes twinkling. It surprised Beth, she had not expected him capable of mirth in these circumstances. She returned his laugh with a quiet, self conscious chuckle.

"Ah, there it is," William murmured softly. He reached up and traced a thumb over her bottom lip. "After your flare of temper earlier, I had not thought to ever see that smile of yours again."

He stared down at his thumb as it traced her lip, his eyes becoming hooded. She was too shocked to move back from the feather light and pleasurable touch. When he drew his hand back and met her gaze, she swallowed hard.

"You do not need to conceal your Loyalties from me, Miss Martin." He said nothing of his action just now, nothing of touching her so intimately. "I have guessed that you are a Patriot. I would not chastise you for it, I have had plenty of acquaintances among the Patriot women over the past four years in the Colonies."

She drew a sharp breath, beset by a sudden flare of jealousy. She felt doused by it, was suddenly cold all over. "Is that so?" She said, voice sharp as she wondered just how close an acquaintance he had enjoyed with these Patriot women. "How wonderful for them."

"Hmm, back to being prickly again, I wonder what could be the cause?" His warm gaze sparkled with amusement and she knew he'd seen her flare of jealousy. Her face blazed crimson, her hand twitched with the sudden need to slap him. She took a full step back and began to turn away, but he took hold of her arm and drew her back. "Come now, admit it. You hold esteem for me, do you not? What do you feel for me, Miss Martin?"

She grew very still, embarrassed and confused, and upset with him for confronting her so. What did she feel for him? She hardly knew herself, she'd only just met him. Yet he made her heart pound, her body tremble, he was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. His continual touches - on her hands and now her lips - left her feeling faint, her pulse racing.

"Why do you say that, Sir?" She asked, trying to hide her undeniable attraction to him. "I do not know you well enough to judge my regard."

"And yet earlier, I told when I told you you took my breath away, you admitted that I take yours, also," Tavington said, smiling down at her, his eyes crinkled with amusement.

"I barely knew myself," she said, flustered, wishing she could bury her face in her hands and hide. "I don't know why I said that."

"I think we both know," he stepped closer, the way he stared at her lips now, she thought he meant to kiss her. She wondered what she would do, if he tried. He returned his thumb to its gentle caress of her lip and his eyes darkened with need.

Beth sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. His thumb was withdrawn again and she felt his breath on her face. She opened her eyes slowly. Tavington had leaned down to her, his lips just hovering over hers. Her heart began to pound with anticipation and she had her answer, she could not have pulled away if she wanted to.

And she did not want to.

"Just one kiss, Miss Martin, before I fare you well," he whispered, before brushing his lips over hers.

The contact was light, a feather touch and so wonderful - so torturous. She didn't want it to end but she knew it was wrong - she couldn't do this, not with this man.

Beth, breathing raggedly, finally found her resolve.

_Now, before he deepens the kiss, before my knees are too weak to walk away. _She put her hands on the Officer's chest and firmly pushed him from her.

"They are expecting me inside," she whispered, taking a deliberate step back and turning away from him. "Good day to you, Sir."

Tavington knew exactly what effect he was having on the girl. He had felt her heart racing, felt her hands shiver. She wanted his touches, his kisses. And as a Gentleman, how could he deny her? His smiled deepened and after letting her walk exactly two small steps away from him, he reached out and placed his hands on her waist. He turned her to face him again and closed the short distance.

"Come here," he murmured. He wrapped his strong hands around her small waist, pulling him against his chest.

"Sir," it was a pitiful plea even to her own ears. She lowered her eyes and bit her lip.

"Shh," he whispered as he held her in the cage of his arms. He gazed down at her warmly. "It is clear we admire one another," he continued, tightening his hold on her waist. Beth swallowed, she liked the feel of his arms around her.

"I'm sure I... Don't know what you mean," she said softly, more than a little bit flustered.

"Yes, you do," he challenged and she gasped softly. Still holding her around her waist with one hand, he raised his other to caress her cheeks with the backs of his fingers. She looked up at him, her deep brown eyes wide and innocent, short breaths puffing over her parted lips.

"Your heart is racing," he informed her, pulling her even closer. He towered over her, holding her as carefully as a frightened dove. She certainly seemed to shiver like a one. He found it endearing. He continued to list the symptoms of her attraction, in a soft whisper. "You're feeling faint, aren't you?" He whispered knowingly. "A warm flush, spreading from your stomach..." he leaned down to her neck, his lips gliding along her skin gently. She shivered and he smiled. "Along your spine..."

She closed her eyes and her lips parted of their own volition. His lips made a moist trail along her neck to her jaw, she leaned her head to the side, bearing herself to him.

"Leaving you light headed," he finished, whispering the words against her ear. He gently traced his lips over the shell of her ear.

"You mistake me," she whispered back. "Sir, I must... Oh..." Her resolve crumbled and her weak knees suddenly gave way.

He returned his hand to her waist, cradling her, supporting her. Beth melted against his hard chest, rested her head there for a moment. She could feel his heart pounding through his jacket and it shocked her. Did he feel the same for her? The discovery stirred something deep inside her.

"Will you admit it?" He whispered. She raised her head and met his gaze. "Hmm?"

She shook her head imperceptibly and he chuckled, lowering his lips to hers, not quite touching.

"You won't admit how bothered I make you?" He whispered, so close to her lips their breaths mingled.

"No," she breathed, though she raised herself onto her toes, inviting him to kiss her. "Will you?"

"Admit it?" He asked. "I thought it was obvious." His eyes were hooded, his lips never moving more than half an inch from hers. "Then again, a girl likes to be told, doesn't she?"

"Please don't..." She whimpered. "Teasing..."

"Hmm, you're quite correct," he chuckled. "How rude of me."

Finally his lips brushed against hers again.

"I am quite captivated with you, Miss Martin," he told her.

"Oh," Beth breathed.

He began moving his lips against hers and she swooned, clutching the front of his Redcoat with tight fingers, pulling him closer. Burwell's kiss had warmed something deep inside of her, but this… this was so much more.

"Hmm," he murmured, his heart racing. He gently nudged her lips with his, guiding them to part.

She let herself be guided by him. He suckled on her bottom lip, then her top. That warm flush he described began to spread through her. She moved her arms up to loop around his neck.

"You are such a little thing," he murmured between kisses, "you fit in my arms perfectly."

"Sweet Lord, you mustn't say things like that," Beth whispered back.

"It's the simple truth, little one," he suckled her lip lightly again, then urged her lips to part further. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, making her shiver.

"We have to stop," she whispered, gathering her wits.

"Why?" He asked her in a careless tone. She was quite distracting and her lips felt so good against his. She tasted of innocence. He wanted to slide his tongue between her lips but she was drawing away from him again.

"We are not engaged," she said. Gods, I'm engaged to Burwell, I should not be doing this! "We should not be doing this."

"It's just kissing, Miss Martin," he laughed. "Come now, no one can see us, we are shrouded by the trees."

"It's not that," her voice quavered. He leaned in to claim her lips again but she turned her face away and shook her head. She gently but firmly placed her hands on his forearms to pry them from her waist. "I can't do this, I have to go," her voice was harsh and she would not meet his eyes. Whirling from him, she pressed her hands to her stomach, trying to stop the sharp but pleasurable flips.

"Miss Martin," he reached for her again.

"Beth, is that you?" A man's voice called and Tavington lowered his arm with a scowl. "Ah, there you are Beth - oh, I did not realize you had company."

"Oh, yes," Beth tried to make her voice sound normal. Her face flushed all over again as she met Tavington's annoyed eyes. "We were just saying goodbye. Have you met Colonel Tavington, Uncle? Sir, this is my Uncle, Mark Putman."

Mark's eyes widened with shock, here he was, face to face with Tavington.

The Butcher.

"No, we have not met," Mark said, finally finding his voice. "It's a pleasure, Sir. We're about to sit down to dinner, would you care to join us?"

"That is very generous of you, Mr. Putman. I was merely walking Miss Martin home from the Tisdale's, I would not wish to impose."

"Not at all," Mark said, magnanimously with an expansive wave of his hand. "My wife would love to meet you, Sir." Mark gestured with his hand again and Beth and Tavington fell in beside him, Beth feeling wretchedly confused. It would have been better had Tavington not taken Mark up on the offer. "My wife, my sister, my daughter and Miss Martin visited the Tisdale's this morning and they were introduced to your Officers."

"Indeed? I was not aware. I have been in council for most of today."

"Colonel Tavington returned when Aunt Mage took Cilla and Aunt Charlotte home," Beth explained to Mark. "Miss Tisdale introduced us, he and Colonel Tarleton joined us for our picnic."

"Indeed? Yes, well, they made a good impression on the women," Mark said he said to Tavington. "What were their names again, niece?"

"Ah, Captain Bordon, Cornet Dalton and Ensign Brownlow."

Tavington smiled. "Forgive me, Miss Martin, but it's Ensign Dalton and Cornet Brownlow."

"Oh," Beth blazed crimson at her slip, embarrassed at making a fool of herself. Aunt Charlotte would be dreadfully disappointed, remembering names was one of the golden rules.

"Easy error to make," Tavington said. William's eyes where still warm as he gazed at Beth, he enjoyed seeing her struggle to get her voice under control. His voice, by contrast, sounded normal, completely under his control.

Mark Putman led the was up the steps and along the porch to a door leading into the house. The afternoon was stretching into twilight, Tavington would be walking home in the dark. He wondered for a moment if perhaps he should have returned briefly for his horse? It occurred to him that nobody knew where he was - he was usually trailed by several of his men and he was almost always mounted. He'd left his horse because he was walking Miss Martin home and hadn't expected to stay for dinner.

Not that he was in any danger at the Putman residence, and the walk back would be safe enough in the British held city. Still, his Officers should be aware of where he was, in case Sir Henry Clinton had need of him.

"I wonder if I could make use of one of your negroes, Sir?" William asked Mark as they entered the foyer of his home. "I should let Clinton know where I am in case he has need of me."

"Of course," Mark said. He summoned one of his slaves - Zeke, who Beth's maid Mila was sweet on. Tavington spoke to Zeke, giving instructions. When Zeke was on his way, Mark showed Tavington into the parlour.

Beth's family were already there, Aunt Mage sat at the pianoforte, she had been playing a tune before she and Tavington followed Mark in. Cilla sat on a chaise with a book in her hand. Aunt Mage stopped playing, her fingers poised over the keys as she gazed at the Officer with curiosity. Mark made the introductions as Beth sat down on a two seater lounger, secretly hoping William would sit beside her.

She was not to be disappointed. Tavington bowed to Mage and then to Cilla, before striding over to Beth and lowering himself beside her, close enough their legs touched, though it was a three person lounger and he had no need to sit so close.

Mage shared a quick look with Mark, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. _Leave it be._ All smiles, Mage offered to send for refreshments.

They made small talk - with Mage and Mark present, William had to behave himself. Beyond sitting too closely, he did not push his suit for the girl further.

"Oh, I'm ever so pleased you will be dining with us this evening," Aunt Mage blushed, "I would love to hear of some of your escapades, Sir. We have heard so many stories!"

"Yes, I'm certain," Tavington said wryly. "I've developed quite a reputation among the rebels, I'm afraid."

"Well, it's a ploy they use, is it not?" Mark said wisely. "Spreading exaggerated truths or outright lies to create outrage among the citizens, hoping they will become angry enough to join. They've got to recruit somehow."

Tavington, surprised, nodded in agreement. He hadn't expected Mr. Putman to take this stance and he began to revise his opinion. He'd assumed Beth's family were Patriots, Beth herself seemed to lean that way. But here was Mark, speaking derisively of them. And Colin Ferguson had said Benjamin Martin was a Loyalist. Why, then, would he encourage the suit of a Patriot for his daughter? Was he so poor - was his need to advance so strong - that he had no choice but to ignore it? After all, he did have eight mouths to feed.

"Yes, they do reduce themselves to propaganda at times, and unfortunately the common people can be easily swayed. Especially the Scotts and Irish," William said.

"Yes," Mark laughed. "They bear particular enmity for the British and unfortunately you will find many of those in the Back Country. There is a large number of Loyalists, however. Will you begin recruiting to the militia now that you've taken the city?"

"He tried to recruit Colin Ferguson just now," Beth said, giving William a disapproving look.

"Yes, and you made your feelings on that quite well known," William smiled. "But if he wishes to join us, I certainly will not turn him away. To answer your question, Mr. Putman, I shall indeed begin recruiting, almost immediately. Do you have any desire to join?"

"Good, God no," Mage gasped, her hand over her mouth as she looked at Mark, horrified.

"Don't you dare," Beth rounded on William, eyes flashing. "First my dearest friend and now my uncle?"

"Ladies," Mark waved for silence. "Niece, you will not speak disrespectfully to Colonel Tavington."

"Yes Sir," Beth lowered her eyes. William could still feel the stiffness in her, she was as rigid as a pole at his side.

"I do apologise, Colonel Tavington," Mark said.

"Not at all, I am becoming accustomed to Miss Martin's outbursts. She does care quite deeply, does she not? For her friends, her family. However, the Commander and Chief has tasked me with recruiting therefore recruit I shall, even if I am picking from Miss Martin's beloved tree."

Mark laughed softly. "To be honest with you, riding about in the height of summer through fetid swamps is most certainly not my cup of tea, however I do intend to present myself to the Exchange tomorrow to discover in what capacity I may be of assistance. I have the utmost respect for you and the other Officers in the field, however there must be something I can do that doesn't involve getting bitten by mosquitoes and waving a sabre about."

"I'm certain there is," Tavington inclined his head. "Are you acquainted already - that is, do you have connections - if not I can write a letter of introduction for you to give to the Commander and Chief?"

"That would be much appreciated," Mark said. "I understand the Middleton's and the Simms' have already presented themselves and I could go along with them, of course. But an introductory letter from you is certain to go a long way."

"I shall write it before I leave here tonight," William said. He turned to Beth. "See, recruiting is not all doom and gloom, Miss Martin."

Beth nodded and gave a weak smile, but she fixed her uncle with an eagle eyed stare - she had questions for him, by God, she did.

A servant entered to announce dinner was ready to be served.

"Shall we go through, then?" Mage asked. "I do hope everything is to your liking, Sir," she said as they made their way to the dining hall. "You may be accustomed to finer food than we have to offer."

Tavington scoffed to himself. Judging by the large manor and the quality of its ornaments and oil paintings, its ornate furnishings, Mark Putman was not lacking in wealth.

"I am a simple soldier," he said humbly. "I am used to living on rations. I am very much obliged to be dining with you."

He had said exactly the right thing, it seemed. Mage smiled broadly, deeply contented. They sat down at the table, Mark at the head, William and Beth together, Mage and Cilla facing them.

William briefly considered touching his foot to Beth's but decided she was not ready for 'under the table' play just yet. Talk turned to the war, as it always did at such times. Mage asked him endless questions. What camp life was like, did he miss the luxuries of living in a home, did he miss England, how long did he think the war would continue, what would happen now they had taken the city, she asked of previous battles, his sea crossing over four years ago. It kept William talking until he thought he might go hoarse. When the main course was done, cakes and custard were served and still the conversation flowed.

"That was wonderful," William said as he sipped a brandy - they were finished, his stomach was quite full. "Thank you, I'm much obliged."

"Not at all," Mark said. "We usually take a walk about the garden before retiring for the evening, if the weather permits. Will you join us?"

"I would like nothing more," William accepted and they walked through the house to the garden at the rear. It was almost full dark now, there were lanterns lit all the way through the gardens along the paths.

William replied. So far, the evening had gone better than he could have hoped for.

William offered Beth his arm and slowed their pace, falling far behind Cilla and her parents. He stopped by a flower bush and he picked a red rose from its stem. He cursed softly when a thorn bit deeply into his finger, drawing a bead of blood. Ignoring the sting, he snapped the rest of the thorns off the long stem and then presented it to Beth.

"For you, my darling," he said warmly and she took the flower with a shy smile.

"Thank you. You're bleeding, Sir," Beth said, pointing at Tavington's thumb.

"It's but a trifle," William replied, wiping the bead of blood on a kerchief.

"My Aunt will kill you if she finds out you picked one of her flowers, Sir," Beth said playfully. "She can be quite formidable."

"I dare say I have won your Aunt over completely - I am certain she will forgive me," Tavington smiled and took Beth by the hand. Beth could not help a small sigh as his fingers wound through hers. Her whole body flushed with pleasure at his touch. He gazed down at her with knowing eyes.

"You should not be so sure of yourself, Sir," Beth breathed, trying to gain control of herself. "Any regard you have won from her could be completely undone when she sees this." She held up the rose.

"It will have to be our little secret then, hmm?" Tavington replied softly, his eyes again studied her intently. "Keep still, my dear - there is a bee." Tavington reached up and gently twirled his fingers through her intricate braids, caressing through her hair gently. Beth knew from his mischievous smile that there was no bee. His fingers traced her cheek lightly and Beth shivered, her emotions becoming scattered all over again.

"I've enjoyed our evening, Miss Martin," Tavington's voice was still soft, a lovers caress. "I asked you earlier today if you regarded me at all and you said you did not know me well enough. I dare say you've changed your opinion of me by now?"

"I'm sorry?" Beth breathed, she found it difficult to think straight enough to concentrate on his words. His lips were so close, she hoped he'd kiss her again.

"You did not seem to think very highly of me, earlier today," he smiled confidently. "I wonder if your regard has changed?"

_Lord, he looks so sure of himself - that mocking smile!_

"Oh, you think you have completely won me over also, don't you? It is as it was earlier, Sir. I do not know you well enough to judge my regard," Beth said and with a toss of her head, she turned from him to catch up with her family just ahead.

She heard Tavington's quiet chuckle from behind her. She had not fooled him, he knew exactly what effect he was having on her.

The walk was done, Mark and Tavington adjourned to Mark's office and William sat at the large desk to pen the introductory letter.

"I will offer my home quartering, of course," Mark was saying as William wrote.

"That's very generous of you and would be very much appreciated," William replied. He finished the letter and signed it. "Mr. Putman, forgive me if I am overstepping, but I would like to speak to you about Colonel Burwell, to gain some clarification."

"I thought you might," Mark poured himself and William a brandy each.

"I am sure you can appreciate that having such a close connection to a high ranking Patriot has raised some questions. You appear quite willing to assist in any way you can, for which I am grateful. But I can not help but wonder - why was Burwell allowed to court Miss Martin when her family are Loyalists? Are you a Loyalist?"

"Well, the line has been blurred on occasion," Mark admitted. He and William moved to sit in two comfortable armchairs before the unlit fire place, surrounded by candles and lantern light. "Beth's father - Mr. Martin and I served on the Assembly before it was dissolved - it was not, strictly speaking, a Patriot council, not back then. There were Loyalists and Patriots and even Quakers. Mr. Martin and I did speak at times against some of the British laws and the like - I myself was quite opposed to the Stamp Tax though I could see the cause for it. My brother and I share a similar thinking - changes needed to be made and quite frankly they still do. But neither of us wanted a complete split from Britain, as some of the more hot headed among us wanted. Neither of us feel that we - as a country - can survive long without our tie to the Mother Country. So while we are Loyalists, we have at times had some rebellious notions, if you will. We have not, in any way, shape or form, supported the idea of Independence. When that treaty was signed, my brother in law and I walked away from the Assembly. But the past can not be erased - Benjamin, Mr. Martin that is, has history with Colonel Burwell, as do I. We served under his command during the Cherokee War, which you call the French and Indian war. Or the Seven Year war. We were both militiamen before and after that, as well. We've known Burwell for a very long time and are very close. Our political views had parted in the last few years but the friendship can not be erased. I believe Benjamin always had hopes of a union between his daughter and Burwell, and was quite well pleased when Burwell himself began to show an interest. This war is not going to last forever, we do have to plan for what comes after, as well. Maybe the Americans will have their way, perhaps our side will win instead. Unfortunately, we have to live here, and we have to plan for both possibilities."

William nodded with understanding, though he still had questions. "Miss Martin, I believe, might have told me a little falsehood today."

"How so?" Mark asked, alarmed.

"I asked her when she first met Burwell and she said it was at the Assembly Hall when the council was in session four years ago. But I have a feeling she knew Burwell well before that."

"Oh," Mark heaved a sigh. "Yes and no. She was likely a little afraid; to be honest, we all were. With the American withdrawal, I myself was a little afraid for my niece, what if the British took a special interest in her for being the woman Burwell courted for two years? She likely said that in a misguided attempt to protect us all. I plan to be entirely honest about it, however, to you and to Clinton if need be. She did know Burwell prior, but she hadn't met him all that often. He moved to North Carolina after the war - and that was what, fifteen years ago? She hadn't seen him since she was five years old."

"Ah," William threw his head back and nodded. "I see."

"She does not know that her father and Burwell had written to one another of a possible attachment. She thinks their first meeting was happenstance."

"Ah, that explains why her father took her to the meeting - I'd wondered about that," William said. "Thank you for explaining. I do need to ask you however - Miss Claire Bryant told us that Burwell proposed marriage and that Miss Martin refused him. Is that so?"

Mark laughed softly. "Children of today with their foolish notions. Daughters especially. They want to marry for love. But, to be fair, Benjamin and my sister Elizabeth loved one another quite deeply and Beth was raised seeing that great love. She wants it for herself, also and her father will not gainsay her. He does want this attachment, but he would not force it, I believe. It's why he designed their first meeting after all these years to appear an accident, he wanted Beth to make up her own mind."

"Indeed?" William asked, surprised to hear this.

"I guess she is waiting for the right one. And why not? She's not quite twenty, there's time for her yet. I suppose, however, that you are actually wondering why Loyalists would encourage a match with a Patriot?"

"You've explained that to my satisfaction, Sir," William said. "You're all old friends, you haven't always been at odds in your political views and you're planning for the long term, after the war. Quite understandable. I understand that Mr. Martin would wish to make his connection to his oldest friend even stronger through marriage, and - I do not mean to cause offence - but I assume he needs the connection to one as wealthy and powerful as Burwell for his own advancement?"

"Hmm," Mark nodded, sipping his brandy. "Yes, yes, just so."

"I thought so. Yet he will not force the issue, despite how the rest of his family will benefit?"

"No, he will not exchange Beth's happiness for his own advancement - it's up to him to propel his family forward, he would not sacrifice his daughters for that."

"So I am correct then? I do not mean to be indelicate, but the Martin family are of… simpler means than your own?" William prodded.

"They have no fortune, if that is what you're asking. My sister's dowry has been used up over the last two decades - not that I hold Benjamin to account, he has done the best he could. Winter storms and excessively hot summers have destroyed his crops for too many years running, making it impossible for him to get ahead. He gets by, his children are comfortable, well fed, their basic needs are met."

"Miss Martin is quite lucky then, to have her mother's side of the family to support her through her education and the like."

"Yes. That was another reason Burwell was so perfect for her," Mark laughed softly, regretfully. "He did not care that she had no dowry - she's pretty, lively, youthful - a breath of fresh for an old widow. And he would be doing his oldest friend a favour, in taking Benjamin's daughter. A match like this - between a gentleman of such great wealth and a woman with no fortune - can only happen once in a lifetime. We will not find another of Burwell's kind willing to take Beth as she is."

So it was confirmed, William's suspicions were correct, she had no fortune. He hadn't been considering marriage anyway - William himself was already engaged to Miss Eleanor Price, who came with a vast fortune. He was merely trying to understand the Martin's situation better, if Martin himself was not a Patriot, why connect his daughter to a man who was?

A Loyalist seeking a Patriot's fortune.

"Thank you for your candour, Mr. Putman," William said.

"So, you're not going to drag my niece off to prison in the hopes of gaining Burwell's surrender?" Mark asked and William suspected he was only half teasing.

"No, Sir, your niece is quite safe from us. Are you aware of her Patriot tendencies?"

"Yes," Mark heaved a breath. "Burwell's influence, I'm afraid. Ah well, she's a woman, what can I say?"

William laughed. "I must thank you again for your offer to quarter Officers in your home, Sir."

"Anything I can do to help," Mark spread his hands wide. "Will be done."

"What of your sister," William ventured. "Mrs. Selton? She has a house on Tradd Street, I'm told. Will she volunteer also?"

Mark made a face of doubt. "I have broached her on the subject already and she has reservations, understandably. She is a widow, a beautiful one I might add, living alone with my niece. She is afraid of having it suddenly crowded by strange men."

"When you put it like that, I do understand. However, it may be forced upon her. I assure you, Sir, any Officers to be quartered with your sister and your niece will be gentlemen."

"That is my fear also, that the issue will be forced. I will speak to her again, Sir," Mark replied. "Shall we join the ladies, then?" Mark asked and William nodded, rising.

After a short time in the women's company, it was time for William to make his farewells. The evening had come to an end, Zeke was bringing his horse up to the house, having fetched it from the Tisdale's earlier. The family walked William to the parlour door, where he took Mage. Putman's hand and kissed it lightly, doing the same with Cilla. He shook Mark Putman's hand, thanked them for the lovely evening.

"I wonder, Mr. Putman, would you grant me permission to visit with your niece, occasionally? If you are agreeable, of course, Miss Martin."

Beth, her heart racing, smiled weakly in reply, then waited for Mark to refuse him. She was engaged to Burwell, he would not allow this.

Mark inclined his head. "If Miss Martin is agreeable, then of course you may, Sir."

Beth gaped like a fish out of water. "I… ah… yes…" She whispered, shooting Mark an incredulous stare. Why was he allowing this? "Yes, I am agreeable." Gods, she could not wait to see him again.

At a gesture from Mark, Beth walked Tavington the rest of the way. Zeke stood at the front door, holding it open, William turned to Beth, took hold of her hand and kissed it.

"Miss Martin, I wonder if you will allow me a keepsake?" Tavington asked.

Beth laughed with embarrassment. "I... What keepsake, Sir?" She asked nervously.

"One of your silk ribbons, they are the exact deep brown of your eyes, you know."

Beth nodded and reached up to unwind a ribbon.

"Allow me," Tavington, wanting to touch her, reached up to unwind his chosen ribbon. She lowered her arms as he carefully as he worked, Beth could feel the braid tugging gently against her scalp. Once he had the ribbon free, his fingers caressed her neck and shoulder. Beth sighed and leaned into his touch.

"Good evening to you, Miss Martin," Tavington stepped back from Beth and with a last bow, he turned and strode toward his horse. Leaning against the side of the door, she stared, watching him until he disappeared into the night.

::::::::::::


	5. Chapter 5 - The Wager

Chapter 5 - The Wager

William trotted along the darkened street with a small smile tugging his lips, he felt like whistling as he made is way back to the Tisdale's.

_Lord, what a beauty she is. And her lips... _His smile broadened at the feel of his lips brushing hers, it had been... exhilarating. He was surprised by his reaction to the girl, it usually took far more for him to feel so bothered, far more than a simple kiss. His heart had not pounded that hard in years!

_Perhaps it was her reaction to me that was so intoxicating._

William had not failed to notice it - almost from the first few moments of meeting her. He suspected it was love at first sight - for her, in any case. Her heart had beaten wildly when he kissed her and he knew it had taken every fibre of her being to push him away. Though it was just as well she had, seeing that he uncle had come along only moments later.

_That's for Mrs. Pickering, you damned bastard, _William thought, stifling a grin. He'd look daft, riding along the street and smiling to himself - thank goodness it was dark. Lord, he felt high from it - exhilarated. Banastre hadn't managed to kiss her, and he'd been in the girl's company twice now. The girl was a virgin, perhaps William should not push for a deeper victory, he mused, he did have some scruples after all. Surely the kiss was enough? That alone was sure to send Banastre into fits, if he knew, and that would be satisfying.

Then again, there was his own attraction to the girl to consider. His heart was beginning to slow, but he could not stop thinking of her full, warm, lovely lips against his. Her trembling in his arms. The way she stared at him, as if entranced. _'Gods, you take mine.'_ He couldn't help the grin that flared over his face, he'd almost kissed her right there in front of her friends, when she told him he took her breath away.

It wasn't enough. He wanted more, he wanted all of her, virgin or not. And stuff Banastre to hell, it was what he got for stealing Mrs. Pickering. Somewhat bewildered, William continued to muse over his attraction to the girl. She was certainly beautiful and charming. Her temper! What a fiery little thing! Her connection to Burwell certainly added some spice. How satisfying it would be, to bed the woman Burwell had proposed to? How grand would it be, if Burwell found out? He almost laughed out loud.

Entering Tisdale's yard, he handed the reins over to a groom and headed toward the house, passing the spot he'd sat earlier with Miss Martin and her friends. Their earlier concern over Miss Claire Bryant's declaration had not been lost on him, Beth's three friends had gone on the alert like blood hounds chasing a scent as soon as Miss Bryant had mentioned Colonel Burwell.

Still, Beth and later Mr. Putman had explained the marriage proposal and her rejection to his satisfaction. Every young girl dreamed of love. He wondered if her father would force the issue, no matter what Putman seemed to think - would he allow her to reject Burwell, when the marriage would bring prestige and connections to the Back Country farmer? William had already pieced together Miss Martin's situation and Mr. Putman had confirmed it. Her father was middling wealth at best, and that was likely being generous. It was far more likely that he was of even lesser means - a little farmer, lower class - his wealthy wife's dowry all spent. Therefore, her father might force the issue yet, making his daughter marry Burwell.

And if William had already claimed her virginity… He smirked as he climbed the stairs to his bed chamber and by the time he was opening his door, Tavington had decided he would set his sights on her for far more than the kiss they'd shared.

However, unlike Burwell, he would not be pursuing her for marriage, no matter how beautiful she was, no matter how his heart pounded. It was alright for Burwell, taking a woman of simple means as his wife - he was a widow of great wealth, he hardly needed more. As Miss Martin had said, Burwell simply wanted a young lovely to tote around to balls and the like, a lovely decoration for other men to envy.

_He won't care if she's no longer a maid, then, will he? _He laughed softly to himself as he began stripping off his jacket and shirt.

William, by contrast, _had_ to marry well. He had no choice but to marry a woman of means. He was engaged to a young woman called Miss Eleanor Price, with twenty thousand pounds and an apartment in London. A pretty thing, to be sure. Not as beautiful as Little Miss Beth Martin, but she would make him a fine wife all the same.

But for now, Miss Martin would provide him no end of entertainment while he was in South Carolina, before he returned home to marry Miss Price.

His room was already reasonably well lit by several lanterns. He had pulled off his boots, and stripped to his waist, and was pouring water from a ewer into a large basin to wash in, when he heard a quiet knock. The door began to open and Mrs. Tisdale stepped into the room. He'd almost forgotten about her. She stopped dead, seeing him standing there in nothing but his breeches. This should have had the woman apologising and retreating. Instead, she licked her lips, her eyes tracing his chest. He was standing side long to her, so he turned to face her, to give her a better look.

"Mrs. Tisdale," he said. She was quite beautiful, with her luscious black hair and deep blue eyes, fine figure. She was older than he by at least ten years, but there was not a single grey in her hair and she had aged into her beauty, her face was as yet unlined.

"Colonel Tavington," she said, hovering in the doorway. "Captain Bordon sent word a while ago, he is at the Might George, if you care to join him."

"Thank you, Mrs. Tisdale. I think I shall."

Instead of leaving, she continued to linger. "I just wanted to ensure that your accommodations are to your liking?"

"Yes, they certainly are," he set the ewer down. Still feeling well warmed from kissing Miss Martin, he crossed the room toward her. "The room is more than adequate, and the bed..." He cast a look over his shoulder, then gave her a significant look. "The bed is quite comfortable."

She stared past him at the bed, her bosom lifted high as she drew in a deep breath. Was she picturing her between the sheets with him? She shifted her gaze back to his.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. If there is anything else you need from me, you have only to let me know."

"How shall I let you know what I need from you?" He asked her, moving closer. She smiled up at him, she backed up away from him, but only so she could close the door.

"In no uncertain terms," she reached behind her, felt for the key, then turned it in the lock.

"Hmm, I like that, no uncertain terms," he replied. He cupped her face with his hands, leaned down to her, his lips hovering an inch from hers. "Am I giving you enough certainty?"

"Gods, yes," she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her lips crashed to upwards to his. Her hands were on his breeches, pulling at his belt. He laughed softly. Hot to trot was right. Hardly a worthy conquest, this one. But she was bound to be enjoyable, all the same. Her hand reached into his breeches and he gasped as her fingers closed over his shaft. He was hard already and Mrs. Tisdale seemed quite prepared to skip the preliminaries herself, for she was pushing his breeches down to his thighs as she backed him up to the bed.

Not all of his conquests needed to be difficult, he thought as he shoved his beeches down and off his legs. He sat on the edge of the bed, only for her to push him back and climb on top of him, straddling him. Her skirts pooled around her bent legs, she rose up on her knees, reached under her skirts, felt for his phallus, held it upright, then sank downward, impaling herself on top of it. William's eyes rolled, he gripped her waist with his fingers and groaned as he was enveloped by her quim.

This was what it usually took to get his heart pounding. It still astounded him, that Miss Martin had done that with just a kiss. He was well warmed by her, he reached up and pulled Mrs. Tisdale down even as he reared up to kiss her. Their teeth clashed, she groaned into his mouth as she began setting a quick rhythm, as fast as a drummer on a battlefield. Their thighs slapped together, sweat slicked her face as she rode him, her eyes closed and her lips open and gasping. He hadn't been with a woman for weeks and within minutes of this sweet torture, his orgasm was upon him. He did not stop it - he was futile to try. He grunted, arched his back, cursed softly as his cock twitched and jerked, his seed firing along his length and into her quim. She continued to bounce on him for some time longer, until she too arched her back and with a soft cry, he felt her quim convulse around him. She was done in as well, and she collapsed on top of him in a sweaty, silken heap.

"Dear Lord, I wanted to do that with you since I laid eyes on you," she whispered as she laid herself out on top of him, her bodice was soft against his skin.

"So I noticed," he laughed, running his fingers up and down her sides. She lifted herself up, her hands bracing herself above him, but made no further move to dislodge herself from his phallus. Her hair was in complete disarray, strands flying out from her coiffure. He brushed them back away form her eyes. She smiled down at him. "What would you have done, if I had proven resistant to you? I might have been a man of scruples, you know."

"Heaven forbid," she laughed. "If you had been, it would have taken so much the longer to get my satisfaction."

"You're so certain of your success?" He arched his eyebrows. She laughed again.

"I saw the way you looked back at me, I was not the only one giving signals. Besides, yes, I am quite certain I would have been successful, had you proved to be… a nuisance."

"A nuisance," he laughed. He glanced at the mirror, a long stand mirror not far from the bed, they proved quite a sight - he was completely naked, laid out flat on his back, and she was still completely clothed, laid out on top of him. Quite a sight. "I trust we will be able to repeat this tonight? Unless you're afraid your husband will visit your bed and find you missing."

"He might visit me. Either way, I will come to you after ten o'clock, he never comes to me that late."

"If he does, wash first, will you? I'm not all that partial to buttered bun," he twisted his lips with distaste.

"As you wish, as I said - anything you need," she pulled off his length with a hearty sigh, then laid out beside him. "That was…" she shifted her head on the mattress to face him. "Everything I imagined it would be."

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Tisdale."

"I think we can dispense with all that, don't you? It's Vera, William."

"Very well, Vera."

"Hmm, that's better." She turned on her side to face him. "I dare not stay, it was a risk coming to you so early in the evening," she sounded reluctant to leave, however.

"Well, while I hate to press the matter, I was about to bathe - if I am to meet Bordon, I must start getting ready."

"Do you want me to have a bath drawn for you?" She asked, caressing his nipple with her fingertip.

"Only if you can join me," he said, knowing she could not. A little flirting wouldn't hurt, it would let her believe he was infatuated, which in turn would keep her returning to him. In truth, he only wanted her for the relief she'd given him, he certainly wasn't about to fall in love, not with Vera Tisdale.

"Ooh, I do wish I could," she sighed. "Another time, perhaps. My husband might be wondering where I am as it is. I really should go."

"Very well," he smiled at her as she rose. She leaned down to kiss him and he returned it, but had to stifle his impatience, for he wanted her gone. "After ten, then?" He asked.

"Most certainly," her lips moved over his for a few more moments, but she finally rose from the bed. She spent some time before the mirror, patting her hair back into its coiffure, William rose as well and started washing himself, passing the wet cloth over his chest and under his arms, he paid special attention to his cock as he washed her arousal away. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Vera was gazing at him through the mirror. There'd be another farewell now, more kissing and flirting. Just as he thought, she came back to him and spent several more moments in his arms, before she finally withdrew from the chamber. It would take sometime before he managed to seduce Miss Martin, he would need Vera Tisdale in the meantime.

* * *

When Tavington disappeared into the night, Beth finally turned from the door. As if in a dream, she returned to the parlour where her family were seated. Cilla was wearing an expression of concern, Mage one of delight, Mark one of victory. Beth sat with them.

"Uncle, why in the world did you give him permission to visit me?" She asked, terribly confused. Zeke entered the chamber and began pouring wine and cordial, before retreating to a corner, where he would wait to be called upon. "Does that mean he's courting me now? But I'm engaged to Colonel Burwell. And what of all that about presenting yourself to the Exchange and meeting Clinton and offering your help - have you suddenly changed sides when I was not looking? You're no more a Loyalist than Burwell is," she said.

"That will be all, Zeke," Mark said. He waited for the slave to retire before answering Beth's question. "To throw them off the scent, Beth."

"You're going to let British Officers quarter here, to throw them off the scent?" Cilla asked, back stiff, face worried.

"Indeed I shall."

"It's for the best," Mage agreed. "We must appear to be friendly and on side with them, it's the only way."

"We could leave," Beth said. "That's another way."

"No, we are staying," Mark said, voice firm. "But never fear, we are safe. You, Beth, are safe now. I explained to Colonel Tavington that you are not attached to Burwell - I received his assurance that you are no longer of interest to the British."

"Oh," Beth drew in a quick breath. No longer of interest. That was a good thing, was it not? But did it mean she would not see Tavington again? Her stomach gave a small, unpleasant flip. No, he'd asked permission to do just that, so she would indeed see him again.

"I also told him that your father is of small means, his plantation ailing, and my sister's dowry is all used up."

"Why?" Beth gasped. "Mamma's dowry is to be shared among her daughters, and father is far from poor. Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because of the attention he was giving you," Mark said bluntly. "While I wish to encourage his visits, I do not know him, I can not discount the possibility that he is a fortune hunter and will set his sights on you for marriage. This way, he will wile away his time in the enjoyable company of a pretty woman, but he will not grow a serious attachment, he will not try to marry you."

"Why would you encourage such a thing, papa?" Cilla asked. "That's an awful position to put Beth in!"

"Because, Cilla, if I am encouraging Beth to be courted by others, then she can not possibly be engaged to Burwell, can she?" Mark asked.

"Does that mean… Gods, I'm so confused, are you allowing Tavington to court me? Am I engaged to Colonel Burwell or not?" Beth asked.

"Of course you are," Mark scoffed. "But it is a secret. That stupid girl - Miss Bryant, blurting it for all to hear. And Major Bryant, how foolish of him, if he did indeed announce it to his family. We have to do something to counter any gossip that might arise."

"So letting Tavington court Beth, that is throwing them off that scent, too?" Cilla asked.

"You disapprove," Mark confronted his daughter. "But it necessary, regardless." His voice softened, he shrugged and spoke with unconcern, "Beth, just smile sweetly at them, throw a few compliments in, be humorous - entertain them. Feign interest if you must, but not so much that Tavington or Tarleton fall in love with you. Just… be yourself. They'll move on eventually and all this will be over. I can see that you are not overly eager to do this, but Beth, it's the best way. Let a few British Officers court you, and that way, no one will suspect that Burwell's two year courtship has amounted to a secret engagement. Yes?"

"Yes, uncle," Beth met Cilla's eyes, both girls quite uncomfortable.

"Have you written your letter to Burwell yet? I'd like to get it on its way."

"No, Sir, there has been no time," Beth said.

"When he left here, he was not entirely certain if you were engaged. We need to dispel the ambiguity, Beth."

"Tomorrow," she said , starting to feel cornered.

"When?" Mark pressed her.

"Some time tomorrow," she said, lifting her eyes, her voice iron. Mark saw the anger creeping in and decided not to push her. Tomorrow sometime would have to do, it was not worth arguing over.

* * *

Beth sat beside her uncle, moving with the jostle of the carriage as it made its way from Mark's house to Charlotte's.

"It will work, I think," Mark was saying. "Of course, we both know that you are engaged to Colonel Burwell. But we can't have the British learning it. If we allow Tavington and Tarleton to visit you upon occasion, perhaps those who believed you to be on the verge of marrying Burwell, will be less inclined to give it any merit. It's a good disguise, I think. Do you think so too, niece?"

"Yes, I suppose it will," she said, unwilling to voice her misgivings to her uncle. Or her desire to see Tavington again, so very much. If this was the excuse Mark needed to allow Tavington to return, that was fine with Beth.

"What did you speak about, when you were alone?" Mark asked. "Earlier today and this evening…"

"What do you mean?" She frowned in the lantern light. "We just… talked." Her face flushed red, she could not tell him the details of Tavington's flirting, his compliments and comparisons to her beauty.

"Well, you know… Did he mention anything about the war? About his intentions, or those above him?"

"No," she said, her brow furrowing. "Why would he?"

"He is an Officer in His Majesties army," Mark shrugged. "A high ranking one at that. I would have thought he'd speak of little else."

"Oh, I suppose he did, a little bit, and Tarleton too," she said and Mark lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, those two, they work well together, they do," her irritation began to return. "Tarleton, hurling questions at me about papa when that stupid Claire Bryant told them about my engagement. One after the other, he asked how we met and and about out courtship which led to him learning that papa had served on the Assembly and so he asked question after question about that. And all the while, Tavington was utterly silent, staring at me, watching my every move, I could swear he was listening to every infliction in my voice, trying to discern if I was lying. I felt that he was the one doing the questioning, even though it was Tarleton firing the questions. They worked together to unsettle me, and they did a fine job of it, too."

"They did, did they?" Mark breathed. "They're close, are they? That's good to know."

"As for what was said… Tavington told me that Tarleton will only be staying for a few weeks, to get some rest and recoup and the like. Then he'll be heading outward, back to the countryside, to recruit and purchase horses and to rout out the rebels."

"Where?" Mark asked and Beth shrugged.

"He didn't say. He told me that he fought Colonel Burwell," she said softly. "That bothered me."

"That he fought Burwell?"

"No. Well, yes, it did, but it was something else. He said he sent a missive to Colonel Burwell, offering terms. Colonel Burwell said he would fight to his last extremity and so the skirmish began. Men died. Others were captured. And when it was over, Tavington discovered that Burwell and a few of his higher ranking Officers had fled. I'm glad he's alive and I know his fleeing meant that Gabriel got away too, but he should not have vowed to fight to the last, only to abandon his men."

"Better than dying," Mark said. "We need Colonel Burwell."

"That's all well and good, but don't make an oath to stay and fight if you're not going to stay and fight," Beth replied. "It's not the fleeing that bothers me, it's that he went back on his word."

"I see. Well, battles and skirmishes are quite heated affairs. You don't know that it wasn't his own Officers pleading with him to leave, dragging him away from the battle to fight another day. I know Burwell. It would have killed him to abandon his men."

"Yes, I suppose," Beth said, nodding slowly as the picture formed in her mind, of Gabriel and several others, seizing Burwell's arms and dragging him back away from the fray. It did not mean he was a coward, or without honour. He did what he had to, to fight another day. "Tavington told me he had Burwell's men see to by his field doctor. They were taken captive, those that lived. And," her voice hardened, "they were given the choice of changing sides. Many took him up on that offer."

"Hmm. Turncoats," Mark curled his lip.

"That's what I said," she huffed. "I was disgusted by their weak allegiance, a little hunger and they turn just like that? We don't need them among our ranks, if that is the case."

"I hope you didn't say as much to Tavington," Mark laughed.

"I did," Beth laughed too, "though he didn't like it overly much." She deepened her voice, mimicking Tavington's. "I believe you're forgetting to whom you are speaking," she said in perfect imitation, plum and all. "Then he asked me if I was a Patriot."

"He asked me if I knew you were a Patriot," Mark scoffed. "So. How did you answer?"

"I told him I liked His Majesty King George just fine."

Mark threw back his head and laughed.

"He was not angry with you?" Mark asked when his amusement subsided.

"No, he didn't appear to be," she said. Her jealously flared again when she continued, "he said he's had plenty of acquaintances among Patriot women since he arrived in the Colonies."

"Partial to a pretty rebel, is he?" Mark grinned. "Well, more fool him. Listen, Beth, I wonder if you would do something for me?"

"What's that?"

"Well, it seems that Tavington might relax around you enough to be quite forthcoming with you… I wonder, would you mind terribly, if you keep your ears pricked for anything you think might be… useful."

"Useful how?" She asked, furrowing her brow again.

"Well, you know, let us say he tells you he's found a nest of rebels and he's about to chase them down or if he's about to go capture someone of note or… that sort of thing."

"I doubt he would confide such, but of course I will tell you. Though there probably isn't much we could do about it, from here."

"Likely not," Mark gave a show of agreeing. "Likely not. But it's good to know their movements, to know how far we can trust them, to know if they're about to attack our friends - at least we'll know, even if there's naught we can do to prevent it. Better to see clearly then be kept in the dark."

"I understand. Of course I will, uncle."

"You're a good girl, Beth," he said, patting her hand. Mark began to give her instructions, what she could say to the British Officers, what she could not. If anyone was to ask, her father was a Loyalist, the entire family were Loyalists; good Kings folk. There were other instructions as well, the list went on and on until, by the time she reached her Aunt Charlotte's house, she felt as wrung out as a dishrag.

* * *

"Mrs. Putman, this is a pleasant surprise," Vera Tisdale said as Mage Putman was shown into the parlour, looking beautiful in a silk gown. Mage let her cape slide from her shoulders and into the hands of Sibby, one of Vera's negroes. Vera stared, stunned by Mage's gown. It was simply beautiful, gold silk printed with red roses and green leaves, the bodice formed around Mage's body to perfection, accentuating her small waist while enhancing her bosom. There was no fichu covering those two full globes that almost fell out of the top of the bodice, her cape had been her modesty, it seemed. While Vera had hoped to spend some of her day with Tavington, she was glad now that it was only Bordon, Brownlow and Dalton present. Despite the slap he had given her, Vera very much wanted to keep William to herself and she had the distinct feeling he had a roving eye. Have him walk in now and see Mage Putman in all her majesty and she might well find her new lover's head turned already.

Luckily, it was only Bordon, Brownlow and Dalton in the parlour, idly playing a game of cards of some sort or other.

"Oh, I simply had to show you this," Mage said, handing her a folded scrap of broadsheet. "Madam Veissielle has new silk in from abroad - I simple had to tell you as soon as I saw it advertised."

"Oh," Vera said, nodding politely. She'd known about the silk, she'd told Mary just the other day. Still… "I am in your debt, Mrs. Putman; it was very kind of you to think of me when you saw this. Come, won't you sit?"

"Yes, yes I shall," Mage said, throwing a glance over at the Officers. All three of them had stopped their game, three pairs of eyes fixed on her. Mage smiled warmly and gave a shallow but graceful curtsy. The Officers rose, inclined their heads, greeted her with warmth. Mage approached them, her skirts swishing gently around her legs.

"Mrs. Putman," Bordon took her fingers and kissed her hand. "How wonderful to see you again."

"And you, Captain. What are you playing here?" She asked.

"Faro, but we can change to quadrille if you'd care to join us."

"Oh, how thoughtful," Mage gushed. Bordon held the chair out for her and Mage sat. "Say you'll join us, Mrs. Tisdale."

"I couldn't think of anything I'd like more," Vera said, her own silk skirts swishing about her legs as she came to sit with the group - Brownlow holding her chair for her. Eyes lingering on Mrs. Putman, Bordon began to deal. Mage was so warm and friendly, near too giddy with it. Vera watched her with an eagle eye, the hairs on the back of her neck stirring with suspicion. She spoke to one of her negroes, gestured for a decanter of wine. They set to, drinking and playing, and all the while, Vera had her eyes on Mage.

Who, though very subtlety done, was most certainly flirting with Captain Bordon. And Captain Bordon, while also subtlety done, was more than receptive. Vera stifled a smile - perhaps she needn't fear William coming in while Mage Putman was there after all, for Mage had set her sights on lesser quarry than the Colonel.

With her dread eased - Mage Putman was not a rival after all - Vera became quite expansive and generous with her hospitality. Sweetmeats were bought in on trays but it was the wine they cared about and she let it flow like a river. Four - or was it five? - goblets later, Mrs. Putman and Bordon interest in one another become less guarded, with Mage leaning in so very close and hanging on to every word the Captain said, and the Captain almost salivating at he stared at Mage's mostly exposed bosom. Vera almost suggested the two retire to one of the chambers above, but that would have been indelicate.

She wouldn't tell, though. As long as Mage kept her hands off Tavington, Vera didn't care who the woman fucked.

Vera was feeling quite flushed from the wine, she was more than tipsy - perhaps even drunk. The two young Officers were in much the same state as she, and she began eyeing them both up, wondering if either would be as good as William between the sheets. How much longer was he going to be, anyway? She rested her chin on her hand, eyes lingering on Dalton until the youth began to smile, puffing his chest as she gazed at him. She almost laughed. Was William a jealous lover? She sighed, deciding not to take the chance. But Gods, she was aching. It didn't help, seeing the two new love birds to her right in their aristocratic-oh-so-subtle dance. Mage had come here with the sole purpose of initiating this pursuit but it was very clear to Vera that Bordon was not going to make the hunt difficult.

They were whispering now, heads bent together, a swift exchange before they drew back from one another. They played the round to the end, Brownlow winning. And then Mage rose, as unsteady as Vera felt, her face and bosom and neck flushed, her full lips wanting.

"I do thank you all, this was wonderful. I must be going now, but perhaps I shall return tomorrow."

"You're always welcome here, Mrs. Putman. I look forward to it," Vera replied, wondering how long Bordon would wait before he, to excuse himself. Mage Putman was gone for a whole ten minutes, before Bordon gave his apologies and withdrew.

Taking her glass back to her seat by the window, Vera wondered where the two new lovers had designed to meet for their tryst.

* * *

"Oh dear Lord," Mage's fingers curled, gripping the sheets as she writhed beneath Bordon's tongue. Her heart pounded as his kisses sent her into whirlpools of frenzied intensity from her navel down to that place where his lips and tongue were buried. Her legs stiffened, her body seized, she gasped - her fingers grasping as she slipped beyond her senses and into delirium, where she lingered for a pleasantly long time, long enough for Bordon to climb on top of her, his proud mast at full and demanding release. She shifted lazily, took a hold of his member and, her eyes fixed on his face, she guided him inside her. He wore an agonised expression as he pushed up to the hilt - sliding, for the work he'd done on her had made her more than ready. A ship steering in to the harbour. Gods, how he filled her. Each thrust was met with a rush of pleasure that set her blood to burning, filling that hungry place inside of her. She gripped his buttocks with her fingers, driving him onward, guiding him to fill her, her writhing movements making the most of his wondrous length and bringing her out so easily. He was getting as close as she, both driving with frantic need, their lips crashing together with agonised groans. Mage dug her fingers in, arched her back and panted as the whirlpools picked her up and again spun her away into delirium.

* * *

Mage lay on her side, her breasts pushed up against Bordon's ribs. He lay on his back, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. Her fingers drew a lazy caress along the dips and planes, goosebumps following. With the frantic need sated, their breathing had returned to normal and now came breathy laughter and softly spoken affection. Richard - as he'd told her to call him - spoke of his childhood in England, he was indeed nobly born and held a position in higher circles than any other mere Captain might. He spoke of his journey to the Colonies, his favourite moments and his worst. They drank wine while he told her his fears, his hopes. They coupled again, Mage gripping the headboard as Richard took her from behind. And then they rested once again, resuming their relaxed position in the bed, on the pillows, as talk turned toward the more current news that Mage had come for.

* * *

"Are you wroth with me?" Mage asked her husband. He stood before the window, back rigid, a glass of whiskey in his hand. She stared at his ramrod straight back, and swallowed hard. "We always knew it might come down to it," she said softly. "If I promised more than I intended. If I'd reneged suddenly after all the flirting…"

"Yes, we discussed it," Mark said, turning to her finally, his handsome face holding no anger. "And no, I am not wroth. I just… I hadn't thought it would feel like this…"

"Like what?" She asked, rising from her seat and going to him. She cupped his face with gentle fingers.

"I know you love me," Mark said, trying to find the right words. "And I know you'd be faithful to me, I trust you completely. And because of that I… I just hadn't thought it would bother me, you doing what you must."

"I do love you, Mark. I will always love you and you alone. He meant nothing to me. He meant -"

"Information, is what he means to you," Mark said. "I know that. But when we talked about the possibility of you bedding him… I thought I'd be fine - it was necessary, another sacrifice we must make. Others are giving up so much more - they're putting their very lives on the line for our freedom. I thought, in comparison to that…"

"That your wife bedding another man paled?"

"Yes," he whispered. "But Gods, Mage. I never thought… I should have thought upon this more," he pulled her against him, his hands on her waist. "I can't help but feel… embarrassed."

Mage drew a sharp breath of dismay. "I've embarrassed you?" She gasped, offended.

"No, not like that. You're my wife and Gods, you do me proud. The embarrassment comes from him - not from you. From what Bordon must be thinking now. That he's jilted me, I'm the cuckold husband. He doesn't know that in bedding him, you were betraying him! He is thinking you were betraying me!"

"I understand," Mage nodded. How to reassure him? "You're right, he doesn't know. Let him think what he will, my love. You and I know the truth. That the only reason I did what I did, was to gain information for our cause. Information that you will be able to send to Burwell, to Gates. Hell, even to Washington himself! I learned so much today, Mark, I got every ounce he had to spare and he thought it was just pillow talk after coupling. The joke is on him - he is the one _I_ am embarrassed for. Letting his flesh and blood scream louder than his duty. Gods, how easy he was! Like a starved man, begging for scraps."

Mark nodded, listening to her every word, allowing it to soothe him. He pressed his forehead to hers, they swayed gently in one another's arms.

"If it is too much, I won't do it again. I won't return to him, Mark. Not if it's going to hurt you. We'll find information elsewhere, using another method."

"Jesus, I told Burwell I'd be leader to the spy ring. What sort of leader turns away information as important and as abundant as you have bought me today? When other men are dying for us. Mage, if it bothers you doing it, then I certainly will not make you do it again. But as for me… I can live with this. I will live with this."

"I can too," Mage said. "But only if I know you don't hate me for it. That is my limit, dear heart. If it's going to lead to you hate me, then I simply can not do it."

"Hate you!" Mark gasped. "At the beginning, I knew this might be a possibility. I sent you there, knowing what might happen, if things went too far. I'm a poor husband for requesting this of you as it is, I'd be even poorer if I despised you for something I myself have condoned before you even did it."

She smiled up at him. "You are not a poor husband," she murmured, gently kissing his lips. "I love you, so very much."

"And I you," he murmured back.

After a time, he met her gaze, and she wondered if he would ask her if she had enjoyed it. So far, the question had not risen, but she expected it to. She intended to be honest, though she knew it would cripple him. For that reason, she'd hoped he would not broach it.

"You'll take a few precautions, will you not?" He asked instead, softly, carefully. They were treading quite gingerly with one another, because of their conspiracy of Mage seducing Bordon and everything related to it was difficult to discuss. She doubted they would talk much about it in future, except for the relaying of whatever information Mage gained. That was the important part, the rest - the actual bedding - would not be a topic they would discuss again.

"Of course. Our sacrifice to the cause ends with the bedding - I will not give you a bastard to raise."

Mark smiled, he kissed her deeply. He lifted her onto the desk and pulled the front of his breeches open. Moments later, he was thrusting hard and fast, as if reclaiming what was his.

* * *

William found Banastre as he was trotting down the steps in front of the Assembly Hall.

"Have you plans for lunch?" William called as he drew closer.

"Not as yet, there's a tavern nearby Hanger and I have visited," Tarleton replied. "Shall we go there?"

"With pleasure," Tavington said, eager for a glass of wine.

They fell into step together. Banastre asked with far more casualness that he felt, "did you see Miss Martin safely home yesterday?" The two men entered the prosperous looking tavern.

"Yes. She has quite a temper, does she not?"

"I thought your eyes would pop out of your head when she turned on you. Her face could have been carved from stone!" Banastre held the door open for William.

"Perhaps we pushed her too hard. Most others break under the strain, however. They certainly do not fire up the way she did! I admit I was very surprised indeed." William blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the tavern's common room.

"I was surprised you did not grow angry yourself - not many people speak to you that way. You have no tolerance, what so ever." Banastre led the way to a table, William sat across from him.

"No, not usually. I think I was too astonished at first, and then... You are right about her, she is the loveliest of creatures." William idly drummed his gloved fingertips on the table top.

"I am always right when it comes to women, William." Banastre pulled his gloves off and placed them on the table. They had not been seated long when they were approached by the innkeeper.

"Good afternoon, Sir. What can I get for you today? Will you be dining? We have roast lamb and the vegetables are almost ready. Bread, cheese?"

"Yes, to both," he glanced at William who nodded agreement. "And a nice red - a merlot, if you will." The inn keep turned away to fetch the drinks. "Now we are aware of her connection to Burwell, I suggest we keep a close eye on her now." Banastre said. "Perhaps mention her to Clinton, just so he is aware."

"Oh, I do intend to keep a close eye on her," William smirked.

Banastre arched an eyebrow, he began drumming his fingers on the tabletop, inadvertently revealing his irritation.

"I met her uncle," William said. "He invited me to stay for dinner."

"Is that so?" Banastre asked, twisting his lips.

"It is. And afterward, I sat with Mr. Putman for a bit and I asked him to speak freely, to explain Miss Burwell and Colonel Burwell's situation. He did so and I am satisfied that there is nothing in it - she wants to marry for love, she says, and Burwell wanted a pretty decoration on his arm when he went out in public. She is not wealthy, he is."

"She's not wealthy?" Banastre asked, surprised by this.

"No, not in the slightest. The wealth came from the Putman side, his sister Elizabeth - Miss Martin's mother - had a dowry, but it is all gone. Mr. Martin has suffered with poor crops due to bad seasonal weather and therefore, has no fortune. I wondered about his Loyalties, that he would wish to marry her to a Continental, but that was explained also. Martin is a Loyalist who is willing to overlook Burwell's allegiance for the sake of a marriage alliance that would have benefited Martin. And Burwell was willing to overlook Miss Martin's lack of fortune, for the sake of assisting his friend to climb the ladder. And so he would have his pretty decoration. But as Miss Martin wants to marry for love, none of it is to be. It's a pity really, if Burwell valued her, she would have proved a useful tool."

"Yes, she would have," Banastre replied.

"But you are quite right, we should keep an eye on her. Speaking of which, I am going to visit her tonight." He leaned back in his seat and watched as his friend's face twist with a scowl.

A pretty barmaid was walking by, she stopped in her steps and stared at Tavington with frank admiration, then gave him a slow wink. William smiled warmly at the young woman and nodded once.

"Good Gods, man! What is the matter with you? I saw her first, I have the prior claim," Banastre growled.

"Goodness, what an outburst. Despite what you believe, you are hardly the first, nor will you be the last. Will you frighten away all her suitors then?"

The inn keep returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses, placing them on the table.

"Thank you, sir, I will pour them," Banastre said, dismissing the man. "Not all her suitors, William," he muttered when they were alone again. "Just you."

"You think to scare me away?" William laughed. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he gazed at the other Officer. "Let's make it interesting, shall we?"

"Oh, no! No you don't!" Banastre protested at once. "I will not vie with you for her! I do not want to make this a race, a quick seduction will not do her justice."

"But you admit you wish to seduce her?"

"Of course I bloody do," Banastre snapped.

"As do I. So, then, let us make it interesting. Fifty pounds," William smiled and leaned forward intently, folding his arms on the table. "Come now, it is always so much more entertaining when we have more to win than the girl herself... And to take Burwell's prospective bride out from under him..." He laughed at his play on words. "Can you imagine what he would say, learning that a British Officer had taken his decoration?"

Tarleton whistled at the price Tavington set for the wager and pulled his gaze away. He recognized that predatory gleam in his friends eyes and knew William would not give in.

_Oh well, it is not like I wanted to marry the girl, anyway. But damn it, I want her for myself, I do not want to lose her in a bloody bet with William!_

"Fifty pounds is a fair figure, William. I take it we are talking rogering her? Taking her virtue?"

"Of course," William laughed again, "what else?"

"This is going to be Mrs. Pickering all over again. You know she still writes to me, all the way from England? I admit I do enjoy her letters. However, she is waiting for me to return to her!"

_Rubbing salt into the wound, is he? _William tried not to scowl. He had no idea the woman was still writing to Banastre. Perhaps it was a gibe to remind him of Banastre's victory. Either way, it made William more determined to win this time.

"I still do not know how you managed to win her away from me. This wager will not be like that one, however. I plan on winning this time."

"Over confident, aren't you? Fine. Done. Fifty pounds it is," Bansatre replied, he had to shove aside an unexpected pang of guilt. "Be sure you have the money ready, Tavington."

William sat back in his chair and sipped his wine with a contended smile. He had no intention of losing this bet - his pride alone would not allow it - not after having lost the beautiful Mrs. Pickering. Miss Martin would more than make up for the loss. Besides, judging by her reaction while he kissed her, she was already half way his. His member hardened at the very thought, achingly confined within in breeches.

"I will be back soon," William murmured. He followed the pretty barmaid as she disappeared through a door at the back of the common room.

"Oh, do be quick, William. I do not want to sit here drinking by myself," Banastre sighed sullenly. "I would have bought Hanger along if I'd known you'd abandon me for a wench!"

William laughed and crossed the common room with quick strides, catching up to the barmaid in the corridor. Once he was close behind her, he covered her eyes with his hands.

"Guess who?" He whispered in her ear.

"I do not know your name, but I hope you are the handsome fellow with blue eyes..." The girl flirted.

"No!" William laughed with mock outrage. "I am the other one, with red hair..."

"Hmm, I know you are not," She was still blinded to him. "He is far shorter..."

"Oh? You've had him before?" William's tone became desirous. Banastre and he were often attracted to the same women. It was not unheard of for them to roger the same women, and boast later about who had satisfied her more.

"Yes..." She admitted with a giggle.

"Then I simply must have you also. Tarleton and I always share our toys."

"Oh, is that what I am?" The barmaid turned to face him and William put his arms around her, giving her bottom a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps the two of you are my toys..."

"Well then come play with me," Tavington lowered his lips to hers and gave her bottom lip a playful nip.

"Not without knowing your name, dear heart."

"Dear heart... I like the sound of that. I want you to whisper it in my ear when I am inside you. Oh, I am Lieutenant Colonel William Tavington, Green Dragoons, most definitely at your service."

The girl's knees weakened in his grip, he had to hold her steady.

"No..." She whispered, he laughed to see awe and fear in her eyes.

_I do have a reputation, it seems._

"Come, darling, show me to a room where we can have some privacy."

"This way," the girl took his hand and led William to a storeroom filled with shelves.

"Interesting," he laughed. "I've not coupled in a storeroom before."

"I'll show you how," she murmured. Her fingers began unclasping his belt, then slowly undid the buttons. William ran his hands over her breasts through her bodice, then with a sigh he leaned down to nibble her earlobe.

"What is your name?" He murmured.

"Helen Shaw."

He traced his tongue along her ear and Helen shivered and sighed.

"Time to play with your toy, Helen Shaw. Take me into your mouth."

"My pleasure," Helen's voice was breathless as knelt before him. She tugged his breeches down and pulled forth his length. "Oh, your toy is larger than Colonel Tarleton's."

William laughed with delight, he knew he was bigger than his friend. He swallowed hard and dropped his head back as Helen began to play with her new toy, her tongue circled his helmet slowly before taking it into her mouth to suckle the tip gently.

Tavington wrapped his fingers through her hair and bucked his hips slowly, back and forth. His breath quickened and his heart began to pound.

_Lord, I only kissed her and my heart pounded, precisely as it is now!_ He grunted as he wondered how much more of an effect Beth would have on his body, if it was her kneeling before him. He could gaze down at the top of her blonde head and watch as his cock disappeared into her mouth. Her tongue would twirl around his member and she would look up to meet his eyes, her mouth open wide with his full yard buried deep inside.

William shuddered over the lewd imagine. He gripped Helen's head, pushed her forward until he could feel the back of her throat and began to buck wildly as he panted in short, sharp bursts. Helen was having trouble keeping up with him, his need was great. She gripped his hips, trying to no avail, to slow his movements. Her mouth began to ache, but she continued to suckle and twirl her tongue.

Sweat beaded William's forehead. He closed his eyes and focused on the image of Beth, in her silks, with her lovely golden hair flowing around her, her eyes closed with the enjoyment of pleasing him, only him.

"Agh..." William moaned. Helen slapped at his backside and tried to push him off her. He stopped instantly, though he realised belatedly that she had already been trying to get him to stop for some time. "Ah, sorry, darling. You are intoxicating."

"Colonel," Helen rose to stand before him. "Lord, what a man you are - I need you inside me." She was dragging up her skirts.

"I was inside you, darling," he quipped. William pushed her back against the shelves and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips and sighed as he lowered her onto his cock. The tip of his erection found her entrance. He slipped inside her and her velvety smooth walls enveloped him.

"Dear heart," Helen murmured against his ear and William smiled with pleasure. It reminded him of Beth, he hoped one day that she would whisper it in his ear also. "Dear heart - I am your toy..."

"Yes, darling, you are," William murmured as he began to stroke in and out of her gently. The beads of sweat became drips, his back was slick with it under his shirt. Breathing heavily now, the lovers movements gained with intensity and speed.

William felt warmth suffuse his body, the heat building until it was an unbearable fire. He groaned and pounded into the woman hard and fast now, her fingers gripped his neck.

"Kiss me, oh, Colonel - please!"

Tavington crashed his lips to hers. He did not kiss whores, but this girl was a lover, not a whore. His tongue searched for hers and they duelled and writhed together as they gasped against each others mouths. Tavington kissed her harder, his teeth accidentally banged along hers, though she barely seemed to notice. She was whimpering inarticulately now and when her velvety walls tightened around his erection, squeezing him tight, he gave a low long groan and came. The fire in his veins pulsed in his erection as his seed spilled deep inside her.

The lovers held still, unable to move after the force of their combined climax. Tavington lowered his head to her shoulder and Helen kissed his neck and cheek.

"Simply wonderful..." She murmured.

"Better than Banastre?" He breathed.

"Oh, Lord... No, I will not answer that - I do not wish him to be offended, I will want him again, you see."

"Ah, I'll take that as a yes, then," William laughed. He brushed his lips against hers, a gentle lovers kiss as he lifted her off his length and set her to her unsteady feet. "Will you want me again, also?"

"Oh... yes... Most definitely, Colonel William Tavington of the Green Dragoons. I'll be dreaming about you tonight. Why don't you come and visit me here later?"

"I am sorry, darling. I have a previous engagement. But soon," he kissed her again, but his thoughts had again turned to Miss Beth Martin.

* * *

In her bed chamber at Aunt Charlotte's, Beth sat before her mirror while her maid, Mila worked her hair into a flattering style. Mila chatted as she worked, although Beth's mind continued to wander to the previous evening and Colonel Tavington's handsome face, she could barely think of anything else. He was meeting her at her uncle's sometime later in the day and Mila was working to ensure her mistress was - as Beth put it - as pretty as she could be.

"I'm not sure, Mila," Beth said. She frowned as she gazed at her reflection. "Do you think you could... Just this part here..?"

"Beth!" Mila admonished. "I've done it perfect! You're never this fussy!"

"I know, I just... I wonder if I should have asked Aunt Charlotte to send for Monsieur Couture…"

"Oh, 'cause he does your hair so much better than I do?"

"He does it for his living, Mila," Beth said, exasperated. "And tonight, I want it to be perfect -"

"It's perfect now! Whats wrong with it?"

Mila placed her hands on her hips and glared down at Beth. The two were alone, in her room, no one to see Mila behaving so stern with her mistress. Beth was used to it, however. The two had an unusual 'Mistress / Maid' relationship.

Abigail, nursemaid to all of the Martin children, had raised her daughter at Fresh Water plantation. Mila, being of an age with Beth, had been Beth's constant companion when they were children. This had not changed when they matured into womanhood, though they had soon discovered that such a friendship was frowned upon. Not only was Mila a 'servant', but she was of African descent. Hardly a suitable companion to a young Lady of Charles Town aristocracy. The two had soon learned to keep the facade up in public, Mila always waited until they were alone before twitting Beth.

Beth gazed at her hair; it was gently pulled up and back from the front and sides, to drop in a cascade of curls that fell down her back and over her shoulders. Mila would soon be setting a pretty cap to top it off. Perfect for a formal dinner or for a walk in the twilight. It would be foolish to send for Monsieur Couture, who would arrive expecting to fix her hair for a ball. And she would look foolish in the extreme, if she did have her hair fixed so lavishly. What Mila had done was perfect for the evening Beth had ahead of her.

"Nothing," Beth said, leaning in closer to the mirror. Her hair _was_ perfect, but there was just something... lacking. "Could you wind some ribbons through it?"

"Yes, m' Lady," Mila offered a mocking curtsy and went to fetch the ribbons. "Brown, I'm guessin'?"

"Yes, please." Beth ignored the mockery. Again, she was used to it.

"Is it that Colonel again?"

"Hmm?" Beth met Mila's eyes in the mirror.

"Colonel Tavington. Are you meeting him at Mr. Putman's for dinner again?" Mila smiled. "Why else you goin' to these lengths?"

"I'm not going to any lengths!" Beth protested.

Mila hooted with laughter. "You've changed ya' dresses twice, you made me to ya' stays so tight you'll probably faint, you're not happy with your hair! You never acted like this for Burwell. You never acted like this 'til you met that Tavington fella."

"You, Mila, are forgetting yourself," Beth said primly, though she did not really mean it. "You are no proper maid."

"That's what I've been tryin' to tell ya'!" Mila hooted again. "Come, Beth. Tell me!"

Beth heaved a sigh. "You mustn't tell," she said and Mila nodded, wide eyed. "But yes I'm… Looking forward to… He is coming back tonight, for dinner."

"I knew it," Mila grinned. "What's the part that I ain't supposed to tell?"

"That I… Gods, I barely know myself!" Beth threw her hands wide. She's already told Mila about meeting Tavington the day before, at Mary Tisdale's house during their picnic. "I'm not sure what's come over me, I barely know him. And he's the enemy, Colonel Burwell's enemy. Lord, he could face Gabriel on the field, could kill him! But here I am - why can't I stop thinking about him? Why can't I get him out of my head? He's coming back tonight and it makes me terrified."

"Why are you scared? He won't hurt you, will he? Because of Burwell?"

"No, I think I managed to convince him there is nothing in it - with Burwell and I. No, I fear that he will visit and I will react to him all over again - I was behaving like a fool! And I fear even more that he won't come to my uncle's tonight. Oh, what if he doesn't, Mila?"

If he doesn't show, you'll be upset, that's for sure. What makes you think he won't come?"

"I don't know. Nothing. He said he would. I don't know why I'd be worried he won't. I guess I just know how disappointed I'd be if he didn't and that scares me, the disappointed part. I only just met him, Mila. Why should I be feeling this way?"

"I only knew Zeke for a few days before I started feeling that way."

"But you and Zeke are in love."

Mila arched an eyebrow. "Seems to me you're on that same road and galloping real hard."

"No," Beth snorted. "Love? No, Mila, I barely know him. He is so very comely though," she smiled, feeling warm all over. Mila laughed.

"You feeling that way about the other one?" Mila asked.

Beth had a wistful smile as she thought upon Tavington's handsome face. "What other one?"

"That one that came here earlier today. Tarleton," Mila said.

"Oh, him."

"Clearly not," Mila laughed. "No dreamy smiles for him, aye?"

"He's handsome, to be sure. It's strange, they're both equally polite, amiable, gentlemanly. But Tarleton is somehow… safer."

"Another word for boring," Mila continued working on Beth's hair.

"Not boring… He's quite interesting, in his way. It's just that… All the flowers and the flirting and his warm smiles… it's just…" Beth shrugged.

"It doesn't stir you none," Mila said, meeting Beth's eyes in the mirror again. "You like it, but your heart doesn't start racin' and you don't start feelin' warm all over when he's lookin' at you nice. You don't got him in your head for hours after, making you feel all grand just for the thinkin' of him. You don't wonder what it would feel like to hold his hand, or to feel his touch on your face. You don't feel all that, the way you feel it for the other one."

Beth stared at Mila wide eyed. "Is that what you feel for Zeke?"

Mila bit her lip, averted her dark eyes and nodded.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Beth said, turning on her chair to gaze up at Mila. "Is there truly no hope for you?"

"Mamma ain't gonna let me marry a slave. Besides, if I did marry him, I'd become a slave too. There's no hope, not for us." Mila lifted her gaze again, met Beth's. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "And there ain't no hope for you and Tavington, miss. With them all sayin' you're engaged to Burwell."

Beth heaved a sigh. She nodded agreement. "There's nothing in it, Mila. I just… like him, is all. Don't tell anyone, alright? Not even Zeke. I don't want everyone making a fuss about it because they think I'm engaged to Burwell."

"I won't tell anyone," Mila promised. "I just want you to be careful. It might be too soon to call it love, but you're on that road and it can't end well. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Thank you," Beth patted Mila's hand.

There came a knock on her door and one of Aunt Charlotte's maids entered. Vickie curtsied before Beth.

"Mrs. Selton has asked that you come down as soon as you can, Miss Martin," Vickie began. "Those British Officers are here."

"Tavington?" Beth breathed, her face going beet red. Vickie gave her a quizzical look, before shaking her head.

"No, Miss. Captain Turner and Ensign Watson. I'm not sure of the other ones names, but there weren't no Tavington, I think. They are going to be quartered here from now on."

"Oh, them!" Beth placed her hands over her chest, her heart raced beneath her fingertips. She'd thought Tavington had come, but of course he hadn't - he would be meeting her at her uncle's, not here at her aunt'.

"Your aunt wishes to present you to them."

"Can you please tell my aunt that I'll be right down, Miss Vickie? Thank you," Beth said and the maid withdrew. As the door closed, Beth gave a nervous laugh and turned to meet Mila's eyes.

"Not in love," Mila snorted. "You should'a seen yer face just now -"

"Mila, I am warning you -"

"All red, like a tomato!" Mila chortled. "Thought you were going to faint!"

"Please save me," Beth closed her eyes and whispered as Mila continued to tease and laugh as she did the finishing touches to Beth's hair.


	6. Chapter 6 - Tavington's Mistress

Chapter 6 - Tavington's Mistress

William lay in bed with one arm folded beneath his head, his other hand gently caressing his erection as he waited for his mistress, Vera, to join him. She would have heard him come home by now, would be sneaking through the quiet house toward his room. William smiled with anticipation. His mind thought back to his second evening with the Putman's and Beth.

_How easily I have won them over,_ he thought as he continued to stroke himself idly.

He could be brutal when he need to be, charming when he wanted to be. His mission this evening had been to be certain he had Mr. Putman's regard. Mr. Putman could keep William away from Beth with ease, if he did not like William. He was trying to win Miss Putman over as well, for if she decided to set herself against him, she could speak against him to Beth, causing doubts that could disrupt William's seduction. Cilla, he felt, was a little wary of him, but was friendly enough. In contrast, Mr. and Mrs. Putman were positively charmed.

And most importantly, Beth herself was charmed also.

_Such soft skin, _he thought as he remembered caressing her cheek and neck. _Like silk._

He thought giving her the rose the other night had been a stroke of genius. And how she blushed when he asked for a ribbon! William laughed. What an innocent she was.

They hadn't swapped keepsakes this evening, but he'd managed to get her alone for a few glorious moments during which he stole another kiss.

Vera better get here soon, or I'll be spent already! William's grip tightened on his erection, his hand moving faster. Breathing heavily, he recalled this latest kiss in minute detail. He had kept them mostly chaste, but in his fantasy he pulled her up against him and gave her a hard, crushing kiss. In his fantasy, his hands moved over the front of her bodice to squeeze the lovely orbs contained within. She gasped and gazed at him with the innocent desire of one new to such passions.

He groaned, feeling his pleasure building, just as Vera finally slipped into the room. Panting quietly, William removed his hand from his yard.

"William, are you awake?" Vera asked as she moved toward the bed. Tavington remained still as she drew closer and when she was bent over the bed he shot out with his hands and grabbed her. Vera gasped as William threw her onto the bed, then sighed when he threw her skirts around her waist.

"Are you ready for me, Vera?" He asked her harshly. He had almost been about to climax when she came in and he did not want to waste time on pleasuring her.

"I'll always be ready for you, William," she replied. "See?" She dipped her own fingers down to stroke herself. When she raised her hand, William saw her fingers glistening in the candlelight. He laughed, a primal, guttural laugh. Moving quickly, he guided her legs apart with his knees before settling between her thighs. He held himself propped on his arms above her and nudged his member between her legs.

"Guide me in, Vera." William rasped.

"You're in such a hurry," Vera complained as she placed her hands on his length and guided him to her entrance.

"You were no different last night," he reminded her. She'd pushed him onto the bed and mounted him with nothing but a kiss as their preliminary. It had been different when she returned to him later that night, they'd spent hours teasing one another and getting to know each others bodies. But the precedent had been set and if she could demand a quick, hard rogering out of nowhere, then so could he.

Still holding himself above her, William gave an almighty shove forward and with a grunt, buried himself to the hilt inside her. He wasted no time on niceties, pulling back and shoving forward, grunting from the effort. Sweat soon slicked his forehead and shoulders, as he stroked into Vera relentlessly. He was not concerned with her pleasure at all, though he was dimly aware, in some far away corner of his mind that was still coherent, of Vera's moans and her fingers pressing his buttocks to encourage him deeper.

His mind was on Beth as he continued battering into Vera. He had gone from kissing her to pressing her against a tree, his hand was up her skirts, running along her smooth thighs above her gartered stockings.

His hand moved up further to cup her between her legs, and she writhed and moaned against his palm, gasping for breath. When he drew his hand back to unbutton his breeches, she sighed with disappointment. Once his breeches where down, William lifted her quickly and pressed her against the tree again, entering her in one long stroke.

_"Oh!" Beth gasped with pain as her maidenhead was torn asunder. "Sir, oh Lord!"_

_"So tight, agh - Beth!" He grunted in her ear as he pushed forward and back._

_"Hurts, oh, please, slowly, slowly!" Beth had tears leaking from her eyes but after a few more strokes, her pained expression eased, surprise taking its place._

_"Thats it darling, the worst is over," he whispered. "It will be wondrous now."_

_"Oh, yes... Wondrous, oh dear heart!" Beth met his thrusts, her expression had changed from virginal innocence to utter wanton. She gripped his shoulders and turned her face to his, claiming his lips in a long, searing kiss. "Deeper, dear heart. Teach me all the wonderful things you can do to me."_

_"With pleasure," William moaned. He planted his feet into the ground to brace himself and began to roger her hard and fast. The wager was not the important part - it was merely the cherry on top of the cake. This was the part he craved, the deflowering of Burwell's bride, the claiming of her maidenhead. __She was his now. Not Banastre's or Burwell's! She was all his._

William's face twisted with pleasure and he growled low in his throat. Heat suffused his body, a thrilling tension as he punched into Vera's heat. Their hips slapped together as he pounded ever harder. He shifted his weight to one arm and gripped the headboard with his free hand. His hair dropped about his face as he lowered his head and grunted as he finally came, gaining the release he had been so desperate for all evening.

He held himself rigid above Vera as he tried to catch his breath, before finally collapsing alongside of her.

_I think she climaxed..._ Tavington mused, not really caring. _Agh dear Christ, what a wonderful fantasy. Would Miss Martin be so good as that?_

"Good Lord, man, what has come over you?" Vera complained. "I'm going to be sore for a week!"

"What is the problem, woman?" Tavington panted, his tone thick with displeasure. "You climaxed! I felt you."

"My problem, William, is that you were already as hard as a rock when I came in. Who where you with tonight? Have I attached myself to a lover with a wandering eye?" Vera asked angrily.

"Have I attached myself to a lover with a green eye?" He shot back. That would not do.

In a huff, she rose from the bed to look for a kerchief to wipe herself with. Her eyes fell on the silk ribbon on William's nightstand and she grabbed it with a hiss, shaking it at him accusingly. "Huh! I knew it - a Ladies ribbon! Who gave you this?!"

"Put it down, Vera," Tavington commanded in a cold voice.

Vera, not sensing the danger, curled her lip with anger and walked over toward the fireplace.

"Are you mad, woman?" He hissed. William was out of the bed like a shot, his face twisted with fury. He grabbed her wrist in an iron grip before she could throw Beth's silk ribbon into the flames.

Then, before reasonable thought could stop him, he raised his hand and slapped Vera hard across the face.

She whirled to the side, then turned slowly back to him, her eyes wide open with shock and her hand on her stinging cheek. William was shocked himself, at the violence of his reaction. His handprint was vivid on her face and her eyes teared at once.

_It's only a fucking ribbon, he growled to himself. I will have to make it up to her, or she may not return to my bed. _She was the only thing that would make his nights in the Tisdale home even remotely interesting.

He shook his head, vexed with himself. Still, he pried the ribbon free from her grip and put it safely out of her reach. Then he turned back to her and still she stared at him with shock - and even a little fear.

"Who is she?" Vera asked, on the verge of tears.

"No one, Vera," Tavington lied. _A lovely innocent little Colonial girl whose maidenhead I intend to claim, come Hell or high water. _"I received a letter from my sister this morning, she sent it as a keepsake."

"Then there is no one else?" Vera asked plaintively as she stroked her stinging cheek.

"No one, but Vera, I have to tell you, I'm not entirely enthralled by all this jealousy."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"So am I. For slapping you - that was poorly done. Come back to bed, my dear." William led Vera by the hand and she lay down on the bed. Although he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go to sleep, he knelt between Vera's legs to pleasure her into forgiving him the slap. Before long she writhed and moaned under his tongue, her hips bucking and gripping his unbound hair.

William smiled, knowing she would return to him. It was going to take time to seduce Beth and he was not quite ready to give Vera up yet, not until he'd secured his Little Beth.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Tavington awoke during the night. Vera had left him, seeking her own bed rather than be caught in his. Reaching across to the nightstand, he felt for his pocket watch, then held it up to a candle to check the time.

"Hmm, only eleven", he murmured. He had thought it was later. He placed the watch back on the night stand and turned over, ready to go back to sleep. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, he gave it up as useless. His entire body was tense, edgy. His muscles would not relax, his mind would not stop working. Sleep was beyond him now, he knew.

"Bordon will be at the tavern," he said aloud, throwing off his blankets and rising to his feet. He had already had relations twice that day, he doubted he would be able to make love again until the morning at least. There were always card games, however. Card games and the company of his men.

Dressing himself quickly, he stamped his feet into his boots and headed out of the house.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harmony Jutland, the pretty blonde barmaid that Bordon had taken up with before the fall of Charlestown, was sitting in Bordon's lap. Lucky bastard. William felt he could possibly get an erection after all, if Miss Harmony Jutland was to work on him! But the woman had disdained his advances in favor his Captain, and had made it clear from the start that she would be faithful to him.

They played round after round of Faro, drank round after round of whiskey, until they were too broke and too spent to continue. In the wee hours of the morning, Tavington, Bordon, Dalton and Brownlow rode their mounts back to the Tisdale residence, singing bawdy tunes all the way. Bordon had disappeared for a while during the gameplay, Tavington wondered idly if he and that Miss Jutland had found a quiet moment for a quick rogering. Bordon certainly seemed content enough, relaxed as only a man can be after coupling.

Before retiring to his bed, Tavington penned a quick note to Beth, informing her that he would call on her the following day. He worded it as romantically as he could - not an easy task being as soused with whiskey as he was at that moment. Signing it with a flourish, he waved the missive dry and called for a slave to ensure the letter was delivered first thing in the morning.

The he threw himself on top of the bed without bothering to undress, and was snoring loudly in moments.

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"…so there I was, at the Cocoa Tree Club," Colonel Banastre was saying, his voice quite animated and excited. "And they were talking about Charles Lee, who once commanded the Dragoons I now command! You know who he is, don't you? General Charles Lee who -"

"Fancied himself to be so much more clever than any Colonial to possibly be," Aunt Charlotte said, rolling her eyes. "We know exactly who he is, Sir," she finished, pulling her fingers away when Major Hanger - who was sitting beside her - tried to take a hold of them again.

"Ah, you sound as impressed with the General as we were," Banastre cried, throwing his hands up. "A traitor, he was. To think, a British Officer - a General - turning coat! What do you think of that, aye Ensign?" Banastre asked, including Charlotte's new lodger into the conversation.

"Not much, Sir," Watson said, meeting Beth's gaze. They shared a smile, both amused and perplexed by Banastre, who was being quite energetic in his seat beside her.

"I felt precisely the same!" Banastre said loudly. "When I was told this by my friend over a glass of wine at the Cocoa Tree, why, I was so filled with fire, that I leapt to my feet -"

Beth's eyes were quite wide as the Colonel threw himself to his feet and crossed the chamber.

"And I jumped up onto the table -"

"Oh dear Lord, no," Charlotte breathed as Banastre climbed up onto her oak table.

"And I drew my sword," he said, demonstrating by pulling his sword and waving it aloft while towering above them, "and I vowed," he cried, "that with this sword, I shall cut off General Lee's head!"

Beth's mouth fell open at Colonel Tarleton's prancing, her eyes darted to Aunt Charlotte but she was busy trying to fend off Major Hanger, was was sitting far too close to her and still trying to take her hand in his. Instead, she met Ensign Watson's eyes, the young Officer was staring at Tarleton with the exact look Beth knew must be on her own face. Watson's gaze slid from Banastre and met hers, the incredulity on his face made her giggle. Banastre barely noticed as he waved his sword and pranced upon the table.

"Sir, please!" Charlotte cried, snatching her fingers away from Hanger's, and cringing as Banastre Tarleton's boots scraped the polished oak table.

It was all so comical that Beth threw back her head and began to laugh, Watson right along with her. Banastre sheathed his sword, he leapt gracefully from the table and rejoined her on the chaise, then launched himself into poetical descriptions of her beautiful laugh and heart warming smile.

Beth's mind was spinning by the time Banastre and Hanger finally made their departure - after Charlotte's repeated reminders that the hour was late and the women needed to seek their beds. Finally they withdrew, bowing and kissing their hands and apologising profusely as they backed toward the door, which Charlotte herself closed behind them. She turned, dropped back against the door, wiped her hand across her brow and blew out a vexed breath.

"I thought they would never leave!" She gasped, looking quite cross. Just then, her eyes fell on Ensign Watson and widened. "Oh, I am sorry, Sir -"

"Don't be, please Mrs. Selton," Watson rushed to placate her. "Good Lord, those two! They are their very own whirlwind!"

"They most certainly are," Charlotte agreed, blowing out another breath. "I feel like I've run ten miles whenever they come to visit! Their own whirlwind… that is an excellent way of describing those two! Oh, that Major Hanger -" She cut short, frowning, but remembering again that Watson, too, was a Redcoat Officer.

"Mrs. Selton, please," Watson came forward, his innocent face open and friendly. "I vow, I understand. Please, do not feel as though you can't speak your mind when I am in your Company - yes, I am a British Officer, but where those two are concerned, I more than understand." He laughed softly, incredulously. "I can not believe Major Hanger. Mrs. Selton, if you don't mind my being too forward, I must warn you; he is clearly the sort of man who takes refusals as encouragement and he has quite obviously set his sights on you. He is infatuated with you, and I fear you are going to have to put up with more of his advances, unless or until you are very firm with him." He paused, then added softly, "I do apologise if I have overstepped."

"You haven't," Charlotte said, some of her coolness fading for Ensign Watson. "I appreciate your honesty, Ensign, and I encourage it. However, in this instance, I am quite aware of precisely the sort of fellow Major Hanger is." Her jaw became set and her voice iron. "Him and Colonel Tarleton both." She pushed herself off the door and stormed back into the parlour. Beth and Watson shared a concerned glance as they fell in behind her, joining her at her large oak table. She was leaning down so her eyes were level with the table, her fingers rubbing back and forth across its surface. "Look what he has done," she said, fury in her softly spoke words. "Scratched it, just as I thought. These might not come out, no matter how the servants polish. If he is going to ruin my furniture, I shall not allow him back. How dare he?"

"It was funny though," Beth giggled and Charlotte threw her a glare. "Oh, not the scratches on your table, but the rest. Do you think he really did that? At this Cocoa Bean place or Tree, whatever. In front of all his friends and all the others who were at this club. To leap up and wave his sword all about!"

"Colonel Tarleton strikes me as the sort of fellow who enjoys being centre stage in front of an audience," Watson said. "I do think it happened precisely as he described," he said and they both began to laugh.

"Next time he visits, I'm going to hand him the cloth and the polish and make him fix this," Charlotte said, rising to her feet. She rubbed her hands together, frowning. "Well. They are gone and finally, we have some respite. Are you hungry, Sir? I feel like I need some small sweet before bed, after that."

"I would not wish to impose, but if you are going to for yourself, then certainly. Thank you," Watson said.

"And a wine," Charlotte said, voice grim. "I'll need it tonight, I think." She rang a small bell and they settled in on the sofa's until a servant came and went to carry out Charlotte's request.

"Oh, listen," Beth sighed, closing her eyes, a small smile playing about the corners of her lips.

"To what?" Watson frowned. "I can't hear anything."

"Yes, I think that is what my niece means," Charlotte said, finally finding something to laugh about. "It's so quiet with them gone."

"Oh, yes," Watson laughed. "It's certainly… noticeable."

"I feel like my ears are ringing with the sudden absence of noise. I have seven brothers and sisters, Ensign," Beth said. "Did you know that?" He shook his head. "Only one of them is older. Six younger brothers and sisters and they can be loud. But honestly, Sir, those two - Hanger and Tarleton - just the two of them, are equal to all six of my younger siblings."

"Their own whirlwinds," Watson nodded.

Matthew, Charlotte's Butler, carried in a note for Beth. She thanked him, turned it over in her fingers, which began to tremble when she saw who it was from. She lifted her wide eyes, tried to appear nonchalant. Her heart pounded, her breath quickened.

"Please, will you excuse me a moment?" She asked as she rose on unsteady legs to her feet. "I will be back," she promised. Charlotte cocked her head as Beth - with as much grace as she could muster - walked into the hall. When she was certain she was out of sight of her aunt and the Officer, she darted up the stairs and dashed into her room. Mila, seeing her 'mistress' was in an excited state, slipped into the room behind her.

"What is it?" She asked with concern. "What's happening?"

"Oh, he sent me a letter," Beth declared, there was no need to explain further, Mila knew that it was from Colonel Tavington. Beth's fingers shaking as she opened it. She sat on the edge of her chair, Mila closed the door and sat on the bed, watching Beth as she read. As Beth's eyes darted across the page, her tight body relaxed and a red flush crept up her neck and over her cheeks.

"Oh, dear Lord - what is it about him that has me so flustered? I had determined last night that I did not care, that I would not let him draw me in. But Gods my hands are shaking… he says… Lord above, he says the most wonderful things."

"Read it to me," Mila said. She could read - Beth and her sister Margaret had both taught her, but she settled in, got comfortable and waited for Beth to begin.

_Miss Martin,_

_Though the hour is late, I find myself unable to sleep. Thoughts of you plague me, such a lovely creature you are. Forgive me for being so forward, but I must declare my infatuation with you. I have not had a more pleasurable time with a young lady as I had with you these last few days. I miss you quite sincerely and am looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow, if you would allow._

_Though I can not stipulate a time, suffice it to say, I shall count the hours until we are reunited. I do not believe I will get another wink of sleep for the entire night, such are my thoughts of you!_

_I have the honor to be, your truest admirer,_

_Will. Tavington_

_Lt. Col._

Beth sighed and shared a smile with Mila. "Oh, Mila. He feels the same as I do."

"I knew he did," Mila grinned. "Only a fool wouldn't have noticed it."

"He's going to come see me again."

"Three days in a row," Mila replied.

"Look at his writing," Beth sighed, tracing her finger along the scrip. "So beautiful and elegant. He's a true gentleman." That small, silly smile played at the corners of Beth's lips as she said dreamily, "he wrote this... He touched this…"

"It goin' in with the other things he's given you? The rose?"

"That's all he's given me," Beth replied. "And yes."

Mila giggled. "Oh, if only Zeke was as... What's the word... Eloquent? As your Tavington!" She lamented.

"You love him anyway," Beth teased, feeling like she were walking on clouds.

"Yeh. Fine words or not, I do," Mila agreed.

Beth placed the letter on the table before her and smoothed out the creases carefully before placing it in her diary with her other keepsake - the rose.

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The following day, Beth again was seated at her small table before the mirror, as Mila worked her hair into another elegant dressing.

"There," Mila said, "all finished, unless you decide to be fussy again."

"No, it's perfect," Beth said as she gazed at herself critically. "Do you think I need powder?"

"Good God, no!" Mila gasped, shocked. Beth had never worn powder before. "No, you do not. Do you want to change dresses?"

"Ah... Well... No, I better not; if Cilla found out I did, she would tease me. What I am wearing should be suitable," Beth gazed down at her silks uncertainly.

"Miss _Putman_ will tease you?" Mila scoffed. "Shouldn't you be worried that I'll tease you?"

"Oh, I know that you will," Beth quipped. "But I can deal with you - if Cilla starts, then I'll be copping it from two sides!"

Someone knocked on Beth's door and Mila went to answer it.

"Miss Martin has a Gentleman caller," the young slave in the hallway announced.

Beth gasped and placed her hands over her mouth - her heart beat wildly.

"Tavington?" Mila asked, knowing Beth would want to know.

"No, Colonel Tarleton."

Mila met Beth's eyes, saw the disappointment.

"Oh," Beth deflated instantly. "I'll be right down."

Mila shut the door on the servant and turned back to Beth. She took Beth's hand in hers and gave her fingers a squeeze. "He'll come later, I'm sure."

"Yes, I'm sure," Beth said. "He would not have sent that note otherwise, surely?"

"No. Besides, it's good that the other one has come. You make sure to tell Tavington, he'll get right jealous he will!"

"Oh, I didn't look at it like that!" Beth brightened at once. It was not a particularly Lady-like way to behave, using one suitor to make a favoured suitor jealous... But just then, Beth couldn't help but to be excited by the prospect.

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The sun blazed down on their backs but thankfully, a gentle wind stirred a sea breeze, cooling them as they strode along the wharves. Major Hanger walked forlornly with Cilla Putman and Rebecca Middleton to either side of him - not even these two pretty young maids could cheer him, for Mrs. Selton had refused to accompany them on their sojourn to the piers. Just behind the trio, Beth strolled at Banastre's side with her hand looped through the crook of his arm. The Ladies maids - all three of them including Mila, walked a little behind them all. Beth looked over her shoulder and shot Mila a sympathetic glance.

"At least we're outside," Mila mouthed. Beth nodded, they really needed to go for walks along the wharves more often. It was a truly beautiful sight - and impressive also.

"So many ships," Beth said out loud. "I've never seen anything like it!"

At least twenty-five ships were moored in the harbor, some of them were docked quite close and they seemed to loom over them.

"They are so big," she continued, wide eyed with awe.

Banastre laughed down at her though in truth, he was not all that much taller than Beth. Tavington towered over her, where she barely had to lift her head back to meet Banastre's gaze. Still, he had as powerful a presence as William, he did not need to be as tall.

"You would not think they were so big if you were stuck in one of the cabins for eight weeks," he said now with a small smirk.

"Hmm, no doubt. Was it an eventful crossing?"

"I was busy, it went quickly. There are no idle hands on a ship - the Admiral made use of us all. The crossing itself was rough - not an experience I care to repeat," he frowned with remembrance. In truth, the crossing had been horrid. They had lost many horses - and several men had died also. No - not a pleasant crossing indeed - but far too dull a subject to speak of on such a fine day with such a beautiful woman.

"I've been to London," Rebecca called over her shoulder. "I've made that crossing - but it was mostly calm. I enjoyed it, though it was tedious at times."

Banastre quirked an eyebrow, surprised that anyone could enjoy being stuck on a ship for eight weeks, calm or not. He said as much and Rebecca laughed.

"Oh, but London was the destination, Sir, and I kept that in the forefront of my mind the entire way!" She announced. Cilla laughed and the two began discussing Rebecca's many trips to London.

"Have you ever been?" Banastre asked Beth now. Several sea gulls circled above their heads, squawking and fighting over morsels of stolen fish.

"No, no..." Beth shook her head. "I'm afraid Charlestown is the sum total of my worldliness."

"Ah," Banastre thought he understood and decided to change the subject. Though the girl wore silks along with her friends, he and William both knew it was with thanks to Mrs. Selton's and Mr. Putman's generosity. They had come to understand that Beth's father was of middling wealth at best.

"London is a sadder place for it," Banastre continued. "Would you like to go aboard a ship now? I can show you around -"

"Would I?" Beth gasped with excitement. "Cilla, Becky, did you hear that? Colonel Tarleton is taking us onboard!"

"Ohh, which one?" Cilla exclaimed. She pointed at a particularly well appointed looking man o' war - one of the largest and more expensive in the harbor. Typical woman. "I like that one!"

Banstre laughed. "Alas, while you have proved your good taste Miss Putman, that particular ship belongs to Sir Henry Clinton and is off limits to the likes of us. But this one should suit our purposes."

He strode toward the gangplank leading toward The Kings Defender. It was a large enough ship to impressive the girls, Banastre noticed as they walked along the broadside of the ship, Beth's eyes grew wider and wider with awe.

"I feel so small," she whispered.

"You are so small," he smiled down at her warmly. Beth smiled back up at him and Banastre's breath caught. He took the opportunity to pull her closer, giving them more of an appearance of sweethearts to onlookers. "But sweet things come in small packages."

Beth's cheeks reddened - again. He had given her many such compliments that morning and her cheeks turned crimson each time. Rather endearing, that.

After a brief exchange with the sentries guarding the entrance, Banastre was allowed access to the ship. He jumped down from the gangplank to the deck - a short step. He and Hanger then helped each of the girls down carefully, Banastre keeping hold of Beth's hand when he assisted her. The deck moved gently beneath their feet as the ship moved and swayed gently in its moorings.

"Oh that would take getting used to," Beth said. She stared down at the deck as though trying to find a focal point to keep her balance. She gripped Banastre's hand tightly, even moved her free arm across her body to grip Banastre's forearm with tight fingers.

"You wouldn't make a very good sailor, Miss Martin," Banastre laughed though he was certainly enjoying having her cling to him.

"Yes, this is nothing," Rebecca announced with a grin. Her smile faltered when she saw how cosy Banastre and Beth seemed, how solicitous he was of her friend. She met Cilla's gaze with a melancholy expression - she had become quite enamoured of the British Officer herself. She sighed sadly, the enjoyment of being on the large warship dulled slightly.

"She does not regard him - not in that way," Cilla whispered reassurance, sensing her friends distress. "She likes..." She glanced over her shoulder and her expression became disapproving. "The other one, Tavington."

"Yes, I know. But he - Tarleton - likes her... Not me."

Cilla sighed sympathetically and wound her arm through Rebecca's.

Banastre noticed nothing of the exchange, so fixated he was on Beth. He was describing various items of interest as he led her around the deck. When they reached the largest mast in the centre of the ship, Beth had to crane her neck to see the very tip of the mast.

"It's so high... from this vantage it looks like it's touching the sky."

"It's not quite that high," he laughed. "But yes, I see what you mean." He took a good long look and yes, from their viewpoint, the tip of the mast certainly appeared as though it was touching the sky.

"Can we go downstairs?" Beth asked innocently. "I want to see what the cabins look like and the... gully?"

"Yes, we can go _below decks_," he corrected. Already anticipating how he could get Beth alone in one of the cabins for a just a few minutes to attempt a quick kiss and perhaps get one up on Tavington, Banastre led the way down a ladder, below decks. He cast a look at Hanger, nudging his chin toward the other women, indicating that Hanger should distract them. The Major tried, however the women were as excited by the prospect of seeing the inside of the ship as Beth was and they would not be distracted by Hanger. They followed Tarleton and Beth and rather than taking them off in another direction, Hanger was helping them to climb down the ladder, instead. There were plenty of sailors and Officers aboard ship, but none of them paid the women - who were being escorted by Tarleton and Hanger, any mind. The corridors were dim and narrow, running the length of the ship. He took them to the galley first and showed them the small mess hall where the Officers ate. Then it was off to the cabins. After much knocking on doors, he found several empty cabins. He indicated for Hanger to show Rebecca and Cilla one while he took Beth along a little further to the next empty cabin.

Must to his chagrin, however - the girls simply would not be separated. Cilla followed instantly, the moment she understood Banastre's intentions. Beth seemed oblivious but Cilla's eyes were as sharp as a hawks. Banastre sighed as they all trundled into the same small, confining cabin.

"So, there you have it," he announced, trying to keep the disappointment from his tone. "This is were you would sleep, Miss Martin - for eight whole weeks. What do you think?"

Beth glanced around the small room, at the hard looking bunks, the tables that were secured to the floor.

"I don't think I'd like it at all..." she murmured. "I take it those tables are secured for rough seas?"

"Indeed," Banastre nodded. "Though it does not stop the items on the table falling to the floor. I've lost many a flagon of ale..." He said mournfully.

The girls giggled and began making their way out into the corridor. Beth was not gripping his arm anymore, but she did keep her hand on his. It would have to be enough for now, he decided, stealing a quick and longing glance at her lips... The women clambered back up the ladder - not an easy feat with their long skirts - out onto the deck.

"Now a few decks down, you will find our canons to either side of the ship. They fire just about any projectile we shove in there - from heavy chains and other heavy items made of metal. Quite nasty, when they strike their targets - the damage done can be both impressive and devastating."

The girls shuddered. Banastre continued to list facts about the warships as the girls continued their inspection of the deck, with Hanger hanging back with a disinterested air. It would have been entirely different if Mrs. Selton had come along. The girls listened to Banastre carefully and asked questions - Banastre was quite in his element. Until he said something that the girls disliked very much - especially the Patriot Cilla and Beth.

"What was that, Colonel?" Beth frowned. She still held his arm but was leaning over the large, eight spoked, ships wheel.

"I was saying that it can not be pleasant for the captives below decks," he repeated. "They were all bundled aboard the ships when we took Charlestown. And there they are still, in the holds. Easily ten men per hold - they have no light and barely enough room to lay down."

Only then did he see Hanger waving his arms furiously behind the two girls, in an effort to stop Banastre from speaking. Too late, however. Beth and Cilla both stared at him, wide eyed with shock. Banastre groaned to himself, knowing instantly that he'd said the wrong thing.

"Continental captives?" Beth asked softly. She withdrew her arm from his nook and he stared back, wondering how in the world he could salvage this. "There were five thousand soldiers in this city before it fell, Sir," she said coolly. "Do you mean to tell me that five thousand men are in the holds of these ships - in smaller confines than the cabin we just left? On this very ship - as well as the others?"

"Well..." He said hesitantly. "There are not five thousand, not any more. Many of the have..."

_Died._

_Damn and blast it all to hell - I can't tell them that!_ He swiftly changed what he had been about to say. "Many of them have accepted Clinton's offer of amnesty. They have made their apologies and are now serving in our own British ranks."

Rebecca nodded with approval but if anything, Beth and Cilla became even more distant.

"I think I wish to leave now," Beth announced, appalled both at the conditions the prisoners were being kept in, and at learning that Continentals were abandoning the Cause. She took hold of Cilla's arm and the two women began to walk - stiffly and silently - back to the gangplank.

_Damn and blast it! _Banastre growled to himself as he helped Rebecca off the ship. The two girls walked stiffly ahead of him. Hanger fell in at his side, the two shared a quick and serious look. Banastre berated himself harshly as he followed the two offended women. Why the Devil had he mentioned the prisoners! The day had been progressing perfectly well, he and Beth had been enjoying themselves immensely!

As for the captives, the strongest ones where living, but quite a few dead bodies had been removed from the holds of the ships. It was a necessary evil, however. Where else where they meant to be put? Those that forsook the cause and swore to fight for the King were freed - they could all be freed if they weren't so fool hardy and stubborn!

Rebecca glanced at him with worry and Banastre eased his dark expression. After a deep breath, he quickened the pace to catch up with the cousins.

"Major Hanger and I would like to take you all out for a nice meal, if you would allow," he announced in his usual, jovial manner. The girls did not warm but they agreed, and Banastre bent himself to the task of lifting their spirits. First he chose an affluent tea house - one respectable enough for the noble Ladies. When they were seated, he and Hanger began to tell them amusing stories - of their younger days in the army. Rebecca was laughing almost immediately and finally; eventually her amusement and the Officer's forced cheer bought the Patriot girls out of their angry mood.

By the time they escorted each of the women home - first Rebecca then Cilla and Beth to their aunt Charlotte's, everything was almost back to normal. Hanger followed the girls and Banastre into the house, hopeful of spending time with Mrs. Selton, only to be disappointed to learn that she was not there. He stood by the door looking grumpy as Banastre bid Beth farewell. Beth smiled warmly and offered her hand when he asked for it, and he planted a lingering kiss on her fingers - wishing all the while they were her lips.

"I hoped you enjoyed your day, Miss Martin," he said warmly.

"I did, it was wonderful," her expression darkened slightly as she remembered the captives aboard ship. "Mostly wonderful," she frowned.

"Might I drop in on you tomorrow?" He asked in a rush, he did not want her thoughts lingering on the unpleasant situation of the Continental soldiers taken prisoner.

"Yes, I would like that very much," she said. "A picnic perhaps? Or a walk through the Middleton grounds - Rebecca's house is a monument worth seeing in itself. I think I would like to stay away from the wharves."

"Of course," he said sympathetically, stifling and relieved sigh. "We shall do anything you desire."

Another kiss, a longing gaze into her eyes and Banastre departed from Beth's aunt's house.

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	7. Chapter 7 - Tavernton Shenanigans

_**I've altered the scene between Vera and Banastre. On my re-read of the story, I found I really disliked the 'trick' William played on Vera, giving Banastre his chamber while knowing that Vera would come to him during the night and sleep with him thinking he was William. Sadistic, much? I don't mind our boys being a bit 'naughty' but that was just a whole different level cruel.**_

Chapter 7 - Tavernton Shenanigans:

_26__th__ May - Charlestown_

"Another hand?" Bordon asked as he shuffled the cards. The Dragoons were seated around a table, drinking whiskey and gambling. As a particularly buxom maid wandered by, Bordon snaked out his hand and gave her bottom a pat. The blonde woman whipped around, ready to give the rough side of her tongue to the soldier who would dare accost her, but when her blue eyes settled on Bordon her anger melted. She gave him a lopsided grin.

Bordon winked at her and mouthed 'later'. Harmony gave a giggle and a nod, swaying her hips suggestively as she strolled away, knowing full well her Captain's eyes where on her.

"Good Lord, Richard! You've managed to roger that one?" Banastre's eyes were open wide with utter disbelief. "I've been working on her for days! She is completely resistant to my charms!"

Bordon grinned with pleasure.

"Charms?" He scoffed as he dealt the hand, his fingers moving quickly as the cards whipped across the table, making a small pile in front of each officer.

"Don't feel too badly, Ban," Tavington gazed at the buxom maid longingly. "She has no taste, that's all."

"Yes. Of course," Bordon laughed. "When they refuse the two of you, they either have no taste or prefer other women."

"Other women?" Cornet Simms asked. The young Colonial was newly recruited from the powerful South Carolinian family and so far, he was proving himself to be woefully innocent. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do you mean?" Banastre asked, stupefied. "Other women, lad! Surely you know?"

"I take it he does not," William snorted at the young Loyalist's confusion. "Boy, did your parents never tell you what happens between a man and a woman?"

"Well, my Pa did -"

"He did not tell you enough!" Banastre laughed. "He obviously did not get to what wondrous things can happen between a woman and a woman!"

"You mean..." Simms blushed crimson and when the older, more worldly Officers laughed uproariously, he hung his head with embarrassment.

"William?" Banastre whispered conspiratorially across the table as though he was about to impart a great secret.

"Hmmm?" William kept his face smooth as he eyed his cards, not allowing the others to see that Bordon had dealt him a bloody good hand.

"Me thinks there is a virgin at the table!" Banastre whispered loudly and pointed his finger at Simms. Bordon shot Simms a mock sympathetic glance.

"Me thinks you are right!" Tavington smirked.

"So what are we going to do about it? We don't play with virgins!"

"We don't?" Bordon chuckled. "Since when?" He shared a glance with Tavington and the two men began to laugh.

"We don't play cards with virgins, Bordon!" Tarleton amended with a fatalistic roll of his eyes.

"Sir's, please!" Simms muttered, completely mortified.

_These men are Gentlemen? What would father say if he were hearing this? _Simms thought to himself. He glanced at the other Officers, conflicted._ Lord, I want to be accepted by the Dragoon's so bad!_

"So, what is to be done, hmmm?" Tavington mused, his lips were quirked up and he eyed Simms with amusement.

"Get the boy rogered!" Banastre cried decisively and banged the table with his closed fist. The glasses on the table rattled and some slopped whiskey over the edges.

"Make him a man!" Bordon chanted his agreement.

"Here here! Drink up, lad!" Tavington poured Simms a whiskey and handed it to the seventeen year old Loyalist. "For tonight, you will complete the final faze of your journey to become a Dragoon. Tonight we shall make you a man!"

"Hoorah!" Bordon and Tarleton shouted. The tavern was filled with soldiers, some turned to see what the shouting was about before turning back to their own card and dice games.

Arthur Simms glanced at his cards and his eyes opened wide. He tried, unsuccessfully to smooth his face - a straight poker face to not show he held a good hand.

He did not see the smirk Tarleton and Tavington shared between them. On impulse, and because he felt he would be able to wipe young Simms clean, Banastre dipped into his pockets and threw £10 on the table.

Tavington laughed, knowing Tarleton thought he was in for a sure win. Then again, William had been far more successful at hiding his own hand than young Simms had been. He threw the same amount - £10, also.

"What are you two playing at?" Richard Bordon asked. He did not like to gamble such large amounts, chiefly because he did not like to lose such large amounts! Though he was from a wealthy family and his parents sent him a large stipend, he still did not like losing it - not to these fellows!

"Just playing the game, Dick!" Tarleton taunted and picked up the first card from the deck. Thoughts of women, and getting Simms rogered, fled as the men began to play.

William did not know how much time had gone by, or how many hands they played. He eyed the pile of coins before him appreciatively, then with a smile he glanced up at Banastre, who had his head buried in his hands.

"Not again..." the auburn haired Officer moaned. "Lord... How much did I lose? No - don't tell me..."

"Alright, then. I will not." Tavington smirked as he pocketed the coins. "Besides, we have other business now - we need to choose a young pretty for young Arthur!"

"Oh, no, it is really not necessary," Arthur said hurriedly. He had hoped the Officers had forgotten. They were all eyeing him knowingly, and Bordon gave him a wink. Arthur sighed. _They haven't forgotten_...

"Cheer up lad! We'll have you in heaven soon enough!" Banastre rose from the table and clapped Simms on the back. Arthur grunted and lurched forward, pain flaring in his shoulder. He rose from the table slowly and followed the Officers through the crowded tavern to the rooms at the back. He hung back and blushed, watching while Tavington and Tarleton argued over which 'wench' would do for him.

_They are awfully pretty... But will they want to lay with me?_ He thought worriedly.

William reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful off coins. Without even looking to see how much he was handing over, he gave them to a pretty black haired girl with green eyes. The girl's eyes brightened when she saw the coins, she pocketed them quickly and put her arms around William's neck ready for a kiss.

"No, not me, darling. Him." Tavington turned the girl, still in the circle of his arms, to gaze at Arthur. "What do you think, dear?"

"Oh, he is cute... I think I'd like him very much."

Arthur blushed crimson again and the girl drew away from Tavington to take Arthur's hand.

"You'll need to take good care of him, darling," Tarleton put in. "You'll be Christening him, if you take my meaning."

"OH, a virgin!" The girl started to laugh. "Oh, my dear... The good Colonel's have chosen well, picking me for you!"

As she led Arthur from the room, she shot a glance over her shoulder at Tavington to mouth a question, "Later?"

Tavington smiled and gave a lazy shrug.

"Bordon...? Ah... Bordon..." Banastre watched as the blonde girl from earlier - Miss Harmony Jutland - draped herself over Bordon. His hands where wrapped around her backside, gripping her tight, as their tongues dueled as they moaned.

"Captain Bordon!" Tavington snapped, using his voice of command. Bordon jumped back, stood to attention and saluted his commanding Officer. The reaction was instant and natural but when Tavington and Tarleton howled with laughter, Bordon scowled at them.

"Bastards," Richard muttered.

"We are going upstairs, Dick. You coming?" Banastre asked as he eyed Bordon's pretty up and down suggestively.

"No, Sir," Harmony answered for the Captain. "Dick and I are just fine here..."

Banastre sighed with disappointment, a sentiment shared by Tavington it seemed. William gave another lazy shrug and went to flirt with another young lovely.

"Did they really think I would take them, as well?" Harmony asked her Captain Bordon.

"Yes, my dear... It seems they have had their eye on you -"

"More than their eyes, dear heart. I do not know how many times I have had to push that pretty red haired hands off my bottom, and that Tavington is just as bad. Especially when they have been drinking! I do not want either of them...

"You are a rare bird indeed then, darling. Most women fall at their feet."

"Don't I know it! The girls here talk of little else - the doxy's and the barmaids both! I am sure they are going to cry on their pillows when the army leaves Charlestown."

"Speaking of which, have you thought some more about my proposal?" Bordon asked her carefully. Harmony tightened her lips.

"What, follow the army and become a camp whore?" She challenged sharply. Harmony herself was not a doxy, she was one of the barmaids who worked at the Kings Arms under Mr. Ingles care. She had met Captain Richard Bordon months ago and had a strong attraction to him. When he began his seduction of her, she had taken him readily enough. Though she was no virgin, and while was she no stranger to men, nor was she a doxy, to trade her favor for coin.

"No, Harmony. Not a whore. You are my mistress..." Bordon nibbled her ear. "Come darling, I can't think of another woman I would want at my side more..."

"As your mistress, not your wife..." She said tartly.

"My darling…" Bordon wheedled, he had no idea what to say, for he doubted very much his future would involve marriage to Harmony, as much as he admired her. "Will you not be happy as my mistress, for now? You do not want to remain here, do you?"

Harmony sighed, trying to picture what life would be like with her handsome Captain gone. Their affair had been fiery and all consuming, and their weeks apart had been gruelling. The thought of him leaving without her again - especially when he was offering her to go with him, was too much to bear. Whether there was marriage at the end or not, when the Dragoons moved out as they inevitably would, she knew she would not allow him to leave without her again.

"No, I do not," she said, resigned. "Alright, then, Captain Dick. I will come with you."

"Captain Dick!" Bordon gripped her waist and shook her with feigned anger.

Harmony laughed and placed her hand over Bordon's bulge, feeling the outline of his hard erection within his breeches. "Yes, dear heart. Captain Dick indeed!"

Bordon laughed and grabbed her by the hand. "You have made me the happiest of men, dear Harmony, for agreeing to come with me."

"When do you think we'll be leaving? I'll need to give Mr. Ingles enough time to replace me."

"Oh, not for some weeks yet. Tarleton's Legion is going to be dispatched to the border of North Carolina soon, Cornwallis wants the rebels quelled and the road into North Carolina clear. However, the British Legion will remain here, protecting the city, the Dragoons will continue to patrol it. When we have the area surrounding the city more secure, we will start moving outward to take more ground from the rebels. Clinton is making noises about returning to New York, I don't believe he is handling this heat very well, he prefers a more temperate climate. When he leaves, I suspect that is when we'll be dispatched further into the countryside."

"Well, it'll be good to be away from the city at the height of summer, that's the most dangerous time to be here."

They strolled hand in hand through the corridors, almost catching up to William and Banastre as they disappeared up the stairs with their chosen pretties.

"They did not waste any time," Harmony laughed.

"They never do."

Bordon and Harmony climbed the stairs and caught sight of his superiors again when they reached the next landing, just as the two men disappeared into the same room with their doxies.

"There are enough rooms!" Harmony gasped. "Why are they going into one room! How miserly!"

"It's not the coin, love," Bordon smiled. "The two men compete at everything, even lovemaking. They sometimes like to be in the same room, so that they can hear each other's women in the throws of pleasure. They judge their prowess by getting their own woman to moan louder."

"Good Lord! Are you joking?" Harmony began to laugh, then she smiled as an idea came to her. "Have you ever 'measured your prowess' against them by bedding a woman where they can hear her?"

"No," Bordon laughed. "But I see the gleam in your eye, love. I think I am about to do just that!"

"Oh, yes, Captain Dick, you certainly are!" Harmony pressed her back against the door Tavington and Tarleton had disappeared into a few moments before, and lifted her skirts for Bordon - right there in the corridor.

* * *

Tavington stepped through the door first and held it open for Linda, Tarleton and Mariah, with her black hair and green eyes. He closed the door and turned to survey the room, well pleased with what he saw. There were two single beds against the walls on either side of the room, separated by a folding screen.

Tavington was used to bedding women with other men close by, there was not a lot of privacy in camp. He had not been a Colonel, with his own tent, for all that long. When he and Banastre had been Cornets they had to couple with their women in each others company more often than not and they would often boast and tease each other afterwards, each believing he was the better lover.

Tarleton had already led Mariah to their bed on one side of the screen. Tavington smiled and took Linda's hand, leading her to his bed. She was a pretty thing, especially when she smiled. Though Tavington saw her teeth were crooked and she tried to hide it by covering her hand over her mouth when she laughed. She had been a favourite of his from before, back when he was a spy in buckskins and a hunting shirt, he'd known her for sometime now.

He rolled his eyes as Tarleton started. As if he was alone, Banastre launched into a flourishing speech, describing Mariah's beauty to her in detail. "Oh, Mariah you are lovely. How darling you are! Ah, yes, let down your beautiful hair - so long, oh how it gleams in the candlelight! What lovely skin - pale as milk, oh your breasts, gorgeous my dear, your skin - so smooth!"

William shook his head as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was typical Tarleton, the man never ceased talking at the best of times, not even while in the arms of a beautiful woman. Again, Tavington was used to it. Linda smiled and stood between Tavington's legs to place her hands on his broad shoulders.

"Can I take your hair down?" She asked. She had always thought Tavington was the most handsome man she had ever seen and he was certainly her favorite patron. When he shrugged his shoulders she reached around behind his head to remove his ribbon and unbind his hair from its queue. She gently pulled his dark hair forward so it framed his handsome face and sighed appreciatively.

"Yes, my dear?" William asked with a smirk.

_He wants me to say it. Lord, if he knew I had fallen in love with him... I wonder if he would still come to me, if he did know? Probably not... He has a cruel streak, this man I love._

"You are the most handsome of men, darling," she murmured, meaning it. She ignored Tarleton's scoff from the other side of the screen.

_Well, he bloody is!_

Tavington smiled up at her knowingly. His hands moved up and down her waist, eventually moving slowly over the front of her bodice. Banastre was still speaking softly to Mariah as William unbuttoned Linda's bodice. He drew it down her back, Linda pulled her arms free of the sleeves.

"Turn around my dear," William murmured. His eyes where hooded with desire, his voice warm. She turned around and could feel the Officer's clever fingers quickly unlace her stays. She turned back to him and drew her shift over her head. William sat back with a sigh to view the sight before him. Linda stood naked except for her thigh high stockings and garters.

"Now, that is a beautiful sight, Linda," Tavington murmured. His eyes roamed over her breasts and waist, lower to the patch of dark hair between her legs.

"Let me see!" The ever spontaneous Banastre said as he pulled back the screen. "Hmmm, yes, Linda, you certainly are." He gave a short laugh and pulled the screen back.

"I do not know why you two insist on the same room, Sir."

"We don't always insist on it, dear. Turn around." Linda shook her head but did as she was told. "Let your hair down." As she reached up and began pulling the pins from her hair she felt Tavington's hands softly stroke her backside. Her hair fell down, just past her shoulders.

"I wish it was longer," Tavington murmured as he toyed with her hair. Linda decided then and there to start growing it out.

She turned to face him again. William moved his hands over her large breasts, hefting their weight in his palms. He pulled her forward and nestled his face within the valley of her breasts for a moment, before taking one of her nipples in his mouth. Linda sighed with enjoyment.

"Ohh, that is lovely," she murmured. William smiled around her nipple and let his fingers trail down her sides and over her hips. He circled his tongue and nipped Linda's nipple before moving his mouth to her other breast. His fingers gently caressed through her patch of black curls.

"You're already moist my dear," Tavington said, louder this time.

"I always am when I am with you," Linda said, trying to hide her despair. She had never meant to fall in love with one of her patrons, she felt like such a fool. Tavington's smile broadened and she knew he was pleased with this admission.

Mariah, on the other side of the partition, began to moan. Linda could only guess at what Banastre might be doing with her, she could hear moist sounds and Tarleton grunting.

Tavington slid his fingers lower, searching for Linda's quim within her folds and continued his suckling of her nipples. Linda rocked back and forth against his fingers and moaned.

"Ah, my dear..." William murmured, "That is it, I enjoy hearing you in your pleasure. Moan as loud as you wish."

"That's cheating," Linda heard Banastre say. It made no sense to her, though Tavington seemed to understand, he gave a low chuckle. Before long Linda forgot all about Banastre and Mariah. Her pleasure built and she began to moan, loud indeed.

William lowered his mouth to her moist centre and Linda gasped to feel the tip of his tongue questing within her folds. Still standing before him, she hooked one leg over his shoulder. William gasped with pleasure at the unexpected gesture. He hooked his hands beneath her buttocks and under her thigh, pulling her closer and questing deeper with his tongue.

"Ohhhhhh, Sir!" Linda hung her head forward to watch her amazing lover, sitting on the edge of the bed, as he pleasured her with his tongue. His eyes were closed and his face looked flushed in the candlelight. His mouth moved on her centre, across her folds slowly, almost lovingly. She gasped and her face twisted with the agony of pleasure. Her hands snaked around the back of his head to wind her fingers in his hair.

William still held his hands under her buttocks and thighs. He pulled one hand forward, back toward him in his search for her entrance with two fingers. He continued to taste her hardened quim, his tongue moving faster now, and when he found her entrance, he slid his fingers up inside her velvety depths with ease.

"Agh! Oh God!" Linda cried. She pushed down on his fingers, driving them deeper inside her. Tavington drove them in and out of her quickly. He nipped and sucked her aching pearl. Linda gripped Tavington's shoulders tight and bucked against his mouth and bore down on his fingers. She felt a pleasurable flip in her stomach, then another and another. Her spine was a thrill of warmth and sensation, it was building, building until,..

"Oh my God!" Linda shouted. "Oh - Oh, Lord! Oh, Colonel... Agh!" Linda's climax washed over her, strong pulses of pleasure surged through her as she came. She pulled her leg from his shoulder and collapsed in a heap to the floor where she gazed up at Lieutenant Colonel Tavington with adoration.

"Hmmm. Good idea, sweet Linda. You stay right there," William murmured. He rose and began to unbutton his breeches, shoving them down his thighs. Quickly discarding his boots, he pulled his breeches off his legs, his drawers quickly following.

"Too hot in here," William muttered. He unclasped the belts around his waist and across his chest. Before long his redcoat was thrown off his broad shoulders and he sat down again wearing only his white ruffled shirt, his long dark hair again framing his face.

In the meantime, Linda recovered from her powerful climax. She shifted to her knees and shuffled closer to her handsome patron, who gazed at her with anticipation. Kneeling before him between his legs, Linda smiled into his warm pale blue eyes, knowing what he wanted and only too pleased to oblige. She began by placing her hands on his knees. She ran her palms up and down his thighs, feeling the dark course hair beneath her fingers. Linda tilted her head up, inviting him to kiss her, knowing he would not. He never did. She covered her disappointment by smiling warmly and leaning forward to nip at his neck.

Her hands moved higher and she cupped his sack with one palm, softly massaging the wrinkly skin. Linda kissed and nibbled his neck and chest, the sparse hairs on his chest tickling her nose and lips. His heart was racing, she could feel it thumping wildly in his chest. Linda smiled, pleased she could bring such a reaction out of him. Her other hand moved to wrap around his erection and Tavington grunted with pleasure. Her thumb circled the bulbous head and moved over the little eye at the tip. She spread the droplets of seed around under her thumb, then began to pump her hand on his length with hard, firm strokes.

Tavington was happy to let her pleasure him this way for a little while - he had been aching in his breeches while he pleasured her with his tongue. And when she had hooked her leg around his neck - Dear Lord! He had wanted to throw her to the bed and roger her hard, but there was the wager.

Five pounds for whichever one of them could make their woman moan the loudest. He and Tarleton had worked out the wager before approaching Mariah and Linda. Just now, judging by the soft moans coming from the other side of the partition, Tavington suspected he, and not Tarleton, was going to be the victor.

Linda's tongue found his nipple and Tavington wrapped his fingers through her hair. He knew she had wanted him to kiss her, but that was not his desire, not with this woman. He rarely kissed his doxies, choosing to keep that something special for his mistresses. They deserved more of him than a common whore should receive. He closed his eyes as Linda moved lower. His shirt was open down the front to down his stomach. She drew away to lift his shirt, pulling it over his head.

He sat before the kneeling whore, completely naked except for his socks. Linda's hand was pumping his erection hard and fast as she rained soft kisses down his stomach, heedless of the thin line of hair that covered his torso. He swallowed hard as he watched her move lower, his eyes were riveted on her when she bent over him and finally took him into his mouth.

"Agh..." Tavington groaned.

"You right there, old boy?" Banastre called, his voice was husky with pleasure. Mariah was gasping, Tavington could hear the sounds of their skin slapping together.

"I'm in heaven," William replied thickly, Linda's tongue was licking him from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip and back down again in long slow strokes. "And you?"

"Oh, yes. Heaven..." Tarleton murmured.

Tavington jerked his head up when a pounding came on their door. It was not someone knocking. He frowned, wondering if someone was trying to break the door down. Suddenly, the door burst open -

* * *

"What, right here? You can't be serious, love!" Bordon exclaimed. He gazed down at Harmony, her skirts hiked around her thighs. Her legs were pale and shapely, Bordon licked his lips as he stared at them.

"Oh, I am serious, my lover. Right here, right now. They will bow to your prowess, my sweetness! I assure you!" Harmony laughed at Bordon's expression. She raised her skirts higher, past the garters holding her stockings around her thighs and higher again until they were bunched around her waist. "Well?" She asked, as she parted her legs.

"I can't pleasure you here! In the middle of the corridor! What if someone comes!"

"My love - believe me, someone will definitely come! Don't be so bashful - lets show them what you are capable of, these cocksure Colonels, that are always trying to drag me off to their bed. Perhaps I should let them, they seem to be far more adventurous than you!"

"Hell, no - you are mine!" Bordon growled. He dropped to his knees before her and with an ache between his legs he began to pleasure Harmony with his tongue, delving within her folds and circling her quim with hard strokes.

Still holding her skirts high with one hand, Harmony lowered her other hand, winding her fingers through Bordon's russet colored hair. Her heart was pounding and she gasped as a thrilling heat began to suffuse her body, emanating from her core. With a quick glance up and down the hallway, Harmony squeezed her eyes closed tight and began to rock her hips, moaning inarticulately and begging for more.

Bordon was ruthless, he dove two gloved fingers deep inside her, pumping them in and out while he nipped and suckled her quim, his breathing became ragged as his tongue pressed ever harder against her. It took a good few minutes, but Harmony finally came, her legs sagged, the force of her climax left her knees weak.

Bordon stood up and gazed at her flushed face, her full lips curled up in a silly smile of contentment. The ache in his breeches was unbearable, his fingers tore along the buttons of his breeches and he leaned forward to kiss Harmony hard. She could taste herself on his tongue and she moaned with enjoyment. Bordon frantically shoved his breeches down enough to free his aching erection. He lifted her to the door, wrapped her legs around his hips and entered her with one smooth stroke.

The door shook and creaked as Bordon impaled Harmony against it, buried within her hot, velvety cave to the hilt. His member jerked and twitched in response to being so thoroughly engulfed, the pleasure threatened to send him over the edge into madness. The moment passed, his body was under his control again and he began to slowly stroke in and out of her. He brushed his lips against hers softly at first, then as his need grew he kissed her more deeply, his tongue invaded her mouth. Bordon's heart was pounding so hard he imagined it could burst through his rib cage

"Oh, Richard!" Harmony moaned against his lips. "I could never let you go without me, oh, you are so wonderful!"

"I know," Bordon smirked, then laughed aloud when she struck him on the back of the head. "You are too, my darling Harmony." He crushed his lips to hers again and set to work. His muscled bunched under his shoulders with the effort of holding her and his buttocks clenched as he drove into her.

"Agh, ah, agh, ah," Bordon grunted. His hips where moving back and forth with fury, thrusting in and out of her, the closed door was rattling against the doorjamb. "Ah, yes... You are so tight, Harmony!" He groaned with pleasure, heat surging through his veins. "So hot!" He held her waist with a tight grip as he bucked back and forth, driving her higher up the door .

"Oh, Bordon! God!" Harmony gasped and ground down against him. Bordon lowered his lips to her neck, suckling gently at first, then hard enough to leave large purple bruises on her neck, marking her. He wanted other men to know she was taken, she was his. Harmony moaned again with pleasure.

"I'm close, love, God, I am coming!" Bordon growled, he punched in and out of her, deep enough to feel her canopy deep within her. "Aghhhh!" He cried out as he came, his seed spurting deep inside her in pulses.

The lock on the door suddenly broke and the door slammed open so fast that Bordon and Harmony lurched into the room and fell to the floor in heap. Harmony fell to her rump, with Bordon laying on top of her, at Tavington's feet. The doxy who had been pleasuring Tavington gasped and jerked away to avoid being crushed by Bordon and Harmony.

Tavington lurched up from the bed and Bordon looked up at the naked Commander with a sheepish smile on his face. He had still somehow managed to stay deep inside Harmony.

She, Harmony, began to laugh. She giggled beneath him and then started to laugh so hard, her muscles deep within her convulsed and Bordon's erection was forced from her body.

"You laughed me out!" Bordon complained.

"The l-look on th-their f-faces!" She managed through her mirth, "Oh, I c-can't b-breathe!" Harmony half sat, half turned onto her side as Bordon pushed himself up to his knees, her eyes where streaming tears and her laughter ripped from her.

"Oh dear..." a naked Banastre said from the bed, drawing Bordon's attention.

Richard tilted his head to one side as he looked at the other Officer quizzically, trying to figure out what Banastre had been doing. He was laying on top of his doxy, she was beneath him, but her head was at the other end of the bed. Banastre's face was between her legs. Richard's eyes widened with realization.

They pleasured each other with their mouths, at the same time!

"Harmony, can we do that?" Bordon asked, as excited as a school boy.

Harmony turned to look. She had to wipe the tears from her eyes first, all she could see was a blurry Tarleton, swimming in her vision.

"Oh, yes, my darling. We can do that..!" She began to laugh again as Bordon stood up and quickly shoved his member back into his breeches. He did not bother to do up the buttons, he reached his hand down and Harmony allowed him to help her up.

"Now?" Bordon asked and Harmony nodded with a giggle.

She turned her gaze to William, who stood before her. He was so startled he had not thought to cover himself. Her eyes roamed over his naked body, athletic and strong. She quirked her eyebrows in surprise when she saw his large erection. Bordon was a big boy, but she believed Tavington was even larger.

"Richard, my love, I think I will let Tavington seduce me after all!" She gazed at the Officer's erection longingly and laughed again. "No wonder you like him, Linda, look how big he is!"

"Why thank you, Miss Jutland," Tavington drawled. He reached for his ruffled shirt to hide his naked member calmly, then waved his free arm toward the bed. "Would you care to join us?"

"Hell, yes. Sorry Captain," she quipped to Bordon. "I've changed my mind, I'm with the Colonels!" She laughed and took two steps toward Tavington. William's eyes opened wide with surprise and pleasure. He had been joking, but if she wished to join him and Linda, he would not refuse her!

"Oh no you don't!" Bordon growled, spoiling William's dreams of bedding two women at once. Richard grabbed his laughing mistress around the waist from behind and hoisted her off her feet. Twirling her in the air, he carried her bodily from the room.

"Oh, please, darling!" Harmony laughed with mock protest. "Just this once?"

"No, my dear, not ever," Bordon said, firmly closing the door behind them.

"Oh, the looks on their faces!" William heard Harmony's muffled voice say again through the door. He shook his head, he could still hear her gales of laughter as Bordon carried her down the hall, the sounds faded and then Tavington heard a door slam closed cutting off Harmony's laughter.

Tavington looked down at Tarleton, still laying across his doxies body, her legs were spread wide before him.

"Hmm, Linda, can we do that?" Tavington asked as he stepped back to the bed and pulled Linda into his lap.

* * *

The Officers returned to the common room of the tavern and drank until the night was late.

Harmony, who had finished her barmaid shift hours ago, had been sitting on Bordon's lap. Many men approached her but were quickly sent on their way with their tails between their legs. If Bordon's glare was not enough to dissuade them, Tavington's icy gaze and Tarleton's quit wit sent them packing. William and Banastre, upon learning that Harmony had become Richard's mistress, began to treat the young woman as they would their closest friend's sister. They still gazed at her with desire, but they understood she was now off limits.

Arthur Simms finally made an appearance, joining the Officers with a silly, contented smile on his face. The Officers had corrupted the newly initiated Dragoon, and they all laughed uproariously when Arthur boasted of how many women he had lain with that night. At least four.

The Officers and Harmony shared an enjoyable evening until well after midnight, when Tavington decided it was time to go home. They all stumbled out of the tavern and had a hell of a time trying to mount their horses, Banastre falling three times before he was finally seated.

William smirked - he had only fallen once! Harmony was hoisted up into the saddle behind Bordon and she spent the entire ride back to her little rented room with her arms around his waist, gently stroking his member through his breeches.

Richard saw her to her door. She waved goodbye to the other officers, kissed Bordon soundly, then disappeared inside.

"Lucky bastard," Banastre muttered as Bordon returned. The Captain smirked.

The three Officers bid Simms farewell as he rode down off in a different direction, leaving Tavington, Bordon and Tarleton to make their way to the Tisdale's.

Now Bordon and Tavington carried a very drunk Tarleton up the stairs of the Tisdale home.

"Where is he going to sleep?" Bordon asked Tavington. "I should fetch a slave to make up a room for him."

"No, no need... We'll put him in my bed, just have a cot bought in for me." The two men dragged Banastre into William's room and dropped him onto the bed.

* * *

"William?"

"Eh?" Banastre roused enough to murmur.

"Are you awake?" A woman's voice was in his ear. The woman herself was in his bed.

"Uh." He muttered, not truly understanding the question through the foggy haze of sleep and whiskey.

"Lord, you have never been this drunk before. I wonder if you will be able to..." Banastre felt something warm and soft creep inside the top of his breeches.

"Ah..."

Now _that_ he understood. Banastre opened his eyes and looked around the dimly lit room, enjoying the feel of the warm and soft something stroking his half soft member. There was not much light at all. He could tell the room was large, the only light emanated from a few dimmed lanterns and a dying fire in the large fireplace. He didn't know where he was, except he was not in his quarters on Tradd St.

"Hmmm," Banastre murmured. The woman's soft hand stroked his member into wakefulness. Was he still in the tavern? He must be, and Mariah had returned to him.

"Perhaps I was wrong," Mariah chuckled beside him. He became aware of another warm soft something, a woman's naked body, pressed against him. Mariah lifted her head as Banastre put his arms around her. He groaned as his erection reached its capacity. He could not grow any harder, even if Beth Martin walked in the room.

She pulled her hand out of his breeches and began to unclasped his belt and undo the buttons. He lifted his hips up high and Mariah drew his breeches and drawers from his legs.

"Oh, you have kept me waiting all night! I do hope you weren't with some doxy..." She leaned forward to nibble and nip at Banastre's neck, then moved to straddle him. Their lips found each others in the dark, brushing softly as Banastre removed his Green coat. They stopped kissing as Banastre pulled his ruffled shirt over his head, then their lips crashed together again, both groaning. "I am ready for you, my darling. As always..." she murmured against his lips. A strange thing to say, he'd only bedded Mariah the once. She took his hand and placed it between her thighs, he dipped his fingers in her folds and sighed appreciatively. She certainly was ready for him.

"Lay back on the bed, my dear," Banastre commanded.

She climbed off him and lay on her back. Banastre moved to straddle her chest, he edged backward until his erection was above her face.

"What are you doing?"

Banastre smiled. "Pleasure me, darling, while I pleasure you."

His face hovered just above her womanly centre and his erection was above her lips. He thought it was the best position for the time being. Banastre set to work.

"Oh, God!" she moaned. "Oh - this is wonderful! Oh..." She bucked her sex greedily against his mouth. She writhed her hips around and groaned with pleasure as he worked her.

From beneath him she took hold of his erection with firm, sure hands and lifted her head upwards to circle her tongue around his helmet. It was pure bliss, the feel of her soft, warm tongue working his shaft, suckling as she moved her head up and down. She moved her lips along his length and gently cupped his sack, massaging and squeezing. Banastre was soon covered in a film of sweat from tension as thrilling pleasure fired through his body.

The quiet of the room was broken with the sounds of their heavy breathing and their moans. Tarleton continued to rock his hips back and forth, encouraging his aching erection deeper into Mariah's mouth. Mariah bucked against his tongue, driving his fingers deeper inside her.

She drew back from him, his erection popped out of her mouth, but before he could protest the woman shouted.

"Oh, Gods, your fingers! Please, I need them deeper, faster! Oh!"

Banastre urged his fingers in deeper, ready to stroke them in and out of her faster.

"You first, dear," Banastre said, "take me deeper, I want to feel your mouth working me."

She grabbed his erection again, pushing her mouth upward along his length until he could feel the back of her throat. And then she began to suck and Banastre nearly cried out with pleasure - the woman was trying to swallow him whole! He groaned and shoved two fingers as deep as they would go, pumping her hard.

"Nn, nn, nn, nn," came her muffled groans. She could do no more with him buried in her mouth, another advantage of this position. Banastre did not have to hear the woman moaning "my love, my love," over and over.

"Are you about to come?" Banastre asked. When he felt her nod, he drew himself from her mouth and climbed off her. He wanted to feel her clench around his member while she climaxed.

He shuffled over her and settled between her thighs. She gripped his hair and pulled his face down for a hard, deep kiss, while Banastre eased his erection into her body with an achingly slow movement.

_God, she is so tight! How does a doxy get to be this tight! This is how Beth would feel... God, I just know it!_

He groaned and shoved himself in all the way, burying himself deeply. He thrust back and forth, his shoulder muscles bunching with the effort of driving in and out of her. Her hands gripped his buttocks, she glided one finger just below the virgin entrance of his backside, along the smooth skin above his sack.

_God, she's good! _Banastre thought as his pleasure was suddenly heightened.

He was lost in a fantasy of Beth, who had slowly disrobed and now kneeled before him, suckling his member. She drew back from him and threw herself onto her back on the bed and screamed for him to take her.

_Take my virginity, please! Now! Ah, Banastre, Banastre, Banastre!_

Tarleton's heart raced as he bucked back and forth into her, pushing her up the bed as his hips crashed against hers. He ignored her professions of love, of how she never wanted him to leave her. He hadn't paid her to say any such thing, but she did now, over and over.

_"Ah, Beth, you feel so good!" Banastre moaned against Beth's ear._

_"Oh, Ban, please - oh, I never knew... how good... it could feel!" Beth screamed and scored her nails along his back, hard enough to raise red lines in his skin as she writhed beneath him. He wound his fingers through her golden hair and kissed her hard. He drilled into her, burying himself deep enough to touch her roof. He groaned out loud as she clenched around him, her insides pulsing with the force of her climax._

"Ah, Beth!" Banastre cried out as his climax surged through him. He continued to plough into her and he groaned as his seed erupted from him in spurts. "Ah...!"

He fell silent and lowered his head, his breath coming in sharp bursts as he calmed. His arms felt shaky from supporting his body during his strenuous exertions. He finally came back to himself as his breathing returned to normal.

Mariah lay beneath him, as still as a statue. She had turned to ice. It was only then that he realized he had cried out Beth's name aloud, not just in his dream, as he climaxed.

Oh shit.

"Beth?" Mariah asked, even her voice was ice. "Beth Martin?" - How the hell did Mariah know Beth Martin? - "She is who you are thinking of?" Mariah said now. "That golden haired chit! That little bitch!" She hissed.

Hearing these spiteful words displeased Banastre greatly. With a suddenly vicious movement, he grabbed her wrists and shoved her arms down, pinning them to either side of her head. His grip on her wrists was iron. She gasped with pain and thrashed beneath to free herself - to no avail. Banastre was still impaled deep within her, his entire body pinning her to the bed.

She began to rage up at him.

"That silly, pathetic slip of a girl? A virgin! Unless she fucked Colonel Burwell. She would not know what to do with you! I am a grown woman, William. I can please you like no other, certainly better than that little innocent! No, Sir, you will not utter another woman's name in my bed - you will not utter the name of another girl, either! I am not Beth!"

Banastre finally understood, realisation crashed around him. He was not in the tavern, this was not Mariah. He was in the Tisdale's home, this was Vera, William's mistress. He'd just bedded William's mistress.

"And what a great pity that is," Banastre murmured against her ear, utterly furious with her for the awful things she'd said. She stiffened with affront. He was hard again already and he moved his hips back and forward, thrusting inside her with long, slow strokes.

"Ah, Beth," he taunted quietly, "Beth..."

It was more enjoyable than he could imagine, saying Beth's name while buried deep inside a woman.

"Stop it, right now!" Vera spat. "William, I will scream if you say her name again!"

"Beth..." Banastre raised his hips and pushed forward slowly, her velvety walls enveloped him as he whispered Beth's name over and over. He chuckled, knowing she would not scream. She would not wish to risk discovery. "But don't worry, Vera," Banastre picked up the pace, stroking faster now his climax was almost upon him. He drove in and out of her, hard and fast, but managed to keep his lips pressed close to her ear. "For I am not William..." He murmured. He groaned as he came.

He rolled off her, not even caring that he had been so very cruel. Not after the things the vicious little cat had said about Beth.

As soon as she was free, Vera jumped off the bed and began jerking on her shift. She lit several candles and her eyes landed on the cot on the far side of the room, where her lover - William - lay sprawled face down on a cot, partially covered by a blanket, his legs akimbo. He was sound asleep. Breathing hard, turned to face him - to discover who it was she had just beddedShe shifted her gaze slowly to the bed.

"Colonel Tarleton," she breathed.

"I was the last time I looked," he said, resting both arms beneath his head. The candle in her hand trembled so violently the flame almost went out. "It was enjoyable, Vera, Mistress of William. But now I wish to sleep. Off you go, I'm done with you."

Vera was frozen to the spot, trying to work this through in her mind. "You raped me."

"Hardly that," Banastre laughed out loud. "Were you dragged in here? No, you came to your lover willingly and were content enough in my arms. It's a simple matter of mistaken identity. You thought I was William and I thought I was at The Mighty George with Mariah, the doxy I fucked tonight."

She gasped at the insult - he'd thought she was a doxy? Vera continued to stare at him, her wide eyes flashing with fury.

He gestured to the cot and its sleeping occupant. He'd seen William spread eagled there the same time Vera had, when she'd lit the extra candles. "If you like, we can wake William. You can explain how you mistook me for him. Or perhaps we could wake your husband, to gain his opinion?"

At both prospects, Vera quailed.

Banastre snorted, knowing fully well that William would do nothing. Her husband, however… He was speaking common sense and it served its purpose, she could not accuse him or rape, any more than he could her.

"You are embarrassed by your mistake, is all," Banastre said. "So am I, truth be told. However, we shall both chalk it up to experience. We are both exceptional lovers, we enjoyed one another immensely just now. Why don't we just leave it at that?"

"Yes, I... I can trust to your discretion?"

"You certainly can," he said solemnly.

It was sage advice and Vera took it. She nodded nervously, then all but ran from the room.

Banastre heaved an astonished breath, he couldn't believe what had just happened. Nor could he sleep now, his body felt alive - every limb felt the need to be doing something. He rose from the bed and stoked the fire, placing another log on the flames before pacing the room. When he grew sick of this, he lay down again.

_I must try and get some sleep... A big day tomorrow..._

His thoughts turned to Beth.

_How have I become so infatuated? Lord... But she is beautiful. And sweet. And fiery..._

His parents often told him how they had fallen in love instantly and Banastre had been raised to believe in love at first sight. He had experienced it often enough with plenty of women in the past - he had been in love several times in his twenty-six years. But this felt different somehow, it felt... more intense...

He punched his pillow with anger, glared over at the sleeping Tavington, wishing he'd never let him lead him into the wager. He did _not_ want to lose Beth to William.


	8. Chapter 8 - Eavesdropping

Chapter 8 - Eavesdropping:

Mary shut her bed chamber door quietly behind her. As she walked up the corridor she heard voices coming from Colonel Tavington's room. She continued walking past the door, but when she heard Beth's name, she stopped dead, right there in the hallway. The Officer's bed chamber door was ajar. While Mary would never think of eavesdropping in the normal order of things, Beth was her closest friend and Mary felt compelled to listen to what the Officer had to say about her.

There were other voices coming from within the camber, Mary recognised them at once. Captain Bordon, who was billeted in Mary's home along with Tavington. And Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton.

"She is beautiful, don't you agree? Enough to take my breath away," Tavington was saying.

Mary smiled with relief, the men were not speaking ill of her friend. That would have put her in a difficult position indeed. Mostly because she would have to tell Beth what the men were saying, and Mary had no desire to hurt her. She, Beth, had not been able to hide her growing regard for Tavington, and it relieved Mary that she would have some good news to report back to her friend. She decided to stay and listen some more, to discover just how much Tavington regarded Beth. Mary disliked the Officer herself. To each their own..

"While I agree she is comely, she is no where near as beautiful as my Harmony," Bordon disagreed. Mary heard the other two Officers laugh.

"Please, Richard," Banastre's voice came to her. "Harmony is a lovely creature, to be sure. But she is a barmaid," he sniffed. "No, Sir - do not scowl at me so, I do not mean to say anything against your Lady! I think I have quite fallen in love with her myself. What a breath of fresh air she is! She could barely get her breath when the two of you fell through the door, she was laughing so hard!"

Mary frowned, puzzled. Fell through the door? How could such a thing happen? What sort of adventuress woman was this 'Harmony'?

"And to tell William that she wanted to bed him!" Banastre was saying. "Lord, what a laugh she is!"

"Such a pity she was jesting," Tavington said.

"I look forward to having such a lively creature brightening up our days at camp," Banastre finished.

Mary stiffened. 'Harmony' wanted to bed Tavington? And he did her? She disliked the turn of the conversation and began to fear where it might lead them.

"Miss Beth Martin, however, is a Lady. A noble Lady of quality and high virtue," Banastre continued.

"A noble Lady of quality and high virtue?" Bordon sounded incredulous. "Let me understand this - I wish to see if I have it right. Harmony is a simple barmaid and therefore beneath your notice, yet you believe Miss Martin to be a noble Lady of quality and unquestionable virtue, and therefore is deserving of keen attention."

"Precisely," Tavington drawled and Banastre chuckled.

"You can't truly consider her to be so chaste and so pure," Bordon raised his voice to be heard over the laughter. "Or you would not both be so certain that one or the other of you could bed her with ease. You both believe this so strongly, you have put a wager on it!"

Mary covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a gasp. Had she understood Bordon correctly? Tarleton and Tavington had put a wager on who could bed Beth? Surely not. Her eyes where wide with horror and she wanted to run from the things the men were saying, but she planted her feet firmly, determined to listen to the terrible end. Beth would need to know - all of it.

"Here you are, the both of you so cocksure that one of you will get beneath Miss Martin's skirts! This tells me she is either not a noble Lady of quality, or the two of you are not gentlemen!"

"Not at all, it is more a reflection upon our skill to seduce a virgin, than on Miss Martin's virtue, of which I have no doubt," Tavington replied.

"Or maybe we're no gentlemen, then, aye William?" Banastre laughed.

"Perhaps it is a combination of all things. Miss Martin is virtuous, we are not. We are, however, quite accomplished when it comes to the art of seduction, and therefore, we are both left in no doubt. One of us shall win this wager while the other, will live in regret forever more. " Banastre paused, then continued with a jovial voice, "Unless you take her after I win this wager, too? This really will be like Mrs. Pickering all over again, then."

"Only this time, it'll be you having my leavings, not the other way around. For I intend to win this time, Tarleton." Tavington declared.

Mary leaned back against the wall, her heart pounding, stomach churning. She was utterly horrified - Beth had been slowly falling in love with Colonel Tavington but for all his fine words and deeds and gestures, he had been trifling with her all along!

"No, Sir, you most certainly shall not," Banastre said. "But let us not argue the point until the deed is done. Bordon, I shall allay your curiosity for once and for all. Miss Martin is a woman of quality, a true Lady and so very fine..." Banastre sighed wistfully. "Speaking of fine, did William tell you about my late night visitor?"

"He did," Bordon laughed.

"Gods, what a wonderful talent your mistress is, William! I thought she was going to swallow my cock whole!"

Aghast, Mary's eyes bulged. Never had she heard such a speech! She instinctively understood the Officer's meaning and it made her sick to her stomach. The Officers were quite right, these men were no Gentlemen! And added to all the horrors she had heard thus far, Tavington - who Beth favored, had a mistress! The two Officers were both courting Beth during the day and from the sounds of it - bedding other women at night! Despicable!

"Ah, yes," Tavington laughed, "she is very good at that."

"I taught her something new, however. She quite enjoyed that position the two of you discovered me in with Mariah last night. I did the same with your mistress, William. She and I pleasured each other for quite a long time..." Banastre sighed. "I do not think I ever want to leave this house again!"

The meaning of his words crashed over Mary like an icy cold wave. This mistress Banastre spoke of - he had bedded her in Tavington's chamber - in Mary's own home! These men were bringing loose women back to her house! She decided Beth was not the only one who would learn of this, but her father also. Mr. Tisdale would not appreciate his house being used as a brothel!

"She is a delight," Tavington's voice came to her. "While I am inside her anyway. She has quite the jealous streak."

"Ah... Yes, about that. I discovered it myself. I inadvertently yelled another woman's name while in the throes of passion. She was quite put out with me. Well, with you, William, seeing that she thought I was you," Banastre laughed.

Mary frowned, puzzled - his words had her perplexed. She cursed herself for not being worldly enough to follow their entire conversation. How could this woman not tell the difference between Tarleton and Tavington?

William barked a laugh. "I can not believe she thought you were me." His tone sounded gleeful.

At that moment, Mary began to truly detest Tavington. Never had she despised a person in her life! But here it was, hate, pure and true. She folded her arms tight across her breast.

_That's disgusting! Tarleton bedded Tavington's mistress in this very room, and Tavington thinks it's the funniest thing in the world! Gods, they did this right across the hall from my own room! Oh, how can I tell Beth - she will be heartbroken - Tavington has a mistress! He is using Beth for entertainment - nothing more! An amusement - to bed and to ruin!_

"So, how much damage have you caused between my mistress and I, Ban? Will she come to me again tonight, I do not fancy sleeping alone."

_Come to me? Oh my Lord, does she reside in this house? A maid, perhaps? I'll see her turned out, I'll see her dismissed!_

"She will come to you. I told her the truth after I said the other woman's name and she started to berate me for it. She lit the lanterns in the room and stared at me with absolute horror, to find I was not you. She saw you on the cot and looked terrified that you might wake and catch her with me. She should have known from the moment we started, really - I am a far more exceptional lover than you!"

Mary heard a scoff, and assumed it came from Tavington.

"Let me guess the name you cried out, Ban," came Tavington's taunting drawl. "It would not have been our very own Little Miss Beth Martin, would it?"

Silence descended in the room and Mary strained her ears, trying to hear. She jumped, startled, when Tavington suddenly barked a laugh. "I thought so! Don't feel too badly Ban. Ever since I met her, each woman I've rogered has been Miss Martin in my imagination. The sooner I get between her legs and get her out of my system, the better."

Somehow, this pronouncement was more shocking to Mary than anything she had heard so far. Feeling decidedly ill, she stumbled away from the door a few steps, ready to flee.

_No, Beth is going to need to hear this. _She took up her position again, hoping no servants came along and discover her.

"How much is the wager for, gentleman?" Bordon sneered the word 'gentlemen', loading it with scorn.

"Fifty pounds," the other two Officers said together.

Bordon whistled under his breath.

_He is using Beth to bed and ruin - for fifty pounds!_

Mary could take no more. Hoisting her skirts above her ankles, she ran silently down the corridor, then called for the carriage as soon as she felt sure she was far enough from the Officers to not be heard.

* * *

Charlotte sat in the armchair pretending to sew while keeping a close eye on Beth and Ensign Watson. The latest British Officer to have become another of Beth's suitor.

Being engaged to Burwell, Beth should not be entertaining any of them, but at least Nicholas Watson was a young man Charlotte could bring herself to like. Why Mark was insisting on Beth entertaining the gentlemen that showed interest in her was beyond Charlotte.

Well, not truly beyond her, she did understand the reasoning behind it. If Beth had three British courtiers, then she could not possibly have an understanding with Colonel Burwell now, could she? If any rumours continued about the pair, they would not be heeded, not when Beth was stepping out every afternoon and evening either with Colonel Tarleton, Ensign Watson and - worst of them all - Colonel Tavington.

Charlotte had not met the fellow but she deemed him to be the true threat. Beth was not confiding in her, mores the pity, but Charlotte was not stupid. She was not blind. She saw the changes that came over Beth as soon as Tavington's name was mentioned. She saw her niece pacing the parlour and gazing out the window in the hope of seeing a rider approach with yet another letter. She saw the efforts she went to to ready herself for her meetings with Tavington, she went to far further lengths than she ever did for Tarleton or Watson.

Beth was smiling at something Watson was saying. Then the lass began to giggle, her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth. At least she could enjoy herself with her other suitors, when the one she loved most was not around. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, Charlotte thought. She hoped and prayed it was so, for that Officer could prove Beth's undoing, if she was truly falling in love with him, as Charlotte suspected.

Charlotte wished Mark would not encourage it so. But he was, Tavington was dining almost every evening at the Putman's and Beth made every excuse she could to be there. Tonight, she was even to sleep there at Mark's. This was not strange in itself, Beth was close to Cilla and the girls often stayed over with one another. But Mark was speaking about having Beth move her belongings over to his house, to move in. Beth should not be living under the same roof as a man that is courting her, he said. While Charlotte agreed, she could not help but to think of how Beth living with Mark would put her into Tavington's company even more frequently, for the amount of times the Colonel visited there.

Oh well, she's almost living there already, how much more will she see of him than she already is? Charlotte wondered as she threaded the needle and pulled the cotton strand through. At length, the Ensign excused himself; he seemed rather forlorn that the girl would from that afternoon be living at the Putman's. He rose, for he had duties to be about.

"Perhaps I can visit you there this evening?" Watson said, bowing over Beth's hand.

"Oh, please do," Beth said. "Although, I already have a visitor calling on me there for dinner, but if you are free earlier?" Charlotte saw the red flush across her cheeks. Watson nodded, looking quite pleased at Beth's willingness to continue their friendship. He tipped his hat to both women and withdrew.

Both women were silent, Beth shifted on her seat to stare out the window, Charlotte had that feeling again that the younger girl was waiting on another letter from Tavington. The silence stretched, until Charlotte finally broke it.

"I had a letter from my aunt in Rhode Island this morning."

"Oh? How is aunt Prudence?" Beth said in a distracted sort of way.

"Well, it was a little distressing, to be honest."

"Oh no, why?"

_Now I have her full attention._ "It seems she's been ill but she's assured me she is much better now. I've asked her so many times to move here but again, she has disappointed me, she is still refusing to leave Newport. I was hoping she would agree to come and keep me company here, with you gone so often and now you're to move in with your uncle."

"Sorry," Beth murmured.

"No, it's alright, I'm just teasing you. It's more for her, truly. I want to look after her, and I think it would be safer for her, but she does not want to leave her friends in Rhode Island. She has quite a thriving social life for such an elderly lady."

"Well, that's good. You have a thriving social life too, aunt Charlotte. You should come to dinner tonight, you've met to meet Colonel Tavington and I would love to introduce you."

"Oh, I think I'd rather not," Charlotte said, not quite meeting Beth's eyes. "I suppose I do have friends here, but I'd much rather we were home though. I mean your home - Fresh Water. I miss the children and your father," Charlotte's smile was fond as she spoke of Benjamin Martin.

"I miss them too," Beth said. She sat up suddenly straighter when Charlotte's butler entered the parlour. "Oh, is that for me?" She asked, unable to hide her excitement as her eyes landed on the letter in his hand.

"It is indeed," Matthew replied and Beth crossed quickly to him to take the letter with shaking hands. "It is from Lieutenant Martin," he said.

Charlotte saw it the moment Beth's heart dropped. The excitement sloughed away from her as though she were suddenly doused with a bucket of cold water; her shoulders slumped and she collapsed back into her chair with an air of finality - as if her life had just ended.

"Thank you, Matthew," Charlotte said and the man withdrew. "Well, open it," she said, trying to sound excited enough for both of them as she crossed the room and sat beside her niece. Beth held the letter up in between them so they could both read it.

_Dearest Beth,_

_It is with great sadness that I write to you this evening. Our oldest friend, Peter Cuppin died today, on the field of battle. He was one of the many who fell today in an unexpected skirmish. Though we stood side by side, he was cut down while I left the field without injury. I am sorry my writing is so poor, dear sister, I can barely hold my hand steady enough to write you, such is my grief and shock. Why did he have to die? Why him and not me? I can not make any sense of it. We had been joking that very morning, jesting as we often do, and then..._

Beth's breath caught, she pressed her hand to her throat. She was only distantly aware of Charlotte's comforting arm around her shoulders.

_He was standing right beside me, when it happened. He had just turned to me, told me he wanted me to wager my watch when we played cards next, and I had laughed - I would never wager my father's watch and he knows it. And then the enemy was raging toward us. I fired my musket, and was reloading when an enemy soldier ran his sword through Peter's chest. He fell, and I grabbed him, but it was too late. He died in my arms._

_Never have I felt so lost. Without Peter to help me - we always worked together, raising each other's spirits, confiding in one another. There is no one for me to turn to now, no one to speak to of this. Battles rage and armies march on. That's what I have been reduced to, moving on. Just an hour gone, Colonel Burwell instructed me to take a small detachment of men in order to secure one of our gunpowder caches. This undertaking will position me barely a mile from the Cuppin's house. Barely a mile! But when I asked permission to strike out from the cache when I reach it, just for the hour it would take to visit the Cuppin's, Burwell denied me. Hold and protect the cache, he commanded - he will send a runner to the Cuppin's with a letter that he will personally write. While I appreciate that, I despair - the news should surely come from me, a man the Cuppin's have always known, one who was there, right beside their son, when he was felled. But I am not allowed, I must obey, and therefore, though only a single mile will soon separate me from the Cuppin's it will be a stranger who goes to them. _

_I am sorry to burden you, sister, but Gods I am in such torment._

_I must close, we are to head out on the moment. Know that I am well, unwounded, and love you dearly._

_Your loving brother,_

_Lieutenant Gabriel Martin_

_SC Regiment, Continentals_

* * *

Beth put the page down and turned her wide eyes to her Aunt.

"Poor Gabriel," she murmured. Tears of grief traced her cheeks. "Poor Peter..."

"The Cuppin's will be distraught," Charlotte sighed heavily. "So many of our friends have died, it's just tragic."

She rubbing Beth's arm comfortingly.

"Colin... I will have to tell him," Beth murmured. "We used to follow Gabriel and Peter through the woods. They would try and shake us off but we'd catch up to them every time. Sweet Lord - Peter was engaged, too! Poor Miss Emery."

"I know."

The two women fell silent, Beth struggling to come to terms with the horrible news. Peter Cuppin was not the first lad she had grown up with to have been killed in battle.

"And he won't be the last," she whispered aloud, meeting Charlotte's gaze. The other woman nodded, seeming to understand Beth's line of thought.

Beth sighed heavily, then folded the letter and placed it in the pockets in her skirt. Charlotte patted Beth's arm then withdrew her hand.

"Are you alright? I mean, about Peter..."

"No," Beth said miserably. "When will it end, all the killing? All the pain? Our lives have been ripped apart..."

"I wish I knew," Charlotte said helplessly. She kissed Beth's cheek and stayed sitting beside her for as long as Beth needed.

* * *

Some hours past and Charlotte began to feel that Beth would be well enough now, to be left alone. It was coming on to the time that Major Hanger usually called - at least that was one good thing about the fellow, he was as reliable as a clock and, therefore, she could avoid him with ease. If she left now and visited some of her neighbours, then Hanger would come and then leave during her absence and if her luck held, his presence might not be forced upon her at all today. She was just saying so to Beth, when Matthew returned to the parlor to announce the arrival of a visitor. Vastly relieved that the guest was Miss Tisdale and not Hanger, Charlotte rose from the chair to greet Mary with a broad smile. After chatting with her for a few moments, she excused herself. "You caught me on the way out, Miss Tisdale. If you will excuse me, I will leave you and Beth to your visit."

"Of course," Mary said. "Enjoy your outing."

Charlotte smiled, nodded, and swept from the chamber, quickening her strides through the house in case Hanger did indeed arrive before she had a chance to leave.

* * *

Mary sat beside Beth, suddenly reluctant to speak now, despite her initial haste to reach her friend's side. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, knowing her news would cause Beth agony.

"Mary? What is it?" Beth asked gently, seeing her friends distress.

"Beth, I have something to tell you, but it's oh so hard," Mark eased out a long, drawn breath. "I over heard a conversation this morning, and I... It is going to be difficult for you to hear."

"Very well, take your time Mary," Beth sat back and folded her hands in her lap, waiting patiently for Mary to find the words.

"I happened to be passing by Colonel Tavington's room earlier this morning, his door was slightly ajar and he was speaking with Colonel Tarleton and Captain Bordon. It is very bad manners to eavesdrop but when I heard your name mentioned, I decided to do just that. "

Beth's stomach lurched. Whatever it was the Officers had been discussing about her could not be good, or Mary would not be so clearly distressed. Had Tavington lost interest in her? Had he given his affection elsewhere?

"It's not good Beth," Mary warned her. "You are not going to like it."

"I dare say..." Beth said gravely. "Please, Mary. I don't think I can wait after all."

Mary nodded. "Beth, it pains me to tell you this, but Colonel Tavington and Colonel Tarleton are not the friends they have pretended to be."

"They are not friends?" Beth frowned. "They seem quite close -"

"No, I mean, they are close. I mean they are not the friends to you that they have pretended to be."

"Not my friends?" Beth whispered, quivering hands pressed to her stomach. "Why do you say that? What did you hear them say? Nothing awful, oh, they haven't said something awful about me - "

"No, they both think you to be a noble lass of high virtue and they both agree you are beautiful and… No, they did not say anything bad about you. They did reveal the bad thing they are doing to you, however."

"What are they doing, Mary?" Beth asked softly, her eyes already brimming tears.

"Oh, Beth," Mary seized Beth's hand, winding her fingers through the other girl's. "They have made a wager. It seems that they are both vying to... Ah..." Mary faltered, then continued in a whisper. "Beth, to be the victor, one or the other must bed you."

Beth's face drained of color. "Bed me?" She whispered.

"I am so sorry, but I heard them, it's what they said. One has to bed you and the other must pay... Oh, Beth, the other must pay fifty pounds to the victor!"

Beth felt as though she had been kicked in the stomach. She struggled for breath, her voice failed her. Such pain gripped her stomach, the pain of heartbreak and betrayal.

"Well," she breathed finally. Her eyes were open wide but unseeing. Her grip on Mary's hand became lax, as the muscles in her body turned to water. She closed her eyes and reeled, swooning.

"Oh, Beth," Mary said. Tears welled in her eyes, fell down her cheeks. "I am so sorry. I know you were growing to care for him - for Tavington. I stopped to listen because I heard him saying you were beautiful and I thought I would have some good news to impart to you. But then as they kept talking it all turned so horrible, so quickly!"

"They wagered my virtue," Beth whispered. "He does not care for me! I thought... Oh, sweet Lord above!"

"Oh Beth," Mary's voice rose, distressed that she had to pass on these horrible tidings. She pulled her weeping friend into her arms, crying right along with her. "How dare they treat my friend so? How dare they break your heart?" She whispered. Mary stroked Beth's hair. "Those men are wretched! They are not Gentlemen, not at all! What a terrible way to behave, to make a bet and seduce a young woman. They are horrid, and not worthy of your good opinion. That Tavington - he is not worthy of your love!"

Beth clutched to Mary, holding on for dear life as she sobbed with heart break. Mary whispered quiet words of reassurance, rocking her gently.

"They matter not, my darling one," she said softly as Beth wept. "You will marry Colonel Burwell. And these men will learn of it and they will despair at your loss, despair that they treated you so horridly!"

"Everything is falling apart!" Beth cried out. Her words came in short gasps between her tears. "And G-Gabriel wrote, our f-friend, P-Peter Cuppin d-died in the fighting. I f-feel so wretched!" She wailed as the combined grief threatened to tear her apart.

"Oh, Beth, I'm so sorry for your friend," Mary whispered.

She had been on the verge of telling Beth of Tavington and Tarleton's other women, but now thought better of it. Beth was already in the depths of despair, Mary did not think her friend could handle any more terrible news. She would not burden her friend any further, she decided, and so kept it to herself.

"Shh," Mary murmured, still rocking gently. Beth's storm of weeping was far from over.

* * *

A very long while later, when Mary felt certain Beth had calmed enough to be left alone, she excused herself to return home.

"I did not even tell Mamma and Papa I was leaving, or where I was going. I am probably in trouble as it is," she told Beth.

"I'm sorry -"

"No - no! Think nothing of it! I was the one who left all in a panic - I did not want to wait a single moment, you see. Beth, Tarleton, and the other one," she could barely bring herself to call Tavington by name, such was her fury. "You just tell your Uncle you do not wish to see them, they will be kept away from you."

"I will," Beth said woodenly.

Mary embraced Beth again and then left, leaving the distraught girl on her own.

* * *

_Fifty pounds... How could he? He picked me that rose, he asked for that ribbon, as if it meant something to him. He kissed me, so beautifully. All those caresses, holding my hand, the smiling and loving words. Gods, how could I be such a fool? I thought it was real. It was false, all of it, false, all to win some horrible bet! How can I have fallen in love with him? How could I allow myself to be taken in so easily?_

Beth finally rose from the chaise to stare out of the large windows facing the street.

_I may not be in love with Harry, but I do care for him. He is trustworthy and dependable, he would keep me safe, cherish me! He would never treat me like this! These men... These bloody REDCOAT Colonel's! How dare they try to use me so?_

Fury welled up inside her and Beth embraced it, it was so much better than the despair of heart break. She drew her anger around herself like a cloak, an unbreakable shield.

* * *

Beth had several bouts of weeping and of rage, her emotions swinging wildly in the hour since Mary had left her. Just as she made up her mind to head up to bed and crawl under the blankets, Matthew returned to announce that Beth had a visitor.

"Colonel Banastre Tarleton, Miss Martin. He says he is to ride out of Charlestown today and wishes to fare you well before he goes. Will you see him?"

"No!" Beth said urgently, feeling that wild swing in her emotions again. "I do not wish to see him!"

Matthew gave her a puzzled glance and turned to leave.

"Wait!" She called him back. "He's leaving, is he? No, you are to send him in, I've changed my mind."

"Are you certain?" Matthew frowned. "I can send him away."

"No," Beth said, strengthening her resolve. "I have some things I must say to him, now before he leaves, in case he never returns, or I'll regret it to my dying day."

"Ah... Very well," the butler said uncertainly. "I will remain near to hand in case you need me."

Clearly he was concerned and Beth didn't blame him. She was not usually so indecisive and it was clear she was distressed - he had seen her tears earlier. Beth had not been able to hide her grief.

A few moments later, Banastre was shown into the parlor.

Beth took one look at him and she stiffened with outrage. Unable to look at him, such was her disgust, she turned her back on him and headed over to gaze out of the large bank of windows, taking the time she needed to gather herself.

Banastre's smile faltered and he gazed at her back with some confusion.

"Miss Martin," he said warmly, though he was a little flustered at her cold greeting. Crossing the room to stand behind her, he swallowed hard and cleared his throat before trying again. "Miss Martin, are you well?"

_No I am not bloody well! You wagered on my virginity! You thought I would bed you - what sort of loose woman do you take me for? _Beth continued to rage, but in silence for the time being. She needed to gather her nerve, despite her fury.

"Ah," Banastre faltered, clearly confused by her behaviour. "I am sorry for dropping in on you like this, however I wanted to see you before leaving. You see, Sir Clinton has decided that my sojourn in the city has come to an end, I am deployed to the country, I ride for the border. The Legion is already on its way and the Dragoons and I will ride out within the hour. I've spent the morning saying good bye to my friends and I could not leave without saying farewell to you."

Banastre gazed down at her, waiting for something from her, anything at all.

"Beth?" He said softly, he had never addressed her so familiarly before. "Please, my darling? Tell me what is wrong." He reached his hand up to her neck and caressed his fingers along her soft skin gently.

"You are leaving?" Beth asked, finally turning to face him. Her brown eyes were cold, they were ice.

"Yes, my darling," Banastre said quietly.

"Your _darling_?" Beth scoffed. "You would not treat me so ill, if I were your darling."

"Beth, please, tell me what is wrong, tell me how to fix it, I'm dying my love," Banastre said earnestly. He was about to ride out. He did not know when he would be recalled to the city, he did not know when he would see her again and he was, quite simply, dying. She was being so cold!

Beth pulled her eyes away from Banastre and shook her head. And understanding hit him like a bucket of cold water had been tipped over his head. His heart sunk to his feet.

_She knows... I don't know how, but she does. That damned wager! _Pain twisted his face and he reached out to took her gently by the arms drawing her close to him.

"Oh, Beth, I am so sorry. I should never have agreed to the wager, I do not know why I did."

Tears sprang to her eyes, her face crumpled with pain. His heart lurched to be the cause of her grief.

"It was _his_ idea then?" She despaired. That made it so much the worse. It was William's idea, all along. "Lord... You would have taken my virginity, Banastre! Or he would have! And then what? Am I so much rubbish to you both, to be treated so?"

"No! Oh, my love, no!" Banastre said frantically, passionately. "I'm a fool, my darling. Oh, Beth, say you'll forgive me, please!"

"I only found out an hour ago! I've barely had time to... to... absorb this let alone forgive you! I am so angry! How could you? My virginity, for fifty pounds? Would you have bedded me and then passed me on to him when you were done?"

Banastre's face blanched as he recalled suggesting precisely that. He hadn't been serious, however, it had been a taunt only. He couldn't bare it if William ever laid his hands on Beth, even if Banastre had been the victor first.

"Lord no! The thought of him having you..." His queue whipped around his shoulders as Banastre shook his head violently. "I couldn't stand it!"

"Then what?" Beth asked ruthlessly. "You would have discarded me afterward?"

"I would not have discarded you afterward! I have more compassion than that, and a genuine affection for you!"

"Oh, you would have _married_ me, would you? That's a fine way to earn yourself a bride, Colonel Tarleton!"

There was something in his face that alerted her and she paused, gaping. "You would not have married me! Oh my Lord, you had every intention of bedding me and none of marrying me! But you said you would not have discarded me. What would you have done then? Not marrying me is the very definition of discarding!"

"I would have made you my mistress," he said. "I would have taken you with me, you would have lived in camp with me!"

She was lost for words for all of a few seconds before crying, "are you mad? You think so low of me that you imagine I would be only good enough to become your mistress?" Beth spat the word. "And him? Was that his intention also?"

"I do not know if he intended to make you his mistress, afterward," Banastre said and Beth felt something inside of her shatter, the shards cutting her to her very core.

"You do know he had no more intention toward marriage than you did, though," she said, testing him. He shook his head in the negative and Beth felt like weeping. She pushed her tears away and embraced her rage as best she could. "You 'gentlemen' would go off and leave me, ruined an unmarried! You would do as you pleased without a care that you would have destroyed my virtue! For fifty pounds!"

"Beth, I am in love with you!" Banastre declared earnestly.

"That is not love!" She shouted. "People in love do not treat people they love in this way! They don't, Banastre!"

"I know, and I did it to you and I am so very sorry, but please, you must believe me! I am so very deeply in love with you, it's tearing me inside right now, that I have hurt you!"

"Banastre," Beth sighed, her anger drained from her and she felt suddenly tired. She put her hand to her forehead, there was a headache growing just behind her eyes. "Please stop, just stop. Professions of love will not help you win the wager."

"I am not trying to win the God damned wager!" Tarleton snapped. She stared up at him, eyes wide and wary. Breathing raggedly, Banastre closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to hers. He still held her by the arms gently, keeping her body close to his. "I'm sorry, Beth," he said quietly. "This is just so hopeless, so frustrating. I am going away and I don't even have time to make this right between us. Please believe me, I never intended to hurt you, darling. I am sincerely in love with you. Have you not heard of love at first sight?"

Feeling confused, Beth did not pull away.

_Yes, I've fallen in love with Colonel Tavington, I was captivated by him from the start. Burwell told me he has loved me since the first time he met me._

"Yes, I have. But that explains nothing. It justifies none of your actions. People in love don't treat people they love this way! To wager to bed them, and then intend only to make them you're mistress!"

Banastre shook his head and sighed. "The stupid, Goddamned wager!" He groaned. "I should never have made it!"

"No, you should not have."

He fixed his eyes on hers, willing her to believe him. "Beth, words can not express..." He stopped to draw a deep, ragged breath. "I am sorry. I love you and I hope that one day you will forgive me."

Beth frowned, her confusion deepening. Banastre was wearing his heart on his sleeve, she had no doubt of his sincerity, not now. Encouraged by her silence, Banastre wrapped his arms around her waist. He drew her body to his and lowered his head to her shoulder. He held still for sometime, breathing deeply and relishing the feel of her. He was well aware he may never hold her again, this could be their first, and last, embrace. Neither said a word as the minutes ticked by. He did not try to kiss her, judging now was not the right time. He was just grateful she would let him hold her before he left.

"I have to go," he said finally. "Beth, I am so sorry I hurt you." He brushed a long, lingering kiss on her cheek before stepping back from her. He held her gaze for a few moments before turning to walk from the room.

"Stay safe, Sir," Beth called quietly before he reached the door, and Banastre turned back to her. "I am wroth with you. So very wroth. But I wish you no harm."

His resolve not to kiss her crumbled to dust. In three quick strides he stood before her again and pulled her against him, with a groan of mingled despair and pleasure he brushed his lips against hers.

Beth's eyes opened wide with surprise, but she did not pull away from him. It was not the searing kiss she had from Tavington or the knee weakening kiss she had from Burwell. It felt... Nice... Soft, sweet, warm...

Banastre moved his lips against hers slowly, softly. He deepened the kiss slightly. He wanted nothing more than to touch his tongue to hers, however he resisted the urge and he kept the kiss chaste. Finally he drew back and stared at her intently, trying to etch her face in his memory.

"Do I have your permission to write to you?"

"Banastre... I do not know... Everything is so complicated now..." Beth looked away then sighed. If he died out there on the field, she did not want their last words to one another to have been a refusal. "Yes, you may write to me. But I can not promise that I will write back."

"Thank you," Tarleton caressed her face with his fingers. "I do love you, darling Beth."

Beth breathed a breath and gave a tired shake of her head.

"One day, perhaps you'll believe me," he said. Tarleton brushed one last kiss on her lips, then turned and strode from the room.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Public Dance

Chapter 9 - The Public Dance:

Mary stepped down from the carriage and made way for Beth and Cilla to follow. She held her skirts above her ankles and carefully wound her way a pile of horse droppings. Beth and Cilla were behind her, they joined the long line of people waiting to enter the hall - all speaking excitedly of the night ahead.

They eventually made their way inside, the heat from the hall hitting them like a wave. It was a hot Summer night, but it was still much cooler outside.

"See? Lots and lots of Redcoats, but not a single Colonel. We will have fun, Beth!" Mary's silk skirts swished as she made her way through the throng of people, young women, young Colonial men, and Redcoats, all talking and laughing, some where already dancing.

She had not thought, at first, that Beth would come. It'd been a few days since Mary told Beth the awful truth about Tarleton and Tavington and Beth was still taking it very hard. Tarleton, Beth had confronted but Tavington, she had not. For Tavington had headed out on Dragoon business the same day Tarleton had. The difference was, Tarleton had come to tell her, and Tavington hadn't.

Mary hadn't liked how despondent Beth had become, she'd spent the last few days at her uncle's, refusing to leave. She would not have come out of her room at all, if her family hadn't forced her. It had been tough going, trying to convince Beth to come to the dance tonight, for she had been too heartbroken to even conceive of trying to have fun.

In an effort to try to cheer her, Mary had organised a small party - they would attend the public dance, and then - as the Dragoons were gone from the house for goodness knew how long, the girls would retire to Mary's house, all of them. Cilla. Mary. Rebecca. Sarah Wilkins, who had just returned to the city at long last. It was Mary's hope that the four of them spending the evening together, at Mary's house, where they could giggle and share their experiences they'd had at the public dance prior, it might help Beth see that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

She had been so relieved and excited when Beth finally agreed to come to the dance and attend the stay over with the other girls at Mary's house. She decided she must thank Cilla later, knowing it was Cilla's words to Beth that helped her to make her decision.

_"Don't you dare let those horrid men stop you from enjoying your life! Don't you dare wallow and cower in your bed! A dance and fun with you friends is just the thing you need!"_

"Oh look," Mary said once they were inside. She leaned in to Beth and pointed out a young gentleman standing a few yards away. "You already have the attention of some young gentlemen, watching from the corner there," she giggled. Beth glanced the fellow's way and then away again, her melancholy expression barely shifting. Mary sighed, she rubbed Beth's shoulder as they worked their way deeper into the hall. She caught sight of her own sweet beau and a smile broke over her pretty face. "Oh, here is Colin... He is coming over, my heart is pounding!"

"Ladies," Colin bowed when he reached them. He took each by the hand to plant a light kiss above their fingers. He kissed Mary's hand last, but hers, he did not release.

"See? We will have fun, with Colin and the ladies. We need to fine Becky and Sarah."

"They did not come with you?" Colin asked.

"No, they are leaving with us though. For the stay over," Mary said. Colin grinned her.

"Can I come?" He asked, bringing her hand to his lips again.

"Oh, you, what a naughty suggestion," Mary giggled.

"Well, I am a Santee boor," he laughed. "Here is Ensign Watson, Beth, he is coming over."

There was still one suitor of Beth's who had not treated her so awfully. Mary was grateful to Ensign Watson, for the time he'd spent with Beth these last few days, he'd barely left her side except when his duty called. They'd stayed with her on rotation, each of Beth's friends taking a turn. With Watson living at the Putman's, that had fallen mostly to Cilla and him.

"Cilla!" A woman's voice called. "There you all are! What took you so long to get here?" Rebecca embraced each of her friends.

"Probably wanting to make a grand entrance!" Sarah Wilkins quipped at Rebecca's side.

"Evening ladies," Ensign Watson joined them, he greeted each young woman. A few other young men joined them, Rebecca's older brothers, twins Michael and Marcus Middleton. It was the usual group, at each gathering it was always the same companions that came together, they enjoyed each others company. Ensign Watson was the only Englishman, the only Redcoat, but he fit in with the others as though he had known them for years.

He stood beside Beth and the small group began chatting companionably.

* * *

William hitched his horse to a post, then strode toward the large hall where the public ball was to take place. He waited patiently with the throng of people waiting to enter. The noise coming from the hall washed over him, it was to be a lively affair, it seemed. He had only learned of the dance a short while earlier - he had been gone for several days training his new Dragoons and chasing down rebels. He'd arrived back only an hour ago, and had been informed of the ball. More importantly, William had that Beth and her friends were attending. William had freshened himself up as quickly as he could, then headed out in order to continue his seduction of the girl.

In a few short days, William felt certain, Beth's virtue and Banastre's fifty pounds would both be his. The girl was his for the taking, he was in no doubt of it. Another notch in his belt, or so they say in the seedier sides of town. Another victory over Banastre. In truth, he was looking forward to seeing her again for he had found he quite missed her, while he was away. Quite unexpected, that. He hadn't miss Vera Tisdale, his mistress. And although he still seething over losing Mrs. Pickering to Banastre, he never actually _missed_ her when they parted. He was looking forward to seeing Beth again, not just to continue his seduction, but to spend time in her company. Who would have guessed it was possible.

He listened with amusement to the talk around him, a group of young men hoping to secure the affections of this lady or that. Boasting of how far one or the other would get beneath some girls skirts before she clamped shut on him. He smiled and scoffed - the boys were no different to how he was in younger days.

And not so younger days, he admitted ruefully, considering his recent attempt to seduce a young woman of her virtue. He had no plans beyond filling her for the first time, did not stop to consider the repercussions - that she would ruined and possibly even pregnant. Those were not his concerns - it was the way of life. It sounded to him as though her father loved her - if she fell pregnant - she would be found a husband quickly enough.

The crowd moved forward and Tavington strode into the hall. He began to look for familiar faces - Beth first and foremost. Not finding her instantly, he moved deeper into the large room, winding his way through people - Redcoats and Colonials alike, nodded in greeting as he continued his search.

"Tavington! Over here!"

William turned for the source of the familiar voice, his eyes falling on his Captain, Richard Bordon. He strode toward him purposefully.

"Ah, there you are, Bordon. Miss Jutland, also I see," he nodded at Harmony, who stood at Bordon's side with her arm linked through his. Tavington bowed and eyed the beauty appreciatively. "What a surprise to see you tonight!"

"I would not have been," Harmony smiled. "My Captain here insisted, he all but dragged me here..."

"You will liven the place up my dear," William assured her with a sultry smile. "That is a lovely gown you're wearing."

It surprised him - he was used to seeing her in cotton and wool dresses but here she was, wearing a silk dress as fine as any other in the ballroom that night.

"A gift from Bordon…" She gave a fatalistic sigh. "Not that I am complaining, it is a silk dress, after all!"

"I wished to stake my claim, my darling," Bordon said. "I want to be the envy of every gentleman here," Bordon shot a teasing glance at William. "She does look lovely don't she? But she is mine, Sir, do not get any ideas."

"No, Captain, do not fear," Tavington took Harmony's free hand and placed a chaste kiss on its top. "As beautiful as our Miss Jutland is, as desirable as she is, by the rules of friendship I have no choice but to cede her to you. Besides, as you are well aware, I have my own young lovely to chase, if only I could find her."

"Ah, yes 'Miss Martin'," Bordon agreed. "Is she here then?"

"I have not seen her yet."

"Who is Miss Martin?" Harmony looked between the two men.

"Banastre and William's new 'truelove'," Bordon scoffed. "According to them, she is the most beautiful woman in the colonies -"

"Oh, I thought I was?" Harmony arched an eyebrow at William. She pouted and batted her eyelids.

"You are, my dear," William smiled.

"And she is supposedly a woman of quality, at that," Bordon finished.

"Ah, I see, a refined virgin and a woman of wealth..." Harmony said, hiding her discomfort - she had never gotten along with the higher sort of women, always looking down their noses at her.

"No, no wealth," William said primly. "Except on the Putman's side, but her mother's share in it is all used up, I'm told. Therefore, her father is quite poor." As for refined… Based on what Beth had told him of her childhood - running through the woods and shooting rabbits with sling shots, it seemed it had been quite a struggle for her aunt's to turn her from wild to 'refined'. She was still quite rough around the edges at times she forgot herself. "But yes, an innocent and a beautiful one at that. And with Banastre gone, now that I have returned, I will have her attentions all to myself."

"No competition to speak of, you think?" Bordon smirked. "You should have no trouble winning the wager, then."

Tavington snorted. "I was having no trouble, with Ban here, Bordon. The girl all but melts in my hands."

"So certain of yourself..." Harmony murmured. She eyed William up and down deliberately. He was certainly handsome enough and Linda - they doxy he favoured - had certainly fallen in love with him. But Harmony would never have taken Officer to her bed, even if she had not met Richard. William showed plenty of warmth and character when he was trying to charm a woman to his bed. But underneath it all, Harmony sensed a tension in him. A danger - he far was too volatile to tempt her. "What wager?" She asked.

"Fifty pounds for the one to claim her virtue," Bordon declared and Harmony's jaw dropped. She snapped it shut, her good mood immediately fleeing.

"Oh, that is horrible!" She rounded on Tavington with her hands on her hips. "What a way to entertain yourself! If you need completion, Sir, go and seek Linda, you know that she will give you everything you need!"

Tavington's eyebrows rose with surprise and irritation. He eyed her coolly, wondering if she realised just how far she had overstepped herself. He would not tolerate chastisement, not from Bordon's mistress! He liked the earthy Harmony but if she thought she could dress him down, in public at that, she was very much mistaken. He gave Bordon an icy and very significant glance. _'Deal with this, now'_, was the unspoken command. Richard got the message, loud and clear.

"Harmony," Bordon placed his hand on her arm and spoke sternly. "Enough."

Harmony opened her mouth to argue, but she snapped it closed again. Both men stared at her, their faces where stone and Harmony felt a chill at the ice in their eyes. She shivered, understanding that her protests were not appreciated.

"Forgive me, Colonel Tavington, I did not mean to offend. I was taken by surprise, is all." Harmony's voice was sullen but meek. _Lord, is this what it is going to be like in camp? I won't be able to speak my mind, even when they are doing something as foul as this?_

"Think no more of it, Miss Jutland," Tavington's words excused her slip, though his eyes had not warmed even slightly.

Harmony swallowed, reading his expression clearly. '_Do not let it happen again'_. Thankfully Tavington broke his intent gaze to continue his search and Harmony could breathe again. She turned to Bordon who squeezed her hand with reassurance, though she sensed he was still angry also. She had embarrassed him and irritated his superior.

"Ah, there she is," Tavington's anger eased as soon as his eyes fell on Beth within the crowd, and his lips curved in a warm smile. She was standing amidst her usual coterie, though this time with a few additions. The men were talking and laughing, the women fanning their faces to cool themselves. "Would you like to meet her, Miss Jutland?"

_Gods, no, I don't. Not knowing what I know. _

"Yes, let's," Bordon replied. Guiding Harmony by the hand, he fell in behind Tavington. They wound their way through the crowd. The hall was well lit and the musicians played with enthusiasm. The young male revellers were made up of Redcoats and young Colonial men and there were plenty of beautiful young women for them to choose from. The room was awash with laughter, talking, noise and excitement. And dancing as well, in the centre of the large hall.

"Which one is she?" Harmony asked as they drew closer to the group of youths. The women in the group were already surrounded by young men.

"The blonde one, with brown ribbons in her hair." Tavington replied quietly. His eyes were on Beth as he approached though she was side on to him and already engaged in conversation with a Redcoat Officer.

"It looks like Banastre is not your only competition, William. Miss Martin is awfully chatty with young Ensign Watson."

"He is of no moment," Tavington scoffed. Just a pup - not competition at all. "You know him?"

"To look at, only. He is quartered with Mrs. Selton," Bordon said.

"Ah, that's how they know one another," Tavington nodded as he approached Beth and her companions.

Not for the first time, as William gazed at Beth he marveled at her beauty. Her silk bodice skirts accentuated her fine figure. Her golden hair was pinned back from her face, the locks curled and twisted tonight, rather than plaited. Her dark brown eyes where large and bright and her cheeks were flushed - no doubt from the heat of the room.

He had taken to carrying her keepsake in his pocket - the dark brown ribbon, a token of her affection. He fingered the ribbon now, as he drew closer the group.

Beth was so intimately close with Ensign Watson that she had not even glanced around to greet the newcomers who had joined the group. William frowned and felt a surge of jealousy, but he pushed it aside. Her previous reactions to him were all the assurance he needed, as soon as she realised he was present, she would cease paying the young pup attention in favor of William. Besides, she was a beautiful young woman - obviously there where other men willing to pay court to her. It would make his victory all the more sweet - that he had pipped the others to the post.

Young Ensign Watson saw him almost instantly. He straightened and came to attention immediately - for Tavington and and Bordon both.

"As you were," William said curtly. Watson relaxed but Tavington had already returned his gaze to Beth. Now, she will abandon the pup and William would be able to lead her away and continue his seductions.

Beth, hearing Tavington's voice, turned her head slowly, she swallowed and her face drained of color. Her knuckles gripping her fan were white and it was all she could do to keep from swooning. Cilla moved behind her quickly and placed her hand on Beth's back, offering silent support.

_Gods, he's here,_ her heart pounded and her stomach writhed. _He's not supposed to be here!_ She thought with despair. _Oh sweet Lord - why did I come here? I shouldn't have listened! Oh sweet Lord!_

"Good evening, ladies," Tavington greeted the young women, who'd fallen utterly silent at his appearance among them. He bowed slightly to each one in turn, before singling Beth out.

"Miss Martin, what a pleasure it is to see you again," he said warmly. "I have missed you while I was away - I returned to the city just now, I had thought to seek my blankets, but then I and heard that you were here, and came directly."

She released a breath she had not realised she was holding. It came out in a rush, her chest heaving. Such a reaction, such turmoil - it was quite shocking that William noticed none of it.

"You do me such honour," she said quietly, seeming to wrap herself in ice. "Then again, you have done from the moment our acquaintance began, have you not?"

William frowned, finally noticing that something was wrong. She'd been laughing a moment ago, but now… Her state was quite altered from what it was a moment ago. "Of course I honour you," he said, puzzled.

"Yes, of course," she barked a short laugh and turned her face away.

"Good evening, Colonel Tavington," Mary stepped in cleanly, drawing Tavington's attention while Beth struggled to gather herself. "How good to see you."

"And you," William said, glancing uncertainly at Beth.

"I trust you are well?" Mary asked, still detaining William's attention.

"I am, thank you," he replied, shooting Beth another frown. She had turned to away from him, almost showing him her back. Her cousin Cilla, now standing at her side, had her arm around Beth as if she needed comfort.

_I did not say goodbye_, he thought. He hadn't taken the time to bother - is that why she was so distressed now? Oh, and he hadn't enquired as to her health, she had been sick those last few days before he left. He was about to rectify his mistake now, but Mary was still standing before him, distracting him.

"I do not believe you know all of my companions," Mary waved her arm toward the other youths. Her voice was tense and nervous as she made the introductions. "Miss Sarah Wilkins, recently returned with her mother from their Plantation, now that it's safe for Loyalists to return. And this is Michael and Marcus Middleton. Miss Middleton you have already met, and Colin Ferguson of course. And in case you haven't met before, this is Ensign Watson."

William nodded at each in turn, though his eyes became cold and narrowed on Watson at the last. Watson had stepped between him and Beth, was he truly going to try to prevent him from speaking to her? Holding his irritation at bay he spoke quietly with the new acquaintances - though he ignored Watson's presence - exchanging pleasantries with the barely responsive group, while Beth remained silent and kept herself angled away from him. Growing frustrated, he decided to be more direct.

"Miss Martin," Tavington said, forcing her to turn back to him, forcing Watson to step aside. William took her hand and placed a light kiss above her fingers. Beth stared at him, colour rising to her cheeks. "You must forgive me, I have not enquired as to your health. You were quite ill before I left, but I see you've recovered," he paused, gave her his most devastating smile. "You look ravishing this evening."

"Sir." Beth raised her chin, her face becoming a frozen mask. She snatched her fingers quickly back, not allowing him to hold them for longer than half a moment.

William's pale eyes studied her face. The flare of colour was quickly gone, she had gone utterly white again and she still seemed on the verge of a swoon. There was no smile. If anything, she appeared ready to be sick.

"We were under the impression you would be routing rebels for some time longer, Sir," Cilla announced. "It was our understanding that you would not return for at least a few more days. Clearly, we have been misinformed." She shot Mary a significant look and Mary blushed.

"I didn't know," Mary said, as if defending herself. William could scarcely believe it.

"We were recalled to the town earlier than anticipated, Miss Putman," Tavington replied coolly. His tension mounted by the moment. She was usually quite amiable but now - she was being outright rude and seemed to be suggesting that they'd all anticipated an enjoyable evening, because they had thought he would not be a part of it. It was as though they wished he were still away! That _Beth_ would have preferred it. His gaze fell back to Beth and sure enough, her eyes were lowered again, her face turned to the side - pointing away from him.

Was she angry with him? No, she seemed too out of countenance - he had seen her angry before, she blazed like the sun at those moments. This was something far different and far more disturbing. He wracked his mind for possible causes.

The rest of the group were falling silent, sensing the growing tension. They cast concerned glances at one another and seemed at a loss of what to say or do. Beth sought solace in Cilla's presence, edging ever closer to her cousin, who still had her arm around Beth's waist.

"Miss Tisdale," Bordon stepped in, trying to recover something from this burning wreckage. "May I introduce you to my friend, Miss Jutland?"

"Good evening Miss Tisdale," Harmony curtsied slightly. If she was nervous under the gaze of so many Ladies, she did not show it.

Mary's eyes widened. This was Harmony Jutland - the woman who offered herself to Tavington? Dear Lord - the Captain bought his _mistress_? It shocked her to her core, taking her breath away. It took a gentle nudge from Colin to remind her of her manners.

"It is nice to meet you, Miss Jutland," Mary said in a quiet voice. She bobbed a curtsy and began the introductions again. Harmony's eyes widened when she was introduced to the Middleton's, they were one of the most prestigious families in the Colonies after all. Mary continued, finished with Cilla and Beth. "And this is Miss Putman and her cousin, Miss Martin."

The women murmured their greetings and curtsied. Beth was still pale, her cheeks had become sallow and her eyes sunken.

"Miss Martin," Bordon said politely. "We met several days ago - though I have not been able to get to know you - I've heard a lot about you from Colonel Tavington and Colonel Tarleton."

Beth was struggling to remember to breathe - when Mary overheard that horrid conversation, it had been Tarleton, Willian, and Bordon she listened to - which meant that Bordon knew of the wager. _He knows of their cruel plan to seduce and ruin me!_

"They both regard you highly."

"Regard?" Beth could not help herself. Despite her despair, she began to rally. "Regard…" She laughed softly in derision. "I doubt regard has anything to do with what either of them feel for me, but if you insist, Captain Bordon."

She met Tavington's incredulous gaze, and this time, she held it. _How the devil can he be here? Lord, why did I listen to them? Why did I come?_ Uneasy conversation sprang up among the others, as each of them tried all at once to cover - or dismiss - what Beth had just said.

"Are you a Green Dragoon also?" Rebecca asked Bordon.

"Indeed, I have that honour Miss. Captain Bordon of the Green Dragoons," Bordon replied politely, glad for the distraction.

"Oh, my brothers want to join the Dragoons, Michael and Marcus. They speak of it all the time!" She said, indicating the two young men.

"You should stop by the Assembly Hall," William told them, though his gaze kept flickering to Beth. "We are recruiting to the Dragoons, Bordon and I are conducting interviews."

"Thank you, Sir," one of the twins said, looking quite awestruck. "We will."

"Sir, have you heard from Colonel Tarleton at all? Will he return today as you have? Banastre Tarleton is such a wonderful character, is he not? So amiable! I do not think our conversation lulled for a single moment, when ever he has been around!" Rebecca said.

"He has not returned today," Tavington said absently. "Though he should not be away for too long, however."

"Oh, let us hope not!" Rebecca said passionately. The other girls giggled - all except Beth that is, and Rebecca blushed crimson. She had given too much of her feelings away and risked making a fool of herself. Still, she worried for the handsome Officer. "You do not think anything bad will happen to him, do you Sir?" Rebecca asked.

"Who can say? Tarleton has never lost a battle, but we are at war and nothing is certain," came the serious reply.

"Not a pleasant subject, truly," Harmony stepped in. "We are at a dance, after all. Why aren't we all dancing?"

"Excellent idea Miss Jutland," Tavington affirmed. "Miss Martin, would you care to dance?"

Beth snapped her gaze back to Tavington and for a wild moment, he thought she might refuse. He stared hard at her with increasing incredulity. What the devil had he done wrong? Why was she so out of countenance?

Beth's mind whirled, she desperately wanted to scream at him, that no, she would not dance with him, she would not even speak to him ever again. But she could not refuse him of course, she could not be openly rude to him in public. There had to be a way out of this.

"Yes, I would care too," she said, then turned her attention to Watson. "It's a good thing Ensign Watson already asked me." Watson hadn't asked her yet, she held his gaze and her breath as she offered him her arm. He gaped for a moment, then covered his shock smoothly.

"Yes, and the next." Watson asked. Then he glanced at Colin. "And I believe Mr. Ferguson has the one after that."

"The next two after that. I think Marcus was next? You were going to ask Miss Martin to dance, were you not?" Colin said to Marcus Middleton, whose face blazed crimson for some reason Beth could not discern. All she knew was gratitude, sincere and pure, and it almost reduced her to weeping.

Holding Watson's arm, she gazed up at the Ensign who chatted some nonsense or other to give her a reason to focus on him and not on Tavington, as he led her away from the group. She could feel the Colonel's eyes boring into her back but she did her utmost to ignore it as Watson guided her toward the dancing. Gods, she should not have come!

"Don't worry, Miss Martin," Nicholas said when they were away from the others, as they took up their places with the other dancing couples. "We'll do our utmost to keep him away from you. But it will all be for nothing unless you do your utmost to at least try to enjoy yourself this evening."

"With friends such as you and Colin, how can I do anything else?" She asked, smiling weakly. The set began and Watson took hold of Beth's hand and the two began to step and glide through the set.

* * *

Next was Watson again, then Colin, two dances as promised. Marcus was waiting for her after Colin and he stumbled a bit, made Beth wonder if he'd been drinking. She remembered him being a far better dancer than this in the past. She'd thought Marcus had two dances as well, but soon learned her error when the set came to an end and Tavington was suddenly there, by Marcus Middleton's side. His eyes were on Beth, though in an offhand sort of way, he said to Marcus, "do you mind if I step in, Mr. Middleton? Miss Martin can save you another dance, later?"

Marcus, as enthralled as he was with all British Officers, gave way immediately. Beth's eyes were as wide as saucers as she watched him step aside and - after offering her a short bow - he turned his back and left her. She was not as close to the Middleton brothers as she was to Rebecca, but to abandon her to Tavington like this? Then again, the Middleton twins did not know anything of her situation with Tavington; she'd sworn her closer friends to secrecy, those she had been able to confide too.

Her hands at her side, she glanced to her left and to her right, but there was no escape. She was hemmed in, with Tavington standing before her, smiling that smile. Her reluctance was palpable as she took his offered hands. She did notice the incredulous stares she received from the women to either side of her, their astonishment that here was this lass, dancing with Colonel William Tavington.

_They are welcome to him_, she thought despairingly. _Tarleton and Tavington can make wagers on them instead of me._

The music began and Beth's attention was drawn back to her dance partner as he led her forward.

_Just one dance_, she decided as she began to move stiffly. _I can get through that. _She saw from the corner of her eye, Colin standing with Mary, both of them looking quite horrified. Colin would rescue her when the dance was done, and William would not get another chance, then. She just had to get through this one set.

"You are a puzzle to me this evening, Miss Martin," Tavington said in his quiet drawl. His movements through the dance were fluid and graceful.

"Indeed?" She asked guardedly.

"Yes, a puzzle," he mused. "For weeks now, we have spent every single day together. Yet, I can not help but notice such a cool response from you now. I have been away for some days but surely your regard for me has not faltered in so short a time?"

"Certainly not, I am not so fickle that time and distance would alter my regard," she meant it as a rebuke - how dare he insinuate it? As if he was not the one at fault - it was all her, as if it were a matter of _out of sight, out of mind_. He did not seem to hear the rebuke, if anything it seemed to please him, he took her answer to mean that she still regarded him highly.

"I'm pleased to hear that," he smiled warmly. "However, I can not help but feel you seem almost reluctant to see me this evening. Though I suppose it does make sense that those boys would secure dances with you before the sets began… Surely it is my imagination." He smiled his warm smile that always made her heart pound. Even with all he had done to hurt her, she had to swallow hard and avert her gaze from his.

She said nothing, for now was not the time or the place for the conversation she knew had to come.

"I was quite pleased to see you this evening," he murmured when he drew closer to her. "You have been on my mind for days."

Bright spots of colour suffused her cheeks, Beth wanted to tell herself it was anger, but she knew better.

_How many sorts of fool am I? _She wondered. He was trying to seduce her, his words could not be trusted. Still, they were like a balm to her bruised soul - Beth felt a glow of warmth in her stomach. His eyes lingered on her lips as though he wanted to kiss them, his eyes met hers and they were full of warmth. And his smile...

Beth gasped a ragged breath and drew away from him.

No, she could not do it. This one set was too hard, after all. "I am sorry, Sir. I am feeling poorly and need some fresh air," she whispered raggedly, desperate to be away from him.

After a slight curtsy, she walked away as briskly as her legs could carry her, winding through the crowd thronging the hall. She continued through a pair of double doors, barely noticing friendly waves and people calling her over. She kept going until she reached another set of doors and she pushed through, closing them behind her and she was finally outside. She stepped onto the balcony, into the blessed fresh, warm summer night air. She walked unsteadily to the far end of the balcony and collapsed against the rail as her knees sagged. Hot tears seared her eyes as she began to wept.

* * *

Tavington's warm smile fled. He had tried to be charming, believing she would melt. Only she had whirled away and was now winding her way through the throng of people, frantic in her haste to get away from him. William ignored the curious glances from those close by. He ignored the sudden flare of whispering and immediately followed after her.

He strode briskly through the doors leading to another section of the hall, then with a quick glance over his shoulder to be certain no one was paying him any heed, he stepped out on to the balcony and shut the door quietly behind him. The air was much cooler outside than in the crowded hall. Still, it was South Carolina and it was summer. It was, therefore, warm.

There he found Beth standing at the far end of the balcony leaning against the rail with her back to him. He decided to approach her in silence, he would not allow her to dart away from him again. When he was directly behind her, he reached his arms to either side of her and placed his hands on the rail in front of her. His arms to either side of her body caged her in.

Beth gasped, she arched her body away from him and spun in the circle of his arms.

"What are you doing?" She rasped out. He frowned to see her cheeks were wet.

"Miss Martin, why don't you tell me what is so wrong?" His voice was filled with concern. He studied her face and was chagrined to see her tears begin to fall. Breathing heavily, she whirled away again, turning her back on him.

She was still in the cage he had made, but she leaned forward away from him as much as possible and gripped the rail for support.

He breathed out a deep sigh and leaned down to nuzzle her neck. He expected her to sigh, to lean in to his touch as she had so often when he showered her with affection and intimacy. Instead she recoiled, pressing herself closer to the rail, trying to create distance between them. Tavington stared down at her with concern.

"I must have done something very wrong indeed," he murmured. Perhaps she had learned about Vera, his mistress? Cursing himself a fool - he realised that Vera must indeed be at the root of this. Mary was Beth's friend, perhaps she had discovered he was having an affair and she in turn told Beth.

Beth continued to sob, she was incapable of replying. Tavington heaved a sigh and stepped forward, his chest pressed to her back. Removing his hands from the rail, he wrapped his strong arms around her body, one across her stomach, the other around her chest, his fingers winding around her arm.

Beth hung her head cried convulsively. To be held so securely, so lovingly - but by the very same man who had caused her this pain!

_Christ, it has to be over Vera - that Goddamned chit Mary told her. _He gazed past Beth, over her head, into the dark night as he waited for her to weeping to calm. It was a long wait, but finally Beth's weeping became sniffles, then stopped altogether. William reached into his pocket and handed her a large kerchief, then wrapped his arm around her again.

"Can you tell me now?" He asked softly as she wiped her tears.

"Perhaps. Why don't we _wager_ on it? Fifty pounds aught to do," she said and the words were like a slap to his face.

Tavington stiffened. Of all the things he had been expecting, this was most certainly not it! He blew out a sharp breath and pursed his lips. "I see."

"That is it?" Beth spat over her shoulder. She laughed bitterly. "At least Colonel Tarleton had the grace to apologise, at least _he_ showed remorse!"

"Darling -" Tavington began, but she whirled in his arms, blazing like the sun.

"Don't!" She spat. Even with her cheeks blotched from crying she was still beautiful. Her eyes were dark cold depths he could in, however. "Don't you dare 'darling' me!"

"Very well," Tavington eyed her coolly.

"The two of you have treated me with less respect than you would a whore."

"It was not my intention to hurt you, Miss Martin."

"No?" She asked incredulously. "Seducing me and taking my virginity, only to discard me afterward? Do you imagine that would not have hurt me?"

"No, I imagine it would have hurt you very much," Tavington admitted reluctantly.

"What if you had succeeded? What if you had gotten me with child!"

He had no response for her. If she had fallen pregnant, he would have moved on - hers would not have been the only seed he'd put in a Colonial woman's belly.

"And it was all your idea," Beth hissed. "For weeks, you've courted me. You wrote me love letters, you held my hand, you kissed me! All those times… all of it was for…" She lowered her eyes to his chest, her gaze fixed on a small golden button on his Redcoat. Her brief flare of anger died, replaced with hurt and heart break. In a small voice she asked, "don't you care for me at all? Were you pretending, all that time?"

"Miss Martin, I do care for you," he said, and realised he meant it. That surprised even him. "Perhaps I did not at first. When I first met you, all I could think of was bedding you. But my feelings have grown and I realise now that I have come to care for you."

"Now? What a coincidence that you would suddenly feel that way now, when I'm confronting you," Beth shook her head and laughed again, still bitterly. "Somehow, I can not bring myself to believe you, Sir."

"No?" He touched her face gently, a stroke of his fingers along her cheek. Beth closed her eyes, her breathing quickened. "Look at me, Beth."

Unwilling to trust her emotions, she kept her eyes stubbornly closed. His touch on her cheek felt too good, the closeness of his body to hers made her feel faint. Tavington sighed.

"I did not realise you had come to feel so strongly for me," he said softly.

Beth finally opened her eyes and met his pale gaze.

"Do not concern yourself overly much, Sir. I doubt I am the first young idiot to become a fool over you. I doubt I will be the last," she lowered her eyes again and whispered. "Please release me, I wish to spend my evening with my friends, with people who actually do care for me."

Tavington drew his arms from her reluctantly, releasing her from his embrace.

"How can I fix this?" He asked her as she walked by him.

"You did this, not I," she said. "How am I supposed to know? I honestly doubt you possibly could."

"Beth..." Tavington was growing exasperated. She had been all but mush is his hands for weeks! She had almost been his, he'd almost won the wager! How the devil had she learned of it? How had it come to this?

"I have no advice for you," she declared. "And please do not be so familiar with me. In all future dealings - of which there were shall be very few, if any - you will address me as 'Miss Martin'."

"Will you not even dance with me tonight?" He asked incredulously.

"Dance with you?" Beth snorted softly. "No, Sir, I will not dance with you. In fact, I doubt very much that I will so much as _speak_ to you - ever again."

Beth disappeared through the doors, leaving Tavington alone on the balcony with very mixed emotions.

Fury, first and foremost - at being thwarted. He would discover who had revealed his intent and give that person the blasting of their lives!

But, oddly, he felt a heavy weight settle on his heart. Though he did not feel the emotions often, he recognised them instantly. Compassion and... Guilt. There had been naked pain in her eyes and he had been the cause of it.

He was finally ready to face - now, when they had come to an end - that perhaps he had come to feel strongly for her, too.

* * *

"Perhaps you should ask her to dance with you?" Bordon advised. Harmony snorted indelicately.

"I would not recommend it, myself," Harmony argued. "If I were her, you would be rebuffed."

"Don't I know it," Tavington managed a smile. "How many times _have_ you rebuffed me? You are one of the few."

"The one of the few with taste," Bordon laughed and pulled Harmony close.

"Don't think I was not tempted," Harmony eyed Tavington up and down with flirting eyes. "You are ever so handsome, and quite... Well set up." Her eyes lingered on the font of his breeches. Her flirting had the desired effect, Tavington laughed aloud. Bordon began to berate her for her wandering eyes. His tone was teasing however, both were merely trying to lift Tavington's spirits.

"Would you like to dance, Miss Jutland?" Tavington offered her his arm.

"Why not, Sir? But keep your hands to yourself, if you don't mind; Richard may become wroth with us both."

"You have my vow," William smirked. He led her to the centre of the hall and joined the lines of couples. They stood facing each other, waiting for the next set to start. Tavington searched for Beth - he thought he saw her but that was her cousin Cilla, dancing with Ensign Dalton. Beth was further up the line, standing across from Colin Ferguson. He suppressed a flare of jealously, recalling that Ferguson - while close to Beth - was in love with Mary Tisdale. Mary and Brownlow were the next couple along, Mary had not strayed far from her beau. The musicians began and Tavington and Harmony began to dance.

"I'll need you to guide me, I haven't had the opportunity to have dance instructors like all these pretty flowers," Harmony said, smiling. For answer, Tavington guided her to take his left when she was about to take his right. Instead of being embarrassed at her inexperience, Harmony giggled. "You're an excellent dancer, Sir," she said. "Good enough to carry both of us."

"Well, I have had the opportunity to have a dance instructor. I hasten to reassure you, Miss Jutland, you did not miss out on much; the lessons were damned boring." He quirked his lips with a brief smile, though his eyes darted to Miss Martin.

"Is she looking back at you, Colonel?" Harmony asked.

"No. She has not looked at me all evening, unless it was perchance. And then she looks horrified at meeting my gaze and she quickly averts hers."

"I'm sorry," she commiserated. "Though I have to admit, I am surprised it bothers you. Richard explained the stakes of the wager, I thought you were simply to..." She paused and glanced to either side of her. Others were close enough to hear her words and she continued carefully. "Win the wager and move on."

"I am surprised also. She is not the first Tarleton and I have wagered on; there have been others. It stung losing Mrs. Pickering to Tarleton and I seized on the opportunity to get one up on him, for I knew from the first instance that it was me Miss Martin admire more. I have seduced women for years now, at times I succeed, at times I do not. Miss Martin is not the first to reject me. But somehow..." William trailed off, his eyes again searched for Beth.

"Guilt?" Harmony ventured.

Tavington snorted, pretending her words hadn't hit their mark. "Hardly that."

"Hmmm. There is only one other explanation then, my most handsome Colonel."

"And what is that?" He met her gaze with amusement.

"You have fallen hopelessly, helplessly, head over heels in love," Harmony's tone was light and teasing, though she suspected it was quite true. Even if he was too dense to know it.

"Love, hmm?" Tavington mused. "I admit I regret making such a mess of things. It bothers me that I hurt her. But love?" He shook his head.

"She is very beautiful…"

"So are you, my darling," Tavington smiled and kissed her hand lightly.

"Yes, so am I." Harmony laughed and changed the topic. "So, how was your wee trip out to the countryside? You must tell me all about it."

* * *

Tavington and Arthur Simms began making their way up the street toward their favourite tavern, ready to continue the night with drinking and rounds of cards. And perhaps a doxy or two. That would be just the thing, William decided. He did not get far, however, before Bordon came trotting up.

"William, a moment," he called. Then he took Tavington by the arm and steered him away from Simms to speak discreetly. "You might wish to retire for the evening, Sir."

"Oh?" William's eyebrows shot up. "Afraid I'll beat you at cards and win all your money?"

"Well, yes, I am," Bordon smiled. "But that is not the reason. I just saw Miss Martin and her comrades piling into Mary Tisdale's carriage. It seems that due to our absence, Mary Tisdale arranged to have her friends come to stay the night. We are returned, but they have not cancelled their festivities. They were speaking of the fun they had ahead of them - they are all sleeping tonight at the Tisdale's."

"Jesus," William breathed. "Beth too?"

"All of them," Bordon affirmed. "I am not certain where she will be sleeping, but I don't think it would be too hard to discover with a few discreet questions."

"Yes, I think you are quite right. Very well - thank you, Bordon," he turned to Simms and raised his voice. "Sorry, Arthur, something has come up. Perhaps tomorrow night?"

"Yes, Sir," Arthur replied and Tavington left Bordon and Arthur and headed directly for the Tisdale's.

* * *

"Oh," Sarah sighed. "What a night. It's so, _so_ grand to be back in the city."

"I'm so pleased you're back and you're quite correct, tonight was wonderful," Rebecca murmured. "It wasn't as grand as the Simms ball will be, but it will do for now."

The girls laughed, agreeing. Except for Beth, who smiled weakly. They were sitting on Mary's bed, eating sweets and gossiping about the night. For Beth, it had been a horror that she worried would never end. It was supposed to be, when they set out, Mary had intended for it to be a distraction from Tavington, something to lift Beth's spirits and help bring her out of her grief. Only he'd shown up there. Gods, what was he doing back in the city? Why had he gone to the dance? And now, sitting with the others, who were laughing and joking and jovial. She was supposed to be a part of that, too. Mary had intended for this part of the night to be the second stage of healing Beth's wounded spirit. But how could she gush over what a lovely night she had? She couldn't, for Tavington had been there and while she'd gone through the motions - dancing and the like - it'd been pure torture. Mary, Sarah, Rebecca and Cilla would want to sit up for the next few hours now, chatting all about it.

Beth just wanted to go to bed.

When she'd suggested that perhaps she should go back to her uncle's rather than the Tisdale's, Mary had looked so wounded that Beth had withdrawn the idea immediately. She would stay with her friends, who'd gone to so much trouble for her, and she would follow the entire night through.

At least _he_ was out, he wouldn't be back until the wee hours. And as he would not return until late, nor would he wake in time to breakfast with them. That's what Mary predicted, based on his past routine. For he had gone out with his own friends - the girls had seen Tavington and Arthur Simms strolling up the street away from them. Beth had sighed with relief - at least their second part of the evening would go according to plan. She could rest a little easier at Mary's, knowing that Tavington was not there, knowing she would not see him in the morning.

The chatter continued and Beth grew increasingly quiet, withdrawing in on herself. The girls tried to compensate by becoming more upbeat, but it had no effect on her whatsoever.

She just… she wanted to go to sleep. She stayed with them for as long as she could, but an hour or so later, she could not stay up any longer.

"Mary, I truly do thank you for this evening," she said, gazing at her friend and hoping she would understand. "But I… I am just so exhausted. I know you're trying, all of you, and I do appreciate it. But it's bone deep and … I just, I just want to crawl into bed and go to sleep. Please, don't be offended, please?"

"Of course not, Beth," Mary said. She heaved sigh. "Perhaps I should have let you go home earlier, when you suggested it. I should not have begged you to stay."

"No, you wanted to help me and I appreciate it, I do. This would have worked, I just know it. If he hadn't shown up…"

The girls nodded and shared melancholy glances.

"Do you want me to come?" Cilla asked. They were to share the bed in the next room, while Rebecca, Sarah and Mary shared Mary's bed.

"God, no," Beth waved her cousin off. "No, Please, Cil, stay. We haven't seen Sarah for so long - I wish I could stay too, I truly do," she said to Sarah, who gave her a sympathetic smile. "No, you ladies enjoy your evening, come to bed when you're ready, Cil."

"Alright," Cilla said, she stayed on the bed and watched Beth rise.

"Perhaps in the morning, when I'm not so tired… we can catch up over breakfast," Beth said, trying for a cheerful tone and almost succeeding. The girls did look a little happier. She smiled, pretending all was well, as she slipped from the room.

When she entered the one she would share with Cilla, she closed the door behind her and fell back against it, the wood was cool against her back even through her nightgown. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim room. There were very few candles lit, only enough for her to find her way to the bed. She took off her night robe and draped it over the chair. However, as she pulled back to covers to climb into bed, she finally realised she was not alone.

William had been standing by the window, outside of the circle of light, waiting for her to retire.

She stared, her mouth hung open and she was frozen to the spot with utter shock. He began to stride slowly toward her, his boots barely making a sound on the thick carpet.

"I... I thought you were... out... playing cards..." Beth whispered when he stood before her.

"Not tonight," his voice, a soft drawl - sent shivers along her spine. "Not when I discovered you were spending the night here."

She had to crane her neck to gaze up at him.

"It was not hard to discover which chamber was to be yours," an even softer whisper, his eyes burning blue fire. "Right down the hall from mine." His dark hair, unbound from its usual queue, framed his handsome face. His white ruffled shirt open down the front of his chest. She'd never seen him like this before, she could not stop staring. "How could I attend some paltry card game in some tavern, knowing that?" A small smile played around the corners of his mouth as he stared down at her, she could see him clearly now that her eyes had adjusted.

"Your room is not far from mine?" Her knees felt weak, it was difficult to breathe.

Visions of him laying in his bed whirled through her mind. Would he sleep as he was dressed now, in his shirt and light breeches? Or did he sleep naked. A quick indrawn breath and Tavington's smiled broadened, seeming to read her thoughts.

"Right across the hall, my darling," his soft drawl held a trace of amusement.

A small voice in the corner of her mind screamed at her to send him away, but she could barely move and could not break her eyes from his hot gaze. He was so close, she could smell his clean scent. His hair was still wet from his bath, the smell of apple pomade lingered in the air.

"I can hear your heart beating, little Beth," he took her soft hands in his and Beth lowered her eyes to his chest.

"Sir," she whispered, "you should not be in my room, you need to leave..."

"I know, I should not be in your room..." Tavington's voice was still soft, and he made no move to leave. "I can not leave, however. We have unfinished business." He leaned down to nestle his nose in her hair, inhaling with a deeply contented sigh. "You are so beautiful, Beth, I have longed to see you with your hair down... I had not realized it was so long," He gently brushed a stray golden lock from Beth's face, letting his fingers glide along her cheek, down to her chin. He tipped her face up to his and Beth swallowed hard.

After several deep breathes, she tried again.

"Why are you here? If you are discovered, it would mean the end of me… You need to leave."

"I am here to apologise, Beth," he leaned down to brush his lips along her neck. Beth shivered and leaned closer to him. "It was poor judgement on my part," another kiss, "I should not have treated you so."

"No, you should not have," She murmured. Tilting her head to one side, she bared her neck to him. His lips felt so good... When he removed his lips from her neck, she sighed with disappointment. Glancing up, she met his gaze. "You hurt me, Sir."

He flinched to hear the raw pain in her voice. That heavy weight settled on his chest again.

"I know." He said softly. Banastre had apologised to her, had shown remorse, Beth had told him. Tavington cupped her chin with both his hands, his pale gaze intent. "I am sorry, Beth," he said sincerely. He bent his head to hers, stopping all further speech, all further thought.

The voice that had been screaming in the corner of her mind was only a weak whisper now. It disappeared completely when he gently brushed his lips along hers. Beth sighed and stood on the tips of her toes. She pressed herself to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

Tavington relished how soft and warm her lips felt beneath his. He rocked his head to the side and she sighed again as he deepened the kiss. He groaned with pleasure and she opened her eyes to gaze at him, his usually cold eyes were warm and bright.

He drew back to gaze down at her for a moment. "You were wrong, my darling. I would not have discarded you," he said softly, sincerely. "I will not discard you."

"I will not be your mistress," her whisper deadly serious, even stern.

"Beth..." Disappointment rifled through him.

"No. It does not matter how strongly I feel for you. Whatever this thing is between us. None of it matters, I am worth more than to be some man's whore."

He held her unblinking gaze.

"Yes, you are," he agreed reluctantly. He could not marry her, and she would not be his mistress. Whatever this thing was, it was doomed from the start. With a heavy sigh, Tavington twined his fingers through her long hair, caressing the nape of her neck. Resuming the kiss, he urged her lips to part. Sliding his tongue into her mouth tentatively, he began to explore her.

"Oh..." Beth despaired. With a whimper, she gripped his neck. He tightened his hold to hold her in case she swooned. Small pleasurable flips shot through her stomach and spread through her. She had never felt anything like it before. So wonderful, her knees almost gave way. It was the most intimate thing she could ever imagine, his tongue gliding in her mouth, tasting her, stroking her tongue. She followed his lead. A flush spread through her body, chasing away all thought.

Tavington rocked his head to the other side and grew more bold. Kissing in earnest now, they clutched each other close, their breaths mingled, growing deeper and more urgent with each passing second.

Hot thrills flared along her spine. An ache she had never known before bloomed between her thighs. And still it continued, his lips moving on hers. His touch harder now, their tongues duelling even as he walked her backward until her back was pressed to the wall. With a groan he pulled his lips from hers and began an urgent trail of kisses from her jaw and down her neck. He breathed raggedly as he nipped and sucked the soft skin of her throat, moving down to her shoulder.

Beth was in heaven. It felt so lovely, warm, tingly, intimate. But after a short time, she began to need the feel of his lips on hers again. She reached up and gripped his hair lightly, tugging to guide his head back up to kiss her.

Tavington chuckled with gratification, pleased at her assertiveness, her willingness to take charge. They both groaned and kissed for timeless moments, breathing heavily into one another's mouths. His hands on her hips now, he gripped a handful of her long shift, began to draw it slowly up her slim legs. Higher and higher her shift rose as he kissed her, the hem now midway up her thighs, above the garters that held her stockings.

Beth finally became aware again. The voice in the corner of her mind roared for attention and this time she listened and obeyed. Placing her fingers over his strong hands, she wordlessly stopped his progress. Drawing away from their kiss, she rested her head on his hard chest, breathing raggedly and trying to gather her wits.

"Darling?" His voice...

Lord - that voice, it would be her undoing. She could not allow it, it had to stop. Finally in control of herself, she lifted her head from his chest to gaze up at him. He smiled mischievously and tried to kiss her, but Beth finally had command of her body again. And of her emotions.

The spell was undone.

This could not be allowed to continue; the bed was so close, too inviting. The ache between her thighs so strong...

No, she could not give herself to him, it had to end now.

With a strangled gasp, she pulled her gaze from his and sidled out from between him and the wall.

"Beth," his voice was ragged with desire. He placed his hand on her arm to stop her from walking away.

She swallowed, wanting to let him. Then she shook her head, shook his hand off her arm and continued her slow way across the room toward the door.

"Beth!" More insistently now. Beth was at the door now, turning the handle to open it. "Where are you going? Beth!"

Finally understanding her intention, he began to walk quickly to stop her.

Not daring to meet his eyes for fear she would lose her resolve, she opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. Her legs where unsteady as she walked next door to Mary's room and she stepped back in.

"You're back!" Mary gasped, she clapped happily, the other girls looked just as pleased.

"Oh, yes, well, not truly," Beth said, her voice unsteady, her heart still pounding. "I just… ah… Can I borrow a ribbon to tie back my hair?"

"Of course," Mary rose and pulled one from a drawer in her dresser.

Beth took the time to urge strength into her weakened knees. She could hear the door to her own room open and shut, Tavington leaving.

Mary handed her a blue ribbon.

"Thank you, dear heart, I will see you all in the morning," Beth opened Mary's door and peeked up the hallway to ensure Tavington was, indeed, leaving and not playing some trick. She saw him disappear up the hallway so she slipped out of Mary's room and went back to her own.

She closed her door behind her and was stunned to see that the key that had sat there, was gone. The hole was empty where the key had been. Beth's eyes widened with dawning horror - Tavington had taken it. He intended to return to her during the night. She panicked, suddenly cold with fear. If he did return to her during the night… With Cilla sleeping in the bed beside her… She had no intention of telling her friends of this encounter, she had no desire for Cilla to see William come to her during the night, either.

It could not be. With haste, she threw her door open and ran up the hallway in the direction that Tavington had taken.

She caught up to him as he was about to descend the stairs - she could hear voices from the parlor below, someone laughed. Sweet Lord - if anyone saw her now..!

Her long blonde hair was in wild disarray, over her shoulders and down her back, and she wore only her shift.

"Sir!" Her brown eyes where wide with horror as she grabbed William by the arm. "Did you take my key?"

"Yes, I did," Tavington admitted carelessly. He smiled and slowly reached into his coat, to pull forth the stolen key. "It was cruel of you, to leave me so needful..."

Beth, ignoring his words, snatched it from his fingers in case he tried to tease her and pull it away. She cast panic stricken glances all around her, fearing discovery. With haunted eyes, she met his amused gaze.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice was an anguished whisper, she held the key gingerly as though it burned her fingers. "First the wager, now this! Are you trying to destroy me?"

"No, of course not!" Tavington shook his head, suddenly contrite. He took a step toward her, his arms out in a placating gesture.

"You're a damned fool, Sir, if you thought I'd be sleeping here alone! I'm to bed in with Cilla; she would have woken, she would have seen you!" Beth held his gaze for another moment, accusation in her eyes, then whirled away as he reached for her.

"Beth, come here!" He hissed, but she ignored him and dashed to her room. At the door, she hesitated and glanced back down the hall at him. He saw this and he began to walk toward her. Instead of risking her own chamber again, with him just outside, she rushed back to Mary's. She'd bid her friends good night twice now, and though she knew they would think her utterly daft, she raced back into the room, climbed up one the bed with them, and tried to pretend there was nothing amiss at all. Her hands shook as she reached for a sweetmeat and she tried to smile as Rebecca continued with her little story, about her cat thinking that a litter of puppies were her own little kittens.

* * *

He reached for her, but she was too quick. Like a rabbit, she darted away and ran swiftly down the hall. Chasing her was risky, but they were very much alone and so he did just that. But she knew he would try again and so she fled her chamber for her friend's and he dared not pursue her there.

He was tempted to have a servant lure Beth back out so he could speak with her and continue his seduction, he was certainly frustrated enough. His erection was painful, so hard and needful after their kissing. If she would not give her virginity to him, perhaps he could charm her, coax her into pleasuring him... But no, he could not risk rousing suspicion by sending a servant to fetch her out. Besides, if she was sharing with Cilla, then Cilla might catch them during. Nor could he take Beth to his chamber, for Cilla would wonder where Beth was, if she returned to find their bed empty.

It was not to be, Beth would not give herself to him. And she would not pleasure him to his own completion either, he suspected.

It was not to be.

Guilt and desire did not make for a happy bedfellows, it made him surly.

Rejected... She rejected him... His eyes glittered - two blue furnaces. He strode quickly toward Vera's room, she would take care of his need.

"Sir," his lover eyed him up and down from where she sat before her mirror. "You should not be here, my maid will be along shortly to get me ready for bed. I'll come to you soon."

William tightened his lips, frustrated. He did not want to fuck his mistress. He wanted Beth. His body felt weak from desire and unfulfilled sex. His cock ached - a deep hurt in need of relief. Despite her assertions that she would not be his mistress, he had been ready to take the girl, right there, against the wall.

But she had rejected him and now he had to settle for Vera. Who sat before him, gazing up at him with a small satisfied smile. He wanted to wipe it off her face with the back of his hand. Instead, he grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet.

"My, my - what has gotten into - eek!" Vera cut off with a yelp, grunting as her back hit the wall. He pinned her in place with his body, giving her no room to sidle away as Beth had done.

A mere wisp of a girl, rejecting him! Colonel William Tavington! With a snarl he gripped the top of Vera's shift and jerked it open, tearing the precious silk all the way down the middle.

"William!" Vera bemoaned - silks where expensive after all.

"Shut it!" He growled, already working at the laces of his cotton pants, freeing his erection. His knee parted her thighs and he was pressing his hips forward, rubbing against her soft curls.

"Oh God," Vera moaned - with desperate need now, forgetting all about her silks. She lifted onto her the tips of her toes and wrapped one leg around his hips. Tavington grabbed her beneath her buttocks and lifted her higher, then lowered her down onto his length. He impaled her with one stroke.

Fucking bitch, this was not who he wanted to be inside!

He slammed into her fiercely with frustration, hard and deep, his pelvis snapping back and forth faster. He grunted against her ear in time with his pounding. She turned her head, trying to catch his lips against hers but he jerked away.

She was not who he wanted to be kissing either!

Her fingers twined through his hair, grasping painfully. She squealed and squirmed, her hips jutting back and forth, writhing on his length.

Panting heavily now, Tavington dug his fingers into her buttocks, heedless of any pain. Intent on his own release, he did not care if she felt pleasure, was barely aware of her coos and gasps of delight.

_She is a god damned farm girl. A bloody farm girl whose father was as poor as dirt!_

He thrust into Vera brutally as he thought of Beth. Of her sweet smell, her lips on his, her body - so deliciously pressed between his and the wall.

He thought of her rejection. Ice and fire scorched his veins as he pummeled back and forth.

_I am Colonel Fucking Tavington!_

He had not realised he had snarled the latter aloud against Vera's ear.

"Oh, yes, oh my God, oh you are! You are my Colonel, oh, harder, my Colonel! Oh William! Oh, dear heart -"

He grimaced with fury and covered her mouth with his hand.

No, no 'dear heart's', not from this whore. Not when he wanted to hear the words from Beth.

_'Her Colonel?'_ Hardly! He could have laughed, if he was not in such a fucking rage.

"I said shut it!" he grated and the silly woman fell silent, almost swooning, lack of air and pleasure making her faint. He released her and she gasped frantically.

A few more brutal thrusts and Tavington threw back his head, almost howled like a wolf as the tingle of fire became a tidal wave, blazing from his cock throughout his entire body. His hot seed spilled in agonized bursts as he came - his climax lasted timeless moments, finally fading, taking his rage, his fury, with it.

He dropped his head to her shoulder, calm and sated, yet oddly empty. His guilt had not gone - only the anger.

"We are through, Vera," he found himself saying. "I am done with you."

He felt her stiffen, her entire body grew rigid. Withdrawing his spent member, he settled her back on her feet.

"What?" She breathed. "You can't be serious. No - why would you... You must be joking!"

"Not at all. I am done with you. I will settle for second best no longer."

"Second best..." She shook her head with disbelief, clutching her torn silk shift around her. "There is somebody else. I knew it. I've always known it!" Her voice drove up an octave.

"Yes, there is," he admitted. He tightened the drawstring and tied the laces on his pants. "Why don't you start shrieking Vera?" He taunted.

"You fucking bastard - why did you come here then? Why did you do this?" She waved her arms, indicating the two of them.

"I was in need. I could not have the woman I wanted," his voice was soft, cruel. "However, to my very great disappointment, you were unable to satisfy me."

"You fucking bastard! To flaunt her - who is she!"

"What does it matter? I am ending it with you now. I know you are a vicious little creature and I will not allow you to avenge yourself on her. No, you will not be told who she is."

"You will get out of this house, do you hear! I want you gone!"

"Oh, do be serious, you do not have the authority to have me removed."

"My husband does. I'll tell him of our affair! He will be rid of you!"

"And of you, you stupid woman." Tavington laughed in Vera's face as she paled with sudden understanding. Her lover had used her, was leaving her, and there was not a damned thing she could do about it. "Good evening to you, Mrs. Tisdale," the Officer bowed formally and turned from her, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Within the chamber Vera was stock still against the wall. Her mind raced, twisted and turned, trying to figure out a way to avenge herself without exposing her affair to her husband.

She would lose everything. Her daughter Mary, her husband - who she did care for when it came down to it. The pampered life she enjoyed so well, her fine dresses. Her standing in society - all of it - gone.

There was nothing she could do - Tavington would continue to live in her house, mocking her every time she passed him in the hall, at dinner, in the parlor when they shared a brandy or two before bedding down for the night. And he would not come to her, not ever again. He would not kiss her, would not touch her, would not enter her.

Never again.

It was not to be borne. He must pay for this. He must! She would find a way... Some how...


	10. Chapter 10 - Enemy Missives

May 30, 1780

Chapter 10 - Enemy Missives:

**_Nightfall - at Fresh Water:_**

"Can I just stop, for five minutes?" Burwell said as he collapsed into the chair. "Five bloody minutes! That's all I ask. Almighty, they've just kept coming and coming, this unceasing pursuit, this never ending hunt!"

_And you thought it a grand idea to come to my door? _Benjamin thought as he handed Burwell a glass of warmed rum. He dismissed the thought as uncharitable, Burwell had quite clearly been put through his trials these last few weeks since the city fell. Still, Benjamin couldn't help but think it - if the British are pursuing, why come to Fresh Water? Where Benjamin was trying to keep his six children safe, Burwell leads the lions to his door? At least he bought Gabriel with him, Benjamin sat in his favourite arm chair and stretched his legs out and listened as Burwell continued.

"It was mayhem," Burwell's voice dropped to a whisper. The two were alone in the parlour at Fresh Water, this was one of the few places the Colonel could let his worries and fears be known. "First, trying to get Rutledge as far from the city as possible, while avoiding the British who were, by now, landed and taking up positions. I learned recently that when the city surrendered, the British captured five thousand Continentals. Five thousand. A good thousand or so escaped but where the devil are they? I know not. How will I make contact with them? Damned if I know. I had two hundred with me when I set out with Rutledge. I left forty with him when I separated from him at Rugeley's Mill to lead the British away from him. Colonel Buford had four hundred. There were six hundred of us, making as much noise as possible, to draw the British away from Rutledge. But then they caught us - this young Officer named Tarleton. Colonel Banastre Tarleton. Cornered us up near the border, at Waxhaws. Colonel Burford had the men line up, he commanded them to hold fire until Tarleton's lot were within ten yards before shooting. That might have worked just fine against infantry, Ben, but -"

"They were facing Dragoons," Benjamin sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes. "Buford's men would have gotten one shot off, then they wouldn't have had time to reload before the Dragoons were upon them with their sabres."

"That's precisely what happened," Burwell replied grimly. "It was hot and deadly, and was over in less than twenty minutes."

"Jesus."

"I went in with two hundred. I came out with what I have with me. One hundred."

Benjamin swallowed hard, his fingers tightened on his glass. One out of two men dead or captured, or escaped. He thought of his son who was upstairs, asleep in his own bed; Gabriel had had a one in two chance of dying, up at Waxhaws. Thank the Gods he survived. But what about the next battle? Or the one after that? Benjamin drank back the contents of his glass, then rose and poured another.

"Buford's force was all but demolished," Burwell said. "In fifteen minutes, Ben, we were decimated."

"I'm sorry," Benjamin commiserated. "Gabriel said the call for quarter was ignored?"

"I don't know," Burwell spread his hands wide and gave a tired shake of his head. "He's young, this Tarleton. And ambitious, I would imagine. I would think he would make a name for himself far more effectively by taking two Colonel's captive and all our men. Instead, he ignored the call to Quarter. Perhaps he just wanted to punish us for our treason," he scoffed softly. "But yes, Buford sent in the request for parlay. His men were militia, not Regulars. Many of them started laying down their arms and raising their hands in surrender almost immediately. Burford realised all was lost, he sent the white flag in, but it was ignored. The Loyalists kept up the attack which is when I decided to flee, it was either that or stay and lose more men, or be captured or killed myself."

"You bought back my son. Therefore, you did the right thing," Benjamin said and Burwell laughed.

"Speaking of your son, I think he has the right idea, going straight to bed as soon as he gets home. Do you mind if we stay for a day or two? It's been weeks since I've slept in a bed."

Burwell wasn't going to stay. Benjamin's shoulders loosened, his tension easing. He could afford to be gracious, now that he knew Burwell wasn't going to ask to stay.

"Of course, you're always welcome here," he said. "Any chance you could leave Gabe behind when you move out again?"

Burwell chuckled. "Sorry, old friend; he wouldn't stay if I commanded him too. Never fear, however, it seems that Tarleton is concentrating his efforts up at the border, there's been no evidence to suggest that he'll be heading down this way. I am hoping that I'll have the opportunity now, to send out the message to the Continentals that escaped the city, to gather them all in, now that I've finally shaken the British from my tail."

"Keep your force small, you'll have a greater chance of going unnoticed," Benjamin advised.

"I thought I was in Patriot country down here in your Pembroke?" Burwell teased.

"We're mostly Patriot," Benjamin agreed. "But there's some Tory's hereabouts that will send to the city, if they knew you were here. I suggest you rest up here for a few days, then have Gabriel lead you into Hell Hole Swamp. There's a few cabins you and your men could reside in there, you could build a few more as you need. Mr. Howard and I can supply you so you won't go hungry, and it's warm enough that you don't need to worry about your men sleeping out at night."

"That's a sound plan," Burwell said. "And I thank you for the suggestion. You know I'll always heed whatever advice my Captain has to offer."

"I'm not joining," Benjamin said and Burwell's lip rose, giving Benjamin a rueful look. "It was a nice try, though."

"I thought so," Burwell smiled.

"You can visit me without trying to recruit me, you realise?" Benjamin asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"Until this war is ended, I'll never stop trying to recruit you," Burwell replied and Benjamin grunted, resigned.

"Francis Marion has as much voice around here as I do," he said. "You get along well enough with him - why don't you send to him? See if his ankle is better by now. He might be ready to return to command."

"Another grand idea, I shall do that," Burwell finished off his rum. When Benjamin rose to fetch the bottle, Burwell waved him down and saw to the task himself. He poured for Benjamin, then for himself.

"I think I could get used to this," Benjamin quipped as Burwell resumed his seat. "You keeping my glass full. You'll make a fine son in law, lad."

Burwell straightened in his chair, surprised.

"I've received letters from Mark and Charlotte," Benjamin explained. "Congratulations, Harry. It's a good thing you're here, I've already discussed your engagement with Reverend Oliver, who would be delighted to Officiate at the ceremony."

"Now, Ben, you need to hold your horses there," Burwell made a gesture with his hand, to slow down. "Beth and I are not engaged."

"Is that right?" Benjamin took a slow sip of his rum. Burwell watched him warily, he knew Benjamin well enough to not be fooled by his friend's apparent ease. Only a few would be able to read it, but Buwell could see quite clearly that Benjamin was annoyed. "Not engaged, huh?"

"No, Ben," Burwell said, keeping calm

"Yet you take the liberties of a man engaged. You kissed her, Harry."

"Ah," Burwell dropped back into his chair. "Yes. well. I should not have done that. I do apologise."

"You apologise?" Some heat entered Benjamin's voice. "You apologise. Well, that's just grand and all, but from where I'm sitting, kissing my daughter isn't something you can just apologise for and walk away from. From where I'm sitting, kissing my daughter means you're damned well engaged to her."

"Ben, it's not that I don't want to be. You know I want to marry the lass. I proposed, for crying out loud."

"And?"

"Mr. Putman and Mrs. Selton left this part out, did they?" Burwell asked, vexed with them both. "Beth told me she needs more time, and I have granted her that."

"Wait, let me understand this. You proposed. She refused -"

"She did not refuse me," Burwell cut in quickly, so that Benjamin did not become angry with his daughter for daring to refuse him. "She just said not yet. And I fully understand why. She's stuck there in the city with British to every side - now is not the time for her to suddenly decide to be my fiance."

"I see," Benjamin tightened his lips - this explanation did not mollify him one little bit. "You proposed. You received and accepted her answer. And yet, you bloody kissed her, straight after, Harry."

"Ah, yes," Burwell sighed.

"From what Mrs. Selton described, it wasn't a quick peck on the cheek, it was the sort of kiss that should only be shared with a husband and his wife. Or a fiance with his betrothed," Benjamin paused, being deliberately coarse, he added, "or a rake with his whore. Which are you, Harry? More importantly, which is Beth?" Benjamin demanded, there was murder in his voice.

"Ah… my fiance," Burwel said carefully.

"I'm glad to bloody hear it," Benjamin snapped. "So, as I was saying, I have discussed your engagement with Reverend Oliver, who would be delighted to Officiate at the ceremony." His words were clipped with irritation. Burwell was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. "However, I do understand Beth's concerns, they are also Mr. Putman and Mrs. Selton's concerns. And mine. And so, for now, your engagement shall be a secret one, known to only but family. But make no mistake, Harry. You and Beth are engaged."

"I have no quarrel with that," Burwell spread his hands wide. "But as you said, Beth and I had reached an understanding when I left. She does not consider herself to be engaged."

"I will write to her informing her of our new understanding," Benjamin said wryly.

"You're her father, you have every right to tell your daughter who she is going to marry. And Beth is a dutiful girl, no doubt she will obey you completely. However, frankly, I don't want her forced to this. I told her I would give her more time and I meant it."

"You didn't bloody mean it, or you wouldn't have bloody kissed her," Benjamin scoffed. "And I'm not forcing her to anything. This has been taken quite out of our hands, now. You saw to that when you kissed her."

"I didn't mean…" Burwell ran a weary hand over his head, realising it was true. He nodded. "I told her as much," he sighed. Benjamin arched an eyebrow and Burwell continued. "When I kissed her, I told her that it meant that we're engaged now. That you would certainly consider us to be, if you knew I'd kissed her." Benjamin nodded firm agreement.

"And what did Beth say?"

"When I said we were engaged? She said she knows."

"Well there you are!" Benjamin threw his hands up. "She even agreed with you!"

"But I was joking though, and so was she."

"Beth knows she's engaged to you, Harry," Benjamin shook his head. "I have it from both her aunt and her uncle. Neither of them made any mention of Beth voicing any reservations, when they suggested to her that your engagement be a secret one. I shall write, I will confirm it to her, all will be well."

"Alright," Burwell said, not daring to hope just yet. As much has he loved Beth and wanted to be married to her, he did not want an unhappy, unwilling bride. "Then I shall wait until I have a letter from Beth, confirming it to me."

"Stubborn bastard," Benjamin laughed. "None of that's going to stop me from discussing it again with Oliver."

"Discuss away. But make certain he is discreet. You and I are too far away from Beth to help her, if the British decide to take an interest in her because she's engaged to me."

"What makes you so certain they will?"

"They're British," Burwell said and despite himself, Benjamin laughed. "

"I agree, no further explanation is needed," he said, agreeing. "Is that widow you keep company with going to cause problems for you and Beth? Mrs. Jenkins, is that her name?"

Burwell's face blazed crimson. He prided himself on being a gentleman, always and ever. But indulging in the offerings of a willing widow was not very gentlemanly. Benjamin was doing much the same, however, he had had an understanding with the widow Mrs. Selton for many years now. Burwell understood his friend was not accusing him, he was being practical. Still, it was rather mortifying.

"No," he said finally. "I shall end it with her soon, I wish to settle a decent sum on her for her and her son. I thought to tell her at the same time as giving her the money, to soften the blow. A few more days - a week perhaps. Unless you'd prefer for me to end it sooner?"

"No, no, do it however you believe it should be done," Benjamin said. "I trust your judgement and have no qualms there. Right then. I need to get Peter Howard down here to discuss what you'll need for a comfortable stay in the swamps and you need to go and take that bath I had drawn for you. Should be ready by now."

"For that luxury, I can not thank you enough, Ben," Burwell said, his eyes becoming hooded at the thought of a long soak in warm, soapy water.

* * *

_31st May. _

"You look like you haven't slept a wink," Cilla said softly as she placed her hand on Beth's arm.

"I'm alright," Beth replied. She was well aware of the dark circles ringing her eyes and the bags beneath them. Cilla did not know the full extent of Beth's insomnia, it was not only the previous night she hadn't slept, but for most of every single night since learning that William and Banastre had wagered for her virginity. She struggled to consider the day she had ahead of her; the entertainment Mary and the other girls had planned, to cheer and comfort her. It was not going to work, the mere thought of pretending to be well and happy, when all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed beneath a pile of blankets with the curtains drawn across the windows and around her bed. The thought of feigning pleasure made her feel exhausted, she was not certain she was up to it.

Mary led the way through the house and down the stairs. Cilla removed her hand from Beth's arm and joined in the lively conversation. Beth walked behind the group in silence, nodding and smiling only when one of the other girls turned back to try to include her. Even that took effort - Gods, today was going to be excruciating.

They entered the dining hall and all chatter ceased, the sudden silence was deafening. The gentlemen already seated around the table rose - Mr. Tisdale, Tavington, Bordon, Brownlow and Dalton; all of whom were not supposed to be there. Tavington was not supposed to be there. Beth's breath caught in her throat as she met his eyes - Gods, he looked angry. Like a thunderstorm. He was not meant to be here, but by damn, there he was, ready to join the ladies as they broke their fast, he was concealing yet another tactic that would bring her near to him, by pretending to innocently join them for breakfast. He stepped away from his seat and pulled out the one next to his, inclining his head to her, silently inviting her to sit by him. Beth gripped her skirts so hard, the silk crushed beneath her fingers. While shooting concerned looks at Beth, the other girls began taking their seats, Cilla between Brownlow and Dalton. None took the seat Tavington was offering, they all knew that was meant for her. The moment was stretching toward the uncomfortable, the other girls were now seated, the other men resumed theirs and still Beth stood there, staring hard back at Tavington, a death grip on her skirts. Tavington stared back, he was still standing, still with his hands on the back of her chair, ready to help her be seated at his side.

Like bloody hell.

"Mr. Tisdale," Beth addressed Mary's father. "I'm dreadfully sorry to be an imposition, but I'm feeling terribly unwell and would like to go home."

"Oh no, my dear!" Mr. Tisdale was back on his feet on the instant. Beth heard William's indrawn hiss but she ignored him. She could see him from the corner of her eye as he began to walk toward her.

_He'll try to talk me into staying. I can't be near him. I just -_

"I shall have you driven home at once," Mr. Tisdale said.

"Beth -" Cilla began to rise, as did the other girls.

"Oh please, don't let this upset your plans," Beth said, pleading with all four of them. "Please? Just stay here. I need to be…" _alone_. "I think I just need to rest my eyes for a few hours. If I'm well enough, I'll join you later."

The girls exchanged uncertain glances but after a little more pleading from Beth, they chose to remain and continue with their plans.

"Should I send for a doctor?" Mr. Tisdale asked, his concern had been growing these last few minutes.

"No, Sir, truly. I'm just feeling…" Beth paused, she glanced at Tavington, who was standing silently at her side. Glaring at her. Damn him to all hell. "…sick to my stomach," she finished, the words, intending to wound, were for him and he knew it. She saw them hit her mark, his eyes widened and she heard his soft gasp.

"Well said, cousin," Cilla sniffed, having heard the exchange and understanding what many at the table did not. William shifted his astonished gaze toward Cilla, who lifted her chin and stared back coldly.

"The carriage, Sir?" Beth asked, prompting Mr. Tisdale, who took a hold of her arm and began to guide her toward the door.

"Perhaps I should escort you -" Tavington began

"Colonel Tavington, I believe you have done more than enough, thank you," Beth said, keeping her voice polite, knowing he understood she was being anything but. She was grateful that he did not follow as she followed Mr. Tisdale from the chamber.

* * *

It was raining, which suited Beth perfectly. She sat in her uncle's parlour and watched the droplets chase one another down the windowpane, some joining to form one big, much fatter drop. Gods, she'd thought her heart had raced that time Burwell had kissed her, and the time Banastre did a few weeks later. But neither of those kisses were anything to Tavington's. Her breath hitched and she traced her lips gently with the tip of her finger, before dropping her head to her knees and sobbing.

No matter how hard she tried, she simply could not pull her mind away from thoughts of him. Standing before her in the dimly lit chamber, kissing her so thoroughly. His tongue on hers had been the most glorious feeling she'd ever known in her life. Thrills, shooting all through her body, her senses on fire, her legs weak, her mind dazed.

Dear Lord... She had allowed herself to be duped by him all over again! But it had been such a relief, it had felt so wonderful, to reconcile with him after days of heart ache and despair! He had chased all those awful feelings away, that wretched heartache and grief. She had not felt that terrible desolation when his arms were around her. And when he kissed her. Lord, she'd never felt so warm, so... Charmed. So... Loved.

"Love," Beth lifted her head from her knees, she wiped at her wet cheeks with her fingers. "He is not in love with you, Beth."

She dropped back against the chaise, stretched out and watched the drops of rain snaking down the outside of the window.

"Miss Martin?" Zeke - the negro slave so adored by Mila, came in bearing a cup of tea for and a letter.

"Oh, thank you, Zeke," she said tiredly as she took the letter. She recognised Burwell's writing immediately, she waited for Zeke to withdraw before breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment.

_Dearest Beth,_

_I hope this letter finds you hale and healthy. I do worry for you, remaining in the city during the sickly season. I am well enough, as well as can be expected considering my current quarters. I am at this moment residing in a fetid swamp land, sitting on a log outside my stifling hot and rudely furnished cabin, with mosquitoes, flies and fleas to keep me company. Their music, I admit, is not to my liking._

_For one, glorious night, I enjoyed far more pleasant accommodations than I have for a very long time, when I paid a visit to Fresh Water. I shall remember it until my dying day - I had the most wonderful bath, dined like a gentleman at your father's table, and spent the night in what I am certain is the most comfortable bed, though in truth, I haven't known enough of those in recent weeks to give you a decent comparison._

Beth laughed softly, a smile finally tugged the corners of her mouth for the first time in days.

_I could have stayed there forever, I'm sure. But I dared not tarry there, in such an exposed place, where the presence of myself and my men could be easily discovered and reported to the nearest British patrol. That would not be showing your father gratitude, if I were to bring the Commander and Chief's wrath upon him, I did not want him to be accused and punished for assisting the enemy, when his crime did not extend beyond the entertaining of an old friend. You will be gratified to know that your father and your siblings - all seven of them - are quite well. _

Beth was enjoying the light, easy feel of Burwell's letter, it helped to ease her soul in some small measure, this reminder that there was far more to her world than Tavington. He had become such an all consuming presence, she'd almost forgotten there was to life than him. Burwell's letter grew a little more serious, however, as she read on.

_I would like to apologise to you, my heart, for some trouble that I may have caused you. Please know that I did not do so by design, when I kissed you at our parting, I was in a fever of anguish and want, both tortured by the necessity of leaving you and dreading the time we would be parted. _

_I did not, I vow it to my very soul, kiss you to press the issue of my proposal. I did not kiss you to force your hand, to make you accept me. _

And there it was; what had been the topic of discussion among Beth's family and Mary for some weeks now. She was engaged because Burwell kissed her - news had reached him also. Of course it had done - he'd just told her he'd stayed the night at her father's. Beth could imagine quite well what her father would have had to say about it.

_Your father, however, has learned of it from your aunt. Therefore, your father insisting that because of our shared moment, we are now engaged. He has already spoken to your Reverend, and the pair of them were going to start reading the Banns from this Sunday. _

Beth drew a long, deep breath, knowing what a disaster that would be, with her in the city surrounded by the enemy.

_You will receive a letter from your father shortly, perhaps you already have. He will confirm our engagement. I know that this is all my fault. Please believe me when I tell you that I did not kiss you out of some insidious design to force you to marry me, I hope you know that. I just felt such all consuming, crushing need, one which I should have ignored. I am a gentleman, after all, and you had given me your answer. I am caught between you and your father. I want to keep my promise to give you the time you need, but he interprets such indulgence as disrespect toward you. I will have no one, ever, in a thousand and another thousand years, believe me to be disrespectful of you, and so I find myself with no further recourse, than to side with your father. You know that I love you, Beth. For that love, I wanted to indulge you, I wanted to give you the time you needed, but it seems the matter has been quite removed from us both. _

_I did manage some small manner of defiance that I hope you will appreciate - your father said he will write to you confirming that I am engaged to you, and I told him that I would wait from a letter from you, confirming __your__ engagement to __me__. _

Beth laughed despite herself, appreciating that Burwell had done all he could to stop the inevitable. She could hear Mary's voice in the back of her head - that Burwell should not have kissed her, for that had forced the issue. It seemed Mary was absolutely correct. Beth did agree also, but in truth, she knew her family would not have given her much choice but to accept Burwell's proposal eventually. Her father would not force her to marry, not overtly. But he and the rest of her family had made it very clear that they believed Harry Burwell to be the only and best choice for her, and she truly did not want to disappoint them, or to defy her father.

There was one man she would have thrown everything away for, she would have risked her father's wrath for him, risked her entire family drawing from her, never speaking to her again. For William Tavington, she would have.

But he only wanted her for her virginity and fifty pounds.

Beth set the letter aside, drew her knees up and wept into her skirts.

Eventually, the ticking of her uncle's clock intruded upon her grief and she began wiping her eyes. The letter was still in her hand, she could barely focus on it, her vision blurred as it was. She waited until her eyes cleared before continuing Harry's words.

_My darling, when I left you, you were confused. Unsure. With your father's unfaltering position, I fear that I am forcing you and that, I could not abide. Please know that I love you. I cherish you as I have never cherished another. For me, there is only you. And I know that you have great affection for me, affection that I pray might one day blossom into the adoration I feel for you. My love for you is, at times, a torture, a torture to which I finally succumbed. But my love for you also drives me to do anything I can for you, to keep you content._

_It was wrong of my to propose when I did, all in urgency, at the fall of the city, when I knew I must leave and was terrified the British would get hold of you if you stayed. And it was most certainly wrong of me to kiss you, which has now forced the issue. _

_I must warn you - your father was not pleased that you deferred your reply that day. I do not say this to pressure you, but because I believe you should know his mind. I repeated to him the very wise words you told to me; you could not come with me on my fraught mission, you had no choice but to remain in a city that was about to be taken over by the British and as you so wisely declared, becoming my fiancé then would have made you a target now. You were right, my love. I should know by now, that you always are. _

_I, too, was the recipient of your father's wrath, and rightly so. He insisted that we are engaged and my informing him that we were not did not sit well with him at all. You are his daughter, his precious girl, he is quite fiercely protective of you. When he chastised me, I informed him I was offering you no slight. I apologised to him, most profusely, for in kissing you after you deferred your decision, I had taken liberties I had no right to. This, in turn, __has led to your father to declaring that we are indeed betrothed. _

_That, my darling, I never meant to do. I beg you to understand, I hope you know me well enough to know that I am not a conniver, a schemer, I would not stoop to such a device to secure you. _

"No, Harry. William and Banastre are the connivers," Beth said out loud.

_I suppose you will want news of the war, of course. That Tarleton fellow has certainly given us a hot pursuit._

Beth laughed again, this time it was bitter. Banastre was certainly good at that - William too; giving dogged pursuit of their prey.

_Which ended in a massacre up at Waxhaws. I do not like to burden you with such tidings, therefore I shall not go into the details. The skirmish was a rout, our men were surrendering almost as soon as it began. Initially, the call for Quarter was ignored by Tarleton, though his reason for such heinous behaviour remains a mystery to me. The British pride themselves on fighting as Gentlemen, Tarleton should have ceased the fighting and taken prisoners as soon as the white flag was sent in. He has lowered the high standards to which his Generals insist on holding themselves to, with such conduct. He shall destroy the reputation of the British, if he continues it. _

_I survived intact, having decided to flee as soon as Tarleton ignored the plea for surrender. I had my men to protect and as it was, I lost half my force. I have one hundred left, and unless the Patriots begin enlisting, our Cause might well be lost. _

_It is my hope that your father will send for you soon. He has not said anything to indicate that he will, your uncle seems to want you to remain in the city and your father is inclined to indulge him, no doubt to be companion to Miss Putman. It bothers me, however, especially now that our engagement is confirmed. I worry of the danger you are in, I have no means to protect you, so deep in British control. I shall discuss it with him, perhaps he will see reason. If at any time you feel threatened or unsafe, I will devise a way to free you from the city, if I have to come for you myself._

_My love, being parted from you is the worst kind of torture. I sincerely hope you do not doubt my sincerity, or my great love for you. Never doubt how deeply I love you, how ardently I desire you to be my wife._

_You devoted love_

_Col. H. Burwell_

* * *

Beth set the letter aside and returned her gaze to the rain lashing the windows. A sort of peace began to settle upon her, and although her heart was still hurting, William's ill treatment of her felt less than what it had, before receiving the letter. Before she remembered that she had a family who loved her, and a man who cherished her, who would provide for and see to her every whim, if she was so inclined. Her world view had narrowed until there was only William, but now it was opening again and she did not feel that her future - her very life - was over. She was surrounded by loved ones. She would marry Burwell, who would take her to North Carolina, to his plantation house at Raleigh. There, they would have children, her father and siblings would visit, her cousins, her aunts, her uncle. It would be a good life, free of turmoil and that awful, gripping heart break.

She would never see William again, and that would be a grand thing.

Rising, she crossed the room to the desk, where she picked up a quill, dipped it into the ink pottle and began to write a letter of reply to Burwell, thanking him for the lifting of her spirits - though she did not explain what from - and confirming that she, too, considered them to be engaged.

* * *

"Your father will be pleased, Beth. Colonel Burwell will be pleased too, no doubt," Mark said as he took Beth's letter. "I'll be away for a few hours, it'll take some time to get this on its way."

"The sooner the better," Beth said. "Where's aunt Mage?"

"Out," Mark lowered his eyes and Beth frowned, feeling a spike of worry.

"Is everything alright?"

"It's fine, fine. She's just… visiting a friend. See here, why don't you have Mila draw a bath for you, Beth? A nice fine soak will do you a world of good."

"Maybe I will," Beth replied, smiling because her uncle needed her too. He needed to know she wasn't suffering and so she pretended she wasn't. Besides, she could hardly be seen to be pining after William, when she was engaged too Burwell in truth.

"I've heard Colonel Tavington is back in the city," Mark said and Beth's smile turned a little sickly.

"Ahh, yes, he is," she said, trying to sound normal and not as though her heart was shattering at the mere mention of his name.

"He'll likely come to visit tonight. I'd appreciate it if you would join us, this time."

"Uncle," Beth breathed, stunned to her core. "I… I am engaged now, Sir."

"You were before," Mark tapped her nose with the letter, a gesture that was not lost on her. As if to say she was engaged well before she wrote the letter, confirming that she was engaged. And he was speaking to her as he would a silly child. He was her uncle, however; she could not take him to task for it. Besides, he meant well, he was risking his freedom in sending a letter to the enemy of the British. "You were already engaged when Tavington and Tarleton started coming about; what will it hurt, to entertain them a little bit longer?"

It will hurt. Gods, it'll kill me.

"Why do you need me to keep doing that?" She asked in a plaintive voice.

"It's necessary. They believe us to be Loyalists, because I've led to them to believe we are Loyalists. It's the safest avenue for us, Beth."

"You have been entertaining him just fine without me," Beth said, a little more sharply than she intended, this time.

"It's you he comes to see, though, Beth," he said. "Come now, I just need you to pretend for a little bit longer. He won't be in Charlestown forever, you said yourself. He told you the British Legion would be sent out eventually. After he's gone, you'll never have to see him again."

"Eventually, he said. That could be weeks away. Or months. I don't want to see him, uncle." I told him I never wanted to speak to him again. Gods, why would uncle Mark persist in this? "You, Cilla and aunt Mage do well enough entertaining him, that should be more than enough to prove that you're above suspicion. You don't need me there with you. Can't you invite Ensign Watson, instead?"

"I… we'll talk about it when I get back," Mark said with a faltering smile. He sat his hat on his head, nodded farewell, then turned and strode down the hall. Beth watched him go, then she returned to the parlour.

Every single time Tavington visited, Mark without fail, put Beth and the Colonel together. Tavington was allowed to court her, along with Tarleton, and Ensign Watson. Mark did his utmost to ensure that everyone saw the Officers courting Beth, to allay suspicions about her and Burwell. She understood this, understood the need, but she wasn't certain she could continue - not with William. Surely the ruse would be just as effective, if she were seen on Ensign Watson's arm instead? He was a Redcoat Officer, too…

She sat in the same chair as earlier, not bothering to summon Mila to draw her a bath. Perhaps she would do that later. Mila had already tended her, helping her to change into more ordinary attire, suitable for lolling about the house. Cotton instead of silk, though the cut of her bodice and skirts was still very similar to her more formal attire. Still more than suitable for receiving visitors, though Beth had no intention of doing so. The gate outside was closed, a sign to anyone wishing to drop in, that visitors were not welcome today. She returned to her watch over the rain drops, following the path of one with her finger as it slid down the outside of the window pane.

It was done, she was now officially engaged.

Though as Mark so succinctly put it, according to her family, she already had been. She eyed Burwell's letter on the table at her side, she could read it again, it might give her some solace. But she simply did not have the will to reach for it. Instead, she settled back against the chaise and draped one arm over her eyes. Perhaps she'd finally be able to sleep, with the house so quiet and with some of her demons calmed.

Tavington had treated her very poorly, but once she was married to the Patriot Colonel, she need never fear being treated so callously by any man again. She need not fear that her virtue will be stripped from her by a man whose only desire was conquest. Burwell was stolid and dependable. Strong and implacable. He would allow no one to treat her so ill again.

Of course, Harry did not have her in a whirlwind of emotion, giddy with happiness, anticipation and excitement. But he never had her at the depths of despair, as Tavington had done. Harry always had her on an even keel. And she preferred an even keel, she realised, now that she had been forced to weather the stormy seas.

Finally, after too many sleepless nights, Beth nodded off to sleep.

* * *

"Miss Martin, Colonel Tavington is here to see you."

Beth blinked bleary eyed at Zeke, barely able to take in his words through the foggy haze of sleep. She mumbled something and he said the words again.

"It is Colonel Tavington, Miss," he repeated. "Come to see you."

Awareness slammed into her like an out of control carriage; she was fully awake and began protesting immediately.

"Absolutely not," she said, lurching upright. "I will not see him. My uncle is not here, my aunt… Are they returned?"

"No, Miss."

"It matters not, even if they were," she said, voice sharp. "Send him away at once, Zeke, I will not see him. I do not want him here."

Zeke looked both terrified and conflicted by the prospect of refusing the Colonel; he stood over Beth, glanced at the door and wrung his hands. He turned back to Beth, who glared up at him, demanding he return to the front door and do her bidding. Before he could make a move, however, Colonel Tavington strode into the room, stopping short in the doorway. Beth shifted her glare to him, then gave a start at the thunderous look on his face.

With deliberate, crisp movements, Tavington placed his fur crested helmet on a nearby table. He then began removing his gloves, snapping at one finger at a time, then jerking them from his hands. He slapped the gloves down beside his helmet, then turned sharply to face her.

His expression was stone.

Beth rose reluctantly to meet him.

"Ah… Miss Martin said… she said -" Zeke began only to be cut off.

"I heard what she said. Leave us," Tavington commanded and Zeke beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind him.

"You have no right to command my uncle's servants," Beth said, folding her arms across her chest.

" 'I will not see him'?" Tavington repeated her words dangerously. " 'Send him away at once'?"

He advanced on her and Beth's eyes grew larger with each step. When he stood directly before her, she had to crane her neck to hold his gaze. His very stance demanded instant apologies and subservience.

" 'I do not want him here'?" He repeated lastly.

"What sort of greeting were you expecting of me, Sir?" She asked incredulously. "Besides, my uncle and aunt are not here, it is not proper for you to be here. Not that you care overly much about proprietary."

"I came to see you, not your uncle or your aunt," Tavington's words were clipped with fury. "You will not send me away."

"Then state your business and leave," Beth said. "I wish to be alone."

"Oh that's right. You're _unwell_," he said, still furious. "You're feeling _sick to your stomach_."

"I hope you do not expect an apology," she snapped. "After your treatment of me, I believe you have gotten off rather lightly. What brings you here, Sir?" She said, trying to cut to the point so that he would say his piece and leave her be.

"You know perfectly well what brings me here, Beth," his tone still clipped. "Shall we sit?"

Her expression not easing in the slightest, she resumed her seat, this time adopting a tense, stiff pose. Tavington sat carefully beside her and took one of her small hands in his. She tried to snatch it back, but he tightened his hold, holding her fingers fast.

"I came here to apologize for last night," his tone softened slightly. "I understand how distraught I made you. I should not have taken the key to your room, I should not have been in your room in the first place." He tightened his lips with irritation and continued in that same earnest tone, willing her to understand. "After spending the entire night watching you dance with other men, I grew quite jealous and… I needed to be with you. It was poor judgement on my part."

"You seem to suffer from poor judgement often," Beth's reply was tart.

"Yes, I have suffered so of late. It seems you bring out the worst in me," his lips curved into a smile and Beth thought she might die. Right there, right then, with her fingers in his hand; he was sitting so close, the warmth and scent of him left her feeling dazed.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? The effect he had on her, that a smile from him could send her reeling. Gods, she was so deeply, _painfully_ in love with this man, and he only pretended to care for her. "You grew jealous," she whispered. "You needed to be with me. I grow tired of your lies, Colonel." This time, when she snatched her hand back, she did it with enough force that his hold could not contain it. His grip had been firm, not crushing.

"You think I'm lying to you," he frowned, then his expression shifted to realisation. "You think I do not care for you."

Beth threw back her head and laughed, the sound rang through the parlour. "Oh Lord, you must think me a very great fool," she said, still laughing. He gazed back soberly, until she herself sobered. Damned tears burned her eyes, she wanted to curse her traitorous emotions. "I have been a very great fool."

"Not at all," he said, his voice every bit as soft. His fingers snaked back around hers and she did not pull away; she was concentrating all her efforts on not weeping. "You're not a fool. My treatment of you has been… appalling. It is no wonder you would think as you do. But it is not true, Beth. I do care for you, deeply."

"Gods, you persist… why do you persist?"

"I want to make things right between us."

She shook her head, incredulous. "Would you have come back to me during the night, as you'd obviously intended?" Beth asked suspiciously.

"Yes, Beth, I most certainly did intend to return, until you informed me that you were to share with your cousin," his tone became very warm - passionate. "Good Lord, Beth, you are so beautiful, can you truly blame a man for trying?" That smile again, only this time, it was accompanied with a gentle kiss to the tips of her fingers.

"I knew it! You ARE trying to ruin me!" Beth was having none of it, she jerked her fingers from his grasp and edged back away from him. "What if you had been found in my room? Or if someone had seen you enter it in the first place? People would assume I was encouraging you, no matter what I said to the contrary!"

"Beth," he protested. "I am not trying to ruin you -"

"And yet you wait for me to come to bed, and then when I refuse you, you take my key! What must you think of me, that you would imagine for one moment that I would welcome a visit of that sort?"

"I think very highly of you, Beth -"

"Oh, yes, it shows in your conduct toward me!" Beth spat, her tone was thick with sarcasm. "Fifty pounds to the winner, a design you yourself suggested. You thought that one of you would be victorious, that's how _highly_ you think of me!"

"Beth, if only you knew how it felt - to make love. You would understand why I have gone to such extremes to secure you," he told her. "Perhaps I should not have had those sorts of thoughts about you but Gods, I am a man, Beth, and you are the object of my desire. It is not that I do not regard you highly, it is because I am so enamored of you, I think of you constantly, until my head is full and there is nothing but you."

Beth's breath caught and her mind began to spin, reeling again. Sensing that her walls were beginning to crumble, Tavington reached out to touch her cheek, willing her to understand.

"After last night, you know some of what I speak now, I suspect," he said gently. "You can not deny how pleasing it was when I kissed you."

Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment and she shook her head, ready to protest.

"Come now," he said softly before she could speak. "You felt it - we both did. You should admit that much."

"You want me to admit it?" She asked. "Sir, why do you keep pushing me this way?"

"I'm not pushing you, little one. I am merely trying to make you understand. Your regard for me doesn't lessen as your desire for me grows. Why should it be any different for me? It is not my lack of regard for you, that has caused me to come into your room and wait for you. It is my _desire_ for you, because there you were, sleeping just down the hall, and it drove me more than a little mad."

"Oh, please don't say things like that!" Beth struggled not to weep. It was so hard to hold to her resolve when he was sitting so closely beside her, his hands holding hers. She could smell his scent, could feel his eyes boring into her. He might not be in love with her, but she was very much in love with him and she could feel herself coming undone.

"It is the simple truth," he told her. "If only you knew..." He sighed heavily and gazed at her, wishing she would allow him to show her, rather than merely tell her. The building of that pleasure, the tension in ones body, that striving for release and then - the penultimate - that rush of heat and sensation - pure pleasure - pulsing through ones body, lasting for long, heavenly moments... If only he could make her see... "Beth, what you felt when we kissed - I felt it too. Like being frozen in time, your heart pounding, warmth flooding through your body. That sudden jolt, it all felt so wondrously good. You felt it too, I know you did."

"I did," she breathed, captivated, mesmerised.

"Imagine that again now, but tenfold. One hundred fold. Gods, the pleasure of our kissing is a drop in the ocean compared to..." He stopped and held her gaze, she knew of what he was speaking. She was hanging on to his every word. Her brown eyes were bright and liquid, her breath came in quick spurts. "Darling, a man would do anything, risk anything, to make love to a beautiful woman," he continued. "I desire you, so very much. But I regard you, Beth, and yes - I do care for you."

Beth swallowed and her fingers trembled in his.

"I was not trying to ruin you," he continued. "Now that I have explained myself, I freely admit that you are quite right. My conduct toward you has left a lot to be desired."

"Yes, it has," Beth whispered and lowered her eyes. She was ready to be convinced now, ready to fall into his arms all over again. Though she knew it was absurd, she knew she was letting her heart rule her - it was just too hard to refuse him, when it would cause her pain to do so.

"I do not often admit when I am wrong, Beth," he said gently. He placed two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head to meet his eyes. "I wish to make amends. I have behaved so very poorly. I hurt you and for that, I am sorry. I have missed you, so very much. All I wish for is to return to how it was before."

"So do I," she admitted quietly.

"I want to see you smile again," he said. "You are beautiful, have I told you?"

"Yes," she blushed and licked her lips.

"Your smile lights up your face," he continued. Pulling her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingertips gently, slowly, one at a time. Gentle kisses, lingering caresses. Beth's breath caught and she began to lean closer to him.

He met her gaze and saw her eyes filled with despair and longing.

"Oh, Beth," he murmured and pulled her into his embrace. He cupped one hand to her cheek as he kissed her, slowly and deeply. Nudging her lips apart, he slid his tongue into her mouth. She responded as he had shown her the previous evening, returning his kiss until she was breathless and faint.

"Sir," Beth whispered against his lips, "how do you do it? Not half an hour ago I was resolved to never to seeing you again. And now… Gods you have such an effect on me..."

"And you on me, little Beth, do not doubt it," he replied warmly. "My name is William, Beth. I see no need for us to be so formal with each other."

"William...?" Saying his name for the first time sent shivers along her spine.

Tavington smiled and held her tighter. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body close as his lips sought hers again. He had almost forgotten how pleasurable it could be, to hold a woman tenderly and simply kiss her - nothing more.

Bedding was always his ultimate goal, he had quite forgotten the charm and the innocence of kissing. His lips drifted to her neck and he reveled in her sigh. She stroked his face with his fingers and he moved back up to her lips once more. They continued for some time, their lips brushing together, their tongues exploring.

Eventually, however his erection asserted itself. The bulge was becoming painful in his breeches and he drew away from her, lest he push her too far again. She followed him as he drew back, trying to coax him for more.

"We better stop, little Beth," he breathed, placing both his hands on her shoulders and gently pushing her back. "I am not made of stone."

"Nor am I," she whispered. She shucked off his restraining hands and sidled closer. Leaning in, she began kissing his neck as he had done to her. Burwell rose up in her thoughts but she pushed him ruthlessly away. The heart wants what the heart wants.

"Christ," he murmured. Her lips left a moist trail along his skin, he turned his head to the side to give her more room. Her fingers wound through his cravat to drag it lower, and she nibbled and suckled his neck as he had done her. So damned good...

"I would have chosen you, William," she whispered against his skin. "Not Colonel Tarleton."

"I know," he laughed.

She stopped kissing him instantly, fearing he was making sport of her. She saw immediately that he was amused, he was teasing, but there was no malice behind it.

"You are insufferable," she accused. "So full of yourself."

"I've been so accused," he laughed down at her. "But darling, it is good to hear you say it all the same. Even if I did already know."

Beth rolled her eyes. But then he was kissing her again, his lips moving over hers, and all thought fled.

A few more moments of this and Tavington took a firm hold of her again. He dragged her arms from his neck and pushed her back.

"You are torturing me, darling. You have to remember I am only made of flesh, little one."

Beth sighed heavily and collapsed back against the couch. He was still leaning forward slightly, so she rubbed her hand along his broad back, then began twirling his queue in her fingers.

"Is kissing really a drop in the ocean, compared to...?" She blushed crimson.

_Good Lord, I can't believe I just asked him that._

He twisted around and met her gaze, his eyes open wide with shock. Then he began to laugh at her.

"I think I've corrupted you," he chuckled. "But to answer your question, yes. Kissing is a drop in the ocean. A candle to a bonfire. A puff of wind to a tornado. Perhaps," he smirked, knowing how she would respond to his next words. "One day you will allow me to show you."

"No Sir!" Beth declared. She drew her arm from his back and leaned forward beside him. "No, I will not let you show me."

"Ah, my darling," he quipped. "You don't know what you're missing."

"One day I will know," she arched an eyebrow and threw out a challenge. "But not until I am married."

Tavington held her gaze and she stared back implacably; she had thrown the gauntlet and was daring him to either propose, or admit he never would. He considered his next words carefully, for he could not lead her to believe there could be any sort of understanding between them. He would marry Miss Eleanor Price for her twenty thousand and her apartment in London - not a Colonial girl who was reliant on her uncle and aunt to provide for her - no matter how enamoured of her he had become.

"He will be a lucky man," he said finally. "Your husband. I will envy him to my dying day."

Beth drew a sharp breath, her worst fears were realised, he would not court her for marriage. She drew back from him, lowered her head and averted her eyes, struggling to accept the finality and the pain it caused her.

Tavington studied her for a few moments, working through his own realisation. His certainty grew with each passing moment, she would never bed him unless they were married. He heaved a breath, accepting it finally. He wondered for a moment if he should make his excuses and leave, but the thought of leaving her there alone in the house with her heart ache did not sit well with him. When he did go, he resolved that perhaps he should not return. It was only going to be torture for both of them. He - for wanting more than she would ever give outside of marriage. Her - for wanting marriage.

He should go. They were both accepting that neither would get the future they want from the other, they were just torturing each other now. But she was distressed, and so he would stay, at least until he was certain she was alright. He would need to raise her spirits before he left her; therefore, he needed to lighten the mood. And distract her. Idle chatter, he thought. Simple chatter. No more kissing, or discussing a future they could not have.

"Is that a letter from home?" He asked her by way of breaking the mood. "Have you news from your father?"

Beth's eyes fell upon Burwell's letter and she grew very still. Upon that page lay everything she did not want Tavington to know, everything she and her family and Harry Burwell were trying to keep secret. It lay face up, the writing was small, not legible unless held up close. Tavington would not discern its secrets by the cursory glance he was giving it now. On the other side of the page, however, was written the Sender. General Harry Burwell. Not an innocent letter from her father.

Beth swallowed. She stared at the letter with growing anxiety.

"Yes," she tried to keep her voice light.

"Is he well? Your father?" Tavington said, making conversation.

"Yes," she said, her heart pounding. Tavington's rejection left her unsteady and now fear over him discovering Burwell's letter and her engagement amplified her affliction. She needed it gone, hidden away in her pocket and out of Tavington's mind. Her hands were trembling so fiercely, that when she reached for it - with a nonchalance she certainly did not feel - her nervous fingers could not grip it. She took hold of it but somehow managed to flick the parchment at the same time, and it fell to the floor, face down.

Being helpful, Tavington bent down at the same time as Beth to pick it up, only Tavington was quicker. The parchment had fallen face first, where both the addressee and the sender were clearly written.

Tavington stared at it, his mouth falling open.

"This is from Colonel Burwell," he said, all warmth gone from his voice. After a few brief moments, he raised his eyes to Beth's. She began breathing heavily at his stone cold expression. "You lied to me, Beth."

"I -" She cut short, speechless.

"Have received an enemy missive," he finished for her coldly. Ignoring her for the moment, he turned it over to read it.

"William!" She cried, making as if to reach for it. He snatched it back away from her.

"You have received a missive from the enemy, Beth!" He snapped. "And you lied to me about it! I can not ignore this, you can't expect me to ignore this. I'm a British Officer, Beth. Burwell is the enemy!"

"Please don't read it," she begged, frantic. "It's nothing, it's just… Please, William, give it -"

"If you were Loyal, your first act upon receiving this, would have been to hand this over to me, or another British Officer. Instead, you lie to me about it, and now beg me not to read it, which indicates to me that its contents are far from innocent. Even if they were, make no mistake, Miss Martin, as we speak, you are committing treason!"

Eyes as wide as saucers and filled with tears, Beth dropped back against the chaise, her hands over her mouth.

"Colonel Harry Burwell. I know you are a Patriot, but this?" Tavington asked in a hard voice. Beth shrank from him. "Unless you were planning on showing this to me? Of informing myself or another British Officer of its existence?"

She could only shake her head and Tavington leaned closer to her, eye to eye.

"That was an out, Miss Martin. I just tried to give you an out. Instead, you admit that you are a traitor," he snarled. "For Colonel Burwell is an enemy to His Majesty the King and we are at war!"

"Gods…" Beth breathed, her eyes wide with fear. Her heart pounded in her chest and sweat broke out on her forehead.

"Let's try a second time, you were planning on showing me this, were you not?"

She continued to stare, as still as a statue, unable to breathe a word.

"You. Were. Planning. To. Give. This. To. Me. Were you not?" He bit off each word succinctly, holding her gaze, until she gave a nervous nod of her head. "Much better," he snapped. "In fact, that was the first thing you did, when I walked into this room. You handed this to me, you informed me of its existence. And you can thank God that I bloody well care for you, because if not for that…" He trailed off and Beth shivered as if suddenly cold, the threat hanging in the air was worse than if he'd spoken it out loud. "Why I should cover for you when you lied to me…" he ground out. He turned back to the letter. "Be still and be quiet," he commanded, snapping the parchment straight in his fingers, then began reading. His face darkened with every word he read. His grip tightened on the parchment until it tore across the stiff fold in the centre.

"William?" She ventured, she could not take his silence any longer. "Please -"

He turned to her slowly and Beth quailed, his face was so hard and stern! Such a glare!

"You. It seems I was wrong, to trust you," he accused, folding the letter carefully and placing it in his coat pocket. "This was not the first time you've lied to me." It was not a question.

"William -"

"Silence!" He commanded and she snapped her mouth shut. "You have lied to me. Just now, in telling me that the letter is from your father. And before, in so many things. You told me you refused Burwell irrevocably. You told me that neither of you care for the other - it was to be a marriage of convenience only. This is what you told me Beth, word for word."

The blood drained from her face. He was not finished however. He continued, his words clipped with fury.

"Despite what you have led me to believe," he ground out. "He is in love with you. You told me you refused him and here I learn that you merely deferred your answer. And now, you are engaged to marry."

He paused, waiting for her to speak, to explain herself. She could not find the words, however. She was incapable of speech.

"Are you a spy, Miss Martin?"

"A spy!" She gasped, one hand flying to her mouth, the other pressed to her stomach. "No! Gods, no, of course I'm not a spy!"

"Of course? How can that be obvious to me? You're engaged to Colonel Burwell, yet you encouraged a courtship from me, from Tarleton and from that other dolt - Watson!"

"No, it isn't like that! And I did not encourage any of you!" She said, momentarily offended by the suggestion before recalling how tenuous her position was. "I deferred my answer, like you said. I wasn't engaged. My family considered me to be but Colonel Burwell was allowing me more time, we weren't engaged until my father insisted -"

"Because he kissed you," William ground out, unable to keep his jealousy at bay. "Because he _bloody_ kissed you. The sort of bloody kiss that would enrage a father and demand marriage! The sort of kiss I gave you!"

"It wasn't," she slumped, lowering her eyes. "His was nothing like yours, the two are worlds apart." Her lip quivered and she caught it between her teeth and averted her gaze.

William regarded her, some of his fury abating. He found himself wanting to ask if she meant his was worlds apart more enjoyable than Burwell's, but now was not the time for childishness and conceit.

"I need your reassurance that you are not a spy."

"Gods, William, please, you're making far too much of this, you're blowing it all out of proportion! It's just a letter. It's just a stupid letter," the wind left her sails, leaving her exhausted. Frightened and exhausted.

"Then why did you lie? About Burwell's true sentiment for you?"

"Because..." she closed her eyes and fought back a wave of nausea. "I was scared." His eyebrows lifted and he tilted his chin, waiting quietly for her to continue. "I feared... That if you knew... I would be taken hostage. That Clinton or Cornwallis would use me to wring concessions from Colonel Burwell, or throw me in the dungeon, to use me, to hang over his head."

"Your father is fiercely protective, Burwell says. Do you truly imagine Mr. Martin would not have come to the city to voice his outrage?"

"No," she said softly. "Of course he would have come. But still… I was scared. My imagination got the better of me."

"Hmm," he studied her frightened face carefully. "And this?" he shook the letter. "Would you have told me that Burwell had written to you?"

"No, I admit I wouldn't have told you - but William - there was nothing in it! Not anything about the war!" She cried, then continued in a small voice, "it was just an innocuous, harmless letter."

It was an effort to control himself, to not act on his fury.

"Innocuous. Harmless," he repeated coldly, his eyes blazing over hers frightening her to silence. "Innocuous. Harmless."

"I... I just - I don't see how you would have made use of it anyway," she said. She placed her hands out imploringly. "There was no information regarding his plans or..." She searched for the right words, "there was no Intelligence in it. He does not even stipulate where he is!"

"I see," he said, his tone became mocking. "You are a military person then, hmm?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Trained to read into the meanings behind words, are you?" He arched an eyebrow.

"No," she hung her head.

"No?" He prodded. "I did not think so. First of all, it is not for you to decide if an enemy missive holds anything of import. It is not for you to understand - your sole responsibility ends with the passing along of these letters, and all future correspondence you receive from Burwell, regardless of him being your fiancé," he spat. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," she said. She stared at her hands in her lap - they were trembling still.

"Secondly," he continued in a voice colder than the grave, "there happens to be plenty of important intelligence in this letter."

She glanced up at him with surprise and apprehension. His smile was chilling.

"Would you like me to tell you what I have learned?" He asked quietly. She swallowed. She did not want him to tell her, but she sensed he was going to regardless. "That Burwell is close by, for one."

"How could you possibly know?" She protested. He heaved an impatient sigh.

"He has visited your father, and his farm is nearby, is it not? On the Santee? He arched an eyebrow and Beth lowered her gaze again. It was too much for her, she had never seen him like this before. "Another point of fact? He has one hundred men with him, and that, Miss Martin, is vital information, whether you realise it or not. Further, he has spies within the city."

Beth frowned, trying to find the points that would connect him to this latest theory.

"Or do you think he used our post, to have it delivered to you?" He scoffed at his own quip but Beth remained silent, staring at her hands. "Oh, and that he loves you, of course. Let us not forget that," Tavington said. He considered her for several moments. "Do you love him Beth?" She raised her eyes, met his gaze. "All that talk of wanting to marry for love. And then I discover you were indeed considering marrying Burwell all along. So, do you love him?"

"No," she whispered. _I'm in love with you._ She left the thought unvoiced. He tilted his head to the side, studying her intently.

"Hmm..." He mused as he studied her. "Beth, do you know what I would normally do with a woman who has lied to me as you have, who is receiving enemy missive, who admits she would have concealed them?"

"Please, William -" Her eyes filled with tears but he cut her off ruthlessly.

"It's happened before, you realise? The usual punishment is that their homes are fired - burnt to the ground."

"Oh, no please!" Beth wailed - much like every other rebel woman he had dealt with who faced such punishment. "This is not even my home! Oh, Lord - I'm sorry! I was scared, I'm still scared! What will you do with this information - will you take me hostage? Oh, William..."

She began to weep in earnest but he remained firm, his cold eyes boring into her. Beth covered her mouth with a trembling hand and sobbed convulsively.

"I will not take you hostage Beth," he said finally. He waited for her to understand his words, waited until she calmed somewhat.

"Then what will you do?" She whispered.

"We shall discuss that later. For now, you will fetch me all of Burwell's correspondence. I assume there have been others?"

She nodded wordlessly, too afraid to even think of lying.

"Not since he left Charlestown, though," she said in a quavering voice. "All the other letters - they are old."

"I do not care how old they are. Where are they?"

"In a case in my chamber," she replied, wishing now that she had left that behind at Aunt Charlotte's, when she bought her belongings over to her uncle's. "I'll go and get -"

"We shall both go," he said firmly.

Beth swallowed - he could not be in her room! He could not..! But his gaze held hers steadily, implacably. Finally she nodded and rose from the chaise.

"I would not want any of the letters to suffer a mishap along the way," he continued as he followed her from the parlor. "My trust for you is thin right now."

Beth whirled to face him. And it was then that she suddenly remembered Gabriel's letter - the one informing her of Peter Cuppin's death. The one in which he laments his inability to visit the Cuppin's in person, when he would soon be only one mile away.

Protecting a gunpowder cache.

Powder that would soon be used to fire weapons aimed at the British.

Her face drained of colour and she swooned. Gods, having this sort of information would be devastating for her. If Tavington accused her of treason for holding back Burwell's letters - which held no plots and very little regarding the war - what would he say when he discovered Gabriel's - a letter which contained information about an actual mission?

Treason...

Tavington reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, stopping her from falling. As unsympathetic as he was toward her just now, he did not want her dropping to the floor and hurting herself.

As soon as she was steady again, he gave her arm a shove to get her moving.

Her legs trembled as she led the way upstairs to her room.


	11. Chapter 11 - Designs

_31__st__ May:_

Chapter 11: Designs

Tavington did not release his grip on Beth's arm. It started out as an attempt to prevent her falling to the floor if she swooned, but he quickly tightened his grip and was soon marching her up the stairs, through the corridors, all the way to her room. Once there, he gave her another small shove, released her arm and shut the door behind them with a firm 'click'.

Beth turned to him slowly, her face was pale and her hands trembled on her stomach. Her fears over what he would do when he discovered Gabriel's letter - with its damning intelligence, made her feel sick to her stomach.

He regarded her coolly with an unreadable expression. The words Burwell had written played through his mind over and over. Jealousy over the enemy Colonel began to reassert itself. Jealousy that Burwell had kissed Beth also.

"Well?" He snapped after a moments silence. He arched an eyebrow, not in the least bit moved by her obvious distress. "The letters!"

"They are in here," She dropped to her knees and began to pull a small case out from under her bed.

Beth rose to her feet and stumbled to her desk with the case. She was far more concerned about Gabriel's letter than any of the ones from Burwell. Her brother's letter had been in her possession for nearly a week, plenty of time to have shown it to Tavington, or another British Officer, if she had desired to.

She tried to calm herself, berated herself for over reacting. She had received the letter the same day she learned of Banastre and William's wager and she had been distraught both from that, and from learning of her friends death. Surely he would be sympathetic toward her, for not telling him?

Then she glanced again at his rock hard face and her anxiety increased. No - he would not be sympathetic. Not with the rest of his discoveries. He would drag out every bit of information he could from her, in order to find the powder cache, and when she was unable to tell him, he would demand to know where the Cuppin's lived.

She knew it was treason, that the powder would be used to fire weapons aimed at the British. And he would also be finding out that she had a brother in the Continentals, a thing she'd kept from him so far.

William had already accused her of lying to him. No, if he discovered Gabriel's letter, he would not be sympathetic. If anything, it would be the last straw for him. He would act on it, she felt it in her bones.

Why hadn't she burned it, for the Lord's sake!

Her hands shook as she opened the case, she saw Gabriel's letter at once. On top of the others, the last to be stowed away. She wanted to snatch it and throw it into the fire. If Tavington discovered it, at best she would lose her freedom, at worst... She could almost feel the noose tightening around her neck.

Perhaps she could sidle it from view while looking for Burwell's letters. She reached into the case for Gabriel's letter, but before she could lay a finger on it, Tavington was at her side. He leaned around her and dragged the case toward him. Wasting no time, he began his search.

Beth's heart pounded as she watched him, her eyes tracking his movements with horror. She barely stifled a gasp of relief when he placed Gabriel's damning letter aside on the desk before reaching into the case and snatching up another. The pile of discarded letters grew as he searched. Because Gabriel's letter had been the first in the case, it was now at the bottom of the discarded, untidy pile.

Burwell's letters began to form a much smaller pile on the other side of the case.

"There were seven, William, written over the last two years," she told him. "You have all of them."

He tightened his lips but otherwise ignored her. He continued his search, rummaging among the remaining letters; his trust for her thin. She was being truthful, however, he had found all of Burwell's letters. Without another glance at her, he took the letters and sat down stiffly on the edge of her bed to begin reading them.

Beth began to put the discarded correspondence back in the case. To her immense relief, he did not tell her to stop. Instead, he tore into the first of Burwell's letters, completely ignoring her as she tidied the others away.

She set aside all of Gabriel's letters, especially the most recent and damning. She picked them up and glanced over her shoulder at Tavington, but he was engrossed in Burwell's letters, his face dark, stormy, his eyes chips of ice.

Beth's knees felt weak, but he was not paying her any attention for the moment. She held Gabriel's correspondence in one hand, she straightened her arm alongside her body. As she stood sidelong to him, she was able to continue to place the more innocent correspondence, one by one, even as she slid Gabriel's letters into the pocket within her voluminous skirt.

To hide her relief, she moved away from her desk and walked over to her window. The view held no interest for her, but it allowed her to close her eyes and sway, without him seeing and becoming suspicious. She prayed that he did not notice that the case held three less letters than before.

No. He would not. And the letters were safe now and Beth finally felt the noose around her neck loosen.

* * *

Tavington glanced up as Beth started placing her letters back in the chest. He could feel her fear coming off her, could see her anxiety in the way she stood. Well, what did she expect? His lips twitched with irritation and he returned his attention to the letter in his hand.

Love letters, from Colonel Burwell. She claimed to not care for him, yet she had kept them all. Some of them were nearly two years old! Struggling to keep his rage and jealousy under control, he tried to focus on the task at hand. Which was to glean as much information as possible.

Yes, the letters were old, but still useful for all that. Burwell did not go into many details of the war, but what he did write was enough to solve some mysteries, some puzzles. It also gave him an insight into the enemy Colonel that he may never have had otherwise. He resolved to show the letters to Bordon, whose keen mind may detect important points that William had missed.

One thing was glaringly obvious to Tavington, now that he had read all of the correspondence. Colonel Burwell was indeed in love with Beth. Finally, after all this time of searching, Tavington had found Burwell's weakness. The question was, was Tavington ruthless enough to exploit it? There was his own growing affection for the girl to consider. He had been telling the simple truth earlier, he had come to care deeply for her. He'd even given her a means to escape from her dilemma, by insisting she agree that she had intended to give him the letter. That was what he would tell Clinton, when he showed the Commander and Chief the correspondence. That Beth was a good little Loyalist and had given him the letter as soon as he arrived.

As far as he was concerned, Beth owed him now. She would have to cooperate with him, in anyway he chose.

The question was, could he bring himself to use her against Burwell?

Or was she his weakness too?

He scoffed to himself. Like bloody hell.

The girl had been lying to him from the start! _And_ she admitted she would have held back Burwell's later letters.

"Beth, light a candle," he commanded.

She turned to him, startled. As well she would be - the room was quite bright enough with the sun flooding through the large windows. But he needed to determine just how deeply her betrayal ran; and for that, he needed her to light a candle.

"Pardon?" She asked weakly.

"Light. A. Candle," he repeated.

Very recently, the British had discovered that the Patriots had devised a way to send each other hidden messages, in plain sight. In letters supposedly for their loved ones, the rebels had been writing second messages, using invisible ink made of a solution known only to a small few. Burwell was sure to know of it, sure to use it.

The ingenious ink appeared only when held to a candles flame.

If such a message appeared on the latest letter from Burwell, then Beth would not be able to continue her claim that her involvement was happenstance; she would not be able to deny being a spy. Tavington would have no choice but to take Beth into custody at once and have her tried as such.

She seemed surprised by the request - not worried - which gave Tavington a measure of reassurance. Still, he would reserve judgement until he knew for certain.

Beth's hand trembled as she lit a candle. She handed the small sconce to Tavington, who immediately held the letter up to the flame.

"Are you going to burn it?" She asked, looking puzzled.

"No," he said, her confusion deepening his reassurance. If she were a spy, she would know why he was doing what he was doing. He waited as the parchment grew warm, careful not to get it too close in case he set it alight. After several moments, it became apparent that there was no hidden, invisible message.

Beth had returned to stand by the window, she gazed at him with a perplexed frown. He did not bother explaining, did not tell her how close she had just come to being arrested.

What he needed from her now, was her co-operation. A plan had begun forming in his mind, but to execute it, he needed Beth's compliance.

_She owes me. After this, she owes me so damned much_, Tavington thought as he bundled Burwell's letters and put them in his pocket.

"You're keeping them?" Beth asked over her shoulder, nodding pointedly at the bulge in his pocket.

"I do hope that is not a problem, Miss Martin," he asked her dangerously.

"Of course not, I... They're just old... There can be nothing in them of value, surely?"

He gazed at her coolly from the bed. "I dare say they are worth _your_ weight in gold, Miss Martin."

Ignoring her surprise, he stood abruptly and opened the case again, rifling through once more.

"What are you doing? You have the ones from Burwell."

He ignored her. Siphoning through the case, he checked over each addressee. Most of them were from other women, Margaret Martin, Anne Howard, Lucy Ferguson, Emily Emery. There were a few from other men, William began to question her about those.

"Benjamin Martin - your father, yes?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Your father who has pressed the issue of your engagement to Burwell, after you told me he would let _you_ have the choosing," Tavington snapped and Beth paled.

"Burwell kissed me," Beth said softly. "He has forced my father's hand."

"Your father," he spat, ignoring her, "who is a Loyalist, yet he entertains the enemy in his home during a time of war."

"Only for one night," she breathed. "As Colonel Burwell said, he did not stay, for fear of this very thing. That my father would be in trouble for it."

"For entertaining the enemy," Tavington replied, he turned his attention to the letter and read that part again. _I did not want him to be accused and punished for assisting the enemy, when his crime did not extend beyond the entertaining of an old friend._ Family ties and friendships were being tested by the war, which was turning neighbour against neighbour, brother against brother. Martin and Burwell were determined that that would not happen to them; their tie of friendship ran more deeply than their loyalty. Tavington knew this from Mark Putman, and it was evident again here, in this letter. Martin - a Loyalist - hadn't quartered Burwell in his home to help him, he likely did not consider it to be an act of treason. Still. Tavington would need to bring the matter up with Putman, perhaps he should encourage Putman to write to Martin, to explain that such indulgence would not be tolerated a second time. Martin should have sent for a British Patrol, he should not have housed the fellow in his own home.

"Your father has committed treason, too," William said to Beth and her face drained of colour. "I will take the matter up with Putman and Clinton, perhaps Clinton will be forgiving - as long as there is no repetition. It does not sit well with me, Beth, that your Loyalist father would offer his friend a bed for the night, knowing he is our enemy. He should have sent to us, to inform us."

"This is all so recent," she breathed. "How do you know he didn't?"

William snorted derisively. "And now he is gone from your father's home and our opportunity to seize the enemy has gone with it. We have very little tolerance for such, Beth. All we know is that Burwell is residing in some swamp. Do you know what that means?"

"What do you mean, what does what mean?" She asked, looking miserable.

"You silly girl, I'm asking you if you know where this swamp is!"

"Oh," she met his eyes. "Silly girl? You were not clear!" At his withering glance, she said, "I wouldn't have a clue - there are a hundred swamps out there, he could be anywhere."

"I would be careful of your tone, if I were you. The fate of your family hangs by a thread. That your Loyalist father did not come forward with the rebel Colonel's position when he had the chance - which in turn has made our task of finding Burwell that much harder - is condemning to say the least. Putman told me their allegiances deviated before the current conflict but they would stay stalwart toward their friendship for the future - for after the war. But this? In allowing Burwell to stay and not telling us where, your father is choosing a side, Beth!"

"No, no, he isn't. You mightn't believe it but you don't know that he didn't send word, letters go astray all the time - even you've said as much!"

He twisted his lips, then picked up another letter.

"Thomas Martin? Nathan Martin?"

"My brothers." She said, deflating.

William knew he was being overbearing, obviously anyone bearing the name 'Martin' would be a member of her family. There were no more letters from men outside of Beth's family and he abandoned that line of questioning.

"Very well," he sniffed and tossed the letters back into the case before turning to her. He continued in an officious tone. "Do you, or have you, received correspondence from any other Continental Officers?"

"No," Beth lied as carefully as she could.

"Colonel Burwell is the only Continental writing to you?" He raised his eyebrows in polite disbelief. "Your uncle informed me when first we met, that you were being courted by others. Do they not write to you?"

"No. I have no understanding with them - there is no reason for them to write to me." Which was true enough, she wasn't receiving correspondence from any former suitor - Gabriel could hardly be counted in that regard.

"Hmm," he mused over her words. So a few fellows came by and gave Beth flowers and attention - that didn't mean they would continue the courtship when they were gone, especially if they did not want to court the anger of their Commandant, by courting the woman he wanted to marry. He had no real reason to suspect otherwise.

Still, Beth was far from guilt free.

"We are done here, Sir," Beth said, distracting him from his thoughts. "You have what you came for and it is not proper that we remain alone in my bedchamber for any longer. Shall we?" She turned and began crossing the room toward the door.

Sudden fury flared over his face, that she could think she would simply walk away from this now. He threw the letters on the desk and reached out to grab her by the arm.

"We are not finished, Miss Martin!" He yanked her around her to face him.

"Sir!" She frowned angrily, no doubt about to give him a tongue lashing. But his face blazed above hers, she snapped her mouth shut and gulped.

"We have not finished," he repeated frostily, looming. "We are yet to discuss the matter of your involvement with Burwell."

"Can't we discuss it downstairs?" Her voice quavered.

"You have been lying to me from the start, Beth," he said, ignoring her request. "About so many things. But above it all, you never have told me that Burwell, an enemy to the Crown, was writing to you.**"**

Beth lowered her eyes and began to fidget her fingers, twirling them through her skirts. Holding her silence, she waited tensely to discover what his objective was, what he had in store for her. Clearly, he was not finished.

"Was Mr. Putman lying to me also?" William ground out. "He told me that Burwell had no attachment to you other than wanting a pretty bride to entertain him in his elder years. That Burwell was doing your father a favour in taking you. But Burwell is in love with you. Did your uncle lie to me, too?"

Beth's mind whirled, Gods, how could he discern so much from one simple letter? Her uncle was doing his utmost to try to pose as a Loyalist - one wrong word here could land him and his family in so much strife.

"Colonel Burwell has his pride, he knew I had… reservations. There was no certainty that I would accept him, therefore, he did not make his feelings widely known; he did not take my uncle into his confidence, Sir," Beth gave him another lie.

"Hmm. Very well. I can not ignore your guilt here - as I already told you, I've burnt the homes of Patriots for less provocation than this," his gaze held hers, watching as her face worked. "And then there is your father, who has himself committed an act of treason -"

"Colonel, please, my father -"

"I told you, the fate of your family hangs in the balance!" He snapped as she began to plead for her father. "If you wish to avoid such chastisement, you must co-operate with me now. In doing so, you will prove yourself Loyal and we might overlook what you and your father have done."

Fear for herself and for her father made her compliant. "Please, just don't... My father… I will cooperate. "

"Good. For I have a task for you."

"A task?" She asked softly. "What would you have me do?"

"Burwell has made his feelings known. His love for you. And his fears," he explained without releasing his hold on her arms. "That he has no means to protect you, so deep in our control. He states that if you feel threatened, or unsafe… He will devise a way to free you from the city, if he has to come for you himself…"

Beth frowned up into his pale gaze, a strong sense of foreboding built steadily in her stomach.

"If he believes you to be in danger, he will come for you himself," he repeated.

"Am I in danger?" She breathed.

"I haven't decided yet," he said frankly, then continued sternly, "it depends entirely on your willingness to co-operate. You and your father have put yourselves in this position, you have only yourselves to blame."

"What would you have me do?" She asked again, the not knowing was killing her, making her stomach writhe with nerves.

"You will write to Burwell, you will tell him that what he feared has come to pass; you have run afoul of me and you need him to come for you at once."

"Oh, no..." She shook her head and shuddered. "Please, Sir -" taking a step closer to him, her brown eyes pleaded and she placed her hand on his chest - an imploring gestures. "Please -"

"Sir?" Tavington repeated in a mocking tone. He leaned down and nuzzled his lips against her ear. After reading all of Burwell's correspondence earlier, after discovering Burwell loved her and that Beth was destined to marry him yet, William had felt his own claim to the girl slip. His fingers curled around her forearms, his grip iron, as he traced possessive kisses along her neck and shoulder. He'd been ready to let her go, earlier. Now, however…

_Mine_, his body expression was saying. _Mine_.

Beth did not struggle against him, though it confused her. She couldn't understand how he could ask her - no command her - to do such a heinous thing. To frighten her, to threaten her, to hold her captive with his fingers gripping her arms. And yet still kiss her like a lover... She swallowed and held still, stiff and frozen to the spot.

"What happened to _William_?" He whispered against her skin between kisses. "You said it so warmly before..."

"Well maybe, if you weren't so frightening right now, I would say it warmly again!" She gasped, near to tears. Her fingers clutched his Redcoat for support, her knees felt weak with fear. "Please, don't ask me to do this! I'm begging you -"

He shook her hard enough to make her teeth rattle. He was offering a way out of her predicament - for her and for her father - and she had the audacity to beg him on Burwell's behalf? Rage surged through him, making him lash out violently.

"Two years he has been writing to you!" He snarled down into her face. "Love letters, every single one and you have kept them all! If that is not a sign of your regard for him, I do not know what is! You said you did not care for him, that you refused him, yet here you both are, engaged to him!"

He shook her again, he could not help himself. Beth began to cry, she had never been treated so ungently before and it terrified her. Her head was spinning, lighted headed after being shaken so roughly.

"You beg me on his behalf?" his voice a low, menacing hiss, "You would protect him!"

She lowered her tearful eyes and sobbed quietly. Striving for calm, he continued in a milder tone.

"This is war Beth, pure and simple. As I have stated, if you wish to avoid such chastisement - for you and your family, you must co-operate, you must prove yourself Loyal."

"By betraying a friend?" She challenged, finally finding her voice again. "You stretch my loyalties to breaking point -"

"There is only one Loyalty, anything else is treason," he shouted. "I am in no mood to play, Beth. You will do exactly as you are told, or I will take you to the cells this very moment, and I will send for your father, for the same. Rebellion against the Crown is not a charge to be taken lightly!"

Beth's knees sagged. He tightened his grip on her arm, keeping her from falling to the floor.

"Now, now," he said compellingly. "I do not believe you're a traitor, Beth, though you have behaved in a traitorous manner. You made the wrong choice in holding back these letters - you must choose more wisely now."

Beth panted heavily, her knees still weak.

"And my father? Do you believe he is a traitor?"

"He has certainly behaved as such. But if you cooperate, I will be lenient."

As she began to cry, Tavington drew her closer, held her against his chest, and rubbed her back.

"I just have to write a letter?" She whispered finally.

A small smile quirked his lips. She had chosen the right path, as he had suspected she would.

"Yes, for now," he assured her.

"What am I to write?"

"That you have run afoul of the British, just as you feared. That he must come for you, in person, you will not leave with anyone but him, for you do not know who to trust."

Beth swayed and closed her eyes.

"And if he doesn't come?" She asked hesitantly.

"I promised you in his letter that he would, but it will be no fault of yours, if he does not. You and your father will be safe, if he does not."

She looked immensely relieved, but she was troubled still.

"What will you do to Burwell, if he does come?"

"Capture him," Tavington replied simply.

"Oh, sweet Lord," she breathed. Lord, a letter in her handwriting, summoning Burwell to his own capture. Oh, sweet Lord... "You want me to write it now?"

"No time like the present. We do not know how long he will be nearby in this swamp. Sit down." He still held her arm as she stumbled to her chair, she sat heavily at her desk. With shaking hands she pulled forth some parchment and readied a quill.

As she was dipping her quill in the ink pot, Tavington placed his strong, warm hand over her trembling one.

"Beth," he said gently from above her. "Calm yourself. You are near to panic and he will not be able to understand a word you write. Calmly, now."

As he waited for her to gather herself, he dragged a second chair over and placed it alongside the desk so he could sit facing her.

"What do I write?" She asked in a wooden voice when she had her parchment, ink and quill ready.

"You will need to get these main points across. One: that Colonel Tavington has discovered your engagement and it has put you in jeopardy, you have noticed that a watch has been put upon you and you fear we will do more. Two: That I have discovered your engagement has made you distrustful of others, therefore he must come for you personally. Three: If he agrees to come to you in person, you promise that the wedding will take place at the earliest opportunity."

"William! How cruel!" She closed her eyes and barely stifled a groan of despair. "Oh, dear God."

"God will not help you now, Beth. Only I can," he said bluntly. "Telling him you'll marry him immediately will lure him like a fly to honey. Fourth and last: You will stipulate the time, date and place for him to come and meet you."

"Where?" She asked and William was silent for a moment, as he considered his options.

He needed the help of a Loyalist he could be absolutely certain of and Benjamin Martin's assisting of Burwell had bought made him wary of bringing in his brother in law, Mark Putman, who also called himself friend to Burwell, after having served with him in the war fifteen years earlier. There were those Loyalists who were somewhat apathetic in their loyalty; those who weren't quite as committed as they aught to be. For the Martin's and Putman's to welcome this connection to Burwell, clearly they were that sort.

He needed to the assistance of the more overzealous sort, who would go above and beyond the all expectations.

Like the Simms family.

"You will tell him that you have received an invitation to dine with Mr. And Mrs. Simms this Sunday," he said. "You will write that you will be able to slip away for a short time, but you doubt you will be able to get any further without his assistance. Tell him you will be waiting at the gazebo near the ballroom, this Sunday, seven o'clock, at the Simms Plantation. You will tell him that you have accepted an invitation to dine with the Simms family will wait for him in the gazebo near the ballroom."

A look of horror grew on her very pale face.

"Oh, my dear Lord - you are setting up an actual tryst and you want me to be there!" She accused him.

"Of course it will be necessary for you to be there," he shrugged. How else could Tavington bring Burwell out of hiding?

Beth planted her elbows on the desk, lowered her head to her hands.

"He will need to see you, Beth, ready and waiting for him, before he reveals himself."

"And when he does, you will take him?" She whispered. "What will you do to him, William?"

"Worry for yourself and your father," he snapped.

She lowered her eyes from him and shivered.

"Begin!" He commanded harshly and Beth began to scribble across the parchment. After several attempts, and with additions made by William, she finally produced a letter that he approved of.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_Sir,_

_I received your letter this morning, thank you for sending it and allaying my fears for you. I have been quite worried that I have so far received no news of you._

_I wish I could tell you that I am well, but though I am so far unharmed, my safety is far from secure._

_It is as we feared, I have run afoul of the British, particularly of Lieutenant Colonel William Tavington, who has discovered your true feelings for me and our engagement. Indeed I regret wholeheartedly, my decision to remain in Charlestown. I should have run away with you when you gave me the opportunity. _

_Colonel, I desperately need to leave Charlestown, for I greatly fear Colonel Tavington's intentions. There has been talk of taking me hostage. Someone revealed our engagement, someone close to me, for only we few knew of it. And now Tavington is having me watched and I do not know who I can turn to, who I can trust._

_I beg of you, please, come for me. I vow that if you do come to me, in person, I will marry you at the earliest opportunity._

_I have been invited to dine at the Simms Plantation, outside the city, this Sunday evening. Tavington trusts them and does not feel the need to have them supervised, therefore it is the safest place for you to come for me, it should be an easy feat for you to spirit me away that place. I will make an excuse to leave the party and will be waiting for you at the gazebo at seven o'clock._

_I endeavour to be,_

_Your faithful bride,_

_Miss Elizabeth Martin._

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Tavington stared at the letter after reading it. Jealousy twisted his stomach, making him surly. He glanced up at her with pure fury and she leaned back from him, her expression perplexed.

"Did you mean it?" His voice was terrible, he saw her tremble but he was too far gone to care about her distress. He was being completely unreasonable, much of the content in letter was of his design. Still, he had never told her to tell Burwell that she regretted not running away with him!

"Mean what?" She asked carefully.

"That you regret remaining in Charlestown," fury clipped his words. "That you wish you had gone with him when you had the opportunity? Was that true? Would you have preferred to leave, so that you never would have met me?"

"No, of course not. I was just -" She cut off suddenly, his face blazing over hers frightening her to silence.

"I think you are lying, Beth," His gentle fingers stroking her face belied the violence in his tone. "I think you regret ever meeting me, I think you wish Burwell would rescue you from me."

"No," she shook her head, breathing heavily. "No, that is not true. William, you know how I feel about you."

" 'I endeavor to be your faithful bride?' " he spat. "Mine, Beth. You are mine - not his!"

This assertion surprised even William, but he did not retract it, deciding it was true. He did see her as his - not Banastre's, not that ridiculous Ensign Watson's and certainly not Burwell's. She belonged to _him_.

With wide and wary eyes, she swallowed.

"Say it!" He demanded harshly, needing to hear the words from her lips after reading her pledge herself to Burwell.

"I am yours."

A mere whisper, but it was enough. He leaned back in the chair and considered her for several moments.

"How do you feel about him?" William asked now. "The truth this time."

"I... I care for him," she began. His face darkened and she rushed on nervously. "As a friend, we've known one another a long time."

"A friend..?" He leaned in closer with a slight smirk of disbelief. "And do you miss him, your rebel Colonel?"

"I do not think of him all that often," Beth demurred.

He drummed his fingers on the table and Beth quailed under his scrutiny.

"And yet you did not allow him to leave Charlestown without hope that you would some day be wed. Would you leave me and marry him, if you were reunited?"

"You have no cause for all this jealousy William!" Beth cried. "I have to marry one day and you have made it abundantly clear that it won't be to you! And I've made it clear that I will not be your mistress! So unless you are proposing to me, there is no discussion! _Are_ you proposing to me?" She leaned in close, staring intently, throwing out the challenge again. She knew how he'd answer this time.

He tightened his lips, his face again a mask of stone.

"No, I didn't think so," she said bitterly and pushed away from the desk to resume her vigil at the window. "What would any sane girl do in my position? Reject a marriage to a man of Burwell's standing - not to mention wealth - in favor of being your _mistress_, until your head is turned by another?"

Fury flared within him, he rose quickly and closed the distance between them. "Who says my head would be turned by another, do you think me so inconstant?"

Beth parted her lips, his question startling her to silence. She had assumed he would be, it never occurred to her that he could be faithful to her... In the end she could only shrug. "I do not know you well enough to judge."- He eased his expression, it was true, they had only known one another for a few weeks. Beth continued speaking in a quiet voice. - "Besides, it matters not, if I would leave you to marry him. After this, no match between Burwell and I will ever be possible. He will never forgive my betrayal."

"Betrayal?" Tavington asked dangerously in a hard voice.

"As he would see it. He will not wish to marry me now, I assure you. I am deliberately leading him into a trap that will see him caught or... Or..." Beth faltered and she turned to face him. "William, he won't... You won't..."

"Kill him?"

She swallowed hard, he heard the gulp. Feeling pity for her, he forced warmth into his voice, preparing to lie through his teeth.

"Darling, nothing you do will cause harm to Colonel Burwell. He will be a prisoner, but a pampered one, for he is a gentleman Officer. He will be released at the end of the war."

She nodded, clearly relieved. "William, do I really have to be there on the night?"

"Of course you have to be, he will come to you -" Tavington stifled his jealousy, shoved it down, stomped on it - it had no place now - there was only duty. "Do not fear, I will get you away, safe and sound afterward."

"Gods, my father will be so angry with me."

"For helping to catch a rebel? Your uncle said that in this, the matter of your marriage to Burwell, Allegiance does not come into it. But your Loyalist father needs to learn otherwise. He should be proud, no matter how beneficial this marriage would be for your family - if you father wishes to advance, he should be looking for a wealthy Loyalist! If he takes you to task, you can inform him that he has already committed treason himself; in doing as you are doing, you are pulling both of you out of the fire!"

Beth was shaking, her breathing hard, fearful. "William... Please don't make me do this, I'm so scared."

Demand she do her duty on pain of punishment?

Or console her, chase away her fears? Tavington chose the latter. She had known Burwell too long to be expected to betray him without more assurances that the rebel Colonel would not be hurt.

He took both her hands in his.

"Everything will be fine, darling," he said as earnestly as he could. "Come, sweet Beth," he led her to the bed, sat down on the edge and pulled her onto his lap. "Everything will be fine," he repeated in a murmur, already moving his lips across hers.

To think, little less than an hour ago, he'd thought to leave and never return. Now, he was sitting on her bed, with her in his arms, kissing gently. It felt so good to hold her again, he realised it'd been pure folly, thinking he could stay away from her. Especially after the tension and strife of the last hour. She was his again.

"This needs to be done, many lives will be saved." More kisses, she began to melt against him though he could sense she was still tense, still fearful. "Service to the Crown... Will be rewarded..." _No, she is not the type to care for rewards_, he changed his tact, moving his lips to her neck. "You have shown yours and your families loyalty to the Crown." More kisses. "You and your family will have our gratitude. Your father should have handed Burwell in, you are righting that wrong. This war could be over far more quickly, with Burwell safely in hand." Back to her lips, she sighed and relaxed against him and he smiled to himself. She was his, she would do what was required of her. "Just think of it, the war over, everyone can go about their lives... No more farms destroyed, no more lives lost. You'll be doing a great service, my darling. To me, to the Crown, and to your country." He laid her down on the bed and covered her with his body, kissing her into submission. His hands drifted along her body and through her unbound hair. "You're so beautiful Beth," he murmured as he gazed down at her.

"So you've said," her voice was quiet, she brushed her fingers lightly over his face. "And you're the most handsome man I've ever known." He smiled complacently but she was not finished. "But you're also the most deadly... I will never be safe with you. I fear you will get me killed in the end, or flogged at the very least. You will prove my undoing, William."

"Silly Beth," he kissed her forehead, then took hold of her hand, kissing the tip of each finger in turn. She sighed as his lips moved to her palm, to her wrist. "As if I would do anything that would cause you harm. As if I would not protect you, no matter what."

"Do you swear it? You'll protect me, no matter what may happen? Vow it, William." She seized on the idea and her tone became demanding.

Tavington could not see the harm in it, he made the required vow.

"My darling, on my honor as an Officer and a Gentleman, on the blood in my veins, I vow I will always protect you, no matter what. May God forsake my soul, should I break my oath to you."

He knew he had said the right thing, for she finally relaxed in his arms and when he began kissing her slowly and deeply, she wrapped her arms around his neck with a sigh, the horrors of the morning seemingly forgotten.


	12. Chapter 12 - In the Enemies Lap

Chapter 12 - In the Enemies Lap

Beth knelt before her little hearth and fed another of Gabriel's letters to the flames, watching it blacken and shrivel until only ash was left.

Tavington's vow did very little to allay her concerns. For another hour he had lain with her on her bed, kissing. The Officer had seemed content with that, with the slow kissing and he had not tried to take it any further. And Beth had found it quite agreeable, though she was unable to set her fears aside entirely.

Her thoughts continued to linger on William as she placed another letter on the fire.

He had drawn away from her eventually, heaving a contented and aroused sigh. He told her he wished to lay in her arms forever, but he had pressing business at the Exchange that could be put off no longer. They had walked through the house together, she saw him to the front door where he kissed her a final time. He cupped her face with both his hands and stared at her intently with his piercing pale gaze.

"I do not have to tell you how important you are in my plans to capture Burwell, do I?" He had asked sternly.

"No, of course not," she frowned, uncertain of his meaning.

"Beth, I require you to be utterly discreet. You are to speak of this to no one - not even Mr. Putman."

Ah, _now_ she understood.

"Of course, I won't tell a soul," she lied.

He held her gaze for several heartbeats before leaning in closer, his expression menacing. "I am putting my trust in you, Beth. For your own sake and for your father's, do not fail me."

"I won't," her voice had been breathless, she heard the threat in his words.

After closing the door behind him, she had raced to her room, started a fire in the hearth, pulled Gabriel's letters from her pocket and began burning them.

Now, with the last one nothing but ashes, she moved on to her father's. Skimming through one of them she found there was nothing regarding the war, the letter was mostly benign. She continued skimming, and there at the bottom of the parchment her father had written news of Gabriel, her _Continental soldier brother_ and their friend Peter Cuppin. That letter went on the fire, along with a few others from her father.

Not that she expected William to return and demand she hand over the case. Nevertheless she had learned her lesson - it was better to be safe than sorry. Voices came from downstairs, Uncle Mark had returned, Aunt Charlotte with him. With a quiet gasp of relief, Beth jumped up and grabbed up a screwed parchment - it had taken her a few tries at drafting Burwell's letter before Tavington had been entirely happy with it. She rushed downstairs and was puffing when she reached the parlor.

Seeing Beth, Charlotte lost her composure. Where Beth had been expecting censure for running through the house, instead Charlotte gave a great squeal of delight, she rushed to Beth and threw her arms around her niece, hugging her tight.

"How wonderful! Oh, Beth - I am so pleased you've finally accepted your engagement. Burwell loves you well and will make an excellent husband. And he is wealthy - you will want for nothing. Dear heart! I am so desperately proud of you!"

Beth returned her Aunt's embrace. Mage was there also, standing beside Mark. All three of them wore wide, desperately pleased smiles.

"I quite agree. A good match indeed, Beth. Very good," Mark nodded sagely.

"We must continue to keep it strictly to the family," Mage said prudently. "Nothing has changed there - Beth is still in danger. Doubly so now."

"It's too late for that," Beth said, trembling all over. She turned to her uncle. "You have to get another one to Colonel Burwell, immediately," she said, voice filled with urgency.

"Why? What in the world happened?"

All of her anxiety of the morning welled inside her and it all poured out in a rush. William's discovery of Harry's letter, which he read despite her protests. That he now knew that Harry was in love with her, their engagement, his opinion that her father had committed treason, that the fate of her family now hung in the balance. His forcing her to write a letter summoning Burwell to come and rescue her. And the lingering threat underlying it all, that she might be taken hostage yet.

"How does he intend to get Burwell a letter?" Mark asked.

"He believes it will take some doing, but he is going to send a courier today, a fellow who will pretend to be a Patriot, who will ask the right questions until he finds Colonel Burwell himself."

The family had taken up positions on chairs and chaises in the parlor. Mark leaned forward in his and muttered to himself. "Damn and blast it." She heard him say.

"If this fellow can discover Burwell's position, why doesn't Tavington strike his camp?" Mage asked.

"I think they are learning our tactics," Mark replied. "He will know that descending upon the camp in force will be noisy and noticeable, Burwell could easily flee. This way, he lures Burwell to him and there will be no escape."

"I fear that Harry will come, if he thinks I'm in danger," Beth blew out an angry breath. Charlotte, Mage and Mark all exchanged fearful glances.

"I am going to take the matter up with Clinton -"

"Uncle, no," Beth protested. "Colonel Tavington instructed me to tell no one. If he knows I've told you, he will be wroth. I'm terribly afraid for papa, Colonel Tavington knows that papa let Harry stay the night. We've led Tavington to believe that papa is a Loyalist, but he did not behave very Loyal, when he did not report Harry's position to the British."

"He said that? That the fate of your whole family hangs in the balance?"

"He did," Beth said, feeling weak to her knees.

"You will have to appear to co-operate, then. And we will pretend to know nothing," Mark said to Mage and Charlotte. "I will get another letter on its way to warn Burwell immediately."

"In the meantime, what do we do?" Charlotte asked, her usually calm voice was high and thin with panic. "There's still the threat that Beth will be taken hostage. And now Ben is in trouble also. Beth said Tavington will take the matter up with Clinton - what does that mean, precisely? As we speak, the Dragoons could be heading out to capture Ben from Fresh Water."

"Now, let's just all calm down," Mark said, both hands patting the air, a soothing gesture. "There is no reason to think that Beth or Ben are in danger -"

"Tavington said -"

"What?" Mark scoffed. "That he would take you into custody? Gods, Beth, you've done nothing wrong. Nothing that can't be explained as an ignorant girls foolishness."

"Wonderful, thank you," Beth huffed.

"I'm not calling you ignorant or foolish, however if this was bought before Clinton as evidence - I would use that plea to have you freed. Beth, Tavington was exaggerating, he was trying to scare you, to get you to write that letter to Burwell. He isn't going to take you hostage. For what? Either Burwell will come to rescue you or he will not. If he doesn't, they will think he was not willing to risk himself after all - you will not get into trouble."

"Unless they discover that the reason he did not come was because Beth warned him," Charlotte said.

"And how will he learn that? From you? Mage, what about from you? Do you plan on telling him, Beth? For I surely don't and we four are the only ones who know that she is about to. And Burwell, when he receives the missive - I doubt very much that he will tell anyone. Let's not knee jerk to this, ladies. Tavington is trying to rattle you -"

"It worked," Beth sighed, allowing herself to calm somewhat.

"Yes, he does have a formidable carriage when he wishes to exert it. However, he was exaggerating."

"You've not addressed the danger to Ben, Mark," Charlotte said.

"They need Beth's assistance, to bring Burwell in," Mark waved his hand, an expansive gesture. "Beth, you will bargain with them - tell them they must forgive your father's lapse in judgement, or the deal is off."

Beth nodded slowly, realising she did have her own card to play, also. Dangerous to use it, though, when she and her father had already earned Tavington's ire. Still, it was something.

"I've spent much time in Clinton's company and more recently in Cornwallis'," Mark continued. "I have both of them wrapped around my little finger, Beth. And you are my niece. If Tavington did take you, I would have you freed within the hour. As for the threat to your father, I believe I will be able to nullify that, also. All these threats - at this stage, they aren't coming from anyone but Tavington. And he is just a Colonel, niece. I have the ear of _General's_."

Finally feeling relieved, Beth dropped back into the chair, heaving a massive sigh.

"How can you be certain that our letters will reach Burwell first?" Beth asked, her voice finally calm. "If the one I sent away with Tavington reaches him first, he might well believe it and might come as soon as tonight!"

"No, Beth. He doesn't know where to start looking for Burwell, he will need to do lots of digging, before he discovers which way to send his man. Whereas, I know precisely where Burwell is."

"How?" Beth asked, leaning forward again. "He only told me he was in the swamps - but that could be anywhere. A mile from here or one hundred."

Mark met Mage's gaze. The only person who knew of his continuing work for Burwell was Mage - his wife. He was a spy, for want of a better word, and it was imperative the secret stay close.

"He keeps in contact with me," Mark said.

"Beth can not be in Charlestown any longer," Charlotte declared. "We need to get her out of the city, Mark."

"No. No knee jerk reaction. No rash decisions. I do not believe it would be wise for Beth to flee Charlestown when Tavington has assigned her a task that he expects her to follow to the end. If she takes flight now, Tavington will pursue her, for it will be an act of treason. If she is caught, he will return her here and I will be hard pressed to keep her safe - I will have no influence over the Generals under those circumstance."

The women fell silent and Beth swallowed, hard.

"Colonel Tavington told me that if I get word from Burwell, I'm to tell him immediately. He said he will know, if I don't."

"Which means he intends to have you watched," Mark said. "No. I will not get Beth out of the city, not yet. In order to protect herself and her father, she must be seen to perform her task to the best of her ability, so that when she does leave, she can appear guilt free."

"Then when this is over?" Charlotte asked, voice tart. "I won't have her continually under threat here in the city - I want her home with her father, Mark, where she will finally be safe."

"When her mission is done, they will realise that Burwell will not risk himself for her. They will also assume that her betrayal of him will cause for him to end their engagement. Therefore, she will be of no further use to them, and she will no longer be under threat."

"Be that as it may, I want her gone from here. I want her out of Tavington's reach."

"I've told you, Charlotte. If he tries anything, I will go over his head to the Generals and they will set him back on his heels."

"I'm not speaking of that," Charlotte replied.

"Then what?"

Charlotte gazed at Mark first, then Mage, and finally Beth.

"He has been courting her, Mark. I have no idea why you've been encouraging it, but I do not like it one bit. Keeping Beth at your place, inviting Tavington for dinner, all those night time walks! And then there's Tarleton and Watson. All these British Officers! Beth is engaged to Burwell, she always was, even before she finally sent her letter. Why have you been allowing a connection to develop with them?"

"I've told you," Mark replied, eyes darting fleetingly to Mage. "If she is courted by those Officers, they would not believe rumours of her close connection to Burwell."

Charlotte's lips tightened. "Well, the truth is out now, Tavington knows and he is going to use our niece against Burwell, just as we feared. The cat is out of the bag, I see no further reason to keep up the ruse by allowing these courtships. I wish for them to stop."

Mark shared another glance with Mage.

"I do not believe that would be wise," Mage said to Charlotte. "When this is over, they will believe Beth to no longer be engaged. They will believe her to be free of commitments. Allowing British Officers to court her helps with this ruse we've created, that we are Loyalists. We are allowing for Brownlow and Dalton to spend time with Cilla, for that same reason. Charlotte, I feel precisely the same as you, of course. Tarleton is not here so we need not worry about him. Watson has proved to be a respectful young gentleman, I would not hesitate to permit him to court Cilla, if he had been inclined toward her. Tavington - well, I understand your concerns, I would very much like to see the back of him also. But he is quite intent on Beth and… well, it would look wrong, if we suddenly stopped him from courting her. We're meant to be Loyalists, we should be proud that a man of his rank would take interest in our niece. Added to that, to be honest, I wouldn't like to learn how he'd react, if we suddenly stopped him from courting her. I fear his wrath."

"His wrath," Charlotte said, voice flat. "First of all, I do not like Beth being used in this ruse - there was never any need for the British to believe we to be Loyalists - we could all have left the city and we would have been safe. There was no need to stay where we have to hide behind lies to protect us. If anything, such a ruse has put us in danger, for now Beth is to be used against Burwell."

"It was necessary," Mark said and Charlotte shook her head.

"So you've said, but you never explained why," she snapped.

Mark tightened his lips. He had stayed and pretended to be a Loyalist so he could ingratiate himself into the hierarchy of the upper British ranks, in order to spy for Burwell. That was not something he could explain to his sister, however, who had no idea.

"Secondly," Charlotte continued when no answer came. "Mark just said he can go above Tavington's head in almost anything except if Beth committed treason by fleeing at this time. If we are forced to stay now because of this task that he has set her, I fail to see how his wrath can truly harm us, if we put a stop to his courting of her. Let him vent and rage, I care not. I believe his continued courtship of Beth will prove far more damaging in the long run, than chancing his anger now if we stop him. As you said, he is quite intent on Beth and frankly, I fear that Beth has become intent on him, also."

"Aunt!" Beth gasped, shocked.

"Charlotte," Mark said. "Beth is going to marry Burwell. Tavington can be as infatuated as he damned well likes, he will not have his aspirations with Beth realised. And I doubt very much that Beth is fool enough to be infatuated with him after his conduct toward her with that wager."

Beth hung her head, tears springing to her eyes. Gods, the wager. Yes, she should despise Tavington, she should certainly not be infatuated with him. Yet she had laid on her bed with him, kissing him, relishing his touch, his scent, his warmth, his very presence, and now was despairing because he was gone.

She was a far greater fool that her uncle gave her credit for.

"Then stop the courtship," Charlotte said. "And if Tavington complains, then go to Clinton, tell him what his little underling had intended to do to our niece. Use your influence with the Commander and Chief to stop any temper tantrums from the Colonel, have him reeled in!"

Mark heaved a frustrated breath. He questioned Beth after each encounter with Tarleton and Tavington; she had no idea he was spying through her, but he was and he learned so much from her. Mage had seduced Bordon and in doing so, she gained a decent wealth of information from him between the sheets; but Tavington was where the true intelligence lay. However, it would be courting trouble and was far to risky, for Mage to try to seduce Tavington, as well. If Bordon found out, he might become jealous, or worse - suspicious. They did not want to press their luck. It was Providence alone that put Beth in Tavington's path and Mark was loathe to give up such an excellent source of intelligence. "I can protect her from Tavington, Charlotte, but I will not make him an enemy."

"He already is," Charlotte spat, lurching to her feet. She crossed the parlour to the sideboard, where she poured herself a glass of whiskey and drank it back in one gulp. Beth's eyes bulged. In a milder tone, Charlotte said doubtfully, "if you believe you have the situation in hand, then I will have to trust you."

"I have the situation well in hand, Charlotte," Mark replied. A smile crossed his face. "I could use one of those too, if you don't mind."

Charlotte inclined her head. She poured another for herself, and for Mark and Mage. Nothing for Beth, of course. Charlotte returned to her seat, glass in hand. "Very well, if this must happen, we must prepare. Beth - you will need to be very careful of your behaviour on the night. Tavington told you to keep this little… rescue… to yourself, it is imperative that he not learn that you sent warning to Burwell. Tavington will be expecting Burwell to come, you must pretend as though you expect it also. And at the end of the night, when it's clear Burwell is not going to come, how do you think you should react?"

"I… well, Colonel Tavington knows I don't want to do this. He knows I am worried about how Burwell will be treated if he is caught. If I didn't know that Burwell wasn't coming, if I was expecting him to come and he doesn't, I think I would act… relieved. Or maybe a bit hurt, that he didn't come to rescue me despite the danger I told him I was in."

"Yes, I like that," Charlotte replied. "You must show no guilt, nothing to give away your involvement. Be puzzled, you simply can not understand why he did not come for you."

"Yes, that's perfect," Mage said, agreeing.

"We shall discuss this in depth over the next few days," Mark said now. "We have the Simms ball soon as well," he tightened his lips, vexed.

"Should we be concerned about the ball?" Charlotte asked. "Perhaps we should not go?"

"Oh, Beth is going alright," Mark replied. "What you've been doing this week, Beth, this avoiding of Tavington, that stops now. When he comes to call, you will make yourself available. At the ball, you will spend as much time with him as he wishes. You must do all you can to make him believe you are on side with him."

"Yes, uncle," she said, her shoulders slumping.

"Please write your new letter to Colonel Burwell and I will see it on its way."

Beth rose and moved toward the writing desk. "He asked me if you lied to him, uncle," she warned. "You told him that Burwell doesn't care for me beyond wanting a decoration to parade about, that he was only going to marry me as a favour to his oldest friend. That he did not love me. Only now, Tavington knows that is not true and he asked if you lied to him."

"And how did you answer?" Mark asked.

"I told him that Burwell understood that I was unsure of our attachment and to avoid embarrassment, he was discreet in his feeling for me. I told him you did not know, that Burwell did not take you into his confidence."

A slow smile crept across Mark's face. "That was quick thinking, Beth. Well done, well done indeed."

She smiled shyly, flushing from the praise. "He said papa should be looking for a rich Loyalist for me to marry, rather than a rich Patriot."

"It's none of his business," Mark curled his lip.

"I'm just telling you what he said," Beth replied.

"And who is the lucky _oh so wealthy_ Loyalist? Let me guess, Tavington himself?" Mage scoffed.

"No, he does not wish to marry me," Beth said, struggling to get the words out. "He has made that abundantly clear."

"Besides, he can not have been meaning himself, he doesn't have two groats to rub together," Mark laughed. "His father and grandfather squandered the Tavington fortune and now he must marry money in order to advance. And as he believes Beth to have none of her own…" He left it hanging and Beth's stomach dropped, it left her feeling sick, that lies they told have pretended her from marrying the man she loved. And that the man she loved would only have married her, if he knew she was wealthy. "You were right to tell me, Beth, I thank you. Now, write the letter so I can get it on its way," Mark said, oblivious to her conflict.

When she reached the door, she turned back to her family. "He also told me that when papa's letter comes, I'm to show it to him. And any correspondence I receive from Burwell, also."

"Don't you worry about that, Beth. I'll take care of everything," Mark said and Beth withdrew from the parlour.

* * *

Deep in the heart of Hell Hole Swamp, Colonel Burwell glanced up from where he sat at the table, when Mrs. Jenkins entered. A young widow, she had remained in the Continentals employ after her husband died in battle several months ago. The two exchanged a smile and she went about her work, replenishing the Colonel with fresh candles, before giving the tent a tidy.

Burwell watched her for a moment - a pretty little thing she was, a young mother in need of the security of the Continental force. The Colonel didn't begrudge her continued presence in the camp after her soldier husband's demise. She worked hard, helping with the wounded in the medical tents. She also helped with the sewing, mending, cleaning, even cooking. There were not enough women in camp and the Lord knew they were needed to perform these functions. And of course she was sharing his bed...

He turned back to his own task, reading reports regarding various aspects of the camp. So far he had managed to evade British detection. When the British took Charlestown, they captured five thousand Continentals, soldiers and Officers. One thousand escaped the city, fleeing in small bands in all directions. He had the difficult task of establishing contact with them all now, in order to bring them back together. No easy feat, when he and his one hundred were themselves in hiding.

That they continued to remain in concealment was paramount. He had managed to seed Cornwallis and Clinton with false reports regarding his position, the British Commanders believed he and his Continentals were miles away - close to the North Carolina border, where General Gates was purportedly positioned.

Harry glanced up again when the cabin door opened and another person entered. Lieutenant Gabriel Martin saluted.

"As you were," Harry commanded and Gabriel relaxed. "It's late to be receiving missives," the Colonel continued, nodding at the missive in Gabriel's hand.

"Sir," Gabriel said, passing the letter over. "It's from Beth, I bought it to you immediately."

"My thanks," Burwell replied. "That was quick - she would have only received my letter yesterday. Stay, lad, she might have news you wish to hear."

"I'm not certain it will be good news. The courier rode his horses near to death," Gabriel explained anxiously. "He said he left just before lunch and he had instructions to ride hard and fast, resting the horses only as necessary. He is getting a feed at one of the fires now."

"Indeed?" Burwell's eyes were wide when he met Gabriel's gaze. "Your Uncle has placed some urgency on this letter, it seems. Mrs. Jenkins - will you excuse us?"

"Of course, Sir." When the widow left the tent, Burwell began to read to himself. He was barely a paragraph in when a slow smile spread across his face and a warm glow across his stomach. He lifted his eyes, met Gabriel's. "Well, your father can stop his harassment of us both, your sister has confirmed our engagement."

"She has?" Gabriel gasped, smiling his first true smile in days. "Why, that's wonderful, Sir!"

"Indeed it is, Lieutenant, indeed it is," Burwell said, grinning and feeling utter bliss as he read through Beth's letter. He set it down, sat back on his chair, and basked in the glow. "It wasn't enough for me, your father telling me we're engaged, as if that was an end to it. I wanted Beth to accept me all on her own and she has. She says she hasn't received your father's letter yet, which tells me that she's marrying me of her own accord, not because her father has browbeaten her to it. Lord, I had hoped for this. Prayed. Your sister is to be my wife."

"You sound like you can't believe it," Gabriel chuckled.

"I don't. I can't. I'm stunned. Beth will be my wife. Gods, I'm the luckiest man in the world! Look here, she has signed it - your devoted fiancé. Gods, Beth is going to marry me!"

"Congratulations, Sir, I hope my sister does not plague you too greatly," Gabriel said, holding out his hand. Burwell shook it, a silly - dreamy - smile on his face.

"Thank you," he paused, adding, "I will endeavour to do my best to deserve her. Brother."

Gabriel's eyes widened. "Lord, yes, we will be brothers."

"And I'll be your father's son in law," Burwell gave a mock groan. "Lord, Benjamin's son in law. Perhaps I didn't think this through!"

"Too late to back out now," Gabriel grinned.

"Most certainly. And for the world, I would not," Burwell sighed. "A drink, brother. We need to celebrate."

_And I'll have to tell Mrs. Jenkins she won't be coming to my bed after all,_ he thought as he poured a glass for himself and for Gabriel - his soon to be brother.

"We'll need to return to Fresh Water first thing tomorrow morning - our _father_ will need to be told," Burwell said, grinning. Gabriel laughed.

"He's going to have a lot of fun with that one, Sir," Gabriel said and Burwell groaned again.

The two settled in to their own little private celebration; the engagement was to be kept secret, no one outside the family was to be told, not even Burwell's men.

They night wore on and Burwell was considering retiring - alone - when a second letter from Beth arrived. Burwell, joking to Gabriel, said that perhaps Beth had seen sense after all. He tore into the letter, his amusement fading rapidly.

"Christ!" Fear flooded through him, startling him into cursing aloud.

"She hasn't, has she?" Gabriel asked, his face filling with dread.

"What? Oh, no. Gods, Colonel Tavington knows that I am in love with Beth and that we are engaged."

"How the devil did he find that out? It's barely been a few hours since her first letter arrived!" Gabriel gasped.

Burwell continued to read, to discover how. "Your uncle told me that Tarleton, Tavington, and a fellow called Watson, have been courting Beth," he said to Gabriel, who drew back, stunned. "He's allowed the courtship thus far, for two reasons. The first reason, rumours were circulating about Beth and I, and it was his belief that if she was being courted by British Officers, then people would be less inclined to believe that there is a continued attachment between Beth and I. The second reason, it gave him freedom of movement, it made the Officers think he is a Loyalist, which has in turn given him Clinton's ear," Burwell drew in a shuddering breath. "But here there is the backlash to this supposed courtship. After reading my letter, Beth was taking a nap in the parlour, she woke up to be told that Tavington was there, calling upon her. He was admitted to her immediately, leaving her no time to hide the letter, which she had left on the table at her side."

"Oh Jesus," Gabriel groaned.

"He asked her if she had word from home, she let him believe it was from your father. She said reached for the letter to put it away, but was so nervous that instead, she knocked it to the floor. Being helpful, Tavington picked it up, only to see my name written across the back."

"Damn and blast it."

"I should never have written to her. Would that I had waited, your father was going to write anyway, there was no need for me to do so as well," Burwell lamented. "I should not have put my name on the back. What the devil was I thinking?"

"Why in the world would you imagine that Tavington would walk in right at that moment?" Gabriel asked. "You are not to blame. What does she say, is she alright? What is happening?"

"Gabriel, I told her that we stayed at Fresh Water. He knows that your father housed us and is now accusing Ben of treason. And Beth, for receiving an enemy missive. He is going to use her as a lure to capture me and has demanded her compliance, hers and her father's freedom being the hook to force her to it."

He handed Gabriel the letter and with trembling hands, the youth began reading.

"Select twenty men," Burwell said when Gabriel finished. "We ride to your father tonight."

* * *

"Christ almighty," Benjamin muttered.

"Christ almighty," Burwell agreed.

"What are we going to do?" Gabriel asked, frantic with worry.

They were seated in Benjamin's parlour, the windows were open but the cool night breeze did little to relieve them. Every candle and lantern was lit in the chamber, though the hour was late and the rest of the house was asleep. Benjamin had been also, he'd been woken to receive his panicked visitors and he received them in his banyan and bare feet.

With Beth's letter was one from Mark also, describing the issue in as much detail as possible, and all he intended to do to fix it.

"So. Tavington knows that there is a letter on its way, from me. Mark is going to withhold it and write another in its place to show to Tavington. Mark is going to write it as if it's from me, and he will pretend that I am a good little Loyalist," Benjamin curled his lip. "Personally, I think he should word it so that my allegiance is not revealed, either way. But I will leave it to Mark to determine. If I have to pretend to be a Loyalist, then so be it. I have to do something to keep my arse from the fire, and Beth's. Besides, Mark's work is important, or so Harry tells me."

"It is," Burwell agreed. "I assigned him the task myself."

"Then a good little Loyalist I shall pretend to be, so that your uncle does not come under suspicion. And to keep Tavington at bay. It's not going to be easily accomplished now though, with Tavington learning I housed the enemy and thus have committed treason. Damn and blast it though, what was Mark thinking, getting Beth involved?"

"I already explained that," Burwell said. "Mark felt it necessary to encourage the courtships so that -"

"People would forget all about you and Beth. Yes, I know. But it's that very courtship that had Tavington call upon her, it's that very courtship that has allowed him to discover the full truth! What the devil are the odds, aye? That he would show up, the same day Beth receives a letter from you? Filled with love and adoration and all that ridiculousness."

"Hardly ridiculous. You were no better when it came to Mrs. Martin, I remind you."

"Yeh, well. No one was going to toss Betsy into prison, for marrying me, aye?" Benjamin shot back. "Why didn't she put the damned letter away?"

"I don't know. She clearly wasn't expecting him - as you say, what are the odds? Circumstances were against us, I'm afraid," Burwell shrugged. "I shouldn't have put my name on the back. I shouldn't have written at all. This is not her fault, Ben. "

"No, it's not. It's no one's fault," Benjamin sighed. "So. You're now expected to swoop in and rescue her from the Simms', this Sunday night. What are we going to do about that, aye?"

"You need to get a letter away to the city, one that Tavington will find… Palatable. And less damning for you. And I need to get away from Hell Hole Swamp, so that his courier doesn't convince the Patriot grapevine to allow him to find me there. Mosquitoes and alligators aside, it's a damned good campsite and I'm loathe to abandon it."

"I told you so," Benjamin said. "Well. The cat is out of the bad, there's nothing we can do about that, except use it. We can turn the tables on this Tavington…"

"How?" Gabriel found.

"By sending a whisper down through the Patriot grapevine, that will send any fellow asking for Burwell to a location of our choosing. Once we have the fellow in hand, we can send him back to Tavington with all sorts of incorrect information."

Burwell smiled, nodding. "Yes, yes, we can…" He paused, cocked his head. "We?"

"I meant 'you'. Not me. I'm a good little Loyalist now, remember? A proud Kings man. Mark has told me so."

Burwell rolled his eyes heavenward.

"I was worried for a bit, but I think you're right," he said to Benjamin. "I've allowed Clinton and Cornwallis to believe I'm up at the border. Tavington knows differently now - therefore the General's know differently. This - this driving of his courier to me - will give me the opportunity to tell him the bulk of my force is indeed deep in North Carolina. Perhaps I'll say that we had a mission to carry out here but are well on our way from the south, to join my men."

"And other things," Benjamin agreed.

"Ben, I need to get Beth out of there," Burwell stated firmly.

"Sir," Gabriel hesitated. "You read Uncle Mark's letter, he advises against such a move at this time. I agree with him, if we try to have her removed from the city now, with Tavington setting this task upon her, the repercussions for Beth and my father could be dire. She needs to remain, to see this rescue through to the end. We will have to trust in my uncle to keep her safe."

Burwell tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair.

"He is right," Benjamin said. "And Mark, too. Tavington is already accusing her of treason - that will be confirmed if she flees the city after promising to help to lure you in. We dare not do anything drastic yet."

Burwell knew it was true, he could cause Beth and her family more problems if he intervened now. Benjamin could be taken into custody, his home burned to the ground…

"It's better that Beth come away with a clean slate, after Sunday," Gabriel continued. "I understand your concerns, Sir. But we must err on the side of caution."

"Yes, yes," Burwell tightened his lips. "I know. Just the thought of her being there - in his clutches! It's my worst nightmare! How the Devil did this come about?"

"She explained how," Benjamin said lightly. "Do you want me to read it out to you again?"

"It was a rhetorical question," Burwell sighed. "That dry humour of yours will be your undoing someday, Ben. Aren't you even slightly worried?"

"I'm quaking in my damned boots," Benjamin said honestly. "This is my little girl we're talking about and I'm bloody terrified. But the only thing we can do is move our pieces on the game board and hope like hell we win this little game we're playing with Tavington. I'll do as Mark said, I'll write a new letter and he will burn the first one. And I will put it out to the Patriots to lead Tavington's man to you, and you will do all you can to seed him with the bullshit you choose to seed him. And pray. We'll have to do lots of that in the coming days. What are we to do in the meantime? Wring our hands and cry like old ladies? Or deal with this head on?"

"Deal with it head on," Burwell sighed. "I know that, Ben."

"Good. You know me, Harry. I joke as much when I'm worried as when I'm not. It helps to relieve the tension."

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest… I know you're worried. I am also."

"I'll start making contact with those who can help us," Benjamin said, accepting Burwell's apology - they were all a little tense right now.

"And I'll ride out with the score I've got with me. Tell your people to send Tavington's spy to Nelson's Ferry, I'll make camp and await him there."

"We're riding out now?"

"There's not a moment to lose. Tavington's Loyalist spy will be under the same instructions as Mark's couriers, to reach me with all possible haste. He will ask questions of those he believes to be Patriots, and I need those Patriots to know to send him to Nelson's, not to Hell Hole Swamp or we'll have to move camp completely."

Burwell sat back in his chair, his emotions rioting inside him. Fear for Beth, fury at Tavington, anger at himself for writing that letter and for bloody signing it like a God touched fool. For not insisting she leave the city with him when he proposed to her in the first place.

Above all, however, was intense pleasure, that he and Beth were officially, if secretly, engaged.

* * *

Colonel Burwell and a score of men, including Gabriel, settled in at Nelson's Ferry, to wait for Tavington's spy to be directed to them by the network of Patriots.

Near to dawn, the sentries reported that a rider was approaching. Though Burwell wanted to string the bastard up from his toenails, he allowed the spy - who introduced himself as Ethan Cooke - to make camp with them, even shared his breakfast, as though he believed the Loyalist to be a Patriot comrade.

Burwell had instructed his men to sit around the camp fires and pass a flask or two of whiskey about while chatting freely with the spy. After Cooke handed Burwell the letter, he left the men to do their bit, while he himself sat a little further away to read the letter Tavington had forced Beth to write.

Back at the campfire, Gabriel eased himself to the hard, cold earth and leaned back against a log. The fire burned cheerily before him, he gazed across it to study the spy. Gabriel didn't name himself, it was better that the British were not aware that there was a Martin serving as an Officer in the Continental's.

"Was it a rough ride then?" Gabriel asked the man politely, giving the pretence of good will. He passed the spy the whiskey flask.

"There's nothing like riding all night in this weather!" Cooke grunted. "Still, at least it was cooler, it would have been much worse during the day. I was sent on quite a goose chase, some Patriots I asked thought you were twenty miles down the Santee from here."

"We were, but we didn't linger," Gabriel said. "Nor did we see fit to tell the locals we'd gone - we're trying to be careful to avoid British detection, so a little misdirection is needed at times. Though it does make it harder for couriers like yourself to get through to us."

"Yes, it did make it harder to find you," Ethan admitted. "But I don't mind overly much. I'm just happy to get out of the city, it's good to get away from all those damned Lobsterbacks."

The Continentals all laughed appreciatively, Gabriel included. He turned to a comrade - Joshua Howard. He had known Joshua all his life and was deeply in love with Joshua's sister, Anne Howard. Now was the time to start seeding the spy with the information and diversions that had been decided upon earlier.

"I'll be glad to be out of South Carolina," Gabriel said. "I feel naked out here with all the Lobsters. As you can see, we're too few and with no reinforcement, we're in a very dangerous position."

Ethan Cooke gaped, looking quite shocked.

"I agree," Joshua shuddered. "We have to find a way to get around Bloody Ban, though. We hear he's up near the border, which is precisely where we need to go. He has some where upward of eight hundred in his Legion now, he'd make short work of our score. He'd annihilate us."

"He sure would. Well, we've come this far without British detection," Gabriel said. "That's the upside of traveling in such a small band - we can move quietly, without detection. We'll get past Tarleton and will be back with Gates in North Carolina before you know it."

"It's just you then?" The spy nodded toward the twenty or so Bluecoats. Cooke spoke casually - showing no hint of being the spy that he was, but he couldn't keep the shock from his face. "There's only what, twenty of you? I thought there was closer to one hundred."

"After that battle we had against Tarleton up at Waxhaws, we've suffered desertions," Joshua shrugged and took a swill of whiskey.

"Gods. So that's all that made it out of Charlestown when we surrendered?" Ethan asked, sounding incredulous.

He spoke the 'we' seamlessly, even Gabriel would have thought the fellow a Patriot if he didn't know any better.

"There were two hundred of us to start with," Gabriel said, for it didn't sound credible that no others escaped. His job now was to hide the fact that nearly a thousand did. "But half of us were captured by Tarleton at Waxhaws and as he said, the rest deserted," he jutted his chin at Joshua. "Others might have gotten out of the city, but I've no idea where they might be or how many. We sent out the call days ago to call them in, but none have answered and we dare not linger any longer to wait for them. By my reckoning, aside from us, I doubt there's more than a hundred Continentals escaped from the city. The rest were caught and are now dying in the holds of those British ships in the harbour."

"Well, that… that's a disaster," Ethan Cooke said and Gabriel nodded, as if sharing commiseration.

"It's just us," Gabriel said, gesturing to the score of Continentals, "a few stragglers might come in, if they can find us. Hopefully if any others escaped, they have enough sense to make their way to the border."

"You said you're not going to wait any longer? Is that what you've been doing here, then?" Cooke asked and Gabriel nodded. Burwell's presence here was now explained and they had led Cooke to believe there were far less Continentals in South Carolina than there were.

"What about Rutledge, did you get him to safety? Where he is?"

"Governor Rutledge parted from us weeks ago," Gabriel said. "He got away safely, not sure where he is now, though."

"Ah, yes, let us hope. And so you are leaving now?" The spy ventured carefully. "Shouldn't you wait here a bit longer?"

_So you can have enough time to tell Tavington where we are? _Gabriel thought, amused.

"There has to be more Continentals," Cooke said. "Surely you haven't given them time enough to reach you? How did you send out the call to summon them in?"

_Nosey little bastard, aren't you? _Gabriel thought. "The Patriots," he replied, wondering if Cooke would ask for names. That would be a bit obvious, Gabriel wouldn't request such details if he were in Cooke's shoes. "We sent word through the Patriots to help any Continentals to find us here, but as I said, none have come. So we'll send new instructions now, for them to meet us at the border. Perhaps we haven't given them enough time to reach us, but we dare not tarry here any longer. We're going to strike out this morning for North Carolina, to join General Gates," Gabriel lied again.

Burwell had been watching from where he sat apart from them as the soldiers continued to talk. When the boys had seeded all of the predetermined false information, he made his move. He had read Beth's letter - the one Tavington had forced her to write. And so his rage - his fury - was not feigned.

"I'll kill him!" Burwell suddenly exploded, jumping to his feet. "The Butcher dares to threaten her?"

"What's happened, Sir?" Gabriel asked with just the right amount of astonishment and apprehension.

"Tavington! He's threatening Miss Martin! She has written to me," he held up the letter, "begging me to come to her rescue!" He began striding purposefully across the small clearing, toward his horse as though he intended to ride to Charlestown and rescue Beth on the moment.

"Sir!" Gabriel Martin and two other lads grabbed the Colonel and hauled him back, giving a good show of panic and drama. "You must not be so hasty!"

"I shall ride into Charlestown this very moment. She is in danger and I must win her free immediately!" He bellowed. The spy watched it all apprehensively.

"With respect, Sir - let's be calm about this!" Joshua begged. "What does the letter say?"

"That she has run afoul of Colonel Tavington. That she doesn't know who she can trust. She has managed to secure herself an invitation to the Simms family Plantation this Sunday. She said she will make an excuse during dinner to leave it and she will head directly for the rotunda, while everyone else is otherwise occupied. That if I am able, I am to meet her there at seven o'clock, for she can get no further without me. It is a sound plan, but I shall not wait! I will -"

"Sir! You could be captured if you march in now!" Gabriel protested. "By the time you get there, it will be daylight I doubt you could enter Charlestown easily! This needs careful discussion and planning!"

"Very well," Burwell said stiffly. He had given quite a good account of himself, he was certain. It was time to allow his men to 'calm' him down. After a short while, Burwell turned his gaze to the spy. "How did you come by this letter?"

"Miss Martin gave it to me, Sir," Cooke began to recite Tavington's pre-arranged story, ready to lie through his teeth. "We met a week ago at a picnic and she has grown to trust me. She's right scared, she is. And the Butcher - he's breathing down her neck, threatening to take her into custody. She told me she just wants to get out of Charlestown so she can be with you, Sir."

Burwell tried to control his fury - this fellow had probably never spoken to Beth in his life! His words were Tavington's words, carefully designed to manipulate, to make him fearful for Beth, and stirring within him a need to be heroic, both of which were supposed to urge Burwell to act rashly. Whether Beth wanted to be with him or not was not the question. Beth would never put him in danger merely so she 'could be with him'.

"My men speak sense. I shall give you a letter to carry back to Miss Martin," Burwell informed the man. "I will do as she requested and instructed in her letter, to the word."

"You'll come for her in person?" Cooke asked. "She is very afraid, Sir. She doesn't trust anyone else."

_Yet here you are, supposedly trusted enough by Beth to carry a letter from her. _Burwell felt like slapping the bastard.

"I shall," he said. "On Wednesday at 7pm, in the rotunda at the Simms Plantation outside the city. Memorize those words, for I dare not commit them to the letter, in case you are intercepted."

"Of course, Sir, very wise. Wednesday, 7pm. In the rotunda at the Simms. Miss Martin will be real relieved, Sir."

"I won't be happy until I have her safely out," Burwell said - which was true enough. He turned to his men and they began speaking openly of the plan change, discussing the details while the spy listened on, committing it all to memory.

"We'll leave for North Carolina as soon as I have Miss Martin safely in hand," Burwell said. "I'll take her with me to North Carolina and we'll be married - as she has promised in her letter."

"Congratulations, Sir," the soldiers clapped him on the back and drank and toast to the Colonel's coming nuptials. There was something ridiculous about that; the soldiers pretending to congratulate Burwell on his upcoming marriage was all part of the plan to dupe Ethan Cooke, but Burwell was engaged to Beth in truth, though except for Gabriel, the soldiers knew it not.

"Sir, I will you be camped here in the meantime?" Cooke asked as he was mounting for the return trip to the city. From the saddle, he added, "in case anything happens to Miss Martin between now and then. I might need to reach you quickly."

_You'll descend upon us with Tavington's Dragoons, more like. _"I dare not stay in the one place for long," Burwell said. "It is not ideal, but I shall make certain that your name is put about as one to be trusted, so you can be directed to me without the misdirection."

"Thank you, Sir," Cooke said after a moment's disappointment.

Burwell had the feeling Cooke had improvised just now, that he'd hoped to return to Tavington with confirmation as to Burwell's whereabouts for the next week, in the hopes that Tavington could capture Burwell all the sooner, so he could get the accolades.

With his head full of lies and misinformation, Cooke left the small Continental camp bearing a letter to 'Miss Beth Martin'. As soon as the fellow was gone, the Patriots mounted and abandoned camp, in case Tavington was indeed waiting not far away.

"Disaster averted, Sir," Gabriel commented to Burwell who rode at his side. "That fellow has no idea we were forewarned."

"No, he doesn't,' Burwell replied. "You realise how close we came to discovery, don't you? That spy was damned convincing, I would not have suspected him myself - especially bearing a letter from Beth. Patriots have been sending him straight to me with his flashing that letter around. If your father hadn't sent word that we were at Nelson's, he might have been directed all the way to Hell Hole Swamp, our true numbers would be confirmed and he would now be carrying our location back to Tavington."

"And Tavington would have come for us, enforce," Gabriel predicted.

"Indeed. So yes, Lieutenant - disaster averted," Burwell replied in his stern voice. "Gods, I hope Beth is alright."

"I'm sure she is, Sir," Gabriel said. "My uncle will keep her safe from Tavington, Colonel."

Burwell nodded, praying it was true.

* * *

Beth sighed.

"Hmm?" William murmured against her lips. Her arms were draped over his shoulders, his strong hands held her waist. She sat across his lap side long to him, her legs swinging because they did not quite touch the ground in this position.

"So nice," she whispered. She rocked her head to the side and he followed, his lips moving over hers slowly.

"I couldn't agree more," he said thickly and gave her waist a squeeze. Beth traced kisses along his smooth jaw, a moist trail down to his neck and back up again. She drew back momentarily to gaze down at him, utterly enthralled, he was so handsome - so... She sighed again and lost herself to more kisses. She parted her lips to receive his tongue - it always made her shiver when she felt his stroking hers. Tavington moved his hands to her back and pressed her closer, holding her bosom to his chest. She melted against him willingly.

"I spoke to your uncle before," he said between kisses. "Of your father."

"I don't want to think about my uncle or my father right now," she whispered, her lips following his, her arms tight around his shoulders. He chuckled.

"You don't want to know what was said?" He asked, smiling against her lips.

"Later," she murmured, making small sounds and sighs of contentment as they continued their pleasurable activity.

All good things must come to an end however. He had business at the Exchange. Clinton had been away when Tavington arrived to discuss the letter he had received from Burwell, but he was due back this morning. In the meantime, Tavington had acquired more information to lay before the General, in the form of Benjamin's letters - one to his daughter and one to his brother in law, Mark Putman. After his meeting with Mark Putman ended, Tavington had used the time to visit with Beth, who had been able to steal away for this wonderful interlude.

"I have to go," he whispered and Beth sighed with disappointment.

"Can't you stay? Just a few minutes more?" She begged softly. She stared down at him, at her own fingertip tracing his lips. He kissed her fingertips, then pulled her close to kiss her again.

"I am sorry, my darling," he said finally. "Clinton is expecting me."

"Oh, I'd not keep you from your duties," she said, though her tone suggested she'd like to.

He smiled and helped her off his lap, helped her to her feet. As they strode from the lovers seat in the garden - where they had spent the last half an hour, Tavington began to brood. This was not his first visit to her since he discovered Burwell's letters, and he found himself becoming increasingly jealous and possessive of her. By the time they reached the courtyard where he had tied his horse, he had worked himself into a tight knot of jealous tension.

"Has that Watson fellow come to see you lately?" He asked coldly.

"No," Beth lied. She grew uneasy, sensing the change in him and thought it prudent to tell this one little while lie. There was nothing in it, in any case. Watson was fun to talk to, but she was not attracted to him. No point telling any of that to Tavington, he would explode with jealousy regardless of how innocent the time she spent with Watson.

"Good," William curled his lip. He had half a mind to have the boy sent from Charlestown - he could do it, it was fully within his power. Send him to Camden, perhaps - as far from Beth as possible. "What of other Gentleman callers?" He asked casually.

Beth was not fooled. If she told him she had had other suitors come to call, he would erupt immediately. Not that it mattered, only Colin had come to call on her and he could not be counted as a suitor - not even by William.

"Only Colin," she said truthfully, expecting William to shrug her friend off. Only he frowned instead and stared down at her with eyes turned to ice.

"Indeed? Alone - or with Miss Tisdale?"

"Well, alone," Beth admitted, startled. "William - you know that Colin and I are just -"

"Yes, friends," he curled his lip. "A male friend who does not bring his sweetheart along to visit? What do you two possibly have to speak about?'

"We speak about plenty," Beth said, becoming irritated. "You shove me off your lap because you don't have anymore time to kiss me but you have plenty of time to argue about Colin?" She snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "You know how I feel about you, William. You are the only suitor I want."

All too true - that he was the only one she wanted. She felt a pang of guilt, however - being engaged to Burwell, while it was the right thing to do and a welcome future, was causing her much conflict. Being Burwell's fiancé, she should not be stealing away with Tavington for moments of sitting on his knee and kissing! But it was so difficult to resist him. She did not want to resist him...

"The only one you want?" He said, suddenly warm again. He smiled a small, knowing smile.

"Go," she said primly. "You're in a hurry and if you linger I'll wipe that smile off your face."

She turned to walk away, even more offended now than before. Tavington chuckled, amused by her fury. He gripped her around her waist before she could walk more than a few steps and turned her to face him. After a long, lingering and very pleasant kiss, they both came up for air.

"I will come and see you later - if not, I'll be here tonight," he said, still brushing his lips across hers.

"See that you do," she murmured back, her fingers curled around his strong arms to keep from swooning. He always had that affect on her. He released her and she took a step back, preparing to watch him leave. "Wait!" She called as he was mounting. "You said something about my father and uncle?" She asked at his stirrup. He grinned down at her.

"For all your worry about the trouble your father might be in, I'd thought you would have demanded answers as soon as I mentioned him. My my, you were rather distracted, weren't you?" He smirked, alluding to her pleasure from their kissing.

"You're insufferable," she rolled her eyes. "Well, you're not kissing me now and I'm no longer distracted and I'm worried about my father again. Is he in trouble?"

"No, little one," he reached down and gently ran a finger along her cheek, his eyes warming for her. "Your uncle confided a few things to me just now, which has left me feeling quite satisfied of your father's Allegiance. All is well, Beth."

"He did?" Beth gasped. "Isn't this something you should have told me before you started kissing me?" She tapped her foot and folded her arms across her chest.

"You would look quite fierce, I'm certain, if your cheeks weren't still flushed," he laughed, knowing full well that she was still as heated from their time together as he was. Her face blazed crimson. "I would have told you immediately, of course. However, we had other… business… to attend to, you and I," he said, smiling.

"Yes, we did," she couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. "My father?" She prompted.

"Go and speak to your uncle, little one. He'll tell you," he leaned down in the saddle and explored her lips with his one last time. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held tight, lifting herself onto the tips of her toes to reach his lips. "I have to go…"

"Does he know about the… you know, the dinner? At the Simms?" Beth asked, stroking a finger along his smoothly shaved cheek.

"Only that you're to attend," Tavington replied, disentangling himself from her arms and straightening in the saddle. "I did not tell him about the rest, and nor will you." His gazed firmed and she nodded quickly. The sternness slid away again, he smiled and tipped his hat to her. "Until tonight, my love."

"Fare well," she said, already forlorn as she stepped back away from the horse to give William more room. He turned Thunder toward the gate, nudged his heels into the Arab's flanks, and within moments, he was gone.

* * *

_"Tavington does not trust me, not entirely. Or he would have revealed the ambush. It's time to determine just how far Bordon trusts you. Will he reveal the ambush to you? And while you're at it, try to bring Ben into your conversation, mention him being a Loyalist. But not if you think it's out of place, not if you think it'll rouse his suspicions."_

Mark's instructions rang through Mage's head as they so often did while Bordon was on top of her, panting in her ear. It was not all gaining information, this spying business. It was the seeding of false information, as well.

It wasn't all unpleasant, either, this spying business. Mage's fingers dug into Bordon's rump and she met him thrust for thrust, her body slick with sweat from the midday heat and from being fucked by the man on top of her. He was kissing her and groaning into her mouth, she whimpered and clawed at his backside.

"Deeper," she grunted. "Gods, deeper!" She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his back and Bordon drove his phallus in to her depths, hitting that wonderful spot, causing her to cry out and arch her back, her head falling back as she was lifted into euphoria.

"Gods, you came. Jesus, Mage, I love it when you come on my cock!" He grunted and groaned as his orgasm tore through him, until he collapsed on top of her, too spent to move. "Almighty, you're so damned good," he whispered in her ear, still panting from his exertions, though they had now ceased.

"Hmmm," she murmured contentedly. Her legs and arms fell away from his body, dropping back onto the bed. "And to think, I was going to send word to you to cancel today."

"You what?" He lifted himself up onto his arms and gazed down at her, startled. "You weren't going to meet me today? Why not?"

"Because I had you yesterday, and the day before and the day before that; I have been quite well satisfied of late" she laughed softly. "And it's so damnably hot to be doing… this… in the middle of the day."

"It is damned hot," he agreed, heaving a breath as he withdrew his cock and fell onto the bed alongside her.

The entire bed groaned and strained as he shuffled into a more comfortable position. He really was quite large, and the strength in his body was astonishing, she'd discovered to her delight. Where Mark bought on her pleasure using an agonisingly subtle technique, Richard achieved the same through brute force and ignorance.

"But I'm glad I didn't cancel our meeting - it was quite worth it, in the end," she said, turning over onto her side, facing him. He bark a self satisfied laugh.

They began to chat, about this and that; though Mage delicately steered the conversation toward subjects she knew her husband would find quite interesting. Though Richard did not know it, she was sifting him for gold and nearly an hour later, she'd gained herself quite a few little nuggets.

Nothing about Tavington's plot to use Beth to ambush Burwell, so perhaps he did not trust her as much as she and Mark had been hoping.

* * *

"You would think that one of them would tell one of us," Mage griped. She nursed a syllabub in her hand and idly stirred the cream with a spoon. "We're her aunt and uncle, for the Lord's sake!"

"And that is why they will not," Mark, sitting at her side, said wisely. "It's awfully frustrating, but I expected it. I had hoped that Bordon would be more forthcoming with you, however."

"You't think he would be, we're supposed to be lovers now," Mage huffed. "Perhaps I'm not as accomplished at this as I'd thought -"

"Don't blame yourself," Mark replied. "Or I might as well think the same, seeing that I couldn't get any more from Tavington. You have done extremely well, wife. I wonder what the devil Bordon is thinking, when he just… spews… all that information to you. If he daft? Is he so sated after bedding that he loses all sense?" His face darkened. "Or perhaps he has fallen in love with you?"

"No, Mark," Mage shook her head. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, smoothed the deep creases on his forehead with finger strokes. "He hasn't. Nor is he daft. I believe it's the other - he shows far more trust to a lover than he ever should. It doesn't occur to him that I come to his bed for an ulterior motive. It doesn't occur to him that perhaps he shouldn't be so forthcoming with me. We've led him to believe we're Loyalists, and so that's what he thinks we are." She shrugged.

"Eh." Mark grunted.

"I know you don't like it," she said, sidling closer. "I bed him for no other reason than for the information I gain and seed, that is all. If you wish for me to end it, you need only say the word. I love you, Mark."

"I know you do," he sighed. "And I love you. Did you tell him that Ben is a Loyalist?" He asked instead of giving that word that would end her meetings with Bordon.

"I did," she said, not pressing the issue. "Just a subtle mention, but I saw it take hold in Bordon's little mind."

"That's all I ask. I think it worked with Tavington, too," Mark said. "He left here earlier sympathetic to Benjamin's plight," he laughed softly. "The poor, moneyless Loyalist who has attached his family to a rich Patriot, only to find his duty to His Majesty is now in conflict."

"Better be careful," Mage warned. "Tavington might come to expect that Ben will end Burwell's engagement to Beth and then we'll be in trouble."

"Why?" Mark frowned.

"Well, he might pursue the girl for himself," she said, sounding aghast. "I do not want that man as an in law, thank you."

"Nor do I," Mark laughed. "But you needn't fear - as long as he thinks Beth to be penniless, he will not court her for marriage."

"They were kissing out there, do you know that?"

"Yes, I know," Mark sighed. "No doubt they thought they were private but I was keeping an eye on them. Beth came inside afterward and told me everything that was said, as she always does. She told me Tavington was heading straight to the Exchange to present to Clinton his plan to ambush Burwell."

"Oh," Mage took a sip of her drink, being careful of the cream.

"I know, Mage. It's concerning to me, too, Tavington's affection for Beth. But he does come to see her, and yes, if we leave them alone then… well… It's just kissing - it's harmless, isn't it? In the grand scheme of things. He comes here, spends time with Beth, I let them have some small moments of privacy, which he must find quite agreeable for it keeps bringing him back. And when he leaves, I end up with more information from Beth. I think it's a small price to pay, though it's best not to tell Burwell what happens when they are alone, for I doubt he would see it that way."

"Did anything good come from his visit today?"

"Yes. Remember I told you I was going to tell him that Ben wrote to me, confiding his concerns about harbouring Burwell, the enemy?" He asked and she nodded. "I did that."

"Tell me everything. What was said?" Mage asked, turning in to Mark as he put his arm around her shoulders.

"Well, I said I received a letter from Ben and that I needed his advice."

"I'll bet he preened like a peacock," Mage giggled and Mark laughed, nodding.

"That he did. Play to their self satisfaction and they'll believe anything. He told me he was only too happy to oblige, and so we sat down with a glass of rum and I told him about Ben's letter."

"That you wrote yourself," she scoffed.

"Well, he doesn't need to know that," Mark said cheerfully. "I was apologetic in my speech, wary; when I told him that Burwell spent the night at Fresh Water. To Tavington's credit, he feigns surprise quite well. I wouldn't have known he already knew, if I didn't already know."

Mage laughed.

"So, when that 'revelation' that was not a revelation was out of the way, I began to describe Ben's worry. That this business of betrothing Beth to Burwell has him crossing lines he hadn't anticipated. That Beth and Burwell will not be married until after the war, and that that's how Ben justifies marrying his daughter to a friend who is now an enemy - to wait until the war is over, when they are enemies no longer. I said that Ben had thought that there wouldn't be any other sort of contact from Burwell or requirements of him but now he's housed Burwell and didn't send word to the British, which means that he's crossed the line into treason. I told Tavington that Benjamin has asked for my advice on the matter, on what he should do? But that I didn't know how to answer, for he had no idea how the British would react to such a transgression."

"Which is where Tavington comes in?" Mage guessed.

"That's what I've led him to think. I asked his advice as a means to mollify him and make him believe that Ben is faithful, but confused & conflicted. I asked Tavington what the British would do in such a situation?"

"And what did he say?"

"That they would be inclined to be forgiving, as long as there was no repetition. And as long as Loyalty was proven and maintained from then on."

"Proven how?"

"He didn't say."

"He is making Beth go through with this ambush, using hers and her father's skirt with treason as the whip," Mage pondered. "Yet, he did not reveal to _you_ the plan to ambush Burwell."

"No."

"Does that mean he'll try to make Ben prove himself by forcing him to do something equally horrid as what he's trying to make Beth do?"

"I don't know," Mark said. It was a troubling question. It did not matter so much, Tavington forcing Beth to 'prove' her and her families Loyalty, for they knew of Tavington's plan and had already taken measures to counter it. But what if Tavington attempts the same with Benjamin, and they are not forewarned in time to prevent it? "We'll keep our eyes and ears open," he said. "It's all we can do. For now, my conversation with Tavington could not have been more timely, for now he can carry Ben's concerns to Clinton, who will think Ben is a conflicted Loyalist, not a man who has committed treason."

"That is good," Mage agreed.


	13. Chapter 13 - The Simms Ball

4th June:

Chapter 13 - The Simms Ball:

"I'm really not sure I want to be here," Harmony said, feeling quite uncomfortable. "Have any of the other Officers bought their mistresses?" She asked, peering around at the women in their silk gowns uncertainly.

"Likely not," he admitted. "for none have one as beautiful as you, Harm."

She laughed softly, but was still clearly uncomfortable.

"Would you like to dance?" He asked her and she shook her head.

"No. Not here."

"You danced with me last week," he said.

"That was a public dance, Richard; I wasn't the only club footed girl there. These girls…" She trailed off as she watched the couples moving elegantly, gracefully, through the set. "These ladies," she corrected herself. "Have been receiving lessons their whole lives. No one is tripping over their own feet, not a single one of them is turning right when they should turn left. No Richard, I would stick out like a sore thumb among them. I already stick out like a sore thumb."

He gazed at her with some concern, noticing her lowered mood. "There's not a single flower among them that is half as pretty as you. Nor remotely as interesting. You shouldn't compare yourself to them, Harm; they are not better than you."

"You don't truly believe that."

"I'm here with you, aren't I?" He asked. She tilted her head as she considered his question.

"Yes, you're here with me. But it's one of them that you'll marry," she jutted her chin toward the elegantly dressed ladies.

Richard gave her a startled look, then began to laugh. "One of them? No, my love. I will be marrying far higher than Colonial aristocracy. This lot, they're pretenders only," he chortled. "if you're intimated by this lot, you wouldn't last five minutes among true aristocracy."

"I'm not sure whether to be pleased or offended," she said.

"I don't mean to offend you, Harm," he said, stroking her face with his fingers. "Never that. It's just… If you'd ever been to a ball in England, if you'd ever mingled among the aristocracy there, you'd understand. These people are wealthy, yes. But none of them are borne to it. Well, beyond a few generations, anyway."

"What does being borne to it matter?" Harmony asked. Richard gave her a startled look, then laughed again.

"If you were borne to it, you'd understand," he said. "True nobility are granted that title by our Majesty and are deemed one step lower than Royalty. None of these," he waved his hand to the ladies and gentlemen. "Are that, even if they do dress as richly. Here, a man of the lowest means can acquire wealth, through hard work or a sudden windfall, it matters not. As soon as he is wealthy, he is welcomed among those who consider themselves to be of a superior rank. And with that fortune, regardless of the man's birth, they consider themselves to be aristocracy. It's rather crass, when you consider it. Birth ties and lineage have little to do with it."

"Isn't that a good thing? That one can be borne poor but doesn't have remain so, if they work hard enough?"

"We're not talking about money, Harm. It's this idea the Colonials have, that if they become wealthy enough, they will be akin to nobility. But monetary wealth has very little to do with it. They can become as wealthy as they like," Richard said. "it does not mean that they," he gestured toward the silk and bejeweled crowd, "are better than you, a woman of lesser means. Rich or poor, you all come from the same place. They are not better than you."

"Oh. Because we're all colonists, we are all the same. But you, somehow, are better than me?" She asked.

"Are you teasing me?" He cocked his head, saw the slight tugging on her lips, and laughed softly. "Yes, you are. What I'm trying to explain is, the acquisition of money doesn't lend one status, therefore you should not be feeling uncomfortable in their company."

"Oh, I see. All this talk about you being far more superior to me was your attempt at trying to make me feel better," she scoffed.

"Lord, what am I to do with you?" He bemoaned. "Here, if you have no desire to dance, would you like take a walk instead?"

"I'd love to take a walk with you," she replied. Her hand was already on his arm, they fell into step and strolled slowly around the dance floor. She was still pondering what he had said, none of it made one bit of sense to her. So what if you were borne to a title given by some long dead King? How did that make such people better than Colonial aristocracy? And why, she thought, should Colonial aristocracy deem themselves better than Harmony, just because they had money and she did not? They were all mad, she decided. Those who considered themselves to be of higher rank, for whatever reason, were all mad. It didn't make her any more comfortable around them, however.

Richard laughed softly and Harmony glanced at him. He jutted his chin toward a group of youths standing in a circle. "Poor Miss Wilkins. She looks like a (something tall) among a flock of (something shorter)."

"I know that feeling," Harmony sympathized. "all awkward and gangly. I think she's really pretty. I love her gown."

"I didn't say she wasn't pretty. They all are."

"Miss Martin is looking far more cheerful tonight than the first time I saw her – how does it stand with her and Tavington?"

"I believe he has managed to snake his way back into her good graces," Richard replied and Harmony stopped dead.

"Is he still trying to win that awful wager?" She asked, disapproving.

"No, I believe that is dispensed with. Miss Martin knows about it, she's hardly going to let either of them win. I believe Colonel Tavington is still courting her, though."

"Whatever for?" Harmony asked.

"Well, what do you think for?" Richard asked. "He might not want the fifty pounds anymore, but he does still want to bed her."

"I wish him the worst of luck," Harmony said, her eyes on Beth Martin. "She's so innocent and… He could ruin her entire life, if he succeeds. Doesn't he realise that?"

"I'm certain that is not his intention. It's likely he wants himself a mistress as beautiful as I have, seeing that he can't have you," Richard's eyes landed on Miss Wilkins again. "Miss Wilkins brother, apparently, is coming to town soon. An accomplished rider, swordsman and marksman. Hint hint," he laughed softly and Harmony smiled.

"Does she want you to consider him for the Green Dragoons?"

"Yes," Richard replied. "When he arrives to the city, Tavington and I will take the measure of the man ourselves, but from what I've heard from his sister and the others, he'll make an excellent soldier. I look forward to meeting him." Richard watched as the youths began to pair off, Mr. Ferguson with Miss Tisdale, Mr. Simms with Miss Wilkins, Mr. Middleton with Miss Martin – Tavington was not going to like that. That left Miss Middleton forced to dance with her own brother, the other Mr. Middleton. "They're rather a tight little group, aren't they?" He observed.

"Yes, they certainly appear to be. I like them, I don't feel so uncomfortable around them. Then again, if they knew I was bedding you, I suppose I'd get an entirely different reception from them now than I did the other night at the public dance."

"Stop worrying about all that," Richard said.

"It's just… I don't think you should have bought me here," she said. "They're kind to me because they think I'm like them. The moment they realise I am not, they won't stop to ask me how I became the person I am today, they will simply turn their backs and run the other way. Because they do not care. Even if we were friends for ten years and they suddenly discovered that I am your mistress, they would do the same. Their friendships are not true friendships. It's all false."

"I bought you here because I was stuck coming to this stupid affair when I wanted to spend my evening with you. And because there is going to be fireworks."

Harmony laughed. "Yes those will make all this worth it. And truly, I wanted to spend the evening with you, too. No matter where we are. Besides, I have this very pretty dress now," she stepped away from him and stared down at the gown Richard had had commissioned for her. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever had."

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever had," Richard smirked and Harmony giggled. "I am the envy of the ball, with you on my arm. Everyone is wondering who you are."

_And wouldn't they be disappointed, if they learned who I truly am? _She did not voice her thought out loud, for Richard clearly wanted her to be in a bright, cheerful mood. And she was, really. As long as she did not look at the elite of Charlestown society, she was quite happy indeed. It was a lovely night, the music was lively, there were friendly, smiling faces, some of them even familiar to her now. A servant was circulating with wine, Harmony and Richard both plucked a glass each from the tray and sipped as they stopped to chat with Cornet Brownlow and Ensign Dalton.

* * *

They were strolling along again, Richard spied a cluster of gowned and suited figures surrounding Lord General Cornwallis and Commander and Chief Sir Henry Clinton. Richard steered Harmony away from those. If being among Charlestown Aristocracy was enough to make Harmony uncomfortable, how much more so would she be among true nobility?

Sir Henry Clinton, the Commander and Chief, was the son of a Navy Admiral who was the descendant of Earls.

Charles Cornwallis, 1st Marquess Cornwallis, the Lord General, was, was an Earl.

And lastly, the Brigadier General, Charles O'Hara might have been illegitimate, but as his father was a Baron, he was still highly born.

Their titles and place among the peerage had them towering over the _lofty_ pretender Colonial peers, who were right now fawning all over themselves for the Commandants attention. Richard would not torture Harmony by bringing her amongst any of that, and so he steered her in another direction entirely.

Besides, he did not want to flaunt his mistress among such austere company, that would be disrespectful to the position they held and to the gentlemen themselves.

He had no such qualms bringing her among the more highly placed Colonial's, but flaunting her to Cornwallis and Clinton would be crossing the line. Harmony chatted at his side, oblivious - he knew she thought they were idly walking, but he was ensuring they did not come upon those he had no desire to disrespect.

As they made their way from the dancing, the crowds began to thin until there were only couples in pairs, perhaps they were those looking to find a quite place where they could do more with one another than walk arm in arm. Richard spied a couple ahead, doing precisely that. It was nightfall but the darkness was lit by firebrands and lanterns. This couple were standing beneath a tree, they were clearly lit by one of the firebrands, but Richard assumed they thought they had ventured far enough away from the revellers to not be caught canoodling.

For canoodling they were. The two were standing in one another's arms, hers around his shoulders, his around her waist, there was no gap to slide a sword between them, they were pressed together so closely. His head was bent to hers, they were kissing, properly kissing, which was quite a breach of decorum, such vulgar display of affection. Both were smiling and whispering to the other between very long, deep, passionate kisses.

"Perhaps we should turn back," Harmony giggled. "Find our own quiet place to do…" She glanced at them again. "That."

"That's a wonderful idea," Richard agreed. However, at that moment, the woman dropped back onto her heels and rested her head against her lovers chest, the two swaying gently in each others arms. Where before her face had been mostly hidden by his, Richard now had full view of her and for a moment, his heart stopped beating, he became very still, no more able to move than a statue.

His other lover, Mrs. Mage Putman, saw him almost at the same time. Her lips parted, her wide eyes held his, she lifted her head from the man's chest, then swivelled her gaze immediately to peer up at her lover - her husband.

Who had seen Richard also. Pure hatred flared over Mark Putman's face, it was gone so quickly that Richard was sure he'd imagined it. _He didn't like being caught in such a public display of affection with his wife, _Richard told himself. _He could not possibly know about Mage and I. Gods, if Harmony found out about Mage and I…_

Steeling his spine, Richard inclined his head toward them both.

"Mr. Putman. Mrs. Putman. It's a find evening, is it not?" He asked, falling back onto formalities to escape this awful situation.

"It is indeed. You will have to forgive us, Captain. My wife and I were thought we were alone," Putman said, his voice was apologetic.

"Oh, do not mind me, Sir," Bordon said, reeling. He had his mistress at his side, his lover was in her husband's arms, it was all so horridly awkward and fraught he wanted to simply run from them all. "We shall be on our way and you can return to your privacy in peace."

Gods, that didn't come out right. Mage was his lover, would his lack of jealousy just now upset her? He did not love her, but he supposed she must expect that he should, for the activities they were indulging in. Yet, he had as much as said that he did not care if Putman fucked her right there beneath the tree. It was alright, though, for Mage's eyes were on Mark, and they were wide and concerned, she did not appear to have taken his comment as a slight. "Good evening, Sir," he bobbed his head again. "Mrs. Putman."

She spared him a glance, her eyes lingered for a moment on Harmony, as he expected they would, given that she must consider Harmony to be her rival. He quickened his step, fearing a confrontation while at the same time, knowing one could not possibly come. Mage would not start yelling and screaming at him for the woman on his arm, not with her own husband right there. She would not reveal their affair to him. She had already turned away in any case, and she was whispering up at her husband, her fingers stroking his cheek, she laid several kissed on his jaw. Putman seemed to relax and by the time Richard and Harmony were passing, their presence appeared to be forgotten.

Richard wasn't certain how any of this would bode for any future encounters with Mage. Harmony worked constantly, his time with her was so sparse. He hoped Mage did not end it with him on account of seeing him with his mistress, for she was quite lively between the sheets and he had little else to do with his day when his duties were done and Harmony was still serving tables at Mr. Ingles tavern.

* * *

Without breaking stride, Tavington marched through the throng in search of Beth. He was recognized on sight and people hastened out of his way, leaving a clear path for him to stride through.

There! He caught sight of her finally. She was side on to him, he could see her in profile as she spoke with a young man. No, not speaking - flirting. She was smiling and laughing. His lips tightened and he quickened his stride, but before he could take her by the arm and stare the other young man down, she glanced his way and Tavington realised his mistake.

Cilla Putman.

Christ the two of them looked alike! He remembered Banastre commenting on how the cousins could be sisters - twins, and he had to agree with his friend. There were subtle differences, of course and William thought Beth was the more beautiful. As did Banastre, Tavington thought with a scowl. He wondered if his comrade still held a flame for Beth.

Easing his expression, he nodded politely.

"Miss Putman, have you seen Miss Martin?" He asked in his quiet drawl.

"Lieutenant Colonel Tavington," she bobbed a very slight curtsy. "A lovely night isn't it? Yes, I am well this evening, thank you for asking. And the ball - the Simms have outdone themselves, wouldn't you agree?"

Tavington's jaw worked, his eyes growing colder by the moment. Not many people had the gall to speak to him however they chose. Banastre, certainly. Those who out ranked William. Bordon - occasionally, depending on Tavington's mood.

But this young woman? A brief image flashed in his mind, Cilla Putman, bent over a table, her pretty silk gown hiked up around her waist. Screaming as Tavington struck her bare backside over and again with his riding crop. The girl could use a decent spanking! Unfortunately, the girl was Beth's cousin and as such was afforded a certain measure of protection. A very small measure.

"Forgive me, Miss Putman," Tavington schooled his voice to cool politeness. "You are indeed correct, the Simms have done well. Their attempt to imitate one of the grand balls in London is admirable." Hearing his veiled slight, Cilla frowned. Tavington smiled condescendingly and Cilla bristled like a cat. However, he continued before she could think of a retort. "Miss Martin?" He arched an eyebrow in question.

"In the ball room, Sir, dancing. With _her_ Ensign Watson, I believe," Scoring a hit, Cilla grinned broadly.

Tavington's smile turned sickly. "_Her_ Ensign Watson?"

"Yes, _hers_... He's lovely, you know. And it's quite refreshing really, an Officer who doesn't desire my cousin's company for the sake of _fifty_ _pounds_. If you will excuse me?" William's jaw dropped, he felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Curling her lip with distaste, Cilla turned her back on him.

Seething and ashamed, he marched away from the girl, making his way outside to the separate structure that formed the ballroom. The heat of the South Carolina summer night washed over him and he drew a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves.

As he drew closer, the joyful music became louder. People all but leapt out of his way as he marched through them. The doors to the ballroom were open to let in air. Tavington marched through them, his eyes searching for and finding, Beth.

* * *

Tavington watched from the side, seething as he watched Beth and Ensign Watson dance. Who was flirting with Beth - that much was clear. William could see the signs even from this distance.

The man was laughing down at Beth, his eyes twinkling. Christ - he even touched her waist! William knew it was his jealousy working on him but he felt quite a strong urge to march into the dancing couples and pull these two apart. He fought it, but it was damned hard, especially when she laughing up at Watson. _Laughing! _She was evidently quite content to be spending time with the other Officer.

The Colonel stood ramrod straight and watched, his eyes glittering as he ignored all else around him. _He dares to touch her! _It was an effort to keep the scowl from showing but he managed it. Stone faced and frosty, he watched the two of them continue their flirtations until the set finally ended and Tavington marched forward to claim what was his.

* * *

Beth finished the set with Watson, and then Tavington was at her side, ramrod straight and tense. One arm looped behind his back, glaring coldly down his nose. His eyes took Watson in from head to toe in a quick, sharp glance. Beth eyed the Colonel warily but he was not looking at her. His cold, piercing gaze was fixed on poor Ensign Nicholas Watson.

Who ignored Tavington utterly. As if his superior was not there. No salute, nothing. He took hold of Beth's hand, placed a light kiss on her knuckles.

"Thank you, Miss Martin, it was a pleasure as always," Nicholas said. "Will you save me another, later?"

"Of course," Beth replied, trying to ignore the looming threat that was Tavington standing beside her looking furious. "And the pleasure was mine, Ensign." Nicholas gave a short bow, then turned and walked away. No acknowledgement of his Superior whatsoever. Beth waited, expecting William to call Nicholas back, she was waiting for the explosion.

Instead, William took hold of Beth's hand and began to lead her through the next set.

"You look beautiful, darling," he murmured, his eyes lingered on her lips and her bosom, covered with cream silks with brown embroidery.

Beth flushed. His were not the same as Nicholas Watson's affectionate glances, William's gaze was searing and filled with need. Her breath quickened and her knees felt weak. She could not take her eyes off him.

"Still in uniform," she noted quietly, for want of something to say.

"My dress uniform, Beth. Can you not see the difference?" He smiled down at her.

"I see a slightly frillier cravat…" She teased.

"Ah, but it is made of silk." His lips quirked in a smile

"You have gone to so much effort!" Beth tittered.

"I always do." He pulled her close and nudged her hair with his nose. "You smell so sweet, darling."

"William, people are beginning to stare..." Beth said breathlessly. She was quite right. A glance to either side of her showed people stealing glances at the couple, before whispering behind their hands. So much for trying to remain cool toward him, with reservation, so no one could question her conduct. It was very difficult to maintain a calm demeanour with William gazing at her beneath those hooded eyes.

"Let them..." He shrugged. He released her however, though his eyes remained fixed on hers. "Perhaps we can steal away..."

"I will be missed, William," she said at once, stomping on that idea firmly. "My partners will search me out when it is their turn to dance with me."

Tavington curled his lip with annoyance.

"If it is not bad enough that I have to share you with those others, you will not even spend a moment alone with me? You look so beautiful, my darling. How am I to keep my hands from you?"

"It is not easy for me, either," she murmured truthfully, with a pang of guilt for her fiancé. Her eyes lingered on William's handsome face and she felt a sharp flare of pleasure flood her stomach. "Lord..." She shook her head and glanced away.

"So we are both to suffer for the entire evening?" His tone was sharp, he did not bother to hide his frustration. "It is torture, being this close to you and not able to touch you." He took her hand in his again, his fingers lightly tracing hers. He leaned in close again, his breathing as labored as hers. "I want to kiss you, Beth."

Beth swallowed hard. "It is hopeless," she murmured. "We are at a ball."

"I will contrive a way, darling. Arthur Simms is a Dragoon and we are in his home."

Beth paled at once, realizing he could spirit her away with ease - and with no one the wiser - if he put his mind to it.

"Then contrive a way to sit with me at dinner," she suggested quickly.

"We will not be alone at dinner." Tavington snapped. He drew a ragged breath, trying to calm his growing irritation.

"I will not steal away with you, William," she said firmly, though she was breathless with nerves.

Fury flashed across his face at her refusal. He continued to dance, though his movements became stiff and his face was stone. Beth watched him and bit her lip as longing flooded through her. She felt like weeping, their time together was growing shorter by the day for she would be married to Burwell as soon as her family could arrange it, though he did not know it.

"Perhaps, later in the evening," she began. He turned his still angry gaze toward her.

"When the musicians stop, there will be a break before the dinner begins," he mused. "Everyone will be distracted, we would have half an hour to ourselves, perhaps longer."

"Where will we go?"

"Darling Beth," his irritation eased, the Officer smiled warmly. "I'm certain that Arthur Simms bedchamber has an excellent view."

"Oh, William..." Beth groaned.

Tavington's lips quirked with amusement and he squeezed her hand. His smile fled, however, as the dance ended and Ensign Watson came forward to claim his dance from Beth. The two men locked gazes, though Watson held his ground. The Lieutenant Colonel had no choice but to kiss Beth's hand and retreat, as propriety demanded.

* * *

"How many more times am I to watch her dancing with other men?" Tavington raged as he paced back and forth. He was alone with Bordon in the gazebo and he had a clear view of the ballroom. His eyes followed Beth as she danced in Watson's arms, the younger Officer was smiling and flirting - William saw with fury.

"Miss Martin is a beautiful woman. I doubt she will sit a single dance tonight," Bordon explained, trying to be reasonable. It surprised him that Tavington was displaying so much jealousy over the young Colonial woman - he was engaged to Miss Price for one thing. And for another, Beth was merely a Colonial of no wealth at all, according to Tavington. Good for a few nights of bed warming, but to be so jealous and possessive of her? Beth was not even William's mistress! Not as Harmony was Richard's. Still, he would not voice his opinions of the matter just yet.

"Three dances!" William snapped. "She is mine and I get only three dances with her! It is not to be borne, Richard."

"There is no help for it, however. Come, there are plenty of other beautiful young women here, and they would jump at the chance to dance with you, Lieutenant Colonel William Tavington of the Green Dragoons."

"I do not wish to dance with any of them," William scoffed quietly and curled his lip with disdain. His gaze again lingered on Beth and Ensign Watson.

"For Christ's sake, William!" Bordon was suddenly out of patience. "What is it with this girl? She is beautiful, yes. But by your own admission, she is not from a wealthy family - she's little more than a farm girl whose extended family have taken pity enough on her to dress her in silks! Plus she is a bloody Patriot! She does not deserve your attention, not beyond a moment's tryst!"

Tavington stopped dead and held his adjutant's gaze. Bordon sighed heavily and turned away. Clearly, William was not ready to hear such things of his latest favorite.

"All I am saying," the Captain continued in a moderated tone, "is that people are beginning to talk. You have ignored other ladies, though there have been plenty sitting down with no one to partner with them. You stalk the edge of the dance, watching her while she is with other men. Your actions are not going unnoticed, even Miss Martin is growing discomforted by your conduct."

"Yes," Tavington said cold and sarcastic. "I notice your Miss Jutland is allowed to dance with any who ask her."

"That is different, Harmony is my mistress, I will allow her to dance only with my comrades and no others."

"And Beth is my mistress, we just haven't consummated it yet. Very well, I will take my example from you. From this point forward Beth is allowed only to dance with my own Dragoons. All others who have asked her, who are not Dragoons, will not be allowed to seek her for their promised dances."

"William -" Bordon was becoming exasperated.

"See to it, Captain."

Bordon blew a sullen breath. "Yes Sir."

He left William alone to brood. It would not be difficult to discover who had asked Beth to dance and if the man was not a Dragoon it would not be difficult to have him cede his turn to Tavington.

No, not difficult, but not desirable either. Especially if the other guests were already gossiping about him. Still, he would suffer this jealousy no longer.

* * *

Beth was becoming impatient. If Watson did not come to her soon, she would be forced to stand on the side of the dance, rejected! Where was the man? It was unlike him, he was normally so attentive. Perhaps he was growing angry and jealous over Tavington's obvious affections... No - it was not like him!

"Beth," Tavington murmured in her ear, startling her. "The dance is about to begin, where is your partner?"

"I'm not certain," she frowned. "He should have been here by now. I will have to sit on the side -"

The Colonel scoffed. "You will never have to sit on the side, darling. If he does not come to claim you, then you will be mine once more. Who is it, that has spurned you so?"

"He has not spurned me!" Beth's eyes widened with outrage over the very idea. "I am waiting for Ensign Watson, but something must be keeping him."

"Ah, I dare say he has been called away - a soldier is never off duty, you understand."

"Oh, perhaps..." Beth brightened a little. It would be embarrassing indeed, for her own dance parter to leave her waiting while others watched on and tittered behind their hands.

"Shall we, darling?" Tavington held his arm out to her.

"Well..." Beth searched the crowd once more. She would not wish Watson to be offended by coming along and discovering she had allowed another to take his place. But still, he was no where to be seen. She mused, "well, if he is not here I can not be held to blame."

"Certainly not, darling," he kept a straight face but his eyes where laughing. Soon into the dance he leaned in close.

"Meet me upstairs in the library when this dance ends," Tavington whispered in her ear.

The musicians would be taking a hiatus and there would be a long interval before the revelers entered the dining hall for supper.

"William..." She whispered back. "Lord, I don't know - what if we are discovered?"

"By whom? Do not worry," he assured her. "Bordon is taking care of everything, he will conceal our absence."

"Bordon knows?" She squeaked with panic.

"Of course - you do not expect me to keep secrets from my own adjutant? Come now, do not worry. No one will discover us. You and I..." he sighed as he gazed at her with longing. "Can have a very enjoyable hour alone together."

She bit her lip, her eyes bright with need and nodded her acceptance. "The Library, after this dance? You will find me - it's very large..."

"I'd find you anywhere," he said quite seriously. Her worry melted, she smiled with anticipation and excitement.

* * *

Beth made her way to the library, apprehension now warring her excitement to be alone with William. The right thing to do was to turn back. Find Aunt Mage or Uncle Mark - one of them would take her home, take her away from this temptation. She was engaged to Burwell now; officially, irrevocably.

And yet here she was, slinking off to meet with Tavington for an hour of...

Oh, Lord - who knew what? She quivered with need and longing. And guilt - she was willingly being unfaithful to her future husband! If he discovered this - it would be cause for him to end the engagement! And Gods, her father would be so very angry, her entire family would be!

She stopped in the large doorway that led into the library and clutched at a small table for support. If this was discovered, it would mean her ruin... Swallowing heavily, Beth turned back, ready to leave -

Suddenly a hand clamped around her mouth and she was pulled back against a hard body. She gasped with fright and twisted her head around. Tavington gazed down at her, a mischievous smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

"Did any one see you?" he removed his hand from her mouth.

"You scared me!" Beth whispered furiously, breathing heavily with tension. She shoved at his shoulder. "Don't do that! Lord, you are worse than my brothers!"

"Sorry darling, you bring out the worst in me," William laughed down at her. "Were you seen?"

"I do not think so, I was careful. Did anyone see you?"

"Of course not," he sniggered. "Come, this way."

Gripping her hand, he led her along to another door at the far end of the library. He strode quickly down corridors, and trotted up a slim flight of stairs. Beth kept up with him, breathless with nerves.

"I don't think this is a good idea, William," she whispered as he pulled her into Arthur Simms bedchamber. "What if we are discovered?"

"We won't be, darling. Arthur knows to keep away from his room for the next hour."

"Does he know who you are with?" She squeaked. "It's bad enough that Bordon knows!"

"No, darling. I did not tell him," Tavington closed the door behind them and turned to face her.

Beth's breath caught as he took her into his arms.

He began kissing her almost immediately, there was no time to waste. They could not linger upstairs for longer than an hour or so or they would be discovered. He pulled her hard against his body and groaned into her mouth. Cupping her buttocks, he pulled her against him and began rocking his hard member against her.

"Wait," Beth gasped, both excited and frightened. She gripped his wrists, ready to push his hands away from her backside.

"No time to wait, darling," Tavington breathed, his voice thick with desire. "I need you Beth. Lord, I am aching, I need release!"

He released her buttocks and placed his hands on her waist. Beth gasped when he lifted her easily. He guided her legs around his hips, her skirts bunching around her thighs.

"William... Oh Lord - we can't..." She gripped his shoulders for support as he carried her across the room to the bed.

"I am not going to take your virginity, Beth," William assured her as he lowered her to the bed.

She moved to the centre of the bed, her skirts slipping back to below her knees. Beth sighed, she had felt far to exposed before. She shuffled back to the centre of the bed.

Tavington covered her with his body and nestled himself between her silk covered thighs.

"Wrap your legs around me again, darling," he whispered against the shell of her ear.

As if entering a trance, Beth obeyed. Breathing heavily, she pulled her skirts up to her knees and hooked her legs over his thighs.

"You'll like this, I promise you," he murmured, then began rubbing his hard bulge against her centre, over her silks.

"Oh," she breathed. "I think you're right."

Sharp jolt of pleasure shot through her body, starting from that wonderful place he was rubbing between her legs. She began to move her hips in kind, small motions, seeking to relieve the itch between her thighs.

Tavington sighed with contentment. He wrapped his arm beneath her head and brushed his lips over hers gently. Now that he finally had her where he wanted her most, some of his urgency left him. He began rocking his pelvis back and forth slowly, his erection confined in his breeches.

With his frightful intensity gone and with a wonderful tension building inside her, Beth's anxiety melted away. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and caressed his nape lightly. Tavington rocked his head to the side and suckled her bottom lip, then her top by turn. Beth whimpered with pleasure. Never ceasing that rocking between her thighs, William groaned against her mouth and kissed her deeply. He nudged her lips to part then glided his tongue into her mouth.

His tension was growing, the wonderful itch building. But very quickly, it he discovered he needed more. Their clothes muffled the the sensations, there was too much padding between them.

"Not direct enough," he muttered, becoming frustrated. "These damned ball gowns, too many layers."

"You said I looked beautiful in it," Beth smiled and stroked his face. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, dropping her head to the side - it felt damned good to her!

"Yes, you do look beautiful in it," he stated. "But now I want it off you."

Beth's eyes flew open, suddenly filled with wariness. Her anxiety had returned.

"I will just push them up to your waist, darling," he coaxed gently. "It will feel better for you too. I will still have my breeches on."

"Very well, I can't deny how wonderful it feels..." Beth caught her bottom lip between her teeth and sighed.

That was all the permission he needed. William pushed himself up from her, now kneeling between her legs. His lips quirked in a small smile.

Here she was, laying on her back before him, her arms draped on the bed above her head. Her eyes never left his, hers were still a little wary. It was her first time, Tavington remembered belatedly, she had never gone beyond kissing. She was fearful. He wanted her to enjoy their encounter and he resolved to take it slow, despite their time constraint.

He caressed her knees first, his hands moving lightly over her silk stockings, making her melt. He continued, slowly his hands made their way under her skirts, pushing the silks higher up her legs. When her thighs were bared to him, his fingers traced the naked skin above her garters on the insides of her thighs.

Beth shivered and sighed. It felt lovely, she had never been touched there before. It made her feel hot and flushed, tension continued to build and she found herself wishing his fingers would move higher - the place he had been rubbing just a few moments before.

"Lift yourself," he murmured and she slowly lifted her buttocks from the coverlet. He pushed her skirts high about her waist and she lowered herself again.

There. William's breath caught. She lay naked from her waist down, with her legs draped apart to allow him room. He stared down at her naked womanhood, his smile fading slowly as white hot desire shot through him. His hooded eyes lingering on the dark blonde patch of curls between her legs, and on her quim, just peaking from beneath those curls.

"William..." She whispered, feeling somewhat uncomfortable - he was staring at her nakedness, she'd never been so exposed! A place unseen since she was a little girl having her swaddling changed!

"It's alright - you are so beautiful," he murmured, finally raising his eyes to hers. Beth swallowed - his eyes were so dark, his face so serious - but not in a stern and angry way. He gazed at her with desire, with yearning. It stirred something deep within her and she relaxed and offered no protest when he returned his gaze to her womanly centre.

His fingers, which he had not removed from her thighs, drifted higher. He knew himself that the skin at the top of the thighs, in the juncture on either side of a person's core, was sensitive and to be touched there lightly was bliss. He did this to Beth now, tracing lightly over the silky skin. She closed her eyes and sighed, relaxing once more.

He couldn't take his eyes off the sight, his fingers, so close to her golden curls, so close to her womanly folds and the quim concealed within. He allowed his finger to stray over her folds lightly with a shaking hand - the first to ever touch her there. He would be her first - in everything. He gently pried her folds apart, revealing her quim.

"Oh... William," he dragged his eyes away from her centre, glanced at her flushed face. She was breathing heavily, quickly. "Oh... It feels... so... Oh..."

"I know," Tavington leaned forward over her and kissed her insistently, demanding more responses from her.

She did not disappoint. She placed her hands on the side of his face, holding him tight, and whimpered against his lips as his tongue stroked hers. His fingers continued their explorations. He grew bolder, his forefingers began circling and massaging her hardened clit until she began to pant and writhe.

His own need became too great to ignore. He removed his fingers and Beth gasped with disappointment. He kissed her deeply and covered her with the trunk of his body, aligning his erection against her quim perfectly. Her gasp became one of pleasure again, when he ground down against her in small circles, each one wider than the last. He applied greater pressure with each rotation.

"Oh my God!" Beth cried out loudly. She arched her back and gripped his neck. "Oh, William!"

He watched her face intently and when she met his eyes again, he saw hers were glazed, crazed with need.

"So good," he whispered as he continued that wondrous grinding. Wondrously good.

He buried his head in the nook of her neck and shoulder, gasping and grunting into her ear with each slow rotation.

"Wrap your legs around me," he whispered raggedly and helped her lift one leg around his waist. "Ah, thats it."

He moved faster now, his pelvis grinding against hers and she pushed back and gasped, her nails digging in to his neck. "My Beth... Ah, Christ! Lose control darling, let yourself go."

"Oh William!" A long low keen, she turned her face to his, her brows furrowed in a deep frown. "Oh, God, I never knew... Oh..." The tension had built to breaking and Beth felt she might explode. She was not certain what she would feel when it did, she only knew she wanted it to, wanted to feel it, yearned for it.

"It is good, is it not?" His voice still ragged, he needed to hear her say it, to tell him how wonderful it was. She nodded frantically and pulled him closer.

"Oh, God..." she panted raggedly. "So good!" Her legs gripped his waist and she pushed up harder, breathing heavily - he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

Quietly gasping and grunting, they rocked and moved against each other, kissing with urgency now.

She closed her eyes and turned her face to one side, panting through parted lips. Tavington massaged the back of her scalp as he watched her face flush with pleasure. Her breath quickened and her pelvis writhed faster against him, her entire body in movement. She turned her glazed eyes back to him.

"Oh William, it aches..." She whispered. "It aches, but.. oh, it feels so wonderful."

"Lord, I know!" His lips crashed against hers, nipping while he moaned. "Christ, I am in agony, darling. Beth are you still fearful? I need more, I need..." He dropped his head to her shoulder and pressed his hips forward with a groan. "Skin to skin - I need to feel you!"

"No, I am not afraid any more... I need more too," Beth kissed his head.

"You are setting me off my leash?" He lifted his head and smiled down at her with hope. Her breath caught and she swallowed hard but she nodded.

"You must not take my virginity, though," she said raggedly. "Please - you must not."

"On my honor, I will not take your virginity."

Beth licked her lips and watched as Tavington pushed himself up from her again. He unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned his breeches. His eyes still holding hers, he pushed his breeches down enough to free his aching erection. It popped free of its confines and Beth gulped. She kept her eyes resolutely on his.

"You can look at it, it won't bite you," Tavington's smile deepened and when Beth shook her head frantically he laughed down at her with fondness. "Very well."

Still chuckling he took hold of his cock and, staring down at her between her legs, he pressed forward, aligning his erection directly against her quim once more.

The change was dramatic. Both groaned with the new found pleasure and Tavington crashed his lips to hers in a devastating kiss. He pressed his hips forward, beginning their slow rotation and grind again.

Beth began to buck - gasp after gasp, she bucked and writhed as a the new tension flooded through her body. He was right, it was far more wonderful and intense than before - being skin to skin as they were now.

"Oh it feels so good!" She cried out and clutched at his collar, biting her lip on a groan as a wave of pleasure coursed through her. Sharp and pleasant bolts flashed through her, in her stomach, along her spine. And between her legs - Lord, the feeling. She pushed up harder against him. "More, oh, please more!"

His erection slid back and forth along the length of her, the bulbous tip parted her folds and nudged against her quim, more jolts of pleasure had her crying out and clinging to him. Her hips moved up and down in rhythm with his. The heat soared in both of them, gentle but urgent waves for Beth and sharp, searing pulses that had Tavington grunting, deep and low, against her ear. Their loud gasps filled the quiet of the room.

"Agh agh agh agahhh!" Tavington snarled. "So close!"

Sweat beaded his brow and his face twisted in a bestial scowl as his pleasure reached its apex, he was almost at the point of no return. He crashed his lips against hers, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth he nipped it lightly between his teeth with a growl. He moved his hips frantically, forward and in circles against her.

Beth found it terrifying, he seemed completely out of control, nevertheless these jolts of pleasure surged within her and she pushed up against him, arching her back.

"Ohhhhh!" A tingly warmth suffused her and it was growing more intense by the moment, her body quested for more.

His hips angled down and the tip of his erection caught her entrance. He growled with pleasure and pushed forward sharply, urgent now to gain bury himself in her velvety depths, to take her maidenhead.

"No!" Beth gasped and punched at his shoulders, kicked his back with the heels of her feet. "William, you promised!"

"Darling, I am sorry, I will be more careful," he rasped and kissed her harshly. "Lord, you drive me to madness!"

He moved his member higher again, away from her tempting entrance. He rubbed against her quim and Beth calmed from her fright. She squeezed her legs tight around his back, her fingers gripped his queue as she panted into his mouth.

Tavington stopped momentarily. He pushed himself onto his arms, bracing himself high above her. His fists planted into the mattress to give him purchase and his ramrod arms supported his body above hers. Beth gazed up at him, waiting desperately for him to begin again.

His fingers dug into the bed coverings and he braced his knees between her legs. He lowered his head to hers to give her one last, harsh, kiss then arched his back away from her.

Then he began to buck - in a frenzy of movement, his erection pushed hard against her, stroking along her as fast as he could go.

Beth groaned, her hips surging against his frantically. She raised her hands above her head and wound her fingers around his wrists, holding on for dear life.

The feeling was overwhelming, the tingly warmth became a throbbing blaze. Her body was in a frenzy of movement, her legs gripping his waist, her fingers clutching his wrists, her body writhed, yearning for release.

"Yes, my darling," Tavington rasped as he watched her, he moved more frantically, delighting in her moans. "Your first climax, come for me, my little Beth. I want to see you lose control - come for me!"

Demanding now, though Beth barely heard him, lost to the wonderful feeling, the quest for more. She urged him on, lowering her legs from his waist, she planted her heels into the bed and lifted herself up hard against him.

She held her breath and suddenly it was there, the release her body was questing for. Beth arched her back and keened, it was so much more than she could have imagined. It flowed through her in surges, carrying her. Her entire body began to float on waves of heat and pleasure.

Tavington, still watching her through his glazed eyes, gloried at the sight of her, as he gave her her first climax.

"Mine!" he gasped against her ear as he thrust along her, drawing more from her. "You are mine, now. Mine!"

She nodded. "Yours," she rasped - it was all she could manage, as overcome as she was by the pleasure, but it was enough for him. It was his undoing - that rasped acceptance, her surrender.

He choked on a groan, the tension and fire that had been smouldering deep inside him surged.

A heat seared his veins and he cried out. Pleasure exploded through him, his cock twitched violently, the agonizing tingle became thrilling and hot like heaven fire. He crashed his lips to hers, his kiss possessive and rough, groaning against her mouth as his climax took away all thought, all sense of himself, his seed spurting from him - thick ropes landing in her dark blonde curls and across the coverlet.

For mere moments it lasted, it felt like a life time. He lowered his head to her shoulder and she wrapped her arms around his neck as they slowly calmed and came back to themselves. He lifted his head to gaze down at her, his face set in a frown. She smiled up at him and rubbed her thumb over his brow to ease away the farrowed creases.

"Lord..." She murmured finally, still a little breathless. "You were right."

"I usually am," he tried to smile. His climax had been so intense however. He was struggling to come down from it. "What was I right about?"

"Kissing is a drop in the ocean... William..." She laughed, a joyous laugh of release. "I felt like I was the ocean! A warm, wonderful ocean, floating... Lord."

He smiled and kissed her gently. "A warm, wonderful ocean? Mine was like dancing on searing flames..." He confided.

"Searing flames... No wonder you looked as you did, as though you were in a rage. You were frightful, William."

"You drive me to madness," he repeated his words from earlier and kissed her again. Then he collapsed alongside her with a heavy sigh.

She turned her head to regard him seriously. "You almost took my virginity after promising you wouldn't."

"I know, I am sorry. I lost control for a moment there."

"Just for a moment?" She smiled, deciding to forgive him. She had been fairly out of control herself.

Tavington chuckled.

"Come here," he held his arms to her. She turned onto her side and lifted her head to settle in his embrace. They kissed gently and caressed each others faces. It was bliss - warm and loving. She began to feel, finally, that perhaps he was as deeply in love with her as she was with him.

But then she suddenly remembered she would be marrying Burwell. Guilt and anguish surged through her, she had to marry Burwell…

But after what they had just shared...

'Yours' she had said, though she was promised to another. She would never belong to William.

She drew away and bit her lip, willing herself not to cry.

"What is wrong, Beth?" He noticed her sudden tension.

"Nothing," she smoothed her expression and smiled, kissing him again. "I was just worried about how much time we have been here for, we have lingered far too long. Will we be noticed, do you think?"

"No, not as much time has passed as you think. We should head back now, though," he said reluctantly.

Beth began to rise.

"Wait, here -" he handed her a cloth from Arthur's nightstand. "You will need to wipe my seed from you, darling, or it will be on your skirts."

After they tidied themselves and fixed their clothing, Tavington took Beth by the hand and led her from the room. They went back they way they had come, only this time they walked slowly, gazing at each other with contentment. Beth leaned into him as they walked, resting her head against his arm.

All too soon they reached the library and they could go no further in one another's company without being seen. Tavington leaned down to brush his kiss across hers and Beth responded with a sigh.

"I will meet you in the ballroom in fifteen minutes," he told her. "By the clock."

"Hmm," she murmured. The pleasant afterglow was still spread across her stomach and between her legs. "I am glad you contrived a way for us to have dinner together. How did you manage it?"

"I have my ways," he smiled and kissed her nose.


	14. Chapter 14 - In Arthur's Bedchamber

Chapter 14 - In Arthur's Bedchamber:

Vera nodded politely to Mrs. Middleton and added some inane comment to the conversation. Her eyes where on Tavington however, with Miss Beth Martin sitting at his side.

Before setting foot in the Simms mansion, Vera had already resolved to watch Tavington like a hawk. She would take notice of each and every woman he spoke to and how long they conversed for. She would watch his face, try to determine who he played special attention to. She would watch for who he danced with and how many dances he gave each woman.

She was determined to discover who his new lover might be.

However, in the end, she need not have bothered with her stealthy reconnaissance. It became glaringly obvious very early on which young woman held the Colonel's affections. He danced with her and no other. He watched from the sidelines as the girl danced with other men, his handsome face twisted with jealousy. And he had contrived to seat with her at dinner, she saw now.

_And look, brown ribbons! _Vera almost laughed. As if she did not have enough confirmation already, here was Miss Martin with her brown ribbons threaded through braids, along with a gem encrusted lace net covering her hair.

Vera had been slapped across the face for trying to throw Tavington's keepsake - one of Miss Martin's damned ribbons - into the fire. She had been ablaze with jealousy and it had not occurred to her that he would ever lash out so violently.

From his sister, he had said. Vera curled her lip, struggling to maintain her fury. All this time, he had been bedding the girl. Or trying to seduce her, at the very least. But judging by the way the two of them stared at each other, he had succeeded. The covert looks, small warm smiles. His need to continually caress her hand, her hair, anything he could touch covertly without drawing untoward attention. She herself had only noticed because she was watching so damned closely.

How close he sat with her, Vera felt certain his leg must be hard up against hers under the table. Probably rubbing their feet together too, she thought with disgust. She remembered his first day in her house. His flirty, warm glances, the way he touched her hand covertly, rubbed her foot under the table. The way he had made love to her that very night, he was easily the best lover she had ever known - and she had known a few.

Tarleton... Another lover, albeit an unknown one. Fury welled within her, another man to be enamoured of the blonde haired chit - crying out Miss Martin's name while he was inside her, repeating it over and over. Vera stabbed her meat with her fork, it was an effort to keep the rage from showing on her face.

Another covert glance, just in time to see Tavington lean in close - he seemed to be inhaling Miss Martin's scent, his expression possessive, needful, adoring. Rapturous.

Vera jerked her eyes away, stunned with realization. That he had bedded Miss Martin, she now had no doubt. What shocked her to her core was the discovery that the good Colonel was in _love_ with her!

With Miss Martin!

The man has lost his mind - a Redcoat soldier, in love with a Patriot? A woman's whose father was a high standing Assembly man? He was mad. Miss Martin's father would never allow her to wed anyone other than Colonel Burwell. Benjamin Martin would dispossess her - she would be coming to Tavington with no dowry!

And Tavington himself - Vera had known for some time now, after much eavesdropping, that the British Officer had some Lady of small fortune waiting for him in England, complete with twenty thousand pounds and a house in the middle of London!

No, he could not be interested in marrying Miss Martin. Surely not. He was, however, in love with her, of that Vera had no doubt.

And the young girl had rejected him. At some point, she must have! Despite what Vera was seeing now - despite her certainty that Miss Martin had taken William to her bed. On the very night that Miss Martin had stayed over in Vera's house, William had come to Vera. He had fucked her, then announced it was over between them. He must have tried to seduce Miss Martin in Vera's own home! She must have refused him, and left him wanting. And so he had come to her, Vera, for fulfilment.

The gall of him! The fucking gall! In her own home, no less!

Ever since he shed himself of her, Vera had wracked her brains trying to think of the best way to avenge herself. She had tried to control the urge, for to do anything rash could expose her affair to her husband. But Tavington's constant presence in her home served to remind her, it infuriated her and took her beyond reasonable thought.

Whatever the case, she had discovered many things about William in her search for his mistress. She had discovered a woman he had bedded several times - a barmaid called Helen Shaw. Then there was some whore - Linda - a doxy he bedded her frequently.

And she, Vera, had been his mistress all the while! He had not even been faithful to her!

_Focus, Vera, focus..._ She strived to calm herself, determined now on her course of action.

Until now, she had had no avenue for revenge, not without exposing herself which could only lead to her ruin. But here it was, staring her in the face. And all she had to do was get 'dear Beth' alone. She could pass on a little warning to the naive chit, tell Miss Martin all she herself had discovered. Not only about Helen Shaw and Linda, but of his fiancé waiting for him in England. Miss Martin would be devastated, of course, but Vera did not care either way.

It was Tavington she wanted to hurt and judging by what she'd seen this evening, his adoration - his love - for the girl, it would hurt him very much.

Vera smiled slowly.

Yes, a little warning. And it should have no repercussions - not for her.

Miss Martin would not want it known that she had bedded the Officer - it would mean her ruin! Chances were, she would slink away and cry in some quiet corner and Vera's husband would remain none the wiser.

And as for Tavington. He would be deprived of his little lover. The poor dear Colonel would be alone...

Vera glanced at the happy couple again, elation surging through her. She began plotting exactly what she would say when she finally managed to get the young girl alone.

Tonight... Her smile broadened. It must be done tonight.

And a letter to Miss Eleanor Price - Tavington's fiancé - would be on the very next ship leaving for England.

* * *

The dinner hour was finished and the guests began to disperse. To the great hall, the gardens, the ballroom - though the music and dancing would not be starting again for some time. Tavington fell in beside her and placed his hand on her arm.

Their relationship had altered considerably since their intimacy in Arthur's chamber. William felt a twitch in his groin and, as he gazed down at her, he decided they would not return to the dancing just yet.

As they strolled toward the far end of the corridor, Tavington tried to get his bearings, tried to think of the most direct route back to Arthur Simms bed chamber. The corridors were mostly empty except for the occasional guard - most of the revelers were outside or in the ballroom.

Beth's arm was linked through his, she'd fallen into a companionable silence as she strolled along with him - she seemed oblivious as to their direction.

She'd been seated with Tavington on one side of her, and Mrs. Caroline Simms on the other. Tavington attempted to keep her entirely to himself but there were long conversations had with him speaking to the person on his far side, and Beth chatting quietly with Mrs. Simms on her other side. Mrs. Simms, Loyalist and hostess of the ball, had asked all sorts of questions about just about everything. Beth came to sense the woman was prying into Beth's personal affairs, digging to discover if she were still attached to Burwell, or had the courtship ended with his departure? To throw the woman off the scent, Beth had said airily "oh, that! In truth, the courtship ended long ago." Burwell would forgive her the lie, it was paramount that she did everything she could to keep their engagement. With Tavington so engrossed in his own conversation with some Loyalist Gentleman, she didn't need to worry that he would hear her.

Soon into the conversation, Beth began to understand why it was Mrs. Simms was trying to learn. She - Mrs. Simms - spoke of Tavington's eventual return to England. Was the understanding between them so strong that Beth would return with him, as his wife? Feeling heartsore, Beth tried to put on a brave face. With that same airiness as before, she'd declared she and Tavington to be friends only, there was no further understanding than that. She'd assumed the woman was digging for gossip about them and now she had her answer, she would let the matter drop and turn the subject aside. Instead, she began speaking to Beth about her son, Arthur Simms. In great detail. Telling Beth precisely what Arthur was set to inherit when Mr. Simms parted from this world.

A vast fortune, two Plantations, including the one where the ball was being held.

"That's wonderful," Beth had said, feeling slightly bemused. Was Mrs. Simms bragging? Hardly a dignified thing to do.

"Yes, he will be well set up, Miss Martin. Now, you be sure to tell your father about him, won't you?"

Beth's jaw had dropped and Mrs. Simms smiled, looking pleased that Beth finally understood her. Mrs. Simms had spoken more on the subject, and became quite apparent, that now that Beth was no longer attached to Burwell, Mrs. Simms hoped to make a match between Beth and Arthur.

_She must know about my inheritance and dowry, _Beth thought. _And she thinks, because of the time I've been spending with the British, that I am a Loyalist. Therefore, I would make a perfect match for her son. Gods._ She was under no illusion, Mrs. Simms did not covet the match for Beth herself, but for the nearly thirty thousand pounds Beth was going to bring to the marriage.

William glanced about, certain he knew where he was now. Slipping out of the stairwell, he led her along. They would soon be back in Arthur's room, back in the throes of pleasure.

"William, where are we?" Beth finally seemed to come out of her stupor. She glanced around her surroundings, which were vaguely family. She gasped with understanding. "William! No - we can't -"

"We can," he said as he opened Arthur's bed chamber door. "No one will miss us - they will believe we have gone for a walk."

"My family might be looking for me," Beth protested, pulling back as he began to pull her forward into the room.

"Let them look and later, just tell them you were in the maze," he assured her. "No one will question this, darling."

Beth gripped the door frame with her free hand, hanging half in and half out of the room.

"Colonel William Tavington, I am not going back in there!" She rasped.

"You're only going to draw attention to yourself," he reasoned and tugged on her arm to pull her in. She held tight to the door frame, however. "How will you explain being here if someone happens along, hmm? The gossips will run rampant."

"Because you led me here!" She berated half heartedly. It would prove difficult to explain if someone came along - with her half hanging in the chamber, half in the hallway. She finally relinquished her hold and allowed him to pull her, laughing with triumph, into the room.

"Oh, this is funny is it?" She arched an eyebrow.

"I'm amused, even if you're not," he laughed again and drew her across the room toward the bed. "Come now, you enjoyed yourself last time we were in here."

"I did," she agreed quietly. They stopped at the bed and she eyed it shyly, blushing crimson. He abruptly pulled her hard against him and kissed her firmly on the mouth. She gasped and flailed her arms, then sighed and relaxed against him, her arms winding his neck as his lips moved over hers possessively.

"I think you should lock the door this time," she said softly against his lips.

"I dare say," he murmured back. He disentangled himself from her embrace and slipped by her to lock the door. Beth sat heavily on the edge of the bed, watching him. Burwell was far from her thoughts as she took in the sight of William. Everything he did was powerful, the way he moved, even the way he walked. It made her shiver just to watch him.

Before long he returned to her, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he began removing his boots. Taking her cue from him, she reached down and pulled her delicate slippers from her feet. With that done, they both straightened, side by side, and gazed at each other in the sparse candlelight.

"Regardless of what you say, we really don't have much time," she said finally.

"No. Shall we make the most of it?"

She nodded wordlessly and he stood again to remove his breeches.

"William..." She murmured, feeling faint. She couldn't take her eyes from the sight, however. His hands reaching up under his Redcoat, she could hear his belt being unbuckled. His fingers moved to the buttons of his buckskin breeches and when he shoved them down to his thighs, his erection popped forward, right before her - mere inches from her face. She did look away then, her cheeks burnt crimson and her heart began to pound.

He chuckled at her reaction as he pulled his breeches from his legs and left them in a puddle on the thickly carpeted floor.

"Come with me, little innocent," he chortled. Heedless of his half nudity, he climbed back onto the bed. On his knees, he edged over to the pillows and lay back. She rose and turned to him, saw that his arms were reaching for her, beckoning. "Come here."

With shaking fingers, she drew her skirts up to her thighs and like William, she climbed up onto the bed on her knees, then edged over to the pillows and sat beside him with her legs draw up. She couldn't meet his eyes - choosing to gaze down at the shining golden buttons on his Redcoat. She was just too embarrassed to look at him, half naked as he was.

Sensing her nerves, he shuffled back up to sit beside her.

"Poor darling," he murmured, amused. His fingers toyed with a delicately placed curl and she finally raised her eyes to meet his. "Nervous, hmm?"

"You know I am, you damned bastard."

William laughed aloud and Beth finally smiled and laughed weakly.

"I'll have you know, little Beth," he whispered close to her ear. His warm breath made her sigh. "That I am quite legitimate."

"Yes, but you are a bastard all the same," she accused softly. "You enjoy making me uncomfortable."

"No - I enjoy your innocence, darling," he corrected her. "The Lord knows, there is not a lot of that during times of war."

"You've become jaded, if you think that."

"Perhaps," he leaned in close, not truly concentrating on their conversation with her so near he could smell her scent. His lips trailed slowly along her neck. Even Beth lost track of what they were speaking of. She closed her eyes and turned into him. His lips moved across hers and her body flooded with heat. Reaching up, she clutched at his arms and he pulled her closer. With a low groan, William deepened the kiss, urging her lips to part, he slid his tongue in to explore the cave of her mouth.

Beth and Tavington relaxed against the pillows, kissing softly and slowly. His hands moved up and down her back, her fingers wound around his queue and stroked his neck.

"Am I still frightful, darling?" he asked between kisses. Beth shook her head and pressed herself closer, enjoying the warmth of his body.

"No, but it worries me, how close you came to..." unable to say it, she trailed off.

His lips drifted from her lips down to her neck again, a trail of gentle kisses.

"I should not have tried to push inside you, Beth," he said against her soft skin. "I had such need for you."

"Another lapse in judgement?" She asked.

"Yes," he lifted his head and rubbed his nose against hers.

"And now?"

"Do I have a need for you?" He scoffed and glanced down to his heavy erection, long and straight and hard, only partially covered by the bottom of his Redcoat. "Yes, darling. I certainly do."

"I noticed," she licked her lips nervously, her eyes had followed his and she was staring at his shaft. Finally, she sighed and although her heart pounded and she was as nervous as Hell, she said, "tell me what to do."

A thrill shot up his spine at her words and Tavington groaned. He crashed his lips to hers, sliding his tongue back into her mouth. As their tongues circled slowly, William took hold of her hand and placed it on his bare thigh.

Beth drew back and swallowed nervously. He waited for her to gather her nerve and finally she pressed her lips to his again, and squeezed his thigh at the same time.

William slowly guided her hand higher, placing her hand beneath his Redcoat, directly on his bare cock. He hummed low in his throat as he moved her palm back and forth and in small circles, guiding her movements for a few moments before allowing her to explore on her own.

"It's so soft," she murmured. "And hard at the same time."

She continued to touch him, with her fingertips only, a very light and exploring caress. Her touch was light at first but she grew bolder, she pressed her palm against him harder and squeezed. William groaned against her mouth, it sounded pained. She released her grip and he shook his head urgently, covering her hand with his own again, urging her to push down hard.

"Please, darling, it is perfect," he whispered. He guided her palm up to press and rotate against his cock. She took over once again.

Beth could feel Tavington's heart beating wildly, he kept his kisses soft and gentle. Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck he pulled her closer, almost drawing her into his lap as he bit and nipped at her lips gently.

She drew away from him and gazed down at her hand on his cock, nibbling at her bottom lip apprehensively.

"It won't bite you, darling," Tavington smiled as he watched her. Her eyes flew to his and he kissed her and he waited patiently for her to build her nerve again. She looked down to his lap, watching as her fingers traced his phallus. He lowered his gaze to watch her progress. His member twitched under her touch and Beth gasped.

"It seems to have a life of its own..." she murmured as her fingers caressed the tip. William swallowed hard and his breathing quickened. When she glided her thumb and two fingers over the corona, he sucked in a quick breath, his hand clutched at her arm.

"Ahhh..." He moaned and whispered into her hair, "wrap your fingers around it darling, I want to feel your hand around my cock."

"Cock?" She giggled nervously, for she was unused to such coarse speech. Her riveted on his lap - on his 'cock'.

Biting her bottom lip, she steeled herself and wrapped her fingers around his shaft. She could still see his helmet above her closed fist, and she imagined it looked purple and angry. William nodded approval and breathed out a deep sigh.

Beth, going by blind instinct now, began to stroke him slowly.

William threw his head back and growled, the tingling heat flooding through his body. Breathing heavily now, he watched her fist move up and down, short tugging motions. Her hand moved higher with each tug, her fingers eventually moving over the ridges of his helmet and he thrust his hips forward with a groan.

Gaining confidence, Beth tightened her grip and tugged faster. It was fascinating, her hand moved up high enough that his helmet disappeared from sight, concealed in her fist, only to pop back into view when she tugged down again. His groans and the first sight of his manhood moved something deep inside her, an ache began to build between her legs, a warm throb that built steadily. She squeezed her thighs shut and squirmed, instinctively searching for relief.

Tavington was not so lost to his own pleasure, he was not oblivious to her need. Crashing his lips to hers with a harsh groan, he pulled her skirts high up her legs. He placed his hand on her thigh and began to trace her leg, moving his hand up and down, over her silk stockings, her garter, finally caressing her smooth skin. He trailed his fingers down again lightly, up and down, tracing higher each time.

Beth melted against him and they began to kiss. His tongue glided across hers as his hand edged ever higher, toward the place where she ached the most. Pressing inside her thighs, he guided her legs to part.

He groaned again as Beth squeezed his cock tighter, increasing speed.

"Slow, slow, slow..." He whispered against her lips, for she was bringing him too close to the edge, far too quickly. "Slower..."

Her eyes where large as she watched his face twist with agonized pleasure. She slowed down and he began to calm. His lips parted and he hummed low, almost soundlessly. She let herself be guided by him, her hand moved in time with the rise and fall of his hips, slow and steady.

Remembering her need, Tavington moved his hand to her womanhood. His fingers caressed through the dark blonde curls. Beth sighed, enjoying the tingling sensation. Her thighs opened further of their own accord as he caressed her. His fingers tracing softly over her folds, through her curls, to the sensitive skin at the top of her thighs. He did it all softly, slowly, allowing her to become accustomed to his touch.

She continued to stroke him confidently now. His breathing became ragged, he panted in her mouth, his lips still moving across hers but clumsier now, with less finesse. She barely noticed for his fingers were doing some wonderful things between her legs.

His fingers were moving within her folds, circling, agonizingly slow, around a hard little lump that she had no name for. She began to pant as raggedly as he. Before long, she began to buck against his fingers, trying to urge him to circle that wondrous gnarl of flesh faster. Without drawing his lips from hers he shook his head.

He would not increase the speed, he would ease her ache on his terms only.

She whimpered, a long mournful whimper and, surrendering to his greater experience, she stopped her bucking and moved slowly and languidly. He nodded wordlessly in approval. His fingers both eased her ache but increased her need for release all at once. The tension was warm and lovely, building within her. Beth could think no longer - her mind simply stopped working.

Her lips parted and became lax beneath his.

William drew back to watch her, to revel in the pleasures he was showing her. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, short breaths puffed from her parted, swollen lips. She pushed her pelvis up against his fingers without shame. Holding herself rigid, she clutched at his arms, her body taking on a life of its own as she writhed and gasped.

The tension built as high as it could go. She moaned a long, quiet moan - as white hot pleasure, starting beneath his fingers, exploded within her, warm and thrilling. It flooding through her body, floating her on those wonderful waves for eternity. Seconds only it lasted but Beth felt it had lasted a life time. Coming back to herself, she touched her lips to his, still moaning softly as the waves carried her.

Before too long, it ebbed and waned, fading until all that was left was a wonderful warm, relaxing glow. She began to breath again, slow, deep breaths in William's mouth. She still clutched at his arms as thought returned to her.

"Ohhh," she murmured and swallowed. Her chest rising and falling, she drew back and stared at him with wonder. "Oh..."

He smiled down at her as he drew his hand away from between her legs. He pried her fingers loose from his arm and pushed her hand back down to his lap, to wrap around his length again.

"Oh, William!" She cried, realising she had stopped pleasuring him during the throes of her intense pleasure. "I'm so sorry..."

She wrapped her fingers around his girth and resumed her slow tugging.

"That's alright darling," he murmured against her lips. "You were a little preoccupied. I quite enjoyed watching you, I think you quite forgot I was even here..."

"Almost, dear heart, almost," she sighed at the memory of her orgasm, her body still felt light and warm. "It's just so wonderful."

"I know," William nipped her bottom lip, "I have wanted to hear you call me that for so long."

"Dear heart?" She asked with surprise but Tavington pressed his lips against hers again, moaning against the slow build up of curling tension in his groin. It did not take long before he reached that apex, the point of no return. After watching her in her throws of her climax, his own tension was already at its height. He bucked his hips, encouraging her to move her hand quicker, to relieve his agony.

"Faster darling," he murmured against her lips when she ignored his prompting.

"No, dear heart."

He groaned and kissed her hard, his need becoming urgent.

"Beth, faster!" His tone held a ring of command.

"No. Call it petty revenge, if you will, but I will not go faster," her eyes were bright with mischief.

Tavington groaned and wrapped both his hands around the back of her head, pulling her in for a hard, harsh kiss. His hips thrashed up and down but still she kept her tugging slow and steady.

Finally she drew forth his climax. He gripped her hair and bit her lip as heat and fire scoured through his veins. Hitting his his zenith, he keened long and low with pleasure.

His essence began to spurt out of him - hot and sticky ropes pulsing along his length. His body convulsed with each spurt and he grunted, turning slightly away from her to not soil her skirts. His seed landed safely away from her, somewhere on the coverlet.

Wrapping his arms around her, he collapsed against the pillows, pulling her down with him. As he began to calm from his climax, his tilted her head up and began to kiss her, his lips moving across hers slowly - gentle again now his urge was sated. Beth drew away and glanced at her hand quizzically - where the first of his come had spilled before he could draw away.

"My seed..." William smiled. He looked around for something to wipe Beth's hand with. There was nothing to hand, so he took hold of her palm and wiped it along the coverlet.

"Seed," she repeated. Then, when she recalled the corse words of earlier, she laughed up at him. "Cock?"

"One name for it..." he smiled. "Why, what would you call it?"

"I never thought about it." She said primly.

"What of this?" he placed his fingers between her legs, within her folds again, searching for that hardened spot. When he found it, she gasped.

"Oh, no - oh!" She pushed his hand away.

"Too sensitive?" He smiled. "Your clitorus, darling."

"Clitorus?" Beth laughed again. "Seed, cock, clitorus! I am surely getting an education tonight."

He pulled her back into his arms. "I cannot wait until our next lesson. There are so many things I can teach you to do to my cock."

"Tsk tsk. I should wash your mouth out, William," she teased. Nestling into the crook of his neck, they sobered from their pleasure.

"We will need to head back soon," he said reluctantly. Beth sighed and pressed closer to him. She threw her arm across his stomach and held him tight.

"I don't want to," she whispered. "I wish we could just stay here."

She laid her head against his chest and enjoyed feeling the rise and fall as he breathed steadily beneath her ear. "I can hear your heart beating," she said finally. "So fast..."

"That's because I'm with you," he said honestly.

"Hmm," she smiled with contentment and closed her eyes. Both were happy to lay still, against the pillows in one another's embrace. William stared up at the ceiling as his fingers twirled idly through her hair and of course Beth's eyes were closed as her hand rubbed up and down his chest and stomach.

After a short while, William said thickly, "lower, darling."

"Already?" She raised her head and met his eyes, then glazed down between his legs. Sure enough, his 'cock' was standing to attention once more. "Lord, I don't think I could bear being touched right now."

"Too bad," William said unsympathetically. With his arms still around her, he rolled their bodies over until she lay on her back and he lay alongside her. With his head propped against his right hand, his left moved along her thighs, lazy circles reaching higher. Finally his fingers quested within her folds, to circle her clit.

"Perhaps I was wrong," Beth breathed, for it was not painful and sensitive. Far from it - it felt wonderful. Reaching down between them, she took hold of his shaft. It was a little awkward for her, this position, she could not tug him properly. Settling for caressing him lazily, she let him do the work of pumping his hips back and forth as he circled her hardening nubbin slowly with his fingers.

Music started to play somewhere far away in the manor, the dancing had resumed in the ballroom. Time was short and they strove to bring each other to a quick but satisfying release. Before long, Beth began to buck against his fingers and this time he did not try to draw it out, did not attempt to go slowly. He circled her knot of flesh insistently and before long, she arched her back and cried out, that wonderful explosion of pleasure flooding her body for the third time that evening.

Tavington was right behind her. His head buried in the nook of her neck, his breath rasped as he bucked back and forth, his cock gliding in her now vice like grip. One last guttural cry and he came, he angled into the bed and his seed spurted in pulses, pooling on the coverlet.

They calmed slowly, kissing gently and unhurriedly as though they had all the time in the world.

Gradually, however, William pulled away.

"We better get back," he whispered, kissing her nose, her eyes, her cheeks, then her lips once more. "Or we will be noticed."

She nodded and by unspoken agreement, they rose from the bed and began righting their clothes. William pulled on his breeches, then his boots while Beth put her slippers on and tidied the gem encrusted net covering her hair.

"Are you ready, darling?" He asked finally and held his arm out for her to take.

"No, dear heart," she smiled. "I'd rather stay here with you as I said."

"We'll steal away again," he promised her as she took his arm. "And if not, there is always tomorrow, and the next day and the next."

Beth's smile faltered as reality came crashing down on her. Tavington had begun to lead the way from the room, he was busy unlocking the door so he did not notice her sudden, oppressive silence.

She thanked the Lord she was holding his arm for she felt certain she would have fainted. So many thoughts whirled through her head - she was engaged and this wonderful connection to Tavington would not last much longer. She was wracked with guilt, for she had lied to William and was willingly betraying him, for Harry - her fiancé. And on the other side of that coin, was the awful fact that she had been unfaithful to her fiancé - had not even given him a second thought for the past half hour, while she had kissed and pleasured another man - his enemy!

As they began to encounter other people in the corridors, Beth knew she needed to pull herself together. Tavington had begun shooting her concerned glances but he put her anxiety down to the fear that they might be discovered. He finally led her into the ballroom and she had calmed herself considerably by then.

"See?" He whispered as they began to move through the throng. "No one is the wiser."

She smiled weakly and nodded.

Colin Ferguson came forward as soon as he spied Beth. He saluted Tavington then held his arm to her with a smile - it was his turn for a dance. William did not mind. Dragoons only, he had told Bordon and Colin had been a Dragoon for a while now.

William had no doubt that Bordon will have bullied Beth's other suitors - and as he suspected, they would be too fearful of his wrath to come forward and claim their promised dance.

* * *

After the third time of being spurned, Beth became suspicious. She raised herself to the tips of her toes to search for Tavington, spying him not far from her. She stalked over to confront him.

"I'm beginning to think you've scared off my other suitors, William," she said without preamble, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "I've only danced with Dragoons since dinner, all my other dance partners have spurned me."

His eyes widened with feigned innocence. "Darling, I do not know what -"

"Please do not treat me like a fool, Sir," she snapped, suddenly irritated. He had taken his jealously too far! "This is the third time it has happened too many times to be coincidence. I am not an idiot and will not be treated as such."

"Very well," William eyed her coolly. Such a temper on her! Her aunt's had worked on her for two years but they had not entirely tamed Beth of her wildness. It was still there, she hid it well most times, but when her passion was up… He did not want her flaring up in the ballroom in front of the other guests but he suspected that if he said the wrong thing, she would do exactly that. As it was, they were beginning to receive some strange looks, little Miss Martin with her fists on her hips, glaring up at the reputedly fierce Officer.

"Now, Stephen Flanser," she said crisply, citing her first example. "It was his turn and yet he does not come. Why? Because he is not a Dragoon. I don't know how you have done it, but I have no doubt it is at your design."

"You're mine, Beth," he grated down at her, admitting it at last. "I trust my Dragoons, they know I value you and hold you with high affection. These others, however -"

"Are none of your business!" She cried, indignant.

William's lips tightened, his irritation growing. Beth, however, was not done.

"We were dancing, William!" She berated him. "Only dancing. You take your jealousy too far!"

"I hope you do not expect an apology for you will not get one," he said primly.

"No, I do not expect it," she scoffed. "Lieutenant Colonel William Tavington would not apologize for a damned thing. You would not lower yourself." She folded her arms across her chest now and glared up at him - pleased with herself for confronting him, and with coming up with her own special revenge for him. "I have another punishment for you, however."

"Oh?" His tone terse, suspicious and dangerous.

"You will not be given Flanser's dance," she explained in a taunting, sing song voice. "I gave you those others before realizing your deception, but no more."

That took the wind out of his sails. He could hardly force her to dance with him! Instead, he tried to reason with her.

"There are only two more dances for the evening Beth. You do not want to miss the final dance, do you?"

"Hmm, let me see," she tapped her lips. "I promised the final dance to Ensign Watson over a week ago. I do not believe he will be coming forward to claim it, however, do you?"

"I dare say," William scoffed.

"Hmm, soldiers duties, no doubt, keep him away, also," she mused in a mocking tone. "Therefore, my evening of dancing is done. If you will excuse me -"

"Darling," he reached for her as she turned away. He dropped his voice to an amused whisper. As irritated as he was, he could not help but admire her spirit, he wondered if that was one of the things that drew him to her. "Dance the final dance with me."

"No," she tilted her chin back haughtily and he rolled his eyes heavenward.

"Have you ever heard the saying 'cutting your nose off to spite your face'?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact - my father says it to me often. I am known for it, so do not think you will sway me."

"Where are you going, I will come with you."

"No, you will not," she laughed at him. "I am trying to storm away in an angry huff!" She jerked her arm from his grip and he let her go.

She heard, but chose to ignore, his quiet chuckle behind her.

"I'll meet you by the clock again, in twenty minutes, so we can watch the fireworks together," he drawled before she was out of ear shot.

She ignored him, back straight, and continued on outside. A wave of cool air washed over her - the evening had wound on, it was getting late now and the heat had finally begun to dissipate.

Where too..?

Perhaps she should go and find Cilla or her Aunt - that will put paid to him and his fireworks. Of course, when the time came she knew she would be waiting by the clock for him, but still! Only allowing her to dance only with men of his choosing - his trusted Green Dragoons. How had he done it? He had been by her side for most of the night, except while she danced with other men - Dragoons...

Perhaps Ensign Watson should have become a Dragoon...

No, William would never have taken him into his ranks. He had made it clear that he could not stand the Ensign who had been courting her too. She felt sorry for Watson, though - she liked him well enough and he seemed to admire her but he was being forced to back down by her jealous lover...

Jealous lover.

Lord. It will all be over soon - this dream. Eventually, she would leave Charlestown, marry Burwell and she wasn't sure if that was a relief, or a curse. The man was a force of safety and calm in the face of William's dangerous tornado. She needed safety and calm... All this danger and worry and fear was too much for her. Even if she was a 'brave lioness'.

She loved William dearly, however. And they had shared pleasure tonight, he had woken something inside her.

He had made her his.

Lord, how in the world would she find the strength to leave to marry Burwell, when the time came?

Cutting her nose off to spite her face - indeed. The music had started again and with a pang of jealousy, she wondered if William was dancing with another woman. Beth turned on her heel to march back to the ballroom - to make sure he was not dancing with another. And if it was not too late, she would give him the dance after all, and the final set as well.

And then the would watch the fireworks together.

She turned on her heel and came face to face with Mary's mother, Mrs. Vera Tisdale.

"Sweet Lord!" Beth gasped with fright - she had not expected anyone to be behind her! She pressed her hand to her chest and closed her eyes, her heart pounding. "I didn't see you!"

"Oh, I am sorry, Miss Martin," Vera smiled brightly. "I'm afraid I saw you alone - finally - and ran to catch up. I've been hoping to speak with you alone all evening!"

Beth cast a last, longing glance at the ball room, then fell in beside Mrs. Tisdale with a reluctant sigh.

"I need to return for the last dance," she said. "But you have my ear for now. What did you want to speak to me about?"

Vera smiled again - with triumph. She took Beth by the arm and led the way deeper into the night.


	15. Chapter 15 - The Lioness

Chapter 15 - The Lioness

Vera smiled triumphantly as she turned Beth away from the ballroom, where the younger woman had clearly been about to return. Watching from the sides, she had seen the girls 'tiff' with Tavington, though she had not heard a word. She judged it was not particularly serious, however, as Tavington had laughed it off and walked away.

A smug smile had quirked his lips, but it would be gone soon. Vera felt a thrill at the prospect. Use her for a final fuck, would he? She would see his little liaison with this silly girl destroyed, here and now.

"Are you enjoying your evening, my dear?" She asked Beth now.

"Yes, quite," Beth frowned and Vera almost laughed aloud.

She had never particularly liked the young girl, had never shown her anything beyond polite courtesy - her warm tone obviously bewildered Beth. Good, she wanted the girl to be off guard.

"Hmm, as am I. I do enjoy balls. The proper ones like this one of course, not those horrible public things," Vera shuddered.

"What did you wish to speak to me of, Mrs. Tisdale? You said you've been hoping to catch me all evening."

"Yes, well, you keep disappearing on me!" She observed with wide eyed innocence. "All alone with Tavington..."

Beth swallowed, her heart began to pound with fear that she and William had been discovered. She made no protest - allowing herself to be led meekly away by the older woman.

"Over here dear," Vera said. "Let's wait until we are completely private."

"Sounds serious," Beth said in a shaky voice. Then, because she wanted some hint of what was coming, she asked, "is it about Colin and Mary?"

"Oh, it's serious," Vera nodded decisively. "But no it's not about Colin and Mary. Though I am hoping the young man will propose soon. You are very close with the boy, aren't you? Do you think he will?"

Beth frowned, she still had no clue of what this was about. But Vera was speaking politely and she allowed herself to relax somewhat.

"Yes, we are close. And yes I believe he will propose soon. His sister Lucy thinks so too, though he has not told her for certain. Will you and Mr. Tisdale approve?"

"Certainly we will! The Ferguson's... They will make a very good match. Almost as good as your Gabriel would have made for my Mary."

"I think the Howard's have beaten you to it, there. Anne Howard will definitely marry Gabriel."

"Hmm, lucky girl..." Vera's tone was wistful, Gabriel was certainly a handsome young man. She would have enjoyed putting him through his paces, if only he had not been so bloody innocent and pure of heart! How enjoyable it would have been, riding that young man, watching his angelic face twist as he experienced his first climax.

She wondered if Tavington watched Beth's angelic face twist with hers...

Finally they, Beth and Vera, were alone. Surprisingly, now the time had come, Vera began to feel nervous. Her knees were weak and her stomach writhed. Feeling slightly faint, she led the way over to a wooden seat, beckoning for Beth to sit beside her. The gravel path curved into the night, but Vera felt certain she would be able to hear anyone strolling. For a moment she faltered, hesitated. What would Tavington do to her, when he discovered this? He was bound to know that she was the one who revealed their affair to Beth. Perhaps she should be fearful of his wrath...

Steeling her spine, she decided that William could do nothing, not to her. She had her husbands protection and Tavington would not want their affair exposed. Her husband would expel the Dragoons from his house! Of course, if their affair was exposed thus, she would be forced to leave, also... In any instance, William would not want his reputation tarnished and bedding a married woman in the very home he had been quartered was a sure fire way of losing him the respect of his peers.

Besides, he had to pay for spurning her, for using her. The gall of it! Second best... To this little chit? She'd never been so outraged in her life.

"My dear, what I have to tell you is quite distressing," Vera began and Beth's gaze became wary again. "But it simply must be done. I do hope I can rely on your discretion, too many people could be hurt if you repeat what I am about to tell you. I have no wish to hurt you," she lied, "but you are my daughter's closest friend and I simply must reveal certain things to you. To protect you, so that you do not make a hopeless, terrible mistake."

"What things?" Beth asked quietly, suddenly glad she was sitting down. "What terrible mistake?"

Vera tried to keep the smile from her face. Tried for an expression of motherly concern.

"Darling, it is about Colonel Tavington. I've noticed the connection between the two of you," she gave a tinkling laugh. "Who hasn't noticed? He has been so attentive of you, you must have danced with him seven times this evening, not to mention dining with him. And though no one else suspects it, I know you have twice stolen away to be alone with him."

"Oh, God, no, please - there wasn't nothing in it. Please, Mrs. Tisdale -"

"Oh, I'm sure it was all innocent," Vera scoffed. "Don't worry, Miss Martin, I was your age once. Your secret is safe with me."

Beth's face blazed crimson.

"As I was saying, I think you are at serious risk of falling in love with the good Colonel. You might even lose your… reputation… over him, if you are not careful." Vera said and she knew she'd hit the mark when Beth drew in a sobbing breath. "I've told you, my dear, I shall keep your secret. However, you need to know a few things about the good Colonel, before it's too late. Unless it is already too late?" Vera arched an eyebrow. Beth shook her head slowly, seeming to have lost the ability to speak. "Well, either way, though you love him, you will have no choice but to end it with him after what I have to tell you about his… less admirable traits."

"Less admirable traits?" Beth swallowed heavily, William had plenty of those... What more could Vera possibly tell her?

"Yes, dear. His propensity for... shall we say... seduction? The man seems unable to help himself," she continued as though she had not noticed Beth's sudden tension. "Yes, he is quite the ladies man - 'a man about town', if you will."

Beth stopped short, her heart began to pound. The two women turned in the seat to face one another.

"Perhaps you could elaborate," Beth suggested, trying to keep her ragged emotions leashed.

"You have not known him long, have you?"

"No," Beth replied - it came out terse, she folded her arms across her chest defensively.

"Well, since then, dear, I happen to know of at least three other women, one he bedded just last night at a little tavern not far from the Assembly Hall."

Beth's face turned white and she swooned in the seat.

"Last night?" She whispered finally.

"Indeed," Vera said with false sympathy and reached out to pat Beth's hand. "Her name is Helen Shaw - she is a barmaid and has enjoyed his attentions a few times since she met him - nearly two weeks ago," she gasped as though only just making the connection. "That must have been around the time he met you!"

Beth closed her eyes and licked her lips. To believe her? She opened her eyes.

"I assure you, I am speaking truly," Vera said, sensing the younger girl's distrust. "I questioned Miss Shaw myself."

"And why would you go to that effort?" Beth frowned. Her voice was as cold as winter snow.

"Because, darling," Vera said in an over the top voice. She annunciated each word exactly, "I am a jealous mistress and I desired to know who my lover's other mistress's were, of course!"

Beth reeled. Jealous mistress. Her lover. Vera was bedding William. She closed her eyes and struggled to catch her breath. Vera noticed Beth's distress and continued on, pushing her advantage.

"Oh, I have not mentioned the other women - there are still two more that I know of, remember?"

Beth wished she could block the hateful woman's voice from her ears.

"Linda Stokes, I believe her name is... Though I do not believe she is truly competition. She is a whore, you see," Beth's eyes flew open and Vera elaborated. "Fucks our Officer for coin."

"I think we are done here," Beth tried to rise but Vera grabbed her arm and jerked her back. Without seeming to realise it, her voice rose of its own accord and it was filled with hate and fury.

"Oh, no... We have not even scratched the surface!" She spat. "You see, the day _William_ -" - Beth tensed, her eyes glittered and Vera smiled, sensing the other woman's sudden violence. Oh, yes, she had struck a cord now, speaking their lovers name so freely. - "Quartered in my home, was the first day we bedded one another. And, as I've been a little digging since then, I've come to realise that he did so on the very same day he met you."

Beth gasped, a sobbing, broken sob, her hand pressed over her mouth as if trying to hold it in. The day they'd met Bordon and those other officers. The day Beth had stayed to picnic with Mary and their friends, the day Tarleton and Tavington had sat with her, flirting with her, William already weaving a spell around her. He'd walked her home, kissed her in the garden. Stayed for dinner, kissed and caressed her every opportunity they were granted.

And then he went back to Mr. Tisdale's and fucked his wife?

Her stomach writhed, an awful feeling spreading out, bile lifting up to her throat. She swallowed it back down. Her eyes burned but she did her damnedest to hold the tears back too. Vera was gloating. Boasting. She wanted this to hurt Beth, wanted it to cripple her, Beth could hear it in the woman's voice. And Gods, it was working, but she desperately fought it, not wanting to give Vera the satisfaction.

"We are jealous lovers, William and I," Vera continued and Beth wished she could keep the woman's hateful voice out. Vera had an iron grip on Beth's wrist, however. And Beth feared that if she ripped her arm free, she wouldn't get two stride away before collapsing to the ground. "I shall tell you a story."

"Gods, just stop," Beth hissed, but Vera ignored her.

"On the very night we first joined with one another, William came home with a keepsake. A lovely brown silk ribbon." Vera reached up to finger one of Beth's ribbons gently. The younger woman slapped the older's hand away. He fucked Vera after she gave him her ribbon! "Ohh, touchy," Vera laughed viciously, thoroughly enjoying herself. "Where was I? Oh, yes. I became quite jealous, I admit. William is a wonderful lover after all, but then again - I think you know that already?" She arched an eyebrow and Beth blushed crimson. Vera felt her suspicions, that Beth had lost her virginity to William, were confirmed. Rage as she had never known coursed through her, making her reckless. - "I tried to throw the ribbon in the fire," she continued. "William became quite incensed. Told me it was from his sister, but I've since realised it was from you. I could still feel the sting of his slap on my cheek the following day."

"Is that why you're doing this?" Beth curled her lip. "Because he slapped you over my ribbon?"

"No, I have a much stronger reason for this, Miss Martin. Now, as I was saying, your ribbon and the slap… I was quite stunned and thought I would never forgive him, but he made it up to me." Now for the stab. "He is so incredibly clever with his tongue, wouldn't you agree?" She searched the younger woman's face, waiting for a reaction. She saw only anger and distress - and now confusion.

"What?" Beth snapped, her brows drawn down in a frown. She couldn't credit it, couldn't believe what she was being told! "What the devil are you talking about? You forgave him because he kissed you? Even I have more self respect than that!"

"Ah, what a little innocent you are!" Vera laughed with glee, quite pleased to know William had not performed the oral form of loving on the girl. And after this, he never would. "He has not shown you that particular delight then. Have you bedded him or not?"

"No I have not," again Beth rose and again she was hauled back. She growled low in her throat with frustration - Vera was bloody strong! "It's none of your damned business!"

Vera stifled a crow of delight. Her victory would be even more complete, if she managed to break the two apart before he had even had a chance to take the girl's virtue.

"No, don't leave yet," Vera admonished. "There is more. Lord, with our William, there is always more! You have not asked me why I would reveal all this to you, now, at the ball... Why would I risk such a thing? You must know our William has a temper."

"MY WILLIAM!" Beth leaned in close, her violence just beneath the surface. "Say his name again, I fucking dare you!"

Stunned, Vera recoiled, taken aback by Beth's sudden ferocity. Was the girl unhinged? Would she raise her hand and slap her, as William had? She felt suddenly afraid, but after a moments hesitation, Vera steeled her spin. She had started this, she would see this to the end. Her victory was not yet complete.

"No, darling - not your William - not mine either," Vera corrected, going in for the kill. "Colonel Tavington is engaged, Miss Martin. He has a lady with a small fortune waiting for him back in England - Miss Eleanor Price with her twenty thousand pounds."

Beth reeled, her face drained of colour and for a glorious moment, Vera thought she might faint. Finally - a satisfying reaction from the girl!

"He is engaged?" She asked softly, pitifully.

"Oh, my dear, he most certainly is. When this war is over, Colonel Tavington is going to return to England and he is going to marry Miss Price. If it was marriage you were praying for, Miss Martin, you were most certainly barking up the wrong tree. He will never be with you," Vera continued in a mocking tone. "_Your_ William..." she laughed her tinkling laugh. "Eleanor Price's William, more like. Did it not occur to you to ask him of prior attachments, before falling in love with him? You silly girl!"

Beth bristled, she balled her hands into fists and leaned forward aggressively, her face twisted with fury. "You dare mock me?" Vera, sincerely worried for her person, shifted back and raised her arms in a placating gesture. "What of you?" Beth hissed. "All that talk of jealousy, you set your sights on a man you couldn't have either, you're no more clever than I am! Are you still bedding him, you damned chit?"

"I'm the chit?" Vera gasped, fury flooding through her. "Me? How dare you? I shed himself of me because of you! The night of the ball, I never would have allowed you in my house, had I known! He came to you, didn't he? And you refused him. And so he came to me instead -"

"Oh dear God," Beth groaned.

"He fucked me, Miss Martin. He strode into my chamber, kicked my maid out, lifted me up against the wall, slid his cock into my quim and _he fucked _me up against the wall. I thought I'd die and when he thrashed inside me, I did die, a thousand little deaths. All of this with you just down the hall, oblivious. When he was done, he said _we_ were done. He ended it. He told me he would settle for second best no longer! He shed himself of me, _for you_! You're the damned little chit."

"Well," Beth breathed, her face and voice like ice. "Aren't you the little whore."

Vera drew in a sharp breath, eyes growing wide and wild.

"Whore?" She spat

"You are done now, I assume?" Beth asked. Her groans and gasping sobs were gone and in their place was this… A statue made of marble. Unflappable, her back was iron, her face carved from stone. Vera had no idea how the younger woman did it. "Good for you, shaming your husband and daughter by having an affair with another man, I'm certain they would both be so proud!"

With a wild shout, Vera raised her hands, ready to claw Beth's eyes out, only to be seized halfway to their mark. A man's fingers encircled her arms, as strong as irons clamping down around her wrists. Vera threw her head over her shoulder, and came face to face with her husband.

Panic seized her, taking her breath away - the air left her lungs and she could not breathe. Vera was only vaguely aware of Beth rising from the seat. Adam released his hold on Vera's wrists and she finally drew a ragged breath, filling herself with air. How much had he heard? Judging by the look on his face, he'd heard so very much.

"Miss Martin, leave us," Adam Tisdale said and Beth, terrified by the look on Mary's father's face, lurched from the seat and began to run.

* * *

Her terror began to wane and she slowed to a very quick stride. What would she have done, if Mr. Tisdale hadn't arrived when he had? Vera had been about to claw Beth's face, Beth would have had to defend herself, and what a sight they would have made, two grown women trading blows right there on the bench. Vera had put Beth through more than enough without that.

Tavington had put Beth through more than enough.

It was for the best, that Mr. Tisdale had come when he had. Not only because he saved Beth from further humiliation, but he had saved her from having to reveal to him the horrid truth about Vera and William.

Vera and William. Gods. Beth raged as she began her search. It was time to end it with William. For once and for all. He was having multiple affairs and he was promised to someone else. Miss Eleanor Price.

_Oh god..! _Despair threatened to overwhelm her. She had to stop dead and lean against a large marble statue as she choked back a flood of tears.

_No, RAGE! _She growled at herself, trying to shove her anguish away. Rage - not despair. There was no place for despair. Not now!

Mistresses, whores, a wife already secured!

Rage. Fury. Anger. A Thunder. A brave and very angry lioness, as Tavington was about to discover.

Swallowing hard, she embraced her fury and shoved back from the marble statue.

She decided to search the grounds first. There were lots of guests enjoying the fresh air, mingling in groups of two or more, talking and laughing, wine goblets in their hands. Beth searched each group intently, checking for Redcoats with dark hair. As she moved further away from the manor, the groups of people became less.

Frustrated and tense, Beth whirled, about to return to the mansion when she spied three people standing near a tall stand of trees. They stood on the edge of the circle of light cast from a nearby lantern. Even from this distance she recognised William, she had come to know his build, his militaristic stance. She hardened herself, steeled her spine. All the confusion, all the doubt she had at leaving William and marrying Harry, fled.

Time to end it.

She clenched her jaw, balled her hands into fists and, her silk skirts swishing around her legs, she closed the distance between them with determined strides.

* * *

With a small, indulgent smirk, Tavington watched Beth stomp away. The next set began but rather than ask another woman to dance, he slipped out of the ballroom in search of Richard. Spying the Captain with Miss Jutland, he quickened his stride to a trot and caught up to them.

"Ah, William," Richard quipped. "Nice of you to spare us some of your time this evening."

"Yes, I'm surprised you were able to peel yourself from Miss Martin's side," Harmony joined in the teasing.

William cringed. "Has it been that obvious?"

Richard snorted. "Christ - almost every guest here is speaking of it. It has caused quite a sensation. It was common knowledge that Burwell was courting the girl; to have her be so thoroughly engrossed with a Redcoat Officer has definitely set tongues to wagging. Some are wondering if you will propose to the girl."

"I've heard many of the younger women whispering behind their hands," Harmony said as the trio began to walk away from the ballroom, heading toward the far trees where there weren't so many people and they could speak in private. "Almost all of them seem to agree that you are by far the better catch."

"Almost all of them?" Tavington arched an eyebrow and Harmony laughed.

"I think a couple of them are not so pleased - it seems they had their eyes on you for themselves."

"I dare say," William smirked. "That doesn't surprise me in the least."

"You're so very humble," Harmony laughed. "I confess myself quite distressed," she flirted. "You tell me I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes on and then don't pay me any attention all evening! You haven't danced a single dance with me!"

Bordon rolled his eyes. The two always seemed to flirt with one another but as long as they kept it to flirting, Richard did not mind too much. It pleased Richard that his Commander got along so well with his mistress. They reached the trees and stopped to continue their chat by the light of a lantern.

"Ah, alas, I've been otherwise occupied. I am certain Miss Martin will seek me soon for the final dance, when she comes to her senses."

"Oh?" Harmony was instantly intrigued. "Tell me more!"

"It seems the little dear is as clever as she is beautiful," William explained. "She saw through my attempt to keep other suitors away from her, by only having my Dragoons dance with her." Harmony and Richard both began to laugh as William continued. "She was in quite a huff about it, declared that she would not dance another dance with me and then strode away. I give her until the finish of this set before she comes and finds me, and pleads for the final dance."

"So certain of yourself," Harmony mocked. "I hope she doesn't give in, myself. You need a lesson or two in how to treat women, I'm afraid."

"_Fiery_ women," William chuckled. "Christ, I've never met any woman with her temper. How are you enjoying the evening?" He asked, changing the subject. Talk turned to the evening, other guests, the dinner and how fair the night was when Harmony caught sight of a woman heading toward them over Tavington's shoulder.

"Is that your Miss Martin, Colonel?" She teased. Tavington turned in the direction Harmony indicated.

"Why, yes, it is," he smiled as he watched Beth draw closer. "Come for the last dance, just as I predicted. What say you, Miss Jutland? Should I make her beg?"

"If you say she has a temper, then I would not recommend it myself," Harmony laughed.

His grinned, though it soon turned to a frown. Beth was close enough now for him to see her rage filled expression.

"She looks none too happy, William." Richard said cautiously.

"None too happy at all," Harmony murmured. "She looks furious. Perhaps we should leave the two of you alone."

"Out here, unchaperoned?" William muttered. "As you said, people are gossiping about us as it is. What the Devil is wrong with the girl?"

Beth's eyes where fixed on Tavington as she marched purposefully toward the small group. When she stood before him, he bowed somewhat warily, as did Bordon.

"Miss Martin," Captain Bordon greeted her, giving her no choice but to acknowledge him.

Beth shot him a quick glance, bobbed a curtsy, nodded to Harmony and shifted her flashing eyes back to William. She said two words only, but it was enough.

"Mrs. Tisdale." Fury clipped her tone.

William stiffened and his eyes widened with astonishment.

Too late to offer her a denial or evasion. The accusations confirmed, Beth nodded curtly, satisfied that her information was correct. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned forward intently, one eyebrow raised. She continued in the same clipped tone.

"Well?"

The Colonel drew in a sharp breath and tightened his lips. Fiery was one thing, but this?

"Nothing to say?" She snapped. "Hmm? Colonel William Tavington of the Green Bloody Dragoons, and the _stupid_ British Legion has what…? Lost his tongue? That must be a first for you."

"Miss Martin," Tavington drawled coolly, falling back onto formalities. His pale eyes turned to ice and the grip on his glass was almost crushing. "You will not speak to me in this manner. Calm yourself and we shall discuss -"

"Calm myself?" Beth cut him off furiously. Miss Jutland and Captain Bordon retreated a few steps, though they stayed within the circle of light, watching warily. "Mrs. Tisdale! You and her, all this time! From the first day we met!"

"It was nothing, Beth," he said furiously. "She meant nothing to me. She was an entertainment, a diversion. Nothing more."

"Truly? I feel much better about it now, thank you for clarifying that," her tone was sickly sweet. She tapped her lips as if pondering. "Hmm, but she was not the only one, now, was she? You've sought entertainment and diversion elsewhere other than Mrs. Tisdale. I suppose Linda Stokes and Helen Shaw meant nothing to you as well?" His face grew darker by the moment, but her rage had her in its grips. Besides, she was not finished, she had one more to mention. The most important of all of them. "And then of course there is your fiancé, Miss Eleanor Price," she spat. "With her twenty thousand pounds!"

"Who told of you all of this?" he leaned forward intently, poised and ready to do violence to the informant.

"So," Beth ignored his question. "It's true then? A fiancé waiting patiently back home while here in the Colonies her fiancé gallivants about with four women in less than a month - that must be a record for you, surely? Or perhaps you are used to juggling so many women at once."

"Miss Price… She means nothing!" He spluttered. "Those others, they mean nothing! Who - told - you?!"

Beth laughed bitterly. "Oh, I am certain your whores meant nothing William. I am certain I meant as little to you as they, and your poor fiancé even less! Lord. How many sorts of fool am I?" She laughed again and threw her arms in the air, she tossed her head, her eyes glinted with disgust. "Yes, I am a fool. But you, Sir, _you_ are a heartless rogue, and a complete and utter _fucking_ bastard!"

Filled with righteous rage, Beth whirled around and stormed away. Engaged! He will be marrying! What did he want her for - a moments tryst? A romp, to sooth his ego!

Tavington's face twisted with rage, he threw his glass to the grass and before Beth managed to walk two steps away, he darted forward. His strong fingers closed around her arm in an iron grip.

"Don't you dare touch me!" She hissed savagely and tried to twist out of his grasp.

"You will not walk away from me, Beth," he grated and gave her a hard shake. They both heard a gasp, Harmony tried to come forward but Bordon halted her.

"Oh, Richard, he will hurt her!" She cried with anguish, near to tears with fear.

"Stay out of it, Harmony," Richard said firmly.

"Oh, don't worry for me, Miss Jutland," Beth raged. "He could beat me black and blue yet the worst damage he could do me is already done!" She jerked her gaze from a terrified Harmony back to William. "You're engaged!" She spat again, her eyes narrowed with rage. "With three other mistresses! How could you?"

"I must say, Beth, your jealousy is quite pleasing," Tavington's smile was cold and humorless.

"Jealousy? You think I am merely _jealous_!?" Beth's voice rose in pitch, it was a damned good thing that they were alone except for Richard and Harmony. "Is this amusing to you? You coupled with her! While I was asleep in the room down the hall!"

"She told you herself?" He asked dangerously. The Goddamned bitch, he had known she would seek vengeance if she discovered the woman he had left her for. "I will have a few words for her tonight."

"Will that be before or after you _fuck her _against the wall of her bedchamber?" Beth taunted. He lifted his chin and stared down his nose at her, quivering with fury. "You should be aware, Sir, that Mr. Tisdale now knows of your affair also."

"You told him?" He snarled and shook her sharply again. Beth gasped but recovered herself quickly - she was becoming accustomed to his rough treatment, it was not the first time she had suffered as much from his hands. "You betrayed me?"

"Betrayed you?" She laughed.

LAUGHED! Tavington's face blazed above her, he was growing more incensed by the moment.

"No, Sir. I did not tell him - I didn't need to," her tone took on a mocking edge. "He over heard Mrs. _Idiot_ Tisdale with his own two ears."

Stunned, Tavington's jaw dropped open.

"She was quite descriptive, too," Beth said, ruthless. "She told me all about your encounters," she opened her eyes wide, feigning exaggerated innocence. "Shall I tell you all about her favourite? I suppose I should, she didn't hesitate to tell me all about you 'sliding your cock into her quim as you _fucked_ her up against the wall!"

"Beth," his voice held so much warning, quiet and stern, cold and hard that Harmony whimpered behind him, fearful that she was about to witness Beth get the beating of her life. "You need to stop this, right now. You need to calm yourself. None of it meant anything to me. Those others meant nothing to me, _least_ of all Vera."

"Vera!" Beth's breath caught in a hiss. "Say her name with such familiarity again and I will slap you so hard across the face your head will spin!"

Tavington barked a sudden, humorless laugh. "Oh, no, you are not jealous at all, are you?"

"See?" Beth spat, pushed beyond her limit. "Every word out of your mouth confirms it, Sir. You are a _fucking_ bastard!"

"Tsk tsk, where did you learn such language? I should wash your mouth out, Miss Martin."

She hissed with frustration and anger, this was not going at all the way she imagined it would. "I can't believe how foolish I was, to become infatuated with the likes of you -"

"The word is _love_ Beth," he ground out. "You are in _love_ with me, you and I both know it."

"- You're despicable, William!" She continued as though he had not interrupted her. "I should never have gone off to be alone with you this evening!"

"We both know how much you enjoyed it," he began to taunt her. "You moaned and whimpered quite beautifully. Didn't you say 'you 'floated away on a warm and wonderful ocean'? They were your words, were they not?."

Beth stared at him, shocked to her core that he would use their lovemaking as a weapon against her now. As quick as a flash shock turned to rage. Her face twisted with fury and before reasonable thought could stop her, she reached up her free hand and slapped his face, so hard her fingers stung and the imprint of her hand flared red across his cheek, blazing like the sun.

A sobbing gasp from Harmony. Breathing heavily, Beth saw out of the corner of her eye, the other woman hide her face in Bordon's chest, unable to watch.

William had not been expecting the blow, he'd thought her warning earlier to be a bluff only. But there he was, his head indeed twisting from the force of it, pain flaring up alongside one cheek. He breathed in sharply and his eyes flashed blue fire. His fingers clenched on her arm and he struggled - Christ, how he struggled! - against the urge to return her slap. His arm was far stronger than hers, if he hit her she would be thrown the ground. However, the image of her laying in the dirt, weeping and broken flared in William's mind. He drew a ragged breath and loosened his painful grip, though he did not release her entirely.

"The next time you slap me, Beth, I will slap you back. And my arm is a damned sight stronger than yours," his words were delivered very softly and were all the more terrible for it.

"It is time to end this," Beth panted, unshed tears shone brightly in her eyes - she wished to flee before she broke down and cried in front of him. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "Do you understand me, William? It is ended, it is over. Nothing will ever happen between us again. Never. Go and find some other woman to plague and make wagers on!"

"I told you, the wager is done with!" Tavington snarled, tightening his grip again. He loosened his hold when he saw a flash of pain cross her face.

"How much did you bet on Mrs. Tisdale? Three pounds?" She hissed. She jerked her arm, trying futilely to break his grip.

"Stop it, you silly girl," he grated. "I will not let you go until we have discussed this!"

"Silly girl..." Beth repeated with shock and shook her head. "You, Sir, are not the person I thought you to be. I despise you."

"You despise me?" His repeated contemptuously and scoffed. "Do not deceive yourself. You are angry with me, but we both know you are very much in love with me. As for it being 'over between us'? No, Beth. It will _never_ be over between us."

"Why do you persist with this torment?!" She wanted to scream with frustration. "You have shown a complete lack of regard for me since the moment I met you! You began immediately to court me and then bedded another woman that very night! You are promised to some woman back in England! You rut with other women! You wager with Tarleton for my virginity, which you would have claimed tonight if I hadn't stopped you in time! You have treated me with utter disrespect. My feelings for you have been nothing more than a source of amusement for you, an entertainment! You do not care for me!"

Beth was jerking against his grip and breathing heavily with the effort to free herself. Under the weight of her accusations, his temper finally snapped - he opened his hand with a snap, releasing her so abruptly that she lost her balance and hit the ground with a thud. She curled her lip and stared up at him with fury.

"Colonel Burwell is in love with me, he would never treat me as you do!" She spat up at him from the ground. "He is a better man than you!"

Tavington snarled. With snakelike swiftness he seized her by the throat with one hand, raised his other hand threateningly, ready to slap her.

"Oh," Beth gasped quietly with fear, unable to pull out of his iron grip. The tableau held, Beth wide eyed and waiting for the blow to land as Tavington struggled to control his fury and bloodlust. He curled his lip and pushed her back onto the grass. Rising from her abruptly, he turned and strode away.

Beth breathed in sharply, she placed her hand over her throat where he had gripped her, stunned that he would go to such lengths. She sat up slowly.

"Oh, my Lord!" Harmony, near to tears, ran to Beth to squat beside her and take her by the arm. "Here, let me help you up."

William did not get far. He stopped his march abruptly and closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath in an attempt to find calm. When he felt he was under control, he whirled around and strode back to her. Beth, who was standing now and clutching Harmony's arm, recoiled from him when he took hold of her other arm.

"I am not going to hurt you," he said gently. Indeed - his grip on her arm was light, it was meant to be comforting.

"You were going to, you would have slapped me!" Beth accused.

"You _did_ slap me," he reminded her with a raised eyebrow. "Come, Beth, we will calm down now and discuss this in a reasonable manner."

"No!" She snapped, still infuriated and anguished and... she was feeling so many thing just then and was in no state to calm down and discuss anything in a reasonable manner! "Just how many more women did you roger while carrying on this farce with me? How many marriages have you destroyed since you got here?"

Tavington tightened his lips but chose not to answer.

"Please, stop it. Please - Miss Martin, calm down," Harmony had released Beth's arm, she was wringing her hands with fear for the young woman. Tavington terrified her sometimes, Hell, he terrified Bordon half the time! And that served to make Harmony fear Tavington all the more.

William and Beth ignored her, each holding the others eyes in a stalemate, neither would break their glare first.

Eventually Beth leaned forward, her hard voice cold and clear. "We. Are. Finished."

William raised one eyebrow as he stared down his nose at her.

"And what of Wednesday?" He asked in a cool tone.

"That is a separate issue," Beth said tartly. "I will perform my duty to the Crown. But that is the last of it - beyond that, you and I are finished."

Her words sounded so final, held such conviction that William quite believed her.

"I can not believe you would let these ridiculous women come between us!" He burst out with frustration. "As for Miss Price - yes, she is waiting, but I don't love her anymore than you do Burwell whom, I remind you, you are now engaged too! We're both engaged elsewhere, not just me!"

"Yes, but you lied about it," she snapped and his jaw dropped with incredulity.

"So did you!" He gaped at her. She lifted her chin, eyes narrowing. She had no answer to that, though. "And those others? Linda is nothing more than a doxy - and Miss Shaw a diversion! It was just _bedding_, Beth!"

"Just bedding? When you pressed her up against the wall, she thought she would die. And then you thrashed inside her for so long, she did die, a thousand deaths. Did you moan for her too, hmm?" Her rage made her reckless. Taking her cue from him, she used their lovemaking as a weapon. "Did you moan her name? _'Vera, agh... I am in agony, you drive me to madness!' _"

Her rejection and mockery unhinged him. Fury fired through his veins, his frustration shifted to bloodlust in the blink of an eye. He pulled his arm back and this time he did not have the control to stop himself. His full arm slap across her cheek sent her reeling, stumbling back away from him. Shocked to her core, she spun back to face him, only to recoil with fear. His arm was raised and ready to strike her again.

"Easy, Sir," Bordon stepped in and gripped Tavington's arm. "Remember you are far stronger and can do far more damage. She has slapped you, you slapped her. It is done."

William glared at Beth, his breath short, quick puffs through his slightly parted lips. His body was thwart with tension. He waited until he was sure he was under control, then finally nodded at Bordon, who understood and released William's arm.

Beth's cheek glowed red from his slap, he wondered if his cheek was just as bright from hers. He strode toward her and while she took a hesitant step back, she managed to hold his gaze. She folded her arms across her chest and raised her chin haughtily, daring him to do his worst.

"You are wrong about so many things," he said quietly. He raised his hand slowly, unthreateningly, to trace her bright red cheek. His thumb wiped her tears - he wondered if she was even aware that she was crying. By her challenging stance, he thought not. He continued gently, "you are wrong about my feelings for you, for one. And it is not over with us." His quiet tone took on a dangerous, warning edge. "Not by a long shot. I will pursue you to the end of your days."

Beth held herself still. She did not recoil from his touch, even when he reached up his other hand to loosely finger one of her curled braids. She refused to be intimidated.

"Why?" She asked, calm now but confused. "It makes no sense! After all you've done since I met you. The other women, the way you've treated me! There is no point continuing any of this, there was never any point in starting it! It needs to end, now! I need peace! "

"I have told you, you are mine," he shrugged. "You even said so yourself. You are mine and I will not release you, Beth."

"This is madness," she tossed her head and swatted his hands away. "Utterly ridiculous. As you so succinctly put it, we are both engaged elsewhere and it's time we both acknowledged it, it's time we stayed the hell away from each other. Pursue me as you will, Sir; I can not control what you do. But as for me, I shall have no more of you."

She turned on her heel and marched away.

By the time she reached the manor, all of the revelers were making their way outside, the fireworks were about to start. There were too many people for her to wind through, it would take too long for her to find her family. She stood on the outskirts of the large body of people and watched as the first colorful sparks filled the sky, accompanied by their loud 'booms'.

_To think, I've been looking forward to this part most of all, ever since we learned there was to be a ball_, she thought, choking back a despairing sob.

She became aware of Tavington stepping up close to her, though she did not acknowledge him. The two stood side by side close enough to touch, equally tense and rigid. Their faces turned up to the sky, neither of them smiling or exclaiming over the fireworks. It was a sharp contrast to the other revelers, who 'oohed' and 'aahed' and clapped their hands with delight.

When it was over Beth strode away from Tavington to search for her family, unaware that his gaze followed her until she was lost to his sight.


	16. Chapter 16 - Meeting with Clinton

Chapter 16 - Meeting with Clinton:

5th June

Harmony detested violence. Oh, if she was pushed enough, she could lash out to defend herself, if she was given the need to. But she could not stand seeing a man strike a woman. And Tavington had struck Miss Martin so very hard.

She had felt so awful for the innocent girl, who Harmony was certain had never been struck in her entire life. And it had caused so many horrid memories to flare up, Harmony had barely gotten a wink of sleep the entire night.

Harmony had been just like Miss Martin, once. Oh, she'd never worn dresses like that and nor did she have wealthy uncles and aunts to provide for her. She'd been that innocent, once, though. Unworldly, despite having grown up on a farm on the often times dangerous frontier, where it was not unusual or unheard of for Indians to raid.

She'd been that naive, once, holding firm to the belief that a man would never strike a woman. For her had father ever struck her mother? Not even once in all of Harmony's memories, could she discern a single moment, where he had. Her mother challenged him, their discussions were often times heated, but he always listened to her side and he never hit her, even when it was clear his anger was hot enough to smite a mountain.

That was why Harmony had been naive. Men don't hit women. Husbands don't hit wives. Only, they do. She'd been married once herself, and she had come to know the truth of that quickly enough. Calvin had struck her so often and so viciously, beating the naivety right out of her.

And Tavington was no better. After last night, after what she saw… she was certain of it. He was no better than Calvin, who would go for days without laying a hand on her, only to beat her to pulp for asking what he wanted for breakfast.

He was dead now, and good riddance. She used her maiden name of Miss Jutland again, for there were those who knew Mrs. Farshaw, those she wished to avoid. Calvin was gone, she never needed to fear being beaten by a man, ever again.

But by Gods, seeing Tavington strike miss Martin so… It'd all came rushing back. It was morning now and even now, when she closed her eyes, she saw it. Tavington's arm snapping out, the full force of the blow sending Miss Martin to her knees. Miss Martin's slap hadn't been so hard as that. It was simply awful. At times, when she imagined it, it was Calvin's face Tavington wore and it was she was was struck - it was Harmony that was sent sailing through the air to land hard on the ground. Easily imagined, for Calvin had done it many a time and in truth, he looked so much like the Colonel, they could be passed for one another, if not for one having green eyes and the other having blue.

"Lord, I can't believe he slapped her," she said to Richard.

"She slapped him."

"Yes, but, _she_ didn't send him _flying_ to the ground now did she, Richard?"

"No, but he did warn her that he's far stronger."

"Are you honestly saying he was right for doing what he did?"

"I'm saying it's none of our business," Richard replied. "Come here," he pulled her close, drawing her down into his arms. He sat on the edge of his bed in his room at the Tisdale's house. If the lady of the house could whore herself to the British Officers, she could hardly complain if Richard took his mistress there.

"If Linda heard what he said about her, she'd be devastated," Harmony said, looking miserable. "She means nothing to him."

"Harm," Richard said gently. "I know you consider her to be a friend, but I think your concern is misplaced. Linda is a prostitute."

"Ah! She's a _prostitute_. Therefore she couldn't possibly have any _feelings_."

"I didn't say that. But it's not like you and I, is it? We have great affection for one another, we have an understanding. You are my lover and I am yours. William pays Linda to have relations with him, and he is hardly the only one."

"You're telling me that because of all the men she beds, she can't grow affectionate toward a single one of them?" She snapped, frustrated.

"Harmony, are you angry with me?"

She heaved a sigh and kissed his brow. "Not truly. I'm angry with Tavington. Gods, to slap Miss Martin to the ground, right there at the ball. And to say Linda means nothing to him. Richard, she's in love with him."

"Yes, I believe Miss Martin is certainly in love with him."

"I meant Linda," Harmony said, though in truth, she suspected Richard was right about Miss Martin, also.

"Linda!" Richard burst out laughing. "In love with one of her sparks! Lord, we've gone from a whore having affection for a habitué, to a doxy in love!"

"Damn you," Harmony spat, pushing herself off his lap and stalking for the door. Richard leapt up, panicking that she would leave.

"Harm, don't go," coming up behind her, he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her back up against him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's just… It was so brutal. He slapped her and then she was on the ground and he was going to strike her again," she said over her shoulder and Richard saw that her face was wet with tears. With a sigh, he turned her around to face him and held her close. "If you hadn't been there," Harmony shuddered, as if terrified of what might have happened, if Richard had not intervened.

"But I was, I saved him from himself, and I protected Miss Martin. The horrors you're imagining, they didn't happen, Harm."

"I know, but Lord… I still feel sick to my stomach."

"It wasn't a pleasant sight, I agree. He's had me quite perplexed, I honestly can't understand what has gotten into him. He seems to have completely lost focus, all he seems to think about is her. Oh well, it doesn't matter anymore, at least it's over now.

"It's not over," Harmony shook her head. "He is in love with her, Richard."

Richard's jaw dropped. "No. No he isn't. I don't think -"

Harmony cupped his face with both her hands and stared earnestly into his eyes - blue, like her own. "He is in love with her, Richard. This trouble? It isn't over."

"Damn and blast it," Richard spat, heaving a frustrated breath. "We've got rebels to fight, we're in the middle of a war. He's picked a hell of a time to lose his mind over a woman."

"I don't think you get to choose the moment, Richard. It just happens. Do you think this will interfere with his duty?"

Richard's lips were tight as he considered her question. At length, he shook his head. "No, I can't imagine a damned thing interfering with Tavington and his duty." He reached up to stroke her face. "Do you still feel sick to your stomach?"

"It's fading," she said, snuggling into him. "You've helped to ease it."

He grinned at her, leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. "That's what I'm here for," he whispered between kisses.

* * *

Tavington's boots thudded along the polished floorboards, he strode down the wide hall toward the chamber Clinton had taken as his personal office. He passed sentries along the way, two every few yards leading down the hall. He reached the chamber and a sentry opened the door and announced William's arrival.

Freshly shaved, washed, his uniform clean and crisp, boots polished until they gleamed - looking at him, no one would guess the turmoil within. How had it all gone so wrong? Unraveled, like a jerked thread from a beautifully knitted blanket. Vera had snagged the thread and now Beth was refusing to see him. He went to the Putman's this morning, Mr. Putman had invited him in, shared his rum in his office, chatted about this and that.

And adamantly refused to summon Beth when William asked for her. Still, Putman had been his usual, jovial self, making William believe that Beth had not confided in him beyond having a quarrel. As if they had had a wee tiff rather than an explosive battle.

"Give her time," Putman had said, sounding sympathetic. William had said he would return that afternoon, Putman had laughed and said "probably a little more time than that."

Now, in Clinton's office, the Commander and Chief rose from his seat and rounded his large oak desk.

"Colonel Tavington, well met," he said, gesturing with his arm as he walked to the chairs near the window. The window was open to let in the sea breeze, the gentlemen sat, dabbing sweat from their brows with handkerchiefs. The gentle stirring of air provided very little relief. "Do you have good news for me?"

"I do, Sir," Tavington said. Clinton had been apprised of William's plan and have given his approval. It wouldn't be the first time an Officer was lured into a trap with a honey pot as bait. In this instance, Beth was the honey pot. "Mr. Cooke returned this morning carrying a letter for Miss Martin from Colonel Burwell." He handed the letter to Clinton, who began to read. William stared out the window onto the street, dwelling on Burwell and Beth.

"He tells her to hold tight, that he is coming for her," Clinton said, sounding vastly pleased. "If this works… Tavington, if this works - we'll be striking a mighty blow into the heart of these South Carolina rebels!"

"We certainly will, Sir," William agreed. _I'll throw the bastard in prison myself, let him try to marry Beth from there. _

"How many people know of this plan?"

"Miss Martin, myself, a few of my Dragoons. Ethan Cooke. Mr. Simms and yourself."

"And do you believe that he will come alone?" Clinton asked.

"I would not count on it. I believe he will come in _person_ \- how many men he brings with him is not something I can predict," William replied.

Clinton leaned back in his chair, pondering. At length, he said, "take one hundred, in case it becomes a battle."

"Yes, Sir."

"This may be putting Miss Martin in danger, Colonel. Have you thought on a means to keep her safe?"

"Aside from her not attending at all? No, Sir."

"Does she need to be there?"

"I believe that it is paramount that he sees her," Tavington replied. "I instructed her to tell Burwell that she will sneak out of the house and meet him in the rotunda. She will be sitting within the rotunda between two lanterns, so she can be seen for yards all around. That will draw him out of the woods like nothing else. It is a good position for defence, the ground is clear around the rotunda for twenty yards or so, and the entire is surrounded by trees and brush, I could hide five hundred men. Ethan Cooke informed me that the force Burwell is currently travelling with is no larger than a score of men, with no hope for reinforcement. Even if he could summon more, I anticipate that he will not. This close to the city, his numbers will need to be light, or he will risk drawing unwanted attention. And he should not think it is warranted. He has no reason to believe that Miss Martin is doing anything but telling him the truth. That she is in danger and needs him to come for her. He would bring only a handful of men, perhaps, but certainly no more."

"Your reasoning is sound. And Miss Martin? How does she feel about collaborating with us?"

"Sir, Miss Martin is an ardent Loyalist," William lied. "She holds no attachment to Burwell whatsoever and only entertained his suit as she knew it was her father's wish for her to do so. Her father is a Loyalist and only wants the connection to Burwell in order to gain a wealthy connection. Miss Martin cares not for Burwell, she understands that she is doing work for the Crown and she is eager to participate."

"Does she understand the danger? Even if you had five hundred men and Burwell only twenty, all it would take is one stray ball."

William nodded, his stomach tightening. "She understands, Sir. I will be taking precautions, of course. I do not intend for Burwell to close on the rotunda - when he - and any men he brings - emerges from the trees, I will snap the trap as soon as he is in the clearing. I've instructed Miss Martin to throw herself to the floor, using the rotunda wall as a shield at the first sign of shots. My men will draw the rebels fire toward them, no one will be firing toward the rotunda."

"Very well. Still, it is a danger. I shall speak with her in person," Clinton said. "I will acknowledge her efforts - she is taking a great risk for us. I believe it might be prudent to bring Mr. Putman into the plan. He is the girl's uncle and I would not wish to earn his ire later, by involving his niece without his blessing. Especially if she is harmed."

"I will not allow for her to be harmed," William said. "Sir, I caution you against this. I understand you value Mr. Putman's service. However, although he is a Loyalist, I believe this might strain his principals. When I first me him, he explained to me why Colonel Burwell was allowed to court Miss Martin." He took a sip of cider that a private set beside his chair. Clinton inclined his head, urging him to continue. "Mr. Martin and Mr. Putman both served under Burwell in the Cherokee war…" Tavington began, continuing to repeat what Putman had told him when William escorted Beth home from the Tisdale's all those weeks ago. The first time he'd kissed Beth, setting both their hearts to racing, right there beneath the trees in Putman's front yard. It was all unravelled now. He wanted to take the flat side of his sabre to Vera's backside. "…the friendship that formed was a strong one," William continued. "Their political views have parted since the idea of Independence took hold, but he said the friendship can not be erased. When the war is over, all three parties anticipate continuing their connection. If Mr. Putman were told of our intentions to capture such an intimate colleague, can we truly be certain this will not strain his allegiance? I believe him to be an ardent Loyalist, but I do not believe we should take the risk."

"Hmm," Clinton mused. "A compromise, then. I will not do this behind Mr. Putman's back, Colonel Tavington. I would rather we had his blessing. We shall inform him on the day - if his Loyalty is stressed to breaking, he would have no time to act."

"Very well," William agreed. Putman would not have time to get word to Burwell, if he was so inclined. And it would appease Clinton's sense of honour, to do this with the blessing of Beth's family. Or at least knowledge, for they would be setting this ambush regardless.

"If they are such grand friends, Burwell and Mr. Martin, how will Martin react when he discovers his daughter assisted in Burwell's capture?"

"I am told he is a Loyalist and as such, he should approve," William said stiffly.

"Yes, but as you say, principals might be tested. You have indicated that Martin, being of lesser means, had intended to marry his daughter to Burwell. Her involvement in Burwell's capture will end Mr. Martin's ambitions for the advancement of his other children. He might punish her for losing him a strong and wealthy connection and the security of his children."

William nodded, he hadn't considered anything beyond capturing Burwell, hadn't thought to wonder how Beth's father would react, afterward.

"He should be pleased his daughter has served the Crown," William maintained, voice firm.

"Be careful not to hide behind your ideals, Colonel Tavington," Clinton chastised him gently. "It is easy to look down from our ivory tower and make such denouncements._ 'You should be pleased to serve, no matter the consequence to you.'_ Yet, we will not be here to assist Mr. Martin when he struggles to feed his - how many children does he have?"

"Eight," Tavington replied shortly.

"Because his daughter lost him the opportunity to better their lives, while doing service to the Crown. That is where the seeds of resentment form, Colonel. That is where men who are Loyal, start to become less so. When their lives are impacted in a negative manner, and the likes of us wash our hands of it, walk away, and say 'well, doing your duty was all the reward you require.'"

William lowered his eyes, feeling the admonishment keenly.

"Part of my duty here," Clinton continued, "is to ensure the Loyalists who give us such willing assistance, do not do so at their own peril. Oh, lives can be lost - Loyalist men who choose to serve in the army and the like. But should they lose their homes and their livelihood with no hope of compensation? His Majesty would expect no such thing. Loyalists will be rewarded, they will be compensated, wherever I am able."

"How will you reward the Martin's then, Sir?" William asked.

"By replacing like for like," Clinton said and William frowned. "I shall explain. Martin, being a lesser sort of farmer, does not seem to have any connection to Loyalists more highly situated. Except for Mr. Putman, but his connection there was already used when Martin married Putman's sister. Now here is Burwell, a fellow he served with, who became a colleague, a friend. A very wealthy one. But he's a Patriot. Martin was willing to overlook this, but after this Sunday, that connection will be utterly destroyed, through no fault of Martin's own. Which is where I shall step in. The more highly placed Loyalists might not look upon the poorer Martin's as a viable connection for mutual advancement. However, his daughter is about to perform a great act of bravery. It is my belief that the notoriety she will earn from this will become her currency. Families will not tie themselves to her for her money, for she has none. However, they might just be willing to give up a son to the girl who helped to capture Colonel Burwell."

Like for like, Clinton had said.

"You intend to find her a rich husband among the Loyalists," William breathed, stupefied. Gods, he'd finally ousted Burwell as a contender and now he'd have a Loyalist gentleman taking his mistress?

"Just as Burwell was willing to take the girl for his bride due to his great friendship with Martin, so too will a Loyalist family take her, but it will be for Miss Martin's sacrifice and commitment. What do you think, Colonel?"

Gods, how William usually relished those words. Being asked by the Commander and Chief his opinion was recognition of the gentleman's great respect for William.

This time, however.

_It's a dreadful idea. Gods, he will take Beth from me and give her to some rich Loyalist! Dreadful idea!_

"That is… very forward thinking of you, Sir," William said, containing his frustrations by a hair. "It's generous of you, to take Miss Martin under your wing as you are."

"Well, it is of no hardship to me, to try to better the lives of her family when she's about to destroy all hope for their future - all for us. Mr. And Mrs. Simms will be here shortly, I shall ask them to create a list of possible candidates."

"Excellent idea," William said weakly.

"This can not be an easy discussion for you, your own attention of the lass has not gone unnoticed," Clinton said, sipping his cider. "I do not mean to be indelicate, but it is a great pity that your family is not… Well, _in a position to assist_."

Because Tavington's forefathers had squandered everything except his good name. Tavington realised in that moment, how alike his life was to Beth's. Neither of them could marry for love. And they both had to marry a person of fortune, in order to assist the rest of their family.

The difference was, William would continue on to marry Miss Price and would soon be able to regain for his family what had been squandered. However, he had destroyed Beth's opportunity to do the same.

Unless Clinton has his way, William thought, drawing a ragged breath as he imagined the Martin family moving up in the ranks - because of Beth's wealthy _Loyalist_ husband.

"You appeared to be quite attentive of the girl last night," Clinton continued gently. "If my intentions for her cause you the slightest distress, I do apologise. If your affection for her is as great as I perceived it to be, I would have chosen you for her. If…" - William's lips tightened. Clinton saw it and trailed off.

If William's life had been akin to Burwell's, Clinton would have chosen William to be Burwell's replacement. Instead, William's life was akin to Beth's, they were both penniless.

For the sake of both their families, William would never be able to marry her.

Nor would he be able to make her his mistress, not with Clinton taking a personal interest in Beth's future. What Clinton proposed was in direct contrast to Tavington's own intentions for the girl. It was not in accordance with his plans at all! Though he had not discussed it with Beth, he had had visions of taking her with him when the Dragoons departed from Charlestown. He intended for her to reside with him in his tent much as Miss Harmony Jutland was to reside with Captain Bordon! He had never admitted it out loud but William found himself, at times, to be fiercely jealous of Bordon and Miss Jutland's arrangement. Richard was far more at ease than he had ever been these last four years now he had a full time mistress. William wanted the same for himself and had thought he had found it with Beth.

But Clinton was proposing that he marry her off to some wealthy Loyalist, so that her sacrifice did not impinge too badly on Mr. Martin's ambitions. He was taking the girl under his wing, and he would take his duty to her as seriously as he took all of his tasks and duties and responsibilities. And he would never allow a woman he had deemed to be under his protection, to become mistress to one of his adjutants! Clinton would embark on this mission of finding a suitable husband for the girl immediately, for he planned to return to New York very soon and he would want the affair settled to his satisfaction before his departure. He could have Beth married off in a matter of weeks! William might be at his mistress's own damned wedding! These thoughts whirled through William's head and his expression became stormier by the moment. He was unable to voice his protests, however. He had no rights to her at all!

Mr. Simms arrived, his wife on his arm. Clinton and Tavington rose, the couple advanced toward them and the greetings began. With the formalities observed, the four of them sat.

"Have you had a chance to speak with Colonel Tavington about Mr. Wilkins, Sir?" Mrs. Simms asked.

"Ah, yes," Clinton said, shifting toward William. "Mr. And Mrs. Simms son in law, Mr. James Wilkins, will be coming from his plantation to the city soon, in the next few days. I believe you have already met his sister, Miss Sarah Wilkins?" He asked and William nodded. "James Wilkins was in the Loyalist militia, he saw some fighting a few years ago. He desires to join the Dragoons."

"Miss Wilkins has mentioned it to me," William nodded. "Please inform me when he arrives and I will arrange to interview him."

"An interview," Mrs. Simms said, clear voice ringing throughout the chamber. "An interview surely is not necessary?"

"The formalities must be observed, my wife," Mr. Simms said and Mrs. Simms tightened her lips.

"Well, we are allowing for a pitched battle to be fought on our doorstep without any _formalities_," Mrs. Simms snapped open her fan and began waving it over her face. William drew himself up, struggling not to glare.

"My Dragoons are an elite force, Mrs. Simms," he said, trying for politeness. "My standards are high and for good reason."

"I hope you are not suggesting that Mr. Wilkins would not… how would you put it? Pass muster?" Mrs. Simms asked.

"Colonel Tavington is not offering insult, wife," Mr. Simms said firmly. "He has accepted our own son into his ranks, which is an indication of his regard for Arthur."

"Yet Arthur is a Cornet, only," Mrs. Simms said.

"A starting point for one so young," Tavington said. "Cornet Simms is only eighteen years old, madam."

"And Mr. Wilkins? He is far older, wiser, and he is very capable. I do hope you would not rank him as an _inferior_ Officer. If he _passes_ _muster_ at all, that is."

William exchanged a look with Clinton, who seemed mildly amused. The Commander and Chief gestured with his hand, a placating wave of his fingers. He'd known the Commander for long enough - Clinton was commanding William to appease Mrs. Simms.

_'Loyalists will be rewarded, they will be compensated, wherever I am able.'_

"I shall interview him for the position of Captain," William said. Mrs. Simms drew herself up with a slow, excited smile.

"Well," she said, well pleased. "Did you hear that, Mr. Simms? Mr. Wilkins shall be a Captain!"

"Indeed he shall," Mr. Simms beamed.

_And it would increase their own status, to have their daughter's husband married to a Captain in His Majesties army. _William barely restrained from rolling his eyes.

"Mr. Simms," Clinton broached. "I wish to speak to you regarding Miss Martin." He began. Gods, here it came. William would have to sit there while they began discussing a suitable candidate to become husband to William's mistress! He had no say whatsoever, he was utterly powerless to stop this! "Where the life of a Loyalist doing his - or her - duty is impacted in a negative manner, I always endeavour to set things right. As you are no doubt aware, Mr. Martin has encouraged the courtship of Colonel Burwell and Miss Martin. After this Sunday, that association will be as dust. It is my desire to find a suitable replacement for Burwell - a Loyalist replacement, so that Martin's ambition to have his daughter settled upon an affluent gentleman will not be thwarted. In taking Miss Martin to bride, the prospective husband will be gaining a beautiful, brave, Loyal heroine, the young woman who helped to capture Colonel Burwell. Until his dying day, he who accepts Miss Martin as his bride shall be in my good graces, and that of His Majesty, I have no doubt, for I fully intend to bring Miss Martin to His attention, at my earliest opportunity."

"Well," Mrs. Simms breathed, awestruck. "Mis Martin's husband would be highly honoured indeed!"

"Thank you," Clinton inclined his head, he was quite aware of what his good graces were worth. "I would request your assistance, if you would be so kind. Your influence over the Loyalist court extends the length and breadth of South Carolina. Would you please take some time to compile a list of families that you believe might be willing to make a connection with the girl for her sacrifice and commitment alone. Could you help with that?"

Mr. And Mrs. Simms exchanged a look, each wearing a complacent smile. Mrs. Simms was looking extraordinarily pleased, and Mr. Simms no less so. William frowned, wondering at the cause.

"We can indeed," Mr. Simms began.

"However, in your search for a husband for Miss Martin, I do hope that you will consider our son, Cornet Simms," Mrs. Simms replied. William's jaw dropped.

"Cornet Simms!" Clinton seemed slightly taken aback. His brow crinkled, he looked puzzled. "Well, I'd certainly consider any son of yours, madam, and I am mighty grateful to you for the offer. I'll own I had thought my search would be an extensive one, considering the families circumstances, I had not thought to find someone so quickly, especially one as affluent as yourselves. This is… Wonderful. Yes, Mrs. Simms, I will gladly consider young Arthur. And thank you."

"It's rather generous of you, to show such concern," Mr. Simms said. "We hadn't expected that you would take such a personal interest in the girl, I should tell you that Mrs. Simms spoke to Miss Martin about Arthur last night over dinner."

"You did?" Another surprise, Clinton had thought he would have to offer enticement of some sort before wealthy Loyalists began to consider Miss Martin, but the Simms had been willing before he even considered finding her a husband!

Clinton noticed how still Tavington had become, enshrouding himself in a cloak of ice, and he felt a terrible pang of guilt. It could not be easy for him, listening in as Clinton and the Simms discussed Miss Martin's disposition. The lass would be married, and soon if Clinton had his way. And as Tavington did not come with a fortune, he could not be a contender. Clinton wished it were otherwise, for he quite admired Tavington and wished for the gentleman officer to be content. He briefly considered dismissing the Colonel, but there was more yet to discuss than Miss Martin herself - the reason the Simms had come was to discuss the ambush that was to take place in their very home. Tavington would have to endure.

"Yes," Mrs. Simms gushed. "And she seemed quite amenable to the proposal."

Clinton heard a soft grunt pass Tavington's lips, as if the fellow had suffered a kick to the stomach. Perhaps to him, it was. Clinton had noticed the attention Tavington bestowed on the lass, dancing with her for well into the night, sitting at dinner together. He'd heard the whispers, of Tavington's frequent visits to the Putman's and he suspected Tavington was indeed trying to court the girl. He could not like it, hearing that the lady he'd set his sights on, was amenable to another man's proposal.

"And Cornet Simms?" Clinton asked. "Is he… amenable?"

"Oh, he will be," Mrs. Simms said, her voice was iron.

If Arthur was not willing, he would be forced. This - before he'd even mentioned that he was looking for a husband for the girl, and that the husband would be in his - and His Majesties - good graces? Clinton frowned, taken aback. He understood that they would use their parental authority to force the lad to marry a girl not of his choosing if the girl was more wealthy than he. But why would they go to such lengths for a girl of considerably less?

"We will need to approach Mr. Martin, of course. I have no authority to enforce this - he will need to give his blessing, no matter who the candidate," Clinton warned them.

"We intended to get a letter off to Fresh Water today," Mr. Simms said.

"We would have suggested the match to Mr. Martin long ago, but they seemed so determined on Burwell," Mrs. Simms added. "Now, however, after the ambush, that will be quite out of the question. As you said. Mr. Martin will need to find another match equal to that of Burwell - and we believe he would accept our son. Arthur and Miss Martin are friends, and I'm certain she would rather a husband two years younger over one twenty five years older," she laughed. "We see no reason for Mr. Martin to decline."

Tavington sat rigidly, his face a mask of stone, but inside he seethed.

_She's my mistress! Mine! Christ, how can this be happening! Married off to one of my own Dragoons? She will be in Arthur's tent instead of mine! His wife, not my mistress! I would see her everyday, but he would bed her! I cannot allow this - somehow, this must be stopped! _He could think of no conceivable way to stop anything, however. He had no right, no say!

"Mr. Martin would certainly do as well through a connection to you as he would to Burwell," Clinton said, again admiring the depths of the Simms generosity. "And although Miss Martin will not be bringing anything to the match financially, you know your daughter in law will be stalwart, brave and true."

"Yes, she is shaping up to be those things," Mr. Simms agreed.

"Sir, what do you mean by that?" Mr. Simms asked, looking perplexed. "Miss Martin bringing no money to the match? Are you not aware of her inheritance?"

Tavington stiffened with shock. An inheritance? His eyes darted fleetingly to Clinton, who looked just as stunned.

"No, Sir, I am not," Clinton replied. "It is indelicate to speak of such things, to be sure, but my understanding is that the Martin family is of very humble means indeed."

The couple exchanged a glance, then both began to laugh.

"Humble means? Mr. Martin? Who in the world told you such a thing?" Mrs. Simms asked.

"Mr. Putman," Tavington ground out.

Mrs. Simms drew in a sharp breath of alarm. She turned to her husband. "Husband, if Mr. Putman said it, surely it is true?"

Clinton frowned, he sat back in his chair, nursing his cider as he studied Mrs. Simms in all her dismay. They had assumed Miss Martin had money, hence the attempt to attach their son to her. Would they rescind the offer, now they were hearing differently? He suddenly did not feel so warm to Mrs. Simms.

"No, it is not true," Mr. Simms shook his head. "It was my cousin who organised Mrs. Martin's Estate. The circumstances were quite strange, which is why he spoke to me about it. You see, and this is quite unusual, but instead of using his wife's dowry, Mr. Martin ceded to her request, that they divide her dowry among her daughters, to be used as their dowries, or their inheritance."

"Miss Martin has an inheritance coming to her?" Tavington ground out.

"Mrs. Martin passed nearly seven hears ago, Sir. Miss Martin has it already," Mr. Simms replied. Mrs. Simms sighed with relief.

"How much is it worth?" Tavington asked bluntly. As one, the Simms settled their gazes upon him, looking at him as he would a rival.

"Enough," Mr. Simms said, voice sharp.

Enough to entice him to offer his own son. Gods, she was wealthy enough to draw the attention of the affluent Simms family. That could only mean… It was in the thousands. Beth's inheritance, it was worth thousands of pounds.

"How much?" Clinton asked, voice hard. Mrs. Simms look of dismay and then her vast relief still prickled. Mr. Simms threw him a startled glance, but he knew better to speak so sharply to him as he had to Tavington.

"Mrs. Martin came to her marriage with twenty-five thousand," Mr. Simms began to explain. "Mr. Martin was already well established, however, so they agreed to invest her dowry rather than use it."

Tavington shifted restlessly. Putman had told him that when Mrs. Martin's dowry was all spent, the family had began to fall on hard times. Season after season of failed crops, descending the family into lesser wealth. Why had the damned bastard lied? Mrs. Martin's dowry hadn't been used. It had been invested. In what? For how long? They must have married what, twenty-five years ago?

"She was very specific in her Will, the investment was to be shared equally among her daughters. She bore three. The last time I spoke to my cousin about the Martin's was two years ago -"

"Two years ago, hmm?" William asked in the drawl he used when he was showing contempt. "When Miss Martin first came to Charlestown? Her arrival was the reason you approached your cousin, is it not? To discern her wealth."

Mr. Simms paused, he looked offended by William's tone. He hadn't done anything wrong in making discreet enquiries into a young woman's wealth, better he do that, than rely on assumption and commit to an undesirable match. Tavington understood this, but it irritated him that the Simms had had intentions toward Beth for two bloody years. No wonder they would leap on Beth now, as soon as they realised there would be no match between her and Burwell. They wouldn't want anyone else snapping her up now she was finally free. Tavington wished they'd approached a different Loyalist family for the ambush - the Simms would be none the wiser to the chasm that was about to breach between Beth and Burwell, they would not now be circling Beth like a couple of wolves. "I can only imagine your frustration, Burwell having pipped you at the post." He knew it was a rude thing to say but he could barely contain himself.

"You take exception, do you, Sir?" Mrs. Simms asked primly. "Last I heard, you were far from inclined toward marrying Miss Martin, despite all your courting," her voice became sickly sweet, "have your intentions toward her suddenly altered these last few minutes? If so, I wonder what could possibly be the cause for it?"

William drew back, shocked at being confronted so. Clinton lifted one hand - there was a chill in his voice.

"There will be no more of that, from either of you," he said and both Mrs. Simms and Tavington fell silent. "Continue, Mr. Simms."

"Ah, yes, well, as I was saying. The investment, starting off at twenty-five nearly twenty-three years ago, was at fifty-five thousand two years ago."

William's eyes bulged. The calculations threw threw his mind, the three girls would receive eighteen thousand each! And that was two years ago. It must be closer to twenty each, by now.

The same as Eleanor Price.

"Added to their inheritance, Mr. Martin has diligently purchased low country tracts of land for each new child his wife bought into the world. They have three hundred acres each."

_Better than a house in London,_ William thought, breathing out slowly.

"There will be many offers for Miss Martin's hand, however I'm certain she is astute enough to choose from the most distinguished of them." Tavington knew it to be a veiled slur, for Mrs. Simms eyes flickered toward Tavington as she said this to Clinton

Beth's wealth - including the tract of land - was not an inconsiderable sum - even to the wealthy Simms! The thought infuriated Tavington, that the Simms were grasping for her money!

"If Mr. Martin is to consider Cornet Simms," William began in a clear, firm voice, "he should have a better idea of his wealth. What will young Arthur receive as his legacy?"

Clinton hid a small, pleased smile at Mrs. Simms quickly indrawn breath of shock.

"Ten thousand," Mr. Simms admitted, blushing furiously. "He is a third son, after all, and will not inherit the entire estate." William arched a condescending eyebrow and Mr. Simms rushed on defensively, "however, my son will be a Planter, Sir, of Low Country rice - I estimate he will have five hundred a year, and that is if I am being modest."

"Yes, I'm certain the land Mr. Martin purchased is in the Low Country. It is from Miss Martin's land that you expect your son to gain five hundred a year," William drawled, thinking: _over my dead body_. His tone insinuated - it didn't matter who Beth married, her husband would earn at least five hundred from her land.

Mr. Simms tightened his lips. Mrs. Simms eyes narrowed and she glared at William openly. He accused them of desiring the match only for Miss Martin's wealth. As if he were any better! He wished to secure Beth's wealth for himself! At least she and her husband had been honest about it. Not like Tavington, stringing the girl along for his entertainment with nary an intention toward marriage. Until now, this very moment. She wished she'd never discussed their intentions before the Colonel at all! Now he knew about the girl's wealth, he was going to become a problem.

"While I am delighted to hear this," Clinton said slowly, "I can not help but wonder - why would Mr. Putman give Colonel Tavington false information?"

"Perhaps, he knew that all sorts of undesirables would try to charm her out of her fortune," Mrs. Simms said, voice clipped. Her eyes were fixed on Clinton, determinedly not looking at Tavington, which meant the words were for him and him alone.

William's mouth fell opened. He recovered from his shock and was about to tear strips off the woman but Clinton gestured again. William snapped his mouth shut.

"I would imagine that is the way of it," Mr. Simms added, though without the insinuating tone Mrs. Simms had used. He was not directing an accusation toward Tavington, as Mrs. Simms had. "The ploy is as old as the hills. Forgive me for being blunt, you know me to be a good King's man. I've already described to you how very well pleased I was that the British had ousted the rebels. However, with the fall of the city, there were suddenly hundreds of strangers walking the streets, becoming acquainted with our young women, wanting to court them. We don't know who they are, where their families are from, what their breeding is. A youth can use up the last vestiges of his fortune purchasing a commission, and then parade about as an Officer of great fortune. We wouldn't know." Tavington felt his face flush - that was precisely what he had done. With his last seven hundred pounds, he had purchased a Cornetcy, and in his uniform, he always looked far more expensive than he actually was. "I would imagine Mr. Putman had seen the need to protect his niece's fortune from such characters, the penniless opportunists who prey on the wealthy. The best way to be rid of fellows such as that, is to deny there is a fortune at all."

"Unless the fellow comes with a recommendation from someone he can trust, Mr. Martin will most likely chose from a Colonial family he knows, he will not choose an unknown stranger whose situation is doubtful at best," Mrs. Simms said, eyeing Tavington up and down.

"Regarding the list I requested of you," Clinton said now, voice crisp and businesslike, "I do thank you, but now that I am aware of Mr. Martin's situation and Miss Martin's wealth, I no longer require it. Now, let us discuss what is to happen this Wednesday night. Mr. Simms, Colonel Tavington will arrive with his Dragoons at…"

He continued explaining the plan, which was the true purpose for the Simms visit. The discussion went on for sometime and although Beth was mentioned often during, her fortune and potential husbands were not. It finally came to an end and Clinton politely indicated to the Simms that they were dismissed. When they left the chamber, Clinton - who hadn't dismissed Tavington - poured wine for them both and returned to his seat by the window.

"Damnable place, is it not?" He asked, staring out the window and toward the harbour. The man-o-wars bobbed on the waves, the British standard flying high and proud. "I can not wait to return to New York."

"It is far more pleasant there, I agree," Tavington said, sipping the deep red wine.

"Do you have no desire to settle here?"

"Well, for all my complaints, I'm considering it now," Tavington said, staring into the glass, brooding.

"No one can hold you to account for your reticence, William," Clinton said gently and Tavington's eyes flew up from his glass, stunned by the familiarity. Clinton smiled. "We marry for mutual advancement. In truth, the Simms can not be held to account either, it is most certainly a desirable match. I'll own to being a little disgusted with Mrs. Simms, however."

"Only a little?" William murmured and Clinton laughed.

"Well, more than a little. I thought they were being generous to the girl for her sacrifice, by offering their son for her. Did you see her dismay, when you told her Mr. Putman had said she had no fortune? And then her relief, when Mr. Simms corrected you."

"I saw," William said darkly.

"I believe your sudden change of heart is far more dignified than her turn and turn about," Clinton sniffed. "You have your family to consider, they are relying on you to provide for them. You can not let them live in lowered conditions as you cast aside more affluent opportunities in favour of love. I do not fault you, not at all."

"Thank you, Sir," William said, sitting up a bit straighter.

"What is your feeling now, William? Do you wish to marry Miss Martin?"

"Yes, Sir. If she will have me."

"If?"

William hesitated, recalling their quarrel. Gods, if he could call a raging battle a quarrel.

_We. Are. Finished. _

Beth's words rang so loudly inside his head, he thought Clinton must be able to hear them also.

"We… we had a quarrel. Mr. Putman advised me to give her time, that she would come around." Gods, would she ever speak to him again?

"Well, love is a fragile thing," Clinton said and William jerked his glass, the wine almost sloshed over the rim. Love, dear God, was he in love? "And it could be out of yours and Miss Martin's hands in any case. As I said, Mr. Martin will have the final say," Clinton said. Tavington heaved a breath, feeling near to panic. He'd treated Beth quite poorly from the first, with his intention to bed her for the wager and then to make her his mistress. Martin would not accept a man like that for his daughter, surely. "I have a concern," Clinton said, drawing Tavington's attention from his own dark thoughts.

"What is that, Sir?"

Clinton held his glass in one hand, the fingers of the other drumming the small table at his side. He still stared out the window.

"When first you questioned him, Mr. Putman explained to you the reason why Loyalist Benjamin Martin would agree to marry his daughter to a notably Patriot," he said and Tavington's eyes began to widen. "He told you that Martin is of meagre means and Burwell was the only intimate friend he had of high standing and wealth, therefore his allegiance was to be overlooked. But that does not add up now, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Tavington breathed.

"Martin is at least as wealthy as the Simms family," Clinton said. "So why would a Loyalist choose rebel Burwell, when he can choose from other wealthy Loyalists, who have proved themselves to be quite eager for the connection? Perhaps it is true that Putman lied to you because he did not know you and did not want to reveal his niece's families true wealth, in case you are a fortune hunter. I understand that reasoning. But if Martin was not allying himself with Burwell because he is poor and in need of advancement, why was he? It is a question I shall ask Mr. Putman"

"Are you questioning Mr. Martin's loyalties, Sir?"

"No. If he were not a Loyalist, the Simms would not be falling all over themselves, trying to secure Miss Martin for Cornet Simms. It could very well be that Mr. Martin and Colonel Burwell's strong and established friendship can not be disrupted because of differing allegiances," Clinton said. "It might be as simple as that. Friends before strangers. As Mrs. Simms said, Mr. Martin will likely prefer to marry his daughter to a fellow Colonial already in his acquaintance, over a stranger with no one to recommend him." - William shifted his gaze, his stomach dropping. "Therefore, I shall write a letter to Mr. Martin, doing precisely that."

"You will?" William sat up straighter.

"A recommendation for a high ranking Officer in the British Army, from the Commander and Chief of the same, will hold more weight with Martin than twenty years of acquaintance with the Simms family. It might even be enough to turn his head aside from Burwell, also."

William's moment of elation faded. "He might also prefer Burwell's fortune, or Cornet Arthur's ten thousand, over my lack of fortune."

"We shall see," Clinton said.


	17. Chapter 17 - On Pain of Disinheritance

Chapter 17 - On Pain of Disinheritance:

6th June

Face down and completely naked, Tavington lay sprawled across the bed, with one arm draped over the side, his fingers almost touching the floor. His head pounded, a dull throb, throb, throb that he knew would be with him the entire day. A horrible taste in his mouth - thick and stale, he had drunk too much whiskey. He opened his eyes then snapped them shut against the sun blazing through the window.

The warm body that lay alongside him turned over and an arm was draped over his back.

Linda, he thought groggily. Memory began to return to him of the last few days. His altercation with Beth, his visit to the Putman's in the morning, his return in the evening. On both occasions, Beth refused to see him. How was he going to make amends with her, if she would not see him?

Slipping ever more deeply into despondency, he'd done the only thing he could think to do. He decided to get well and truly soused. With Brownlow, Dalton and Bordon in tow, he stumbled from tavern to tavern until they finally retired to The Mighty George - where Harmony was employed. Though last night - or was it that morning? - She had been a patron of the tavern rather than a barmaid. She had drunk right along the Officers, played cards and bloody won most of William's coins. Most of this was done sitting in Bordon's lap, which had looked awkward to William but Richard did not seem to mind.

The Mighty George - such a fancy name for an establishment of middling quality - was also where Linda plied her trade. She had been there, standing behind William while he played cards, with her arms draped over his shoulders, her hands wandering his chest.

_She's the bloody reason I lost my money to Miss Jutland_, Tavington thought. He remembered Linda's hands dipping lower, up under his Redcoat, to urge some life into his semi hard member. He hadn't thought he'd have it in him with his troubles with Beth crashing through his skull, but his cock had a mind of its own and before long it was standing to attention. Linda had continued her lazy fondling of him, under his jacket and under the table away from sight of the others - but they all knew what she was doing. She was a whore, what else would her hand be doing under his jacket, under the table?

He had been too crocked to care at that point. The cards in his hand kept blurring, he had to squint to see them. And of course, being as soused as he was, he had failed to keep his poker face on when he received a good hand. Instead he crowed with delight and boasted.

_Now that's the bloody reason I lost my money to Miss Jutland! _He remembered Harmony clearly now - her blue eyes bright and teasing, flirting across the table with the boys from her perch on Bordon's lap. But those blue eyes had been like an eagles and she had been watching their faces carefully. She had laughed aloud at one point, when William gave his hand away with a satisfied 'whoop!'

It had been a down hill slide from there, and not just for him. The other lads were just as boisterous, Harmony had easily won their coin as well, while she giggled in Richard's ear all the while. William heard her at one point, boasting to Richard that "the boys are so soused, they'll have not a sovereign left when I'm done!"

And Richard had laughed - laughed! Honestly, what was the world coming to when he, Colonel William Tavington, had to resort to asking his Captain's mistress for a loan of a few guineas, so he can pay for a whore? He had more money in his chamber at the Tisdale's, but he was not at the Tisdale's now, was he?

A groan sounded from the bed beside him. Startled, Tavington opened his eyes again to see who else had shared the chamber with them. Even though his Captain's back was to him, William recognised him at once. Laying on his side - no doubt with Harmony curled against him on the other side. Sure enough, William was now able to hear her soft snores.

William shook his head - what a missed opportunity! He had been attracted to Harmony from the start and although she was hands off now - thanks to Richard - he still imagined her riding him all the way to Heaven.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!

"Agh!" Tavington groaned. He shut his eyes again and dragged the pillow over his head, buried his face in the mattress. Maybe they'll go away... Maybe...

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!

"Agh!" He growled and threw the thin blanket off him. Rising, he crossed the room naked and threw open the door, ready to do murder to the person who dared to wake him.

He came face to face with young Arthur Simms.

_Perhaps I'll murder him anyway._

Tavington scowled at the young Officer, who stared wide eyed, trying to keep his gaze at eye level - not straying lower to William's nudity.

"What do you want?" William growled harshly at the young man whose parents wanted to marry off to Beth.

"Ah, Sir," Arthur stuttered, nervous of the Officer's temper. "I'm heading back to the mansion to freshen up - I've left my uniform there too. But I'll meet you at the Assembly Hall in an hour."

"What the Devil for?" William snapped.

"Ah... You said we were scouting today and..." Arthur swayed and took a step back, William realised the young man was still very much crocked even now.

_This boy is going to marry Beth? _He thought snidely. _Can't even handle his liquor._

"Will you be able to sit in your saddle or will we need to tie you on?" Tavington mocked.

"No Sir, I'll be fine... Right as..." He gulped and shut his eyes - William thought he looked ready to vomit. "Right as rain..."

"I dare say," William heaved a sigh. "Very well - one hour. Tell the others."

"Yes, Sir," Arthur saluted and stumbled away down the corridor.

Tavington turned back into the room and stopped short, his eyes meeting Harmony's. She had raised herself to one elbow to see what the fuss was but when their gazes met, she blushed crimson and dropped back beside the still sleeping Richard. The covers were drawn tightly about her, all the way to her face.

William frowned. She had seen him naked before - had even commented that his manhood was larger than Richard's. Now she was bashful and shy?

"Oh, I see," William chuckled. Richard was sleeping - Harmony only ever flirted and played up to William when Richard was present or at least aware. And right now, Richard was still snoring up a storm. "So, I take it you will be faithful to Bordon then?"

"Of course I will be," came the muffled, puzzled reply. "Why would you think I wouldn't be?"

"Oh, I don't know - all that flirting and teasing, perhaps?" William mocked her as he sat on the edge of his bed. Linda was beginning to stir now, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"How the Hell could they sleep through all that banging on the door?" He muttered as he began to search for his clothes.

"All that liquor last night?" Harmony replied. "You owe me eight Sovereigns."

"Eight!" William frowned down at her but her face was still buried while he pulled on his breeches.

"Yes, eight. You were with Mariah last night too - you have to pay her."

"Jesus," he muttered. He pulled his shirt over his head and settled it around his hips. "You can look now."

Harmony flipped the blanket from her face and rolled onto her back.

"That was some ball, huh?" She ventured carefully. "You were pretty worked up that night."

"Indeed I was," William ground out. "Have you got a comb?"

Harmony pointed to her pockets - the large pockets that all women generally wore tied about their waists under their skirts. Harmony's were draped over a chair. Tavington quirked an eyebrow, it was considered bad form indeed to go through a woman's pockets! And so he passed them to her instead, she could fetch him the comb. He'd happily put his hands up a woman's skirts, but put a hand in her pockets? Never.

Before long, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, combing out his shoulder length hair. Linda sat up, reclined against the pillows, watching him. Harmony watched him too, William knew she was waiting for him to speak of his altercation with Beth. And while he thought he could possibly bring himself to confide in Harmony, he certainly would not do so in front of Linda.

"Have you calmed down now?" Harmony prompted.

"Somewhat," he said shortly.

_"Colonel Burwell is in love with me, he is a better man that you!"_

Tavington's face darkened as he began to brood.

Beth's words had rang in his ears for two nights and a day, no matter how much he drank. Even when he was rutting Mariah or Linda, memories of Beth consumed him. Memories of her defying him, challenging him, rejecting him urged his fury on to new heights. It was a shock he had managed to get any sleep at all with her buried deep inside his head.

_"We. Are. Finished."_

And to mock him! Right there, before Harmony and Richard, she had mocked him, imitating Vera fucking Tisdale's moans. He imagined he could still feel the sting in his hand from slapping her across the face, he had not pulled the blow when he had struck her. And he had been so incensed he had been about to slap her again - it was only Richard's intervention that stopped him.

He remembered wiping her tears with his thumb, she hadn't even realised she was crying.

_"Pursue me as you will, Sir. But I will have no more of you."_

_How wrong you are, my Little Beth._

"And now you owe me a comb," Harmony said softly, her eyes focused on his lap. Tavington followed her gaze and saw, to his surprise, that Harmony's bone wrought comb was snapped in three pieces and his hand was bleeding.

One of the jagged bone pieces of the comb was embedded deep in his palm.

"Sir!" Linda gasped. She rose and pulled a night robe around herself to cover her nudity, then fetched a scrap of linen while William pulled the jagged edge from his bleeding palm.

Drawing a ragged breath, he struggled to calm himself, to push thoughts of Beth away, though it was hard - so very hard.

Linda wiped the blood away and inspected the wound.

"You might need stitches," she said quietly.

"Just wrap it," William commanded coldly. "I'll have it seen to later."

Harmony was pulling her shift on but still she did not rise.

"Two days later and you are too angry still," she observed. "I hope you aren't planning on visiting her today."

Linda frowned and shot Harmony a glance, wondering who this 'her' was that the other woman was speaking about. She glanced back at William and almost recoiled - his face was dark with fury. His pale eyes flashed and he stared at nothing as though lost in his brooding.

"I won't," he said finally. "I realise that now, we both need to calm."

He stood up, suddenly brisk and jerked on his boots. His Redcoat came next, Linda watched him from where she still knelt on the floor. He pulled back his hair, tied it back then wrapped his cravat around his neck. He stopped and turned to consider Bordon.

"Just how much did he drink last night?"

"Too much," Harmony smiled and stroked Richard's face. She leaned down to whisper, "dear heart, wake up."

The words sliced through Tavington like a sabre strike. Beth had finally called him "dear heart" that night, the endearment most Colonials from the Santee area used for their loved ones. Harmony whispered it now, to her loved one, and it was like salt being poured on an open wound.

With a scowl, William raised his leg, placed his boot on Bordon's rump over the blanket, and gave him an ungentle push.

"Get up," he growled as Bordon startled awake. "We've got work to do."

"Jesus," Richard moaned thickly. William turned from him and his eyes met Linda's. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a handful of sovereigns and tossed them down at her.

"Half of those are for Mariah," he ground out. "Make certain she gets them."

He turned for her and grabbed up his sword belt and sabre, ignoring the hurt expression on her pretty face.

* * *

Gabriel could hear the ruckus from his tent, men calling to each other with excitement that a peddler had arrived. With a huge smile, he drew his Bluecoat across his shoulders and donned his hat. He was already mostly dressed but the formalities had to be observed at all times. He darted out of the tent and joined his fellow Continentals as they made their way to the peddler's wagon.

His friends were checking their pockets for coins but Gabriel didn't bother. It was not the peddler's wares that drew the young Lieutenant, it was the merchant's daughter that most interested him. As he approached, he saw instantly that Anne Howard had accompanied her father again, as she so often did. She was standing on her toes searching for Gabriel while pretending not to care. The youth smiled - she was facing the wrong way, and he was able to sneak up behind her.

He placed his hands over her eyes from behind and leaned into her ear.

"Guess who?" He whispered. Anne shivered, her breath caught and she melted back against his chest.

"Oh, I don't know, some irritating lump with no manners at all, I'm suspecting," she quipped. Gabriel laughed and drew his hands away. Anne turned to face him and the two stood gazing at each other with equally stupid, vapid smiles on their faces.

After soaking in the sight of her for almost a full minute, Gabriel finally drew his eyes away from hers, seeing if her father had noticed. He - Peter Howard - was busy selling whiskey and other items from his cart to the many soldiers. Taking the opportunity the Dear Lord had sought to provide him, Gabriel gripped Anne's hand and dragged her away.

"Come, quickly," he laughed. Anne shot a nervous glance over at her father, but Gabriel gripped her hand so tightly, was pulling her away so insistently, she really could not resist or protest in anyway. Quite uncouth of him, really. With a giggle she trotted along until Gabriel rounded a large oak. There, away from the prying eyes of his comrades, he pressed Anne against the tree trunk and gazed down at her again.

"Uncouth," Anne accused him breathlessly. His smile broadened and he reached up to stroke her face tenderly. Eventually she became impatient and arched an eyebrow at him. "It's a surprise any of you get anything done around here at all, you take so long!" His smile turned to a frown and she laughed, "Well? Aren't you going to kiss me?"

Gabriel laughed aloud, finally understanding.

"Yes, I think I will," he leaned down to her, his lips almost brushing hers. "Anything to soften that razor sharp tongue of yours."

She gasped at his comment but before she could chastise him, his tongue was sliding into her mouth, indeed softening hers with gentle caresses. With a sigh, she draped her arms over his shoulders and melted against him.

The kissing went on for some time - for as long as the steady stream of customers purchased from the back of Peter Howard's wagon only a few yards away.

* * *

"What do you have for me, Mr. Howard?" Burwell asked Peter when they were in the Colonel's tent. Mr. Howard dropped all pretence of poor hearing. He usually carried an ear horn and pretended he could not hear a thing without it. As a result, people became less guarded, spoke more freely with each other around him.

Redcoats especially.

Howard was unique to Burwell - the perfect spy. He was fervently Patriot and dedicated to the Cause, and could enter Redcoat camps with his wagons and carts to sell wares and gather information. The spies within the Redcoat ranks often passed their information on to Peter when he visited and the merchant did his level best to pass the information along to Burwell.

"The Redcoats in Pembroke - they've been speaking of that Tarleton fellow - word is, he'd been making a nuisance of himself up near the border - the British are trying to clear the way for their push into North Carolina. He won't be there for long - he'll be working his way back down here, it won't be long until he's doing the same down here as he's doing up there. Shoving innocent people about, recruiting Loyalists to their ranks, that sort of thing."

"Hmm," Burwell mused. "I suppose that means we'll get no reinforcing from Gates for a time," he said. "Any word of Tavington moving out from Charlestown?"

"Sounds like Clinton is keeping that one close. He's been scouting around the city but never drives further than a mile or two - he's keeping it clear of any militia that try to close. Looks for deserters and escapees, as well. The ship holds are filling up fast with prisoners."

"At least I don't have him to worry about yet, then," Burwell said.

"You heard from old Ben lately?" Peter asked and Harry arched an eyebrow. Peter Howard was older than Benjamin by at least ten years. Old Ben indeed. "Told me he's been receiving letters - there's lots of interest in Miss Martin these days. The Simms want to make a match between her and their son."

"I'd heard," Burwell said shortly. _She's my damned fiancé! _He thought with a silent growl. The engagement was secret for now - he could not even tell Peter Howard, who was a close personal friend of his and the Martin family combined. It seemed likely that Anne would marry Beth's brother, Gabriel - bringing the families even closer. But still Burwell said nothing. He tried to relax, breathing steadily to keep the fury at bay.

She was his, they would announce their engagement, just as soon as she bloody left bloody Charlestown.

"Well, Old Ben won't entertain the suit, I'm sure," Howard replied with a curious glance at Harry. The Colonel was clearly brooding over Miss Martin and he attempted to offer comfort. "He won't entertain anyone for his daughter - except you."

"Yes, well. How are Mrs. Howard and the children?" Burwell asked Howard now.

"Good, good," Peter replied. "George is well - though he's not happy he can't join the army. He wants to fight alongside Joshua."

"I'd take him if I could," Harry replied. "But it's just too dangerous."

"I know," Peter said gravely. George, Peter's oldest son, had suffered a devastating accident when he was younger, when he lost control of the horse he he had been riding. The horse had been too big for the youth and he had been thrown. The accident had cost the lad his left hand. He could not ride a horse and wield a sabre or pistol at the same time and therefore, he could not join the army.

"What of young Gabriel - has he set a date yet?" Burwell asked, engaging in gossip now the important discussion was over.

"Alas no - I'm not certain what it's going to take. The lad can fight like a warrior on the battlefield and can't set a date for the damned wedding?" Howard scoffed. "They think I don't know it, but the two of them are kissing behind that old oak there. So as far as I'm concerned, they're as good as married already. Perhaps I should get my old musket out and tell him if he doesn't hurry up about it, I'll shoot him!"

"Wedding at musket point!" Bryant laughed. "I've been to a few of those! "

"Yes - your own, for a start!" Peter quipped and the men laughed again.

"Agh, give him time," Burwell advised with a wave of his hand. "He's a good lad, he'll get there in the end. He's had a lot on his mind."

"Yes, I know," Peter was still chuckling. "And now my Anne is taking his mind off it all! Ah, the youthful bliss of ignorance."

"Here, here," Burwell replied.

* * *

Mrs. Caroline Simms had positioned her chair before the large bank of windows in the large, airy parlor.

The sunset was extraordinary to say the least, she watched it as she sipped her cup of tea. The sky and clouds were on fire - glorious pinks and oranges, purples and blues. The sun itself was a brilliant white globe that was fast dipping down toward the horizon - a perfect and bright sphere she could not look at for more than a few seconds. The light in the room was dimming quickly and servants moved about, lighting candles. Caroline barely noticed them as she gazed out the window. It helped to calm her, the beautiful sunset.

The night of the ball had been a wonderful success in more ways than one. She had invited all of Charlestown's elite and the night had gone without a hitch. Everything was utter perfection, equal to that of any ball she had attended in London! Clinton had been full of praise.

_Such a lovely man, Sir Clinton._ Mrs. Simms sipped her tea and placed it on the saucer with barely a clink. The sun dipped lower - it would disappear entirely soon. She let her thoughts wander, tried not to think about what was truly bothering her.

Even the fireworks - they had been spectacular. Better than anything the Middleton's had put on before! The band had been wonderful - so much dancing! Caroline had danced several times - with Clinton and a few of his adjutants. Her own husband danced with her twice - the two had been in a content mood indeed. Not only because of how wonderful their event had progressed, but also because of Miss Beth Martin, who was finally, blessedly, shed of Colonel Burwell.

Mrs. Simms took another sip of her tea, again placing it on the saucer. The sun was almost gone now but the sky was still on fire. Yes, Miss Beth Martin. And her twenty thousand. And her three hundred acres. Of Low Country land. Such a prize, that. Caroline had considered Beth for her son several times, but then Burwell had arrived with his Continentals and control of the city had been wrested away from more reasonable folk, by rebel hot heads. And Burwell had set his sights upon Miss Martin, with her father's favour, or so it had seemed.

But now Miss Martin was shed of Burwell and the Simms had decided it was worth approaching Benjamin Martin, who might be open to the idea of coupling his daughter with Caroline's son, after all. Not only would the Simms benefit in a prodigious way, but it would also mean she, Caroline, would not have to look to the Middleton's for a match for Arthur. Of course, Rebecca Middleton would have made a decent enough choice and her branch of the family _were_ Loyalist, but they were still Middletons! The two leading families did not get along in the least, marriage connections between the two were few and far between.

Tavington. Now there was a problem. Caroline had seen it in the man's eyes, the moment he had decided to court Beth for marriage himself. She had seen the look on his face, the shock and then the determination - as soon as it became apparent how wealthy the girl was. Prior to that, he had seemed content to flirt with the girl without ever intending more; Mrs. Simms doubted her would have married her.

In a heartbeat, his intentions toward Miss Martin had altered so obviously that Caroline was now forced to consider Tavington's ambitions a very real threat to her own plans.

Her suspicions were compounded later, on the evening of the ball. Caroline had observed how inseparable Miss Martin and Colonel Tavington appeared to be and she had begun to despair that perhaps Tavington had beaten them to Miss Martin and her twenty thousand - just as Burwell had almost done.

However, Caroline's eyes and ears had told her that very morning that the Officer and Beth had had quite a heated exchange at the ball, though none of them seemed to know what was the cause.

Further to that, Caroline had learned that Miss Martin had, since the ball, refused to receive Colonel Tavington, though he had visited twice that day alone. Beth was a strong willed girl, Caroline knew, and she deduced the lovers tiff must have been serious indeed, if Tavington was still being refused by the lass after their conflict.

While pleased to learn of the contention between the pair, Caroline was still inclined toward irritation. This was Arthur's opportunity to step forward and court the girl! Caroline herself could only do so much. Arthur had to secure her himself!

"Mrs. Simms," a soft voice said at her shoulder. "Cornet Simms has arrived home."

"Ah, good. Send him to me at once," she told the servant.

The sky was almost black now, stars were popping into view. Caroline gathered herself, preparing for the confrontation with her son. Outwardly, the woman was quite composed but inside, she seethed with rage. Absolute fury. He could secure Miss Martin but not if Arthur continued his debaucheries! Beth was a discerning lass, she certainly would not choose to marry a man who bedded all and sundry! And the girl's father would certainly deny the match, if he learned of it.

The parlor door closed and Caroline turned, watched her son approach her. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek perfunctorily before sitting across from her.

"Mamma. You wished to see me?" Arthur asked.

"Indeed," she said coolly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow - he knew that voice. He had put up with his mother's ways for seventeen years now - nearly eighteen years**.** He tried not to roll his eyes as he searched his mind for what the Hell he had done now.

"You may be wondering exactly why I sent for you," she said coolly as she placed her tea cup on the saucer. It was almost empty now - the cup - and she placed it on a nearby side table, then placed her empty hands in her lap. Calmness personified - yet Arthur was not fooled.

"I was curious, I admit," Arthur said.

_I'm a Goddamned Dragoon now - a soldier in His Majesties army! I don't have to put up with whatever admonishment she has coming!_

His thoughts were mutinous but still Arthur waited his mother out, he made no verbal protest.

"Arthur," Caroline said, her voice turning colder, allowing some of her irritation slipping through her facade. "I am informed by the laundry staff that when they changed the sheets on your bed, they discovered that your coverlet was completely covered in..." she pursed her lips with distaste. "With evidence of coupling."

"What?" Arthur was incredulous. Of all the things he had been expecting, this was not one of them! He had not even slept in his bed, what the Devil was she talking about?

"It was all over a cloth on the nightstand, as well. It was clear, judging by the disturbance of the pillows and the coverlet, that two people shared that bed and enjoyed... pleasures that should only be experienced in the marriage bed," she ground out. It occurred to her that perhaps she should have let Mr. Simms deal with this but she dismissed the thought at once. He was a man himself - he would only sympathize with Arthur. No - this must be done by her - as Arthur's mother. "I would like to know who you were having relations with under my very roof, young man."

"Who I was having relations with?" Arthur shook his head, shocked. He had been with several young lovelies - first and foremost Mariah - the woman Tavington had paid for, Arthur's first and still his favorite. But that had taken place at the tavern! He was about to defend himself, to tell this crazy woman it was not him when suddenly it hit him like a tonne of bricks.

Tavington had asked Arthur for the key to his chamber so he could to slip away with his favorite. Without being told, Arthur had known it was Beth Martin that the Officer had desired to be alone with. Now Arthur found himself in quite a dilemma. The British Officer - his superior - had sworn the boy to secrecy. He was not to tell a single soul and Arthur was not going to break his vow. Not a vow made to Tavington - he damned near worshipped the ground Tavington walked on!

With a sullen sigh, Arthur chose the only course of action available to him.

"I am sorry, Mamma," he said, trying to sound contrite. "I would rather not reveal her. I promise it will not happen again."

This did not satisfy Mrs. Simms, not in the slightest.

"Arthur, I think you fail to understand the seriousness of this, and what the possible repercussions could be!" Mrs. Simms said stately. "Do you love this girl, this woman -"

"No, Mamma," Arthur shook his head. "I do not."

_I don't love this imaginary woman I took to my chamber and fucked right there on my bed. Christ, Tavington, how many times did you bed Miss Martin to get it all over my coverlet _**_and_**_ the cloth? So soiled that the bloody maids noticed!_

"Well that is a relief, at least!" His mother said coldly now. "However I do hope the strumpet isn't going to come knocking on our door in nine months demanding we assist her in raising her bastard. Or worse yet, demanding you marry her!"

"I do not think that will be an issue," Arthur said, voice tight.

"You never know with that sort. She was no virgin which means you already deprived her of her virtue on some previous occasion, or she is a well used little tart."

"How in the world to you know that?" Arthur frowned. He had always thought Beth was quite virtuous and had assumed Tavington taken her virginity in Arthur's bed.

"That she wasn't a virgin on the night you took her - beneath my roof, during _my ball_! - Because there was no _blood_, Arthur," Mrs. Simms replied as though speaking to a simpleton. "Plenty of your seed, but not a drop of her blood. Mark my words, that girl - whoever she might be, had already been deflowered!"

Arthur tried not to gape. Beth was not the type, he knew it instinctively. Which meant that Tavington had already managed to seduce the girls virginity on some night prior to his excursion to Arthur's room! The Officer had only known her a few weeks!

"Did you think she was a virgin?" Mrs. Simms snapped.

"I - I'm sure I don't know," he replied.

"She better not come around here looking for recompense," Caroline's lips tightened. "Must I remind you that in order to secure Miss Martin, you will have to court her? What if she hears of this?" Her words cut his through his thoughts and Arthur stiffened.

He stared at her, wide eyed with shock, then suddenly his memory returned to him. He had still been quite drunk from the ball and a night of revelry when he slipped back into the mansion early yesterday morning. He had planned to bathe and then meet his fellow Dragoons.

But before he could even order his bath drawn, they - his parents - summoned him and had discussed their plans to marry him off to Miss Martin. He had been so soused, he had barely been able to understand their words. But he remembered the conversation now - it all came crashing back with another load of those bricks that had hit him a few moments earlier.

"Miss Martin?" He said weakly. Christ.

He couldn't marry Beth - Tavington would kill him! All of the Dragoons knew she was his and therefore off limits! Besides - she was no virgin. She'd rogered Tavington._ In Arthur's bed! _He wouldn't marry her even if she did come with... Wait, how much was it again? He couldn't remember but it had been enough to impress his parents!

"Yes, Miss Martin!" Caroline snapped. "I asked her to consider you and she said she would! Now, I know that Tavington has designs on her now - his ears pricked up like a blood hound sniffing a scent when he heard she had eighteen thousand pounds and three hundred acres! He will marry her himself now, given half a chance!" She leaned forward with menace. "But we will not give him even half a chance, now will we?"

"Mother -" Arthur began to protest but Mrs. Simms was having none of it.

"You will not make a better match, Arthur! You are a third son with only eight thousand - and you have to make your own way!"

"I know that!" He snapped back. "That does not mean -"

"Miss Martin comes with wealth over double yours! And three hundred acres of Low Country land! You will not want for a thing, dearest, don't you understand? I only want what's best for you and right now, that is Miss Martin! But if she learns you took some woman to your bed and... and..." She trailed off, breathing heavily, then continued in a hushed whisper. "Had relations with her, then Miss Martin will not accept you!"

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Arthur threw his hands in the air, frustrated beyond thought. He could put a stop to this foolishness in a heart beat by revealing it had been Tavington in his room - with the very woman his mother was trying to marry Arthur off to! It would end all of this nonsense at once but it meant Arthur would have to break his vow to Tavington and that was something he really did not want to do.

"To whom do you think you are speaking!," she snapped. "Don't you take that tone with me. And no profanity!" Mrs. Simms was aghast but all Arthur could do was cradle his head in his hands and moan, hoping it would all go away. All this pain and turmoil. It was hurting his head. "You have to secure her, Arthur - I can only do so much! And the time is now - because I learned earlier today that Tavington and Miss Martin quarrelled at the ball and she is refusing to see him."

"They quarrelled?" Arthur frowned. That would explain Tavington's foul mood - he had been in a fury for two days!

"Indeed - which means you could go and visit her, cheer her up and sweep her off her feet!"

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Arthur muttered again.

"Enough!" Mrs. Simms rose and towered over her son. "You will do this -"

"Mamma - I don't want to marry her!"

"She's beautiful, witty, charming. And wealthy! Her father is not lacking in influence, it would do well for you to be connected to her brothers, all of whom will have three hundred acres of their own! The Martin's are already quite high, Arthur, but as the sons begin to come into their own, their rise shall be meteoric! You will be a part of that, with your marriage to Miss Martin! And as she is about to assist Sir Clinton in a plot of extreme importance, she now holds the favour of the Commander and Chief himself! As her husband, that high regard will extend to you. I should not have to explain to you how transcendent such prestige attention would be for our family! How quickly you would rise through the ranks, and in the world!" Mrs. Simms shook her head, utterly bewildered.

"I don't care about any of that," Arthur lied, though in truth he did and his mother knew it. Especially to rise upward through the ranks, as high as Tavington - his idol. But he could not achieve any of this by marrying Beth, not even if she did have Clinton's favour! He could not - _would_ not - marry Tavington's lover!

Besides, he had his pride and he wanted a virgin, not some wealthy lass his Commander had already had a turn with, thank you very much! He could not say any of this to his mother, of course. He was caught, well and truly caught.

"You will at least _try_ to win her regard, or as the good Lord stands witness - I will disinherit you!"

"Mother!" Arthur cried with outrage.

"I am handing you a silver tray laden with with your entire future! If you reject it, I shall disown you completely!" Mrs. Simms snapped, then turned and began walking from the parlor. "I mean every word, Arthur," she threw over her shoulder, then slammed the door behind her.

Arthur groaned. He thought furiously, trying to find a way out of this mess.


	18. Chapter 18 - A Nasty Trick

Chapter 18 - A Nasty Trick:

Wednesday 7th June:

The sun was filtering in through the windows and the birds were chirping outside. Others in the house were already up and Beth knew she had to rise from the bed and prepare herself for the day ahead.

"I've had a bath drawn for you," Mila said, consoling, standing beside the bed and looking worried. "And you will be able to have a nice long soak before breakfast. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Beth nodded wordlessly and rose from the bed in only her shift.

"Wash your hair too," Mila said. "I'll lay out your dresses."

"Thank you," Beth said woodenly and walked from her room. She encountered Cilla in the hallway, her cousin gave her a relieved grin to see Beth up and about. They chatted for a few moments, mostly it was Beth reassuring her cousin that she was fine, even though she had no idea if she was or not.

Finally, Beth entered the bathing room, locked the door, removed her robe and climbed into the tub with a heavy sigh. Tavington would be coming by for her early that afternoon and her stomach twisted with anxiety. She had not seen him in days despite his many visits; this time, she would not be able to send him away.

But she had no choice in the matter - she had to accompany Tavington to Mr. Simm's plantation house that evening, where she would wait for Burwell.

Why he wanted to collect her so early for the damned mission was beyond her. How many hours would she have to suffer being in his presence before she 'slipped away' from the house to wait in the rotunda? How many hours of torture; of longing for a man who continued to hurt her. She would never again feel his lips on hers, his hands holding her, touching her. The pleasures he had awoken in her.

The bath was meant to be soothing. The hot water soaking into her body was meant to warm her soul. The scented oils were supposed to be comforting, distracting. But nothing was going to work - William would not leave her be, even here, alone in her bath.

_I will pursue you until the end of my days. _

The look on William's face when he'd said those words… Despite the hot water enveloping her to her chin, Beth shivered as foreboding crept along her spine.

* * *

As the day continued, Beth's anxiety increased to such heights, causing her to become greatly agitated and chasing away her hunger, when the family sat down to dine, she had barely touched a bite of her lunch.

Now the time for Tavington's arrival was fast approaching. Beth wandered through the house in a restless and distressed state, not quite knowing what to do with herself. If she sat, she soon needed to stand, to walk. As soon as she was on her feet, however, her legs trembled and she felt the sore need to sit again. She was on edge; every horse that trotted by sent a jolt of anguish through her, and when she heard someone knocking on the front door, her heart damned hear climbed out of her rib cage.

But the new arrival turned out to be Colin. As he was her friend, it was only natural for Beth to assume he had come to visit her. She trotted down the stairs but when she reached the parlor, she found it was empty. She heard voices - coming from Mark's office down the hall. Why he was visiting Mark first was a puzzle. With a shrug, Beth left the parlor to let Colin know she was there.

Mark was sitting in a large chair with his back to the door, Colin and Ensign Watson sat across from him on a side angle.

"What we need," Mark was saying to Watson as Beth entered. "Is for you to be in a position to aid us when the time comes to have Rutledge rescued from the cells."

Beth gasped and the three men whirled in their chairs to face her. She stared wide eyed at Watson, shocked to the core.

"Beth!" Mark frowned. "You shouldn't come in here without knocking - not ever!"

"Your door was open, it's not my fault I heard you!" Beth said. She turned to Watson, confused. "What is this, Ensign? It would be treason for you to help Rutledge escape the dungeon. You could be executed."

"Shh!" Mark hissed. He raced to the door and poked his head into the hallway, finding it empty. He shut it tight and turned back to Beth. "Keep your voice down!"

"And you!" Beth rounded on him at once, mind whirling. "You're going to make him help you? He could be killed!"

"It is my choice, Miss Martin," Watson rose and bowed. Remembering himself, Colin did also. Watson, his face twisted with fury, spat, "I'm tired of them, Miss Martin. I'm sick to my damned stomach of them. I'm sorry, I should not profane, not in front of you. But I just.. He used his authority to get me out of the way so I could not dance another dance with you! I know that sounds stupid but… It's the straw that broke the camels back."

Beth drew back, startled. "Pardon?"

"Tavington! He abused his authority! And when I made a complaint to Captain Turner, I was told to put up and shut up! Captain Turner wouldn't dare act on a complaint from an Ensign regarding a Colonel, therefore Tavington is allowed to get away with it. I was sent from the ball, from a night of social revelry, from music and dancing, because he was jealous because you were dancing with me!"

"He told me you were called away, a soldiers duty," she breathed, stunned.

"Yes, because he commanded it done," Watson seethed, his handsome face reddening.

"I waited for you and when you did not come -"

"You danced with _him_," Watson spat, furious.

"Easy, Nicholas," Colin said, moving imperceptibly closer to Beth.

"Oh my God. Ensign, I'm so dreadfully sorry," Beth breathed. "If I'd known, I swear, I would not have let him get away with it," she drifted closer to Nicholas, took his fingers in her own and gave them a squeeze. "When I realised he was keeping all other suitors away, I walked away from him. I didn't give him the last dance, the one that would have been yours."

Some of Nicholas' anger eased, his shoulders loosened.

"You did?" He asked and she nodded.

"But Lord, it was just a dance. It was dreadfully wrong of Tavington to send you away, he's done plenty of terribly wrong things of late! But Ensign, that is not a reason for you to do this - to help Rutledge escape! It is treason - for _you_ it is - and it could mean your death!"

"It's not the only reason," Nicholas said. "Tavington flaunts his authority and my own Captain did nothing about it… Like I said, it was the last straw. There have been plenty of other instances that have left me feeling disgruntled, and that was well before I ever met Tavington. I've put up with this sort of thing for years, seen all sorts of injustices. The abuse of authority, the awful things that go on in the British Army… I was on the cusp of turning coat before I ever met Mr. Putman. He just gave me the little nudge I needed in the right direction."

"Turned coat?" Beth whispered. "Is that what you've done? With my uncle's help?" She turned to Mark just in time to see him waving frantically at Watson - a shushing gesture. When her eyes shifted to him, he snapped his hands to his sides, tried to look innocent. But she'd seen. Her uncle, recruiting British Officers, encouraging them to turn coat? What in the world for? To help Rutledge to escape? No. There was far more to it than that, surely. Her mind worked through it all frantically - she recalled his questioning her, after each visit from Tavington, and earlier from Tarleton and even from Watson. He'd said it was so they could be 'in the know', in order to be prepared for anything and everything. But now… She turned to Mark and asked, "uncle, are you a spy?"

The wind went out of his sails, Mark heaved a frustrated breath. Her suspicions were confirmed. And if Mark was a spy, then Colin - who was wearing the Green Dragoon uniform yet was in this little meeting, was a spy also. And Nicholas Watson. "Dear God, don't you know how dangerous this is? For all of you! And you," she said to Mark. "You've allowed Clinton to believe you're a Loyalist - not so that you won't have your property seized and be booted out of the city, but so you can get close to him, to listen in on his plans! Oh, this is so dangerous… the three of you… Hung, uncle! You could get all three of you hung!"

"We all know the risks," Mark said. He drew a deep, calming breath and indicated the spare two seater lounger. "Take a seat Beth."

"Gods, I need to, my legs feel weak." Beth slumped to the seat and made room for Nicholas to sit beside her. "Colin, you are a Green Dragoon!"

"Exactly," Colin smiled with satisfaction. "I'm another set of eyes and ears for Mr. Putman now. A spy for Burwell, amongst Tavington's own men!"

"Who else?" Beth asked, incredulous.

"Never mind that now," Mark ground out with a glare for Colin. "It's enough that you know of the three of us. Beth, I hope you understand the seriousness of this, the need for absolute secrecy."

"Of course I do!" She folded her arms across her chest.

"Beth," Mark leaned forward intently. "If Colin or Watson are discovered, they will hang."

"Didn't I just tell you that?" She pointed out. "Yet you've recruited them both anyway!"

"We understand the dangers," Colin said and Beth shook her head at his folly. "We can be certain of you, can't we Beth?"

Loosening a long breath, she slowly unfolded her arms and crossed her hands in her lap. "Of course you can, Colin. I won't say a word," she said finally and both youths relaxed.

"Excellent," Mark said as he sat down. "Christ, what a balls up."

"You shouldn't have spies meeting with you in your home if you fear discovery, Uncle," Beth admonished.

"Well, it was safe enough," Mark shrugged. "Colin and Nicholas both come to visit you - there is no reason to suspect any other reason for them being here. There are only a few others I'd dare meet with here. Usually, these little meetings take place elsewhere."

"Oh. Sweet Heaven," Beth shook her head.

"Everything is fine, Beth. Clinton believes me to be a good little Tory, and it's because of this that I was able to make him believe that your father is, also. That's why no one has gone off to arrest your father for letting Burwell spend the night there."

"I thought that was because of what I'm supposed to be doing tonight," she replied.

"Yes, that helps too," Mark confirmed. "No one suspects anything."

With a heavy sigh, she asked. "Do you really think you can free Rutledge?"

"With very careful planning," Mark said confidently. "And with Watson's aid. It helps to have an actual British Officer on side - they won't think for one moment that one of their own has turned."

"Lord, I just can understand this - Ensign, I'm a Patriot, I want my country free of the Crown, but you! You are British, born and bred!"

"There are Whigs back home too, you know," Watson smiled. "Though I did not realise I was one of them until I began fighting in the Colonies. Lord, my father will kill me," a sad sigh.

"If Tavington doesn't first," Beth said pointedly. "Treason, Nicholas. You could hang!"

"I know." He squeezed her fingers. "I know."

"And you, Colin," Beth turned to her oldest friend. "The risk - you are in the Green Dragoons!"

"Don't fear for me Beth - I have my duty to do and it's an important one. I have made my choice."

"You are stubborn," she murmured.

"You should know - you grew up with me."

"We all know the risks..." Watson said now.

"Will you be careful?" Beth asked, shifting her gaze from one youth to the other. "I couldn't stand it, if anything were to happen to either of you! Colin - you know I love you dearly and you, Ensign," she turned back to the Redcoat Officer. "You've become such a good friend."

"Just a friend?" Watson asked intently, though he tried to keep his voice light.

"Ensign…" She trailed off then decided to confide in him. "I'm so sorry, I wish… I don't want to cause you pain but… You need to know," she glanced at Mark. "It's only fair," she said. It was a very great secret and no one outside the family, except for Colin and Mary, knew. Mark heaved a breath, but he nodded. She turned back to Nicholas.

"If you don't care for me that way, I understand," Nicholas said, looking forlorn. "I'll despise Tavington always but… I know you've come to care for him."

"Oh, Nicholas," she sighed. "It's not him. You're a much better man than he could ever hope to be. It's," she paused, gathering her strength - it was not easy to let a person know there was no hope for them. "It's a very great secret, or I would have told you sooner. I never wanted to hurt you, Nicholas, but… I can't in good conscience keep this from you any longer. I am engaged to Colonel Burwell. I'm going to marry him."

"Oh," Watson breathed. " I see."

"I'm so sorry," she held tight to his fingers, gave them a warm squeeze.

"No... Don't be. Thank you for telling me, it's better this way," he glanced down at their clasped hands and his voice became chill. "Does _he_ know?"

Beth had no doubt which 'he' Watson was speaking of. "Unfortunately, he has discovered it. I received a letter from Colonel Burwell, in which he speaks of our engagement. I stupidly left it lying on the table and I went to sleep. When I woke, he was there, visiting. I tried to put the letter away but I knocked it from the table instead, because I was so nervous. He picked it up to hand back to me but… He saw it was from Colonel Burwell and…" She closed her eyes, remembering. "He accused me of receiving enemy missives, said it was treason. Then he read it, despite how I begged. And so… yes, he knows."

"Jesus," Nicholas breathed. "You must have been terrified."

"Gods, I was," she agreed with a small laugh. "I still am. I'm sorry for keeping it from you. It had to be kept a secret for my safety - not that it matters now, I suppose, with him knowing and all. But without that, I would have told you much, much sooner."

"Well how could you? I'm a Redcoat and can't be trusted," his smile showed he was teasing. "They do not have my Loyalty anymore. I'm not the first to... turn coat," Watson's voice caught, he had never said the words before, not out loud.

"It's not too late, Nicholas. You haven't done anything against the Crown yet have you?" She turned to Mark. "Has he? It's not too late."

"I'm sorry, Beth, but yes it is too late - there is no turning back now," Mark told her. Beth lowered her eyes sadly.

"Five years, I've served for," Watson said passionately. "The things I've seen. The things I've done... We fight a gentlemanly war for the most part, but occasionally..." He tossed his head. "No, it is done. I've made my decision."

"Very well," Beth felt incredibly saddened, she could not imagine that many Redcoats changing sides, despite Watson's words.

"Come, let's go to the parlor - it's stuffy in here," Mark said, letting the others know the discussion was over. They began to file out of Mark's office, Beth and Mark following Watson and Colin. Beth seized Mark's arm, a sudden thought occurred to her and she stopped him in the doorway. Colin and Watson went on ahead, but Beth turned to her uncle, looking horrified.

"That's why you encourage it," she breathed. He gazed down at her warily. "Tavington. All the times he came to dinner, to walk with me, to court me. All the questioning afterward. All the invitations you gave him, encouraging him to return, to spend more and more time in my company, even though from the first moment Burwell kissed me, you declared me to be engaged. It wasn't to make it look like we're good little Tories, or to make them less suspicious about Colonel Burwell and I. It was to gain information, wasn't it? I am one of your spies, and I didn't even know it."

His lips tightened, he eventually gave a slow nod. "His infatuation did prove useful," Mark said.

"Why didn't you tell me? I've been trying to understand for weeks now, why you'd allow him to court me. I've been so confused."

"I'm sorry about that, Beth. I am. But we are in perilous times. You declare yourself to be a Patriot - your entire family are Patriots - your fiancé is a Patriot. We are all risking our lives, any one of us could die at a moments notice. Gabriel or Burwell, on the field of battle. Me, if I my spying was discovered. Is a little confusion on your part really such a large price to pay for the information I've gained, through your connection to Tavington?"

Confusion? As if that was all she was suffering. Her heart had been ripped from its chest, and Tavington had torn it to shreds. She felt very much like a person being slowly killed on the battlefield, or an execution that was lasting forever.

"It's not as though you've fallen in love and you've gotten your heart broken," Mark said and Beth felt kicked to the stomach. "Look, he's going to come for you today, you'll be amidst the Dragoons, this is such a grand opportunity! I need you to keep your ears peeled, Beth. But don't make it obvious that you're listening. It is going to be hard for you to look the innocent, now that you know. But you must try. And when he comes back - the next time he visits you, you must agree to see him. I've been blind for days, Beth. Colin and Watson can only glean so much! You're my direct link, I need you in the thick of it!"

She was still groping for understanding even as he took hold of her arm and steered her toward the parlour. Her mind whirled with the implications. She was one of Mark's spies. She'd been spying on Tavington, without even knowing it. And Mark thought the only price she'd paid, was to suffer a little confusion. She sat down on the chaise, a wooden lump beside Colin Ferguson. Cilla and Mage were already there. Gods, was Mark using them as well? Is this the reason for Mage and Cilla's continual visits to the Tisdale's? They went there frequently since the Officers quartered there. Cilla was close to Mary so it didn't seem that odd that Cilla would go, but Beth hadn't thought Vera Tisdale and Mage were particularly close before. Vera Tisdale. That bitch, the whore, she'd been bedding William. Her heart seized like it was being murdered.

Mark was speaking. Her uncle, who'd been using her to spy on Tavington. Had Mage known? Beth glanced at her aunt, who was smiling and chatting - the same sunny demeanour she always had - the same she'd used when she'd met Bordon, Brownlow and Dalton, the same she used on Tavington whenever he visited.

Yes, Beth thought. She was spying for Mark. And she'd known that her husband was using Beth to spy on Tavington. But she probably thought it didn't matter, for she was doing much the same work for her husband, also. Why else would she visit the Tisdale's? Neither of them realised the great cost to Beth. Betrothed to Burwell as she was, neither of them realised how deeply in love she'd fallen for Tavington.

Because she was supposed to be falling in love with Burwell.

When Mary arrived, Beth rose, her weak legs carrying her the short distance to Watson, so that Mary could sit beside Colin. At least Mary had some joy in her life, being engaged to Colin finally. Her joy was blighted by her mother's disgraceful affair but it was clear she would try and put on a happy face and embrace the wonderful things that were happening in her life. Not all was doom and gloom.

_It's not all doom and gloom for me either_, Beth thought as the shock of her discovery began to fade. _I'm engaged... I'll get married... I'll leave this place and never look back. I'll be happy again... After all his betrayals… _Her spine began to stiffen and for the fist time since making the discovery, she was glad her uncle had been spying through her. Why should William come away unscathed, after all he'd done? She was glad Mark had had an ulterior motive in encouraging the connection to Tavington, glad that she wasn't the only one betrayed.

William was being betrayed too.

"Mr. Tisdale understands that Mary wants to be away from Charlestown as soon as possible. We're going to marry as soon as the banns are published, that way she can accompany me when the Green Dragoons ride out. I've already written to my family, asking them to come to the city for the wedding."

"What?" Beth exploded instantly. Everyone else was nodding and smiling - even Mary, though it would mean she would be living a rough life, constantly in camp. But after what Beth had just learned - that Colin had joined the Dragoons to spy on their activities - she was outraged that he would take Mary! All eyes turned to her, startled by her outburst. She was certain that Mage - and Cilla - were both spying for Mark, which left only Mary unaware. Beth tried to convey her unease without giving too much away. "Colin," she said with a pointed glance. "Don't you think camp life would be disagreeable and... Dangerous… you know, _considering_?"

"I don't care," Mary said at once, answering for Colin. "I can put up with living rough, if it means I'm with Colin. And as for danger - I'll be living with the main force, I won't actually be traveling with the Green Dragoons when they... Do whatever it is they do..."

"But Colin could be gone for days on end," Cilla spoke up. "What will you do all by yourself?"

"I won't be by myself - there will be other wives in camp. They work hard too - did you know that? It's women that form the backbone of an army camp - doing cooking and sewing and all sorts of jobs. I always thought camp followers meant..." She coughed delicately and blushed. "Anyway, it seems that camp followers are actually wives, and sisters and daughters of soldiers, who travel with and work for the army!"

"I see," Beth said, stunned. She frowned with disapproval at Colin but clearly their minds were as one with this decision and nothing Beth could say would alter it. She heaved a sigh and gave up. Talk turned to the wedding, a happy topic in such troubled times. Mary's wedding dresses, where the wedding would be held, how long it would take Colin's parents to travel from the Santee. Beth was to be her first bridesmaid; Cilla, Rebecca, Sarah and Lucy Ferguson were to be her seconds.

As they continued to chat, it quickly became apparent that each one of them knew what Beth would be doing later that evening - they all knew about the ambush. Colin and Nicholas had had it from Mark, and Mary had had it from Colin. Tavington had been a fool, to believe he could keep such a thing as Burwell's attempted capture a secret.

"Almost two-o'clock," Cilla sighed as she gazed at the clock on the mantel.

The group fell silent and tense. Beth had received a note from Tavington, telling her he would collect her at two o'clock sharp, and he would escort her to the Simms Plantation where she would be readied for the rendezvous.

"So. You don't need to take any clothes? A packed bag, to make it look like you are ready to flee with Colonel Burwell on the instant?"

"No, Cilla. He indicated in the note that everything I needed would be provided."

"Are you nervous?" Mary asked gently.

"Yes," Beth laughed and held out her hand, which was shaking slightly. Watson took hold of her hand, his expression filled with concern.

"You do not need to fear," Mark assured her. "You will go with Tavington, wait for Burwell who will not show, and then Tavington will bring you home again."

Beth nodded with a heavy sigh.

"Beth, I mean it. You will be quite safe," he gave her the same pointed look she had given Colin earlier.

"It's times like this I wish I was a Green Dragoon," Watson said, still holding Beth's hand. "You'd have another friend to watch over you."

"Thank you," she smiled warmly, for both his willingness to help her and his acceptance that they would remain nothing more than friends.

"The sooner this horrible business is over with the better!" Mage said brusquely. "I can't stand it, all the waiting. It's no good for my nerves."

Before another word could be spoken, the parlor door opened abruptly and Tavington strode in purposefully, making a sudden and dramatic entrance. His face could have been carved from stone. Beth froze, her breath caught in her throat as his cold eyes met hers across the room. She had not seen him since the ball and now here he was, standing at his full height, back ramrod straight, gazing down at her with ice in his eyes. Her heart began to pound and she swayed where she sat.

His frown took in Watson sitting beside her and for a moment, murder shone from his eyes. He seemed to struggle for composure, he jerked a bow to Mark and Mage, his eyes widening slightly when they fell on Mary - whose mother he'd had an affair with. He jerked his gaze back to Beth.

"Are you ready?" He asked, his soft voice colder than ice. Beth could only nod wordlessly. "Then come." A curt command as he stepped toward the door to wait for her.

Beth heard a collective sigh of relief from her friends and family, a release of pent up tension, as she followed Tavington out into the hallway.

Watson darted out of the parlor before Beth and Tavington reached the front doorway.

"Sir!" He addressed the older, higher ranking Officer.

Tavington turned to him slowly, his gaze taking him in from head to toe in a quick, assessing glance.

"Yes, Ensign?" A polite drawl filled with pure loathing.

With nervous fingers, Beth tightened her cape around her, chilled by his voice despite the warmth of the day.

"Is there anything I can assist with, Sir?" Watson asked, hoping, despite his fear, that he could be there for Beth.

"Miss Martin and I are going on an outing, Ensign. Why in the world would you think your company would be needed - or even wanted?" Tavington arched an eyebrow and Watson drew in a sharp breath. The Colonel then turned on his heel, gripped Beth's arm and marched her our of the house.

* * *

Tavington did not release his hold on her arm as they marched along the path that wound through the trees, all the way to the front gate. He still held her arm when they got to the carriage and he helped her in. Despite that, she managed to recover herself somewhat and when she sat on the hard seat across from him, she was able to hold his gaze with an icy one of her own.

For a moment, anyway. She eventually pulled her gaze from his intent stare.

Instead, she stared through the window of the carriage as it ambled along slowly from her Uncle's house and along the city streets. Arms folded across her chest, Beth sniffed and kept her eyes resolutely fixed on the houses and the people, as the carriage passed them by.

She could feel his cold, pale gaze on her, though Beth refused to glance his way. Thankfully, Tavington did not seem to be particularly talkative. He seemed intent on staring at her in absolute silence. Beth caught sight of the Dragoon guard, trotting their horses alongside the carriage. Eight of them all told, Bordon, Brownlow, Dalton, Simms, several others. A short way into their travel, Beth broke the silence.

"Have you ever had an argument with someone, only to realise afterward there was so much more you wished to say?" She snapped in a waspish tone, finally meeting his eyes again.

"Indeed," he drawled. "Do you have more to say to me, Beth?"

"Indeed," she mimicked his cool tone and ignored his frown. "So very much more, I hardly know where to begin."

"Then don't bother," he advised, he was in no mood to spar with her.

"Three women at once William. Four if you include me. Five if you include Eleanor Price, _which I do_! You asked me once if I believed you so inconstant, when I accused you of having a roving eye. As it turns out, my instincts were absolutely correct!"

"We've already discussed this, I thought you said you had something new for me?" he arched an eyebrow. "No? Then be silent."

"Be silent?" Beth's voice rose.

"I am not engaged to Miss Price, Beth," he said. _Not any more_, he added to himself. He had sent a letter to his now former fiance yesterday morning, it would be in England in another two months. But as far as he was concerned, his engagement to Miss Eleanor Price was at an end.

"I don't know why you're persisting with the lies, William," she curled her lip at him.

"You sit there jealous of nothing," he fixed her with his piercing gaze, he leaned forward intently. "Yet what of you and Watson?" He ground out. "You were sitting so close your legs were touching!"

"Yes, I was, wasn't I? Despite your attempts to separate us at the ball," she smiled. His eyes took on a dangerous glint. "And I had a letter from Banastre, telling me of his news and asking me mine..."

William tensed, his eyes grey steel. "Did you now?"

"Hmm. I simply must write back, I'm certain he will be quite interested in all I have to tell him. Though I doubt he will be surprised to learn of all your affairs, he likely knew all about them."

"Yes he knew. He is hardly one to judge, however," Tavington replied complacently.

"No?" Beth asked. She frowned, suddenly wary.

"No," Tavington mocked. "He bedded Helen Shaw before I did. He even had Linda Stokes more than a few times, though he preferred Mariah. Mrs. Vera Tisdale knew his affections one night, also."

Beth stared at him, breathing heavily with disbelief. So much for all of Banastre's professions of love in his letter, Christ - he was no better than William!

"Yes," Tavington replied, smiling coldly. "We often feel attracted to the same women, we even share them when the mood takes us."

"It's a pity Banastre left when he did, then, isn't it?" Beth said recklessly. Knowing it would make William jealous, she continued, "I could have known more from him than a single, if delightful, farewell kiss."

Tavington stared at her, momentarily frozen with shock. "He kissed you?" He said, incredulity warring his jealousy.

"_Indeed_," Beth smiled mockingly.

William wanted to wipe the smug smile from her face, wanted to shake her. Wanted to take Banastre by the neck and throttle -

"And as I said," Beth taunted, interrupting his raging thoughts, "it was delightful."

Pushed beyond his limit, Tavington growled and lurched forward. Beth gasped and recoiled but he was quicker. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back into the seat. She tried to cry out and to push him off her but he was too heavy, too strong. He covered her with his body and pinned her to the seat beneath him.

"And his letter?" Tavington hissed, his lips a mere inch from hers. She could feel his warm breath in her mouth. "Did he express his feelings for you, does he still love you?"

"Of course!" She snapped up at him, furious that he could handle her with such ease. "He hasn't been gone long enough for that to change! Get off me," she pushed at his shoulders again, to no avail. "You're such a brute!"

"A brute, am I?" He didn't budge. "Where is this letter, give it to me!" Deranged with jealousy and lost to all propriety, he began searching for the slit in her skirts, to search her pockets. Beth screamed with rage and writhed beneath him.

"How dare you!" She shouted up at him, kicking her legs and pushing at his shoulders. Her face twisted with fury.

Breathing heavily, William relented. He stopped his attempts to search her, though he did not remove his weight from her, he remained on top of her, pinning her beneath him.

"I am sorry," he said calmly and Beth ceased her struggling. Entering a woman's pockets was a crime akin to rape and William knew he had gone too far. "Tell me then, what did he say, in this letter of his?"

"It's none of your business. Ask him if you wish to know. You're such close friends, he might even tell you," she pushed at him again. "Get off me."

"No," he said firmly and gazed at her lips. "You've kissed Colonel Burwell. You've kissed me. And now I learn you've kissed Banastre. Tell me, have you kissed Watson, as well?"

There was something in his tone, she didn't like the way he spoke - the insinuating. She'd kissed three men and she felt he was implying she was somewhat of a flirt.

"Not that it is any of your business," she said furiously, "especially when you've done so much more than kiss those other women. But no, I have not kissed him."

"Lucky for him," William said ominously. "Do not doubt it, Beth. I can make his life a misery."

"Why would I doubt it? I have the evidence right here - you're making mine a misery!" She yelled back.

"As you're making mine!" He snapped down at her. "Why must you be so damnably stubborn?"

Beth laughed at him. An angry, scornful laugh. "Oh, yes, I imagine it is normally so easy for you, the likes of Linda Stokes and Helen Shaw, dropping at your feet."

"Yes," William said with a suddenly warm smile. "Linda has been quite accommodating these last two nights."

Her heart gave an awful twist inside her chest and she breathed in a sharp breath. "William!" She wailed quietly, her eyes filling with tears. "How could you?"

Tavington, satisfied that he had cowed her, nodded and finally shifted his weight off her. She sat up slowly and swallowed hard, tried to keep from sobbing as she pressed her hands to her stomach. He felt an unaccustomed wave of guilt, seeing her so distressed.

"Beth," William said softly, apologetically. He tried to take her hand but she jerked it away. "It is not true, darling. I was trying to hurt you."

"It worked!" She snapped, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "As if you've not hurt me enough!"

"Come, little one, I didn't mean it," he tried to place his arm around her in attempt to comfort her, but she hissed and recoiled away.

"Very well," he snapped, out of patience. The rest of the carriage ride out of the city and to the Simms Plantation was made in silence. Finally, the carriage came to a stop and William jumped out. He turned back immediately and held his gloved hand to her, to assist her out. She disdained it and climbed down on her own.

"This way," he said. He did not offer his arm, knowing she would refuse it. As it was, he walked close enough to almost be touching as they strode into the great house.

* * *

Time dragged on. Beth was greeted by Mr. And Mrs. Simms, who felt the need to be at the Plantation, to hold an actual dinner, to make sure everything appeared as it should. Mrs. Simms oversaw Beth's bathing, her dressing, from her clothes to her hair. She frowned a little at the bodice of the gown, which was so low at the front, Beth worried her breasts would fall out. But the woman said nothing, she continued to prattle as she and Beth walked down the hall to a private chamber. The whole time, she spoke of her son, Arthur, how grand he was, how handsome, and he had a tidy fortune of his own, too. He would make a fine husband, he intended to study law when the war was over. On and on she went.

"You must be very proud of him," Beth said, adding other such nonsense when she thought a response from her was needed.

"Well, here you are," Mrs. Simms said when they came to a stop outside the chamber that was to be Beth's. "I'm told you haven't been sleeping very well and that you need to rest up before dinner. Though you don't have to closet yourself, my dear. You must be so very nervous about tonight, I quite understand if you'd rather not be alone. You're more than welcome to join me and the ladies in the parlour; our conversation is always so lively, I have no doubt we'll dispel any fears and lighten your mood immediately!"

"That's very nice of you, Mrs. Simms," Beth said as her mind chased through her options. Have some time to herself, alone in the chamber, or sit with Mrs. Simms who was determined to shove her son down Beth's throat? "I am really very tired, however. Perhaps I'll just close my eyes for a short while, and join you downstairs when I'm a little refreshed?"

"Wonderful, idea," Mrs. Simms replied, taking Beth's hands and squeezing them both gently. "You're very courageous, Miss Martin. I'd be quite afraid if it were me. I am quite afraid, if the truth be told. But you'll be safe enough, and your actions tonight - they will go down in history. Your name will be emblazoned across the stars, there won't be a single person in all the Colonies who won't know what you did." Beth felt a bit sick, hearing that, though it was meant to strengthen her, to give her heart, to chase away her fears. "You'll have everyone's respect and affection. Oh," Mrs. Simms was so overcome, she threw her arms around Beth and held tight. She even kissed Beth's cheek. "And I can say I was there," Mrs. Simms gushed. "At your side, almost for the entire time!"

Beth gave a sickly smile. She stepped back from the embrace and entered the chamber, gave Mrs. Simms a weak wave, then closed the door.

* * *

Beth stared at herself in the tall stand mirror, gazing at her gown and wondering if Tavington had had a hand its design. The dress was made of her colours, brown paneling and embroidery against cream silk. It was exquisite, every bit as beautiful as the one she had worn to the Simms ball, though the bodice dipped far lower and pushed her breasts up higher.

"I need a fichu," she said out loud as she stared down at the two large globes of flesh above her bodice.

"What ever for?" A cool drawl from the doorway. She turned to glare at him, leaning tall against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, one ankle hooked over the other. She had not seen him since he had handed her over to Mrs. Simms two hours ago. He seemed much calmer now.

"It's almost indecent. I wonder if you had a hand in its design?" She asked in a tart voice.

He pushed away from the door and came to stand before her.

"Now, what possible interest could I have in -" he paused and stared down at her bosom. His eyes were dark and his tone became husky as he continued, "designing dresses."

"What do you want, Sir?" She sighed. "Mrs. Simms gave me this room to get some rest before the dinner. I wish to be alone."

The Officer pulled his eyes from Beth's bosom reluctantly.

"I have organised for a repast to be bought to you. I thought we could share it," he resisted the urge to adjust his breeches at the crotch. Despite all of the unpleasantness that had occurred between them, he still desired her.

"I am too nervous to eat," Beth admitted softly, and it was true. Even though she knew Burwell was not coming, she still felt nervous and fearful of what was to come.

"There's nothing to be nervous about," he said. "You need to eat, even if it is only a little; I will not have you fainting in the rotunda."

"No, I dare say it might upset your plans, if you have to tend me for a fainting spell."

Tavington chose not to answer. She could see his reflection in the mirror behind her and she saw him roll his eyes.

"I wonder if I should send for a maid," she gazed quizzically at her cheeks. "For some powder."

"You hardly need it," William murmured, his gaze fixed on her reflection. Their eyes met briefly and Beth looked away, unsettled by his lust filled gaze.

"Well I will send for a maid anyway," she said, taking a step away from the mirror. "I need a fichu." Any excuse to send for a maid, so that she was no longer alone with him.

"You do not need a fichu," he replied, stepping with her and barring her way.

"Granted it's a warm night, Sir," Beth said, aghast. "Still you can not expect me sit in the rotunda like this! You'll have how many men out there? I don't want them seeing me like this!"

"Nor do I. You will be provided with a fichu at dinner and a cape when you make your… escape," he shifted forward until he was standing over her. His fingers alighted on her neck, a gentle trail all the way down to the top of her bosom. Beth froze and struggled to keep her breathing under control. A warm flush suffused her and she felt like swaying on her feet.

"But you won't be needing it for a few hours yet, and I wish to..." He trailed off, staring down at her, her face, her bosom, her long neck. "...see you."

"Sir..." Beth gathered herself, she shook her head tiredly and swatted his hand away. "Enough. A repast, you said? Shall we?" Suiting her words, she again began to stride for the door.

"It is being bought to us here," he said as his hand encircled her waist and he spun her around. "Besides, why the rush?" He smiled down at her, then pulled her against him. His face blazed above hers, a mixture of lust and anger. "You said you weren't hungry." He leaned down and brushed his lips along her neck. One arm held her securely around her waist while his other hand drifted up and down her back. His lips drifted lower, down to the tops of her bosom. "Perhaps I can make you as hungry as you make me..." His tone insinuated.

"William!" Breathing raggedly, desperate now. She desperately wanted to be released yet at the same time to be held as he was holding her now. To be kissed, his lips - now so close to hers... She leaned up to him, her heart pounding. The she began to protest, pushing against him. "No, stop this. Release me."

William ignored her.

"Do you think he will try to kiss you again tonight?" He asked, not loosening his hold by a hair. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. She heard his sharp intake of breath, needful, possessive, jealous all at once. "Will you kiss him back?"

"No, William," she tried to even her tone, wriggling in an attempt to free herself. "You will take him as soon as he shows, won't you? Let me go!"

"I will not give him the chance to do more than look at you," he growled low in his throat and crushed her against him.

"Then why go to all this effort?" Startled, she paused in the act of pushing at his shoulders. "I'm dressed to attend a ball, for goodness sake, not a simple dinner at the Simms, no matter how grand their house is!"

"You think I had you dressed like this for him?" He asked incredulously. He leaned back momentarily and his hot gaze took her in from head to toe, before he pulled her against him again. "No... This was all for me."

"Lord... Why?" She breathed, shocked enough to finally be still in his arms.

"Three whole days!" William bellowed. His fingers dug into her waist like the claws of an eagle clutching its prey. Beth closed her eyes, the rumble of his voice reverberating through her. He breathed in sharply and struggled to calm himself. One hand drifted to her neck, his fingers caressing her nape. He stared down at her intently and lowered his voice, "I've not seen you since the ball. I've not been able to hold you, to kiss you..."

"Release me, William," Beth tried to sound firm, but it felt so damned good to be in his arms again. The last days since had been utter torture for her. "I told you we are done, over -"

"And I told you," he murmured, back in control of himself. "We'll never be done." His lips brushed hers and she whimpered.

"Oh," she whispered, her resolve fading quickly. She leaned into him, desperate for more.

"You are mine," he said softly against her lips. Another kiss, deeper this time. "And I dare say you do not really want me to let you go, little Beth."

His lips drifted to her neck, caressing, teasing, seductive. Leaving a blazing trail that traced over her jaw, back up to her lips.

"Please, William, don't," a whispered plea. Another moment of this and she would be his once more. She did not want him to let her go, she was his. Her need for him almost overwhelmed her and with an anxious whimper she wrapped one arm around his neck and lifted herself up onto the tips of her toes. Her heart pounded and she felt flushed all over from this one kiss - his lips moving over hers. She parted her lips and he took her bottom lip between his, nibbling and suckling gently. Beth sighed with desperate pleasure. One arm wrapped around his neck for support, the palm of her free hand moved up and down his chest over his Redcoat with a mind of its own.

"You don't want me to let you go, Beth," he drew back to murmur against her lips, coaxing, seducing. "You are exactly where you wish to be."

"I am..." She groaned, near to tears. "I don't want you to let me go."

She closed her eyes and rocked her head to once side as their lips met again. He moved his hands along her back, up and down. Then down lower until his hands squeezed her buttocks and drew her closer. Her heart pounded in her chest as he backed her to the table.

Once there, his knee urged her legs apart. He aligned himself, pressed his pelvis to hers and began to rock against her. Beth gasped, she stroked his tongue with hers, keening with need.

"Oh, William..." She whimpered with need.

"It feels so good, doesn't it darling?" He taunted against her lips. Moving his hands from her back, he planted his palms on the table on either side of her, bracing himself. He bent his knees slightly, altering the angle of his bulge, now circling against her quim.

"Oh, yes... William..." Panting, Beth gripped his neck and rocked faster as he rotated his hips with agonizing precision. Nothing else existed except him, his scent, his lips, his tongue stroking hers, the pleasure soaring within her, the sharp jolts in her stomach. The ache between her legs. He watched her as they kissed, judging she was close to climax. Her pelvis pushed back hard against him, it was only his hold on her that stopped her from stumbling forward.

Her face flushed and she panted into his mouth, her fingers clutching at his neck. She was definitely close, her kisses became clumsy, less refined, her panting almost fever pitched now. He pressed her harder, rocked faster. Beth swallowed, her lips parted - no longer responsive beneath his.

"Ohhhh," she tightened her grip and arched her back. She was right at the point of no return, her pleasure was about to soar through her, to carry her on those magnificent waves. Before she could feel that wonderful swell, however, he released her and stepped away so abruptly that she stumbled forward a step. "What..?" She panted, her eyes snapping open. Pleasure and warmth fled and in its place - nothing. Emptiness.

Confused, Beth looked up into William's suddenly cold, hard face. Stone, his expression was unreadable.

"William!" She cried desperately.

"We are finished, you said," he quoted in a cold, unforgiving tone. "Release me, you said. I'm merely giving you what you asked for."

His gaze was implacable, unmerciful.

"Oh," Beth gasped, tears seared her eyes. "You are so cruel!"

"Am I?" He raised an eyebrow. He made no move to comfort her despite her distress. Assuming a military pose - back ramrod straight and one arm looped behind his back, he ignored his own aching groin as he considered her coldly.

Anguished, Beth stumbled back a step and gripped the table for support.

He continued to stare down at her behind his stone facade, not bending an inch, even when her tears spilled and she began to sob uncontrollably.

"You seem regretful," he observed after a few moments of watching her cry. "It is a woman's prerogative to change her mind, so they say. Have you changed yours? Do you wish to return to me?"

Words failed her. Beth placed her hands over her face and cried into them. He was waiting for her answer and she finally shook her head. Not after this - she would not return to him - ever again.

William tightened his lips, frustrated beyond compare. He had thought this would teach her - show her what her life would be like without him! Someone outside knocked on the door and with one last frown at Beth, he marched away from her to answer it.


	19. Chapter 19 - The Unsprung Trap

Chapter 19 - The Unsprung Trap

Beth lurched away from the table and crossed the room to stand before a large window, keeping her back to the servants to hide her weeping. The service was laid out for two people on the small table, a romantic setting for a happy couple. William and Beth were far from happy, however. The servants filed out and William coaxed Beth to sit down. They were both silent; Tavington stared at her and Beth stared hard at her plate, though she didn't eat a bite. She did not want to meet his eyes. She could feel his on her though, sitting across from, boring into her.

She could still feel his lips on hers, his fingers trailing her skin, his hard bulge pressed against her, drawing out pleasure. Only he had deliberately pulled away from her at the last moment, knowing she was about to climax. It was premeditated and repugnant. How could he do such a thing? How could she be in love with such a man?

_Harry loves you and all you can do is think of William... William is right - you are a stupid girl._

Tavington reached across the table to fill her glass wine. Beth eyed it for a moment and without meeting his eyes, without even thanking him, she picked up her glass and drank her wine down in one gulp. The entire goblet - and it had been a generous portion.

"Jesus," William frowned. "You'll need to be able to walk to the rotunda, Beth. You'll need to be able to walk to Mr. Simms ball room for the dinner! I don't want you bloody crocked."

_You shouldn't have filled my glass up then, should you? _She left the thought unvoiced. The wine went straight to her head. An entire day's lack of food - Beth had not been able to stomach even at breakfast - meant that within minutes a warm glow began to flood through her, lightening her, chasing away her anguish and her fears. She found herself wanting more but she still would not look at him and she certainly would not speak to him.

An opportunity presented itself when a knock sounded on the door. Tavington rose and while his back was turned, Beth quickly filled up her glass and drank it down - again in one gulp. She was just placing her glass on the table and pulling her hand away when he turned back into the room and resumed his seat.

"It was Bordon," he explained. "The Dragoons are moving into position."

"I'm supposed to care?" Beth asked, the second glass making her reckless. She finally met his gaze and saw his face darkening with anger. She giggled, undaunted. "Grown men, hiding behind bushes? And it's not even four-thirty!"

William tightened his lips and took several deliberate breaths before answering.

"If that is what it takes to capture Burwell," he said finally in a composed voice. "As to the time, it's better that they are already hiding, lest he see them move into position later. They are in for a long wait, but the pride of the Dragoons should not be too bruised if it brings success."

"Hmm, pride..." she murmured, eyeing her glass regretfully. Perhaps she would get another opportunity to fill it soon. "I would imagine that Harry has bruised your pride on several occasions."

Tavington drew in a sharp breath, his pale eyes narrowed.

"Are you trying to provoke me?" He asked her softly.

"Why, how perceptive of you. Yes, William, I am," she said, flashing him a smile. "If you can play your cruel tricks, I can say whatever the Devil I like."

"Ah yes," he taunted. "You didn't like that very much, did you? Perhaps your pride was bruised."

"You've bruised more than my pride, William," she said seriously.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her until she finally lowered her gaze.

"Your cheeks are flushed - if I had known you would react so to one glass of wine, I'd have kept your glass filled at the ball."

"Yes, get me crocked enough and you probably could have claimed my virginity," she replied. "Claim your fifty pounds and boast of it to all your friends. They would have all called toasts in your honor," she lifted her empty glass as though toasting him now.

"I would not have done that, Beth," he said quietly. "I would not have told a soul."

"Of course not," she scoffed. "You are a gentleman, after all. Or your version of it, at least."

"Jesus, would you eat something?" He snapped. "Fill that mouth of yours with food to shut you up."

"The truth hurts, hmm?" She mocked. "You know damned well your behavior toward me has been reprehensible."

She reached across the table for the bottle, half expecting him to stop her. When he didn't, she filled her glass, then topped his as well.

"Don't forget to drink it down in one gulp," he sneered. "The quality and vintage are clearly lost on you."

"Yes, I'm a simple farm girl, after all," she retorted. "Bottoms up!"

She held his eyes and drank the next glass down. That was three now and they were definitely going to her head. She felt tingly all over and warm and... and soused. The food suddenly held interest to her and she began to eat.

"Good," William snapped, deciding he didn't like her soused after all. "It will soak up the wine and you'll stop behaving like such a fool."

"For speaking the truth?" Beth asked after swallowing a small bite. "For defying you, challenging you? Not many do that, do they?"

"No. Most have more brains than you do," he scoffed.

Choosing to ignore the earlier unpleasantness, he began eating and drinking again. He considered making small talk with her but dismissed the thought. He was not in the mood and Beth still had that look in her eye - the look that told him quite clearly any word from his mouth would be twisted and challenged. He was in no mood to spar with her.

Another knock and Beth perked up, thinking she would be able to sneak more wine. Unfortunately, however, Bordon entered immediately. And Arthur Simms was right behind him.

_Oh shit. Thats just great! Christ. All I need. Wonderful. Will Mrs. Simms come too? Perhaps she can summon the Reverend, as well._

Beth continued to stew as the men spoke quietly, Bordon and Arthur standing at the table. Arthur shot her a glance, then another but after nodding an initial greeting, Beth chose to ignore him. She was not focusing on the Officers words, something about Francis Marion - Marion the Fox, being spotted close by, not far from Charlestown. None of it held interest to her.

"Christ!" Tavington flared up. "Of all the nights for him to make an appearance! We can't chase after him now!"

"You are not thinking clearly, Sir," Bordon pointed out carefully and held William's gaze.

"Ah," Tavington calmed down at once. "I see. He is here to escort Burwell - and Beth," he cast her a quick glance. "Away to safety."

Beth's jaw dropped.

"Francis Marion?" She squeaked.

"He has been serving with Burwell for months," Tavington shrugged. "It stands to reason he would aid Burwell now, the Swamp Fox knows all of the back roads and forest trails from here to North Carolina. This is good news, it bodes well for tonight," the last was said to Bordon. "It means he is coming."

"Yes, I thought so too," Richard said. "Might have a word in private, Sir?"

Tavington nodded and rose and the two Officers moved away.

Beth, who knew Burwell wasn't coming, smiled at Arthur and placed one finger up to her lips. "Shh," she giggled softly as she filled her glass again. It was not so easy to pour now, her fourth glass. For some reason the bottle wouldn't hold steady and it almost slopped wine over the side of the glass. Stupid bottle. She bit her lip as she concentrated on her aim, staring intently as the wine poured into her goblet.

Arthur's eyes widened, he glanced at the Officers backs as Beth began to drink the glass down.

"Do you want some?" She whispered.

"No, thank you," he whispered back.

"All for me, then," she giggled and filled her glass yet again. The bottle was almost empty now. She met Arthur's gaze and said abruptly, "you know I'm not going to marry you, don't you?"

"Ah..." He glanced at Tavington, who had turned to look over his shoulder. Arthur knew Beth had thought she was whispering, but she'd spoken quite loudly and the Colonel had heard her. Tavington ceased his conversation with Bordon mid word and after a panicked moment, Arthur realised the Colonel had stopped in order to listen.

"Your mother only wants me for my money and my land," Beth said, oblivious to the eavesdropping Officer. "As if your family doesn't have enough of that already."

"My mother," Arthur shook his head, almost despairingly. "She said if I didn't court you, she'd disinherit me."

Beth threw her head back and began to laugh.

"It's not funny, Miss Martin!" Arthur said defensively. "She told me that if I was not willing to make my own future by securing you, then she would not support me."

"Oh, you poor thing!" Beth said, highly amused. "Is that why you've been coming to my Uncle's this week?" Arthur nodded sourly. "Mrs. Simms must truly want us to marry, to disinherit you over such a trifle!"

"I'm glad someone finds it funny," he muttered sullenly.

"Agh, stop worrying. Write me a few love letters," she advised loftily. "Pass them under her nose for her approval. Drop by to see me tomorrow - I will come down this time, I promise. Oh, I know - we'll have a picnic! We can invite the girls and Colin! It'll be fun!"

Arthur glanced at Tavington who was frowning at them both.

"It'll just be for show," Beth said to Arthur, sensing his uncertainty. "She can't accuse you of not trying then, can she? She won't disinherit you, not then."

"Maybe..." Arthur addressed William nervously. "Sir, would that be alright?"

"Your mother will disinherit you if you don't court Miss Martin?" William asked coolly.

"Yes, Sir. That's what she said and I believe her. It'd just be a picnic - it's not like Miss Martin and I haven't been to the same picnics before. Would it be alright?"

"Yes, Arthur, as long as you don't have designs on Beth yourself. I wouldn't want you disinherited after all."

"Thank you, Sir." Arthur was clearly relieved. "I don't, have designs on Miss Martin."

Beth glanced back and forth between them both, growing more irritated by the moment.

"It's not bloody up to him who comes to see me or who I picnic with!" She spat with fury. "He has no claim to me. I'm doing you a favour, Mr. Simms, and I don't have to do it if I don't want to! It was my suggestion, it's bloody me you should be thanking, not him! It's not him you have to pretend to court, he can't help you stay inherited! Only I can do that. Yet you ask him if it's alright? Stuff him. This was a mistake, just forget I offered -"

Arthur had been looking back and forth between Tavington and Beth throughout her tirade, he'd seen the Colonel's face darkening with her every word. But with this last, Arthur's attention was solely, utterly and completely riveted on Beth. "Oh, no, Miss Martin, I'm sorry!" Arthur was on the verge of kneeling at her feet and begging. "Please don't renege, I'm truly grateful to you for the offer. I thank you; from the bottom of my soul I am grateful. To you, Miss Martin. I am grateful to you. Please?"

She stared hard at him, then said, "Eleven o'clock, Mr. Simms, and not a moment later or I'll change my mind and William can escort you to this stupid picnic for all the good it'll do you."

"No, no, eleven o'clock is perfect!" Arthur said quickly. "Thank you Miss Martin, you will be doing me a real favor!"

"I know I am, that's what I'm trying to tell you. Me, Mr. Simms. I'm doing you this damned favour, not him. William's got _nothing_ to do with it."

Arthur looked highly embarrassed. Tavington glowered at Beth. He pursed his lips then turned back to Bordon.

When his back was turned, Beth placed her finger over her lips again, signalling for Arthur to hold his silence, then filled her glass with the last of the wine. Arthur shot an apprehensive glance toward Tavington's back, fearing being accused of complicity. But if he tattled on Beth, then she might take back her offer to pretend he was courting her… In the end, he said and did nothing.

Beth's head was swimming after she gulped this - the last wine - down.

"He's not going to be happy that you're so drunk, Miss Martin," Arthur whispered.

"I don't care," Beth whispered back. "I told you, he has no claim to me."

Arthur scoffed.

"Do you want me to help you with your mother or not?" Beth grumbled peevishly. "What were you about, asking _his_ permission! It was my offer and it had nothing to do with him!"

"I am going to escort his woman to a picnic tomorrow!" Arthur half hissed, half whispered.

"_His_ woman?" Beth frowned. "I'm nothing of the sort."

"I'm not certain what dream world you're living in, Miss Martin. But Tavington definitely considers you to be his woman."

"Then he's a fool," she said. "He's already got a woman. Four of them, in fact." She raised her glass to her lips again but it was empty. She curled her lip then spied Tavington's mostly filled glass across from her. Dare she? A thrill rushed through her, her heart began to pound. What would he say, to find his glass empty, and the bottle as well? Giggling, she reached across the table and grabbed William's glass.

Arthur gasped. He reached out and gripped her wrist, stopping her from drinking the wine.

"I think you're the fool!" he hissed. "Lord, what is the matter with you?"

"He did this to me," Beth almost sobbed, feeling instantly depressed - the wine playing havoc with her. "He broke my heart. The wine is making me feel better though, Mr. Simms, and I'm really nervous about tonight, too. Please let me have it?"

"Ah, Christ," he muttered. It was against his better judgement but she looked so wretched just then, and scared too. He released her hand.

"Thank you," she murmured and drank the wine. She missed her mouth this time and some spilled down her chin. She wiped it from her face with the back of her hand.

"Arthur, we're leaving," Bordon called and Tavington returned to the table.

"You won't forget about tomorrow, will you?" Arthur asked Beth anxiously as William sat down. Beth was so crocked, he felt certain she wouldn't remember a thing.

"You organise it with Colin, and I'll be there," Beth promised. "He's a Green Dragoon, you know?"

"I do know," Arthur said as he began to walk to the door.

"Oh, and he's going to marry Mary!" She said excitedly

"I know that too," Arthur began to laugh. He'd never seen her soused before, it was quite entertaining. "Thanks Miss Martin, I really appreciate it."

Beth rested her elbow to the table and leaned her head into her upturned hand. She missed the first time, her hand and arm went one way and her face almost planted into her dinner. She got it on the second try, however and she leaned her head into her palm as the door closed behind Arthur.

Tavington frowned as he watched her. Surely no one would be this drunk after two glasses of wine?

"He's a good lad," she said. "I'd've married him."

"You will not be marrying him," William said firmly.

"Handsome too - though he's younger by two years. I suppose that doesn't matter, though."

"You're not marrying him," William grated. He reached for his glass, he needed a drink if he was to deal with her just now. Only his glass was empty. "Jesus, Beth! You drank my wine!"

"No, I didn't," she slurred. "Arthur must've."

"The hell he did, he has more sense," he pursed his lips. "You're no good to me crocked, Beth!"

"The meeting is hours away!" She shot back. "Hours! Besides, all's I'm gonna to be doing is sitting there, who cares if I've had a wine or two?"

"I bloody care! Have you forgotten that you're supposed to make an appearance at the dinner, too? You're going to make a damned fool of yourself," he ground out as he picked up the bottle. He could tell immediately that it was empty. "Cock and balls! No wonder you're so crocked!"

He was so furious, he hurled the bottle across the room and it shattered into shards against the wall. Beth's eyes widened with astonishment and she lifted her head from her hand to stare at him. Tavington lurched to his feet. Looming over her across the table, he pinned her with his gaze. Even this drunk, she could still feel fear, Beth recoiled away from him, trying to disappear into the back of the chair.

"If you cause me trouble tonight," he said dangerously. "If you do or say anything that will alert Burwell because you are too _pissed_ to know better, I swear Beth," he paused and swallowed, breathing heavily with rage. "I swear you will regret it."

"I won't..." she whispered, wide eyed and thoroughly intimidated. "I promise."

"You better not," he muttered. "Now eat for Christ's sake, soak up that wine! Hopefully you won't be so drunk then - we've still got two hours. Of all the stupid, idiotic..!" He trailed off, too angry to speak further, and sat heavily in his chair again.

"It made me feel better," she murmured quietly when he was no longer looming over her. She lowered her tear filled eyes. He'd heard her whisper and he cared for her enough to feel a twinge of guilt, for he knew he was the cause of her anguish.

"Just eat, Beth," he said tiredly. "And then you can lay down. Perhaps you'll be able to sleep some of it off."

"That's what I was in here for," she muttered. "I was supposed to be alone, resting. But then you came in and… why do you have to ruin everything?"

"I do, do I? Perhaps I shall take my leave of you now, then?" He asked, voice quivering with fury.

"You weren't ever supposed to be in here anyway," she muttered again. With a curt nod and tightened lips, William lurched from the table and strode from the room.

* * *

Beth had managed to sleep some of the wine away but she was still quite tipsy when she was escorted to the ballroom, where the dinner was to be held. There were at least fifty people, Loyalists; all of them. Come to see the spectacle, Beth thought. Well, they had wasted their time - the only spectacle was going to be William's failure.

Beth's breath caught, this was going to be humiliating for him.

After everything he has done, surely he deserves some humiliating? She thought, gazing down the table to William, who sat across from her in between two other gentlemen. He caught her gaze, stared at her until she looked away. Mrs. Simms was chatting to one side of her, and Beth forced herself to smile and nod, feigning interest. Arthur sat on the other side of her, Mr. Simms, Therese and Alice across from them.

"Gods, they really are serious about this, aren't they?" She whispered to Arthur, who glanced at her in askance. "I am surrounded by every member of your family," she said, her voice was still low, only he could hear her. "All we need is for James and Emily Wilkins to stride in and we'll be completely hemmed in."

"I told you they were serious," Arthur said. "I told you my mother would disinherit me."

"But she won't, not if it's not your fault, will she?" Beth turned slightly away from Mrs. Simms to face Arthur. "I mean, that is… if my father… if I'm forced to marry elsewhere, then they can't blame you for that, can they?" She was going to marry Colonel Burwell, Arthur's future could not hinge on her marrying him, it simply couldn't.

"No," Arthur said, shaking his head. "As long as I'm seen trying to… entice you."

"Entice me," Beth scoffed. "Gods, it's ridiculous, isn't it? How many years have I known you? I never in that time imagined that your parents would want us to marry each other. I knew Colin would marry Mary almost from the first moment… Do you think any of the others will marry each other? Oooh, Marcus Middleton and Cilla, perhaps!"

"No, I think Marcus is sweet on you," Arthur grinned as Beth's jaw dropped.

"Is he really?" She gasped.

"I've caught him staring at you, so yes, I think so. And Michael, I think, is sweet on Cilla."

"Is that right?" Beth began to grin.

"Do you know if she returns his regard?"

"She's never said, but I can ask. What about Claire Bryant? Are any of you sweet on her?" Beth asked with a scowl for the awful girl who revealed her engagement to Tavington and Tarleton that day. The group had been avoiding Claire lately, Beth hadn't seen her since that day, which was weeks ago now.

"Not that I know of."

"Well, well, well, Mr. Simms. I think we've covered all our friends, except for…" She paused for dramatic affect. "You."

"Me?" He laughed.

"Are you sweet on any of our dear friends, Arthur?"

"I'm sweet on you, remember?"

"You are not."

"What else can I say to the girl I'm meant to be courting? Oh, Beth, your beauty is like the sun shining at day break, it's more lovely than the ocean, deeper than a moonlit pond."

"That was terrible," Beth giggled. "Absolutely terrible. You're going to have to do so much better than that, for your real sweet heart. Who is..?"

"I'm not saying a word," Arthur scoffed.

"Ooohhh, so he is in love. Tell me, Arthur. I promise I won't tell a soul."

"I think that's the first thing you'd do, if I told," he accused her.

"I won't," she huffed, offended. Then she smiled. "If you don't tell me, I won't go to the picnic with you tomorrow."

"You're horrid," he gasped, then shared her grin. "Alright," he looked one way down the table and then the other, to ensure no one was listening. "Gods, Tavington is scowling at us."

"He is always scowling, don't mind him. And don't change the subject. Who is it?"

"Promise?"

"My oath on it," she crossed her fingers and held them to her heart.

"Crossing your fingers means you're lying," he pointed out.

"Oh," she snapped her fingers apart but kept them at her breast. "My oath on it."

"Alright," he hesitated, then whispered. "It's Sarah."

"No!" Beth gasped, stunned.

"Yes," Arthur said. "But I don't think my parents will allow it - we've already got a marriage match with the Wilkins' family, Beth. I love her, I really do, but… I don't know what to do."

Beth was quite a moment. Arthur seemed to be waiting for her advice. "Well… yes, your family is connected to the Wilkin's through Emily and James, which means they gain nothing if they marry you to Sarah."

"That's what I thought," he was immediately downcast.

"But," she continued. "If James approved the match, they'd want to appease him. Sarah will come with a dowry almost equal to my fortune, you won't be lacking in wealth. It's the connections you'll be lacking, by marrying someone who is already joined to you through those connections. But if James supported the match, then he would be offended, if his sister was not considered for you. Your parents would think twice about offending James."

"So I need to get James on side?" Arthur asked, nodding to the wisdom of that. "I think I can do that."

"There's one other person you'll need to get on side, Arthur."

"Who?" He frowned.

"Sarah, you dolt," Beth snorted with laughter. "You'll need Sarah on side with you, for real and true, not pretending like I am."

"Oh, of course! I know that," Arthur said. "Do you think… Do you…"

"Do you want me to find out?" She asked, her eyes dancing with laughter.

"I do. But don't tell her I asked. And don't tell her I… you know…"

"Of course not," she lifted her chin and stared down her nose at him. "I think you'd do well together, you two."

"You say that as if the Banns have already been read and we're about to be married."

"God willing," she smiled and he nodded. "It feels good to talk about normal things like this… It's been too long."

"Are you frightened about tonight?" Arthur asked. "Because you don't need to be. I'll protect you."

"You will, will you?" Beth's smile was weak now. "Then you, my dear Arthur, are the redemption of the Green Dragoons."

"It's time, Miss Martin," Mrs. Simms said on the other side of her and Beth drew in a panicked gasp. The older woman placed her hand over Beth's. "All will be well, you needn't fear. But you need to go now."

"I… alright…" She glanced toward where William had been seated earlier. He was gone. "I guess I…" She began to rise only to find her legs were weak, unsteady. And it had nothing to do with the wine. In a slightly louder voice, she said, "I… I just need to… excuse myself for a moment, Mrs. Simms." She said. There was a slight question in that, Mrs. Simms gave an encouraging nod of approval.

"Hurry back, my dear," Mrs. Simms replied, as if Beth's departure was not the momentous occasion it felt to be. The woman was already turning back to her daughter, acting as normally as she could. Beth caught Arthur's eye, then began to walk away from the table. She glanced at the other diners, noticed that none seemed to be paying her any attention at all. They were mid revelry, laughing and drinking and eating and talking, none knew what was supposed to occur just outside the walls. Arthur stayed where he was - she wasn't sure how he was going to protect her if he wasn't in position outside. Feeling more alone than she'd ever felt in her life, she made her way to the open doors. Just outside, a negro servant wordlessly helped to position a cape around her shoulders, then fell back, giving room for Beth to step into the darkness.

* * *

Beth sat on the lovers seat in the rotunda beneath the puddle of light cast by a lantern overhead. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. It was strange how she could feel so alone even while completely surrounded by William's Dragoons. William was out there, somewhere in the darkness, watching and waiting.

_Harry is not coming_, she thought to herself as she rested her chin on the top of her knees. _This is a waste of time. Lord, I hope William doesn't suspect me. He is going to be so humiliated, when Harry doesn't come. Lord, I need more wine. What wouldn't I give to have that lovely feeling back again_.

She heaved a sigh and surreptitiously wiped at a tear as it fell down her cheeks. Such a confusing and painful time it'd been - she just wanted it over. She wanted it to end.

_I want my Mamma is what I want_, Beth thought. She choked on a sob and buried her face against her knees so the Dragoons would not see her crying.

* * *

William watched from the shadows with Bordon on one side of him and Captain Trellim on the other. The men were squatting among a strand of large bushes. He had a clear view of Beth, sitting in the circle of light. She was clearly crying and trying hard not to show it.

"She's upset," Richard said empathetically. "What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything?" William whispered back. He frowned but Bordon could not see it - it was pitch black where they hid.

"I know you," Richard chuckled. "That's how."

"I might have done something," William admitted reluctantly.

"You going to elaborate?"

"Nothing better to do, I suppose," they kept their voices pitched low, William doubted even Trellim could hear them, let alone any of the other men hiding among them. "I merely tried to teach her a lesson. It served to demonstrate to her how it will be between us if she persists in keeping me at arms length."

"Hmm, it seems like a lot of hard work to me. Miss Martin is beautiful, I'll grant, but it surprises me that you would go to such efforts to secure a mistress, especially when we'll be leaving Charlestown eventually. Your affair will be over soon after it begins."

"A mistress?" William asked coolly, then scoffed quietly. "No, Captain. I am going to these efforts to secure a _wife_."

Bordon was silent in the dark beside him.

"William!" He hissed finally. "Come to your senses! You can't marry Miss Martin! You are engaged to Miss Price! She is waiting for you, her and her twenty thousand pounds!"

"I knew you would object," William muttered. "But you need not fear, I have not lost my head completely. It just so happens that Miss Martin is worth an equal amount. She herself has twenty thousand from her mother, an inheritance her father has been nurturing these last eight years. And he has purchased her three hundred acres of land in the Low Country."

Stunned silence.

"I see..." Richard whispered, his voice filled with shock and wonder.

"Indeed," William agreed.

"You said she was penniless. That the Martin's did not have two shillings to rub together."

"I was misinformed. As soon as I learned my error, I decided I would not be taking her as my mistress, but as my wife. I have written to Miss Price - the letter is aboard _'The Kings Blessing' _as we speak. Though Miss Price doesn't know it yet, we are no longer engaged, Bordon."

"Sweet Lord. That's a drastic move, considering how it stands between you and Miss Martin now."

"She is in love with me," William whispered confidently. "I have no doubt I can cool her temper. After this is done and Burwell is taken, whatever understanding they have will be in ashes. And I'll have a good few weeks to court her before we leave Charlestown. She will come around by then. When the British Legion leaves here, I shall bring Beth with us."

"Confident," Richard said softly. "You sound as though you expect the first banns to be read before we even leave."

"That would be the ideal scenario," Tavington agreed. "She will accept me, I do not doubt it. She is so damnably infuriating however. And damned stubborn. Do you know she got soused this afternoon?"

"Yes, Arthur told me," Bordon began to chuckle. "She'll give you a run for your money, that's for certain. As fiery as my Harmony. You don't want a doormat anyway, not for a wife."

"No, I don't. I could wish she was a little less defiant, however," William scowled at Beth from the darkness. "But I want her, even still."

"Twenty thousand. And she's propertied… You better hope she does love you, she will have suitors banging down her door when this becomes general knowledge."

"It seems it already is general knowledge, among the Colonials anyway. It was only a few of us that were deceived into thinking she is poor. To deter us, you see. As for suitors banging down her door - the Simms already tried to make a connection with her, they want her for Arthur."

"I was wondering what all that was about earlier!" Richard spluttered, trying to contain his laughter. "Is that why you've been scowling and sniping at him? The poor boy is beside himself!"

"Yes, it was the reason. Can you imagine - the woman I want to marry, married to one of my Dragoons? I was furious!"

"Now there's an idea," Richard's tone became teasing. "Perhaps I'll court the lass - I could do with a woman of such a large fortune."

"Enough," William ground out. "She is mine."

Richard snickered. "I assume she will come to camp with us - I'll even stay away a few nights here and there so you can call on her. I'll share her with you."

Tavington felt Trellim shift restlessly on his other side; he had half a mind to command the fellow be still, lest he gives their position away to Burwell.

"That is very generous of you," William rolled his eyes. "But I think I'll marry her and keep her all to myself, just the same."

"If you can cool her temper," came Richard's whisper.

"Hmm. If." Tavington agreed quietly.

"If not, I'll take a crack at her," Bordon quipped.

"Is it not enough, Richard," William said primly, "that I have Burwell, Banastre, the Simms family and that Watson to contend with? No, Captain. Be satisfied with your Miss Jutland."

Bordon chuckled again.

"Sir," Trellim whispered. "Someone is coming."

Suddenly alert, the Officers listened and watched as someone - the dark figure of a man - emerged from the woods. He was completely alone, no reinforcement in sight.

"Hold still," Tavington murmured. His heart pounded in his chest and he dared to hope...

Beth must have heard the same as Trellim, she lifted her head from her knees and tried to stare past the circle of light toward the sound of approaching footsteps. She slowly rose from her seat. "Colonel Burwell?" She called softly. Tavington stiffened. If she called out a warning… God help her. It was too late, in any case. The man was alone and surrounded by small groups of Dragoons hiding in bushes the entire way around the rotunda. Burwell was entirely within Tavington's grasp. Even if Beth warned him now… too late. She'd get a damned hiding though, if she tried.

She didn't. She stood clutching the half wall of the rotunda, trying to see beyond into the darkness. The dark shape continued to approach and William held his breath, his heart pounding. However William's hopes were crushed when a man of African decent stepped into the circle of light.

Beth gasped fell back to the middle of the rotunda. "Gods, I thought you were Colonel Burwell." William heard her say, her voice sounding tremulous. The African did not answer. Instead, he held something out to her.

"Are you Miss Martin?" He said. "I was sent here to give you this."

"Goddamn it!" Tavington cursed. Enraged, he rose up and stormed from the bushes. Burwell had sent Beth a note - he was not coming. "Seize him!"

The Dragoons surged from the bushes all around. Beth gasped with fright and stepped back further as the man was seized.

"I didn't do nuthin!" He cried out.

Tavington crossed the distance to the rotunda, took the steps two at a time, then ripped the note from Beth's limp grip. Ignoring her distress and fear, he began to read by the light of the lantern.

_Tavington,_

_I remain uncertain as to how you managed to secure Miss Martin's assistance, I need to determine the depth of her betrayal. Perhaps she was forced, I pray for her sake, that that is the case. _

_I am, however, quite well acquainted with your design. A honey-pot, bait to trap an Officer. I'll admit it almost worked. However, you are no Tarleton, and I am no Charles Lee. _

_I have friends in the city, Sir, only a fool would think otherwise. When I received Miss Martin's missive begging me to rescue her, at this time and from this place, to spirit her away from a danger that you posed her, I requested that several of those men watch over her, in order to be aware if you moved against Miss Martin before I was able to come to her._

_Think upon all your manoeuvring this day, Sir, consider all your actions. Have you done anything at all that might have alerted me to your design? If you are stumbling for the answer, I shall divulge it. I learned that, among the thirty tory guests the Simms had invited to this dinner, almost one hundred Dragoons entered Mr. Simms' Plantation this afternoon. _

_I was also informed that you collected Miss Martin from her uncle's abode at precisely 2pm, with an escort of 6 Dragoons. _

_And what was your destination?_

_If you do not mind a little advice - from an older Colonel to a younger, you may find it beneficial to work on your stealth. You are no better than a clubfooted, blind drunkard, stumbling your way through this war. I'm quite frankly stunned that you've made it this far, though it does bode well for me, for our future encounters. _

_Perhaps Miss Martin truly did think herself to be in danger. Perhaps you discovered she had sent for me, or perhaps you were behind the letter from the start. I still have questions, to be sure. _

_If I discover that Miss Martin betrayed me, she shall not escape my wrath._

_If I discover you forced her, then by God there is not a force on Our Lord's green earth that will stop me from running my sword through your extremities. _

_I have the honor to be,_

_Colonel Burwell etc._

::::

Tavington tightened his lips and curled the missive in his fist.

"He was warned," he ground out to Richard who had entered the rotunda to stand at his side. "Goddamn it!"

"Let me see," he held out his hand and William gave him the crumpled missive. "Hmm, so it would seem," Bordon mused after reading it through. "So, we'll need to question this one." He pointed at the very frightened African.

"Quite obviously," Tavington sneered.

"I don't know nutthin!" The man repeated. "I just got five pounds to come here and give a girl a letter, that's all!"

"By whom?" Bordon stepped closer and began the interrogation at once. "Answer truthfully and no harm will come to you. You may even be rewarded, we could free you and protect you."

"I want all that," the African said - confirming Bordon's suspicions that he was a slave. "I wanna be freed, but I don't know nuthin'."

"We shall see," Bordon said. He had ways of drawing out all sorts of information, information that people did not even know they had.

"I was just walking along, on an errand for the masser," the slave offered without being asked. "And this man - a large man with dark hair. He comes up to me and hands me the letter and five pounds. Says 'go here and give it to Miss Martin'. It was five pounds, so I said I'd do it!"

"That's it?" Bordon was disappointed. He could tell when people were lying and he strongly suspected that this slave was telling the truth. "Give me more details of the man who approached you."

The African did so, but he described a far taller man, with greater girth across the shoulders than Colonel Burwell.

"Marion?" Bordon suggested.

"Mr. Marion is smaller," Beth said, voice breathy as if she'd run three miles, she was gripping the half wall, her legs terribly weak. After her fright just now, and considering how fraught this mission, it was not hard to feign panic. Not hard at all. "Dark hair, dark eyes, but small of build. Walks with a limp. Did the man have a limp?"

"No limp," the slave said. Bordon continued to question the slave, where was he when he was approached? And more besides.

Tavington's eyes had been on Beth all the while, watching as she gripped the wall as if she needed the support to steady herself. Her eyes darted at all the Dragoons approaching from the woods - she was surrounded and terrified. William saw her take a single step toward him, her hand reaching for him as if she wanted very much to lean on him instead of the wall, to seek solace and reassurance and protection. But then she must have recalled their altercation for she stopped dead, her dark eyes wide on his. He saw the play of her need, then confusion, then resignation cross her face, one after the other. The moment of her reaching for him passed, her hand fell away and she fell back against the wall, hung her head and wrapped her arms around herself. And there she remained, huddled in on herself in silence.

_Damn and blast the girl, she'd almost come to me! She'd been on the verge of giving in!_

"He has spies, Richard. We must suspect everyone," Tavington said to his adjutant. His eyes were still on Beth, trying to focus on the task at hand even as he stifled his frustration._ Stubborn, fool girl! _

"I could not agree more," Richard handed Tavington the missive and William placed it in his pocket.

"Miss Martin," William said softly and she raised her eyes to his. "Do you know who might have warned him?" The silence stretched as the two Officers studied Beth. They had to suspect everybody, and they had to suspect _her_, William had no choice. She drew a ragged breath, her eyes darted back and forth between them. A cold chill traced William's spine. Was that fear of being considered a suspect that caused her to look so afraid?

Or fear at being caught red handed?

"I... How am I supposed to know that?" She asked in a tremulous voice. "What did the letter say?"

William stiffened, his face turned to stone, body rife with suspicion.

_No. She called out to him, she thought the man approaching was Burwell. She was expecting him to come and was shocked when the slave appeared instead. _

"Perhaps he worked it out on his own," she said. She swallowed with fear, tried to keep her voice steady. "He's clever. Maybe he suspected a trap from the start?"

William stepped up closer and Beth craned her neck to meet his gaze.

"Hmm," checking over his shoulder to be sure no one was within earshot, he kept his voice low, studying her face by the light of the lantern. "I agree, Burwell is clever. However," He loomed over her, nose to nose, his expression menacing. "He states here that he was forewarned."

Her face blanched and she recoiled from him. Tavington drew in a sharp breath, his mind whirling. _She called out to him. If she had warned him, she would not have been expecting him. She would not have been so shocked when he did not come. She can't be that good an actress. _He stared at her, breathing heavily, mind screaming. She was reacting like one guilty and caught in the act. Or maybe she was innocent, but feared being suspected. He could not discount the possibility that the warning had come from her, no matter that she'd called out to Burwell as the slave approached.

"Listen to me very carefully now, Beth," he whispered dreadfully. "I promise you... As the Lord is my witness I vow, that if I ever discover you warned Burwell," he paused, struggled to contain himself. "I will beat you myself. Do you understand? I will flog you, Beth, I will whip you to within an inch of your life, my oath upon it."

Her eyes grew huge, her face flushed. He saw the fire return to her, creeping up her neck and flooding her face. She drew herself up to her full height, which was not very great but the change was dramatic, immediate. Tavington frowned, no longer looming.

"So much for protecting me, no matter what," she whispered furiously back at him, her eyes darting to his men, as if worried they might have heard her. Fair enough too, it was a damning conversation, a damning thing to accuse her of. "Your oath was on that, too. You pile oath upon oath upon oath, and never mind they are in contradiction! Protect me one moment, whip me the next. Whatever suits the moment, though, aye?"

William drew back, utterly shocked.

"He says he was forewarned? There are a million possibilities as to who the culprit might be," she spat. "How many of the Simms staff and slaves saw me getting out of the carriage with you? Spending the afternoon with you, dining with you? All of them are Loyal, are they? Not a single rebel among them. Not a single one of them could have been bribed for information? Isn't that what spies do, William? This is the appointed time, the appointed place, he could have paid someone off to watch over it days ago! For all you know, he's had the entire plantation watched for days! His men hiding up in the trees, watching yours take up position in the brush! But you go ahead and blame me, that's just mighty fine. I thank you for your trust, even though you're the one that betrayed mine. You're the liar, you're the betrayer! You suspect me? Gods, my father is going to kill me for this. Do you understand that? He's going to be so wroth, and it was all for nothing, for you don't even have anything to show for it! The trap is unsprung and you -" she pointed an accusing finger at Tavington, "are blaming me, and I'm going to be in so much trouble with my father, I might as well never go home again!"

William stared at her, eyes growing wider by the moment. Richard was far more calmer.

"If your father is a Loyalist -" Richard began, only to be cut off.

"Oh, enough!" She shouted, looking beyond frustrated. "My father wants me to marry Colonel Burwell! They watched one another's backs in the war, they saved each others lives countless times! They are the dearest, closest friends! And I tried to help _trap_ him! None of you thought of the consequences to me for having to do this. And it wasn't even worth it! You don't have your quarry but I'm still going to have to face my father! And now I've got him," again she pointed at Tavington, "threatening to whip me to within an inch of my life? I was supposed to come to the Plantation on my own, _by myself_! Perhaps no one tipped him off. Did you think of that? Perhaps this is your fault! Your damned fault! But you go ahead, William. Blame me! Accuse me! Whip me. Put a noose around my neck and hang me for treason!"

She whirled away from them both and leaned against the wall for support. Tavington and Bordon exchanged a look behind her back. The fire drained from her and she turned back to the both.

"I'm tired and I want to go home, William," she said, voice holding only a fraction of the heat of before. "Believe me, don't believe me, I don't care anymore. You can put me on trial for this but at least have the decency to wait until I've bloody had a good night sleep."

* * *

Leaving Bordon with the messenger, Tavington returned Beth to the dining hall. Once there, Mr. And Mrs. Simms both rose and rushed to meet them, as soon as they entered the door.

"He was warned," Beth said to Mrs. Simms, who was looking both worried and expectant. The woman stopped dead, her mouth falling open. "He didn't come for me."

"Oh my dear child," Mrs. Simms breathed. She pulled Beth into her arms. "It's not your fault."

_Oh, yes it is,_ Beth thought. She would not be receiving this comfort if they knew, not even Mrs. Simms would protest William taking his belt to her, if she knew. Beth was going to be whipped by him, to within an inch of her life, he'd said. "I want to go home," Beth said to her would be mother in law. "And I don't want Colonel Tavington to take me."

"Beth!" William hissed, offended.

"Can you have someone drive me home, Mrs. Simms?" Beth asked, ignoring William.

"Of course," Mrs. Simms shot Tavington a glance. "Mr. Simms and Arthur will take you, as soon as the dinner is over."

"Miss Martin is not going anywhere without a full escort of Dragoons," William snapped, glaring down at Beth. "And that, Beth, includes me whether you like it or not. Burwell suspects you and I will not risk that he won't seize any opportunity to take you. You will not leave from here without me and my Dragoons."

"If that is the case, will it be safe then, returning to the city in the dark?" Mr. Simms asked.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. It might be better if we took shelter here for the night, if you will allow," Tavington said and Mr. Simms nodded.

"Of course, we'll have rooms readied for you."

"No," Beth shook her head vigorously. "I'm tired, Mr. Simms, and I want to go home. Today has been… exhausting. Besides, my uncle, he will be worried."

"We'll send word to him," Tavington said, sounding oddly calm with this new plan. "I agree, we shall remain here for the night."

Beth gave William a very hard, long, searching look. Holding his gaze, she said, "Mrs. Simms, can I share with Alice, or Therese?" While Mrs. Simms rushed to agree, Beth stared at Tavington, whose face slowly shifted from his usual pale to bright red. If this was an attempt to be alone with her in a bed chamber again, she had just thwarted him. She finally pulled her gaze away. "Thank you, Mrs. Simms."

"This is most disagreeable," Mr. Simms said. "No one is blaming you, lass. But I do declare this to be most disappointing. We were all so careful - how was he warned?"

"He did not say," William said shortly. "I have to return to the city to inform Clinton."

"You're not staying after all? You've got no reason to, now?" Beth taunted, lifting her eyebrows. He had no reason to, now she was to share with one of Arthur's sisters. He understood her meaning and his lips tightened.

"I will return before midnight," he replied. "Do not try to leave, Beth. You are in danger now. Do not leave the protection of the Dragoons."

"Oh Lord," Mrs. Simms seized Beth by the shoulders, looking as terrified as Beth was supposed to feel. "All will be well, lass. You're safe here."

"I know I'm safe," Beth replied. "But thank you."

"On second thought, I am going to send a messenger to Clinton," Tavington replied, agitated. "I'll give him a full report in the morning but… I better stay, in case he comes."

"Do you really think he will?" Mrs. Simms trembling hands flew to her chest.

"Likely not," Tavington replied. "He doesn't have enough men to strike here. Still… I shall take what precautions I must."

"Shall we return to the dinner? Or should I send everyone home?" Mr. Simms asked.

"No, you return to your guests, enjoy the rest of your evening. Keep Miss Martin close, do you not let her out of your sight," Tavington commanded, before turning on his heel and striding from the hall.


	20. Chapter 20 - Something Wild

Chapter 20 - Something Wild:

7 - 9 June

"How did your meeting go with Clinton, William?" Bordon sat across from Tavington in the dining hall. The Colonel sat back in his chair, a whiskey glass held in a tight grip, he stared out the window. Brooding, Bordon thought. William was brooding.

"How do you think it went, Richard?" William retorted. "Burwell did not fall for it and I am to blame. Clinton was not well pleased at all."

Bordon leaned back in his chair. He did not offer any reassurance, it would have been platitudes only, if he tried. Burwell had outlined in his letter, how he'd discovered William's plot, and it had been due to the Colonel's own carelessness. "We will need to discover who Burwell's informants are." Richard said.

Tavington tightened his lips, his cold gaze reflected in the window.

"William, do you truly think it was her?"

"I do not know."

"She's a damned fine actress, if she is. She called out to him. And when that negro came up to the rotunda instead of Burwell, she damned near leapt from her skin. She was as surprised as you and I," Richard said.

"I keep thinking the same. But I can not discount the possibility - as she said, she is terrified of her father's anger. Maybe she betrayed me, believing my wrath to be the lesser."

"If so, she will find she is vastly mistaken," Richard said. "It was treason, she could hang, William." Tavington averted his gaze. Richard continued, "I find it reassuring that you are willing to suspect her, it means your vision is not clouded. Be that as it may, I personally do not believe she is behind it."

"You don't?"

"No. In his letter, Burwell states that unless she was forced to assist you, he will be wroth with her. Which means the warning didn't come from her."

"Unless he is trying to make me think that, by implying a threat toward her," William countered.

"That is a possibility but I believe it's far more probable that he used his own spies, just as he said. Every moment we waste suspecting Miss Martin, if time that could be spent routing them out. We need to focus on them, we need to find them."

"Did you learn anything from that negro?" William asked. "We need to find the man that approached him with the letter."

"I have a very good description of him, down to his horse. No name of course, the fellow wasn't a fool."

"Could be he's already fled the city."

"Could be," Richard agreed. "We will search for them, William. Any and all spies. We will find them."

"In the meantime, I have to suffer Clinton's… disappointment," William said, clutching his glass tightly.

"Hmm, is that what he said? He was… disappointed?"

"To say the least," William agreed. "It was not a pleasant interview, to be sure." The grip the goblet in his hand became almost crushing. It had been folly, pure folly. He should have kept his distance from the girl, should never have gone near her. But he had not seen her since the ball, three whole days and their fight - their argument, her continual refusal to see him, it had been driving him mad. He had been almost deranged with his need to see her, to be near her.

And it had cost him Burwell.

He jumped up and threw his goblet across the room, whiskey flew in a golden arc and the glass gave a satisfying 'smash' against the wall.

"My fault." He raged as he paced back and forth.

Bordon took it in his stride, this was what he'd been waiting for. Tavington rarely showed such displays of temper but the Colonel was just a man and needed to vent occasionally.

Tavington strode over to the bureau to poor another whiskey in a new glass. He scowled, fury roaring through him as he remembered making his report to the Commander before returning home. He took a sharp drink of his whiskey. "Yes, disappointed. All this effort, for nothing. It's an embarrassment. A humiliation!"

"We need a success, William. Or last nights failure will forever be laid at your feet," Richard said, pulling no punches.

"We need Marion the Fox," Tavington said decisively. "His capture will help Clinton forget the shame of my failure."

"Agreed."

"So. We focus on finding Buwell's spies. And we focus on the Fox. According to our information, he is patrolling the swamps near to the city. We follow all trails, the slightest hint of where he could be. Also, there will be a guard set on Miss Martin," Tavington continued. "Burwell either believes her innocent, or he does not," he said, thinking he felt very much the same. "He might try to have her removed from the city, for her own protection or to chastise her, either one. I want to know where she goes, who she speaks to, what she does even if she heads to a bloody dressmaker to buy silks. When she leaves that house, I wish to know of it, and she is to have two men shadowing her every step, to ensure her safety."

Richard was taken aback. He wasn't certain if Tavington's measures were to indeed protect the girl, have her watched in case she was a spy, or simply have her watched for his own possessive need. It could be any of the three - perhaps all.

"It will be done," Richard said.

* * *

A short while later, Arthur Simms knocked on Tavington's bed chamber door. Arrangements were being made that did not require the Colonel, he had some time for leisure before he rode out to begin his search for Marion the Fox.

"Thank you, Mr. Simms, that will be all," Tavington nodded at Arthur and as Linda came into the room, he closed the door behind her.

Images of Beth in the dress he had commissioned for her had plagued him, consumed him, he was as hard as a rock and impatient for release. He'd hoped - oh, how his hopes had soared, when Mr. Simms offered his house to sleep in last night, to Tavington and to Beth. She had seen his look, however, and had stepped in swiftly to thwart his plan, by asking to share sleeping quarters with one of Arthur's damned sisters. So that he could not slip into her room in the middle of the night. Frustration stacked on arousal. It made him surly.

Reaching for the doxy, he began undressing her at once.

"Not even a 'hello'?" She asked tartly as her bodice was untied and pulled down around her waist.

"Hello, Linda," Tavington muttered.

With a squawk she was jerked around and William attacked her stays, desperate to free the doxies breasts.

"You make a living out of this," he grated. "Why would insist on wearing all this - stays and Christ - even a shift!" He frowned and pulled her cotton shift from her shoulders, it pooled around her waist. He jerked her around to face him again.

"You could simply ask me to turn, Sir!" Linda gasped, her curled braids flew around her and she found herself facing him once more.

"I could..." His smile was mocking. "But I won't..." With quick movements he pulled her dresses and shift down past her hips and she stepped out of the puddle of clothes. She stood before him, naked except for her stockings, which ended at the tops of her thighs and were held by garters. Lord, to see Beth like this.. He wondered how her breasts would look, he imagined they would be as heavy as Linda's but her youth would have them higher, firmer. "Unbind your hair, Linda."

The doxy reached up and began working on her hair, it quickly flowed around her shoulders. Not as long or as healthy as Beth's - whose weight of gold locks almost touched the top of her backside when it was unbound. His hands moved gently over Linda's breasts and she shivered.

"You never kiss me..." she complained in a quiet voice. Tavington was startled, then he barked a laugh.

"My gold is all the kiss you need, Linda," he chuckled again, he never kissed the whores he bedded.

"That woman came to me, she was horrid."

"What woman?" He asked distractedly

"I don't know her name, black hair... I saw her portrait in the hall on the way through this very fine house."

"Ah, Vera. Questioned you herself did she?" His fingers tweaked her nipples.

"Yes. I'm used to mean women - had my share of run in's but she..." Linda's shudder had nothing to do with Tavington's fingers trailing down her stomach and dipping between her legs.

"Hmm, I will see to her, never fear," but not because her treatment of the doxy. Vera had told Beth of his liaisons, had deliberately drove a wedge between him and his beloved, out of jealousy and spite. He would see to her... It was only a matter of time.

"I don't only bed for gold, you know!" Linda's voice was peevish and Tavington was startled to see tears in her eyes.

He understood at once - the whore was in love with him! He shook his head and chuckled. "The way it is with us is perfect Linda. I pay you, you pleasure me, you leave. Or I leave, depending on where we are. You do not want me as a lover, I assure you."

"No? You think I can't handle the likes of you? I can give you anything you want," she paused deliberately, then said, "William..."

"William?" Amused now, he nuzzled his lips against her neck. "And what is it you think I want?"

"I can sense your need," she began pulling his ruffled shirt from his breeches. "I can sense the violence in you." She leaned forward and her tongue circled his nipple.

"Indeed." Tavington's tone was thoughtful. He enjoyed rough play occasionally but it was hard to find a doxy who would allow it. "Just what are you suggesting?"

Her teeth clamped down on his nipple - firmly, almost painfully. "I told you, anything you desire."

His tone ragged now, his fingers wound through her hair jerking her head back. "I will not take you as my lover, Linda. I will simply pay you more."

Her gaze was stricken. Panting heavily, she nodded. "Very well - but you must kiss me."

He drew a deep, angry breath - bargaining with a whore. Still, she may allow him to tie her to the bed, may allow him to... do other things...

"I can do that," he lowered to his knees before her and kissed her stomach, leaving a blazing trail lower to the top of her curls. Pushing her legs apart, he buried his mouth against her, his tongue licking and flicking, kissing and suckling. Linda cried out and bucked against him as he 'kissed' her quim until she thought she would die.

"Oh, William!"

He let it pass - she could call him by his name - she would do as he wished. He would tie her, slap her backside until it was red. Perhaps even give her the caning he had promised Beth...

Beth...

Christ - he wished it was her before him now, writhing against his mouth and clutching his hair. If only she hadn't shared with Miss Simms, he could have done this to her last night. She would taste so much sweeter than Linda.

It did not take long. A few more suckles and kisses on her quim and Linda shuddered, almost dropped to her knees before him. She gripped his shoulders, the heavy weight of her breasts above him as she leaned against him for support.

"Now," Tavington said firmly. "Anything I wished, you said."

"For more gold - and a kiss," her breathing still ragged, she was finding it difficult to calm. "You know I did not mean between my legs."

"You enjoyed it," his tone was cold.

"Yes, as I have done in the past."

"You're adamant, I take it?"

"Yes."

Lord, the second woman to defy him, within only half a day of the first, no less. Perhaps he was losing his frightful edge. He would show her differently, by the end of this little meeting, Linda would be terrified of him. Sated also, she would come back for more, but she would be too frightened to make any more demands.

"Very well," he cupped her face, his eyes cold - he had another condition and would brook no nonsense. "But you change your name this morning, Linda."

"To what?" She asked with surprise.

"Beth. For until you leave this room, your name is Beth."

Another stricken glance - she wanted him to desire her, not pretend he was with some other woman.

Still...

"Beth is a nice enough name, I suppose," she said quietly and Tavington smiled.

The deal was struck, the agreement made. He lifted her in his powerful arms and dropped her roughly to the bed.

* * *

Beth wandered the house, feeling restless, frustrated, resentful. She wasn't certain why or to whom she felt resent, but it was there. Perhaps she was mistaking the sentiment for something else, she was feeling so many things just now. Anger, with William. For she knew he would have come to her during the night, if she hadn't requested she share with one of Arthur's sisters. She'd seen it on his face, as soon as Mr. Simms suggested they spend the night there. He would have tried the same trick he tried at the Tisdale's. But oh, he wasn't out to ruin her, was he? That man was going to destroy her. And whip her to within an inch of her life, for betraying him. And yet, despite all that, her uncle still wanted her to entertain William, whenever he came to visit. To be fair, Mark did not know about William's intention to sneak into her room, but he did know about the threat William had made her; for she'd told him as soon as she returned that morning.

Perhaps that was where the resentment came in?

At least she'd found an ally in Mrs. Simms. Her 'would be mother in law's' dislike for William, and her desire for Arthur to marry Beth, had come in handy last night and this morning. When Beth requested her help in the matter, Mrs. Simms did her utmost to keep Beth separated from William, not only throughout the night, but at breakfast. On the pretence of having a 'women's only' breakfast, Mrs. Simms had been able to shut William out as assuredly as if she'd slammed a door in his face. Mrs. Simms and her daughters had escorted her home, which had ensured that there was no room in the carriage for William to decide to climb in. Beth almost wished she was marrying in to the Simms family - they were clearly the type to protect their own, and those who they hoped to join them.

Beth found herself outside her uncle's office. Her uncle, who had told her in no uncertain terms, that the pretence must be kept. She must start letting William visit her again, when he came to call. She was in half a mind to pack her belongings and move back to Aunt Charlotte's. Or hell, just go home.

She could hear the rumble of voices on the other side of the closed door. Her uncle was in council with Trellim and Banksia, two of Tavington's Green Dragoons. They were also two of her father's oldest friends; Beth should have known from the first that they had joined the Dragoons at her uncle's behest, that they were spies also. From the moment they started riding with Tavington, she should have known. She despised feeling like such a fool. Despised being kept in the dark for so long. All the secrets. And the secret plans. What were they talking about in there? Another secret to be sure, but did this one include her? Pressing her ear to the door, the voices were far more clear. She would be ignorant no longer.

"Will be guards posted on your house. For Miss Martin's protection, Tavington said. " One voice was saying - Trellim she thought. Yes, it must be, for the entire sentence had been said without a single curse word. If it'd been Banksia, every second word would have been a foul one. "And the search has begun for those who gave Burwell warning. His meeting with Clinton did not go well, therefore Tavington is determined to right his wrong, for failing to capture Burwell last night. Several Companies of Green Dragoons have been sent out to the swamps to begin searching for Francis Marion."

"Damn and blast it. We'll need to get word to him," Mark said - Beth recognised her uncle's voice.

"There is another matter Burwell wishes me to discuss with you," Trellim said. "Major Bryant's son has been captured by Tarleton."

"It's the God kissed son of a bitches own damned fault." Now that, was Banksia. "The stinking fool got lost in the woods when they were fleeing Tarleton's Bastards, he got turned about and ended up riding straight into the lot of them."

"That sounds… unfortunate," Mark said.

"Major Bryant is sick with worry. His son isn't particularly high of rank, he will almost certainly be sent to a prison camp. Where is will almost certainly sicken and possibly die. Bryant is demanding an exchange be made but Burwell doesn't have anyone to exchange with. Nor has he got enough men, to execute an ambush to gain himself one high enough that the British will be willing to swap for," Trellim drew breath, then continued crisply. "Burwell needs a prisoner, one valued high enough by the British that they might agree to an exchange. He has little hope of taking one by force, so he musts needs stoop to less noble means."

"He's damned angry with those bastard tory Simms," Banksia took it up. "Fucking pig shitting tory's."

"Yes, he is," Trellim said. "He is wroth with the Simms family for their assistance of the British - especially with them allowing the British to help in the ambush to capture Burwell last night. He has marked that family, he will use them to send a message to all Loyalists to not interfere with Patriot affairs. And at the same time, will gain himself the means to have an exchange made to recover Corporal Bryant. So, you may not like it, but here is the plan. Mrs. Simms, or one of her daughters, it to be captured, to use as a hostage for the exchange."

Beth's jaw dropped open. This was _Colonel Burwell's_ plan? To take women hostage! Mark must have been as stunned, for he said something to the same effect.

"They didn't hesitate to use Miss Martin as their hostage last night," Trellim replied. "The Simms knew - they allowed it to happen, they facilitated the entire affair. It could have gone very badly for Miss Martin, for all they knew. Yet they agreed anyway. The women will not be harmed, Mr. Putman. But they will be taken. One, at least. That aught to stop the Simms meddling further, when they realise they are not untouchable."

"When?" Mark asked, making no protest against the plan.

"We will be relying on you for that," Trellim replied. "You'll need to have them watched - their movements, we will need to know when they are at their most vulnerable. A kidnapping while they're visiting a milliner, perhaps. Or on the way back from visiting a friend. You will need to study their routines, discover who is the most vulnerable and when. Major Bryant wants is son, Sir, and Burwell wants to strike at the Simms. They've asked you to begin your surveillance immediately."

"Very well," Mark said.

Shocked, Beth stepped back from the door, wishing she hadn't eavesdropped to begin with. One of the women - Arthur's sister. Emily. Theresa. Or even his mother, Caroline herself. Gods, taking a woman hostage, to have a soldier exchanged? Even though she herself had been used ill last night by the British, she knew that this wasn't the right course for the Patriots. Burwell should know that this wasn't right.

She heard voices further down the hall, recognised Aunt Charlotte's. With one last look at the door, she began making her way to the parlour.

* * *

Beth was alone with Charlotte, sitting on the chaise.

"I've barely slept a wink," Charlotte said. "Are you alright? Will you tell me what happened?"

Beth did, repeating everything she'd told Mark that morning. She still dwelled over the plot against the Simms family - an innocent woman for a willing soldier was not a worth exchange! - But she kept it to herself, focusing her attention only on what had happened the night before. When she was finished, Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief.

"Well. I'm so pleased it's over, and you will never need to see him again," Charlotte said, dropping back against the chaise, her hands pressed over her stomach. Her face was white, too white. She'd truly been frightened for Beth. "Hopefully you've convinced him then, that you have nothing to do with warning Burwell."

"If I haven't, he's going to whip me. To within an inch of my life, he said," Beth glanced down at her hands and willed herself not to weep. Not for the threat, but for all of it. Gods, how could she be so deeply in love with him? She'd made such a fool of herself over him.

"How are you, Beth?" Charlotte asked gently, taking hold of Beth's hand. The girl gave a listless shrug.

"I'm just… drained. Exhausted."

"A broken heart can do that to a person," Charlotte whispered and Beth jerked her head up in shock.

"You know?" She asked and Charlotte smiled weakly.

"That you're in love with Colonel Tavington? Child, you've been wearing your heart on your sleeve for weeks now. Only a fool would not have noticed."

"Then uncle is a fool," Beth gave a weak laugh. "For he doesn't know. I'm so sorry, Aunt. I didn't mean to fall in love with him. I'm engaged to Colonel Burwell. I have been since the moment he kissed me. I will marry him. And I do care for him. But I've… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"Fall in love? No one ever does," Charlotte replied. "You are a good girl, Beth. You will do what is right. I won't pretend it'll be easy, however. Love is… the only thing that can cure a broken heart, they say, is time. And I'm afraid that is only too true. You will suffer this awful, wrenching pain, for days, weeks, months, even years. But eventually, it will start to fade. You can't imagine that now, I'm certain. But you can take it from me, the truth of it."

Beth nodded, indeed thinking that it couldn't possibly be true. She felt she might die of it, well before time had the chance to heal it.

"What you said earlier?" Beth said. "About never seeing him again?"

"Yes…" Charlotte said warily.

"He's going to be here this afternoon."

"Turn him away," Charlotte said, voice immediate and firm. "You have no obligation to him. If he suspects you of warning Burwell, he can arrest you and put you on trial. Outside of that, you have no obligation, you do not have to entertain him. When he comes, you will refuse to see him."

"I would," Beth said. "I did. For two days, after the ball. But uncle Mark needs me to go along with it, he wants me to pretend to forgive him."

"Why in the world would he request such a thing of you?" Charlotte asked, drawing back slightly, eyebrows knitted down, creased. "So he doesn't suspect you warned Burwell?"

"No, it's for the information I get from him. It's alright, I know that uncle Mark is managing Colonel Burwell's spy ring."

"His what?" Charlotte gasped.

"Aunt, I thought you knew…" Beth whispered aghast, her hands flying up to cover her gaping mouth. "Good God, he trusted me to tell no one and I fail him from the first! I'm sorry, I thought you knew. Please don't tell anyone."

"Of course not, not if he's doing work for Burwell. But what has that to do with you and Tavington?" Charlotte asked, sounding outraged already even before receiving the answer.

"Well, that was the reason he's had me staying here," Beth explained. "It's the reason he's allowed Colonel Tavington to -" her voice caught, she drew quick, sharp, little breaths. "The reason he has allowed Tavington to… court me." - Charlotte's face was growing darker with every word. - "At first, I thought it was so that people would be less inclined to think me attached to Burwell, if I was allowing British Officers to court me. Tarleton and Watson," she lowered her eyes and spoke softly. "Tavington. I believed that was the reason -"

"As did I," Charlotte ground out.

"Yes, well. Uncle did ask me to try to listen out for important information, which I did. After each visit with them, uncle would question me in depth, about every moment, getting me to repeat entire conversation, digging, digging. I told him all I could, but I couldn't fathom why he was bothering trying to learn so much. He said it was better to know the enemies intentions, so I went along with it. It never occurred to me that he had someone to pass the information on to, and that he had a full and complete working spy ring… Though now it's all so obvious I can't believe I never saw it before," Beth noticed that Charlotte's lips were tightening, her blue eyes were growing so very cold. Beth rushed on, explaining, hoping to ease her aunt's anger. "Uncle needs the information - Colonel Burwell needs the information. Uncle Mark said he is blind without me, and therefore, my fiancé is blind. Uncle isn't getting anywhere near as much intelligence now as he had been, before the ball. It's all very important work. I won't pretend it'll be easy, spending time with Tavington," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. "In truth, it'll be torture. But it won't be worse than what our soldiers are going through on the battlefield. I can't fight in that capacity, and so shall fight how I can."

"Is that what my brother said to you?" Charlotte asked slowly, dreadfully. "Your broken heart is the wound you shall bear for the cause?"

"Well, he doesn't know my heart is broken. As I said, he doesn't know I was stupid enough to fall in love. He thought I was confused only, and he said my confusion was a small price to pay, that the soldiers are paying far higher."

"I see. So. Mark has deliberately encouraged Tavington here, to spend time in your company, in order for Mark to gain information from you when Tavington leaves?"

"Ah, yes aunt."

"Very well. Stay here, Beth," Charlotte rose so abruptly that Beth jerked back with surprise.

"Where are you going?" She gasped as Charlotte marched for the door, face hard.

"Just stay here," she said over her shoulder before striding out into the hall. Of course, that was not a command Beth could keep, not now, not ever. She leaped up and followed her aunt, who was making her deliberate way to Mark's office. She pounded on the door, then shoved it open with a thud.

Beth had followed, she darted into the office. Charlotte was so angry with her brother, she did not seem to notice.

"Gentlemen, I need a word with my brother, if you will."

"Of course, Mrs. Selton," Trellim and Banksia rose.

"Ah, surely it can wait? We're in the middle of something, sister," Mark said, motioning for the men to sit back down.

"It can not wait, we will discuss this now, by God!" Charlotte snapped. Mark's eyebrows lifted. Trellim and Banksia both excused themselves to wait elsewhere. As they passed by Beth, they tipped their hats to her. Banksia smiled that awful grin, he closed the two behind him and Trellim both, shutting Beth and Charlotte in with Mark.

"Hear me now, brother," Charlotte said, spine stiff, voice colder than a winter's chill. "What you have done, it is detestable! All the awful things I can think of Tavington, I think tenfold for you! It is disgusting - you disgust me! I want to slap you! Your own niece! How could you use her like this? It's worse than anything Tavington has done - you're her _uncle_, you were supposed to _protect_ her!"

Mark's eyes flickered toward Beth, who blushed with consternation.

"I didn't mean to tell her," she whispered. "I thought she already knew."

"Well, I did not know!" Charlotte snapped. "But I do now and I can tell you, Mark, it stops. Right now. This very moment. Do you understand me?"

"Charlotte, calm yourself -"

"Do not tell me to calm!" Charlotte shouted and Beth jumped. She'd never seen her aunt lose composure before. In all the years she'd known her - Beth's entire life. Even Mark was taken aback. "Don't you dare tell me to calm! You used her, our own niece! I demand she be removed from the city at once - you're only keeping her here for the information you can get from her!

"The information I get through Beth from Tavington is too important, I need her here to continue spying - especially now that she knows and understands what I need. The information -"

"Can rot in the fires of hell for all I care!" Charlotte cried. "Can't you see how this is hurting her? What you're demanding of her - it's killing her! Can't you see that she's fallen in love with Tavington?" She said when his mouth fell open with shock. "You stupid blind fool of a man! Because of you, Mark! Your fault! I'd wondered why you insisted on her spending so many nights here - now I discover that you were taking her from the safety of my home, to do your spying! Throwing them together constantly - it's all your fault, she's fallen in love with him because of you constantly throwing them together! How dare you use you niece in this manner?"

Mark wore a mutinous expression. Beth expected him to refuse, but then Charlotte - who must have sensed the same - bore down on him until she was standing over him as he sat by the desk. "I am so very wroth with you, Mark. Do not test me. I vow, I will go all the way to Fresh Water myself and I will tell Benjamin precisely how you've been using his daughter. I will tell him to come back here and fetch her, if you do not arrange it yourself. You can explain to him, in person, what a valuable little spy his daughter has become!"

Mark's face slowly shifted from mutinous to very real fear, the colour fading to an awful grey, his lips becoming bloodless.

"You can explain to him how, in forcing Beth into Tavington's company, Beth has fallen deeply in love and now has her heart shattered. I dare you to tell her _father_," Charlotte threw a finger toward Beth. "How it was all worth it!"

"Alright, alright!" Mark threw his arms up in surrender. "It will be done."

"When?" She demanded. "Do not try to stall, Mark. Do not test my resolve, I will leave this very afternoon if I must!"

"It'll take time!" Mark cried. "Gods, Charlotte. Trellim told me just now that Tavington is setting a watch on Beth, for her protection. She will have his men watching her every move - here, at your house, if she so much as goes for a walk! This will not be easy, sister. It will take time to arrange!"

"Your fault! You're to blame! You did this, all of it! Gods, I've wanted to leave with her from the start but you kept refusing - is this the reason why?"

Mark's mouth snapped shut - all the confirmation Charlotte needed.

"Disgusting, foul, awful thing to do. I will give you two days, Mark. If she is not on her way by then, I swear I will leave and I will return with her father and you will have to explain it to him! He will beat you soundly for this!"

"I may need more time to find a way to get around her guards," Mark said, ignoring the threat. "Please, Charlotte. I will try for two days, I promise I will. But please, if it takes longer, please give me more time."

Beth's eyes widened, she was quite shocked to see how the power had shifted between them. Charlotte always gave way to Mark - always! But here he was, pleading with her. Charlotte twisted her lips, she whirled away, seized Beth's arm, and began to march her out.

"Why are you so angry, aunt Charlotte?" Beth asked when they were out in the hall.

"How can you not be? Don't you understand what he has done? He is meant to be your protector. He betrayed you, Beth. He used you, he put you in danger, his own niece! You should be as angry as I am right now!"

"Oh."

Once in the parlour, Charlotte closed the doors and turned to face Beth. "Do you understand why I need to remove you from this place?"

"Yes," Beth said, lowering eyes. Charlotte put her hands on Beth's arms.

"You love him, this will not be easy," Charlotte's voice was gentle with Beth, soft and soothing. Understanding. "When the time comes, will you be able to leave him?"

Beth's throat seized, her breath hitched. Suddenly distraught, she shook her head, unable to answer as the tears rose on a choking sob.

"I must. Oh Gods, I know I must! But I love him. Gods, I don't want to leave him!"

"Dear Lord," Charlotte pulled her weeping niece into her arms, cradling her close. "Never have I wanted your mother here more than I do at this moment." She whispered as she held Beth, wishing she could bundle her up into her carriage and drive from the city. If she was able, she would, and she wouldn't stop, not until she reached Fresh Water.

* * *

Linda, somewhat stiff and sore, rose from the bed quietly so she did rouse the sleeping Officer. She gazed down at him with concern. Even while sleeping he was not relaxed, he shifted and twitched, restless. He lay naked, on his back, one arm pillowing his head, his handsome face set in a frown.

With a heavy sigh, she began picking up her clothes from the floor.

Holding them in a bundle against her naked body, she glanced over her shoulder at her reflection in the tall stand mirror. Her backside still bore red welts, though they seemed to be fading now. Tavington bore similar welts and marks on his body. She was pleased that he could take it as well as give it, just as she had sensed in him.

Her wrists hurt where the rope bit in a little too tightly and she was sore between her legs where he had taken her over and over again.

Still his rage had not seemed to be assuaged. She wondered what the Hell had happened to cause such fury She wondered who this Beth person was and what she had done to him to cause such anger. She wondered if the bargain they had struck had been worth it.

But then she remembered his lips on hers, his kisses at times crushing, at times tender. Yes, she thought as she gazed at the fading welts with a smile, it had been worth it.

"Christ," a harsh groan from the bed, Tavington was rising.

Her heart pounded as she watched him. He was lithe and athletic, and he moved with the grace of the panther. She had seen a panther once before, in a menagerie which had once passed through Charlestown. He reminded her of a wild animal, a wild, angry animal. She schooled her expression to indifference and turned away before he caught her gazing at him. Like a wild animal, Tavington seized on any weakness and exploited it with ruthless precision. Linda would not give him the opportunity, if she could help it. Ignoring her own pains, she began to dress.

"I will not be sitting a saddle comfortably for a few days," he muttered as he pulled on his shirt. She thought he sounded calm now. Relaxed. He was not using the tense and cold voice he had used for most of the morning. Linda stifled a self satisfied smile, suspecting that she had helped to calm his demons.

"It sounds as though I pushed you too hard," she said nonchalantly. "I will go easy on you next time."

Despite her matter of fact tone, Linda held her breath and waited for his response.

_Please say there'll be another time, please!_

"I can take it," he snorted as he pulled on his breeches. "You were the one screaming _'scarlet, scarlet'_ when I so much as touched you."

_'Scarlet'_, her chosen safety word, in case things went too far. He would stop, if she said - or in some cases screamed, 'scarlet'.

Linda ignored his barb and glowed with pride. It had taken a lot for him to get her to use her safety word and he damned well knew it. Still, he had not given her the reassurance she desperately needed.

"And yet," she said in a dry tone. "You say you will not sit your horse comfortably. Perhaps you should choose a safety word?" She arched an eyebrow, assumed an expression of contempt. " _'Mamma's boy'_ perhaps? Or _'milksop'_?"

He had done his share of bellowing, after all.

His pale eyes widened with astonishment, then his expression shifted to irritation. Two long strides and he grabbed her by her arms and pulled her against him. His mouth crashed against hers, his teeth nipping and biting her lip. She collapsed against him with a low groan, gripped his shoulders and bit him right back.

Just as suddenly, he released her.

"The first part of your payment," he said coldly, in clipped tones, utterly composed. It was a sharp contrast to Linda, who had to grip the bedpost for support as she breathed raggedly and her chest heaved.

"The kiss. Now," he handed her a small pouch. "The second part."

Despair overwhelmed her as she took the proffered pouch. Again, she schooled her face to smoothness, not giving her inner turmoil away. Tavington was already turning his back on her, buttoning his breeches and pulling on his boots.

"I don't know what time I will return this evening," he said over his shoulder as he strode for the door. "Be here before nine o'clock and wait for me."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, her knees gave way and she dropped to the bed. She reluctantly opened the pouch and gasped despite herself. She would have had to work a whole month to earn the contents of the purse! He had never paid her so much before. She would not need to bed any other man for a month!

She was prudent, however, and decided to keep a few of her favorite patrons. She suspected that this wonderful new bargain with Tavington could not last. Linda finished dressing and left the room quietly.

"Linda?" A familiar voice said behind her. "I was hoping to catch you, Bordon said Tavington sent for you when he arrived back this morning."

"Harmony! I've not seen you for days!" The two women embraced. Though Harmony held down a legitimate job as a barmaid, she had never stared down her nose at Linda or the other girls who plied their trade at the tavern.

"I know, I keep meaning to come down and see everyone, but..." Harmony trailed off.

"Being Captain Bordon's mistress has stopped you? I would not have expected you to walk around with your nose in the air!" Linda smiled to take the sting off her words.

"Well, you know, rogering a Captain and all. I have to be careful who I choose as my companions - I have to raise my standards..."

Linda laughed outright.

"Then that means I can't take you for lunch, I'm afraid," she said in a haughty tone. "Pity, I have a fair amount of coin here," she shook her new pouch under Harmony's nose.

"Oh, well, in that case!" Harmony giggled. Her tone turned serious. "We could hear you, was he hurting you?"

"Don't worry, it's a new arrangement and it suits me fine," Linda sighed with contentment. "Come, I'll tell you all about it."

A woman in silks stepped into the corridor from an adjoining chamber and for a moment Linda's heart almost stopped. That hateful woman from the tavern, the one in the oil painting!

_Was she Beth? _She wondered for the first time. The woman had made Linda feel like dirt. She had felt shabby in her woollens while the woman stared down her nose in all her finery and silks, demanding Linda tell her all about her consort with Tavington. The hateful woman had smiled with contempt when she realised Linda was a doxy and therefore no threat to her.

But no, this one was far younger. Her face was kind - though somewhat sad and her eyes were haunted. She stopped dead when she saw the two "adventurous" women, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"Miss Tisdale," Harmony said, a little warily. Linda linked her arm through her friends, both women expected to be censured by the woman in silks. They both expected to be told to leave and never return. They expected haughtier, snobbery, disdain -

"Miss Jutland," the woman said quietly. "How do you do?"

"Quite well," Harmony relaxed slightly. "And yourself?"

"Very well, thank you."

All politeness. And all lies. Clearly the young woman was not 'very well' at all.

"I heard you are to be married soon," Harmony said brightly. "Congratulations."

"Yes, I am," finally a little happiness lit the woman's face. "Soon. And then we ride for the Santee. Mr. Ferguson tells me you are going as well?"

"I am. I'm glad to hear you're going also. It will be good to have a friend in camp," Harmony said, wary again. Linda squeezed her friends arm, she sensed Harmony was trying to determine exactly how she would be treated in camp by the Officers wives.

Mary startled, her eyes widened and she hesitated.

"Indeed," she said noncommittally. Then she nodded politely and walked away. Both women understood, of course. The silk clad woman was obviously a Gentlewoman of high birth, the strictures must be adhered to or her own reputation could suffer. Still, she was not outright rude and for that Harmony was grateful.

"Christ," Linda muttered. "Who is she? Who are these people, and that horrid woman in the painting that confronted me? And who the hell is Beth?"

"Ah, yes, Beth..." Harmony gazed at Linda, an expression of concern on her face. "Linda, you need to know, right now, that despite this arrangement you've entered into, Tavington is in love with a young woman named Beth Martin and has been trying to secure her as his mistress ever since he met her. But Bordon told me last night that Tavington now wishes to marry her. I don't know everything, and I will tell you what I do know, but you need to be aware - he is in love with another woman."

"And I'm nothing but a doxy," Linda sighed sadly. "I know, he will never take me as more than that. But I will enjoy what I can of him, while I can."

"Very well. You promised me lunch? Let's go, I've so much to tell you!"

* * *

Later that same afternoon, after Arthur Simms and Colin Ferguson had their picnic with Beth and the other girls, the lads rode out of Charlestown to meet with Tavington, partly to help with the search for Marion, partly for a training exercise. Most of the Dragoons had already been in the saddle for most of the morning, scouring the countryside for word of Francis Marion, the Fox.

Tavington now shifted in his saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position. Despite her small size, Linda had a strong arm.

_'Mamma's boy'._

He curled his lip as he watched his newly recruited Green Dragoons, busy with their exercises. He had chosen Arthur Simms to lead them to test his mettle, to see if he had any talent for commanding. He was doing well so far, the new recruits snapping to attention when he past them, reacting instantly when he instructed them.

_'Milksop'._

William had not been the one with tears and snot running down his face, begging for it to stop, begging for release. His cock hardened at the memory, he would be aching all day until this evening if he kept thinking of their exploits of that morning. Tavington eased the muscles in his shoulder and gave an inaudible sigh. He was replete, at ease, relaxed. Which was quite shocking considering the previous nights failure to capture Burwell and Beth's undertaking that ensured William could not come to her during the night. Linda, it seemed, could satisfy him as well she promised she could.

_Beth._

He curled his lip again, frustration rising. He had gone to see her before lunch, before taking the Dragoons out scouting. He had sat with her for over twenty minutes and what did she do? Nothing! What did she say? Not a single Goddamned word. She completely ignored him - he may as well have not been there. Mark Putman and his pretty wife had chatted amiably, they'd commiserated his failure to capture Burwell, and had even had the grace to look embarrassed by Beth's snub of him.

But from Beth herself? Nothing. Not one word, barely even a glance. When Arthur and Colin arrived, ready to embark upon this picnic, Tavington had almost invited himself along, to upset the entire lot of them. Instead, he'd chosen to be a gentleman, and left peacefully.

He would try again in the evening, he decided. If he kept going to see her, her temper would eventually cool. Take her a gift, perhaps?

He tightened his lips, suddenly vexed with himself. Cool her temper? What about her cooling his? She'd been vicious at the ball, slapping him, calling him all sorts of awful things! And then to demand she reside in the room with one of Arthur's sisters, for the sole purpose of keeping him away from her. He knew she loved him, yet she was so damned stubborn and -

"He's good," Bordon interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes, he is," Tavington agreed as he watched Simms. Arthur had told him in detail of his picnic with Beth, he had repeated the entire conversation almost word for word. Though nothing of importance had been said. Beth had been mostly quiet - she was there to be seen with Arthur to help the boy with his predicament, nothing more. "A real feel for command."

"No, Sir," Trellim said. "Well, yes, Mr. Simms does at that, but we were discussing Mr. Ferguson."

Tavington turned his gaze to the boy as he shot his pistol at a target from the back of his horse. He hit the target, every time and reloaded his pistol with lightening quick precision.

"Yes, I remember him saying he was a sharp shooter, the first time I met him," Tavington said. Colin had been in the Green Dragoons for some days now, but this was the first time Tavington had come to watch the training.

"He certainly is," Trellim replied.

"I'm of half a mind to make him a Cornet," Tavington said, admiring Colin's skill. "Yes, he will do well/ Very well, if you have such an interest in the lad, you will take Cornet Ferguson into your unit. And Marcus and Michael Middleton, as well -"

"I want them, Sir," Bordon said firmly. "Excellent riders and they are both big lads. I will find good use for them both."

"A Cornet and an Ensign then," Tavington said, issuing the lads their ranks. He deliberately kept them on an even rank, to avoid squabbling between the twins. "And the others?" he asked his Captains. Bordon chose a couple lads, Trellim chose another, Stephen Howard.

"Good, we are in agreement then and the new Dragoons have their units. Take charge of them now, we will spend a few more hours trying to pick up Marion's scent."

The Green Dragoons formed up their units, Bordon took position behind Tavington as was proper as the Lieutenant Colonel's second in command. The regiment set off at a thunderous gallop.

* * *

Fruitless, Tavington fumed as he sat on a chaise opposite Beth, paying only half a mind to Putman's prattle.

Fruitless to chase after Marion, fruitless sitting with Beth who was still resolved to ignore him.

The half the day in the dust and heat, and no sign of Marion. The last hour sitting with Beth, and not a word said. Finally giving up, he rose abruptly. Beth glanced up, startled when he grabbed her hand in his.

"Until tomorrow, Miss Martin," even he heard the threat in his voice. His gaze pierced hers and he kissed her knuckles lightly, a lingering kiss as he searched her face for... anything... any reaction. The slightest sign of her love.

With his back to Putman, Tavington used his body as a barrier so the gentleman could not see what Tavington was doing. Eyes locked on hers, he wrapped his hand around her small wrist and turned hers over. He kissed her palm slowly, his lips drifting to kiss the tips of each of her fingers. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his grip.

Her breath hitched, her liquid brown eyes grew warm, her cheeks became flushed.

"Just as I thought," he whispered down at her, taunting and smug. "You do still love me."

Beth's eyes widened indignantly and she jerked her hand away.

It was too late, however, he had seen to the heart of her. He laughed at her and strode from the room.

Many hours later, when he was back at the Tisdale's, he sent for Linda again, to help calm his frustrations.

* * *

Linda checked the bonds holding Tavington's wrists to the head board, ensuring he would not be able to free himself. He was breathing steadily, relaxed and waiting calmly, composed, despite the blindfold across his eyes. She straddled his stomach and gazed down at him, deliberating what to do next.

He'd had his turn, her backside was aching from his slaps, she knew it must be bright red. Tears had coursed her cheeks, though she did not try to stop him. Finally he had either become too bored or to aroused to continue and had entered her with a hard thrust, quickly bringing them both to completion.

And he whispered "Beth" the entire time.

Linda decided it had to stop. After the things Harmony had told her earlier that day, after deducing the depth of feeling Tavington had for the Gentlewoman, Linda decided she did not much like being called Beth, the woman who held the Officer's heart on a string.

No, as much as she enjoyed being with him, she could tolerate being the other woman no longer.

She ran her fingernails down his chest, hard enough to leave red, raised lines across his unbroken skin. Leaning forward, she took one flat nipple into her mouth, licking, then nipping it to a point.

"Ah..." Tavington sighed. "Beth."

No.

She stopped her biting.

"Linda," she said firmly, and watched his face, his expression settled into a frown.

That's what she would do, she decided. Pleasure him and then stop as soon as he said the other woman's name. She repeated the process on the other nipple, circling with her tongue, threatening with her teeth. He said nothing, but she could feel him relax beneath her.

Then, she shuffled lower, now straddling his thighs as her fingernails traced down the valley between his ribs, scouring lower down to the soft hairline of his stomach. His breathing changed, deepened. Her fingers lingered just above his heavy erection, almost touching. Growing frustrated with the almost touch, he bucked his hips up and down with a growl.

"Beth!" He snapped. "Now!"

"Linda." She removed her hand and lifted herself off of him.

"Christ," he muttered and jerked his bonds, then settled down again.

Linda smiled, he did not like showing weakness, this man. Not at all. He could not fool her though, all she needed to do was gaze down at his engorged and weeping cock to see the truth. She trailed her fingers across his length and it twitched beneath her touch. Her fingers wrapped around him and she stroked, slowly, then faster, faster.

Tavington began to breath raggedly, Linda studied his face, his parted lips. His eyes were covered with the the blindfold, though she knew the usual pale blue of his eyes be darkened with pleasure. She pumped faster, straddling one of his muscular thighs to rub her aching quim against him.

"Beth!" He gasped.

Again, she stopped. It killed her, but she did it. Removed her hand from his cock and all sensation ceased for him.

"Christ!" Tavington bellowed, infuriated. A shiver of fear shot along her spine at his rage, but she kept her voice steady.

"Linda." She corrected.

"Not when you are in this room!" He hissed. "You are Beth, when you are in here! You agreed to it!"

"This morning I did, yes. But no more," Linda decided to gamble. She had to force the words past her lips, but she said them. "Agree to it, or I will walk out of here, right now. And I will not unbind you. I wonder who will release you... Bordon, perhaps?"

"You wouldn't dare!" Tavington sputtered. "If you leave me tied, I will track you down! There will not be a single safe place in the Colonies for you to hide!"

Linda swallowed hard against her fear and drew a sharp, steadying breath. Gambling again, she gathered her courage, then she raised her arm back and slapped him full across the face. His head jerked to one side.

"You dare!" Tavington's quiet tone was ice, his face contorted with rage. Linda's large handprint showed on one cheek. She feared she'd gone too far.

But no, what she had just done, the slap, that was what this was all about. Her own buttocks was still smarting from his slaps.

"Yes, I dare," she said as she caressed one side of his face with the back of her fingers, up and down slowly, feeling that days growth of stubble. Her fingers gently drifted down under his chin to stroke the other side, tracing his reddened cheek.

"I'm going to make you howl," he said with quiet menace. "Linda." He said her name slowly and deliberately.

A thrill of fear shot through her, but a slow smile crept across her face, a smile of triumph. He would not call her Beth again.

She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I'm going to make you howl first, William," a quiet promise. She removed his blindfold and was both gratified and relieved to see his pale, piercing eyes burning with desire.

Nevertheless she did not trust his temper and she felt it prudent to keep him bound for now. With a small smirk, she moved down his body. She positioned herself above him, her lips a breath away from his purple, engorged cock. He smirked back at her, a glint in his eyes, as his prick twitched with anticipation.

Enough playing - Linda and Tavington both needed more now. With a quiet sigh, she took him into her mouth and began to suckle him. Her tongue twirling his length as she moved her head up and down. Tavington dropped his head back against the pillow, his body taut and tight with the effort to not buck his hips. His nostrils flared and he lifted his head again to watch Linda working on his member.

The tingle and tension increased, his pouch twitched, he was close, so close. He reached the point of no return and he bucked and thrashed and lost control despite himself. He jerked against his bonds so hard the wooden headboard creaked in protest. She pulled away and her fingers wrapped around him, pumping.

"Say it," she commanded harshly, her voice thick with need.

"Say what?" He taunted.

"Shall I stop?"

Tavington rasped a laugh.

"Linda," he said, his tone both obedient and taunting. "Finish what you started. _Linda_. In your mouth. Now."

"As you command, Colonel Tavington."

He rasped his laugh again and then mirth ceased as her mouth enveloped him once more. The tingle before the surge, and then fire coursed through his veins. He growled a long low growl as his seed pulsed in to her mouth. He arched his back and pulled his bonds as the flames carried him, finally abating.

"Linda," his eyes were closed, he did not see her smile of triumph. Though he suspected she was well pleased with herself as she curled up beside him. Self satisfaction fair oozed from her.

"Are you going to untie me?" He arched an eyebrow, gazing at the top of her head.

"When you aren't so angry, when the sting of the slap fades."

"Either way, I'm going to make you howl."

"Promise?" She smirked up at him. He rolled his eyes heavenward.

"After I've had a nap." He said with a tired sigh.

Linda laughed. "The staying power of this one," she quipped and untied him.

He reacted instantly. She gasped with fear as he violently threw her to her back, pinning her arms above her head and holding her body down with his weight.

"You have no idea what you've awoken, have you?" He said down at her, his gaze intent.

Linda swallowed hard. She slowly, deliberately, opened her legs wide, wrapped her ankles over his thighs.

"Something wild, I hope..."

* * *

The next two days passed exactly the same way. He bedded Linda at night, she helped to calm his fury. In the morning he kissed her and sent her on her way with a full purse, she was not his mistress and he would not allow her to think it.

He visited Beth after breakfast, trained with the Dragoons, scouted for Marion. He only found tracks and traces, but at least he knew for certain the man, with a good seventy militiamen, were near.

Why he would still be so close to Charlestown was a mystery. Initially, both William and Richard believed Marion's presence was in relation to the previous Sunday nights mission. It was their opinion that Marion had been on hand to help Burwell get away after 'rescuing' Beth. But the failed trap had taken place days ago! Why should he still be there, risking discovery and capture?

Tavington doubled his efforts to find him, determined to make up for his failure.

He visited Beth each evening. And each visit was the same - she said not a word to him. And she kept her hands in her lap, her fingers linked, preventing him from taking one and trying to kiss her again. She would not allow him to touch her in any way.

William was almost beside himself, he had never encountered such a stubborn soul before! Finally however, in the morning of the third day, he had a break through with the girl which changed everything for him.


	21. Chapter 21 - The Declaration of Love

Chapter 21 - The Declaration of Love:

10th June - Saturday:

"He's here again," Cilla said from her look out at the window. "Tavington."

"I know who you mean, Cilla," Beth sighed. They both heard the knock on the door and shortly later, Zeke announced that Tavington was there to visit with Beth.

He came twice a day, once in the morning, once at night. He sat with her for an hour and then left. She ignored him, mostly, it was up to Mark and Mage to engage him in conversation for she said not a word.

It would be no different this time, she decided.

She reclined against the wall in a window seat, her knees drawn to her chest, a book propped on top. He sat in the window seat with her. Cilla, who could not stand to be in the same room with him since learning of the wager, withdrew immediately. Which left Beth and Mage alone with Tavington.

Mage sat at her writing desk in the corner of the parlor under a sun drenched window, writing a letter. Today was to be the last Beth spent in the city, Mark had finally conceived of a plan to remove her from Charlestown - she would be leaving first thing in the morning. Mage nodded at Tavington in greeting. She set her quill aside, ready to embark on a conversation, ready to step in to make up for Beth's utter silence.

She stopped herself before she began. This was to be Beth's last time in Tavington's company, she was never going to see him again. Mage paused, wondering. The poor girl had fallen in love. Soon, she would be married to another man entirely, a man twenty-five years her senior, one she cared for, but did not love. Mage felt bad for her. Burwell was a good man, better than most in fact.

But he was not Tavington. Even Mage was a little moved by the Officer, so handsome and dangerous and exciting. How would she wish to spend this, her very last time, in this man's company - especially if she was as deeply in love with him as Beth was?

She'd want to spend it alone. And as Beth was about to embark on the rest of her life, entering a marriage with a man she did not love, Mage felt she owed it to Beth to give her some small leeway.

As Tavington went to sit by Beth, Mage rose and packed her writing implements. Without excusing herself, she stepped into the adjoining chamber and settled down at a desk there instead. The door was still open, the proprieties must be kept, after all. She would hear them if they spoke even softly, but she could no longer see them. This was as much privacy as Mage could give her niece - her little gift to Beth, before the girl had to leave, never to see her beloved again.

* * *

"Are you going to speak to me, today?" William murmured to Beth. He cast a quick look over his shoulder and saw Mage glide into the next chamber - the door was open, Mage would not have gone far but for the moment, he and Beth were amazing, blessedly alone. He heard a cough - Mage, he thought, letting him know that she was right there, just around the other side of the wall.

From Beth, there was only silence.

"Come now, this is becoming ridiculous," William ground out. "Must you be so stubborn - this is my seventh visit for Christ's sake!"

"And that should mean what, exactly?" Her voice was cold, frosty. William almost wished she hadn't spoken if she was going to speak to him like that.

"That I am trying to make amends, Beth," he said earnestly.

"You think visiting me a few times would make me fall at your feet?" She said contemptuously. She then feigned excitement, she pressed her hands to her chest and gushed, "Colonel Tavington has taken time from his busy day to visit with me - I should be ever so grateful! I must forgive you at once!"

Her false fervour dampened and she gave him a flat look.

"Forgive me?" His voice rose. Another quick glance over his shoulder and he lowered his voice again. "Forgive me. I've done nothing -"

"You've done plenty."

"Those women -"

"Meant nothing, so you've said," she over rode him. "Would you accept that as an excuse, if you learned I had bedded three other men in the last week?"

"Certainly not!" Tavington sputtered. The very idea enraged him, but it was different. He was a man, she a young woman of virtue!

"Oh, but it's just _bedding_, William!" She mocked him quietly with his own words. "Those other men meant nothing."

He sighed heavily, this was getting him nowhere. He had lost count of the women he had courted, lost count of the amount he had angered. But every single one of them had cooled their tempers, within hours, if not by the end of the day - or the night. But Beth, it had been a week since the ball! Four since Sunday nights disaster.

The one woman who he wished to marry, out of all the women he had courted, and she would not melt!

The silence stretched between them. He was desperate to have her alone - perhaps if he was able to kiss her, to hold her, remind her how much she loved him... But he had not been able to get her alone since Sunday night. Mage had gone into the other room but could be back at any moment.

"Can we go for a walk?" He asked her quietly.

"No. Unless Cilla or my Aunt can accompany us?" She arched an eyebrow and he tightened his lips.

"I see. Your constant companionship is deliberate then."

"Of course. I'm surprised you have not realized before now."

"I suspected. So. You do not wish to be alone with me."

"No."

"Are you afraid of your feelings, Beth?" He taunted quietly, his irritation rising. "Afraid your anger will dissolve if I kiss you?"

"Yes." She said quite seriously. She held his gaze unblinking. "That is exactly what I fear. I do not trust myself with you."

Startled by her confession, Tavington leaned back and studied her anew. She stared right back but he finally began to see, to see her. Underneath her cool facade of indifference she was brittle, needful and wanting.

The Officer felt a thrill of hope. Encouraged by his discovery, he shuffled closer and took her hand.

"Darling," he whispered as he stroked her fingers with his. "Let me try. I promise I won't pull away again, I am yours."

"And I am yours. But you've hurt me too much," she choked on a sob and looked away. He could see her struggle, watched as she hardened her resolve and sought to steady her voice. "You've shown me the true you, and you are too uncaring, and dangerous by far. I meant what I said, we are finished." She pulled her hand from his grasp.

"You love me." He insisted.

"You know I do," she said tiredly.

"Then stop this foolishness!" He hissed quietly with frustration.

Another glance over his shoulder showed the room still empty of Mage Putman, but that could not last long. He turned back to Beth only to see her face had closed to him again, her icy veneer back in place. Breathing heavily, his hand reached for hers again. He could have growled with irritation, it was never this difficult for him!

Understanding washed over him like a wave. He wanted to marry this girl, not make her his mistress. His usual tactics, tricks and devices would not work, not now. He had shown jealousy, possessiveness, longing, adoration and still she doubted his feelings.

Because he had never told her he loved her. Not even once.

_I wish to marry her, not just bed her, _he reminded himself. And that required an entirely different sort of courtship.

"Beth," he squeezed her fingers gently, leaned in close so that she alone would hear his whisper. "Darling, you must know how I feel about you." His fingers stroked her face with a light caress.

She stared at him, wide eyed and hoping but wary as well. It was not enough, he realised. He had to say the words. He leaned in closer now, his lips almost touching hers. When she drew away, he followed, their lips never more than an inch apart.

"Beth. My darling," he said earnestly, his eyes holding hers. "I love you."

The change was dramatic, she paused, an instant of astonishment and anguish by turns, then with a whimper Beth gripped his cravat and held tight as she gave him the deepest, most devastating kiss he had ever experienced in his twenty-eight years. His arms were about her instantly, holding her close. Her fingers wound through his cravat, holding tight in case this was a trick and he pulled away from her as he had the night of the attempted ambush. He tightened his hold on her, a silent assurance that he would not.

Her tongue sought entry and with very little prompting he parted his lips, allowing her to guide and dominate. It was exquisite, he was on fire - her tongue stroking his, her eyes squeezed shut while he watched her beautiful face. She rocked her head to the side and he followed her, rocked to the other side. Beth whimpered, quietly, barely discernible. He hoped Mage did not return, did not see, did not interrupt this, the most overwhelming, fulfilling kiss of his life.

Beth stroked his face while they kissed, her fingertips mapped his brow, his cheek and jaw. He had to come up for air, he broke away and she followed with another whimper, her fingers clutching his cravat, pulling him back to her.

"I love you," he said again before their lips met again. She moaned low in her throat, pressed herself against him. His hands moving along her back pulling her tighter. Finally trusting it was not a trick, Beth released her tight hold on his cravat and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I love you," she keened into his mouth, "so much. I'm so alone without you."

She sounded on the verge of tears, desperate and desolate.

He couldn't understand it, he was positively buoyant himself. Perhaps she needed more reassurance for she was quite correct, his conduct toward her had left a lot to be desired. And so he said it again, and again, a litany for her ears alone.

"Gods, me too. I love you my darling, I love you," over and over against her lips with kisses between each declaration. She moaned and whimpered, became even more anguished, more desolate.

But it was good, so very good. And as pleasure and warmth surged through him all he could do was hold her and kiss her and hope it was enough.

A commotion at the front door, Tavington barely registered it. Lost as he was to the joy of Beth's tongue flicking across his, her warm breath sighing in his mouth, her fingers still mapping his face as though she could soak in the memory of his features through their tips.

"Colonel Tavington!" Bordon's voice calling from the hall.

William and Beth froze. They drew away ever so slightly, their parted lips still almost touching, still linked by a thin line of moisture. Both breathing heavily, staring at each other, stunned back to reality. Bordon burst into the parlor and Beth dropped back against the wall and away from William.

"Sir, there have been sightings of Marion and his rabble not half a mile from here. If we are quick, we might very well catch him -"

"Rouse the Dragoons -" Tavington snapped, lurching to his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mage enter, she was staring at Richard with stunned amazement. Bordon lifted his helmet to her, distracted but keeping to the forms.

"Already done Sir, Ferguson and Simms are gathering them."

"Very good," William turned to stare down at Beth.

She gazed up at him, her eyes flicking over his face. He was conscious of Mage standing there. Her eyes were on Bordon but still William was careful of his words.

"Miss Martin, I must away. I want to give you something - " He reached into his pocket, pulled forth his gift, wrapped in a square of silk. "It is... precious to me. An heirloom if you will, and I wish you to have it -'

"I can't..." She shook her head, refused his gift.

"Beth," he leaned down to whisper. "I don't have time for this, I have to leave. Please, take it!"

Her fingers shook as she took the gift.

"There is something I wish to speak to you about..." a quick glance at Mage and he lowered his voice. He stared at Beth pointedly. "After the other night, you can not possibly be engaged to Burwell, not any longer, and there is something I need to… _propose_ to you. Do you understand?" He would ask her to marry him, but not all in a rush as he's about to fly out the door. He would do it properly, she deserved for him to sweep her off her feet.

Beth gasped and swallowed - clearly, she understood.

"Tonight, if I'm returned in time. No later than tomorrow."

"Very well." She said weakly.

He stared down into her haunted, anguished eyes and felt a lurch - a twist in his stomach. There was no more time to reassure her, no time! He would propose marriage to her, but not now, in front of her Aunt and Bordon and not with his time constraint.

Ignoring Mage, he leaned down and kissed Beth's hand, taking the opportunity to whisper his love for her one last time, and then he was gone. He ran from the house with Bordon at his side, mounted his horse and was away to chase after Marion the Fox.

* * *

The Dragoons assembled in record time and raced for Charlestown following the lead Bordon had been given. Sure enough, they discovered Marion's camp, though the thunder of their approach had alerted the Fox and he had gathered his men.

They had no time to flee, however and Tavington screamed "CHARGE", and the Dragoons thundered into the rebels very midst. The skirmish was short and nasty and at the end, five rebels lay dead.

Marion the Fox, however, had managed to slip away.

The Green Dragoons chased the Swamp Fox through the many hunting trails, hot on the militias heels. Marion refused to turn and face Tavington, as he was outnumbered by two to one. And so he led Tavington a merry chase until well after sunset.

By the time they returned to Charlestown, the hour was late. While the rest of his men sought baths and beds, William - as the Commander of the unit - had to make his report to Clinton. With that done, he galloped to Beth's Uncle's manor, only to find the house darkened - not a single light that would indicate anyone was awake.

With a string of curses he rode slowly back to the Tisdale's. It was mostly dark there too, a few candles lit to light his way through the manor. It was close to ten o'clock, he realised. No wonder the Putman's and Beth were all in bed.

After a quick bath, William roused the cook and headed to the dining hall to await dinner. He planned to eat his fill and then retire for the evening.

It would not be right, carousing at the tavern - or even having Linda come to him - not when he planned to propose to Beth the very next day. He was not so lost to propriety as that!

As he awaited dinner, he remembered the skirmish with the Fox.

No Dragoons had been harmed, and though he was frustrated that the Fox had escaped him, Tavington was well pleased with the way his new recruits had handled themselves in this, their first skirmish. Arthur Simms had met his expectations, as did Colin Ferguson and the Middleton twins.

Whatever Marion was there for was still a mystery but the Green Dragoons had given chase, pushing Marion further and further from Charlestown. He doubted the Fox would be back any time soon.

* * *

When he was half way through his plate of food, Bordon joined him with a plate of his own.

"Anything to report?" William asked, knowing that Bordon had just come from speaking with the sentries watching Beth at the Putman residence.

"The guards say nothing has changed," Bordon said between bites of casserole. It had been hours since his last meal and he was starving. "Miss Martin has still not left the house."

"A puzzle, that. She is a sociable creature and has many friends. It's strange that she would seclude herself so,"

"She is not secluded, she has many visitors. Miss Tisdale mostly, but Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins have visited," Bordon hesitated, knowing of Tavington's jealousy. "And you should know that Ensign Watson seems spend more time at Mr. Putman's than he does Mrs. Selton's, these days."

Tavington tightened his lips. "I should speak to Captain Turner, his men have entirely too much time on their hands."

Bordon chuckled. "Indeed."

"I'm going to propose to her tomorrow morning," Tavington confided. Richard sat back startled as William continued. "I would have this afternoon, but then you came charging with news of Marion, so all I could do was hint to her that I would when I returned. I went by there tonight, but the house was dark and quiet."

"I thought you said she hasn't spoken to you all week?"

"She hasn't, but it changed this morning."

"Well, well!" Richard arched an eyebrow, he smiled and said tauntingly, "do you think she'll accept you?"

Tavington gave the other man a flat look. "She'll accept me." He rolled his eyes.

"Well then," Bordon said. "A toast!" He raised his glass. "To Colonel William Tavington, finally tying the knot. The bloody old fool."

"Can't be a bachelor forever," William drank deeply of his whiskey. "The Tavington name must be continued, I need an heir."

* * *

Beth remained seated in the window seat, utterly dazed, for a long while after Tavington left her. She could still feel the searing warmth of his kiss. She touched her fingertips to her lips and smiled, excitement almost overwhelming her.

_He loves me, he is going to propose!_

She knew it, what else could he wish to ask her? What other question could he have for her? He had looked at her so pointedly, as though trying to imprint his thoughts in her mind. Yes, he was going to propose. Dear Lord!

Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she almost swooned.

Nevertheless, eventually, excitement gave way to confusion, to uncertainty, and dread. She was already engaged - William might assume that Burwell would end it but that was because William thought as Burwell made him think - that Beth had betrayed him and therefore, there would be no marriage. But her engagement was still very real.

She loved him, so much, but if he ever learned that it was he who'd been betrayed, not Colonel Burwell…

Besides which, her family would never accept him. Her father would never consent. If she ended her engagement to Burwell and married William, she would lose her family forever. She would be forced to choose between them. Her father, Susan, Margaret, her brothers, even Cilla. Cilla would never speak to her again, Beth worried!

Gabriel might face Tavington, her husband, on the field of battle. One might kill the other. And then there was Harry... She was already engaged even if the banns had not been read.

Swallowing hard against tears, Beth rose and stumbled to her Aunt. She dropped down in the chair alongside the one Mage had just taken. The two women faced each other.

"Marion has been sighted and the Dragoons might catch him." Beth said, not quite ready to speak of what was really bothering her.

"No, Beth. Marion is too wily - they do not call him 'The Fox' for nothing," Mage tilted her head to regard her niece. "One last kiss before you leave him?"

"You saw?" Beth gasped. "You did not interrupt us!"

"I left you alone deliberately, Beth. This will be the last time you ever see him again."

Beth - devastated, anguished, confused and very much in love, burst in to tears and dropped to her knees, burying her head in Mage's lap. She cried convulsively, shuddering as her sobs took hold of her.

"Oh, dear heart," Mage murmured. Her hands moved over Beth's hair as the girl cried, her entire body wracked with tears. "Oh, darling. You are doing the right thing! You must leave, and if there was ever a man in the Colonies to make you forget Tavington, it's Burwell. Oh, you poor dear sweet thing."

Mage sniffled back her own tears as she watched Beth in the depths of despair, crying her heartache. Charlotte, who would be spending the night with them so she and Beth could be away first thing in the morning, came in and quietly sat down in the chair Beth had vacated. She watched as Mage comforted their niece.

Mage whispered - she did not know what, reassurances, words of love, anything she could think of as she stroked Beth's hair.

Eventually, the girl's sobs began to subside. She sat back on her heels and hung her head, tears dripping onto her clasped hands. Mage passed her a handkerchief.

"He said he loves me," she said, her voice desolate. "That he has something to ask me. He means to propose to me, I know it in my heart."

The older women shared a stricken glance over Beth's bowed head.

On Monday morning, after the failed ambush, Trellim had told Mark of a conversation he had over heard between Tavington and Bordon, while they had been waiting to capture Colonel Burwell.

The two women had decided not inform Beth of the conversation, for it would only break her heart. It served no purpose to tell her, Beth was leaving, she would marry Burwell, there was no point in repeating a conversation they knew would only hurt her. She had been through enough, they both agreed.

Now, however, both Aunt's wondered at the wisdom of withholding the information, both wondered if they would need to tell Beth after all.

"Perhaps," Charlotte said slowly.

"You know you can't marry him," Mage added gently. "You do know that, don't you?"

"Why?" Beth glanced back and forth between them. "I love him, so much." Her eyes narrowed with irritation and her tone took on a defensive edge. Challenging. Stubborn. "Why can't I marry him?"

"Beth..." Charlotte seemed at a loss, at first. "Dear heart, after everything he has done? The wager? Three mistresses, and an engagement already settled?" She bristled, her tone becoming heated. "And if those aren't reasons enough, he tried to use you! And what if he discovers your betrayal, after you are married to him? He already has the authority to punish you, but if he was your husband..." She shuddered at the thought. Women were completely beholden to their husbands, the promise to 'obey' when they married was not an empty vow. "It would not go well for you, I assure you."

"Beth," Mage added her piece, both women trying to make her see reason in the hope they would not have to reveal Trellim's heartbreaking discovery, which would only serve to crush her. "Your father would disown you. He would never forgive you, you might never see him or your family again. Besides, you have accepted Burwell. You can't break your engagement."

"I know, I know!" Beth sighed. "Papa would be furious, and I am loathe to give up my family. But how can I go to Colonel Burwell like this?" She asked the two older, wiser women. "It isn't right. I am in love with another man, my fiancé's enemy. It isn't right, I can not marry Burwell." She drew a shuddering breath. "I love William." She lifted her chin, steeling her spine.

Mage and Charlotte shared another look over Beth's head, this one of panic. Charlotte stepped in cleanly.

"Dear heart," she said gently. "Just listen to me now. I will tell you a tale, one I believe is important for you to hear."

And Charlotte confided in Beth as she had never done before. Mage had not heard the tale either, but Charlotte trusted her sister in law.

"I was in love, you see. With an older man. He was, however, in love with another woman and therefore blinded to me. John Selton, the man I would one day marry, began to court me. I was in anguish, for my father wished me to marry John - he was a good match for me. A wealthy landholder, and a business associate. Time went on and the man I loved married the woman he was courting. He was lost to me, and I thought my life would end. His wife and I, we were close and I loved her dearly. I did not begrudge her happiness, but for myself - I was in the depths of despair. John was a good man. A short time after marrying him, I realised I was in love with him. My love for the other man never left me, it burns brightly even now. But, now you see, it is possible to love two men at once. I loved John well and..." Charlotte choked slightly. "And will miss him keenly until the end of my days."

"And the other?" Mage asked carefully, Charlotte could tell from the other woman's expression that she suspected.

"He is widowed." Charlotte said pointedly.

"Then that means there is a chance for you!" Beth, youthful and exuberant, forgot her despair for the moment, caught up in Charlotte's tale.

"Perhaps, dear heart. There are complications, but... The purpose of this tale, darling one, was to show you that you can love two men at once. I believe that you are very much in love with Burwell, also."

Beth was stunned, she stared at her Aunt, who was still speaking.

"Would you have sent him warning, fretted over the threat to him, agreed to marry him, agreed to run away from Charlestown, if you did not?"

"I..." Still stunned... "I care for him, I do..."

"It's called love, Beth."

"But it feels so different..." Beth wailed.

"They are very different men," Mage said wisely. "You can never love two people the same way."

"Beth," Charlotte leaned in close. "Your love for Tavington is all consuming at the moment, it is blinding you to all else. But do not call off your engagement to Burwell, you will be doing yourself a disservice."

"But Harry... I don't want to lie to him -"

"You need only tell him what you wish to tell him," Mage said firmly. _For we surely won't._

"Indeed," Charlotte agreed. "I never told John about the other, and I loved him quite well. Mage and I will keep your confidence."

Mage nodded agreement. "What did he give you? I am aching with curiosity."

"As am I," Charlotte murmured. She had seen the square of silk in Beth's hand and wondered if it was a gift from Tavington.

Beth unwrapped the silk, revealing the gift within. All three women gasped to see a large ruby, set in the centre of intricately worked gold. A circle of smaller rubies surrounded the larger one, and at the top was a loop to thread a gold chain through. A large tear drop pearl dangled from the bottom of the pendant. The entire piece was big enough to fit in the palm of Beth's hand.

"My God," she murmured. "I've never seen anything like it - its... Beautiful. Lord.."

Beth was entranced, the entire piece was mesmerizing. She imagined wearing it on a long chain, it would nestle between her breasts, she would wear the dress Tavington had given her and they would attend a ball, everyone would stare at the large pendant and comment...

"Very pretty," Cilla said, Beth had not heard her come into the room.

"Pretty?" Beth scoffed. "Cilla are you blind? It's exquisite!"

"Yes, I suppose it is," she squatted on her heels beside her kneeling cousin. Beth gripped the pendant tight, held it to her heart, her eyes closed, her face quickly becoming pained and anguished.

"I can't keep it," she finally said in a quiet voice.

Her Aunt's gazes became less intent, less guarded. Beth was a clever girl - usually, and was doing far better than most girls her age who found themselves hopelessly in love.

"No, dear heart, you really can't," Charlotte said gently.

"But..." Beth was becoming desperate, and Charlotte sighed, sensing her niece would allow herself to be seduced by Tavington all over again, if she did not intercede soon. Her next words confirmed it. "I love you," she said to Charlotte and Mage and Cilla, the words taking them in all at once. "To the ends of my days, I will. I don't want to lose any of you. But I love him, so much. I can't be without him," she drew herself up and Charlotte watched her warily as Beth came to her decision. "He is going to propose tomorrow and when he does, I will accept him."

Gods. Charlotte held Mage's gaze. Her sister in law finally nodded - the time had come. Though she was loathe to do it, she now had no choice.

"Beth, you will never lose us, not a single one of us," she said but before Beth could interpret that as a ray of sunlight, she continued ominously, "but there is something we need to tell you. We did not want to add to your burden, there was no point to it. Now however… you need to know."

Beth gazed warily at Charlotte, sending by the other woman's tone that she was not going to enjoy hearing what Charlotte had to tell her.

"It happened on Sunday night. Trellim was positioned close to Tavington and Bordon while they waited in the bushes for Burwell to arrive," her voice was gentle. She hesitated for a moment, then hardened her resolve. "He was close enough to have overheard the two Officers discussing you."

"Me?" Beth asked in a tremulous voice.

"Yes, you. Dear heart, Trellim heard Tavington speak of his intentions toward you. From what he was saying, he had intended on making you his mistress. But -" She closed her eyes, it pained her to continue.

"Tell me," Beth whispered.

"I'm so sorry to tell you this Beth," Charlotte said earnestly. "But Trellim said that Tavington confided to Bordon that he would marry you. Bordon protested, reminding Tavington that he had a fiancé already, waiting for him back in England with her twenty thousand pounds," Charlotte sighed, it was difficult to continue. "I'm sorry, dear heart - this is the most difficult part. Tavington replied that you have twenty thousand pounds and three hundred acres. We did our level best to keep it from him, but he knows of your fortune. Trellim heard Tavington telling Bordon that as soon as he learned of it, he decided he would not be taking you as a mistress, but as a wife."

Beth's heart twisted, she gasped and tears sprang to her eyes. The women fell silent, all three gazed at Beth with sympathy, waiting for her to gather herself. The women were quiet, allowing Beth to draw to her own conclusion.

"But... We marry for wealth, all the time," Beth said desperately after a moment of thinking it through. "Matches are made for mutual advantage, you said so yourself, Aunt Charlotte! Grandpapa wanted you to marry Uncle John for he was a landowner - and you would have had a considerable dowry. Unions are made based on what each person brings to the marriage!"

"Indeed," Mage answered for Charlotte, "Your Uncle and I would not allow Cilla to marry unless her courtier has land or can prove some other form of wealth. But Tavington, he brings nothing. He has nothing. He is a pauper, Beth. Tavington's father squandered the families wealth before he died, leaving them almost destitute. It was all his mother could do to find eight hundred pounds to pay for Tavington's commission into the army. He needs a wealthy bride to help his family out of dire straights."

"He has no wealth of his own - no land, nothing," Charlotte said softly. "Beth, he is a fortune hunter."

"But... It doesn't mean he doesn't love me," Beth said desperately. "I have enough wealth for us both! With careful investment -"

"I have something to add," Cilla said quietly, cutting Beth off. The women turned to her. Beth's eyes pleaded with Cilla, begged her not to make this worse. "I'm sorry, Beth - I didn't want to tell you but I have to, especially if you are going to use his love for you as an argument to give up Burwell and your family!"

Beth steeled herself for what she sensed would be the final blow.

"Mary took me aside yesterday, she wanted to tell you but," Cilla softened her tone. "Neither of us wanted to hurt you..."

"Tell me," Beth said quietly.

"He has had another woman in his bed every night since your argument at the ball, she has been sleeping in his chamber at the Tisdale's. Mary said her name is Linda."

Despair washed over her and Beth hung her head, defeated. Utterly defeated.

"I understand what I must do now," she said quietly, finally accepting the truth. She would not care that her wealth far exceeded his, if he loved her! But he was still bedding Linda, even now! She placed the pendant on the corner of Mage's writing desk. She pulled her hand away slowly and began to rise, then walked unsteadily toward the door. Her face was bloodless when she turned back to the others. "Aunt Charlotte, what time did Captain Trellim say we can leave tomorrow?"

"At first light."

"Very well. I am awfully tired," Beth could barely manage the words through the stupor that came over her. "I think I will go and lie down now. I don't believe I will want dinner."

"I will send Mila up with a tray, just in case," Mage said. Beth nodded and walked away.

"Are we just going to sit here?" Tears shone in Cilla's eyes, blurring the blue, making them appear grey. "Are we just going to leave her alone with her heartache?"

"If she wished to be with us, she would have stayed," Mage said gently.

Cilla shook her head, her tears falling, strode from the room and climbed the stairs. Deciding the other women were right, she resolved to leave Beth alone with her grief.

However, as she passed by Beth's bedroom, she could hear sobs, terrible, horrible, ripping sobs and Cilla gasped. Her resolve crumbled to dust and she burst into the room, slammed the door behind her and jumped on the bed. She pulled Beth into her arms and the cousins clutched each other and cried until there were no tears left.

* * *

"Why did he give me the gift, Cilla?" Her voice was small, a hurt little girl, clearly confused.

"Because if you marry him, everything you own becomes his. And if you refused him, he knows you would not keep such a heirloom, you are too honorable for that," Cilla's voice was gentle and soft.

"He said he loves me..."

"I know, dear heart. But it can never be."

"No, it can't," Beth agreed, and her weeping began anew.

* * *

The house was quiet, Cilla had long since left, Mila had bought Beth a tray of food and taken it away a short time later, untouched.

Beth sat at her small writing desk, quill in hand, poised over the parchment. The pendant Tavington had given her glinted in the candlelight. Finally finding the words, she began to write her farewell letter to Tavington.

She wrote a second letter, one to Arthur Simms. This one would have to be kept secret even from her own family - she would need to devise a way to have it delivered. Perhaps she would go for a walk early in the morning and find a slave child in need of coin. The idea came to her from the man - the slave - who had delivered Burwell's message in the park.

Signing Arthur's letter with _'~Anon~'_, she sealed it and placed it on her desk. She did not even want Arthur to know who the letter came from. It was best if no one knew - but Beth had decided days ago that she could not leave Charlestown without warning the Simms, not after everything that had happened. Even if Burwell would not harm any hostages taken from the family - Beth thought of the terror they would feel. Kidnapping Civilians was no way of winning back or freeing military hostages.

As she laid down, the thought occurred to her that now she had betrayed both Tavington and Burwell.

* * *

**_11_****_th_****_ June_**

Beth was quiet, listless, swaying with the movement of the carriage. The gentle rocking was surprisingly soothing. The other women were speaking quietly but Beth paid them only half a mind. The carriage turned out of Tradd Street and ambled slowly by the Assembly Hall. Beth gasped as she caught sight of Tavington through the curtains, standing on the steps in front of the hall, talking with James Wilkins, who had clearly wasted no time in presenting himself to the British Commanders, he had only arrived the evening before! Her thoughts did not linger overly long on Wilkins, however, for she was drawn solely to Tavington. She sighed as she watched him. But then Tavington turned to watch the carriage pass, and Beth recoiled from the window. She could see still see him, if she peeped around opening.

She drank in the sight of him, tried to fix him in her memory, every detail. He was so handsome it took her breath away. He cut such a fine figure in his uniform. His Redcoat fit his athletic build snugly and those black buckskin breeches... His cravat, which she had gripped so tightly in case he would try another nasty trick and pull away from her again. His dark hair tied back in its queue, his helmet tucked under his arm and his black gloves covered his hands.

He was smiling at something Wilkins was saying and Beth's heart pounded. With misery and love, heartache and betrayal, anguish - she was feeling so many things, it was hard to pinpoint any one emotion.

Grief, first and foremost. A heavy weight on her chest.

Her inheritance and her land. The pendant, to draw her in and all the while he was still bedding Linda. She had left a note for him, written in the small hours of the night, and she had placed the pendant in an envelope to be handed back to Tavington.

_I loved him so much. _Her final thought before the carriage passed and Tavington was lost from view.

She dropped back against the seat. "I cried so much last night, I didn't think I had any tears left," she said quietly as she dabbed her eyes with a hanky.

"There will be tears, dear heart - and a lot of them, over the next few weeks. But you must not give in to the despair," Charlotte gripped Beth's hand.

"Too true," Mila added. "Besides, there is a better man awaiting you, Beth."

"That there is," Beth said with a sigh. "Still, how stupid was I? I believed him, when he said he loved me. I wanted to climb into his lap, hold him tight and never let go. I was ready to throw it all away and marry him, even if it meant Papa did not let me see the family again... And he was still bedding that woman, was only after my inheritance... So stupid."

"You are not stupid Beth," Charlotte said firmly.

Beth, however, withdrew into her herself again, and this time she did not join in the conversation no matter how the other women tried.

* * *

Tavington handed the reins over the a slave and was shown through the house to the parlour. He'd been rehearsing what he would say, the words he would use to propose. He'd only proposed once in his life, and it had been a perfunctory sort of thing, all politeness and no raw sentiment. But that had been to a woman he did not love. William smiled, he wished the servant would bloody walk along the hall faster. A very large part of him was nervous - he was not worried over Beth's answer, her acceptance of him was already assured. But he was nervous, just the same.

_I guess saying the words changed something in me, too,_ he thought, reminiscing the change that had come over Beth when he told her he loved her.

Finally, they reached the parlour and the slave was announcing William to Mr. Putman, who was lounging with a cider, his wife and daughter doing the same. He noticed some little things, Cilla's hair was done much like Beth did hers, and she'd borrowed one of Beth's dresses. He'd had to pull is eyes away, for the resemblance was so striking, he had nearly started to stare. William bowed as Mark Putman rose.

"Sir, what brings you here so early?" Mark said, also bowing. He looked thoroughly surprised to see William, who had come rather a bit earlier than he usually did. It was not long after eight o'clock, William hardly ever arrived before ten. The family would have only just risen, they might not have breakfasted yet.

"Forgive me if I am disturbing you," William began, feeling the need to be formal. "I would like to see Miss Martin, if you'll allow. I have something I wish… to ask her. Is she awake?"

Mark blinked at him, looking astonished. He shared a look with his wife and daughter. "I'm sorry, Sir, she is not here. Word came last night, my brother in law is very ill. Mrs. Selton is escorting Miss Martin to Fresh Water."

It was like a blow to the stomach, William's eyes bulged, he could barely breathe. He stared, gaping, at Putman, trying to make sense of the words. Beth, was gone? To Fresh Water. He recalled seeing a carriage pass earlier. James Wilkins, his newest Captain as of that morning. Wilkins had pointed it out to him - he'd wondered out loud where Mrs. Selton was going so early in the morning, for she was not known to be an early riser. That was an hour ago.

"You let her go?" William barked, suddenly, utterly furious. "You had no right, how dare you?"

Mark pulled himself up to his full height, shoulders back, face incredulous. "I… have no right? To send my niece home, to her ailing father… I - her _uncle - _have_ no right_?"

William trembled with fury but he had no answer to this. "How long will she be gone for? When will she be back?"

"I do not practice the dark arts, Sir. I have no idea," Mark spread his hands wide, how wore an insufferable look on his face, William longed to wipe it off for him. "Might as well ask me how long is a piece of spring."

"You should have sent for me, the moment word from Fresh Water arrived," William ground out. "The moment you decided to send her home!"

"Why in the world…" Mark Putman tossed his head. William had annoyed him, it seemed. "Firstly, you were not here. You were off chasing Francis Marion, if you recall. Secondly, if you are referring to Miss Martin's obligation to the Crown, that was over and done with the night of the ambush, you had no further use of her and therefore, you have no authority over her whatsoever. Thirdly, I presented the issue before the Commander and Chief directly, and he gave me a pass so that Mrs. Selton could leave and lastly - how dare you take me to task? This is a family matter, why in the world would I send for you to discuss my niece's departure? It has nothing to do with you!"

William pursed his lips and glared. "I was going to propose to her, you damned fool!" He spat.

Mark's mouth fell open with astonishment, but a moment later, he threw back his head and laughed.

"Is that part of your wager, is it? It's gone from seeing who can _fuck_ her first to who can _marry_ her?"

"Husband!" Mage gasped, covering Cilla's ears. William barely noticed. He was staring at Mark with chagrin.

Mark's lip curled. "You look surprised, Colonel? Rest assured, Sir, I know all about it," he spat. "You needn't think I don't. You and Tarleton, treating my niece like a… a… plaything! A toy to fight over and never mind that one of you would have broken her! Only now, it's more than that, isn't it? For you've learned of her fortune now, have you not?"

William drew himself up, eyes narrowed, he looked down his nose at Mark. "You lied to me, Sir," he confronted.

Mark recoiled slightly as if punched, but then appeared to understand William's meaning. He had told William that Beth was a pauper. "Yes, I lied. I wasn't going to tell complete strangers that my niece is propertied and an heiress! When you give that sort of information out, the scavengers - they do start circling!" He jutted his chin at Tavington, as if to say _'case in point'_.

Filled with fury, Tavington balled his hand into a fist and punched Mark so hard, the breath flew from his lungs and Mark bowed in the middle, his eyes bulging as he fought for air. William recovered himself quickly. Easing his expression he uncurled his his fist, his arm returning to his side. He stared down his nose at Mark, dispassionate once more. The two women gasped with shock, Cilla began to cry.

"Bastard," Mark hissed when he had his voice. "In front of my daughter!" He threw a punch but William side stepped, sending the recovering man sailing forward. Mark gained his balance, whirled back to glare. "I was right to keep that information from you!" He panted out, still trying to catch his breath. "Nearly a month courting my niece and for what? To make her your mistress? While you lay money with Tarleton on who will be the victor and all the while, you were bedding how many other women? And now, you suddenly have a change of heart and want to make her your wife, after you were armoured with the knowledge of her fortune! Don't you dare try to tell me otherwise!"

"Is that why you sent her away?" William asked, voice deceptively mild.

"I sent her because her father is sick, but getting her away from you is certainly a benefit!"

William's fist snapped out, again thudding into Putman's soft stomach. Mark made a sound and fell to his knees.

"Clinton… will hear… about this!" Mark ground out. "He gave… me that pass! You exceed… your authority!"

William agreed, he had certainly acted outside of his authority in attacking Mark Putman. This could land him in quite a large amount of strife.

"You have… no cause… for this abuse!" Mark spat, he was rising slowly, like a man twice his age. "I am going there… right now… I shall lodge a… complaint! Tell me… Does Clinton… Know the truth… about you? I shall tell him! About the… wager, the women! I shall tell him how you treated me niece, with utter disrespect! You needn't think I won't!"

Turning on his heel, Tavington marched out of the house, leaving Putman to fume back in his parlour. He stormed from the house, retrieved his horse, then stopped on the street to ask the men he posted there, why the hell Beth was allowed to leave without his being informed.

"Miss Martin, Colonel?" One of the sentries frowned. "Miss Martin is still in the house, Sir. I can see her from here." The fellow pointed and Tavington whirled back, thinking he'd been duped and that Beth was in the house after all. The sentry was pointed at the windows, where Cilla and Mage both stood, looking back out at him. Cilla seemed to jump, she leapt away from the window and out of sight. "See? Miss Martin, Sir," the sentry frowned.

William drew in a long, shuddering breath. "That is Miss Putman, private," he said, his words clipped with fury. Miss Putman, wearing Beth's clothes. It was like a hammer blow between the eyes. Here was Cilla, wearing Beth's dress and usual adornments. And the sentry, believing it was Cilla who had left in the carriage. Did that mean that Beth had worn one of Cilla's dresses, and her usual adornments? Mage was staring back out the window, her lip caught between her teeth, as if wishing she could hear his conversation with the guard. "You thought the girl who'd left was Miss Putman?" He asked and the Private, looking worried now, nodded. "You were duped, Private. The pair look like twins at the best of times. Swap their clothes and they will indeed look precisely like the other."

_Doesn't she want to marry me? _He thought, his stomach sinking. For surely, if Beth was wearing Cilla's dresses, she had to have been in on the subterfuge. The Putman's and Beth knew about the sentries he'd set on the house, they would have known that he would be sent for, the moment she stirred from its walls. She'd helped to trick them, so he would not know she was gone. Why would she do that? She'd wanted him to propose yesterday, he knew it in his bones, she would have said yes.

Did Putman know William had intended to propose? With Mage just in the other chamber, within earshot… Yes, he would have known.

Her family considered her to be engaged to Burwell, and they could not risk the quarrel with their dear friend Burwell, over an abandoned engagement. Where, then, had Beth stood in the decision to send her away? A question he would ask to her in person.

"Return to the barracks," William said. There was no use in them watching the house if Beth wasn't there. He kicked Thunder's flanks to urge the horse to an immediate gallop. Time was of the essence, he needed to gather the Dragoons for the pursuit. Beth had forgiven him - forgiven him all of it. He'd seen it on her face, the stark need for him, her love for him. She would have accepted him, by God she would have. And now she was out of the city, on the way home, through rebel infested territory - that damned fool Mark Putman had not sent any sort of guard beyond a few of her servants. There were desperate men out there, deserters, brigands.

Burwell was out there. Burwell, who was not sure sure if Beth had betrayed him, or if she had been coerced, and had threatened to punish her most severely, if she had. However, he didn't know yet, either way. Mark Putman knew the truth though.

Tavington was almost at the end of Tradd Street when he drew rein, twisting Thunder about. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried and failed to understand. Burwell was suspicious that Beth had betrayed him, but he did not know for sure. Mark Putman knew the truth - therefore, her family must know that a marriage to Burwell was impossible now, their engagement would be dust. So why send her from the city? Was it just to get her away from him? Or perhaps her father was truly ill? Or both? Burwell was out there, he could be a danger to Beth, should he discover she had left. And he would discover it, he had made it clear he had spies in the city. Putman must know the danger too, surely? Why send her without a Dragoon guard? Because he didn't want Tavington to know she was gone? He was putting Beth in danger, just so Tavington wouldn't find out she was leaving. None of it made sense. He was still there, stopped in the middle of the road, when the two Privates came abreast of him. "Something isn't right," he said, more to himself than to them. "Something doesn't fit."

If he had learned one thing these last four years, it was to trust his instincts. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he would not ignore his instincts.

"Return to the Putman's, resume the guard," he said to the two sentries. "I will send more to increase your number shortly."

"Yes, Sir," said one. "What your orders are?"

"To watch and observe," he replied, still uncertain as to why. He did not suspect Mark Putman of doing anything more than deliberately tricking his guards in order to spirit Beth out of the city, but still, that was enough to have lost William's trust. His guard was up, now. Putman had said the pass was for Mrs. Selton to leave the city. No mention of Beth on the pass at all… Was he hiding her in the city then?

No, that was foolishness. But that was just the thing - William did not know. But he intended to find out.

His men guided their horses to turn back they way they had come, and William continued his gallop toward his lodgings. Tavington had no intention letting Beth get another mile without him. Without his proposal. She was his, damn it, they'd been so close to becoming engaged! No, it was not to be borne. He would not wait, not another moment.

_She can go to her father, but not without her fiancé_, he thought as Thunder galloped through the streets. He would gather his men, all of the Dragoons if he must, he would bring her back to the city for now and - if Benjamin Martin truly was ill - after discussing it with Clinton, William would escort his fiancé to her sick father. She can't have gone too far from the city - and unhitched horses could move far more swiftly than a horse pulled carriage.


	22. Chapter 22 - Departing Charlestown

Chapter 22 - Departing Charlestown:

**_11_****_th_****_ June_**

"My God, husband, are you alright?" Mage rushed to Mark's side and guided him to a chair. "He punched you!" Cilla wiped her tears, she was no longer crying but was still terrified.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Mark waved her off. "Gods, that bloody hurt. Close the parlour doors, and then go to the window, go see if he is leaving!"

Mage rushed to the doors overlooking the great hallway, closed them, then rushed to the window. There, she alternated glances outside to the street while waiting for Tavington to emerge from the carriage lane, and inward to the parlour, to her husband, who was just starting to rise.

"I was not expecting this," Cilla wrung her hands. "I had no idea it would be like this."

"Anger and violence? I believe that is all that man has," Mark scoffed, there was no humour in it. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Cilla."

"I'm so scared," she whispered, edging closer. "He won't trust you now, not after this."

"No, likely not… I'm afraid of that, also. Tavington has reason to be set against me, now."

"You're worried too," Mage said, seeing it in his face. "You think we're close to being discovered."

"Eh, there's no reason for him to think I'm a spy," he said softly, even though the doors were closed. "But he'll definitely be careful of me now. Vengeful, even."

"There he is," Mage said. She felt Cilla come to stand beside her. Mark dropped into a chair and breathed deeply, still recovering from the blows to the stomach.

"What is he doing? Leaving?" He asked from his armchair.

"No, my love," Mage whispered, her heart in her mouth. "He is speaking to the sentries he put on the house, he looks livid. Which means…" Mage trailed off, her mouth going to dry to speak.

"Which means he is about to discover that the sentries think it was Cilla in the carriage, not Beth," Mark heaved a sigh. "And after seeing Cilla in Beth's clothing, he will know it was a deliberate subterfuge."

"I should have changed as soon as she was gone," Cilla wailed.

"How were you, or any of us, to know he would come here so soon?" Mark asked. "He's never here before ten! We had hours! For Cilla to get changed, for Beth to get a good head start!"

"The sentry just shook his head and now he is pointing at us," Mage reported. Cilla saw Tavington go from hopeful to furious as his eyes settled on her. She gave a squeak of fright and jumped away from the window, she leaned back against the wall, out of sight, her hands clutching her chest.

"I can not hear them, but I know precisely what is being said," Mage said, voice grim. "The sentry just told Tavington that Beth is still in the house. Tavington realises that the sentry has mistaken Cilla for Beth, and by the look on his face, he knows we did it on purpose."

"Is he returning?" Mark asked, sitting upright.

"No. He is leaving. Oh, and the sentries are leaving also!" Mage said, her voice rising to hopeful pitch. "It's just as you said, husband! There is no point having the guards on the house if Beth is no longer here to watch! They're mounting and… Oh, they're riding away!" She clapped her hands and laughed, whirling back to the room. She went to kneel before Mark and he cupped her face as she smiled radiantly at up him. "It's horrid that he punched you, dear heart, but if that is the worst, then… Well, I won't say it's worth it, but it could have been so much worse."

"Mage," his own smile slipped, his thumbs stroked her cheeks. "He has found out too soon. Do you really think he isn't going to go after her? And he'll be moving far faster than she - he'll have her back here within the hour."

"Oh no," Cilla murmured, her hands still splayed across her chest. She still leaned back against the wall, unable to calm, unable to stop her heart from pounding.

On her knees before her husband, Mage heaved a breath. "We tried," she said. "We did our best. Providence will have to decide Beth's course from here."

"Will he punish her?" Cilla asked fretfully. "For leaving him?"

"I don't know," Mark said. "He might want too. But by damn if I'll let him. I'm going to the Exchange now, to lay a complaint before Clinton. Damned bastard punched me! Twice! If he thinks he can get away with that…" He trailed off, lips tight. "Perhaps Clinton can be convinced to call the Butcher to heel," he continued. "Tavington won't be able to take the Dragoons out to pursue Beth, if Clinton forbids him."

"Yes," Mage whispered. "Go to the Exchange, go tell Clinton what is happening. You're right, we are her family, we've every right to send her away, without his knowledge. And to punch you! I wonder if Clinton can be convinced to whip him?"

"I doubt it, my vengeful wife," Mark laughed, leaning forward to kiss her lips. "My beautiful Mage," he laughed again and she grinned up at him, leaning up into the kiss. He pulled her into his lap and sat across his thighs, her arms around his shoulders. And still they kissed, even with Cilla there in the room with them. Cilla resumed her seat, dropping back with a sigh.

"Worried? Or relieved?" Mark asked her.

"Both. If he goes after her… Then all this is for nothing."

"Oh, that's right, I was about to go to the Exchange," Mark said. "You distracted me," he accused Mage, tapping her nose with his finger.

"Sorry, husband," she climbed off his lap and held her hands out to him, offering to help him up. He took both her hands and she pulled him to his feet. He groaned with pain and splayed a hand across his stomach.

"That man has a lot to bloody answer for," he grumbled as he left the parlour. He called for Zeke to help him to change into clothes more suitable for a visit to the austere personage that was the Commander in Chief.

When he was finished, he returned below, now dressed in a suit of velvet, knee high breeches and a jacket with coat tails. He even wore his white wig, and was looking quite dashing as he entered the parlour.

Cilla and Mage were standing on either side of the window, peering out. Mage turned to Mark, hearing him enter the room.

"The sentries have returned," she said gravely, adding grimly, and there number has increased."

"What?" Mark breathed, her words taking the wind from his sails, just as Tavington's punches had his stomach. "They're back, and there's more?"

"He only ever had two or three. Now there are ten of them, all taking up positions around the house. Oh, there's two more…" Mage whispered, stunned that the number was still increasing "Twelve now."

"I'll speak to Clinton," Mark said, furious. "I'll demand the sentries be removed on at once. There is no call to be having our house watched, now that Beth has gone. There was never any call for it!"

"Unless he knows," Mage whispered. "Clinton will not be on side with any of your complaints then, dear heart. Not if they know about you." She paused, then added fearfully, "about us."

"No, not you, or you," Mark said immediately, trying to hide the foreboding tracing his spine. Why had the sentries returned? And why increase the number of them? There could only be one reason. But if that were so, why wasn't Tavington returning to arrest him? "They aren't coming inside," he spoke this thoughts out loud. "But if they do, if they try to arrest me, I will deny you were ever involved, if it comes down to that. But he should not suspect me either. Of doing what? Of keeping my niece from him? He should not be so surprised by that, now that he knows that I know how he's been treating Beth."

"Perhaps it was the way we arranged for her to leave. Going to Clinton behind his back, dressing Cilla as Beth and Beth as Cilla," Mage said.

"And what else could he have expected?" Mark argued, frowning. "After the way he treated her, and now with trying to marry her. Any sane person would try to protect their family from someone like him."

"That doesn't change the fact that we now have fourteen soldiers out there, watching the house," Cilla said and Mark gave a start. Fourteen now?

"I am going to Clinton," Mark announced. "I'll tell him everything that has happened this morning. Tavington is abusing his power, he needs to be pulled up short."

"If you go to Clinton, you could be walking into the lions den. You might find yourself arrested, Mark," Mage said.

"No. If they knew to be suspicious of me, they would all be rushing in here already, Tavington would be leading them," Mark replied confidently. "This is petty vengeance against me, for daring to assert my authority as Beth's uncle. Clinton will pull the little bastard to heel." He was already marching toward the door. "Mage, while I'm gone, burn everything. Just in case. All of it."

Mage nodded. He marched back from the door toward her, cupped her face and kissed her deeply.

"All will be well, I promise," he said and she nodded again, taking heart in his reassurance. He kissed Cilla too, and then strode from the room, on his mission to beg a meeting with Clinton.

* * *

There were many ways out of the city. You could walk or ride a horse. You could take a boat up or down the numerous waterways and rivers. Or you could ride in a carriage or a wagon. Choosing the latter meant sticking to the main roads, of which there weren't many. The most effective, swiftest, most mobile way to travel from the city, was by horseback. Horses can cross rivers without need for bridges. They could could be swum across, or carried across by boat. They would traverse through swampland and paddocks alike, over fields and through woodlands. One was not reduced to a particular route, when on horseback.

But Aunt Charlotte, Mrs. Selton, would never be caught dead on horseback. So it was that the women were being driven in a carriage, along one of the Post Roads. Therefore, their direction, their course, was preordained. They would stick to the road, and when they reached one of the many rivers, they would cross over British held bridges. Charlotte had already flashed Clinton's pass about, and had been waved on past each check point. The city was behind them, they were entering forest and swamp land. Despite every mile they travelled, they continually encountered British Companies belonging to this Regiment or that, all of them stopped the carriage and each time, Charlotte showed them the pass. The carriage was never stopped for longer than a few minutes.

"I really don't know how Mr. Marion will be able to swoop on in and start escorting us," Beth mused, watching the back of the latest unit of Redcoats to stop them.

"You'd be surprised how large a force you can hide between the checkpoints and the scouts. We just have to make it to Guerards Marshes," Charlotte said. "Marion will be there and he will guide us along trails and through marshes the British have never even heard of."

"We just have to make it there," Beth murmured and Charlotte nodded.

"Well, so far so good," Polly murmured without looking up from her knitting. She was making a baby jacket for her sister's little one.

"Yes, we have made it out of Charlestown and that was going to be the hardest part," Charlotte replied.

"Do you think Tavington will come for me, Aunt?" Beth asked.

"Yes, there is not a doubt in my body," she replied. "I will not be happy until I see Marion."

"Perhaps we should pick up the pace?" Beth glanced out the window again, the British detachment were further along the road, they were taking no further notice of the carriage.

"Maybe…" Charlotte turned in her seat and spoke quietly to the driver through the open window.

Polly put her knitting away. Now that they were moving faster, the carriage bounced so much she could not longer form the stitches.

"We just need to reach Marion, and then he will take us home. We'll be safe there." Charlotte said, though in truth, she was not so sure of that herself. It was Charlotte's belief that Tavington had become obsessed with Beth - he might pursue her, and her fortune, all the way to Fresh Water. Well, at least there, Benjamin could deal with him. Still. She worried. Beth was not safe - and would not be safe until she was married to Burwell and surrounded by soldiers in the Continental camp. The women had fallen silent and were watching the landscape rushing past them. After half an hour or so, another sound became discernible over the lurch of the fast moving carriage. The women frowned, all of them. They could hear a low hum, and it was getting louder. Before long, the hum became a low rumble. Another British detachment? Charlotte pulled the pass back out of her pocket with a sigh. Might as well just keep the damned thing out. Who knew they'd encounter so many bloody patrols? Beth pulled aside the curtain covering the rear of the window.

"Oh..." She breathed, her face turning white and when Charlotte leaned forward to take a look, she gasped fearfully.

The rumble was thunderous now, the mounted men bearing down on them quickly over took them and the carriage lurched to a stop.

* * *

Beth frowned, as seventy or so riders wearing tan leathers and hunting shirts bore down on them. Though it was not the Green Dragoons, they were still incredibly intimidating.

"Bandits!" Mila shrieked.

"Marion and his militia," Charlotte corrected calmly, recognising one of the men.

"No, he was to meet us at Guerard's you said!" Beth gasped. "He can't be out here, it's too exposed! Another detachment might come along and see him! He might be caught."

"Yes, he has great temerity," a small smile quirked Charlotte's lips. "Stop, Mr. Talene," she called and the carriage began to slow. "Still, I wonder what has happened, that he would risk coming to us?"

The horses with their Patriot militia riders thundered toward them, slowing when they reached the carriage. The women could hear men shouting and swearing, horses stamping, blowing heavily from the hard ride. Charlotte opened the carriage door and Beth saw a man dismounting beyond. Middle years - older than her father. Dark hair and dark eyes, he walked with that famous limp.

"Mrs. Selton!" The man greeted as he helped Charlotte out of the carriage.

"Sir," Charlotte said calmly. "While it is good to see you, you've given my niece quite a turn."

"Surely not Miss Martin," the man bowed to Beth as she climbed out behind Charlotte. "Burwell tells me you are as brave as a lioness," he laughed.

"Not always, Sir," Beth smiled weakly.

"A pleasure to see you again, Miss," he swept a bow - flourishing enough to put Banastre to shame. "You're grown, the last time I saw you, you were this high," he held his hand a few spans from the ground.

"That was some years ago," she agreed. "What has happened, Sir, why are you here?"

"Well, as to that, our little plan has changed," Marion said, "I received word not long ago, that the Green Dragoons have set forth from the city."

"No," Beth breathed. Christ, William was coming for her. Her legs felt weak, she fought against the need to sit down right there on the road. She could see him again, if she just waited, he would be along and they could be together and… She drew a shuddering breath. It was almost everything she wanted, Gods she loved him so much. But even if he hadn't betrayed her, continually bedding other women and that doxy Linda Stokes, she knew she could not. Her family - she'd lose them. She'd never see her father again. Could she give them up, the people who truly loved her, for a man who could not - would not - give up his mistress? She loved William, so very much, but for a sacrifice like that, she needed him to love her back.

And he didn't.

Charlotte and Marion were talking, planning how they would get away.

"He won't be far behind us," Marion said. "I'm surprised we got here first. We might have a twenty minute lead if we're lucky, certainly no longer than that. They could be heading around that bend any moment now." He pointed back along the forest lined road, which vanished around a sweeping would not know the Green Dragoons were upon them until they came thundering around the bend and then they would have no time at all to flee. "And so, the four of you - and your driver also, will need to come with us, now."

"In the carriage?" Charlotte asked hopefully.

Marion laughed again. "Alas, no. The carriage will not be able to go where we are going." He pointed to his left, off the road was a bit of light woodland and beyond that, was swamps. The carriage would be bogged down in seconds. "It is into the swamps with us. Take what you can carry, if it is valuable, but please Mrs. Selton, be quick about it?"

"Of course," accepting the situation had changed, Charlotte swung into action.

Marion admired her as she rounded on the other women, marshalled them as he would his troops. In very short order they had bundled their valuables - the items they could not bear to lose and then each woman was helped behind to mount behind a rider.

"We will be riding hard, I'm afraid," Marion warned the women. "You will have to hold on tight and move with the horse. You'll have sore... ah... rears... tonight, but at least you will not be captives."

"I've not ridden since I was a little girl," Charlotte lamented as she adjusted her skirts around her legs, trying to keep them decently covered.

"I've not ridden for two years," Beth sighed.

"Yes, well... I won't pretend it will be an enjoyable experience for you!" He said cheerily. "But just think - we've snatched you out from under the nose of the Butcher! He'll be mightily peeved I'd say!"

"He certainly will," Beth murmured and sighed again, nowhere near as enthusiastic as the Fox. She was helped to mount behind a militiaman, who introduced himself as Mr. Doyle.

The Patriot militia guided their horses off the road and into the woods, they were soon trotting along trails that wound through the swamplands. Beth kept her eyes peeled, there would be alligators here, absolutely without a doubt.

They rode thus for sometime, among the trees, deep water to either side of them, even the trail was at times a few inches below water. And there were alligators, Gods - larger than a man was tall with a jaw powerful enough to snap a log in two. They were shy creatures however and although the sight of them set Beth's heart to racing, the animals themselves took off in different directions as fast as their bodies could carry them. Still, the men all held rifles at the ready, primed and loaded, to fire at the first hint of one of the creatures attacking.

Marion had sent out scouts, several riders who knew what trails Marion would take, they would know where to find him. Their sole purpose was to keep back and watch for signs of pursuit.

About an hour into the journey, they found it. One fellow came splashing his horse after them, shouting to get their attention. The militia company stopped and waited.

"Green Dragoons," he reported to Marion as soon as he reached them. "Back on the road. They've found the carriage. I saw them speaking to a local, who pointed out the way we'd gone."

Beth gasped.

"Never fear, Miss Martin. He may have been informed of the direction we took when we entered the swamps, but I doubt he'll be able to discern which way we went from there. Still, let's get some speed up, shall we? As much as we dare, boy," he whirled his horse and barked commands, and the militia fanned out, then began to thunder away through the swampy woods, heading for God only knew where, for Beth certainly did not.

* * *

Horses need to be rested. If you ride a horse without resting, especially when riding at a gallop, you will find yourself walking well before the journeys end, for the horse would up and die out from under you.

It was on one of these stops that Tavington found himself standing next to James Wilkins, one of his new Captains. He understood that James wanted to get to know him, to ingratiate himself with the Colonel, but William was in no mood. Still, developing and strengthening his bond with his men was highly important, he forced an amiable expression to his face and nodded politely to Wilkins.

"How are you handling the ride?" He asked.

"Me?" James laughed. "I'm just fine, Sir. Lord, we rode from one end of South Carolina to the other when I was in the Loyalist militia. That was several years ago, but I'm no fop, I've kept my strength up since then. This is just like old times."

"Pleased to hear it. We'll need someone with knowledge of the area, I'm glad you and the others have joined," William jutted his chin toward the other new recruits, Simms, Ferguson and the Middleton twins. "Are they ready for their first engagement, if we happen upon the enemy out here? We could very well end up in a skirmish."

"Oh, I think they know the dangers and yes, I think..." Wilkins was about to tell William how prepared the younger men were, but seemed to think better of it. "Maybe we'll just keep them in the centre for now, if that suits you Sir. They're all sharp shooters but not a single one of them has shot a man before."

William cocked his head, reevaluating Wilkins with each word the new Captain spoke. He'd thought Wilkins was a fop, a wealthy gentleman who liked to indulge his vices a bit too much. Drinking, whoring, hell even just flirting. The man did not seem to stop. He was as bad as William, Banastre and Bordon. But here, Wilkins was speaking sensibly and giving the exact sort of advice William himself would give.

"Very good advice, Captain. See that it is done," William said and Wilkins appeared to preen. "I heard that there was some issue with Mrs. Simms - some complaint or other?"

"She was quite annoyed that Arthur had been forced to spend the day traipsing through the swamps," James said and William gave him an incredulous look. "My feelings exactly. I told her that part of being a Dragoon was the actual - you know - being a Dragoon! It wasn't all dancing at balls and looking splendid in uniform. Although we do that," Wilkins laughed. "He would have to get dirty, he would even be put in danger at times. Lord, the folly of women."

"Folly indeed. If might need to have a word with her, if she continues to make demands of Arthur that are counter to mine, I might have to release him from the Dragoons."

"Just threaten her with it - she will back down from that," Wilkins advised. "The shame of having her son ousted from the Dragoons because his dear mamma couldn't keep her mouth shut… well, she won't give any further trouble." He tossed his head. "The women of the Simms family have never been particularly intelligent."

Tavington barked a laugh. "And you married one of them?"

"Her wealth, Sir," James explained. "Mrs. Wilkins came with quite a nice dowry, though I sometimes wonder if she was worth it. Perhaps I should have waited for her sister - Therese has a nice dowry also and is proving to be far prettier."

The Colonel laughed again. "Wealth in a wife, beauty in a mistress. It is what most men strive for."

James arched an eyebrow but held his silence. The truth was, he was itching to ask Tavington if he had bedded little Miss Beth Martin. He certainly spent an inordinate amount of his time in the girls company! Something that James' mother in law was none too pleased about. She was driving the entire family crazy with her complaints about Tavington and Miss Martin. Threatening to cut poor Arthur off without a cent if he didn't get in there and court the girl! Wilkins scoffed to himself - Arthur didn't have a chance in Hell of stealing Beth from Tavington - just look at them now, chasing the lass down when she dared to leave the city without Tavington's knowledge. No, the Colonel would not let her go without a fight. Nevertheless, it was hardly an appropriate question to ask his new superior, no matter how curious he was.

"If I may, Sir," he ventured. "You seem quite worried for Miss Martin."

"With brigands, deserters and damned rebels, I have cause to be. Burwell threatened to 'chastise' her for her part in the attempted ambush, if he finds out she betrayed him. If he gets to her first…" Tavington trailed off, his face a mystery.

"We shall catch her first, Sir. The two of you are quite close, I'm told."

"Yes. You could say that," William replied. A very nonchalant answer if ever there was one.

Wilkins' interest and curiosity were piked even further. There was a 'look' in Tavington's eye and James began to seriously wonder if he had deflowered the girl already. _That would be one way to get Caroline off Arthur's back. If she knew Miss Martin had opened her legs for Tavington, she wouldn't care how much the girl was worth! _

"She is friends with my sister, you may be aware?" James prompted.

"Yes, I was aware," Tavington said.

Wanting the Colonel to open up and confide in him, Wilkins lied outright, "my wife Emily and Miss Martin are very close, also."

Tavington raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? I hadn't heard. Well, you will know soon enough, I dare say. I had intended to propose to Miss Martin this morning."

"Christ, really!" Wilkins burst out, utterly shocked. "Christ. I thought you were just trying to -" he cut short, and cursed his tongue for running away. Obviously Tavington was not merely trying to roger Beth, if he planned to propose.

William wore a hint of a smile, mildly amused. "You thought I only wished to deflower her, claim her virtue? To take her as my mistress?" He drawled coolly. "Well, you would have been quite right a few weeks ago, but not now. I will marry the girl."

"Well, congratulations Sir," Wilkins said, hoping like hell he had not offended the Commander. "I admit, I was quite perplexed as to why we were going to these lengths to catch up with her, but now I completely understand."

"Perhaps it's for the best that you know, then," William said.

"Obviously, you do not believe she will refuse you, or you would not have confided to me just now," James bantered.

"No, she will not refuse me," Tavington scoffed. "The girl is in love with me."

"Hmm, is she? Mrs. Simms will not be happy about that."

"I dare say, considering she wants Beth's wealth for her son," Tavington shrugged. "Beth has done what she can to assist Arthur, to ensure he will not be disinherited. But she will be marrying me, not him."

"So I gather," James murmured. He hoped to be present when Caroline discovered this piece of news! Her tantrum was sure to be spectacular.

"I would have proposed yesterday. If not for that fruitless chase after Marion, we'd be engaged already," William allowed some of his frustration to show. "To the highest degree, I am wroth with Mark Putman. Damned bastard, sending her from the city without informing me, she was gone before I could propose!"

"Frankly, Sir, I'm surprised you had Mr. Putman's blessing," Wilkins said.

Tavington gave Wilkins a sidelong glance. How much did his new Captain know? How far had the gossip spread, did Wilkins know about the wager, and William's other women? Both of those reasons, coupled with William's initial intention to make Beth his mistress only, would be enough to set Putman against him so that he would deny William his blessing. Putman certainly had not approved the match, for all of those reasons. But how did Wilkins know all that? Had Arthur confided in him?

"I do not have Putman's blessing," he admitted. "But it matters not. It's the father who will say yay or nay. I have not approached Mr. Martin yet, but I can see no reason for him to refuse me," Tavington said, then thought of his lack of wealth and of the reasons Putman was set against him… those factors would certainly be a bulwark against Mr. Martin's accepting him. And he doubted that Putman would remain silent on the matter.

"No reason at all?" Wilkins frowned, cocking his head. "Colonel, you do know that Mr. Martin is a Patriot, do you not?"

Tavington's lips parted, his eyes widening. "A Patriot? No, you are mistaken; the entire family are Loyalists, Captain Wilkins," he said. "Except for Miss Martin, but she was influenced by Burwell to her current Patriotic views. As her husband, I can influence her back again."

"I assure you, Sir, I am not mistaken; the family are not Loyalists. Miss Martin is not some loan wolf who has strayed from the pack. Who in the world told you all this?" Wilkins hesitated, then added softly, worriedly, "not Miss Martin?"

Had she? Had she ever said it? Tavington couldn't remember, but _he_ did recall Mr. Putman saying it, many times. "It was Mr. Putman," Tavington said. He saw the confusion, then the horror, creeping over Wilkins' face.

"_Mr. Putman_ told you that he is a Loyalist?" he said incredulously. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I think you've been lied too."

"You believe otherwise, do you?" William asked, drawing himself up, his voice crisp.

"I don't merely _believe_ it, Sir. I know it. You've heard of Christopher Gadsden, yes?" William nodded and Wilkins continued, "the Assembly, it was always split three ways," he explained. "Loyalists on one side," he said, motioning to himself. "Patriots to the other. And all those uncertain folk in between. Benjamin Martin now, he did spend much of his time with the other in-betweens, sitting on the fence as it were. He spoke against war with Britain, of negotiating changes, about staying under the Mother's yolk and the like. Martin is not a Loyalist. At best, he is neutral but I daresay if push came to shove, he'd fall on the Patriot side."

Tavington's lips tightened.

Wilkins continued. "Martin spoke of making peaceful overtures with His Majesty and Parliament. However, in 1776, the full division came between the three mindsets. The Treaty was signed and the Assembly, which had always included Patriots, Loyalists and those of a neutral nature, was abolished. It was formed up again with only Patriots - no Loyalists allowed. I'm sorry to be the one to tel you this, Sir; but _Martin was on the new Assembly._"

Tavington felt doused with chilled water, he stared at Wilkins, shock rife through him. He ground out, "and Putman?"

"Well, Putman was never Loyal and nor was he merely neutral. He wasn't on the Assembly but he was in with the likes of Gadsden who was. Those damned hot head firebrands who called for a complete and utter separation, they wanted to send every single British agent out of the colony - from our Governors to our tax collectors to the standing army - he wanted all Loyalists gone as well. They strove for Liberty, and they decried anyone who would dare suggest anything but an absolute division, even Martin came under fire from Gadsden a few times, for his more cautious approach. But Putman, he was right in with Gadsden."

"Really. Mr. Putman is a Patriot, hmm?" Tavington continued in a very cool tone. "Why would he lead me to believe he is a Loyalist?"

"I'm not certain, Sir," Wilkins frowned. "Perhaps he had a change of heart? Some of the other rebels have turned back to our way of thinking, they've renounced their rebellion and taken the oaths…

"Do you think Putman might be one of those?" Tavington asked dubiously. "If so, why tell me that Martin is a Loyalist? Unless you think Martin had a change of heart too?"

"That's a stretch - though less so for Martin than for Putman, I think. Putman was always with the rebels, Sir. Always shouting and decrying British tyranny, right at Gadsden side."

"Is that right," Tavington breathed.

"As for Martin; as I said, Sir, if he was going to stray from his neutral stance one way or the other, he would stray toward the Patriot side. He did already stray toward the Patriot side, when he took up a seat on the all Patriot Assembly. Both Martin and Putman have been heavily involved with Burwell, with all of the Continental Officers. They both are quite well acquainted with Francis Marion, for that matter."

"You don't say," Tavington breathed, suddenly alert.

"I am not a suspicious man by nature," James replied. "But none of this adds up. You are looking for spies, Sir. One who warned Burwell of the ambush…"

"You believe Putman might be one of the spies," William said, wide eyed as all the pieces began to crash into place. "Which is why he did not fear sending Beth out of the city, knowing that Burwell would learn of it and might come for her. Gods, he wants Burwell to come for her…"

"It might be, Sir," Wilkins said gently.

"He is the spy. He knows Beth betrayed Burwell, he knows Burwell threatened to punish her, and yet he sent her out here, right into his grasp," William was beginning to panic, his certainty that Beth was rushing headlong into Burwell's clutches was growing by the moment and fear for her safety curled along his spine.

"While it certainly sounds as though Miss Martin may have earned Burwell's anger," Wilkins said, voice soothing. "I do not believe he would dare punish her; Colonel or not, Martin would have Burwell's head. Besides, Lieutenant Martin would protect his own sister, I would imagine."

"Lieutenant Martin," Tavington breathed, feeling a hot flush rush up his neck to his cheeks.

"Yes Sir. Miss Martin's brother is under Burwell's direct command and is no doubt with the Colonel now."

Tavington recoiled and grunted as though Wilkins had punched him in the stomach. He gathered himself quickly, drew up to full height. Wilkins towered over the Colonel, but right now, he felt much the shorter. Tavington's rage lent him height.

William had asked Beth, very directly - with no room for misinterpretation, if she had a connection with any other Continentals besides Burwell. She said she knew of a few, but they were of no moment. But she had lied - William considered a Continental Officer in the family to be of monumental import.

_Which is something they managed to keep very quiet,_ Tavington thought. _And it is a failing I can not ignore. "_It seems you are right, Captain Wilkins," he said finally in a deadly whisper. "I have indeed be lied to. I need to pursue Miss Martin but by God, Mark Putman needs to be arrested immediately." He paused, drawing a ragged breath. He met Wilkins eyes. "Take your unit, return to the city, arrest Mark Putman. Take him directly to Clinton and tell the Commander everything you know."

"Yes, Sir," Wilkins said.

* * *

Tavington slowed the Dragoons down as he approached the abandoned carriage. He drew alongside and peered through the door, yes - abandoned. He dismounted swiftly and jerked the door open, searching for... Anything. Frustrated, he slammed the door shut. He resisted the urge to open it and slam it shut again, to keep slamming it until it pulled off its hinges. Breathing heavily, he reined himself in, unwilling to continue such a display before his men.

"Gone, Sir." Bordon reported.

"Quite obviously," Tavington snapped.

"Yes," Bordon said delicately, sensitive to Tavington's fury. William's mood had been surly when they'd begun this pursuit, but since learning that Putman had been a staunch Patriot prior to the British arrival, he'd been a tempest.

Richard had questions, so many questions. Why had the women abandoned the carriage, for instance? He would not ask William, however. Not yet. He watched as Tavington stalked to the back of the carriage and in one smooth motion, reach up and lift down a trunk from the roof. It dropped with a loud thud. As Tavington lifted the lid on the chest and began to rifle through, Richard pondered those questions. He'd questioned the guards Tavington had set on the house, and that they'd told him was quite curious. Back in the city, Richard had become suspicious when William first began to rant about the Putman's, about Mark Putman sending Beth away and why was Cilla wearing Beth's dress? Why indeed? And why had Beth been wearing Cilla's? That was what Richard had discovered, when questioning the guard. Miss Martin's hair had been styled the way Miss Putman preferred to wear hers, and vice versa. And they were wearing dresses the other girl was often seen wearing. One of the guards had told Bordon that as the girl had climbed into the carriage, the other girl - standing with Mr. Putman and Mage had called out, "enjoy yourself, Cilla, we'll see you tonight!"

Of course, it had been Cilla herself who'd called this. To Beth, the girl who'd actually climbed into the carriage. And they had pretended that she would return tonight.

The question on Richard's mind was, why? Why the deception? Was it so William would not be alerted to Miss Martin's departure? Did the family fear that he would drag her back, that he would not allow her to go to her sick father? Did they fear that William would pursue?

Why go to those lengths? To stop Beth from marrying Tavington? He'd made no secret of his intentions to Miss Martin, she knew he would propose. And they all knew that her family would not relish the connection. On the ride to purse Miss Martin, William had confided that Mark Putman confronted him about the wager, the doxies and William's plan to make Beth his mistress, all of which had been abandoned the moment William discovered Miss Martin's fortune. Were they trying to separate two lovers who were clearly unsuited to one another?

Or was something more sinister at play? The discovery that Mark Putman had been a Patriot made him itch along his spine. The possibility that he might be a spy was devastating, and Miss Martin's possible involvement was even more so.

Until Richard knew, he would sit back, watch, and hold his tongue.

Still, he dwelled.

_"If I discover you warned Burwell, I will beat you myself. I will flog you, Beth, I will whip you to within an inch of your life, of that you can be certain." _

Of all the Dragoons present, only Richard had been close enough to hear the threat Tavington had given to Beth that night, when Burwell hadn't come. Something had crossed her face, a look that had chilled Bordon's blood. It had been fleeting, gone as quick as it had come. But Richard had seen it, and it had chilled him to the bone.

A suspicious man by nature, he was not entirely shed of the possibly that Beth Martin had warned Burwell of the ambush. And if it was true that her uncle was indeed a Patriot spy, then Miss Martin had had the means to get that warning through to Burwell. If this were so, Miss Martin would get far more than a spanked bottom. She would be hung, executed for treason, as was only just for the nature of her crime.

Still, he said nothing, merely watched and gathered what information he could in his journey toward the truth. This - Beth's willingness to play along with her uncle, to take herself away from Tavington who wanted to marry her, was added to his growing list of suspicions, the secret archive he was building. He understood why her family would suggest the deception - to get their loved one as far away from an undesirable suitor as possible.

But why had Miss Martin - who supposedly loved Tavington more than life itself - gone along with it? That was added to Richard's questions.

Tavington slammed the chest lid shut - it contained only dresses and shifts, nothing of import.

Tavington then pulled down another chest from the roof, it landed with a greater, more satisfying crash. More dresses - these ones where Beth's, however, he recognized them at once. As he rifled through the chest, he was aware of Bordon's eyes on him, drilling bores into the back of his skull.

"Sir, why would Miss Martin go along with the plan like that? If she thought she was leaving to tend her sick father, why pretend to be Miss Putman in order to leave? And to wear Miss Putman's clothes?" Richard asked carefully.

"Because she feared I would not have let her go?" William said. "I don't know, Bordon. I will ask her when I find her." Finally! At the bottom of the chest was the small case in which she kept her correspondence. Ignoring the clothes that now scattered the ground, he strode back to his horse with the case in hand. He doubted that she would have kept her father's letters, but he would search the case anyway. The absence of her father's letters would be damning, it would mean she had deliberately destroyed them before leaving the city. And if she destroyed them, if would be because he had communicated to her in such a way as to reveal his true allegiance, one that Tavington would deem treasonous. "That is not the question you should be asking," Tavington said to Richard, who arched an eyebrow. "Who the devil has taken her?" Tavington snapped and Richard inclined his head.

The dirt road surrounding the carriage was churned, it looked like perhaps a hundred horses had charged up from behind and surrounded the carriage. With the occupants gone, it seemed the horsemen had taken them.

William's question was a valid one, but Richard's curiosity took it slightly further. Who the devil has taken her, and was she willing to go?

"You there!" William suddenly shouted and Richard glanced over his shoulder, saw several negro boys lingering by the road. Two of them ducked back down into the brush, but one started to venture out. Slaves were not as fearful as the British as they were of Colonial militia, the British had been freeing slaves the length and breadth of the Colonies for years now. William began to march forward. When Richard made to follow, William waved him back. To his chagrin, he stopped with the other Dragoons, while William went to interview the slaves.

_He doesn't trust me. He's always trusted me! _Richard thought, chagrined. _Has he got something to hide?_ He wondered as he watched William speak to the boys.

William kept his Dragoons in his peripheral, watching in case any case closer. Though he would never tell Bordon, he was nursing suspicions that could prove damning for Beth, if he spoke them aloud. He questioned the boys, the oldest one would have been no older than fifteen years. He struggled to understand the boys speech, a bastardised form of English he could barely comprehend.

Hundreds of riders, the boy said, though William thought this number was likely closer to one hundred. They stopped the carriage, took the women. Were they fighting or willing? William asked. Willing, the boy said. They'd greeted the riders like old friends. Were they regulars or militia? Definitely militia. The boy described the leader, the one who'd spoken to the pretty lady - whole Tavington took to be Mrs. Selton. He had dark hair, was slight of build, walked with a limp. Tavington felt as though he'd been doused with ice cold water, and then with fire.

Francis Marion.

Francis Marion had come for Beth, and she had gone willingly.

Putman hadn't sent Beth off alone with only Mrs. Selton, two negroes and her driver to protect her. He'd communicated with Francis Marion, arranged for the rebel leader to escort her to safety. This was confirmation - Putman was a rebel, and a spy. The warning Burwell received about the ambush, it had come from Putman. And now he was working with Marion, to take Beth further way to the city. To Burwell? William's stomach tightened, yes - to Burwell. Who would punish her for helping William, unless Beth had been coerced.

And unless Beth had been the one to tell Mark Putman in the first place. After all, Beth had gone with Marion willingly, according to the negro boys. William turned his back on the boys and marched back to his men.

"Your orders, Sir?" Bordon asked calmly.

"I want the carriage driven back to Charlestown and this new information given to Clinton," Tavington ordered coldly and Bordon nodded to two Dragoons who began collecting the dresses and loading the chests back onto the carriage.

"Miss Martin has been abducted by Francis Marion," Tavington called loudly for the benefit of his men as he tied the case to his saddle and mounted his horse gracefully. "Burwell threatened to punish her for her part in the attempted ambush. When she set out from the city this morning, Burwell's spies must have reported her departure to Burwell, and he has sent his minions to take her to him. Clinton wants her protected. I want her protected. Our enemy has her, we must rescue her. If we are quick enough, we will soon catch Marion and his militia, perhaps we can finally capture the bastard!"

"Huzzah!" The excited call came from his men.

"Pursuit!" He shouted and kicked his heels to his horse's flanks, following the tracks of many horses leading off the road and into the woods.

Francis _fucking_ Marion! Tavington raged. To catch the rebel leader now...

He allowed himself a small smile as he moved with the fast galloping charger. A victory indeed, if he was able to capture both his traitorous lover and Marion the Fox.

* * *

"We are gaining on them, Sir," Cornet Brownlow shouted.

The militia was almost at the river, but it was far too wide, deep and swiftly flowing to swim the horses safe. Tavington would be on them when they were halfway across and he and his men would pick them off - it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Marion was gesturing to his men and shouting something, and they began to turn from the river to face the oncoming threat. Finally, he'd cornered Marion, the bastard had to stand and fight.

It would not be long now. He'll soon have Beth in hand - he intended to return her directly to Charlestown. She must be exhausted. A vision came to mind, of him curled up at her side, sleeping in his large bed at the Tisdale residence. For like hell would he be returning her to the Putman's.

But first he must deal with her betrayal. He would comfort her afterward, but her warning of Burwell - which was almost certain now, he could see no other way around it - must be addressed.

"Soon," he whispered, eyes fixed on the woman he loved.

* * *

"Get the women across the women as quickly as you dare!" Marion shouted, waving frantically toward the flat bottom ferry tied at the dock. Mr. Doyle and the other men rode their horses directly onto the ferry, while others worked to unmoor it. Marion continued to yell orders, their backs were to the river, it would be here that they would make their stand. If not for the women, he'd have moved much faster, would have disappeared into the swamps and from the Dragoons sight. However, it'd been all he could do to get the women here, to this point, where they had a chance to escape. The Dragoons were already on them, charging forward with sabres drawn.

* * *

On the ferry, Beth dismounted, she stood beside the horse, staring toward the bank she had just shipped off from. She stared past the Patriot who were rushing into position, her eyes fixed on one of the riders among the Dragoons charging toward the defenders. William had his pistol aimed, his horse carrying him forward and with every stride Thunder took, the ferry carried Beth away across the river, the gap never closing between them.

"Miss Martin, get behind the horse!" Mr. Doyle seized her arm and dragged her to the other side of the mount just as the defenders and the Dragoons opened fire. Those on the ferry could be hit at this distance, Doyle was taking precautions to ensure the women were safe.

But damn safety to hell, Beth wanted to see. Doyle got her behind the horse but as soon as he thought she was as safe as she could be, he turned away to help steer the ferry across the river. Beth edged along the horse, took up the reins, patted its neck softly to calm him, and gazed out across the divide. Beth stared, frozen in place, as she watched Tavington and his Dragoons battle the Patriots.

The battle cries, the screams - shouting men and shrieking horses, rifles coughing, the haze of spent gunpowder billowing up around them. Over it all, she could hear Marion barking orders.

It was a skirmish. A sight she'd never seen but thought she could imagine.

This was nothing like she'd ever imagined.

A man fell screaming, blood spraying from his wound. Another, then another, so much blood, so much gore.

"Oh, God, this is all my fault," Beth swayed as she watched Tavington, who seemed as focused and intent on his quarry as a drawn arrow. "Men are dying!"

_Dear Lord, William could die!_

"It is not your fault!" Charlotte snapped at her side. "Ridiculous."

"They are soldiers, Miss," Mr. Talene, Charlotte's driver, said. "They have their orders, and we have ours. If they die, it was in the line of duty and no one can be held to blame."

Beth shook her head, denying this. Another volley of shots rang out, then with their bullets spent, the two groups surged together, snarling with bloodlust and faces twisted with rage, tomahawks and daggers, sabres and bayonets. It was grisly and appalling and Beth could not take her eyes from it.

Beth was no longer huddling behind the horse. As if her feet had a will of their own, she marched to stand at the edge of ferry. William slashed down his sabre, bloody spraying upward in an arc from the wounded and likely dead militiaman. It was just like Gabriel had described, when Tavington slaughtered Roger's Patriot militia. His arm followed through with the slash and he stepped back, gained his balance. Perhaps he felt eyes on him, for he glanced up and met Beth's eyes. Gripping her skirts, she took a step forward - she saw his wild expression turn to one of horror and he gestured a protest. And then Charlotte's hand was seizing her arm and she was hauled back from the edge of the boat.

"Are you mad!" Charlotte screamed down at her. "You can't swim this! You can only drown."

Heart pounding, the blood roaring in her ears, Beth whirled back to William, whose look of panic was shifting to astonishment. He shook his head, as if stunned. And then he was hit - the force of the ball twisted him, he jerked backward and Beth saw blood gush from his shoulder.

"William!" She shrieked, hands over her mouth, she tried to twist free of Charlotte and Mila's hold even as she screamed. He heard her, his head jerked in her direction, their gazes locked once more - his eyes filled with bloodlust, hers with terror for him. But then the Patriot militia closed and the fighting began in earnest. Tavington swung and parried, despite his wound, cutting men down before her very eyes.

* * *

The rebel fell at his feet and William glanced out across the river - Beth was at the end of the ferry, looking frantic. He held her gaze, his filled with terrible promise. He saw a look cross her face, she gripped her skirts and took a step forward. Jesus, she's going to jump - he raised his arm, was about to bellow at her to stay on the damned boat - if she tried to swim to him in those heavy skirts, he'd be dragging her body out of the river! But then the much taller woman seized Beth's arm and hauled her back. Thank God. Of all the ridiculous… Didn't she know that he would come for her? There was no point in her killing herself to get back to him. Gods, she'd been about to come back to him - and never mind that the attempt likely would have killed her. He shook his head, astounded.

The force of the shot sent him reeling and he heard Beth screeching out his name. The ferry had landed, her aunt was trying to drag Beth off the boat. Pain such as he'd never known crippled his arm. Beth was off the boat but was being forcibly dragged, she kept trying to pull away, her gaze on him, eyes streaming tears. She seemed about to faint from terror - though her terror was for him.

He tightened his lips, vexed at his moment of weakness and returned his attention to the skirmish. He'd gotten shot because of that inattention. He lifted his sword and slammed it into a rebel chest, all the while looking for Marion.

The man had taken Beth from him. The ferry would be destroyed now, he spared a glance in time to see men crawling all over it, now after the horses and women had been removed. They were sinking the boat, so he could not take it back and use it. Regardless of the outcome of this battle, Beth would be lost to him because of it. Because of the Fox. He saw Marion fighting one on one with a wounded and tiring Bordon and with a bloodthirsty smile the Officer urged his horse forward, closing the distance quickly.

Just in time too. Bordon could not get his sabre up and Marion was raising his sword for the killing stroke, when Tavington was abruptly before him. With a quick flick of his wrist he turned the killing stroke aside and began his own dance with the Fox.

* * *

Huddling on the far side of the river, Beth watched helplessly as William fought for his life. When there were no more adversaries he darted forward to relieve Bordon and began fighting Francis Marion. The two men were evenly matched but it was over quickly.

She could not pull her eyes away from her wounded and bleeding lover. His face was twisted with feral concentration, he saw his opening and sliced his sabre deeply across Marion's chest. The old rebel clutched at his chest, the he toppled from his horse.

Tavington glanced around for more opponents, but they were all down, dead, wounded or yielding.

* * *

It was over. The enemy wounded were being tied, ready to be carried back to the city. Tavington crossed his hands over the pommel of his saddle, his eyes locked with Beth across the fast flowing divide. She stared back, her face grave.

"Sir," Brownlow asked at his side.

"Cornet." Tavington responded without pulling his gaze from Beth's.

"Your orders? We could try to cross -"

"Not here. And it could take hours to find a place to cross. Miss Martin will be far from here by then."

Beth's maid and Aunt took her by the arms to turn her away but Beth shook them both off, not breaking her eyes from his. Her Aunt was speaking to her urgently, but Beth ignored her. Tavington smiled, a slow smile filled with promise and Beth seemed to shiver.

William's jaw tightened, the enemy had destroyed the ferry and it could be hours before he found another place to cross. He would not be able to pursue her now after all.

_No matter. I know where she is going_, he thought.

"Have your wounds seen to, Cornet. And Fox - I want him returned to Charlestown."

"Yes, Sir. I will have a Corpsman attend your wounds, also."

Tavington nodded.

"What of Miss Martin," Brownlow asked, glancing at the far bank where Beth was being pulled by one of the men into the woods.

"She is lost to me," William replied coldly. "For now."

Someone came to tend his wound and as he watched, one of Marion's men seized Beth's arm and began dragging her toward his horse. She tried to fight him off too, but he was far more the stronger.

* * *

Tavington sat astride his horse, his eyes fixed on hers and his expression was stone. Utterly pitiless.

The Butcher.

It was a slaughter and Beth could not take her eyes off the dead, or off of him. Her fault. Those men would still be alive, if she hadn't fled.

"Beth, come away," Charlotte and Mila stood on either side of her, but Beth shook them off. "Beth, you should not be looking at him!" Charlotte said urgently. Beth ignored her as she studied William's face for the slightest emotion, a hint of humanity.

He smiled at her. Despite all the carnage, the dead, and broken bodies, he smiled. It seemed to hold a world of deadly intent and sent chills up her spine, making her shiver. Other Redcoats bustled about, Cornet Brownlow spoke to Tavington, then moved away.

Beth's eyes still on Tavington as a Dragoon tended his shoulder and many other wounds. He was stone, barely registering pain as the corpsman poked and prodded him. His cold eyes stared across the river, his implacable gaze fixed on her.

"Mount!" Mr. Doyle commanded, drawing her attention, "we are leaving."

Beth stared at William, not moving. Until Doyle's arm closed over hers, and he began to pull her toward their horse.

"We are leaving, Miss Martin," he snapped, lifting her up and into the saddle. He climbed up behind her.

The detachment rode out.


	23. Chapter 23 - Wounded in Charlestown

Chapter 23 - Wounded in Charlestown:

11th June:

The surgeon moved away from William's bed, leaving the Colonel to his pain. William draped his good arm over his eyes to shield the light. Could ask for laudanum, he thought. The surgery was complete, the ball removed, the wound was bandaged and all there was left was to lay on the pillows and try not to think about the pain. He could barely move his left arm, the agony was phenomenal. Richard was in a similar condition in his room next to William's, at the Tisdale's. Hearing a sound, he lifted his arm and saw Sir Clinton striding in. William tried to sit, his face sweat slicked and pallid.

"Be still, William, be still," Clinton said, motioning for the Colonel to lay back down. William did. Clinton pulled up a seat beside the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been shot in the shoulder," William replied. He licked his lips and Clinton handed him a glass to sip from.

"We could have lost you today," the Commander and Chief said soberly.

"That's the way of skirmishes, Sir," William said. "I got Marion."

"I know," a slow smile crept across Clinton's face. "A poor exchange it would have been, if you had lost your life in taking his. But as you did not…"

"An excellent exchange then," William's smile was fleeting.

"Most certainly. Your efforts will be recognised, William, you will receive honours for this."

"Sounds nice," William whispered. "Might even enjoy it when I'm not in such damnable pain."

Clinton nodded sagely. "There is one spot of bad news I am forced to deliver," he said.

"I have some of my own."

"Miss Martin? Yes, I already know you were unable to retrieve her," Clinton was downcast now, looking worried. "If only Captain Wilkins had tipped us off about Mark Putman earlier. To think, he's been working with Burwell all this time. He is the spy. He wormed his way into my good graces. He warned Burwell of the ambush and when Burwell declares that he wishes to punish Miss Martin, Putman hands her over like an obedient little dog. His own niece. How could he do that to his own niece? I have no doubt as to where those men have taken her, William. She will be with Burwell by now. She may be receiving her punishment as we speak, she is out of my reach to protect her."

"Well, let us hope," William said quietly. "That Benjamin Martin is indeed a rebel. If he is there with Burwell, nothing too drastic will happen to her."

"You think he will protect her?"

"I know little of the man, but I do know he loves his children with a passion. I believe he will do everything within his power to protect Miss Martin. We will have to rely on politics to protect her now," he said and when Clinton arched an eyebrow, he said, "Burwell and Martin are the dearest, oldest, closest, boon bloody companions or some such rot." The pain and thinking of Beth, Burwell and Martin was making him surly. "How far would Burwell go in the discipling of his beloved friend's beloved daughter? Especially one he is deeply in love with himself," William's lips peeled back, baring his teeth. "I have to believe he would not torment her too greatly," he said. Clinton nodded, sympathetic.

"That is all we have, now. Hope and prayer. I could write to Burwell and beg clemency on Miss Martin's behalf."

"That is a very generous offer, Sir, and by all means, do so. However, by the time he receives it…"

"His worst might have already been done," Clinton finished, agreeing with a helpless sigh. "I shall send word out to the Regiments in the Low Country. Miss Martin is a friend to the Crown and is in danger, she must assisted in any way we can. Provided she can escape from Colonel Burwell, all she will need to do is approach the nearest fort or scouting party - I will command that she is to be returned to the city unharmed."

"Thank you, Sir," William said, a little surprised.

"She did us a great service, William. The ambush failed, but at no fault of her own. I would not sleep easy, unless knowing I have done all I can for her. It is a small thing, in the grand scheme of it all - having a girl escorted to the city. I shall send word to Tarleton also, too look out for her. When she is returned, you and she… Will you propose to her?"

"I was going to this morning," William blew out a frustrated breath. The agony in his soul had nothing to do with the pain in his shoulder, not now. "We might run out of time, three weeks…"

"We might, and that is a thing you will need to steel yourself against. But we will do our best. Do you believe her father is a rebel?"

"I believed Putman to be Loyalist and he turned out to be as false as they come. He's the one who said Martin is a Loyalist… Yet Martin's son is a Continental… I find it far easier to believe he is a rebel, than I do a Loyalist."

"That is also my thinking. Twice, I have written to him, without nary a reply. I can not help but suspect that he is not our side but that alone is not enough to force my hand. However, if he has committed any crimes against the Crown, then all of his property shall be seized. Ordinarily, such a prize would be parcelled out - shared among Loyalists in my favour. But as Miss Martin is most certainly one of those, and as it is her father's property, I propose that it shall be bestowed upon Miss Martin's husband," he let the words sink in. William's eyes began to widen. Clinton saw the look on William's face, the working mind that drew to the conclusion that if Martin is a rebel, and if William were Beth's husband, he would stand to gain far more than her twenty thousand and three hundred acres. He'd receive the entire Martin fortune. "However," Clinton said, lifting one hand. "That is entirely dependent on Martin himself - that we think he is likely a rebel is nothing more than supposition. However if it proves true and if he has committed treason… Then that is my Command. His property is to be seized and as Miss Martin has my favour, it shall be settled upon her."

"Yes, Sir, I understand, Sir," William said, astonished.

"Better make certain the Simms do not hear about this," Clinton laughed softly. "I dare say Mrs. Simms would make her husband scour the entire country for Miss Martin even if he had to do it alone."

"Indeed. Cornet Simms will not be marrying Miss Martin," William curled his lip. "I might lose her to Burwell, but I most certainly will not lose her to the Simms."

Clinton chuckled. "I'd likely rescind my offer, if it came to that."

"What of Mr. Putman? There is no doubt of him at least. He is a traitor and despite the pain it will cause Miss Martin, Putman's property must be seized and he himself executed for treason."

"Yes. And he shall," Clinton paused, adding soberly, "as soon as we can find him."

"I beg your pardon?" William breathed.

"Captain Wilkins did as you commanded of him," Clinton explained, starting from the beginning. "He returned to the city with his unit, he came directly to me to inform me of what you suspected. I gave Captain Wilkins orders to go to the Putman's, and bring him directly to me for questioning. When he arrived to the Putman's, his wife said Mr. Putman was out visiting colleagues. Perhaps Putman became suspicious, perhaps there are more spies than we thought - one who gave Putman word. Either way, he never returned to the house."

"You don't have him," William breathed, stunned. Clinton shook his head.

"When your messengers arrived ahead of you and reported what had taken place and that Putman was working directly with Burwell, we had the house searched from top to bottom. We found nothing untoward, except in his fireplace where there was a great pile of ashes and curled and blackened parchment. It's a little hot for a fire to be laid, don't you think?"

"Indeed," William heaved a sigh. "So he burnt any and all evidence and when Wilkins arrived, he took off, did he?"

"As near as we can tell, yes. He must have known we had discovered him, or that we might be on the verge of it. He took precautions, and he slipped through our fingers. The house has been closed off, I have it completely surrounded, the women are detained there, unable to leave unless I say otherwise." Clinton sniffed. "Handing his own niece over for punishment and then abandoning his wife and daughter… never have I been so utterly wrong in judging a man's character."

"Me, also," William said. "He is being searched for?"

"Oh, yes, you can be certain of that. And there is a bounty on his head, one hundred pounds. If caught, Putman will be dragged back here, for a public hanging."

"I doubt he will remain at large for long," William said. Not with that sort of bounty. "I would like to quarter my Dragoons at the Putman's, if you'll allow. The house is larger and closer to the Exchange - and I imagine it would cause no end of distress to Putman if he were to learn of it."

"Very well," Clinton agreed. "I must be on my way, I want you to get some rest, William. And I do not want you to worry for Miss Martin, we will do all in our power to free her of Burwell. It might be far too late to stop his chastisement of her, however."

William nodded, having a sigh.

"I am a fool," Clinton admitted softly, regretfully. "I should not have given Putman that pass - I thought it was for Mrs. Selton only, if I'd known he intended to send Miss Martin as well…" he shook his head. There was nothing to be done about it now. "I am not one for what if's."

"No, you're not. Besides, if none of this had happened, I would not have taken Marion today," William said.

"Do you think it a fair exchange?" Clinton asked. "Miss Martin for Marion?"

William was quiet a moment. Then, "for me, personally? Certainly not. But for the consequences to us? The army? The militia might dissolve completely now Marion is dead. And that, I believe, is mostly certainly a favourable exchange."

"You always were stalwart," Clinton said, rising. "It's what I've admired most about you. Rest, Tavington. Sleep, if you can. The search is begun for Putman and for Miss Martin, we will do all we can to set things to rights."

"Thank you, Sir," William shook Clinton's hand, and the Commander and Chief withdrew.

* * *

The day was wearing on. Marion had been absolutely right, Beth's rump was killing her. They were safe now, the Dragoons had not been able to cross the river and the nearest place they might do so was miles away. Nevertheless, their wild ride had taken them far off course. If their journey had not been interrupted, they would have been at Fresh Water by now. For many hours they rode through swamps and woods, taking small trails rather than the roads in case they encountered British forces. They stopped often, to water, feed and rest the horses. It became increasingly harder for the ladies to climb back on their horses after each stop. Their bodies were tired, sore. Exhausted. And they still had such a long way to go.

The column wound its way through the swamps. Beth did not even bother to lift her head from Doyle's shoulder to glance around and enjoy her surroundings. The beauty of the massive trees that seemed to be floating atop the tranquil waters, with the sun shining through the leafy canopy over head - none of it held any charm for her. They slowed again as they entered another clearing and still Beth did not raise her head, though she knew they would be stopping for another rest.

Men were talking and shouting, greeting one another with excited voices, then Colonel Harry Burwell was standing at the stirrup of Beth's horse.

She finally raised her head from Doyle's shoulder to stare down at Harry in shock, unable to credit it.

"Beth?" He was holding his arms out to her, ready to help her down. "Come now, you are safe. Are you hurt?"

Temporarily dumbstruck, Beth simply could not take it in. Her mind was playing tricks with her.

Then, with a shriek she threw herself bodily from the saddle into his arms. He stumbled back with a grunt, almost losing his balance as his fiancé was suddenly wrapped around him, her arms clutching tight as she wept against his chest.

* * *

Tavington entered the parlour, where Mrs. Mage Putman and Miss Cilla Putman sat side by side, looking quite terrified. He addressed them in a crisp voice. "Mr. Putman's home has been seized. The two of you will continue to reside here, though you will share one chamber. You may go where you will around the house and property, though you will be guarded at such times. You will have no contact with anyone outside this house and you will not be able to leave without my expression permission."

"Sir, why?" Mage breathed. Cilla, for once, was at a loss for words.

"Your husband is a traitor," Tavington said implacably. "The two of you will be confined to the house, until he is captured."

The two women shared a glance, their eyes wide with fear.

* * *

Tavington had chosen Beth's room for himself. The house had been searched, though the letter addressed to him had been left untouched on her desk untouched. When he picked it up, he could feel the weight of it - the bulge contained within - and dread settled upon his soul. As expected, when he opened the envelope, his grandmothers ruby pendant dropped into the palm of his hand. The ruby glinted in the candlelight, mocking him. He could still hear Beth's piercing scream as he was shot before her eyes, still saw the stark terror on her face.

"William!" And she had been on the verge of leaping into the river, had been about to swim back to him though she likely would have drowned. Had her aunt not dragged her back. She loved him and yet here she was, returning to him his keepsake.

He was about to start reading, when there was a knock on the door and it began to open. A dark face peered in nervously. Seeing him, the slave entered more fully and closed the door behind him.

* * *

_It's now or never, _Zeke thought as he approached the room that, for the last two years, had been reserved for Miss Martin.

The Putman household was in disarray, the British had come, taken it over, searched it from its basement to the rafters. The servants and slaves were shaken, terrified. Putman, Zeke's Master, was gone. And Mila was gone - Zeke might never see her again. She had made it clear to him that she would not marry him while he was a slave and Zeke despaired, knowing that Putman would never free him. But Putman was gone.

And weren't the British freeing slaves in their droves?

Why not Zeke?

He'd been too afraid to consider it, before, especially not while Putman was pretending to be faithful to the British. But he was gone, now, and Zeke knew that faithfulness to be the lie it was. Perhaps if he spoke to Tavington, told Tavington everything he knew, maybe the Colonel would not only free him, but help him to find Mila, help him to marry her.

That was all he wanted, surely that was not a high price for the British to pay? He would not ask for money - he just wanted his freedom and the woman he loved.

_It's now or never._

Zeke knocked on Beth's bedchamber door and crept in quietly.

* * *

"Ah... I'm sorry for disturbin' you, Sir," Zeke said to the man turning from the window, holding an envelop in his hand. He dragged a cap from his head. "I ah... That is..."

"What is it?" Tavington asked.

The young slave burst out all in a rush, "I wanna marry my sweetheart but she won't 'cause I'm a slave. I want me freedom and I knows you can give it but I'll need help getting to Mila, passes and the like. I can help you - I know so much, like the masser being all thick in with Burwell. I wanted to tell you, each time ye called on Miss Martin, but I was too scared. But I'll tell ye everythin' now. And might be ye can help me find Mila."

"Slow down, slow down..." Tavington held his arm out in a placating gesture. His eyes narrowed; Zeke 'knows so much'? "It is true, His Majesty King George has decreed that all slaves be given their freedom. I see no reason not to grant you yours."

"Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!"

"However!" Tavington silenced the other man mid thanks. "If I am to help you reach your woman, you will have to cooperate with me fully. You know so much, you said? You are aware of Putman's involvement with Burwell?"

"Yessim, he been out meetin' Marion, too. That be Francis Marion - he's -"

"A rebel. I know, but that information is old- Marion is dead now. Continue."

Events had past Zeke by, he swiped at his forehead to wipe sweat. If he had nothing new or current, would Tavington help him?

"The Masser has me doing things, delivering notes and all -"

"You will need to tell me to who, and when."

"I will, Sir. I tell ye all."

"How long has Putman owned you for?" Tavington asked coldly.

"Eight years, sir."

"And in that time, have you been privy to Putman's activities, beyond the exchanging of letters? Does he speak freely in front of you?"

Zeke stared at Tavington with a blank expression.

"Has you heard him speak treason, or not?" Tavington barked, out of patience.

"Oh... Yes, sir," Zeke nodded. "That he has, Sir. And yes, I been... Privy..." He said as though saying the word for the first time. "Yessim. He is careful he is, but I've heard many things."

"Very well," Tavington paused, he glanced at the letter in his hand, he was desperate for Zeke to be gone, so he could read it. But if the slave did have a wealth of information on Putman, it was his duty to question him immediately. "You are aware of my attempt to lure Colonel Burwell into an ambush at the Plantation of Mr. Simms?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you know if the informant was Mark Putman?"

"Yes, Sir, he told."

"I thought as much. He likely sent word to Burwell as soon as Clinton revealed the plan to him," Tavington spat.

"No, Sir, it was well before, that," Zeke stifled a flare of guilt. "I don't want get Miss Martin to trouble, she always kind to me and Mila."

"Miss Martin?" Tavington's eyes grew very wide and he drew himself up, his lips parting slowly. "What did she do?"

"You tell her to tell no one, but she did. She tell her uncle."

"When?" Tavington breathed.

"When ye left that day, after ye was… in here alone…" Zeke glanced at the bed and Tavington drew in a sharp breath. The day he was alone in this chamber with Beth was the same day he instructed Beth to write that letter to Burwell, summoning him to the ambush. He'd also instructed her to tell absolutely no one.

"Are you telling me she told Mr. Putman?" Tavington asked.

"Yessim. "Miss Martin told him, Sir, as soon as he got back."

William was momentarily overcome with rage. It was so consuming, he could barely breathe. If she had been before him right then, Beth may not have survived it. All week, Putman had known. All week, they'd had to thwart his plans. All week, Beth had been conspiring against him. He barked a series of questions, all of which Zeke answered to the best of his ability. Beth penned the letter of warning to Burwell herself. In the days leading up to the ambush, she was coached by Putman in what to say and how to act on the night, to not draw suspicion upon herself. And then Zeke went on to divulge a more recent conspiracy that led to the true reason behind Beth's departure from the city. Mrs. Selton had discovered that Putman had deliberately encouraged Beth and William's intimacy in order to gain intelligence from their encounters. Putman would question her ruthlessly, whenever William departed. Zeke was quick to explain that Beth hadn't known she was spying, though she had been confused as to why her uncle had allowed her to spend so much time in Tavington and Tarleton's company and why he asked so many questions when either departed. Mrs. Selton found out about it recently and she was so angry, Zeke could hear her yelling at Putman in the office as she threatened to send for Mr. Martin, if Putman did not cease. She demanded Beth be removed from the city immediately.

This was the true reason why Beth had left - because Mrs. Selton had finally gained control of the situation, control of her brother, and had used the girl's father as a threat against Putman, if he did not agree. Zeke went on to say that Putman sent word to Burwell, who arranged for Marion to meet Mrs. Selton at a place called Guerard's Swamp, in order for Marion to escort Mrs. Selton and Miss Martin the rest of the way to Fresh Water.

"You will tell no one any of this," William said when he had all the immediate information he needed, calm voice belying the turmoil within. "If you hold your silence, I will help you reunite with your Mila. From this point forward, you answer directly to me, not to any other British Officer. Under no circumstances are you to repeat what you just told me, to anyone else. Do I make myself clear?"

The negro quailed, terrified. He nodded furiously.

"Not another soul. Not another Officer. Miss Martin has committed treason, Zeke. I wish to protect your sweetheart's mistress and I can not do that if you go telling anyone else."

"I won't Sir," Zeke replied with a shudder. "She be kind to my Mila. I don't wish her no harm." The Officer was staring at him intently, his expression murderous. The slave had seen that expression before, on a white man who'd flogged his slave so severely the slave died. Zeke had been just a youth at the time, and was sold shortly later to Putman, but he remembered.

"Very well. My oath as a gentleman, you will see your Mila again. You will be freed, and I will find a situation for you that will allow you to support your lady in comfort. As long as you obey me, understood?"

"Yessim. I speak only to you, Sir. I don't tell no one else nuthin'"

"Very good. If you will excuse me," he looked down at the letter. "I wish to be alone."

* * *

Zeke was gone. William sat on the edge of Beth's bed. He knew, now, what the letter would say.

_William,_

_We have only known one another for a short time but my love for you is so strong, I can not imagine ever loving another person as much as I do you._

_If you had proposed to me, as I know you intended, I would have accepted you in a heart beat. Despite the repercussions. My father loves me, I believe he would have forgiven me eventually. I was prepared to accept you. When my Aunt's argued that you were merely after my inheritance and dowry, I was still willing to accept you._

_It has been bought to my attention that your family is struggling, their finances almost deplete. You have told me some of it yourself, I remember you telling me your father squandered your wealth. You are in need of a wealthy bride to help support your loved ones back home. I argued with my Aunts when they pointed this out to me, I told them I did not care. Don't we all marry for mutual benefit? You would have my fortune, and I would have you. I was willing to make that trade, I was willing to give you my all, I would help you with your family and we would be together. Such is my love for you. Such is my need for you._

_When it became apparent that I would accept you regardless of all their protests, my family were forced to reveal deeper truths that they would have preferred to spare me._

_The death knell for me, was learning that you have continued your affair with Miss Linda Stokes._

_Oh my dear Lord, William. Can you imagine the agony, when I heard this? Every night this week I've lain in my bed, unable to sleep for thoughts plaguing me. And every night this week, you have held that woman in your arms, in your bed. You have kissed her, touched her, coupled with her._

_Make no mistake, learning of your continued affair with Miss Stokes has hurt me deeply - it is the reason I am taking myself away from you. I would have accepted you, if not for learning this._

_Although the loved one who revealed this truth was loathe to do so, I am glad she did. My path is clear now, no longer murky. I will not marry you. For how can I? Honestly William! Would you have continued on with Miss Stokes after we married? Would my mothers money support not only your family back home, but your mistress right here? Good Lord, I would have been a laughing stock! Fawning over you while everyone knew you were keeping a mistress! It's disgraceful._

_My husband keeping a mistress would shame me utterly. And it would shame you also! This is not easy for me, and if you think it is, then you are a fool. But it must be done. I can take no more of this and so I will leave Charlestown. And I will not return until the war takes you far away from South Carolina. I recall your words - that you would pursue me to the end of my days. The Santee is not so far as that, and you will be out that way eventually. But I must beg you, please, to let me be. Let me find peace._

_If you care for me at all, you will do as I request for you are breaking me, William. You are utterly destroying me._

_I am sorry if this letter causes you the slightest distress. I know now that you do not love me, but I would like to believe you do care for me a little. Or perhaps it's just wishful thinking. Either way, I know you will find solace in the arms of another. Miss Stokes, most likely. Or some other. I will not allow myself to be jealous of those women any longer._

_You shame your own name with your conduct, surely you must see that? You sully the entire Tavington family._

_But I do not care, for I will never bear your name, I will not share your shame. Continue spreading your seed, go sire yourself a few bastards. Do what you wish, because I will have no more of you._

_Do not doubt the depths of my feelings for you, William. But nor should you doubt my strength or my resolve. Leaving you is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I will do it. I will be treated this way no longer. I will move on. It would be far more painful to stay and suffer your continual infidelities._

_You will have found the pendant within the envelope - it is beautiful, I must say, I wish I could keep it, I wish it could be mine. Such a glorious piece should be given to a woman you truly love. I do hope one day you will find her, if you have not already found her with this Linda Stokes._

_Miss Elizabeth Martin_

Someone knocked on the door. Tavington barely noticed. Though at least a half hour had past since reading's Beth's letter, he had not shifted from his stiff perch at the end of her bed. His elbows on his knees, he sat forward with the letter clasped in both hands, reading it over and over.

He barely noticed his hair hanging in long strands around his hard face. His expression was stone, his entire body rigid. Initially, when he began reading the letter, a slow burning anger had consumed him. Now, after his mind had had time to digest her words, that anger had become blinding hot.

Rage, that she dared to doubt the depth of his love for her. She thought him to be in love with Linda! Fury, that she could make her accusations regarding his families finances and all her other ridiculous concerns in the form of a letter, rather than confronting him herself. And she was hardly speaking from a position of innocence. Many of the points she had made were true - he could not deny it. But after all Zeke had told him, his betrayals paled into insignificance when compared to hers.

So. He bedded several women while courting her. He had made a wager with his closest friend, to see who could steal her virtue. He had planned to make her his mistress, changing his mind to marriage only _after_ learning of her wealth. Yes, his family were on the brink of ruin. Yes, his behaviour had left much to be desired, and was hardly worthy of him as a Gentleman.

What of it?

After what Zeke had told him of Beth… He quivered with fury. From the moment the slave had begun to speak, Tavington had held himself still and erect, his face a mask of stone, but inside he writhed with rage bordering bloodlust. Her Uncle was a spy - a Goddamned spy, and Beth had known it! She had burnt enemy missives from her brother - the fucking Continental soldier. She had foiled a plot that could have seen a very key figure taken into custody, which would in turn alter the course of the war!

Tavington was guilty of being a cad, a rogue, a debaucher, perhaps even a fortune hunter.

Beth was guilty of _treason_!

What was the worst he'd done? Wanting to marry a beautiful, wealthy young woman? And sticking his cock in doxies? He was hardly the first man to have done either.

No. Hers were the far greater crimes. Hers were treason. They were against King and County.

Her treason had put Tavington in the worst possible position. He was an Officer in His Majesties Army - his duty to his position was absolutely, abundantly clear. Those who committed acts of rebellion were to be taken into custody, or depending on the severity of the crime, they were executed!

And Beth warning Burwell of the ambush was a clear act of rebellion! It was treason.

Tavington had the authority to hang rebels on the spot, if he so chose. And he had - he had hung men, and women, whose crimes were far smaller than Beth's. And at far less provocation. Right now, his own Loyalties were being tested and it infuriated him that she would put him in this position.

That she could tell him she was leaving him because of his many short comings - in the form of a God'd cursed letter! - and not mention a single word of her own crimes. That she could take herself away from him, out from his protection! Because - after what she had done - right now, he was the only person who could protect her!

How many others knew she'd sent a warning to Burwell? Tavington, now. Zeke. Mark Putman, Burwell. Who else within their family? Who among Burwell's men? How long before word spread to the British side, that Beth had committed treason?

Tavington would have to twist the truth on its head to protect her - he would have to lie to the Commander and Chief himself! If it was discovered, at best Tavington would be expelled from the army. At worst, he could face the noose himself!

Treason.

Those were the lengths he would have to go to to keep her fucking pretty neck out of the noose! And she accused him?

Tavington now had to commit treason in order to cover Beth's own, in order to save her life. And he detested it, hated that he must take this course of action, he, a good Kingsman. It went against everything he believed in.

His thoughts took an ominous turn. Though he detested it, he would make this sacrifice for her. But he would require a price from her, and if she was not willing to pay it... He drew a ragged breath, unwilling at that moment to think of the alternative, of what he would have to do to her.

Finally coming to himself, coming out of his rage filled trance, he lifted his head to gaze up at Linda. She had slipped into the chamber after knocking and when he didn't greet her, she had come to stand before him.

He noticed her shiver with apprehension and he knew he must look a sight - almost unhinged with rage.

"I sent for you an hour ago," he said in a quiet and dangerous tone.

"I am sorry," Linda said softly, almost wishing she had dared to ignore his summons. "I was busy, and -"

"Silence," he hissed. "I do not care who you were fucking, Linda. When I call for you, you come to me, understood?" He reached up and stroked her face, his gentle caress belied by the threat in his voice.

"Yes." She said warily.

"Good. Take your clothes off, Beth, lay down on the bed."

She quirked an eyebrow with surprise.

"Beth, again?" Despite her fear, her voice took on an angry edge. "I thought we had reached an understanding -"

"Tonight only," Tavington interrupted. "It seems fitting, I am about to have you in her bed, after all."

"Very well," Linda said reluctantly as she undressed. She had wondered whose house this was when that young Arthur Simms had come to escort her to Tavington. She sensed the violence in William now and suspected it would only go badly for her if she refused. "This is her room?"

"Yes. You will not touch her belongings, will not take anything."

"William! I'm not a thief!" Linda said with outrage, confronting him in only her shift.

"You're not undressed yet, either," Tavington said coldly. Linda's brief flame extinguished and she sighed, removed her shift and lay down on the bed. "On your stomach."

Linda sighed and turned over, reaching for a pillow. The first time she had bedded him after their agreement, he had taken her to the edge and back, left her weeping. She still bore some of the marks he had inflicted. The following nights had been as intense and wild, but less blood thirsty. Something told her tonight was going to be violent indeed and she wondered what Beth Martin had done to incur his wrath this time. And where was she, if this was her room?

He traced a long red line on her buttocks and Linda shivered.

"I was quite rough with you, wasn't I Beth?" He said lustfully.

"Yes, dear heart," she had learned quickly that first night, to call him by the endearment his lover used. If she was to be Beth again tonight, she would behave as he had taught her that first night. "But you know I liked it."

"Yes, I know." She could hear the smile in his voice, the self satisfaction. His tone took on an edge once more. "Are you ready?"

_No! Christ no! I'm not... _Linda squeezed her eyes shut and drew a ragged breath.

"I am always ready for you, dear heart," she said when she had her voice under control.

"Then grip the head board, Beth and brace yourself."

A shudder coursed through her at the tone of his voice, and her suspicions were confirmed. This time was going to be bad indeed.

* * *

"Christ," Linda whimpered as Tavington lowered his riding crop. "I can't do that again, William."

It had been bad - as terrible as she could imagine. His riding crop had stung her backside and thighs over and over. His teeth had sunk into her shoulder, marking her, making her howl. He pushed her to the edge and beyond, and worse yet, when she screamed 'scarlet' - her safety word - he had taken his damed sorry time in slowing down. When she insisted, through her tears, he growled with fury at having to stop.

"Come here," William pulled her aching body into his arms, his hands stroking her hair and back as she curled around his body, her head resting on his chest as she sobbed. "You did very well, Linda. I am much calmer now, thanks to you." He murmured, trying to soothe her. He had been brutal, wild even. But he was far calmer now, having spent his rage on her willing body and spilling his seed inside her.

"I have an apology make, Linda," he said as he tilted her chin up to kiss her tenderly. "I should not have pushed you, I should have stopped when you asked."

She sighed heavily and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss, accepting his comfort.

"I can't again do it again," she whispered against his lips. "I can take a lot -"

"I know you can, darling," he smiled charmingly.

"And I enjoy it usually, but... There is not enough gold in the Colonies, William. I can't do it again."

"Very well." He agreed coolly.

Linda suddenly panicked. She sat up beside him. "That's not to say I want to stop being with you -"

"I know, Linda," he pulled her against him again and she relaxed in his embrace. "The Dragoons shall not remain in Charlestown forever, we shall be dispatched soon -"

"I know," she whimpered with despair and tightened her hold on him.

Tavington smiled, at least he had full control of Linda, even if Beth had escaped his reach. For now.

"Would you like to come with me?"

Linda tilted her head up, startled. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes."

She was quiet for sometime and William began to wonder if she would refuse him after all.

"What of your Miss Martin, aren't you going to marry her?"

"Yes, eventually," he said, then muttered ominously. "One way or another."

"And what will happen to me then? I'd be leaving my other... Courtiers..."

Tavington snorted, though he did not correct her. Her other men were _sparks_ \- men who paid her to fuck them. Customers. Not courtiers.

"Courtiers!" She said firmly. "I have two that I like quite well and they may find other favorites if I leave them. You will desert me as soon as you are married, and what would I do then?"

Tavington was silent for some. He had become fond of Linda and a woman with her special tastes was hard to find. Beth had betrayed him. He would marry her, for her wealth and because he did love her, but... "Not if you are my mistress."

Linda froze, unable to believe her ears. "You said... I wouldn't be your lover. You'd just pay me more."

"I changed my mind," he shrugged. She sat up again, not bothering to hide a wince of pain and gazed down at him.

"You love her," she accused.

"And I always will. I will not lead you to believe otherwise. However, I am fond of you Linda. Is that not enough?"

She traced his chest idly, avoiding the bandages across his shoulder. "Of course, I'll come with you, I'll take as much of you as I can get for as long as I can," she ignored his smug smile. "I just fear for the future, that's all. I won't have you all to myself when you're married."

"No, you'll have to share me and as my wife, Beth will always come first. But you'll have something of me that my Beth will never have, Linda."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"My trust." He said seriously, his voice grew dangerous again as he traced a finger along her cheek. "Bed who you wish, as long as it doesn't interfere with my own relations with you. But never betray me. Do you understand the difference?"

She stared at him wide eyed. "I think so..."

"Good," he nodded curtly.

A rhythmic thump, thump, thump came from the room next door - Bordon and Harmony. Tavington tossed his head

"Christ, he is wounded worse than I am!" He muttered.

"Harmony is probably on top," Linda chuckled.

"Even still, he almost lost his life today!"

"Well... Harmony is quite in love with her Captain, she is probably feeling quite desperate, knowing she almost lost him today."

"If she keeps this up, she may well kill Bordon herself."

They both heard a long, low moan, and he felt a stirring in his own groin.

"You know, I was shot today, Linda," he remarked.

"I know," she whimpered and wrapped her arms around him.

"I was hoping you might be feeling the same desperation, hmm?" He smiled down at her and she finally took the hint.

"Perhaps a little," she said lustily, shifting above him to straddle his waist. Tavington took hold of his erection as Linda positioned herself, sinking down on him with a heavy sigh. He folded his arms beneath his head and watched her as she moved up and down on his length, her eyes closed and her lips parted with growing pleasure. He had not noticed how dark her hair was before, it was a rich red - but now it was as dark as blood and flowed down to almost cover her breasts.

So completely different than Beth, with her golden locks and brown eyes, but every bit as alluring. Linda was, in her own way, really quite beautiful. Why had not noticed it before? Perhaps because before, she had only been a whore but now he was looking at his mistress, and she changed considerably in his eyes.

He sat up to pull her close, skin to skin and she kissed him passionately, their tongues dueling as they drew closer to climax.

"Ah, yes..." he whispered against her lips as she began to slam down on him, driving him deeper inside her. "Yes... Linda..."

Linda smiled as her climax washed over her, pleased that she was back to being Linda, not Beth.

* * *

Tavington sneered with pleasure, hot and fierce. He lay on his back, his lip curled, straining against the lengths of silk ribbon Linda had tied around his wrists, binding him to the headboard of Beth's bed. He strongly suspected Linda's desire to bind him stemmed less from the pleasure it gave her, and more to save her backside from being striped raw with his riding crop.

"Agh!" he groaned and again pulled at his bindings. His eyes were crazed as he watched her slide up and down his length. She was so moist - dripping even. His heavy erection thrust into her easily. It felt so good - damned good.

With his wrists safely bound, she was safe from the pain she knew he wished to inflict. She thought to bring him to a quick release, hoping to ease his rage and tension before allowing him access to her flesh.

"Oh, William," she murmured as he lifted his hips from the bed and punched up into her heat. "Ah, God!"

"Faster," he commanded harshly, urgently. "Agh - yes... Mnn!" He lifted his head off the pillow to watch her, her head dropped back, her red hair spilling over her firm breasts. Her expression was pure rapture as she rode him, her lips parted, her eyes bright with desire and lust. Christ, how he wanted to suckle her nipples, but she was riding him too high and with his hands bound he could not lift himself up to reach her. They were tantalisingly out of reach.

Planting both feet into the mattress, he began to buck beneath her, frantic now for release.

"Linda, Christ... Yes... Agh!"

His words sung in her ears. She loved that he desired her, loved that she could calm his rages. Loved that it was her that he turned to during those times of need. Loved that with Beth gone, she had no rival for his attentions.

"She can't give you this," she murmured now. There was not need to say the other woman's name, Tavington knew it was Beth Linda spoke of. "Can she, William? Not like this. Oh, dear Christ," she moaned.

Careful of his bandages, she braced herself with her palms against his chest and thrust down on his length, until he filled her to her roof. He continued to buck and groan but she stopped bucking, rotating her hips in small circles instead.

"Agh!" Tavington arched his back then collapsed against the bed again, his legs moving restlessly beneath the blankets. He ignored her words, focusing his thoughts on Beth herself. Of her long golden hair that touched the top of her backside when it was loose. Of her dark brown eyes, her soft smooth skin. Her beautiful face which lit up when she saw him, back in happier days. The feel of her lips against his, her breasts beneath his hands. "So close, so close!" He panted.

"I know," Linda smiled and purred, her own pleasure mounting, she wondered who would reach climax first. Once he came, he would be safe to unbind. For now however, she watched with her lips caught between her teeth as he struggled to free himself. She surged above him once more. Leaning over to kiss him, she lifted her buttocks high and slammed down hard. Her tongue circled his, both panting into each others mouths as they met one another's thrusts.

He drew back to nip her lips, she didn't mind. She liked it. She did the same to him and relished in his growl of pain and enjoyment. Then her climax took her over and she cried out, burying her face in the nook of his neck. She clutched his strong arms, holding on tight as the waves of pleasure crashed through her.

"Beth!" He muttered, "Agh, Beth!"

For Linda, it was like being slapped across the face with a cold fish. He didn't seem to notice her stiffen above him, barely seemed to notice he had said the other woman's name at all.

"Agh!" He was bucking wildly, frantic now that she had stopped moving on his length. "Don't stop, move damn you! Linda!"

She lifted herself from his chest and briefly considered getting off him, not allowing him to climax. But that would only enrage him further and he was already in a sour mood. It would only mean pain for her later - she could not keep him bound forever. And so she began to thrust again and he grunted his appreciation. His eyes squeezed shut and he groaned a long, fulfilled groan. She felt his cock jerk and twitch deep inside her, his breath caught and his entire body shuddered, then he stilled.

Only then did she climb off of him and in the stormy silence of one greatly offended, she began to unbind his wrists.

Tavington was too busy catching his breath and calming after his explosive climax to notice. She coiled the lengths of thick ribbon efficiently and perched on the edge of the bed to place them in a side drawer. And there she stayed, perched on the edge of the bed with her back to him, wondering if being his mistress was worth the heart ache. For him to lose himself so utterly in a fantasy of _her_, of the woman who had _left_ him, was too much for Linda to bear.

It was one thing that he had bound her, had insisted on calling her Beth. Beating her with his riding crop, dolling out the punishment meant for the other woman. Beth had been far from his grasp and Linda had taken the brunt of the punishment, but with it had come pleasure as well. Wild, frenzied and so very hot. And after it all, he had held her, kissed her, comforted her.

But this was not the same. This time he had been envisioning another woman, the woman he loved, while Linda worked hard to pleasure him, to appease him, to calm him as a mistress aught.

Was it worth it? She asked herself again as he rose from the bed behind her, oblivious to her affliction, to the wound he had caused her with that one little gasp.

Beth...

She would always be there, between them... But Linda had told him she would take what she could of him while she could. She glanced over her shoulder and watched as he cleaned himself with a square of linen. She loved him - every part of him. Her eyes lingered, straying over his body - his hard buttocks, his shapely legs. His strong arms and muscled chest. Still covered with bandages, he still moved stiffly as though his wounds pained him. They had only been inflicted a day or so ago, Linda was not surprised he was still in pain.

Tavington's long strands framed his face, dropped past his shoulders. She loved that too - loved winding her fingers through that dark wealth. His face was darkening again, as he stared at the small case on Beth's table. Linda could not forget that this was the other woman's room, it even seemed to smell of the other woman - the way she imagined Beth would smell. She had never met Beth, had never laid her eyes on her. She was reported to be a great beauty.

Linda would never be called a great beauty though she knew she was pretty. Tavington's affection seemed to be growing for her, but with a sharp pang in her stomach, she accepted he would never love her.

Take what she could of him, she decided with a sigh.

But not now. Not with his irritation returning so soon after climaxing. She wondered as she dressed, just how long it would be until he began to calm enough to have relations without the need for violence. She liked a little rough play, especially with William. But she ached all over and just wanted him to take it back down to a more reasonable level...

And she wanted him to think of her, not of Beth. Linda scoffed quietly as she pulled her stockings up her legs under her skirts. That would be a fine thing, but would only happen in her fantasies.

She pulled her cape around her shoulders and still Tavington had not moved, still he stood stiffly, staring at the offending case. She wondered what it contained but she did not dare ask. And she would not look, either. Not ever.

"William?" She asked gently as she made her way around the bed toward him. She placed her hand on his bare back and still he did not turn to her. "William?" She tried again.

He turned finally and she saw only storm and darkness in his eyes. She sighed heavily.

"I can pleasure you with my mouth, darling," she offered. "That would surely calm you."

"It certainly would," Tavington replied, he sat in the seat at Beth's desk. Linda knelt before him and began work immediately, her lips moving along his semi hard length lovingly, her tongue circling his tip. He had only just climaxed and so it took some time, but eventually his cock was rock again. His fingers twined through her red hair, he urged her head down and she took his erection into her mouth. Tavington began to grunt and groan, his hips pushed up, forcing his length deeper. Linda was used to him, knew what he liked, she began to suckle lightly, then harder as he threw his head back and grunted and gasped. His erection twitched inside her mouth, it pulsed with its own heartbeat.

Her fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft, her free hand massaged his pouch lightly. Sensing he was close to his release, Linda began sucking hard, her head bobbed up and down as fast as she could go, then Tavington groaned a low, long groan, his cock pulsed again and suddenly she could taste his seed, salty and thick in her mouth.

He held her down on him while he calmed, then finally released her and rested his arms on the sides of the chair. Linda wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed into his lap to rest her head on his hard chest. He kept still, did not embrace her, much to her disappointment. She had hoped his arms would wrap around her, but he kept them stubbornly still, resting on the arms of the chair. She could feel him tensing again, he was dwelling on Beth and the contents of that damned case - she just knew it.

With a great sigh, Linda pulled away from him. She did not ask when he would summon her again, in his current mood she thought it best simply to leave, as quietly and quickly as possible. There was a small mirror hanging from the wall, Linda gazed into it to fix her hair, to shove it up beneath her cap. When she turned back, Tavington still sat where she had left him, breathing heavily and staring blindly at nothing, oblivious to his nudity.

She averted her gaze and walked quickly to the door. She hoped he would rouse enough to stop her, to call her back to him, so she could go to sleep in his arms but it was not to be. With a heavy sigh of disappointment, she slid out into the corridor.

* * *

The door clicking shut did rouse him, but Tavington made no move to go after her. Working his tensions and fury out on Linda had only worked while he was in the throes of passion. Now that he was spent - with no hope of gaining another erection at least until morning, he wanted nothing more than to be alone. It was just as well she was gone, he was in a dark mood indeed and he would only hurt her. Of course, she enjoyed it, enjoyed the titillations of pain during relations but he took her beyond what was pleasurable to her.

He tightened his lips and turned the chair around until he was facing Beth's desk and the small case. With a quick flick, he opened the lid and began to rifle through the letters inside again. Not that there was much point - it was a useless exercise really. There were none from Mr. Martin or Lieutenant Martin. That was a curious thing, was it not? Why she had felt the need to get rid of Benjamin Martin's letters? What could the Patriot have written to this daughter, that Beth would feel the need to destroy them?

But that was not the only thing that was troubling him. No, it was the letters she had kept - letters from Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton. Who, it seemed, had written to Beth three times since he left for the border of North Carolina. Three times! In the space of a couple weeks! And by the tone of his letters - she had replied!

Tavington had received letters from Banastre also, and never once had Banastre mentioned that he was corresponding with Beth! Beth had not mentioned it either. Deception piled on deception.

With a scowl, he reached into the case and opened one of Banastre's letters.

_Dearest Beth_, he wrote.

Dearest. Tavington snarled with fury.

_I hope by the time this letter reaches you, you will have warmed to me and forgiven my part in that ill conceived wager. My feelings for you remain unchanged, I am as I declared myself - blindly in love with you. Though my duty occupies much of my time, I find myself thinking of you constantly. Whenever I think of the kiss we shared, my lips burn._

Tavington he could read no further. The paper crumpled in fist. Not that he needed to keep reading, he knew the contents by heart now. The confirmation that Banastre had kissed her, that he had dared! And Beth accused William of inconstancy?

He rose abruptly and pushed away from the desk, the chair skidding loudly across the floor. That was what had Tavington so incensed now. Not that Martin's letters were missing, but the discovery that Banastre was writing to Beth, courting her through correspondence. And she had let him, she had written him back, encouraged him! Allowed him to kiss her!

Usually Tavington would shrug Banastre's feelings off, take them with a grain of salt. The man was falling in love with a new woman every other week!

But amongst Beth's belongings, in a small box which contained her jewelry, Tavington had found a heavy bracelet made up of silver links, attached to a slim flat plate. The plate bore the inscription 'Cornet Tarleton'. It had been a gift sent from England from Banastre's extremely indulgent and loving mother. It was one of Banastre's most cherished possessions, for it represented his humble beginnings in the British Army.

And he had sent it to Beth. Which was how Tavington knew for certain that his friend, his oldest and closest companion, was not merely infatuated with Beth, but in love with her.

Opening the drapes wide, Tavington gazed out the window to the dark street below. A few lanterns still flickered, though it was close to midnight. He cracked the window open, letting a cool breeze into the room. Of course with the breeze came mosquitoes and other biting insects. Damned South Carolina and its unwanted wildlife. He quickly blew out the candles, plunging the room to darkness to prevent the annoying insects from being attracted. Laying down on the bed, he closed his eyes and let the breeze blow over him.

Beth's bed... He'd spent two hours kissing her right here, in this very bed. Memories of her washed over him and he wished now that he had taken it further than kissing. He had done so a few days later, of course - at the ball. He had introduced her to pleasures beyond her imaginings. But after reading that Banastre had kissed her - and knowing that Burwell had as well - made him wish he had not been so solicitous of her virtue. He regretted not claiming her the way every man wished to claim the woman he loved - with the taking of her maidenhead.

He sighed heavily.

Soon.

It was not done between them - not yet, not by a long shot. Tavington doubted it would ever be done between them.


	24. Chapter 24 - At Home With The Family

Chapter 24 - At Home With The Family:

11th June - Fresh Water:

Burwell stroked Beth's hair, she lay curled against him, her head on his shoulder, snoring softly.

"She really should be in bed," Charlotte said with disapproval.

"Leave it be, Charlotte."

She turned a startled gaze to Benjamin, her eyebrows climbing her forehead.

Benjamin ignored her, his daughter was finally showing good sense, she would finally marry Colonel Burwell and Benjamin had no intention of sending Beth off to bed for the sake of propriety. If his daughter wished to sleep curled against her betrothed, her father would do nothing to gainsay her. Not when he was in the room chaperoning the two of them, at least.

"There is a matter I wish to raise with you, Colonel Burwell," Charlotte said and Burwell shifted his attention to her. "I did not wish to discuss it in front of Beth, but as she is asleep…"

"What is it?" Burwell asked. They kept their voices low, a soft hum that would not wake his sleeping fiancé.

"You understand that Colonel Tarleton and Colonel Tavington were attempting to court Beth?" She asked, feeling it prudent to lump both Officers in together, to not pay particular attention to either one - especially not to Tavington. It was best Burwell did not know how deeply Beth had fallen for Tavington - Mage had been quite right on that score. Burwell's face darkened, his lips tightened.

"I am aware," he said, not sounding happy in the slightest.

Charlotte leaned forward, her face intent and her usually mild voice taking on a sharpness. "And were you aware that my brother was using Beth to spy on them?"

"What?" Burwell jerked were he sat, almost upsetting his cosy position with Beth. He glanced at the top of her head, waited several moments and when she did not wake, he spoke more quietly. "Beth was spying on them?"

"Yes, albeit unknowingly."

"What the devil is this, Charlotte?" Benjamin asked, his body stiffening.

"I only found out a few days ago," Charlotte said, she was unable to keep the anger from her voice; she'd been furious when she found out and that had dulled only slightly in the days since. "Tavington, Tarleton, and even Ensign Watson were all permitted to court Beth - the more often the better as far as Mark was concerned. After each encounter, when the Officer withdrew, my brother would question Beth to draw every bit of information he could from the encounters. She had no idea why - told me she had been wondering why he would question her so thoroughly, but then one day she walked in on my brother, Mr. Ferguson and Ensign Watson discussing their plan to try to rescue Edward Rutledge from the dungeons. That was when she finally realised - her uncle is a spy and all those times he threw her together with those Officers and questioned her later was to gain information he couldn't otherwise access."

She noticed Benjamin's face becoming blotchy, red patches across his cheeks that usually indicated anger. His lips were tight, he shared a sharp look with Burwell.

"No," Colonel Burwell said. "I was not aware of this, I would not have approved Beth being used in this capacity!"

"Nor would I," Benjamin spat.

"Good, I am relieved," Charlotte dropped back in her chair, a weight somehow lifting. If Burwell had approved of Beth used in such a manner, Charlotte's own regard for the man would have decreased tenfold. She barked a stiff, unamused laugh. "It began almost immediately. The day the British moved in, Beth and I were watching from my front gate as the soldiers marched by. These two Officers came over, saying they needed directions but I am certain they just wanted to chat with two pretty women. One was Colonel Tarleton, the other was Major Hanger." Both men had heard about these two Officers - Charlotte had their undivided attention now. "Hanger was quite the nuisance, he would not let me alone - every day he visited, sometimes twice a day."

"Did he now?" Benjamin said and Charlotte smiled, seeing a little green flare in is blue eyes. Jealousy was a strange thing when it got a hold.

"He did, until they were finally called away from the city. But they were there for days - over a week, I think, and Tarleton visited Beth as often as Hanger did me. They always came together. It was driving me to madness. I spoke to Mark about it and he said it was for the best that Beth was seen to be with other courtiers, especially British ones. He said that if any rumours sprung about your engagement, people would be less inclined to believe it, if she was being courted by British Officers. I did not like it, but I did see the sense in it. He told me it also helped him to look more 'Loyalist'."

"Look more Loyalist?" Benjamin asked, lips twisting.

"He was trying to ingratiate himself with Clinton, hoping to get into his inner circle where he might glean more intelligence. To add to this illusion, he had Mage and Cilla visit the Tisdale's repeatedly, for the Green Dragoon Officers were quartered there, including Major Bordon - he is Tavington's adjutant. Mark wanted me to go too, I did a couple times but I could not stomach it so I stopped. I think Mage was doing more than pretending to be a good Loyalist - I think she was spying on the Officers and reporting back to Mark. The difference is, she knew she what she was doing. Beth did not."

"Dangerous work that, and involving women. My own daughter, too," Benjamin shook his head. "What was he thinking?"

"I could not understand it either. When Colonel Tavington started coming by to see Beth, it got even worse. Prior to the British arriving, Beth was stayed with me more than with Mark, but Mark had Beth spend more nights at his house and I lost complete control of the situation, Ben. He encouraged frequent visits from the Officers, invited them to dinner, went for walks at night - along the streets or through the garden - he, Mage and Cilla would go too, but they would always let Beth and Tavington fall behind which was far too intimate for my liking. I confronted him, told him I was not easy about it and he again said it was important for Beth to be courted by others, so no one would guess she was engaged to Colonel Burwell. What I did not know was that after each visit, when the Officer left, Mark would question Beth thoroughly, drawing out as much information he could. If Beth had mentioned that part to me sooner, I'd have known immediately his true motive and I would have put a stop to it."

Benjamin and Harry exchanged a glance, both looking quite unimpressed.

"At the beginning, when it became apparent the city would surrender, I wanted to leave then," Charlotte said and the men nodded. "Mark said it was unsafe. I understood his reasoning, two women travelling with my staff - I'd usually be quite safe, but with the roads crawling with the British? And so I remained. But then when these Officers began circling Beth and I, I broached the matter again. Mark said it was still too dangerous. Days later, I mentioned it again. He said that he would not send Beth home unless you recalled her, Ben. And days later, with the ambush. I wanted to send her home and he still refused, saying we needed to go through the motions for if Beth fled, it would be worse for her. Honestly, I look back now and think of all his stalling… all that time, all he really cared about was the information he was getting from Beth. He wanted Beth to go through with the ambush so she and Tavington would remain friendly and Mark would continue to gain whatever intelligence he was gaining from it. It was Beth who told me, when she finally put it together herself - when she discovered Mark was a spy, she finally had her answer as to why he questioned her so thoroughly after each encounter with those Officers. He set his own niece to spy on them. Well," Charlotte said, barely holding back pent up fury. "I was not going to put up with another moment of it. I told Mark that Beth was leaving the city and that was final. He'd kept it from me, his true purpose in allowing those men near Beth, but I knew now and I was determined to put a stop to it. He argued that he was blind without her, that there was no harm in it -"

"He was going to continue, even after you confronted him?" Benjamin asked, outraged.

"He certainly was. But I was having no more of it. I told him that I would leave that very day, I'd come straight here and tell you to go to the city to fetch your daughter. I told Mark that he could explain it all to you, how he's been using Beth and why he should be allowed to continue. He changed his mind fairly quickly after that."

"I imagine he did," Burwell said.

"Even then, there was more reason to delay. This was after the ambush, and Tavington had received the letter you had that negro deliver to him. Did you threaten Beth in that letter somehow?"

"Well, it wasn't a true threat, I knew she hadn't worked with Tavington against me. But I wanted to throw him off the scent, so I told him that if I discovered Beth had betrayed me, I would be quite wroth. I intimated that she would be punished," Burwell said. "Not that I would ever punish her, Ben."

"I know, I know," Benjamin waved a placating hand. "It was the right thing to do."

"It was," Charlotte agreed. "However, it did mean that Tavington took the threat seriously and with you telling him that you were having the house watched, he worried that you might abduct her or somewhat, so by the time I confronted Mark and demanded he remove Beth from the city, there were already two or three guards set nearby watching Beth's every move. It was days before we could devise of a way to get her out."

"Is that why he came after her, Mrs. Selton?" Burwell asked. "Because he thought I would take her, that she would be unsafe with me? "

_Because he wants to marry her for her fortune. _Charlotte said, "I don't truly know, though I suppose that might be part of it. Mark was to tell him Ben was ill and that Beth and I were returning too Fresh Water to tend him. You weren't mentioned in any of it at all, but yes, I suppose he pursued to keep Beth from you - for her own protection," she added, feeling wretched at the lie. Tavington wanted Beth for herself, a thing Charlotte would confide to Benjamin when they were alone, but she would not tell any of it to Burwell. "I am wroth with Mark - he should not have been using Beth like that, and to lie to me about it, to keep stalling each time I said we should leave - so much unpleasantness could have been avoided if he'd just listened to me to start with."

"I am wroth also," Benjamin said. "I will most certainly be discussing it with Mark, though it'll be a conversation he will not relish hearing."

"I'd rather be blind to the British, than to use Beth as a spy," Burwell said. "Willing or unwilling."

Benjamin reached out for Charlotte's hand. "Thank you for looking after our girl," he said and Charlotte gave him a lopsided grin, she felt her cheeks warming.

"I just hope Tavington doesn't find out. If he learns that Beth warned Colonel Burwell of the ambush, she'll be in trouble enough. But if he thinks she was spying on him and reporting to Mark willingly, well," Charlotte trailed off, feeling cold all over.

"My thoughts exactly, which is why I shall be taking this up with Mark just as soon as I can," Benjamin said, voice hard. "Gods, the world is going to hell. My brother in law is pitting my daughter up against wolves. The two of you saw a full blown skirmish. And Marion is dead. Lord, I can't believe Marion is dead," he said. He had served with Francis Marion over twenty years ago, in the Cherokee. Marion and Martin had both been part of Burwell's unit, along with Trellim, Banksia and several others - Rollins, Billings - who had small plantations not far from Benjamin's.

Talk turned to the skirmish - it was an unmitigated disaster, plain and simple. They discussed the battle at length, Captain Frank Doyle detailing the attack itself, for Burwell had not been present.

It was close to midnight when Charlotte finally put her foot down.

"She needs to be in bed," she said decisively, rising from her chair and bending over Beth to gently wake her.

"I will carry her," Burwell said and Charlotte pursed her lips. There was no help for it however, Burwell's mind was set and Benjamin still held his silence. The Colonel strode past Charlotte with Beth in his arms, carrying her out of the parlor door, heading up the steps to the next landing. Charlotte caught up to him and led the way to Beth's room, opening the bedchamber door for him.

* * *

At the sight of the dark shape of Fresh Water rising up in the distance, Mark tried to urge his flagging mount faster, but the horse had had enough. Its sides heaved, its legs trembled. Instead of trying to force it to a gallop, Mark dismounted and led the exhausted mount by the reins, both walking slowly. It was pitch black except for his torch. One foot in front of the other, after his fraught ride, he was almost to safety. He didn't know what time it was, two o'clock perhaps. A few hours before dawn. He made his way toward the house, over a bridge, angling toward where he knew the carriage lane to be.

Which was when he was stopped by armed men, a check point of Continentals suddenly shouting out to him, demanding to know who he was and where he was from. Mark told them, his voice wary, his throat hoarse. They gave him water, a runner was sent to the house to inform Burwell and Benjamin, then two soldiers fell in beside him to escort him the rest of the way.

Benjamin and Burwell were both standing on the top steps of the piazza, wrapped in banyans, glares, and a stony silence.

"I don't care how angry you are," Mark said, reeling with exhaustion, ready to fall at the bottom step. "I'm in trouble, Ben, and I've got no where else to go."

* * *

They were seated in the parlour beside the unlit fire. Candles and lanterns that had been extinguished at midnight were burning again now, three hours before dawn. Ben was in his favourite armchair, though it offered little comfort now. Charlotte and Burwell took up chairs opposite Mark.

"Tell us what happened," Benjamin commanded. He knew some already, from Charlotte. He was asking what had happened between the time that Charlotte and Beth fled the city and Tavington came after them.

"Tavington came to the house. Asked for Beth," Mark began. "I told him you were sick and that she was gone. He punched me in the stomach. Twice." He noticed the surprise looks that crossed their faces. "What, you didn't know he is a brute? This is the first you're learning of it?"

"Just get on with it," Burwell said testily.

"He left, to pursue Beth," Mark continued. "And the guards that he'd set to watch over the house went with him. We thought we were fairly safe after that, but then the guards returned - and they bought more with them. Ten. Then twelve. Before long, there was twenty of the damned bastards stationed around the entire house. I'd already decided to go directly to Clinton to lay a complaint about Tavington for beating me, but now I had a full score of Tavington's men to confront Clinton with, also. I was going to demand Tavington be pulled up short, for his blatant misuse of his authority. Armed with this righteousness, I marched out, mounted up, tried to ride from the yard. One of Tavington's guards stopped me, demanding to know my business, where I was going, what I was doing. I told him I was going to his Commander and Chief to have the whole lots of them removed from my Goddamned property. He looked a bit taken aback, but he let me go. Not without following, however. He trailed me all the way to the Goddamned Exchange and waited until I was walking into the building," Mark was leaning forward, elbows on his knees; he shuddered with remembered fury. "I don't know what I was thinking - I assumed I'd be let straight in to see Clinton. Only, Clinton hadn't arrived yet. I was sat down in a receiving room with God knows how many others waiting to see the Commander. I was there waiting for over an hour before someone announced that Clinton had finally arrived. But I wasn't seen first - it was those who were there first that would be seen first. I was frustrated at the time, but now I know it for the blessing it was. They were serving us tea and sweetmeats, after I don't know how many cups I needed to use the privy again so off I went. I was just coming out when a gentleman I've never met before says to me, "Do you know Mr. Putman?" There was something in the way he said it, all excited and nervous at the same time, it didn't feel right to answer that I am he, so I said I had heard of him but didn't know him personally. All excited, as if it was the grandest news of the century, he tells me that Tavington has sent to Clinton to inform him that Putman is a spy and that he has sent one of his Captains to secure Putman's immediate arrest."

"Jesus," Benjamin breathed and the others exchanged glances.

"I said 'you don't say?' and the fellow said that the Captain - who it turned out was James Wilkins, by the by," he said with a significant glance at Benjamin. "Had sent his men straight to my place to make the arrest, while he went to inform Clinton at the Exchange. It's how this gentleman learned of it - the receiving chamber was filled with soldiers looking for me. If I hadn't bumped into this fellow on the way out of the privy…" Mark shook his head, feeling the weight of his close call settle upon his shoulders. "I told the gentleman that I hoped Putman was found, and then I walked away. Kept my hat low, tried to walk like I wasn't hiding anything. I untied my horse and I rode away from the Exchange, breaking into a gallop as soon as I was down the street aways. Providence was shining down on me, the Almighty himself must have been, because by God, I got away by the scraping of my teeth."

"Damnation," Burwell said. "That sounds… Harrowing."

"It was," Mark sighed. "I went straight to Charlotte's, hoping Nicholas was there. Luckily for me, he was. He's been one of my men for a few weeks now -"

"Watson? Ensign Watson?" Charlotte gasped and Mark nodded.

"He's been disgruntled for sometime now, and when Tavington commanded him to leave the Ball for no other reason than to stop Watson from dancing with Beth, that was the straw that broke the camels back," Mark said. "But he was already mine, even before that. Not all of the visits to my house have been to see Beth." Charlotte shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. "Anyway, I sent Watson over to my place, to take a look and report back. When he returned, he said the place was crawling with Dragoons and that the search for me had begun. I had to leave, to get out of the city. I went to McCormick's and he helped connect me with a fellow who had a dock onto one of the byways. He smuggled me out of the city and came straight here. Gods, I had to leave Mage and Cilla though. Gods, I'm so scared for them," he bowed his head, cradled it in his hands. "I hate this, they're stuck in the city and I'm not there to protect them." He ran a hand over his messy hair. "Watson said he'd get word to them that I got away, and he promised to send me news of them when he could. But I don't know what is going to happen to them."

"It they were innocent, they wouldn't have a problem," Benjamin snapped. "But they aren't, are they? Because you thought it to be a grand idea, bringing your wife, your daughter and _my_ daughter, into your little spy ring. Because of that, they have plenty to worry about. They are in the hands of the British, who they committed treason against!"

"The Redcoats don't know that Mage and Cilla were spying," Mark replied defensively. He hadn't wanted pity or sympathy or false reassurance, but he'd been expecting all three. But here was Benjamin, attacking him instead!

"It's only a matter of time before they put two and two together and realise they were. You should not have left them there. All that time wasted waiting for Clinton at the Exchange - you should have spent your morning getting them out of the city before they began searching for you!"

"I didn't know they were about to realise I was a spy!"

"If there's one thing a spy and a soldier have in common, it's that you should always think three steps ahead," Benjamin snapped. "If Mage and Cilla were innocents, it would not be an issue. But they are guilty of treason, Mark. If they are found out, it will not be pretty."

"You think I enjoyed abandoning them? Christ Ben! This is my daughter and my wife you speak of!" Mark flared up, angry with Benjamin for throwing these truths up in his face. Angry with himself for not getting them out when he had the chance, and then for fleeing and leaving them behind. He gripped his glass and stared into the empty fire place, brooding. Benjamin hadn't been there, yet he takes him to task for the decisions he made? "Trellim will look after them," he said softly. "They aren't alone."

"And your niece," Benjamin ground out, ignoring this last about Trellim. "We speak of her, also."

"She's safe and sound now, because of me," Mark snapped.

"She was in danger, because of you!" Benjamin cried, incredulous. "Pulling her from the fire doesn't negate the fact that you put her in there in the first place! You set her to spying, you put her in harms way, when you encouraged those connections!"

"I already addressed this with you, didn't I Mark?" Charlotte's voice rang through the chamber and for a moment, Benjamin feared she would wake the children upstairs. She was not yelling, but she was not anywhere near as quiet as she usually was and it _was_ the dead of night. "I said it once and I will say it again, it is detestable. Disgusting, that you would put the women of your own family to such use!"

"Mage, Cilla and Beth were quite agreeable," Mark said, lifting his chin.

"Beth didn't even know," Charlotte leaned forward, fury in her every move. "She knew she was to pass on items of interest to you, but you told her you merely wanted to keep abreast of things, so that you would be warned if there was to be personal danger to you and the family! You questioned her, after each time she had one of those wretches that call themselves gentlemen come to visit her. But she had no idea that you were a spy, that you were passing that information on to someone who could use it against the British. She did not know that she herself had become a spy." Charlotte leaned forward, her gaze arrow sharp. "I begged you to let me take her away from the city and you continually refused. Benjamin hadn't summoned her. Cilla would miss her. Her lessons would suffer. Those were the reasons you gave me, but they were all lies. You didn't care about any of that, you wanted her there for the information she was gaining from Tavington and Tarleton, and never mind the damage throwing her in with them so often has wrought for us all! How dare you tell her that it was her sacrifice! She didn't even know you were doing that to her!"

Mark's hands trembled. He'd known that Charlotte would have told all of this to Benjamin, Benjamin had known, well before Mark had ever arrived. He could not look his brother in law in the eye just now.

He was too afraid to.

"She is in enough trouble with Tavington," Benjamin began, voice hard as granite. "If he realises you were gaining information through her as well, then it'll make her current troubles with him that much worse. There is no way Tavington will believe Beth wasn't spying on purpose."

Mark huddled in on himself, head bowed.

"Look at me, Mark," Benjamin commanded. Mark slowly lifted his head. "Do you understand that you have betrayed me?"

"Betrayed…" Mark repeated, wide eyed.

"Betrayed the trust I had in you," Benjamin continued. "That you would treat your niece as you would your own daughter."

"That's just it," Charlotte said primly. "That's precisely what he did. Treated her as he would his wife and his daughter. He put them all to the same use. The difference being, Mage and Cilla knew the full depths of what they were delving in to, while Beth was kept in complete ignorance until she figured it all out herself."

"Ben," Mark whispered. "Our men, our boys, they are out there, fighting. Suffering. Dying. They are striving toward our right for freedom." He spread his hands wide. "Our women are no different. They can not take up arms and march to the field of battle, so they take up weapons of a different sort. Mage and Cilla were willing; Gods, it was Mage's idea! But I… I am sorry, I should not have used Beth in the same capacity. Not without her knowledge."

"Not at all," Benjamin snapped, unmoved by this speech. "You put her in with Tavington, with Tarleton, with this Ensign Watson - "

"Watson is mine, now. I told you, he has turned from the British, he can be trusted."

"Be that as it may! The other two haven't. Tavington has especial cause to be wroth with Beth. You allowed him to visit her, to take her out walking, to write to her, to give her gifts! He was courting her, by God! I've been getting letters from bloody Clinton, bestowing Tavington's virtues, commending him to me as a possible husband for my daughter! Colonel Tavington, a British Officer! The Commander and Chief of the British army writes to me on his behalf! You threw them together, you allowed a courtship in order to gain information and all along -" He cut short, unable to finish with Burwell sitting there. All along, Beth was falling in love. Dear God above. Mark hung his head, he knew without Benjamin having to say it, what Benjamin had been about to say. For Charlotte had already confronted the stupid blockhead fool with it back in the city. "And all along, my daughter was being dug a deeper and deeper hole," he said, which was true enough. "And you're trying to make it sound as though you saved her! You put her in that hole in the first place!"

"Let me be very clear, Mr. Putman," Burwell said, leaning forward, face intent. "If I'd known you were spying through Beth, I never would have endorsed it. Any information you gained through her, was not worth it. Do you understand? It was not worth it. You should not have allowed a courtship, it was ill done. I'd rather fight blind, than have information gained under such circumstances, especially when it's my own fiancé that is being harmed by it all!"

Mark shook his head, incredulous. He disagreed entirely, but he doubted either of these two men would see things his way.

"I am sorry," Mark said. "I… you and I clearly have very different ideas about this. My wife and daughter… I see them as soldiers of a different kind, willing and able to fight this war using the weapons they have at their disposal. But I do understand your anger - I am sorry for using Beth. For putting her in situations that -" led to a broken heart. " As you say, has led to her earning the enmity of the British. I am sorry for doing it without her knowledge or your blessing. I am sorry."

Benjamin dropped back into his chair, he exchanged a look with Burwell, who tightened his lips, appearing quite unhappy.

"Very well," Benjamin said finally. "We shall leave it there - there is no point discussing it further. She is safe and sound for now, we will deal with anything else as it happens."

"I agree," Burwell said. "We have war to fight and that is where we should concentrate our efforts."

"What can I do?" Mark asked, eager to please, eager to get back into Benjamin and Burwell's good graces. "Just name it. If it is within my power to help in any way, I shall."

"There is not much we can do, just now," Burwell shrugged. "I no longer have the numbers to strike against Camden, which was my design, with the bulk of the British there becoming sick with the summer fevers. The town is relatively unprotected. If I had enough men, I would be able to strike there, but my numbers are dwindling, not growing. The bulk of my force stationed in the city has been seized by the British and loaded onto their ships like cargo. Those that managed to escape are scattered across South Carolina, leaderless, directionless. I've no idea where most of them are. I have put the call out to them to form up, but it will take time. I have one hundred Regulars with me, that is all. Thomas Sumter is approaching from the north, he commands three hundred militia. I was relying on Marion to cover the St Mark's area but his band might well lose heart, after their defeat and Marion's death. If they dissolve, they might never come back together. Unless," Burwell looked to Benjamin.

"No."

"You could do it," Burwell said. "They would continue to fight, for you."

"They would, and more besides. You would end up with double the number than Marion had in the first place," Mark agreed.

"I will not indulge this again," Benjamin said, voice hard. "How many times must I refuse? I will not do it, and that is an end to it."

Burwell held a stony silence, his eyes becoming granite.

"I'll do it then," Mark said and all eyes shifted to him. "It's been decades since… But how hard can it be? I have led men before, I will lead them again. I'll recruit them, Marion's band and any others that want to join. How many do you need, for an effect strike against Camden?"

"Six hundred, at the least," Burwell said. "Between Sumter and I, we have four hundred. If you could get another two hundred, or more…"

"I'll do it," Mark replied and Burwell grew less tense, less angry with Mark.

"If you can… If you can establish your own militia, and if I can get my scattered men to start forming up in small companies near to Camden, then we'd have a good chance of victory," Burwell said.

"I'll give you a list of names, some people I know who would be interested in helping," Benjamin said, offering as much as he was willing to offer. "Tell them that you're my brother in law, and that I sent you. Those I recommend to you will join for certain, and they will be able to help you to recruit more."

"I will, I will," Mark said, nodding. "But first… might need a few hours sleep, I think."

"Yes, I've had more than enough entertainment for one night," Benjamin agreed. They spoke some more as they filed out of the parlour and up the stairs; Mark was given a room for the night, Burwell retired to his and Benjamin began making his way to his own, only to find Charlotte was standing in just outside his chamber, waiting for him.

* * *

Margaret woke slowly, stirring in her bed and pulling her covers around her with a groan. Light filtered in through the heavy curtains. And she could hear others moving about the house beyond her door. Morning had arrived and it was definitely time to get up. To rise and shine.

She sighed and pushed her covers back reluctantly but then she remembered - Beth was home! With an excited smile, she jumped out of bed and began throwing her clothes on.

"Susan," she called, standing over her younger sisters bed. "Wake up."

Susan sat up groggily and rubbed her eyes.

"Beth's home, remember?" Margaret said brightly. The young woman - still a girl really, more than made up for little Susan's silence with her own chatter. Susan smiled and Margaret continued. "For real, this time. She's staying! Oh, it will be so wonderful to have her living with us again. Well, that is, until she's married. I hope she doesn't leave with Colonel Burwell! Oh, no, I'm being silly now. The banns have to be read and then they'll be engaged for some time before they marry, surely?"

Susan didn't answer her, not that Margaret expected her to. She helped her little sister dress and then began combing the young girls golden hair.

"No, she'll stay with us for a while. She can tell us all about the balls in Charlestown. I would love to go to a ball - it would be ever so fine, don't you think? Oh - I wonder if she will speak to father about getting me a new set of stays? The ones I have are so hard and uncomfortable..." She continued to chatter as she worked.

The truth was, at almost fifteen, Margaret had a desperate need for a mother figure in her life. Her own mother had passed away some seven years earlier, she had died bringing Susan into the world. Margaret had no one to talk to, no one to ask about the changes in her body. No one to talk to about all her feelings!

Oh, there was Abigail, of course. But she was so much older and Margaret feared Abigail just wouldn't understand. She could have spoken to Abigail's daughter, but even Mila had been denied to her - off playing maid to Beth these past two years!

And so Margaret had been surrounded with nothing but brothers at home. They dominated the house, always so loud and bothersome. Susan and Margaret had been outnumbered. But Beth's return would soon take care of that.

"All done. Shall we go see if Beth's up?" Margaret asked Susan whose smile lit the room. The little girl nodded enthusiastically and Margaret took her by the hand and led her from the room. Beth's chamber was across from the one Margaret shared with Susan, only a short walk away.

After knocking softly, Margaret opened the door quietly and the two sisters stepped into the dark room. The heavy drapes where still closed, the light of dawn shining around the gaps. They made their way to the bed, Margaret reached out and opened a single drape so she did not startle Beth awake with a sudden flood of light.

She needn't have worried, for Beth was awake. Her eyes were red rimmed, her face streaked with tears which she tried to wipe away quickly. Margaret had seen them, however and she stared down at her sister with consternation. She eventually pulled a handkerchief from her pockets and handed it to Beth.

Susan sat on the edge of the large bed, her expression grave.

"Are you alright, Beth?" Margaret asked, some of her excitement fading away. Beth nodded tiredly but Margaret could tell she was just trying to be brave. The older girl sat up in the bed, her golden hair lank and dirty, hanging in long strands down her back.

"You went to bed like this?" Margaret asked, astonished. She grabbed up a comb and sat beside Beth, who turned slightly to allow Margaret room to work on the tangles.

"It was too late to wash it," Beth said in a wooden voice. She sniffed and Margaret wondered if she was still crying.

"Aren't you happy to be home, Beth?" Margaret asked with a quaver in her voice. She was an empathetic girl who did not like to see others suffering. She was also hurt, that Beth was not as excited to see them as Margaret had been to see her.

"I am," Beth turned around to assure her. "I'm so happy to be with you again, and with Susan," she pulled the small girl into her lap. Susan reached up to wipe the tears from Beth's cheeks. "It's just been a difficult time, is all."

"Oh, I understand," Margaret said quickly. "You saw that horrible battle and everything. I would hate to see a battle, it would be a dreadful thing."

"It was," Beth murmured.

She shuddered with horror as memories of the battle came to her unbidden. Of William being shot, of him fighting for his life, the other wounds he had taken before her very eyes. She could still see his face, so clearly in her mind. Twisted with bloodlust, implacable with rage. And then, at the end, he had stared at her calmly across the narrow divide that separated them, his expression had held... Promise.

With another shudder, she held Susan close as Margaret resumed work on her hair. Tears traced her cheeks, a never ending stream. How in the world she was to bear up and put on a brave face for the entire day, she had no idea. Especially in front of Harry and her father.

Of course, she would have to speak with Harry, she realised. They needed to discuss their wedding plans, possibly even invite Reverend Oliver to dine with them that evening. Her Reverend would read the banns - beginning this Sunday. In only a few days time, her secret engagement to Colonel Harry Burwell would become public.

It would be published in the Bulletins and Colonel William Tavington would learn of it.

Her heart lurched with grief and great, uncontrollable sobs escaped her. She began to cry in earnest.

Margaret was confused, uncertain what had upset Beth so thoroughly. All she could do was wrap her arms around her older sister from behind, offering some small comfort. The three sisters sat on the bed for some time as Beth cried, until Mila came in with a servant, both of them carrying large steaming bowls of water.

"I'm alright now," Beth said listlessly. Her voice was weak even to her ears but try as she might, she could not make it stronger. "Truly."

"Alright..." Margaret said uncertainly and drew away. Beth placed Susan on the bed and rose to wash herself. Mila worked on washing Beth's hair in one of the basins she had bought in.

"Margaret, why don't you and Susan go and help Mama?" Mila suggested. "Beth'll be down soon but Mama needs as much help as she can get, with the house so full of soldiers."

Margaret nodded and left with Susan and the servant, leaving Mila and Beth alone.

"It hurts so much," Beth confided, her already burning eyes stinging with fresh tears.

"I know," Mila said. "I miss Zeke."

The two women embraced, bought even closer with their shared misery.

"We are both so wretched," Beth tried to laugh.

"That we are," Mila agreed. She drew away and went into the closet to choose Beth's dresses and help her change out of her night dress. Once Beth's hair was combed and bound under a cap, Mila began to walk to the door.

"Will you be alright? Mama really does need me downstairs."

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll be down shortly."

Sensing that Beth needed to gather herself before facing the family - and Colonel Burwell - Mila smiled sadly and withdrew.

As soon as she was gone, Beth sat at her desk tiredly, staring into space. Her diary was on the table, within reach. During the night, when she had been unable to sleep she had confided all her secrets and her despair to its pages by candlelight.

Opening the small leather-bound book now, she stared down at the portrait she had drawn of William. The knowledge that his face would fade from her memory eventually had been so overwhelming, had caused her such despair, that she had spent half the night painstakingly rendering his handsome features with ink until she was satisfied with the likeness.

As she gazed at his face now, her breath caught and her stomach gave a small lurch. The portrait seemed so real she could almost see the pale blue in his eyes, though she had used black ink. She stared at the image of William's face for some time, her eyes lingering on his small smile until it became too painful for her to bear. She closed the diary with a small sigh.

Beyond her chamber she could hear her brother's yelling to one another, Thomas bellowing that breakfast was ready. Heaving a deep breath, she wiped her tears and tried to compose herself. It was time to assume that brave face and join the rest of the family.

* * *

As the morning progressed, Beth's family began to comment to one another about how withdrawn she seemed. How out of countenance. Try as she might, she was unable to allay their concerns. At breakfast she was seated at the long dining table with Harry on one side of her, Margaret on the other. Gabriel and Thomas were across from her, her other brothers further along the table chatting excitedly to Harry's Officers. In contrast, Beth barely spoke, unless addressed directly. She hardly touched her food, she didn't think she could stomach a bite.

Even Burwell became increasingly concerned, but so far his duties had demanded his attention and he had not been able to speak with her alone. Finally, close to lunch time, Beth sought him out and suggested they go for a walk to the stream. That in itself was reassuring to Burwell, that Beth had instigated their much needed private time.

"I asked Papa to send for Reverend Oliver, hopefully he will dine with us this evening," Beth said softly as they walked toward her favorite place on the plantation. A small grove of trees beside the stream which would provide an escape from the days heat. "We will discuss the banns - the first one will be announced this Sunday."

"So soon?" Burwell replied, startled. He gazed down at Beth who had her arm looped through his as they walked.

"Yes, I thought it would be for the best," she frowned up at him. "Don't you agree?"

"I do," he nodded quickly. "Of course I do. Good... Very good," he said gruffly.

They reached the trees and Burwell spread out the blanket he had been carrying. The two sat side by side, reclined against a toppled tree trunk, facing the stream.

"Hmm, it's so peaceful here. It's always been my favourite place on the entire plantation," she told him wistfully with a small smile. "I didn't realise how much I missed it!"

He noticed how sad the smile seemed. Even her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. She had been half dazed for the entire morning, as if she was merely going through the motions.

Earlier that morning he'd had a brief moment to voice his concern for her, but she had assured him she was merely tired and recovering from recent events. Now he feared it was much more than that. Many unpleasant reports had come to him over the past week, reports regarding her and Colonel Tavington.

Her behaviour now confirmed those reports. Beth was not tired and recovering from recent events; she was a heart broken young woman in the depths of despair. At more than twice her age, he could see it writ plainly across her face.

Burwell was nothing if not forthright and if ever a time had come to broach his concerns, it was now.

"Beth, there is something I wish to discuss with you," he said, his tone oddly formal. She drew her gaze from the stream and eyed him warily. Yes, he decided, she knew what was coming. "Dear heart, I know that Colonel Tavington was courting you."

"Oh. Yes," she whispered, her heart starting to pound. "Well, uncle Mark thought it a good idea to allow other men to court me, so people would not guess about our engagement. There was Colonel Tarleton and Ensign Watson," she averted her gaze and began to pick idly at the blanket, hoping her voice still sounded normal. "And there was Colonel Tavington, too."

"Yes, well, Mr. Putman and I had a nice long chat about that this morning. Your father had a few things to say of it also," he paused, then continued gently, "your uncle said that it was Tavington more than Tarleton or Watson -"

"Because Tarleton left the city for a time, I have not seen him in weeks. And Watson -"

"Mr. Putman said that Tavington is in love with you, Beth," he said, forthright. Beth's face paled and she was gazing at him almost fearfully. Harry frowned, he had never known her to be fearful before! He often compared her bravery to that of a lioness! Especially after her efforts to protect him at great risk to herself.

"Is it true, Beth?" He asked outright. "Has he fallen in love with you?"

Beth swallowed and lowered her eyes. She replied in a small voice. "No, I do not believe he was in love with me."

The raw pain in her voice alarmed him. She couldn't possibly be in love with Tavington, could she? Certainly not. She'd gone against Tavington, she'd committed treason to protect Burwell, when she'd warned him the ambush. She couldn't possibly be in love with him. Could she? Gazing at her face, he was forced to confront the truth.

"And why is that?" He asked her. He found he couldn't say the words just yet. Couldn't voice his suspicion, could not ask if she was in love with Tavington. Not when he knew the answer could possibly tear his own heart from his chest.

"He was after my inheritance and my land," she whispered. "I might have needed some coaxing to face the truth, but it was glaringly obvious in the end. He initially courted me because he desired me to be his mistress but as soon as he discovered my wealth - my worth - he began to court me for marriage. His own family is destitute, you know."

"Destitute, is he?" Burwell murmured, watching her face carefully all the while. Listening to her tone, the slight catch in her voice. "Did he propose to you?"

"No," Beth admitted. "But I know he was going to. He did tell me he loved me, but I don't believe him now."

Burwell was silent a moment as he struggled with her words. That Tavington had declared his love for her and would have proposed marriage set his blood to boiling. If the enemy Officer had been standing before him, Burwell would have throttled the bastard! As it was he burned to run his enemy through for coercing Beth with that damned ambush.

"You had need of coaxing to face the truth..." he repeated softly and she blushed with shame. "Beth, I must ask you this - and you must be honest with me. Are you in love with Colonel Tavington?"

Beth's eyes welled with tears and she drew her knees up to her chest, huddling in on herself.

Christ. She was in love with Tavington!

"I see..." He murmured as he studied her.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Beth gasped. "I don't mean to be. I don't _want_ to be! But it won't go away!"

Burwell however, was furious. Sudden rage and jealousy seized hold of him, unbidden and uncontrolled.

"For two years I courted you, Beth," he accused in a harsh voice. "Two. Years. And you fall in love with him in less than a month?"

"I don't know what to say..." Her voice caught and she hung her head. Tears stung her eyes, hot and searing. "I can't help how I feel. I do care for you, Harry. I want to marry you."

"And I want to marry you!" He snapped. "Because I am in _love_ with you, for Christ's sake! Not because your father is my friend and former Captain. Not because of your fortune - I have more than enough wealth not to concern myself with such. It is because I love _you_, and now you tell me you have fallen in love with another man? With Colonel bloody Tavington, who used you so ill!"

Beth was quiet, gnawing at her bottom lip nervously.

"I do care for you, Harry," she repeated finally.

"I know you care for me, Beth," he sighed heavily, still quite vexed. He wondered if he should free her from their engagement - end this farce now before it had a chance to ruin them both. How could he marry a woman who was not only in love with another man, but a man who was his blood enemy?

"Is this it then?" She asked in a quavering voice, her eyes bright with tears. "Will you end our engagement?"

"Why do you want to marry me, Beth?" Try as he might, he could not keep soften his harsh tone. "You are in love with another man - a man who I will kill if God presents me with the opportunity!"

"He would kill you in a heart beat as well," she sighed heavily. They fell silent, Burwell bristling with rage and Beth trying to find the right words to explain. Why did she want to marry him? In truth, she didn't. He was right, she was not in love with him, she was heart broken over another man! She was marrying him because it was her father's will that she did. But she could not say that, not when he was already hurting. What qualities did Burwell have, that made it easier for her to marry the man of her father's choosing? She chose to focus on those. "Because you are a good man, Harry," she said finally, earnestly. "Honest. Even tempered. Kind. I care for you, Harry. I respect you." She reached up to stroke his cheek and he leaned into her touch. "Besides, Aunt Mage says that if there was ever a man in the Colonies who could help me forget... Well, it would be you..."

"She said that, did she?" He murmured. Just then he discovered how ready and willing he was to be convinced by her. He was in love with her and could not bear to live without her. Besides, could he really blame her? Mark admitted to having thrown Beth in with Tavington as often as he could, in order to gain information for the Cause. And the price of that was, and she'd fallen in love with their enemy. How could she not, when the man was trying to seduce her to be his mistress? Burwell imagined the courtship, all the romantic words dripping like poisoned honey from his lips, the attention the younger Colonel had bestowed upon her in his mission to bed her. She was so young and impressionable and far too innocent for such. She would not have understood to be wary of such a courtship; she was hardly the first woman to fall prey to the wrong man's charms.

Dear God, the information Mark had gained was not worth this.

"Beth, you know that..." He coughed with embarrassment now, but he had to know. He plowed on. "You... We will bed each other, Beth. You realise that?"

"Of course I do," she whispered. "Do you remember in Charlestown, when you kissed me?" He nodded and she smiled. "It made my knees weak." Not in the way Tavington's searing kisses did, but it had had an effect on her all the same. And Burwell had clearly needed to hear it - she could feel his anger melting like custard on a hot summers day.

He was quiet for a long time as he considered her carefully.

"I can not like that you have fallen in love with another man," he said finally, his irritation returning. "Especially Colonel Tavington," Burwell tightened his arms around her. "I am not pleased about this Beth, not by far. Lord, you are to be _my wife_. Will you be thinking of him while we are -"

"No!" Beth's voice rose. "Never! You have been married before, will you be thinking of your late wife?"

"Of course not, it is different though, isn't it? She died a long, long time ago, and Tavington is still very much alive and well."

"I knew you would be angry, I didn't want to tell you but I didn't want to lie to you, either."

"I appreciate that. I am feeling so many things right now, Beth. Anger. Jealousy. Resentment, that he could win your affections so quickly!" He drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes. Beth waited him out in silence. "Pleasure that you do desire me. That you desire this marriage."

"I do desire it, Harry," she lifted her head to meet his gaze, hoping he did not read the lie in her eyes.

"Good, so do I. As hard as it was to hear, I am very pleased you were honest with me. We _should_ be honest with each other," he said earnestly. "Of course we will still marry - I just needed a moment to take it all in."

Beth sighed and lowered her head to his chest again. They held each other in a tight embrace and he rubbed her back gently, comfortingly.

"It is over and done with," she said mournfully. "I'll never see him again. But dear Lord, when will it stop hurting?"

Biting back an oath, Burwell and held his fiancé as she wept her heartache over another man. He loved her dearly, but by Christ, it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

Finally Beth began to calm.

"You're a good man," she murmured into his chest. "To comfort me now... You're going to be the best of husbands."

"Time will tell," Burwell said gravely. "But I will try to be."

"Me too," she promised. "I'll try to be a good wife."

He gave her a squeeze and the two fell into a companionable silence, Beth in Burwell's arms, listening to the tinkling stream and the sound of the wind blowing gently through the trees above them.

For the first time since in days, Beth began to feel a sense of security and warmth, with Burwell's strong arms cradling her. She closed her eyes and Tavington's face came to her unbidden. She sighed heavily and snuggled closer to Burwell, seeking more comfort.


	25. Chapter 25 - A Letter From Anon

Chapter 25 - ~ A Letter From Anon ~

_12__th__ June:_

Mrs. Caroline Simms stirred a level tea spoon of sugar into her cup and stirred it through her tea gently. She placed the spoon on the table beside her breakfast dish, then picked up her tea cup and drew a long soothing sip.

"Perhaps she will return to Charlestown, when Mr. Martin is feeling better?" Mr. Simms ventured hopefully. He sat across from her, his breakfast thus far untouched.

"Perhaps. Have you received a reply from Mr. Martin yet?"

"Nothing yet," Mr. And Mrs. Simms sat at the small table on the balcony enjoying breakfast in the morning sun before it became to oppressive to be outside. "It hasn't been too long since I wrote to him. If he refuses to consider Arthur for his daughter, do we look to the Middleton's for Arthur's wife?"

Caroline snorted. "Michael, I would not marry my son off to a Middleton if she came with double Miss Martin's wealth. No, I do not want ties to that family."

"Nor do I," Michael Simms mused. "How about Miss Sarah Wilkins? She has no attachments that I know of."

Caroline was about to reply in the negative. The two families, Simms and Wilkins - were already joined through James and Emily, Caroline's daughter. There was no need for another connection between their families just yet. Before she could explain this, a servant stepped onto the balcony bearing a silver tray with her correspondence.

"Thank you," Caroline said as she took the letter from the proffered tray, broke the wax, unfolded the paper and began to read.

"Oh, my dear Lord!" She cried half way into reading the letter. Her heart pounded with fear and she pressed her trembling hand to her chest.

"What is it darling?" Mr. Simms rose from his seat and was at his distraught wife's side instantly.

"Read it, oh my dear Lord!"

Mr. Simms read the letter - an anonymous correspondence warning them that their family was in danger.

"Come," Michael said grimly. "We must show this to Clinton at once."

* * *

William, Richard and Arthur Simms were admitted into Clinton's small office at once. Mr. and Mrs. Simms - both looking rather shaken, sat across from Clinton in comfortable arm chairs.

"Ah, Colonel," Clinton greeted, rising at once. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"What is it, Sir?" Tavington asked, alert and brisk. He, Richard and Arthur were invited to sit.

"An anonymous letter, addressed to Mrs. Simms, was delivered to the mansion this morning," Clinton explained as he handed the parchment to Tavington. "It warns of a plot against the Simms family."

"A plot?" William and Arthur said in unison.

Both Bordon and Arthur, sitting on either side of William, leaned closer to read the letter over his shoulder.

_Mrs. Simms,_

William stopped almost as soon as he began.

"Anonymous?" He frowned. "This is Miss Martin's writing."

He pulled forth Beth's farewell letter, which he had kept in the pocket of his Redcoat. He gave Bordon a brief glimpse - allowed him to read the first few lines of Beth's letter, to see if his adjutant agreed.

"Yes, I'd say so, the handwriting is identical. The parchment she has used - the sheets are exactly the same. I'd say they were from the same stack - see how both are creased in the corner here?" Bordon pointed to the top left corner. "And the ink is exactly the same hue."

"Let me see," Clinton asked, holding his hand out.

"It's a highly personal letter," William said nervously as he handed both parchments to Clinton.

"I will read only enough to make my own judgement," Clinton vowed, beginning to read. He did not read past the first line.

_William,_

_We have only known one another for a short time, but my love for you is so strong, I can not imagine ever loving another person as much as I do you._

Clinton glanced at Tavington with astonishment. Highly personal indeed! Keeping his promise to read no more than was necessary, he shifted his gaze to the other letter to compare the writing.

After a few moments of scrutinising, he nodded and handed the letters back to William. "I agree, Miss Martin was the one to send you this warning, Mrs. Simms."

"Oh, bless her," Caroline whispered gratefully, near to tears.

"What warning?" Bordon mumbled, they had not read the letter yet. Tavington held it up so the three Dragoons could read it at once.

* * *

_Mrs Simms,_

_I am sorry for writing to you anonymously, but I have some information to impart and I fear repercussion. Please know that I am a friend and only wish you well. _

_Colonel Tarleton recently took a Continental Officer captive. The son of Major Bryant from Colonel Burwell's company. Major Bryant is becoming increasingly fearful for his son. He and Colonel Burwell have hatched a plot that they believe will force Cornwallis to exchange Corporal Bryant and see him returned to his father, safe and sound. For this exchange to come into affect, they need prisoners. However, Colonel Burwell's numbers are few, he has not the capacity to strike in order to gain a prisoner of notable enough standing. _

_Your family has allied yourselves strongly with Sir Henry Clinton and you have a son serving in the Green Dragoons. Further, you have given your assistance in the plot against Burwell, that would have seen him taken captive at your plantation, if he had not been forewarned. You allowed Tavington and one hundred Green Dragoons to set an ambush and in doing so, you have earned the enmity of some very powerful Patriots._

_Therefore, it has been decided, that it will be your family from which Burwell's people within the city, will harvest a captive to use to exchange Major Bryant's son. Please do not fear - this plot against you is very new, but as of yesterday, your family is now being watched. You, and both Miss Simms. Your movements are to be studied, for weeks if necessary, until a pattern can be formed that will reveal your most vulnerable moments. Your movements have started to be recorded, repetitions looked for in your routines. I suppose you would call it surveillance? When they are certain of your routine, they will strike you at your most defenceless. A visit to the milliners for instance, might result in you or one of your daughters being pulled into a carriage and carted out of the city._

_I believe, very strongly, that Colonel Burwell would allow no harm to come to whichever of you is captured, but that is small solace to a girl who is being abducted and herded away to the unknown. I'd be utterly terrified if it were me._

_Mrs. Simms, please take my warning to heart, take what steps you must, to protect your family. And please, I am begging you, burn this letter. Do not show it to another soul. Colonel Burwell can not know that I have betrayed this plot. _

_~Anon~_

* * *

"How was this letter delivered?" William asked as he lowered the parchment to his knees.

"A young slave girl," Mr. Simms replied. "I questioned her myself. She said that very early yesterday morning, a woman gave her one pound to deliver the letter. She - the little girl - could not get away until this morning. I asked her about the woman but she said the her cloak was pulled up close around her face and the sky was only just starting to lighten. She could not describe the woman who gave her the letter."

"Miss Martin left very early yesterday morning. She must have gotten the idea from Burwell," Richard mused. "He gave that slave five pounds to deliver his letter to Miss Martin."

"Yes," William replied softly. "I believe that is the way of it."

"So, what do we do?" Mrs. Simms asked nervously.

"You will be given a strong guard," Clinton replied swiftly. "And I'm afraid you might need to be confined to your planation for a short while."

"I quite agree," Mr. Simms said decisively. "I wish we hadn't learned the identity of the author of this letter; I insist we keep Miss Martin's name out of this, she seems quite fearful of retribution."

"I agree, the knowledge of who gave us this warning does not leave this room," Clinton frowned. "Miss Martin is already in Burwell's bad graces and she is most likely in his hands this very moment. If I had known Mrs. Selton had intended to take Miss Martin out of the city with her, I never would have given her that pass."

_You should not have given it to them anyway._ William held his silence.

"Do you think Mrs. Selton was working with her brother?" Clinton asked. "Was she helping to deliver Miss Martin up to Burwell?"

"I do not know, Sir," Tavington said.

"The silly child should never have left," Clinton said.

"She is a dutiful daughter and believed what her uncle told her, that her father is ill and summoned her," William replied.

"I am powerless to stop the horrors being inflicted upon her by Burwell - with his so called punishment," Clinton tightened his lips. "Yet here she is, serving us again, despite knowing she could land herself in further strife, should Burwell discover it. Well, there is nothing I can do for her now - their plot to remove Miss Martin worked, but this plot against your family will not, Mrs. Simms. Security will be tightened around you and your family. No Continental will get close to you and yours, I vow it."

"Thank you, Sir," Mr. Simms said. Caroline hung her head and began to weep with relief, and Michael placed a comforting arm across her shoulders. "All will be well, darling," he murmured.

* * *

Bordon was pulling a fresh shirt over his head when a knock sounded on his door. He tucked his shirt into his breeches, then called out for the caller to enter. The door opened and Mage, glancing over her shoulder as if to make certain no one had seen her, came in and closed it behind her. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her.

"I… Ah…" She licked her lips, was looking quite nervous. As well she should.

"Did you know?" He asked sharply and she jumped. "You must have known that he was a Patriot to begin with - all that time he spent dancing to Christopher Gadsden's tune. Yet suddenly we show up and he's telling us all that he's a Loyalist. Did you know he was a spy?"

Mage smoothed her skirts with her hands, she swallowed hard, searching for the right thing to say.

"My husband… He is easily influenced by others," she lied, finding no other way to dig herself out of this mire. She wasn't as concerned for herself, if was Cilla she was determined to protect. "Gadsden, Burwell, when they were in the city. They made the arguments against British rule make complete and utter sense. They spoke in such a way that led people to not believe they were committing treason - rather they were saving themselves from a Monarch gone mad." She wandered over to the window, where she gazed out. The view held no interest to her, she simply did not want Richard to see her face while she embarked upon her lies. "He stood for Independence; hell, almost everyone did. It was precarious times, Richard," she said, and that was truthful enough. "The Patriots were gaining such a strong hold on the city, that only the most virulent Loyalists dared made their allegiance publicly known. Governor Bull, for instance. James Wilkins. The Simms family, to name a very few. Others, they were tarred and feathered, chased from the city. Homes ransacked, I was even told that a young woman had been defiled, but I don't know the truth of that. We were scared. My husband… he had a wife and daughter to protect. For Cilla, he would do anything." We both would. "He was already leaning toward the Patriots, and so was easily swayed, especially when - to go against them - could mean bodily harm to his person, the loss of everything he held dear, and possibly the defiling of his own daughter." She paused, gathering her thoughts, trying to think through the truth to discover believable lies. "South Carolina signed the Declaration - which was not the intention, by the way. Those two Gentlemen who went, they had only been sent to discuss the possibility and the predicted outcome of signing. But when they reached Philadelphia, they became so caught up in it all, they just… signed. And those who'd given them authority to sign, had to go along with it. Many on the Assembly were unhappy - including Benjamin Martin."

"And Putman? Was he unhappy?" He came to stand behind her.

"He never held a seat on the Assembly, Richard," Mage said over her shoulder. "The say was never his. I'm just trying to make you understand how everyone was getting caught up in it all, going against what they'd intended. Anyway, in 1775, the British came, attacked the harbour, were turned back at Sullivan's Island, and then they left. In 1776, the Declaration was signed, and South Carolina was now Patriot. The Regiments of South Carolina were combined with the Continental Army. The Province was fully Patriot and it didn't make sense to go against that. But then it became clear that the British were returning. In greater numbers than before, their leadership was stronger than ever. It was looking all too likely that the city would be overcome. I don't like to think poorly of my husband, but I was not surprised when he told me he was recanting his oath to the Patriot Cause and that we were now Loyalists again. Well, when I say again, we were neither one or the other before all this trouble started, it's only in recent years that the division has become so deep. I thought… I thought he was just trying to protect Cilla. And so… When he asked me to not mention his previous associations, I… didn't." She shrugged. She risked a glance over her shoulder and when she saw Richard was listening, she turned to face him. Most the lies had been told, he shouldn't be able to read any thing on her face now. It was imperative she get him into her good graces - Trellim was working blind without the information she and Cilla had previously been gaining. Still, careful, careful. Gently, gently. Subtlety. She kept her hands by her sides, made no move to touch him prematurely. Not until she was certain she'd caught him on her hook again. "There were a few others, from families far more notable than mine. And as you know, I'm was a Middleton ever before I was a Putman, and we're split right down the middle. I just thought… I thought Mark had had a change of heart and was worried that his previous connections would get in the way. He threw himself into his allegiance to the Crown so strongly that even I…" She lowered her eyes and drew a shuddering breath.

"Even you believed it?" He asked.

Still staring at her shoes, she nodded, understanding quite well that she was making herself look quite vulnerable. That would appeal to Bordon, big strong man that he was.

"But now he's gone and… and… I'm in trouble, Richard," she managed to make her voice hitch. "And I don't know what to do." Two tears welled, one in each eye, and they slid down her cheeks.

"Jesus," he breathed, reaching up to thumb away one, then the other.

And just like that, she had him. She would have smiled with joy, for Cilla was safe now and Mage would soon be gaining information for Trellim. But that would have spoiled the affect. She kept up her miserable, helpless, vulnerable facade.

"What do I do?" She whispered again, this time taking a step closer to him. This time daring to touch him. For he'd touched her, he'd initiated the contact, which had set her free to do the same. She clutched at his shirt and pressed herself against his chest, as though she were stepping into his embrace. Sure enough, his arms wrapped around her. "What do I do?" She said again.

"You tell me everything," he replied, two fingers beneath her chin, guiding her head up and back. "Everything, Mage. If you show willingness to cooperate, I will be able to protect you. And your daughter. But you must be honest with me."

"I will," she nodded, lips parted, inviting.

"Do you know where he is?" He asked.

Her mind whirled for the best answer. "No. I…" _Give him something. He is going to find out soon enough anyway. Benjamin can look after himself, Beth and Charlotte are gone, they are safe. It's you and Cilla now. Give him this, so that he'll trust you. _"I can guess… I think… I think he will have gone to Benjamin Martin." _He won't stay there long, he will be safe._

"Is Martin a rebel?" He asked her and she shook her head.

"No. He wants nothing to do with this war," she said, which was true enough. "My husband won't stay there though, if indeed he has gone there at all. He won't put Benjamin and his family at risk, especially when he's already in trouble, after letting Burwell spend the night."

"Letting a spy stay the night is asking for trouble, even if Putman is already on his way."

"Yes, _if_ my husband told Benjamin the reason why he fled the city. I doubt he would have done."

Richard nodded thoughtfully. "If he makes contact with you, you're to tell me immediately." He commanded and Mage nodded vigorously.

"Of course, I will," she reached her one hand as if to touch his face, stopping mere inches from his cheek. She caught her breath and bit her bottom lip, then she slowly lowered her hand, as if uncertain she should dare touch this man, who may or not still be her lover. He saw the gesture, saw her quandary. Cupping her face with both his hands, he bent his head to hers and kissed her. Playing up to him, she gave an agonised gasp and threw herself into the kiss as if desperate for it, her arms around his shoulders, clutching his nape, moaning against his lips as if she were a woman in love and utterly relieved that her lover still wanted her. "I was so worried about you," she lied. "You were shot and… Oh…"

"I'm fine," he rasped between kisses. "Strong as an ox."

With a quick glance down, she noticed the bulge straining in his breeches. _His whore is no where near - you did this to him, his arousal is all for you_. Such a traitorous thought. She hated to admit it, for she had been bedding Bordon for one reason and one reason only - because he enjoyed the pillow talk afterward. A man would be far more forthcoming with a woman he'd been intimate with. But she'd enjoyed him, too. Listening to the a man she'd coupled with bedding his _strumpet_ had made her jealous, it had stirred her, set her to burning.

"Do you think…" she grinned at him, took his hand, and pulled him along until the wall was at her back. "Against the wall?"

"Gods, I'll fuck you wherever you wish," he gasped, his hands flying to his breeches, his fingers ripping at the buttons to pull the panels open.

"So coarse," she murmured, as if admonishing him.

"You've only seen the gentleman in me," he boasted, shoving his breeches down to his thighs. "In all our previous encounters, I was a gentleman. Would you like to know what it's like to fuck a rogue, Mage?"

"Oh dear Lord," she wrapped her hand around his phallus and breathed out slowly. Her heart began to pound and her chest heaved as she stared at him wide eyed. "Will it hurt?"

"Only as much as you want it to," he laughed. "So. Do you want the gentleman you're used to, Mage? Or the rogue."

"Oh, the rogue," she whispered and he grinned against her lips.

"The rogue it is."

It became a frenzied rush - Bordon had been aching all morning and Harmony would not be able to care for him until later that night. She hauled her skirts up to her waist, lifted one leg, wrapped it around his hips.

Bordon immediately positioned his lower body between her legs. Lacing his fingers beneath her buttocks, he picked her up easily and lifted her high against the wall. Her her other leg hooked around his hips even as he lowered her onto his length. He slid into her heat easily and, wasting no time, he began thrusting into her wildly.

Mage gripped his neck and stared down at his handsome face, her lips parted and gasping for air.

"This what you needed?" He rasped softly, raggedly.

"Yes," she hissed back. She bucked her pelvis back and forth, forcing his cock deeper inside her. When she felt his helmet pound against the roof of her, she threw back her head and bit her lip against a long groan.

"So tight," Bordon muttered, his entire cock driving into her, pinioning back and forth urgently. "Agh!"

Their urgent gasps sounded throughout the bed chamber, as he bucked his hips back and forward with quick, fluid motions and they both strove toward release. "Harder Mage," he commanded, planting both his palms against the wall to either side of her head, bracing himself.

"Oh, yes!" Mage moaned, ready for the ramming on her life. "Be the rogue, show me the rogue!"

He did not disappoint her. He thrust into her wildly, he drew his length almost all the way out of her before slamming his hips forward to drive deeply inside of her, he did it again and again until the heat coursing through his veins became an inferno and he cried out and threw his head back, driving into her one last time. Holding still now, his cock twitched and pulsed as his seed spurted deep inside her.

Mage continued to buck, writhe and moan, her eyes squeezed shut and she shuddered. Bordon winced as her fingers gripped his queue, she pressed her hips forward and arched her back, grunting indelicately as she came.

"It seems you have a touch of the rogue in you, too," he whispered.

"More than a touch," she said lewdly as she rocked her hips against his still hard phallus. "The rogue inside me is quite large."

Richard threw back his head and laughed. "Ahhh, yes, very clever," he chuckled. Then he sighed against her lips and resumed kissing her, as they always did as they eased away from their climaxes.

"Are you alright?" She asked him. He was still buried inside her, she was still hard up against the wall, her legs still around his hips. "Your wound."

"Stinging a little," he said, though in truth it hurt like fire. Instead of setting her on her feet and sitting down to rest, he stayed where he was and continued to kiss her. She was quite good at that, he enjoyed the way her lips and tongue played on his. At length, it did become too much for him and he needed to sit down. Regretfully, he withdrew from her body and set her on her feet, he pulled his breeches up as she used a cloth to dry his seed from her thighs and settle her skirts down around her legs. When she was finished, she looked at him askance, and he took her hand and led her to the bed. She kicked off her shoes, he was not wearing his, and the two climbed onto the bed to nestle against one another against the pillows, his arm around her shoulders, her body pressed to his.

"What about… Her?" Mage had never mentioned Harmony, not to Richard's face, ever. And he had never discussed her, either.

"I'll not give her up, if that's what you're asking," he warned.

"Of course not," she stifled a laugh at the notion - Lord, as if she wanted him to! "It's just… She doesn't know about me, does she?"

"No, and I'd like it to remain that way."

"The secret is safe with me. But she was here last night. Are you sure we can continue with one another?"

"I don't see why not," he shrugged. "If you're willing, considering…"

"My husband has made his choice," she said, as if bitter. "He chose to flee, he caused all this, and then left us here." He nodded, as if in understanding. As if he accepted her reasoning. Lord, men were such simple things - especially thing one, so easily driven by the prospect of quim. "She might catch us together, one day," Mage said, giving him this warning. She didn't harbour any particular ill will toward Bordon, he'd been an agreeable if oblivious lover so far, had never caused her any harm. Nor did she desire harm to come to him. "You seem quite in love with her, you could lose her if she learns of us." She felt him grow still and she felt a moment of panic - she could not have him end their affair in a moment of hindsight - she needed to continue with him! "Perhaps we should start meeting at the house again?" She asked, giving him a way out of what could be a dire predicament for him. They'd been meeting at a bawdy house - an expensive one, but a bawdy house all the same.

"You're not allowed to leave, remember?" He said and she heaved a sigh. "No, it'll be alright. Harmony works all day at the damned tavern, and most the night, too. She will rarely be here and when she comes, it won't be spontaneous, she'd never come here unannounced. It'll always be because I bring her here."

"Do you think…" She shifted, a little discomforted. "Do you think, maybe, that you could take her somewhere else?" She asked it hesitantly, wary of his feelings for Miss Jutland, wary that she might offend him and set him against her. Already his look was darkening. "I'm not saying anything against her," she spread her hands wide, as if in surrender. "It's just… This is my home, Richard. And more importantly, it's Cilla's home. We could… we could hear you last night."

"Hmmm. That would have been… strange for you," he was thoughtful a moment, then added - as if testing her, trying to judge what she felt for him. "Were you jealous, Mage?"

"No," she frowned, shaking her head. Then she smiled and gave a soft laugh. "Maybe a little." He grinned up at her. "No, please don't mistake me. I'm not asking you to be rid of her because I'm jealous and can't abide you having this other woman in your life or anything like that. I knew from the start that you and she… Anyway, I just… Cilla…"

"She heard it, did she?"

"Well… It was actually the other ones she heard. Tavington and that other woman. What was he doing to her? It sounded like he was murdering her! I could heard the slaps and…" Mage shuddered delicately. "Cilla and I were both quite afraid. But I couldn't come to you and ask because… well…"

"I was with Harmony," he nodded.

"Does he… Hit her?"

"With his riding crop," Bordon said, as if it were of no moment. "I believe she likes it."

"How could she possibly like it?" Mage gasped with shock.

"I think your introduction to the rogue is too little, too late," he said, amused. "Some people like rough play when between the sheets."

"Well, not I," Mage said. "And I can't believe it. It certainly doesn't sound like she likes it - with all the howling!"

"It's all part of it, the rough treatment during, the comforting after. It supposedly makes the climax that much more satisfying."

"Supposedly? Does that mean you've never..?"

"No," he said.

"Thank goodness. For if you do, I'm afraid I'll have to remove myself from your bed and leave you entirely to your Miss Jutland to handle."

He chuckled, then said seriously, "I don't think I'd like that much. I live having you in my bed."

"Well. I like being here," she managed a blush. "And I liked the rogue."

"And I liked showing him to you," he grinned and she laughed.

"So the comforting after - we can hear that, too, Richard," Mage twisted her lips. "All that talk of being in love with my niece," she hissed, her blue eyes flashing. "And he brings his mistress here. She is the woman he's been bedding all this time - while he was courting poor Beth! He broke Beth's heart with that woman and he has the audacity to bring her here!"

"I'm bringing my mistress here," Richard pointed out.

"Yes, but that's different. You and I…" She trailed off. Should she pretending to be in love with him and jealous of Harmony and demanding she never return to the house? Isn't that what a real mistress would do? Would her lack of concern for him make him suspicious? No, she would not feign love for him - love was her husband's domain, it belonged to him, no one else. "We take enjoyment from one another, it's… companionship. And it isn't hurting anyone, as long as no one knows. But Tavington, he has hurt Beth over and over again with this woman, and then he brings here to my house, where Beth's family lives, and keeps this woman in Beth's room! You can't tell me you don't agree with me."

"I'm not saying either way - he is my Commander," Richard said and Mage heaved a breath.

She struggled to get her emotions under control, it was not a good idea to express all of this to Richard anyway. It wasn't as though he were a real lover, he was a means to an end, is all. An end that _ended_ with information. She should be asking him questions about the Dragoons, trying to discern plots and plans. That's what this time was for - the after time, the pillow talk. And they were laying upon the pillows… But here, Mage second guessed herself. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to start weaselling information so soon after her husband fled the city as a spy. Perhaps it was best to wait a few days, to make it a little less obvious.

"My daughter shouldn't have to hear such sounds… This is a large house. Do you think Cilla and I could be shifted to another room, Richard? One as far from his as possible. Or will the request be ignored, because we're prisoners?"

"Ordinarily, any request would be ignored," Richard said, but he smiled. "But, well, things being as they are with you and I, I'm sure I can pull a string or two."

Suddenly, she saw other advantages beside the gaining of information, in her continued affair with Bordon. "Truly? Oooh, do I have you in my pocket, do I?" She teased. She placed her hand over the front of his breeches and began rubbing his crotch. "I wonder what other concessions I can… pull… from you."

His smile broadened as his cock began to harden beneath her fingers. "Kiss me," he jutted his chin at his crotch. "And find out."

"Ooohhhh, you are determined to be the rogue today," she laughed as her fingers deftly worked open his buttons again.

* * *

By the time Mage was finished, Richard was sated, relaxed, and his usual, trusting self. She asked no questions, but as they'd discussed certain subjects previously, it was only natural for him to fall back on those now. She learned a few things after all, nothing that would turn the tide of the war, but important enough to confide to Trellim. She did so when they passed one another in the hall, as if by happenstance. She whispered what she knew, and slipped a note into his hand, to pass on to her husband. He would not read it, but she kept it short and simple in any case. It was better to be covert as a matter of course, in case the missive fell into the wrong hands.

The note read:

_He thinks he has my loyalty, therefore I still have his trust. Don't be afraid to use it._

_We are both welI. _

"Will you please tell him I love him?" She whispered as he put the note into his pocket. "And to be safe?"

"Of course," he replied, sympathetic.

"And tell him to write to me, something I can pass along to Bordon, to show I'm a good little girl and worthy of his trust."

Trellim nodded. He slipped the note into his pocket, and walked away.

* * *

It was quite a relief, to have everything settled with Mage. To such satisfaction, too. Richard's thoughts turned to Harmony, as they always did**. **Usually they were warm, pleasant thoughts, of the mistress he adored. At times, however, they were disheartening, frustrating thoughts. This was one of those times.

He was recalling the day she'd agreed to become his mistress; they had entered into an unspoken agreement, that day. She would be faithful to him, taking no other man to his bed and he would provide for her every need. And didn't he provide for her? Why the Devil did she feel a desperate need to continue working at the damned tavern?

Because she wanted her independence.

Bordon's face darkened - it sounded far too close to what these bloody Patriots prated on about. He was not her husband, however and could not stop her from working. Each evening, he usually stopped by the tavern to bring her home - to the small room where she lodged above a cobblers shop. She had spent the last two nights with him in his new room at the Putman's but she was refusing to move in with him. Perhaps that was for the better, now with his new understanding with Mage. But still, it was beyond frustrating. Harmony was refusing to give up her small room until she absolutely had to.

That damned independence again.

She was his mistress. She was meant to make herself available to him, and in return, he was meant to look after her. He was willing, but she wasn't allowing him to do more than give her gifts, such as the gown she wore to the Simms ball. She wasn't allowing him to look after her as he was meant to, and she wasn't making herself available as she was meant to. Was it any wonder he was turning to another woman, when the woman he wanted preferred to work her fingers to the bone, instead of spend time with him?

Richard strode into the office Tavington had taken over as his own, formerly frequented by Mark Putman. The Colonel was sitting behind the large desk, he glanced up as Richard entered and to Richard's surprise, he scowled.

"Shut the door," William commanded shortly.

"Is something wrong?" Richard asked as he closed the door and turned back to his Superior.

"You stole my quarry," William snapped. "You knew I had a design in place for Mrs. Putman."

"You… what?" Richard stopped dead, his heart gave an awful lurch.

"If you wanted to be discreet, you should have locked your damned door," William scowled. "Be thankful it was me that walked in and not Miss Putman." He snorted. "Imagine what she would have had to say of it, seeing her mother with her legs wrapped around your hairy backside."

"My arse isn't hairy," Richard heaved a long, slow breath. So much for discretion, indeed. "And I'll thank you to keep your eyes off of it."

"I mean it. I'd get a slave to pluck those hairs, were I you."

"I don't think so, too painful," Richard cocked his head. "So. Are you angry or not?"

"I want to slam my fist in your face," William curled his lip.

"You're talking about marrying Miss Martin, William. You can't go fucking her aunt!"

"No, I suppose I can't at that. Doesn't mean you had to. You stole her out from under me."

"Yes, William, I knew you wished to roger her so you could taunt her husband when we capture him," Richard shrugged. He'd sensed William's mood lightening, he did not fear speaking frankly now. He plonked himself into the chair opposite him. "While many women have shown the extremely bad taste to bed you, I do not believe your dubious charm would have worked on Mrs. Putman. Her niece is in love with you, remember?"

Tavington tightened his lips but nodded reluctantly. Bordon was probably quite right. Mrs. Putman would have been outraged for Beth, rather than desirous of Tavington if he had attempted a seduction.

"And this way," Richard said cheerfully, "I'll be the one to do the boasting when we question Putman."

"Insubordinate bastard," Tavington muttered and Bordon chuckled darkly. "We have to bloody find him first. You were taking some risk weren't you? What if Miss Jutland learns of this?"

"As long as you don't tell her, I don't see how she'll learn of it."

"From Mrs. Putman? If they pass one another in the corridors one day - the bitch might blurt it out to Miss Jutland."

"No, I don't believe she will," Richard waved the concern away. "It's not as though they'll be dining together, Harmony despises being in the company of women she thinks are higher than her. Makes her uncomfortable. As for chancing one another in the hall… No, Mage won't say a word."

"Mage?" William taunted.

"Well, when you start fucking someone, you tend to be a little more, familiar with them, don't you?" Richard asked and William chortled. Richard suddenly saw an opportunity to grant Mage's request without the Colonel thinking he was doing her a favour. "As for them seeing one another… perhaps it would be for the best if we moved Mage and her daughter to one of the rooms at the furthest end of the hall away from mine." As his was across from William's, it would be moving them away from him, too. Which was, indeed, his motive.

"Suits me," William shrugged. "Now, down to business…"


	26. Chapter 26 - Banastre and Wedding Banns

Chapter 26 - Banastre and Wedding Banns:

_Late May - Mid June - Back Country_

Once he set out from the border of North Carolina, Tarleton and his Dragoons made good time reaching Camden. It would have taken far longer if he had had to traverse the distance with his entire Legion in tow. However, when he and his Dragoon unit were sent to the border a few weeks back, the rest of his Legion had been sent on to Camden for Lord Rawdon's use.

So it was, after two days of hard riding, Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton finally led his weary Dragoons into Camden in South Carolina.

The jingle of tack, the snorting of the horses, the thunder of their hooves. Even the smells - all of it was pleasant to Banastre. Riding was his favorite pastime. Nevertheless, he was looking forward to finally being out of the saddle. It could not be denied that the young aristocrat enjoyed his luxuries.

Not that Camden would offer much of those - the small town was not as large as the bustling Charlestown.

"I've been in the Colonies too long," he snorted aloud. "Charlestown is hardly as large and bustling as London!"

Major George Hanger rode at Banastre's side. Having heard the Colonel's words, he laughed out loud, agreeing heartily.

"At least we'll have a few nights in a comfortable plantation house," Hanger said loudly to be heard over the drum of the horses hooves.

"Yes, enjoy it while you can!"

"I intend to, Ban, I intend to," Hanger said wistfully. The Major was well known for his indefatigable exploits with women - it was said he was fast catching up to Banastre himself.

Banastre laughed. He intended to enjoy himself as well. The two had waged a different type of war on the Americas, conquering many Colonial women over the past four years, it was a far more pleasurable way wage a war.

The Dragoons and the rest of Tarleton's Legion would only be in Camden for a handful of days; Tarleton's Dragoons would be dispatched as soon as they were rested and resupplied. Banastre had the feeling that with Francis Marion's demise, Cornwallis was not expecting much opposition. The Back Country would be easily subdued, Cornwallis had said in his latest missive. The rebels had lost heart and many of them were slinking home with their tails between their legs. Gates himself had pushed into North Carolina and much of his forces were scattered out to the far edges of South Carolina, the reports indicated. Burwell's forces were in a similar disarray, individual soldiers or small groups of them were trying to evade British detection, as they either hid or tried to make their way out of South Carolina.

Eventually the Dragoons came upon the first picket lines with Redcoats standing sentry. After a brief discussion Banastre was allowed through. First on the agenda, finding where he and his men were to be lodged. That was easily accomplished, he was approached by Lieutenant Quartermaster Lerwick and was informed that his Legion were billeted at The Gables Plantation, owned by a Loyalist family. Banastre and his Officers would be quartered in the large manor house and there was already a sea of pitched tents, ready and waiting for his Dragoons. After receiving directions to the property, Banastre rode off to see his men settled in.

He was pleased to see his baggage had arrived. Not only had he been forced to ride out of Charlestown without his infantry unit, he had also been forced to leave his belongings behind due to his need to travel lightly. He had, of course, requested his baggage be sent on to him but this request had been denied. .

After being escorted through the manor house to view his room for his approval, Banastre and Hanger enjoyed a late lunch. As they were finishing, a letter arrived for Banastre, from Lord Cornwallis in Charlestown. Banastre excused himself and found a quiet place to read. He skipped the preliminaries and got to the heart of the letter.

I have had many reports of rebels leaving the militia, now that the Fox is dead. Cornwallis wrote. They are leaderless, divided and are slinking to their farmsteads in their droves. I will soon release a declaration to those men, that an amnesty will be established. Their involvement with Marion's militia unit will be forgiven, they will receive formal pardons for their momentary lapse in judgement if they agree to join our forces and fight for their rightful King."

I must congratulate you, Lieutenant Colonel. Your skirmish with the rebels at Waxhaws was rousing success. You handled yourself as a gentleman aught, providing medical care for the enemy. Do not fear, I do not believe that rot about you not giving quarter when it was asked."

"I don't see how I could have, I was stuck beneath my horse," Banastre scoffed softly, though he was beaming with pleasure at the praise.

I'm afraid the rebels will use that to incite other rebels to joining. Then again, these rebels will say anything to incite others to their cause.

As if His Lordship were in the chamber with him, Banastre nodded, agreeing.

I know that you behaved as a gentlemen aught to in the field, you have very high praise from me, Sir. I would like for you to rest a day or two, recover some of your strength. When you are well rested, you should expect to head out again. I desire for those rebels who served with Marion - who will not accept pardon and take up arms with us - to be punished severely. Examples must be made. I desire for other Colonials to be deterred, to prevent them joining if another takes Marion's place and starts to re-form the rebel militia. Furthermore, I want those Colonials to understand that even the most minor assisting of the rebels would be foolhardy in the extreme."

Banastre nodded, again agreeing. It would be the young Officers mission not only to recruit to the Loyalist militia but to create so much terror in the back country, that other Colonials would be too terrified to help - much less join - another Patriot militia.

Here, the tone of Lord Cornwallis' letter began to change.

Lieutenant Colonel, it has come to my attention that you applied to the War Office. That you requested to be raised from Major to Lieutenant Colonel in an official capacity.

"Damn and blast it," Banastre muttered. He hadn't wanted Cornwallis to know.

I confess myself distressed, Banastre. I had thought you would inform me personally of such a manoeuvre, you must understand that I take great pleasure in your career and your being raised to Lieutenant Colonel officially is an event that would I find myself much interested. I am, unfortunately, to be the bearer of unwanted tidings it seems.

Banastre stiffened and his stomach gave a small lurch of apprehension.

It distresses me to inform you that your application has been denied.

Banastre stared at the letter in his hand with frank shock, he had to read the sentence again before it would sink in. Denied! After all my efforts, I have distinguished myself so well! I have worked harder than anybody! If I was to retire this very moment, it would be as Major Tarleton and all my accomplishments will be for naught! How could this be denied me?

Cornwallis continued: Banastre, it may please you to learn that I myself intend to send a petition to the King on your behalf, for your raising to be formalized. You have distinguished yourself to my satisfaction, you continue to exceed my every expectation. Without you, I would be lost - you have shown rare leadership skills and a true talent for the military. I will intercede on your behalf. But these things sometimes take time. You will need to be patient, my boy.

"Patient," Banastre muttered out loud, though some of the edge was dulled from his anger.

Many of the other Officers were envious of Banastre. That jealousy stemmed from Cornwallis' high regard for the young soldier and from his willingness to promote Tarleton to higher ranks above longer serving soldiers. He had not exaggerated, however. Banastre had shown a true talent and was a rare military genius the like of which Cornwallis had only encountered a few times in his life time.

Banastre had to set his disappointment aside, for he began to hear raised voices coming from the next landing - one of the voices was that of Major George Hanger. He began to make his way up the stairs.

"I will not comply," Hanger was yelling as Banastre approached him. "The Little Man and I have been together for many months now and I am loathe to give him up."

"The Little Man?" Mrs. Walker said incredulously. "It's a monkey! You have bought a monkey into my home - not to mention all those other animals! I will not suffer a menagerie under my roof!"

Banastre sighed heavily. This was one of Hanger's eccentricities, he rarely traveled anywhere without his 'friends', a monkey, several rabbits, a large parrot, a hedgehog, a lizard - the list went on. It would be left to Banastre now, he would have to forbid Hanger from bringing the animals with them when they would leave in a few days time.

The monkey - 'The Little Man' as George called him, was climbing over George's shoulder and shrieking, adding to the noise. From within Hanger's chambers, Banastre heard the parrot start squawking.

"You see?" The Loyalist woman groaned. "They will keep us all awake! No - I forbid it -"

"You may forbid nothing," Banastre ground out, suddenly furious. He was in a dark mood as it was since learning his application had been denied. He would not allow for any Colonial to believe for one moment that they had the right to deny his men a damned thing. The woman turned her startled eyes to him, then took a step back when she saw his dark expression. "Major Hanger will keep his animals to his rooms. Your servants will be allowed in twice a day to take care of the animals droppings. Leave us."

The woman paled, bobbed a quick curtsy and rushed away. Banastre turned his baleful glance on Hanger who was gazing back cheerfully.

"The Little Man thanks you," George quipped and Banastre scowled. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at the Major. Hanger's smile slipped for a moment but was back in place instantly. "I have a surprise for you, old chap." He declared.

"Another lizard?" Banastre snapped. "By Christ, if I wake up with another snake in my bed, I'll skewer you with my sabre!"

"No!" Hanger chortled. "Oh, the look on your face that morning! Ah, I haven't laughed so hard..." He trailed off at the current look on Banastre's face. The Major coughed delicately. "Ah, well, perhaps that had not been such a good prank to play after all. No, boon companion mine - I have an entirely different surprise - one you will enjoy as much as I, I dare say!"

Banastre's eyes widened with understanding.

Hanger laughed. "Yes, you have guessed correctly - strumpets! Bought and paid for!"

"Ah, you're a man after my own heart," Banastre declared, his spirits rising considerably. "Lead the way!"

The two men ventured into Hanger's rooms and began to play court to the doxies Hanger had found. The Major busied himself putting the animals away into an adjoining chamber, he had only taken them out to impress the 'ladies'.

Hanger had paid for the women with his own coin and by rights, he had first choice. However, of late Banastre always chose golden haired doxies, especially if they had dark brown eyes. One of the strumpets had both and she was gazing up at him with a warm smile. Because she was vaguely reminiscent of Beth, Banastre dashed forward and sat beside her and in doing so, claimed her as his. Though he did shoot Hanger an apologetic smile.

Hanger merely rolled his eyes - he had known Banastre would choose the woman, he had invited her back with Banastre in mind.

* * *

Tarleton's Dragoons left their camp in the dead of night.

Guided by the lights of their many firebrands, Banastre led his Dragoons in a south easterly direction toward Smallwood. Banastre's Legion had left Camden earlier that morning. They had made it as far as Blythewood and their reign of terror had not even begun.

Nevertheless, Banastre received word that Captain Jack Huddy, adjutant to the late Lieutenant Colonel Marion the Fox had slunk away to the home he shared with his wife and children. Huddy, Banastre was informed, was only a few miles away in the Smallwood. Cornwallis' Amnesty had been published and was now in affect, and Banastre decided to offer the rebel Captain the chance to take Cornwallis up on his offer.

They did not have far to travel. Perhaps two hours after setting out, Tarleton's Dragoons were in the Smallwood, searching for the farmlet owned by Huddy. As Tarleton approached up the long lane he saw the house was mostly dark. He signalled for the halt and his Dragoons drew rein behind him.

"Now what?" Hanger called as he edged his horse closer to Banastre. The Lieutenant Colonel thought through his options for a moment and decided against knocking politely on the rebel Captain's front door.

"Gather rocks and smash the windows," the young Officer commanded. Huddy had been the cause of much damage toward the British Army and Banastre was in no mood to be nice.

"Yes, Sir," Hanger scoffed. He whirled his horse and passed the order to his men as Banastre continued to gaze at the dark house.

Suddenly, the sounds of smashing glass could be heard the entire way around the house.

* * *

The occupants of the small manor were awoken abruptly by the smashing glass.

"Jesus!" Rollins roared, jumping from his bed. He ran, barefoot, for the door - cutting the souls of his feet on glass splinters. He met Huddy in the hallway.

"There's at least sixty of them!" Huddy said grimly. He edged closer to the large bank of smashed windows and pushed the curtains aside. "Tonight of all bloody nights, with the rest of the militia off hunting!"

"Jack…" Mrs. Huddy moaned fearfully from their bedroom chamber. Wearing only her shift, she clutched their two small daughters to her breast - both girls were equally frightened.

"Stay down, and away from the windows," Huddy commanded his wife.

Rollins had darted back into his chamber, pulled the glass from his feet and donned his boots. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed his musket and met Huddy in the broad corridor once more.

The Captain stood against the wall, side long to the window, peering around the edge down to the Dragoons outside.

"We're surrounded," Rollins said, standing likewise on the other side of the window.

"CAPTAIN JACK HUDDY!" An English voice shouted up from the Dragoons.

"That's Tarleton!" Rollins hissed.

Banastre had ridden his horse forward, after sighting Huddy standing in the window, backlit by the candles that now lit the front of the house on the second story.

"CAPTAIN JACK HUDDY!" Banastre yelled out again. "Surrender now! Accept Lord Cornwallis' offer of Amnesty and no harm will come to you or your family."

"The Hell I will," Jack muttered as he loaded his musket. He sited it down on Banastre through the smashed window and fired the first shot.

Tarleton, having narrowly escaped being shot, cursed and danced his horse further back.

"Fire!" He screamed with rage and his men instantly answered Jack's attack with a volley of musket and pistol fire.

Back in the house, Jack and Rollins whirled from the window and pressed themselves against the wall to avoid being shot.

"Darling please!" Mrs. Huddy screeched. "Don't enrage him further - its useless to resist! We'll all be killed, what of our girls?"

Huddy ignored his wife's pleas. She fell back against the far wall, as far from the windows as she could possibly hope to be. Her maid, a young woman named Lucretia, came forward with an armful of muskets left from the absent militia guard and she began loading then in silence.

"Good girl," Rollins approved, taking one of the muskets. Of all the nights for the rest of Huddy's men to be away from the house! A small forced had been billeted there for months, to protect Mrs. Huddy and the girls but by rotten luck, they were away from their post that night. Which left only Rollins and Huddy himself to protect the women and children.

"Quickly," Huddy commanded. "You take the south and I'll take the north. Run back and forth along the windows, make it look as though there are more of us than there are. Do not stop firing and Lucretia - do not stop loading!"

With that, Huddy raced back through the hallway to his chamber and began firing. Shots from the South side of the house told him that Rollins was doing the same. Both men darted from window to window, firing down as quickly as Lucretia could load, giving Banastre the illusion that there were many men inside the house.

Outside in front of the house, Banastre called for caution.

"He's not alone!" He yelled to Hanger, who nodded agreement. "Return fire but stay back!"

He whirled his horse back to the house and raised his pistol grimly, firing on a black shadow moving past the windows. He clearly saw the shadow duck but just as clearly, Banastre had missed him. He reloaded his pistol and fired again on another shadow darting through the house. His vision was further blurred by the smoke of the pistols and muskets - both from his men and coming from in the house. It was damned near impossible to see what he was shooting at or how many rebels were within.

An hour later and one enterprising Dragoon, under cover of darkness, sneaked up to the house. He was well concealed by the night and the smoke from so many pistols. Striking his flint, he set alight the curtains through the smashed windows on the ground level. The flame took hold and the curtains began to burn.

"If you won't surrender," Banastre yelled during a moment of quiet between volleys, "then we'll burn you out - you and your family!"

"Shit!" Huddy hissed. He raced back through the house to Rollins. "He's set the house alight!"

"Jesus," Rollins replied.

"I must surrender," Huddy said grimly.

"You can't!" Rollins barked. The very idea infuriated him. "Let them do their worst!"

"My family - my wife and daughters! I can't let it end like this -"

"We'll escape -" Rollins began desperately.

"If that were possible we'd have done so already. I'll not leave my wife and daughters to Tarleton and the girls can not come with us - they couldn't keep up! No, I am surrendering."

Rollins tightened his lips. Seeing the sense in the Captain's words did nothing to mollify his fury.

"You go," Huddy said now. "Get out now -"

"I won't you leave you to them!" Rollins cried with outrage.

"Thats an order!" Huddy snapped. "Get warning to Burwell that Tarleton's returned earlier than we expected. Go - NOW!"

Rollins had no choice but to obey. Grabbing his rucksack from his chamber, and with his musket held tight in his hand, he raced down the stairs. How he was to get past the many Dragoons who still surrounded the house he did not know. Keeping his body hidden from view as much as possible, he peeked out the window. His moment to slip outside came a few moments later when Huddy called his surrender and the Dragoons blocking Rollins exit darted to the front of the house, making his way clear.

Meanwhile, Huddy edged closer to the windows. He met his wife's fearful gaze and nodded reassurance.

"See to her, Miss Emmons," he said to Lucretia before turning back to the window.

"Tarleton!" He called down. "Put that out! When it's every spark out, I'll surrender!"

Banastre, still astride his horse in front of the house, nodded at Hanger. Several Dragoons darted forward into the house to battle the blaze. They wrestled the burning curtains from their rails and threw them from the shattered windows. Using blankets, they smothered the flames which had just begun to catch on the furniture. When the blaze was out, Jack Huddy made his way outside. His wife, daughters and Lucretia Emmons stood fearfully behind him on the porch.

"And the rest!" Banastre shouted from his horse. "Not just your surrender Huddy - the rest of your unit as well or I'll burn this house to the ground."

"It was just me," Huddy informed Banastre. "I was running from room to room."

Banastre gazed at the man with incredulity.

"Then who was loading for you?" He asked with polite disbelief.

"I was, Sir," Lucretia came forward. She hung her heard in feigned contrition. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Jesus," Hanger muttered. Banastre stared at the pretty lass, eyes wide in astonishment.

"Search the house, see if he is speaking truly," he commanded abruptly. "Search the woods as well. Seize Huddy."

"Seize me!" Huddy protested as several Dragoons came forward to grab his arms. The Dragoons pulled him from the porch to Banastre's stirrup. "What of this Amnesty you spoke of?" Jack shouted up at Tarleton.

"You refused all right to the Amnesty when you opened fire on my person," Banastre informed Huddy. "There will be no Amnesty for you, I'm afraid. It's jail and the noose that awaits you now."

"No!" Mrs. Huddy screamed from the porch and clutched her daughters close. Lucretia placed her arm across her mistresses shoulder as the woman began to weep.

"He had his chance," Banastre shrugged, uncaring. "Take him."

Turning his horse, he trotted away from the house. After a brief search proved Huddy had spoken truly - there were no more rebel militia present - the Dragoons mounted and rode away from the house.

* * *

Rollins darted for the stables and found his horse. Quick as lightening he mounted and rode - bareback, from the barn into the night. He galloped Hell for leather through the Smallwood, in search of the rebel militia camp, ready to round them up to rescue Captain Jack Huddy from a sure hanging.

* * *

The Dragoons rode into the camp at Blythewood. After the skirmish with the rebels, which cost them their prisoner, the men were wounded, saddle sore, tired and hungry. Including Tarleton, though he himself had suffered no wounds. Having no need of a corpsman, he made his way to his tent. He jumped gracefully from his horse and tossed the reins to a groom, then darted inside.

"Mmm, Ban, I've been waiting for you all night." The woman was Electa Alden, a camp follower of the Legion and one of the most beautiful and alluring women Banastre had ever known. She'd been sharing his cot for some time and just now, she rolled onto her side with a small smile. She rubbed at her black eyes and sat up, clearly pleased to see the handsome Officer. She pushed her long black hair from her eyes, then began untying the front of her shift. "I've been waiting for you all night."

Banastre stopped short and gazed down at the woman. To say his mood was foul would be an understatement. He had gone to such efforts to secure his prisoner - the very man who had shot at Banastre without warning. He had exalted in his prize, only to be deprived it an hour later by the Goddamned rebel militia.

At least none of my Dragoons died, he thought to himself. He cared for his men - each and every one of them. The thought did nothing to mollify his temper, however.

"Not now, Electa," he told her. "I'm in no mood for sporting."

"You? In no mood for sporting?" Electa gave a languid stretch, her arms high over head, her breasts rising up temptingly. "When are you ever not in the mood for sporting?"

"Now," he sighed. "I'm bone tired, I need to sleep."

"You're serious!" She said incredulously. She cocked her head, her long black hair framing her face to perfection. "Do you want me to go, then? I could stay and give you a massage to help you fall asleep."

"A massage will lead to sporting and you know it," he grunted.

"Would you like me to sing you to sleep then?"

He gave her a startled look, then laughed despite himself. Electa was a seductress, in every way shape and form, but for one exception. She had absolutely no singing voice to speak of.

"If I want to be kept awake by a murder of squawking crows," he said and she feigned a pout.

She rose gracefully and draped her arms around his shoulders - he had to bend his neck to gaze up at her. "I'll have you know that my voice has been likened to that of an angel."

"Must've wanted to get beneath your skirts real bad," he laughed and she grinned down at him.

"That's better," she smiled, stepping closer until her body was pressed to him. "I prefer it when you smile. And yes, as a matter of fact, he certainly did."

He chuckled. She bent her head to his and they kissed for a time, until she drew back again.

"A massage?" She asked again and this time, he nodded. She helped him to undress. He laid out face down on his cot, she straddled his rump and began working the tired, sore muscles of his back with her expert fingers. As she did, he spoke of his frustrations with the rebels and when that topic was exhausted, he turned to his disappointment at being denied his rank being made permanent.

When he felt drowsy and calm, he turned over beneath her and they coupled with her on top of him.

Barely two hours later, the sun was slanting in through the tent and Banastre draped his arm over his eyes. The morning had dawned almost an hour ago and the tent was too bright already.

The Dragoons Reverend would be giving a sermon in another hour or so. Somehow, he did not believe he would be attending. Turning over, he spooned against Electa and only moments later, his quiet snores again joined hers.

* * *

Mid June - Fresh Water

Almost one hundred miles away, a short distance between Hell Hole Swamp and Pembroke, Beth Martin was only just now waking from a sound sleep. Her nights had been thwart with dreams of Tavington since her arrival to Fresh Water, despite her fiancé's presence and Beth had found it almost impossible to get any rest. William was constantly on her mind, to have him invade her dreams made her stay awake in the hope she could avoid him. At least she had some semblance of control over her thoughts when she was awake.

Finally, after the third such sleepless night, Mila had slipped some Valerian into Beth's tea before her mistress retired. This resulted in a long and dreamless sleep, no William invading her mind.

Beth sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Mila was already in the chamber, opening curtains.

"Today's the day," Mila said with forced cheer when she saw Beth was awake. "The first Bann will be read."

"And then published in the Bulletins," Beth said sadly. "I wonder how long it will be before all of Charlestown knows of it?"

"You mean before Tavington knows," Mila corrected pointedly. "I'd say halfway through the week - Wednesday at the latest."

"Oh, sweet Lord above," Beth collapsed back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling.

"Do you regret it?" Mila asked as she sat on the edge of Beth's bed. "Regret being engaged to Burwell?"

"Yes," she whispered because she could be entirely honest with Mila. "And it makes me feel horrid, because he's been so wonderful and supportive these last few days." Her tone took on a derisive edge as she continued, "I can't imagine that William would be half so supportive if he was helping me to nurse a broken heart."

"Yeh, I can't imagine it neither," Mila scoffed.

"I will marry Harry," Beth whispered. "Not because I am in love with him, for I am not. But because I know I should and I know he'll be good to me. He's a far better man than William - I think William would be an atrocious husband, I'll never know if he's being unfaithful or…" She shook her head. "I almost wish I wasn't so concerned about the other women, Mila. I love him so desperately, a part of me is willing to take him, any way I can."

"That does sound desperate," Mila agreed. "But if he did take other women after you married in, then in the long run, you'll only end up miserable."

"And regretting not marrying Harry," Beth sighed. "So I shall dispense with all of that, and just marry Harry." She shrugged, feeling bitter. "It's not as though I have a choice, anyway."

"You are gettin' a lot of pressure from your family," Mila said.

"It's not just that. I don't have a choice because William has left me with none. That horrid wager. Not wanting to marry me until he discovered I was wealthy after all. All those other women… And he's dangerous. Oh, so dangerous… He keeps hurting me and then he smiles and kisses me and it all just… fades away. Do you remember how I told you about Mrs. Tisdale and all the things she said that night?"

Mila nodded.

"Well, she told me he slapped her across the face, but she forgave him because he kissed her. I said to her 'you forgave him because he kissed you? Even I have more self respect than that.' But I don't, Mila, because he does the same to me, he kisses me until I feel that my heart will explode and I crave his touch so much that I'm willing to forgive and forget anything, just to feel his arms around me and his hands on me and his voice murmuring in my ear and oh Gods, why won't it just stop?"

"Oh, Beth…" Mila pulled the sobbing girl into her arms and held her, stroking her Beth's back.

"And the b-banns will b-be read today and then there w-will b-be no going b-back!" Beth sobbed. "I'll n-never see him again. Oh G-God I'll n-never…" She could go no further, weeping made it impossible. Mila nodded and held her and whispered agreement and other comforting sounds.

Beth, spent, finally drew back. Mila dried Beth's tears and pushed her hair back from her face.

"You're going to have to wash your face," Mila said gravely. "They can't see this. None of them can see you've been crying. Especially not your father or Colonel Burwell."

"I know," Beth said, wretchedly exhausted. "I just want to take one of my father's horses - just mount up and ride away."

"Back to Colonel Tavington? Can I come with you?" Mila asked with a smile.

"You must miss Zeke incredibly."

"About as much as you miss your Tavington," Mila said.

"I wish I could… Mount up and ride to William. But I can't…" Beth said, forlorn.

"Why is that?" Mischief entered Mila's voice as she tried for levity to lighten the mood. "Is it because your breeches don't fit you no more?"

"They do!" Beth gasped.

"Not after two years of soft livin' with your aunts," Mila giggled. "The laces on your stays are far shorter now."

"Mila, you're horrid!" Beth said. Mila's teasing had the desired affect, there was a ghost of a smile tugging at Beth's lips now.

"Go on, put them on, see if they still fit you," Mila giggled. "I'll be they don't."

"I'll be they do!" Beth shot back. She threw off her blankets and strode to her closet. She pulled forth the buckskin breeches she'd not worn since she was sent to the city two years ago.

"Your Aunt used to have fits back then," Mila said when Beth held the breeches up for her to see. "She hated that your Papa let you hunt at all, let alone wear those…"

"Don't tell," Beth said as she stepped into the breeches and began pulling them on. Hiking her shift around her waist, she pulled the breeches up around her thighs. "Oh, my dear Lord," Beth murmured as she laced them easily. The breeches were a snug fit but still - they fit her perfectly. She said so to Mila now. "See, I told you they'd still fit!" Beth said proudly.

"Thats 'cos they are men's pants. If you recall, they were so baggy back then," Mila quipped. "They shouldn't be fittin' you like a glove. See? Soft livin' Beth, it's made you fat."

"I'm not fat," Beth giggled. She held her shift bunched around her waist and admired her reflection in the mirror. The sight of her thighs, backside and front so thoroughly exposed through the breeches made her blush. "Perhaps Aunt Charlotte was right about these," she murmured and Mila fell on the bed laughing.

"They're indecent!" Mila giggled. "Oh sweet Lord, take 'em off!"

Beth giggled and pushed the breeches down, peeling them from her legs. A knock on the door cut the girls mirth short.

"Quick, hide them!" Beth gasped, handing the breeches to Mila. Mila - having no place to conceal them, shoved them under her bottom and sat on them. Just in time too, for Charlotte entered the room before Beth even had a chance to invite her in.

* * *

"Finally awake, I see," Charlotte observed, closing the door behind her. She turned to Beth, then gave a start. "Have you been crying?"

"No," Beth lied. "The first Bann is to be read today. I'm the happiest person in the world. What in the world would I have to cry about?"

Charlotte stilled as she stared down at Beth, uncertain of what she should say or do. "I… ah…"

"It doesn't matter," Beth waved her hand in dismissal. "I'm fine, just forget it. What do you want? I mean need," she corrected, realising how rude she sounded. "Is there something you need?"

Charlotte nodded slowly, grateful at being let off the hook. She felt quite ill equipped to handle Beth's changeable moods.

"I have to help Susan get dressed and ready for today, Abigail is chasing after the boys and trying to get them dressed into suits. Which leaves no one to assist Margaret. Could the two of you help her, please? As soon as you're dressed, Beth."

"Of course, Aunt," Beth replied. Mila made no move to rise, to do so would reveal the breeches she had concealed beneath her buttocks. "Ah, we'll be just a moment," Beth said, seeing Mila's dilemma. "If you'll excuse us?"

Charlotte'e eyebrows climbed her forehead at being so abruptly dismissed from Beth's chamber. Still, she turned and left as quietly as she had come, and Mila heaved a sigh of relief.

"I think I'll burn these!" She said, rising and snatching up the offending breeches viscously.

"You certainly will not," Beth snatched them from Mila's hands. She folded them quickly and shoved them back in her closet. "Come, help me dress so we can see to Margaret."

"Yes, my Lady," Mila said sweetly and curtsied.

* * *

It was quite a pleasant place, Fresh Water plantation. The manor house wasn't particularly large, not as large as Burwell would have expected for a man of Benjamin's wealth. Then again, Benjamin had always been a fairly modest man, enjoyed a more modest living.

The first time Burwell had visited Benjamin at Fresh Water, after the war near on twenty years ago now, Benjamin had ensconced his new bride in a small cottage while he worked on building her the manor house. It had shocked Burwell - and his wife Bridget even more so. To see the new bride - Mrs. Elizabeth Martin, playing hostess in such a small cottage with as much joy and contentment as Bridget had done in Burwell's mansion.

Burwell's family home was three times larger than the house Benjamin had built, and Benjamin had had six more children than Burwell! Still, it was a homey place, the children seemed content - and very closely knit. He smiled indulgently as he strode from the house onto the porch. The heat of the day hit him like a wave but he was used to it, being Carolina born and bred.

Watching Beth and her brothers reunite, watching Gabriel banter with her as though they had never been parted, was warming indeed. It was their fourth day home and Beth finally seemed to smile more, seemed a little less sad.

A little less heart broken.

Burwell pursed his lips with distaste, unable to conceal his irritation. He tried to keep it from her and had so far succeeded, but the discovery that she was in love with Tavington weighed heavily on him. The idea that she might be thinking of him, the Butcher, when Burwell himself took his bride for the first time, was enough to drive the Patriot Colonel to violence. So many times over the last few days, he had almost ended their engagement. However, he had not been able to bring himself to do anything so drastic.

He loosened his grip on the parchment in his hand, he would crush General Gates' missive if he was not careful. Spying one of Benjamin's many field hands ahead, Burwell approached the man quickly.

"Do you know where Mr. Martin is? I am trying to find him," he asked the man.

"Out in the barn, Sir," the free man replied. "He's a-workin'."

"He's always a-workin'," Burwell snorted. "Thank you."

He turned away and headed in the direction of the barn.

The bulk of Burwell's men were still camped in tents and cabins at Hell Hole Swamp. Burwell had enough with him for his protection, they resided in cabins near to the house, while Burwell himself was given a comfortable chamber in the house proper. He cast a quick toward his few guards and saw them all sitting back at their ease. They were enjoying their respite from the war, sitting reclined under the many trees, playing cards and dice. It was a good sight to see, it gave him heart.

He strode into the barn and his eyes fell on Benjamin at once. His former Captain did not see him at first, as absorbed as he was in his task, sanding strips of wood.

"No rest for the wicked," Harry said finally and Benjamin glanced over his shoulder.

"No indeed," Benjamin chuckled. "Especially someone as wicked as I."

"Not so wicked, I'm thinking. You want some help?"

"If your hands are idle," Benjamin replied. "Idle hands are the devil's workshop, as they say."

"Only if you're a preacher," Burwell laughed. He walked deeper in the barn and picked up a length of wood. "What are you making?"

"A crib," was the reply.

Burwell hesitated. Benjamin was touchy indeed when it came to his children. Assuming the crib was for his and Beth's child, he spoke quietly, "you realise that when we are married, Beth will be coming to live with me at Raleigh, don't you?"

Benjamin stiffened. As Burwell suspected, this pronouncement was not to his former Captain's liking.

"Yes, I know," he said finally. "This crib is not for you and Beth."

"Oh." Harry frowned, then his eyes widened with surprise. "For Lieutenant Martin and Miss Howard?" He asked and Benjamin nodded. Burwell began to sand the length of wood and both men were quiet for a time, lost in the simple task.

"Have you heard from Gates?" Benjamin said finally.

Burwell had sent a missive to General Gates, informing the Commander of Harry's position and Francis Marion's death. Gates was all the way up in North Carolina, he had been unable to advance into the South with Colonel Tarleton and several other forces blocking the way.

"Not yet, it's far too soon. It's beginning to look rather bleak for us, isn't it?"

"How so?" Benjamin asked, his mind still on his work.

"We've lost the city, the British are moving inland in increasing numbers… The Continentals that fled the city are wandering about in small bands, any one of them might be caught and not one of those Companies is large enough to take a stand. I don't even know where half of them are - it'll be weeks before they all receive my summons to form up. I was going to take Camden with the militia but now Marion is dead and his militia are disbanding, almost all of the men have fled to their farms, some of them are miles away now. And we are cut off from Gates, who can not advance down from North Carolina because of Tarleton. We have started to lose moral and when we lose moral, we lose the fight."

"Maybe," Benjamin agreed. He finally looked up. "You're here, however."

"I have one hundred men, what am I supposed to do with one hundred men?" Burwell scoffed. "I need the road clear so Gates came come and support me." He cocked his head, his voice growing soft but firm. "I need to take Camden and I've only got Huddy now - even with the force sick and weak, three hundred is not enough. I need more. I need a leader to bring Marion's militia back together."

"Oh, yeh?" Benjamin murmured, looking away again. Burwell stifled his frustration.

"The British are not accustomed to the sickly season," Burwell said. "Hell, we're only slightly more resistant," he laughed. "But they are more vulnerable to its effects than anyone who grew up here. Already, they are beginning to sicken at Camden, the number of their ill will increase by the day. They are vulnerable - the city is miles away and there they are, tucked up in their beds, more and more soldiers becoming as sick as dogs every day. But with Gates unable to come down, and with the Patriot militia fallen all to pieces because Marion is no longer with us, Huddy and I might have to set aside our plans for Camden. There's not a damned thing I can do. I do not have enough to take the town. Unless…" he paused and still Benjamin did not look up. "Oh come now man, you know what I'm saying."

"I'm not joining."

"Marion raised the call and how many answered? Two hundred?" Burwell's voice became impassioned. "Gods, Ben, you and I both know that if you raised the call, you'd end up with a thousand!"

"I doubt that," Benjamin laughed but Burwell ignored him.

"Those men who served Marion would return, should you ask it. And many more, besides, more than enough to take Camden!" He sighed, breathed out slowly. "Just think about it, will you?"

"I believe," Benjamin said, grunting as he lifted a particularly heavy tool. "I've already given my answer."

Burwell squeezed his eyes shut and began counting backward from twenty in silence.

"Ben, you do realise that you never actually resigned, don't you? You're still my Captain."

"Consider it an extended furlough," Benjamin said. Despite himself, Burwell laughed.

"A twenty year furlough… Lord, I'm generous."

"That you are," Benjamin agreed. "Never resigned? Our unit dissolved decades ago, man! There is nothing to resign from! Unless you want to call me a Continental!"

"I do," Burwell nodded. "Very much so."

"Agh, just, Christ, stop it. You know how I feel about this."

"I do know," Harry said gently. "You want no part of this war but, Gods, can you see? There is no avoiding it!" Benjamin threw Harry a foul look and Harry subsided. Benjamin returned to his work and said not another word.

After a long silence, Harry decided to change the subject. Instead, he decided to confide his personal worries to Benjamin, as he had done so many times before. Again, he knew he had to tread carefully - Beth was Benjamin's daughter and he was fiercely protective of all his children.

No less than I am of my sons, he thought. He understood his former Captain perfectly, it pained him that Benjamin would be dragged into the war. But there was not a doubt in Harry's mind - it would happen eventually. Especially with Banastre Tarleton creating havoc up near North Carolina.

"So," he ventured carefully. "Off to Pembroke shortly, to have the first Bann read."

"Yes," Benjamin replied, allowing himself to be turned aside, for the previous topic to be dropped. "Everyone is looking forward to it. Well, the boys aren't looking forward to church, of course. They are restless, my lads. But we've been invited to dine with the Howard's afterward and I know for a fact that Gabriel is looking forward to that. And Joshua, he's looking forward to seeing his parents. We'll leave as soon as the women announce they are ready."

"Yes, they are taking a while," Burwell smiled. "Gabriel has been writing to Miss Howard from camp and when Peter visits to sell his wares to the soldiers, he always brings Miss Howard along."

"Really now? Now that I did not know."

"Mr. Howard keeps grumbling that Gabriel hasn't set a date yet."

Benjamin grunted a laugh. "Well, when he starts grumbling, he usually gets what he wants. With him on at Gabriel, I wonder if there will be two weddings this year."

"Or three perhaps?" Burwell ribbed Benjamin.

"Whose the third?" Benjamin frowned.

You and Charlotte, dolt! Burwell left the thought unsaid.

"No one," he said with a smirk. Then his mood turned more serious. "Ben, there is something I wish to speak to you about."

"I said no more, Harry -"

"No, I'm not speaking of you joining the war… it's something else."

"Oh yes?" Benjamin calmed a bit. "Sounds serious."

"It is. On the night we arrived, Mrs. Selton told us of Colonel Tavington's courtship of Beth."

"I have not forgotten. Going to drag Mark over the damned coals for that - throwing my little girl to the lions and for what? Intelligence he could have learned elsewhere, if he'd had more scruples. How could he use my little girl like that?"

"A question I shall be asking him myself, one day soon, I hope. It is the courtship itself I wish to discuss with you now."

"There's no damned courtship," Benjamin scoffed.

"Ben, has Beth spoken of her feelings on the matter?" Burwell asked, cutting to the heart of it.

"She's not confided in me. Why? Has she confided in you?"

"She has."

"And what she said made you concerned?"

"Yes, I'm bloody concerned," Burwell was unable to contain his irritation any longer. "I am in love with her, God damn it, you know I am!"

"I do know," Benjamin frowned. "And you are about to marry her."

"Yes. I am about to marry a woman who is in love with another man," he strangled the words out.

Benjamin looked away; Charlotte had told him as much, but he hadn't realised Burwell knew. He wasn't sure if he was proud of Beth for being honest, or frustrated with her stupidity - telling her fiancé that she's in love with another man, what was she thinking? Placing his strip of wood on the workbench, he said gently, "perhaps she developed feelings, perhaps. However -"

"Not just feelings," Burwell corrected in a heavy voice. "She is in love. She admitted it, she cried in my arms, she's heartbroken over another man! I know what you were about to say. That this is confusing for her and that she cares for me, but I have to tell you... It's damned hard. I've considered..." He trailed off, unwilling to admit that he had thought of ending his engagement. Not to this man, even if he was one of his oldest and dearest friends. Benjamin was Beth's father, after all.

Benjamin gazed at Harry steadily, his blue eyes cold and hard. He understood clearly what Burwell had left unsaid.

"The first Bann is to be read today, Harry," he said finally.

"I know," Harry replied. "I'm just uncertain -"

"Well, you bloody better get certain!" Benjamin snapped.

Harry's eyes widened. It was not very often that anyone spoke to him in that tone. Not often at all! Benjamin drew a steadying breath.

"Forgive me, Harry. I understand this must be hard on you," he said gently. "To be in love with a woman who has declared herself to be in love with another - especially your enemy. You held her in your arms while she cried?"

"Yes, the day after we arrived here. We were sitting under the trees by the stream when she admitted it and she was distraught, heart broken," Burwell admitted with an edge in his voice. "Heart broken over Tavington!"

"Well, that only serves to prove to me what I already knew. That you are the man for her. A damned decent husband you would make and Beth will be a good wife. As you said, she cares for you," he paused as though gathering his thoughts. "There is something I've kept from you, Harry."

"What is that?" Burwell drew himself up, suddenly wary.

"I received a letter from Sir Clinton," Benjamin began, he watched Burwell's face and saw the astonishment. "A week or so back. Seems Tavington bought his interest in Beth to the Commander and Chief's attention. Clinton wrote a letter of recommendation for Tavington, citing all the good and noble things about him," Benjamin scoffed. "Seems Tavington's got no one here to recommend him. The Commander and Chief of the British army thought I would respect him, and his position, enough to rely upon his judgement in the matter - being the good little Loyalist I am."

Mark's doing, that, both men knew.

"Tavington wants to marry Beth," Burwell whispered. It was like a kick in the stomach.

"I did not reply to Clinton, and I would not entertain Tavington's suit for Beth even if she wasn't engaged to you. I'll admit I thought the whole affair odd, until Charlotte explained that Tavington learned about Beth's fortune. That's why he wants to marry her. Beth has got the Simms family hunting her too - I got a letter from Mr. Simms a while ago as well," his voice hardened. "So you see… you need to think real hard and real fast, Harry, because if you're considering ending your engagement, I warn you here and now - she won't remain unattached for long." Burwell's eyes widened, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. Benjamin continued, voice accusing. "You kissed her."

"I know," Harry sighed. They'd had this discussion before.

"Added to that, you need to remember, my friend, that my daughter pledged herself to marrying you before Tavington conceived of that wee ambush idea of his. Hell, she put herself at risk for you!" Benjamin's tone became heated again. "She betrayed the British - and who knows what the repercussions will be for that? - to keep you safe!

"I know she did," Harry said reluctantly. "I know she went to great lengths -"

"Do you?" Benjamin snapped. "Do you have any idea how terrified she was? Charlotte has told me all about it. For all that he wants to marry her, Tavington bullied and intimidated her. She even had to sit down and discuss it with the Commander in Chief herself, did you know that?"

"No," Burwell breathed.

"She had to sit there and pretend to be a good little Tory, pretend she has no sentiment for you whatsoever, she told Charlotte she felt like biting out her own tongue! She was terrified, Harry, that they would discover she was deceiving them, that she would hang for it. Yet she did it anyway, all of it, for you."

"I didn't know any of this," Burwell said quietly.

"Well you bloody do now!" Benjamin raged. "Allow me to make it even clearer to you. When you did not show up at the Simms, Tavington confronted Beth. He told her that he would 'whip her to within an inch of her life' if he ever discovered she betrayed him! If he learns the truth and if he gets hold of her, he will flog her, Harry! And now he has the Putman's under house arrest and has taken over their house - how long will it be before he does learn the truth, do you think? All he needs to do is question the servants. He likely already knows by now. And he will cane her - or hang her - if he gets hold of her!"

"Benjamin, I didn't know..." Burwell said quietly.

"Perhaps you did not know all of these details, Harry. But you did know that she risked herself for you, and now you are having second thoughts about marrying her?"

"Benjamin, my concerns for my future happiness with your daughter are sound ones," Burwell said coolly.

"Yes, they are," Benjamin agreed. "I would not want to marry a woman who was in love with another man, but these are not ordinary circumstances. And my daughter has damned well proven her resolve for you, she has proven her willingness to put foolish feelings aside and be steadfast to the Cause and to her fiancé."

Burwell was silent as he considered. Though he felt himself torn, he wanted her, so damned bad it almost killed him to consider giving her up. Benjamin's arguments were helping him toward his decision, to marry Beth and protect her from Tavington - the man she loved. And hope that she would eventually fall in love with him, Burwell, instead. Or at least, fall out of love with Tavington.

"You listen to me, and you listen well," Benjamin ground out. Burwell lifted his chin high, ready to receive Benjamin's admonishment as though Harry was still a raw recruit. "As far as I am concerned, with that kiss, you have already compromised her virtue. I did not make too much of a fuss about it before, because I knew you were going to marry her, but now you tell me that you have doubts? No. I will not have it. You have exactly half an hour to make up your mind, Harry, and you better be bloody sure. Because if you break off your engagement now, I'll have her married off to someone else so fast your head will spin. Of that, you can damned well be certain."

"Benjamin," Harry breathed, stunned and hurt and jealous.

"By gods, Harry, do not try me. You better get bloody sure because once the first Bann is read, the engagement will published. And I will not suffer you backing out then. Not lightly. For our friendship, you will not shame my daughter. Not after the lengths she has gone to, to keep your bloody neck from the noose. Half an hour, Harry. Thats all you've got."

The two held each other's glare, both breathing heavily with pent up tension. Finally Burwell deflated and loosened his shoulders to ease his tension.

"Ben, there is no need to think about it. I will marry Beth. I merely wished to express my concerns. What if she never falls in love with me? What if Tavington holds her heart forever, what if she's thinking of me when we..." He coughed delicately.

Benjamin drew a sharp breath. The vision Burwell conjured, of he and Beth coupling, certainly was not to Benjamin's liking. He would be her husband however, and Benjamin had to accept that she would indeed bed the man.

"When I asked her, she swore that she would not," Harry continued in a rush. "She swore that she enjoyed it when we..." He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

"When you kissed her. You see? You've already compromised my daughter's virtue, Harry!"

"It was just a kiss and yes, I know I should not have done it but her virtue is every bit as intact as it ever was, of that I vow. And she assured me that when I did so, her knees felt weak, she responded... well... As though it was agreeable to her."

Benjamin forced himself to calm. "Well... If she said she responded to it… You should trust her, Harry. Trust her feelings - if she..." Benjamin faltered, at a loss. This was not a discussion he wished to be having about his daughter! "It seems to me that she will welcome you, as a wife aught to welcome her husband."

"I know," Burwell scrubbed a hand across his forehead, dislodging the sweat beaded there. "I was merely expressing a concern, is all. I will marry her and do my utmost to make her happy."

"Glad to hear it," Benjamin finally relaxed. "Because despite her feelings for Tavington, I believe Beth would be distraught if you ended your engagement."

Harry nodded agreement. "I do also."

"She understands the need to have a strong husband, especially one who can protect her from British repercussion," Benjamin picked up the length of wood and began sanding it again. "But that is not her only motive for marrying you."

"No?" Burwell said hopefully, needing further affirmation. "You think she's marrying me because she does care for me?'

"No." Benjamin scoffed. "She's marrying you because you're rich, you old fool."

Harry laughed aloud and the tension between the two finally vanished.

* * *

"Hold still, Maggie. Stop fussing." Beth stood behind her younger sister and pulled the laces of Margaret's stays tighter while the younger girl gripped the bedpost.

"It's too tight, I can't breath!" Margaret complained as she was pulled back and forth with quick jerks.

"You are just not used to wearing it. If you wore it around the house more often it wouldn't be a problem."

"It is too hot to wear it at home," Margaret complained. "Besides, it's horrible - the boning is so thick."

"I'll talk to him for you," Beth promised. "Men shouldn't be picking out women's clothing to start with!"

"Thank you, I knew you would. I've been meaning to ask you for days."

"I'd lend you one of mine, but we had to leave my baggage with the carriage. I know, we'll see what Anne Howard has!"

"Oh, I like that idea. We're having lunch there today, aren't we? After the service?"

"Yes," Beth finished tying off the stays and took a step back to pick up Margaret's bodice and help her into it. "It'll be so fine - I've not seen Anne in... I don't know how long!"

"She's missed you, she always says so."

"I know, I've missed her too. There - you're all dressed! I'll let Mila do your hair - she's better than I am," Beth decided.

"That's because I had so much practice working yours," Mila said loftily as she rose from her perch on Margaret's bed. "Did I tell 'ya, Maggie, of how often I had to re-do Beth's hair to get it to her liking? She was such a proper Lady in Charlestown."

"Oh, she didn't work you too hard did she?" Margaret giggled. She had heard Mila's griping and teasing over the last few days.

"She sure did!" Mila pulled forth some combs and pins and set to work on Maggie's hair. "It's why I've become so good at being maiding now, I had plenty of practice, doing every thing over and over!"

"Maiding?" Margaret repeated with a giggle.

"It wasn't that bad!" Beth rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Says you - you didn't have to be maid to yourself!" Mila huffed. "You didn't have to do everythin' all over and over again!"

Margaret laughed, it was almost like old times. Beth had been so sad over the last few days, Margaret had begun to fear that her older sister didn't welcome her marriage to Burwell. But funnily enough, the only time Beth seemed to brighten was when Burwell was around. But Margaret had noticed that even Mila seemed saddened, and she had over heard Mila speaking both to her mother Abigail and to Beth about some fellow named Zeke who she had left behind in Charlestown. Margaret decided that leaving Charlestown was the root of the older girls sadness, leaving all their friends and the fun things like balls and dances and picnics.

"We're leaving soon, are you ready?" Aunt Charlotte asked from the doorway.

"Yes, Mila's finishing up now," Beth said.

"Oh, you look so beautiful, Maggie!" Charlotte exclaimed, coming in to the room to look Margaret over. "Your figure is very fine. You will have all the attention of the boys in Pembroke this morning!" Charlotte fussed over Margaret's hair. "Mila, you've done a lovely job!"

Margaret waited for Mila to spit some quip about being forced to learn 'maiding', but to Margaret's astonishment, Mila smiled brightly, seeming to preen under the praise.

"Alright Ladies," Charlotte said briskly, a Colonel marshalling her forces. "It is time to leave, the men are waiting for us." Under her direction, the younger women began to make their way through the house. "Are you nervous?" Charlotte asked Beth.

"A little," Beth admitted. "Everyone is going to be staring at us..."

"Indeed they will," Charlotte nodded. "It's an exciting event, the reading of the Banns. And Colonel Burwell is quite the well known figure."

"And well loved," Beth affirmed. "In these part, anyway."

They descended the wide stair case, emerged onto the porch. The sun was bright and hot already, though it was early morning. Beth had to shade her eyes as she stepped off the porch.

The men were already waiting, as Charlotte had said. Burwell, Gabriel and Thomas were mounted, while Nathan, Samuel, William and Susan were already on the wagon bed. Benjamin waited at the front of the wagon, Charlotte would ride at his side but Margaret and Beth would ride on the back with Susan and their brothers. Beth helped Margaret up onto the wagon bed and as she began to climb up behind her, Burwell edged his horse over.

"Beth," he said, holding his hand down to hers in invitation. "Why don't you ride with me?"

Knowing he was not serious, smiled up at him. She could see her father out of the corner of her eye, watching with disapproval. Fiancé or not, he would not want his daughter to ride on the back of Burwell's horse into Pembroke to attend church.

Mila had advised her to at least try to put on a happy face, and Beth felt she was doing a good job of it now. None of her anguish was Burwell's fault, she did not want to shame or embarrass him by being visibly upset.

"Perhaps I should just to irk him," Beth whispered to Burwell, hoping her voice sounded cheerful and mischievous. She continued in a louder voice, "but no, Sir. I have made a vow never to ride another horse again, not after the wild ride from Charlestown! My rump still hurts."

"I can rub it better for you," Burwell whispered and Beth's eyes widened with astonishment.

"I have a better idea," Benjamin called. He tried to keep his face straight but Burwell knew the other men well. He gazed at his former captain with suspicion. "How about you let William ride with you, if you think you will be lonely?"

"Ah," Burwell paused, he looked over at William, already bouncing up and down with excitement at the prospect of riding the large war horse. Burwell frowned sternly at the now laughing Benjamin, then nodded at William. "Of course lad, climb up."

"Serves you right," Benjamin muttered as William leapt from the wagon. Benjamin helped the boy up, seated him in front of Burwell before returning to the wagon to help Charlotte up into her seat.

The family, flanked with a small detachment of Burwell's troops, moved out from the farm.

William was already making a nuisance of himself, talking non stop and trying to get hold of the reins. He kicked his heels into the stallions ribs, trying to make him go faster. Burwell rolled his eyes. He showed great resilience, however. Beth noticed he was attentive of William, she watched as he pointed things out to the young boy along the road and answered the constant stream of questions with patience.

Sitting beside Mila on the wagon bed, Beth watched it all with a weak smile, then her hand dipped into her pocket and she pulled out her diary. It was her constant companion and not an hour went by that she was not flipping through its pages, gazing at the portrait she had drawn of Tavington. Even though she knew she was pouring salt onto her wounds - and being disrespectful to Burwell as well, she pulled the small book from her pocket and, keeping an eye on the others, she flipped through the pages to William's portrait. As she stared down at his pencil and charcoal image, she felt Mila's arm come about her shoulders, felt the other girl's hand on Beth's arm. Tears began to fall, several dropping onto the page. She dabbed carefully, trying to dry the page without distorting the beloved image.

"Beth," Mila whispered. "You'll attract their attention. Put it away."

Beth nodded; her family would notice she was weeping if she was not careful. Closing the volume, she slipped it back into her pocket and made a show of knuckling at her eyes. "It's so bright out here, my ears are tearing," she said. She felt Mila's hand patting her shoulder in sympathy.

Beth hoped Aunt Mage was correct, that Burwell would help her forget William, that he would help keep her safe from further heartbreak. And perhaps Aunt Mage was right. Burwell had been such a comfort, he was helping her through her heartache and she knew he would continue to do so, after they were married. What sort of man would do that for his new wife, who was so desperately in love with someone else? Not bloody many, that much Beth was certain of. .

After a short while the wagon was driven in to Pembroke. When they stopped, Burwell helped Beth to climb down from the wagon bed and offered her his arm. She linked her arm through his and he gave her hand a comforting pat. They trailed along behind the rest of Beth's family.

As they made their way to the small church, people turned to watch to couple pass. Not all of them had knowledge of the pending engagement and eyes widened with astonishment and awe when the locals recognised Burwell. The denizens began speaking behind their hands as the couple walked across the hard packed road and word began to spread quickly. His mere presence, and that of the other Bluecoat Officers, was enough to cause a great deal of whispered exchanges and excitement.

The entire town was Patriot and many pointed to the well known figure, a man they considered a hero, in their midst.

"Harry," Beth whispered. "The stares we're getting! Those girls over there look jealous!"

"Well, you're getting quite a prize, dear heart," he quipped.

Beth gazed up at him and said seriously, "I know I am." He gave her a startled look, then smiled, well pleased.

As for the attention from their parish, Burwell took it all in his stride, nodding politely to some villagers and shaking hands with others. He kept Beth's hand held securely in the crook of his arm the whole while, letting them all be see his attachment for themselves.

Finally, the Colonials began to make their way into the church. Once they were seated, Reverend Oliver climbed into the pulpit to commence his sermon. Burwell held Beth's hand, his thumb trailing light circles over hers. Her heart skipped a beat, the sermon would be ended soon and Oliver would announce the first Bann. It would be official soon, their engagement. In just another few moments...

A confusion of emotions whirled inside of her when Reverend Oliver closed his Bible, preparing to make the announcements. Despair she was not marrying Tavington. Relief that she was marrying a man she trusted and respected.

The entire congregation was silent as though holding its collective breath, as the Reverend coughed to clear his throat.

"It is my extreme pleasure to publish the Banns of marriage between Colonel Harry Burwell of Raleigh Parish and Miss Elizabeth Mary Martin, of Pembroke Parish, in the presence of Mr. Benjamin Martin. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This, for the first time of asking."

Reverend Oliver looked up to study his flock, the smiled brightly. "I did not think so." Beth blushed as a few people tittered, some laughed aloud. "I will make the announcement twice more but for now, I announce you formally betrothed, Colonel Burwell and Miss Martin." Oliver nodded toward them gravely. "And congratulations."

Burwell smiled down at Beth. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and kiss her, though of course that was out of the question in such a public place. In a church at that. He settled for placing his arm around her shoulders and holding her close.

The Reverend had two more Banns to read. The Parish remained silent after each reading, giving one of the flock a chance to protest, though as expected no one voiced objections.

When the service was over, the congregation filed out of the stifling church into the warmth outside. Beth fanned herself furiously as Burwell led her out. As soon as they were under the bright, sunny sky, they became surrounded by the smiling people of Pembroke, offering congratulations and good fortune. Younger girls came forward to give Beth flowers and pretty ribbons. Even the other two newly betrothed couples came forward and Beth noticed the 'brides to be' held far fewer flowers and ribbons than she did. The other girls did not seem to mind however. They were too busy staring at Burwell, wide eyed with awe.


	27. Chapter 27 - Bickering Officers

Chapter 27 - Bickering Officers

_13 June - Charlestown_

A day after the Simms had received Beth's warning, William's pleasure had already begun to fade. He'd barely been able to sleep since his argument with Beth at the Simms ball, and her departure from Charlestown certainly had not helped matters. The pressures of his duty, sleepless nights caused by his difficulties with Beth, even Colin Ferguson's pending wedding were enough put him in an ugly mood indeed.

He had suspected for some time now that Miss Mary Tisdale had informed Beth of Banastre and William's bid for her virginity, and later of Tavington's continued affair with Linda. He had not had the opportunity to confront the girl thus far but if she was to reside in the British Legion camp, then Tavington knew he must do so, and soon.

After yet another sleepless night, early Monday morning shortly after breakfast, Tavington stopped by the Tisdale residence on his way to the Assembly Hall. After assuring a servant that he was merely there to collect his remaining belongings, he was allowed entry. He trotted up the stairs and strode down the hall toward his former bed chamber. However, instead of letting himself into his room, he knocked on Miss Mary Tisdale's door a little further down the hall.

"Come," her voice called and Tavington strode in, shutting the door tightly behind him.

Mary, who had been sitting at her desk penning a letter, gasped with shock at seeing the Officer stride into her chamber. Tavington was the last person in the Colonies she would've expected to enter!

"Sir!" She rose quickly to confront the Officer. "What is the meaning of this?"

Tavington, in no mood to suffer any foolishness, advanced on her across the plush carpet. He strode forward until he loomed over the young woman, his face a thunderhead. Mary's eyes widened and she took several hesitant steps back until she was against the wall.

"Miss Tisdale," he addressed her cold, crisp tones. "Did you or did you not inform Miss Martin of the wager that Colonel Tarleton and I had contrived between the two of us?"

No more was needed, Mary - of course - knew exactly what wager William spoke of.

"I… Ah…" She stuttered fearfully, her fingers clutching her silk skirts tight. "Sir, I…"

"Did you tell her or not!" Tavington grated, his shoulders stiff with fury.

Quailing, Mary shrank back against the wall, her hands trembled and tears sprang to her eyes. She nodded wordlessly, confirming William's suspicions.

He glared down at her for several long and tense filled moments, watching her fidget under his gaze.

"And were you the one who informed Miss Martin of my continued involvement with Miss Stokes?" He ground out ominously.

Mary was innocent there. Sort of. She had told Cilla that Linda was visiting Tavington at Mary's home and Cilla had, in turn, told Beth. However, Cilla was in enough trouble with Tavington - being under house arrest as she was! Mary could not reveal her captive friend's involvement now. Her heart pounding with fear, Mary nodded wordlessly again.

His facade of control snapped. William's face contorted with rage, his nostrils flared and his eyes became narrowed slits.

Terrified, Mary crouched away from the enraged Officer but she could not escape his hard gaze, his fury. William's fists curled at his sides, that this woman, this chit cowering before him was at the root of his and Beth's division. He uncurled his fists and forced himself to turn and take several steps back from her, lest he strike her.

"You are at the heart of all this!" He bellowed, whirling to face her once more. Mary swallowed, her hands pressed to her stomach. He strode suddenly forward again and Mary shrank away, breathing an 'oh' of fear.

"Were you eavesdropping then?" He asked in a deadly tone. "Listening in on my private conversations while I was living here?"

"I didn't mean to!" She gasped as her tears spilled over, blurring her vision. "Your door was open and you were talking to the other Officers and I heard Beth's name. I didn't mean to hear but…"

William's hard face blazed above hers, his pale eyes flashing. Mary swallowed, her heart pounding as she waited for the livid Officer to strike her in his fury.

"You dare to gossip about me?" he said finally, his voice now quiet and deadly.

"I-I d-didn't g-gossip!" Mary choked. "B-Beth's my friend!" Mary lowered her head and sobbed. William tightened his lips as he glared down at the wretched girl.

"I know she is your friend," he said coldly. His shoulders were tight with tension, his face set cold and hard. "At any other time I would applaud your stead fast loyalty to the woman I love." He drew a ragged breath, striving for calm. The girl still wept before him but he was unmoved by her misery. Not when her actions were the cause of his and Beth's! "But under no circumstances are you ever to meddle in my affairs."

"I - I'm sorry," she rasped through her tears, seeking to mollify the enraged Officer. Her shoulders shook with the force of her weeping, but still Tavington was unmoved.

"It appears I must explain a few things to you, Miss Tisdale," he continued softly, dangerously. "Very soon you will be marrying one of my own Dragoons. You will be coming away to live in camp along with the other Officer's wives. I will not suffer any person under my Command to speak out of turn or spread malicious gossip." He pinned her with his cold gaze. "Officer's wives are very much under my Command as my troopers, do you understand?"

Mary flushed crimson. She wondered what the penalty would be if she did gossip about Tavington? Her mouth went dry as she imagined the worst - a flogging or being put in the stocks.

"I… I understand," she whispered and gulped hard.

"It gladdens me to hear it," William replied cynically. "I would hate to have to punish the wife of one of my Dragoons. I shall forgive you in this instance, for Beth is your close friend and you have shown her Loyalty, no matter how misplaced. In future, you will transfer that Loyalty to me."

"Yes, Sir," Mary said softly. Mary, sensing the worst was over, raised her flushed face to his. Though her lip trembled, she managed to stop crying.

"Now," he said, suddenly brisk. "I have a task for you."

"A… A task, Sir?" Mary blinked up at him in confusion. He had her so unsettled, confronting her and scaring her half to death and now he was asking her to perform a task for him? She licked her lips and hoped against hope that it was something within her ability to accomplish. Tavington terrified her and she did not want to earn any more of his fury by failing him now.

William pulled an envelop out of his coat pocket.

"You will deliver this to Beth."

"What?" Mary gasped, utterly astounded.

William took a single step closer, looming over her once more. Mary huddled against the wall, gazing up at the Officer with her eyes as wide as they would go.

"I know the two of you are close, Miss Tisdale. You betrayed me to her, after all," a not so subtle reminder that he was none to pleased with her just then. "I am certain you have plans to write to her. You will do so today and you will conceal this letter in the packet with yours. You will give instructions to Beth to write back to me through you."

"Sir," Mary said finally. "What if she doesn't write back?"

"You will not be held to blame," William assured her primly. "But I promise you, if you mention one word of Linda Stokes… One word, Miss Tisdale and I vow you will regret it."

"No.. I won't," she rushed to assure the fury filled Officer.

Mary's fingers shook as she took the letter from his hands. She was certain Tavington must know how much trouble she could get into, in entering this conspiracy with him. Benjamin would be furious, as would Mary's own father..!

William did not seem to care, indeed, he had not given it a moment's thought.

"You will do this," he said now, leaning in close to her, his cold eyes filled with threat.

Then he drew a deep breath and seemed to calm. His fury faded and his expression became earnest. Tense still, but earnest.

"Miss Tisdale," his voice became impassioned. Her eyes widened, she had never heard such a tone from him. "I am in love with her. She does not believe me but I am and I _must_ convince her! You don't know what…" He stopped, momentarily overcome. Drawing a ragged breath, he continued. "What her absence... What it is doing to me. I can't think, I can't eat. I can barely sleep since our argument and it's worse now that she is gone. I can find no enjoyment in anything I do." He swallowed and seemed at a loss for a moment, his eyes locked on hers. He finally continued, more quietly than before. "She loves me - I know she does. She must be in the pits of despair, whiling away on that farm! I can't stand to think of it - with her so far away. Surely you will be willing to help me? You will be helping her as well!"

Mary hesitated, her eyes lowering to the letter in her hands. Colin had kept her informed of all of Tavington's goings on over the last few days. She knew he was still dallying with that Linda Stokes. And yet he was professing love for Beth? Still, she was caught - well and truly. Whether she believed him or not was neither here nor there. She had to do as he bid her, Mary was too fearful to defy him.

"Yes Sir, of course I will send it," she said.

"Thank you, Miss Tisdale," he said formally, assuming his commanding disposition. Mary saw the relief flare in his eyes, however, and his tension ease before his countenance changed. "As I said, you will be residing in camp soon enough. Sending this letter will go a long way in restoring my regard for you."

Mary was not a foolish woman, she heard the threat in his words. If she did not co-operate, he would make her life in camp a living hell.

"You will send word to me at once, when she writes back to you. Instruct her to conceal her correspondence to me within yours."

"Yes, Sir, I will do as you say."

"Thank you, I shall wait in the hall, you will give it to me and I shall have it delivered," he nodded curtly and with that, he had strode from her bedchamber.

Tavington had been quite correct in assuming Mary would write to Beth. Mary herself had been half way through her letter when Tavington had arrived. She resumed her seat now to continue her correspondence, but was suddenly over come.

Placing her head in her hands, she began to cry. She feared Tavington too much to disobey him, but she hated betraying Beth by not revealing what she knew of his continued affair with Linda Stokes. The woman was bedding Tavington even now - at the Putman's, in Beth's own bed! And Mary could not tell her closest friend this terrible truth - she had no doubt that Tavington would, indeed, make her regret it!

Still sniffling, she picked up the parchment - her half written letter to Beth and tore it in half, then again into quarters. She couldn't send the letter as it was, not with the information she had given Beth regarding Tavington and Linda.

Mary began her letter afresh, this time avoiding all mention of Miss Stokes. When she finished writing the letter, she read it through with a heavy heart. It bothered her, she felt a traitor. A coward and a traitor for not revealing what she knew of Tavington and Miss Stokes.

* * *

As the day progressed the mid-Summer heat became increasingly oppressive.

Cilla strolled through the gardens to the rear of the manor house. With its over hanging trees it was the most ideal place on the property to cool off.

These past few days had been pure hell, harrowing and downright scary. On the first day of her captivity she had half expected one of the Redcoats to force themselves on her but so far they had been Gentlemen - or their version of it.

It had been so very frightening but as the days wore on they settled into a routine and she had thus far remained untouched. She and her mother were even allowed to leave their chamber and could move about the house and grounds but they both had guards on them at all times. Cilla did her level best to avoid Lieutenant Colonel Tavington, who was inside in manor at that moment in the dining room pouring over reports. She hated to admit it but that man frightened her most of all. The other Officers were polite by comparison.

Tavington was an entirely different matter.

He was stern and cold - Cilla simply could not imagination how her cousin could be so deeply in love with him! Beth was such a sensible lass usually! And for him to be continuing on with that woman - Linda - in Beth's bedchamber! Cilla bristled with fury. She wished she was brave enough to march into her home, into the dining hall and give that man a piece of her mind! She used to be brave, once. Outspoken. Head strong. That's what people used to call her. She had enjoyed being defined that way - a gentle-lady she might be, but she was not some silly pushover!

But Tavington…

No, she could not bring herself to confront that Officer… Not after he had punched her father in the stomach. She could feel his eyes on her sometimes, watching her with a dark expression.

Cilla and Beth were both aware of their resemblance, it was how Beth was able to slip by Tavington's guards all those days ago. For Tavington to watch her the way he did… Cilla wondered if her resemblance to Beth provoked and stirred the British Officer. Perhaps she was not safe from his attentions after all. She shivered as though the day had suddenly turned cold.

Two Dragoons trailed her, Arthur Simms and Michael Middleton. She had danced with both of them at the ball hosted by the Simms family only a short time ago! These were two of her long time friends who she had grown up with. Picnicked with. They had dined in one another's homes! Cilla's mother was from Middleton stock - she'd been Miss Mage Middleton before she married Cilla's father! Michael Middleton was Cilla's cousin! Sort of… The connection was a little obscure but it was there! They were bound by blood. Her own father had considered Michael and Marcus as options for Cilla - she could have been married to one or the other of the Middleton twins.

But now one of them guarded her, prevented her from escaping captivity. Not that she would try to escape, not when it meant leaving he mother behind. Even if she was offered the opportunity at that very moment, she would remain captive unless her mother was freed also.

She could not see how that would be possible, in any case. Looking around her, she saw nothing but Green Dragoons in their hated Redcoats. So many of them - she sometimes wondered if Tavington had managed to find room for his entire troop on her property. That would be impossible of course, there were at least two hundred Dragoons in the unit. But they came and went from the manor frequently, as Tavington was using it as his head quarters. Their constant presence made the large manor house seem small, giving the appearance of more Redcoats than there actually were. Fifty perhaps, at any given time. No more. And only twenty or so were living there.

Her footsteps crunched through the gravel as she past the rose bushes. A memory flashed through her mind, of the night Tavington had come to visit and the family had gone for a walk. When they returned here Tavington and Beth had fallen behind the rest of the family and Tavington had picked Beth a rose from one of these rose bushes. He had presented it to her, charming her into falling in love with him. Beth had dried and pressed the flower, keeping it as a memento in her diary.

If only Beth could see him now. If only she had _heard_ him! In her own bed chamber doing only The Lord knew what with that... that... _loose woman_! That doxy! At least Beth was far from here now, far from the Butcher's clutches.

At least she and her mother had been allowed to move chambers. It had been a vast relief to be moved down the hall, as far from Tavington as she could get. She could still hear the occasional, muffled shout, but it was no where near as loud as that first night.

Not that it helped her to get any more sleep. Cilla worried for her father every moment of every day. There was nothing she could do for him, she had no idea where he was or how he was fairing. He was denied his own home, his own family and it made her want to howl with grief and frustration and futility. She did weep, every night into her pillow. During the day however, she would not give the Lobster back bastards the satisfaction.

"How can you do this?" She cried, suddenly. Her thoughts had pushed her beyond her endurance and she rounded on Arthur Simms and Michael Middleton.

They stared at her, startled.

"Do what, Miss Putman?" Arthur replied finally.

"This!" She snapped, waving her arm around. "How can you participate in this - how can you be a part of it? I grew up with you, Mr. Simms!"

"Cornet Simms," Middleton corrected her sharply.

"I grew up with you too, _Mr_. Middleton!" She shouted, denying her 'cousin' his rank.

"I am sorry that this is difficult for you to understand," Arthur replied. "But growing up together - knowing each other our whole lives - none of that makes any difference, Miss Putman. We are at war and we each had to choose a side. We have been Englishmen, Loyal to His Majesty, whose Colony this is, since the day the first ship landed over two hundred years ago! And now all of a sudden you expect us to turn our backs on that because some fools established their own Congress and called themselves Independent? They are rebels, Miss Putman. Those who stand against their own King and Country are traitors and are not to be treated gently. Your family, Miss Putman - Gods, your father, he made the wrong choice."

Cilla felt like screaming. She threw her arms up, whirled and stomped away down the path. She did not get far. Her arm was gripped by Arthur Simms, and she was whirled back to face him.

"Now, listen here," he said quietly and very seriously. "Your father has committed treason, Cilla. If there is one person in a single family who is a traitor, Tavington almost always assumes the rest of the family are traitors also. There are few exceptions to this rule," his eyes darted to Michael, whose extended family was split right down the middle. Cilla was a part of that, her side landed firmly with the Patriots. "Your position is precarious at best so take my advice and keep a tight rein on that notoriously sharp tongue of yours because if Tavington hears you speaking out, a spanking will be the least of your concerns!"

Cilla stared up at Arthur a little wild eyed.

"You'll end up confined to your room," Arthur continued his urgent warning. "Enjoy the freedom you do have, for small though it might be, it can be taken from you with the snap of his fingers! For our friendship, I beg of you, keep your bloody temper!"

Cilla lowered her eyes with defeat and nodded. Arthur loosened his grip on her arm but did not release her entirely. His grasp was reassuring now, rather than forceful.

"All will be well, I'm certain of it," he replied, though he was certain of no such thing. The most likely scenario was that Cilla and Mage would eventually be allowed more freedoms. Nevertheless, he could make no promises regarding her father. So while the women folk would be fine, chances were, if caught, Putman would hang.

She sniffled and reached into her skirts pockets for a handkerchief. When she was more composed, she turned the conversation to safer waters.

"How is Rebecca?" She asked Michael. "I've been cooped up here for days, I haven't seen anyone - any of my friends," Cilla choked a little and the two Loyalist Dragoons assumed sympathetic expressions.

"My sister is fine," Michael assured her. "She misses you."

Cilla, Beth, Rebecca Middleton, Sarah Wilkins and Mary Tisdale had been inseparable in happier days.

"And I her!" Cilla said, unable to hold back her tears now. "And Sarah. And Mary - I'll miss her wedding! Can't you talk to Tavington, about at least letting me attend the wedding? You'll both be there, I could sit in between you and I won't try and talk to anyone, I swear! Please? I want to go!"

"I'll speak to Tavington," Arthur promised. "Though I have no control over his answer. Perhaps he'll allow it, perhaps not..."

"Thank you," Cilla whimpered.

Arthur exchanged a troubled glance with Michael.

Arthur had made his promise and he would not break it, but he was apprehensive. Miss Mary Tisdale had become a touchy subject for the Colonel. The young Officers only had a vague understanding of what had caused the contention. What they understood was that Mary had confided to Beth something about Tavington, which in turn had caused difficulties between Beth and the Commander. Colin Ferguson, Mary's fiancé, was a Green Dragoon and so for Colin's sake, Tavington had not unleashed his full rage upon the young woman. He had sat her down and told her in no uncertain terms she was never to gossip about him again, but he was very cool toward her, barely polite.

Further to that Mary's mother, Mrs. Vera Tisdale had been sent away from the house; she was now staying with her mother on the other side of the city. However, the Loyalist Officers were well aware that she had been bedding Tavington, and that Mr. Tisdale was wroth over the affair.

"It'll be tricky..." Michael murmured, seeing the doubt in Arthur's eyes. Cilla was crestfallen and Arthur sighed heavily. Then he perked up as an idea struck him.

"I know - I'll ask Colin to ask! It's his wedding after all, he should be able to invite who he wises and you are friends with Miss Tisdale and Colin both! Tavington seems to like Colin."

"Oh, thats a wonderful idea!" Cilla almost clapped her hands with relief and excitement. "Oh, please - will you go and speak to him now? Where is he?"

"Soon, Cilla," Arthur rolled his eyes. "Do you want to continue your walk or go inside?"

"Say you want to continue your walk," Michael moaned. "It's so much cooler under these trees."

"Alright," Cilla smiled and turned to continue her walk, feeling positively buoyant for the first time in days.

* * *

"Damned reports," Tavington muttered as he put his signature on yet another. Bordon picked up another from his own pile and sighed heavily.

"Aye," he agreed. "At least it's cool in here." The two men sat alone at the dining hall, working their way through reports and reading and answering messages. At that moment, Harmony was at the tavern, where she almost always was. And Mage was with her daughter in their chamber upstairs. If Cilla had not been there with her mother, Richard might have been tempted to excused himself from this boring, unpleasant duty, he would have paid Mage a visit, to see if she liked her new chamber… But her daughter was with her, his next encounter with Mage would have to wait.

Tavington began to read through another report. Though a few would need to be presented to Clinton, most of the reports were fairly standard and the two were getting through them quickly.

"Are you coming to the tavern tonight?" Bordon asked as they worked.

"Hmm, I think I will. For a short while. I will play a few rounds before bringing Linda back here," Tavington set the report aside and reached for another. "So. How is your new mistress? If you're having trouble pleasing her, I can get Mrs. Putman warmed up for you."

"Such a generous offer," Richard laughed. "However, I can warm Mage up just fine."

"The woman doesn't know what she's missing," William said with an exaggerated sigh, as if he were lamenting Mage's loss.

"Mage is quite content in my bed, William; She's certainly had no cause for complaint thus far."

"Give her time," William snorted.

A sharp indrawn breath at the door way caused both men to glance up. Colin Ferguson stood staring down at Bordon wide eyed, his face flushed with shock.

_Careless tongue_, Tavington cursed himself. It was too late, however. Colin had heard the Officer's speaking of Richard's affair with Mage.

"Goddamn it," Richard snapped, ready to flay the Cornet where he stood.

"Forgive me, Ferguson - I did not hear you knock," William got in first, he gave Colin a pointed look of rebuke and the young man's flush deepened.

"Forgive me, Sir, but the door was wide open," he said, his astonished expression giving way to something far more stern. He glared at Richard, seemed on the verge of confronting him. He seemed to recall his rank, however. Instead, he said, "I did not mean to eavesdrop."

Tavington sighed heavily. "Is there something I can do for you?" He asked a little harshly.

Colin gave Richard another look, but still he held his silence regarding what he'd just heard. "I have something I wish to speak with you about, Sir," Colin ventured and waited to be invited to sit. Tavington nodded toward a chair and Colin came deeper into the room, sitting at the table across from Bordon with Tavington in between them at the head of the table.

Colin had been staring at Bordon, no doubt quite distracted by what he'd just heard. Richard stared right back, his jaw working.

"You have heard something you should not have," Richard said at last, voice hard, the voice of command. "Can I trust to your discretion?"

Colin drew in a shuddering breath. "I am not one for gossip, Sir," he said stiffly. He was declaring he would not repeat what he'd heard, but he was making it quite clear just how much he disapproved.

"Four people know now," Richard said, words crisp and tense. "Three of them I can be certain of. If news of… well, if it becomes known, I will know the source of it."

"I told you, I am not one for gossip. No matter how…" Colin tightened his lips, his eyes narrowed.

"No matter how what, Cornet?"

"Leave over, Bordon," Tavington waved his hand to end what could become a stupid, pointless, and loud argument. "It matters not. It matters not if he disapproves, it's his discretion you need. And Cornet Ferguson has promised to be discrete. Haven't you, Cornet?"

"Yes, Sir," Ferguson ground out. "My oath upon it."

"Good. Very well," Tavington said, setting the matter aside. "What did you wish to discuss?"

"It is in regard to Cilla Putman, Sir," Colin's eyes flickered to Richard, for he was speaking of the daughter of the woman Richard had just revealed he was having an affair with.

Tavington stiffened, his eyes became instantly cold.

"What of her?" He assumed an indifferent tone. Pulling his field diary toward him, he began making notations.

"Well, Sir, as you know I am getting married soon," Colin began. Ever since arriving to the city, Tavington and the British Legion had known their stay there would not be a long one. Tarleton and his Legion were already out there in the country, doing what they could to secure the area, which Tavington and his Legion remained in and close to the city, to protect it. In a few weeks, when the city was well secure, Tavington would be shifting out, another force encroaching on the countryside, to rout rebels and begin the push upward toward North Carolina.

Mary and Colin wished to be married before they left with the Legion. The first Bann was read, there were two to go. With the consent of both their father's and the Reverend, they were to be married on the same day the third Bann was read; in two weeks time. "Sir, I understand that Miss Putman is being held in custody. I came to request that you please allow her to attend my wedding."

Tavington gazed at Colin, his quill poised over the page. Miss Cilla Putman at the wedding. As if the wedding would not be unpleasant enough, now Colin wanted Cilla there. Beth's cousin - who resembled Beth so much that Tavington found it painful to look at her.

"No," he said shortly, coldly. Shifting his gaze back to his task, he began writing again - for him, the discussion was closed.

Colin's jaw dropped.

"Sir..." he protested softly - carefully. Tavington's temper was infamous. Even with that small protest, lines began to form around Tavington's cold eyes, his lips tightening. Carefully... And don't push too far... "Sir, Cilla is one of Mary's bridesmaids. We've been friends with Cilla for so long, we can't imagine a wedding without her. We're already going to have friends missing," here, his voice hardened. Tavington's eyes widened, Colin knew his meaning was understood. He was even closer to Beth, and he couldn't have her - a friend so close he considered to be a sister - at her wedding. "Cilla has been friends with Mary for so long and Mary will be devastated enough that she can't have Be - ah, that is, her mother," he said.

Tavington's face darkened.

"Do not lie to me, boy," he growled low in his throat. "You were about to say 'since she can't have Beth'."

Colin pulled his eyes away from Tavington's disconcerting gaze. Everyone - not just Colin, but _everyone_ \- walked on eggshells to not mention Beth's name in front of the Colonel.

"Yes," he admitted. "I was. Mary will be without Beth _and_ her mother." He tried to convey without saying outright, just who he blamed for that. As far as he was concerned, Tavington owed him this. Not that he could say that, not straight out like that. He hoped Tavington would understand, without him needing to be confrontational. "As neither Beth nor Mrs. Tisdale can attend the wedding, we would be grateful if Mary could _at least_ have Cilla come."

Tavington's scowl deepened.

"Mr. Putman is a traitor, his family are under house arrest," Bordon pointed out. "There will be enough women at your wedding, Cornet. There should be no need for Miss Tisdale to have Miss Putman, for she will have Miss Wilkins, Miss Middleton, Mrs. Wilkins and Miss Jutland. And others, I dare say."

"Ah… Miss Jutland?" Colin frowned with consternation. "Your mistress, at my wedding? Your _other_ mistress, I mean!" He added, too angry to have sense enough to hold his tongue.

Bordon bristled.

"Yes, Ferguson," he said in a dangerous tone. "Miss Jutland. My mistress. At your wedding."

Anger gave way to astonishment. Bordon was actually serious. It was bad enough they were denying Colin and Mary their actual friends, the women that deserved to be there, now Colin was expected to invite _strumpets_? No. Colin had to draw the line somewhere - and this was his wedding. His and Mary's. No one should expect them to invite doxies! It was an insult! And disrespectful to Mary! "With respect, Sir," Colin said firmly. "I believe that Miss Jutland may feel out of place with the society Miss Tisdale and I have invited to our wedding."

There. It was said, as respectfully as Colin could. He did not come right out and say that Harmony was base born and a strumpet, but he did make it clear she would not be welcome among the gentry who would be attending his wedding.

Bordon curled his hands into fists, his entire body was thwart with tension.

"I will suffer no insult to Miss Jutland," Bordon said softly.

Colin shook his head, astonished. He'd heard Tavington and Bordon speak of Bordon's affair with Mrs. Putman. He was bedding another woman, why was he becoming so angry over Miss Jutland?

"And you have received none," surprisingly, it was Tavington who spoke. His frown was directed at Captain Bordon. "I am surprised at you Bordon, why in the world would you expect your mistress to be invited to the wedding of such a high standing Charlestown couple? I will certainly not be bringing Linda!"

Bordon turned to Tavington, his face wide with shock.

"William!" He protested hotly. "With respect - Harmony can hardly be compared to Linda who sells her wares to whoever desires them!"

Tavington snorted - he was not offended in the least. Half of his Dragoons had bedded Linda - Bordon included. And they could continue bedding her, as long as she saw to his own needs first.

"Be that as it may, Miss Jutland is an unmarried woman who is openly sharing your bed. The wellborn ladies who will be attending Cornet Ferguson's wedding should not be subjected to her presence! As a Gentleman born of the nobility yourself, I would have expected you to understand this!"

"I do understand!" Bordon growled, his face twisted with rage.

"You wouldn't take Miss Jutland to your sister's wedding would you?" Tavington pressed his point.

"Of course not!" Bordon snapped - that was completely different - Colonial Aristocracy was merely an imitation of England's nobility. "My mother would have apoplexy! But there is no comparison, we are speaking of _Colonials _not nobility!" Richard cut short, realising his error as soon as the words fell out of his mouth.

"Oh! I see!" Colin raised his voice, hearing the insult at once. "Of course! You don't have to be respectful among our women, because we're just Colonials!" His voice was thick with sarcasm and outrage. Captain Wilkins, who had been passing by, came into the dining hall as Colin continued to rage. "Because our women are not as noble. Our aristocracy is merely a facade - you certainly don't have to conduct yourself as a Gentleman among us! Our women are not proper Ladies!"

"Ferguson, you forget yourself!" Bordon raged but Colin was too furious to be stalled so easily.

"By all means - bring your mistress! And Colonel - you bring yours, too!" Colin rose from his chair. "Hell, I'll just head on down to the shipyards and all the taverns now and invite all the strumpets I can find! Mary won't mind! Because she's _just a Colonial_!"

"You are very close to insubordination, Cornet!" Bordon shouted, rising also. His face was blotched red, his knuckles were white - his fists clenched so tight. "And you sound just like a Patriot!"

"What the Devil?" Colin cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "You call me a Patriot because I am protesting what is an outrage no matter which side you're on? You expect to bring your mistress to Mary's wedding but you certainly wouldn't bring her to the wedding of one of your sisters! That is what I'm protesting - this has nothing to do with Loyalties. It astounds me that you would conduct yourself in a less Gentlemanlike manner with my Colonial fiancé than you would your English born sisters!"

"He's right," Wilkins interjected, in a very serious tone. "Colonial women of Society should not be treated any differently to their equals in Britain," he pinned Bordon with an arched stare. "Do you care to suggest that I might be a Patriot for holding such an opinion?" He challenged, clearly taking side with Colin. Wilkins' expression dared his fellow Captain to do just that. There was not a man in the army who would question Wilkins Loyalty.

Bordon pressed his lips tightly and said nothing.

"Care to tell me what this is about?" James asked Colin. Colin was still staring balefully at Bordon and the look was being returned with interest. There might be bloodshed soon, despite the table between them. Tavington gazed at them both, allowing them time to sort this between themselves before intervening.

"He wishes to bring Miss Jutland to my wedding," Colin ground out. Wilkins drew in a sharp breath.

"Captain Bordon!" Wilkins voice rose in astonishment. "My wife and my mother will be at that wedding! Gods, my sister is to be Miss Tisdale's bridesmaid! Impossible! You can't be serious!"

"Why isn't it possible?!" Bordon shouted at James. "Because she is a 'loose woman'? A 'strumpet'?"

"Yes," Colonel Tavington said clearly.

Bordon froze. He turned slowly to stare down at Tavington, his eyes wide with shock.

"Bordon, as fond as I am of Miss Jutland, Wilkins and Ferguson are entirely correct," William continued crisply. "It was enough that you took her to the ball at the Simms ball, I'm beyond surprised that there were no grumbles at that -"

"Miss Jutland was at the Simms ball?" Wilkins asked sharply, his eyes narrowed, furious. "They are my family!"

Bordon bristled, momentarily at a loss for words. "And yet Cornet Ferguson wants Patriot Cilla Putman to attend the damned wedding?" He ground out finally.

"Her father is the rebel, Sir!" Colin cried. "Miss Putman has committed no treason! I'm sorry, Sir, but this is offensive, to the highest degree!"

"Gods, Ferguson, what am I supposed to tell her?" Bordon asked. "I've invited her, we're commissioning a new gown! If she suddenly can't go, I'll have to tell her why - it will crush her!"

"Then you should have chosen your mistress more wisely," William answered again, snapping the words, frustrated now with his Captain. "Or better yet - not taken a mistress at all seeing that you are so clearly inexperienced! A Gentlemen who keeps a mistress lives two lives, Richard. He takes his _wife_ to formal, high society engagements," he placed his two hands on one side of the table, then shifted them over an imaginary line to the other side of the table. "And his mistress, to affairs of the more common type, such as gaming houses!" He held Bordon's glare and continued, "gentlemen do not take their mistresses to mingle among the gentle classes. End of story."

Bordon stood tall, his face blanked of emotion, one arm looped behind his back. Seeking to control his anger and offence in the age old military stance. Tavington sighed heavily.

"I believe I have a solution," he murmured and all eyes turned to him. He held Colin's gaze. "Cornet, Miss Jutland is not well known among your Colonial acquaintances. She attended the Simms ball and her presence there occasioned no comments, no complaints. She has already proven that she can pass off for one of them - she has done so already upon several occasions. As long as they do not know she is Bordon's mistress, you will not be disgraced by inviting her."

"I know! Mary knows! And this is our wedding!"

"Cornet, he's already promised her."

"He should not have, not without asking me! It's my wedding! As for letting her come anyway, because people don't know her or her situation, Gods, Sir, Mary knows!" Colin frowned. "Is that not enough?"

"No, it is not," Tavington snapped, becoming angry with Colin for his tone. "You fiancé is not entirely in my good graces, as you damned well know!"

"What, for telling her dearest friend and mine the truth?" Colin shot back. "You have no right to hold that against Mary, Beth deserved to be told!"

Tavington began to feel that burning, blind rage begin to build, as Colin confronted him for daring to confront his fiancé. In a deathly quiet voice, he said, "I think differently. And I do hope that you recall to yourself, that I am your superior." He held Colin's eyes, his own were burning. He continued, "I hardly care if Miss Tisdale knows Miss Jutland is bedding Bordon, nor do I care if she is distressed by Miss Jutland's presence!"

Colin held his silence but his face was blotched red and his body tight with anger. Mary had been in the right to tell Beth of Tarleton and Tavington's intentions toward her - of their disgraceful wager. For Colin, it served as another example of how little these 'Gentlemen' thought of South Carolina's aristocracy, that they could treat so disgracefully with Beth! He'd said his piece, however; he was wise enough to say no more on it.

"The women of my family will be there also," Colin ground out. "My mother and my sister. Wilkins mother, wife, and sister. Rebecca Middleton. Others of the same quality. Yet you seem to be suggesting that I should bring Miss Jutland among them?"

"It will not be common knowledge amongst any of them, only a handful will know the truth," Tavington replied, trying to calm himself. "Most of them will simply believe Miss Jutland to be a woman Bordon is courting - much as they assumed when he took her to the ball. Her presence there will not reflect poorly on you or your bride."

"You want me to allow this." Colin said, flatly and furious.

"Yes, and in exchange I will allow Miss Putman to attend."

Tavington held Colin's gaze, he saw the indecision. Bordon shifted beside him and slowly resumed his seat.

"A bargain. Take it or leave it, Ferguson," Tavington snapped. He had more pressing matters to attend to, than who attends Colin's bloody wedding! "If Miss Jutland does not attend, nor does Miss Putman."

"Then neither of them should, if that is the condition," Wilkins snapped. "Even Cilla would agree. My sister will be at that wedding!"

Colin threw Tavington a look, he tightened his lips, damned near shaking with rage. This was his wedding! His and Mary's! He was bargaining for Cilla Putman to attend - a close friend and a woman of quality at the price of suffering the presence of a strumpet!

"So be it," Colin grated. Then he turned to Bordon, noting that some of the Captain's tension had eased with Colin's acceptance. "I do hope you'll refrain from _fucking_ her up against a the church door," he spat. Bordon's eyes grew as wide as they could go but Colin did not remain long enough for the Major to reply.

* * *

Colin marched up the steps of the Tisdale manor and rapped smartly on the large oak door.

A large African opened the door and Colin was admitted into the house.

Miss Jutland was nice enough, he thought as he walked into the house. A few weeks ago, he'd seen her in the street outside the Mighty George, kneeling before a child who was crying in the dirt. Turned out the child had become separated from his parents, was terrified and in need of help. And help he received, Miss Jutland had wiped the boys tears, she'd taken his hand and led him into the tavern. Colin had been walking in behind her, he'd heard her tell Mr. Ingles that she would pay for the meal. Mr. Ingles, being a good sort of fellow himself, had refused to let her. The boy had been given food, and then Miss Jutland sent out the word that would help to find his parents.

Colin did not doubt Miss Jutland's kindness or her generosity. She was amiable, had a willing smile for everyone and a quick wit as well.

But he could not deny that she was chose to be mistress to Captain Bordon. He liked her well enough, but while drinking with the Middleton twins at the Might George, he'd seen her wafting from table to table, had seen the men groping her rump as she leaned across them to place jugs of ale or bottles of wine before them. Had seen her laugh, fend off their groping and waggle a finger at them in admonishment before wafting away to serve at another table where she was groped all over again. And he recalled the tale Tavington and Tarleton had regaled them all with, of the time when Bordon was coupling with her in the middle of the hallway at the Mighty George, he had her up against the door, which flew open, landing Bordon and Miss Jutland fall into the chamber where Tarleton and Tavington were rutting their whores. It was to this that Colin made reference, on his way out of the dining hall just now. Tarleton - laughing so hard he had barely been able to get the words out - had said that Harmony had fallen sprawled all over Bordon, had glanced up at the two Colonels, and then exclaimed over the side of their… appendages… and declared that she was now more interested in the Colonels.

And this was the quality of woman who would be at his wedding?

The Tisdale parlor was large and welcoming. The fire was not lit - it was far too hot even at night to have a fire burning. Candles in the wall sconces and on every flat surface made the room bright and cheery. It did not match his mood - not at all.

Mary smiled up at him from the chaise. Colin's breath caught, his anger began to melt as he stepped deeper into the room and sat beside her, taking both her hands in his. He pressed her fingers to his lips then draped one arm across her shoulders to draw her close. Mr. Tisdale sat across from them with a leather bound book in his hand. Colin met his eyes over Mary's head.

"Is something amiss, son?" Mr. Adam Tisdale asked. "You look ready to chew rocks."

Mary's contented smile slipped and she drew back to study Colin carefully.

"What's wrong?" She asked, immediately concerned.

Colin blew out a heavy breath.

"The damned Redcoats, that's what," Colin muttered.

"I'll say," Tisdale muttered, his face darkening. "What has happened, Colin?"

"Well," Colin paused. How to tell them? He heaved a breath. Forthright, that was how to tell them. "Miss Putman is distraught over not being able to attend the wedding -"

"Oh, I know. It's terrible, Beth won't be there and I won't have Cilla either!" Mary began to wring her hands in her lap, her eyes welled with tears. "They were to be my bridesmaids. I know I'll have Rebecca and Sarah but I miss Beth so much and now Cilla can't be there!"

"I know. Dear heart, while I can't possibly find a way for Beth to be at the wedding -" he paused as a stab of fury jolted through him. Beth had been his closest companion growing up along the Santee and it infuriated him that circumstances had taken her from him - the one woman he would have wanted above all others at his wedding. And it all came back to Colonel bloody Tavington and the Goddamned Redcoats! Suppressing his fury, he continued in a mild tone, "a way has been devised for Miss Putman to attend."

Mary placed both hands over her mouth and gasped.

"Truly?" She cried, then threw her arms around Colin's neck. "Oh, Colin! That's wonderful."

"It comes at a cost, however," Colin ground out. He pursed his lips and gently pried himself loose from her slim but surprisingly strong arms. Sitting back to gaze down at her, he gathered his nerve and said, "I was forced to allow Captain Bordon to bring his mistress, Miss Jutland. It's both or neither."

The room grew so quiet, Colin imagined he could hear the crackling flame from the many candles dancing on their wicks. Pure fantasy, of course. All eyes were on him, but it was Mr. Tisdale who spoke first, in a very cold and hard voice.

"You were forced to do what?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Colin said apologetically. "But I had to allow it - or we would have been denied Miss Putman."

Adam was quiet for several moments, then he leaned forward menacingly.

"It was bad enough that I had that woman here in this house - rogering Bordon only a door away from my daughter's chamber!" His voice rose, he was clearly incensed. "While my wife fucked Tavington in his!"

Mary gasped, her fingers at her throat.

"Sir, please! Not in front of Mary!" Colin protested hotly and Adam tightened his lips, striving for calm.

"Forgive me, Mary," he said to his daughter.

"That's alright, father," Mary said a little breathlessly.

"Mary, it's the only way - I am so sorry," Colin said earnestly, shifting his gaze to Mary.

"Colin, I want Cilla there, I truly do. The horrible thing is, when I first met Miss Jutland, I really quite liked her! She does not behave as I'd image a... a mistress to behave, so perhaps all will be well."

"Yes, I am certain a bawd like that will conduct herself in a manner which will do us all proud," Tisdale shot back, his voice thick with sarcasm. "No, I will not allow it. This is absurd, to expect us to have his mistress at my daughter's wedding. As if they have not offended me enough. I will not allow it -"

"Captain Bordon has already informed Miss Jutland that she will be going," Colin said, frustrated that Bordon would take such liberties.

"Then I have the perfect solution," Tisdale ground out. "Captain Bordon is no longer invited either! I don't know why he - or Tavington - were going to be there to begin with!"

"Sir, they are my superiors!" Colin protested, "they have to be there."

"The hell they do."

"I don't want to offend them, Sir -" Colin regretted the words as soon as they slipped from his mouth. Tisdale drew himself up, his face was thunder.

"But you're quite happy to offend me? Is that it?"

"No, that's not what I meant -"

"I am to be your father in law. I have known you for years, I have allowed to court my daughter, have given you my blessing to marry her. But you do not want to offend these two men you barely know, despite their grievous actions toward me, _because they are your superiors_?" His voice was rising almost to a shout. "What am I then, nothing? Was it enough that I was treated so ill by them, and now you will not even stand for me?"

"Sir, I'm caught in a terrible position - it's highly complicated," Colin said desperately.

"I see nothing complicated about it. Tavington screwed my wife, I am a cuckold because of him! And the other bought his bawdy woman here, beneath my roof where my daughter lives! And you would bring them to my daughter's wedding? You worry over given them offence? After their actions toward me, they should have no expectation of attending my daughter's wedding, let alone expecting to bring additional guests such as Captain Bordon's whore," he finished harshly.

Colin fell quiet, he shared a look with Mary, who was looking awfully uncomfortable. Colin knew Mr. Tisdale as right, he agreed with Tisdale's argument completely. But if he offended the Officers, he risked being ostracised from their good graces - which, more importantly, would lead to him being ousted from their council. Then again, who would he report to, with Mr. Putman had fled? None of the spies knew what to do, all of them feared being caught, there was confusion and fear, they were in disarray without him. Was there any point in continuing? Maybe Colin should just leave - although resigning from the Army was no easy thing to do.

Tisdale was glaring at him, waiting for an answer, ready to climb down Colin's throat if he dared to offer more justification. Ready to withdraw his blessing for Colin to marry his daughter, perhaps? Colin heaved a sigh. He took hold of Mary's hand and pulled it into his lap, his two hands encompassing hers.

"Everything that Mr. Putman has been accused of, is true," Colin began, meeting Tisdale's eyes. "And more besides. He did warn Colonel Burwell of the attempted ambush. He did orchestrate with Francis Marion to spirit Miss Martin away. What the British do not know, is that Putman is the organiser of spy ring, here in the city." Tisdale's eyes were growing wider by the moment. Colin drew a deep breath, shared a glance with Mary who nodded, then stated proudly "and I am one of his spies."

"Dear God," the air rushed from Tisdale's lungs - his outrage vanishing with the shock of it.

"That, is the reason I did not want to offend the British Officers," Colin said, beseeching now. "Not because I hold a higher regard for them than I do you. Of course I don't - Gods, they can burn in the fires of hell for all I care. You are about to become my family, Sir, and there is no one in the world more important to me than family. I was not putting them above you. Well, I was, but I had reason."

"You're a spy," Tisdale whispered, looking horrified.

"You won't tell, will you papa?" Mary asked.

"Tell?" Tisdale barked. "Tell Tavington? Bordon? I agree, they can rot in the fires of hell. However," he paused, pointed an accusing finger at Mary. "You knew?

"We discussed it together, before Colin joined," Mary replied.

"You knew, all along. Do you know how dangerous this is? It's not a game, Mary."

"I know it's no game, papa."

Tisdale turned dangerous eyes on Colin. "You are a spy, you are about to marry my daughter, and you will be taking her with you when the Dragoons move out. You are putting Mary in danger."

"As I said," Mary spoke up again. "We discussed it before Colin committed to this course. We came to this decision together."

Tisdale eyed Colin, his anger fading.

"Let's just... Let's do a small wedding," Mary said, squeezing Colin's fingers. "Your family is here. Let it just be them and papa. Beth can't be there and I don't think Cilla would want to be, if she knew what her presence would cost us. She would rather not come, if it meant we had to have Miss Jutland there too. I don't mean to be mean about Miss Jutland, but this is our wedding. It's for us, Colin. You and me and our families. No one else."

"You're happy to have a small wedding?" Colin asked, a little surprised after all the planning.

"I want to have a grand wedding, Colin. But big or small, as long as you're there, our wedding will be grand," she smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "I want it to be something I remember forever for all the right reasons, with no blights upon it."

Colin nodded slowly. "What of Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins?"

"I'll regret their not being there, but well - like Cilla - would they wish to attend with Miss Jutland there?"

"Invite them around," Adam said, making plans briskly. "They don't need to know what for. I will ask the Reverend to come here to perform the ceremony."

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea, papa!" Mary cried, clapping her hands.

"This is a good compromise," Colin said. "It's an excellent idea, Mary. When - do we keep the same wedding date?"

"No," Mary smiled. "We'll make it much sooner."

"Oh?" Colin arched an eyebrow. "When?"

"Now," she said, her grin widening. "Right now. This very minute. The marriage license is already prepared, all we need to do is get Becky and Sarah here, fetch the Reverend, and get married. Done and done."

"Gods, Mary," Colin laughed, excitement stirring. "Now? Right this minute?"

"Why not? Papa, what do you think?"

"No time like the present," Adam smiled. "I'll see to it, shall I?"

"Yes, please," Mary laughed softly, angling herself toward Colin. "Are you ready, my love?"

"To become your husband?" Colin kissed her brow. "I can think of no better way to spend my day."


	28. Chapter 28 The Disastrous Effects Begin

Chapter 28 - The Disastrous Effects Begin

"James, can I speak to you?"

"Gods, Colin, you know how to make enemies, don't you?" Wilkins asked, seizing Colin by the arm and dragging him into his office. Colin had enough time to wave at Sarah and Emily before Wilkins was closing the door, shutting them in his office. "I can't believe you said that to Bordon. You're a madman."

"Bordon's the madman," Colin curled his lip. "You said you agreed with me."

"That I do," James replied. "Still, you've got some stones, lad," he laughed.

"What did he say? When I left, I mean," Colin asked.

"Nothing good. He raged about your insubordination and that you deserved a flogging, but Tavington drew him in, saying that next time, he should ask rather than expecting us all to accept his fucking mistress in our company."

"He said that, did he?"

"Well, I embellished a little," James shrugged. "Rum?"

"Gods, yes, please," Colin said, accepting the brew gladly. They sat down in James' comfortable armchairs.

"What do you want to speak to me about?" James asked.

"My wedding," Colin replied. He leaned forward, held James' eyes. "Whatever you were planning to do today, I need you to cancel it."

"You do, do you?" James breathed, affected by Colin's dead earnest demeanour. "Why is that?"

"Because I'm getting married today," Colin said and James' eyes widened with shock. "Everyone who is invited - actually invited, I mean - those of you I can get to come to my house in the next hour. You. Mrs. Wilkins - both of them. Sarah. I've spoken to the twins and Arthur - discreetly," he stressed. "Marcus is on his way to tell Rebecca to get ready."

"Gods, lad," Wilkins breathed. "Tavington and Bordon are going to have fits."

"I care not," Colin drained his glass then slammed it down on the table. He rose abruptly, stormed to the window, then whirled back. "I am this close," he held his thumb and forefinger so close, a slip of parchment would struggle to fit through, "to packing in the Dragoons."

"Jesus," James muttered.

"If they… If they dare… If they fucking…" Colin struggled to gain his composure, he never spoke like this. "I will tell Tavington to shove his Green Coat up his arse."

"After what you said to Bordon just now, I well believe it," James replied. He gestured with his hand. "Sit, Colin. You need to calm down, lad."

"I mean it, James," Colin did as he was told. James poured him another rum, which Colin nursed in his fingers. "Tavington screws Mary's mother. They both bring doxies back to the house. Oh, don't even get me started on how he's treated Beth, who is a sister to me. It's his fault she can't be at the wedding, she had to fucking flee from him!" His grip on the glass was white knuckled. He drank, but not so deeply as before.

"He said they're engaged," Wilkins mused.

"He can say whatever he fucking likes, it doesn't make any of it true," Colin spat. He closed his eyes and drew several deep breaths. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be speaking like this."

"What, the cursing?" James laughed. "In some situations, there isn't a single other word half as satisfying. Fuck. It has all the right components. A good strong word. The _eff_. The _ck_. Fuck. Makes me feel better when I'm mad and I judge you're damned hopping mad right now."

"You have no idea," Colin breathed out slowly, finally recovering some equilibrium. "Will you come? Mary and I are determined to marry today regardless, but we'd sore like to have our friends there. Though I'll understand if you think it'll cause trouble for you - Bordon will accuse us of going behind his back and all," Colin spat.

"Eh. He can hardly blame us," James laughed. "Honestly, what was he thinking? And to so blatantly reveal that he would be outraged, if anyone tried the same at his sister's wedding. I want to be at your wedding, Colin, and I'm angry enough with Bordon not to care about his wrath."

"So, you're coming?" Colin smiled and James nodded.

"We'll be there. An hour, you say?"

"There abouts," Colin said. "We'll wait for you, but don't be too late - Mary will give you the rough side of her tongue, if you do."

"I wouldn't want to risk that," James laughed. "You know it means you can't have Miss Putman."

"I do know. I went to her just now and told her - she's more upset that Bordon would invite Miss Jutland, than she is at not being able to come. I think she's glad we're doing it this way, if only to nettle Bordon. I told her that's not why we're doing it, but still. She said the same as you - if it comes down to that sort of bargain, she'll step aside and gladly."

"I knew she would, she's a good girl," James said. "Right then, better go tell the women, they'll take long enough to get ready as it is!"

"Thank you, James," Colin said. The two shook hands, James saw him to the door. With a wave, he closed the door, then went to tell the women they had a wedding to get ready for.

* * *

That evening, James and the boys stumbled into the Mighty George, already completely and utterly crocked on Mr. Tisdale's fine whiskey. The wedding was over, the dinner after was clearly a spontaneous throw together but the over abundance of alcohol, good company and cheer made up for it. He doubted the affair would have been half so enthusiastic if Bordon had had his way and if Miss Jutland had been there. Mary and Colin would not have been able to enjoy their own wedding, and for a couple so clearly in love, that would have been criminal.

James, too, would not have had half as much fun as he'd had. Not because of Miss Jutland herself, she was a likeable enough lass. But because his sister, mother and wife would be in the company of his superiors mistress, a thing James would not tolerate. No, he simply would not have gone, nor would he have let the women go.

And what a pity it would have been, for it had been a jolly good day. He was already well acquainted with the Ferguson's, for they lived not far from one another in the same Parish of Pembroke. Mr. Ferguson did have some leanings toward Independence, which had made for some interesting conversation for him and James later on, when the whiskey began to addle them both. Still, the fellow allowed for his son to be in the Green Dragoons, so he couldn't be all bad.

Cornet Simms slammed the heavy oak door shut behind him and the other patrons - already sitting around tables and playing rounds of Faro, turned with frowns and scowls. "Sorry," he mumbled as he stumbled into the back of his friends. "Shit," Arthur whispered, sounding on the verge of panic. "Bordon'shere." The words ran together, the lad was slurring.

"Damn and blast it," James began to laugh so hard his side hurt.

"What are we going to tell him?" Marcus asked, looking as alarmed as Arthur.

"That we went to a wedding," James chortled. "Stuff him - Colin was right, Bordon had no call doin' what he did, lookin' down on Colonial Gentility because we weren't born in England. You wouldn't get His Majesty actin' like that, why should Bordon think himself so high and mighty? Nah - we supported Colin, lads, let's let him know it. Might make him think twice about bringing the lower company to our families balls and weddings." It still smarted, the discovery that Bordon had taken Harmony Jutland to the ball, Bordon was shitting on James own family, doing that. Surely he understood that? "Let's go," he said, seeing where Bordon and Tavington were seated with Brownlow and Dalton. He began leading the way. His step wasn't at all steady, damned floor was moving beneath his feet, he felt like he was on the deck of a ship. Well, South Carolina was prone to earth quakes… must be that.

"Tavington!" Wilkins called out with delight when he reached the table. "Bordon!" He stumbled toward the table and collapsed into a chair uninvited. The Middleton boys and Simms following suit. Seated, he grinned a stupid grin. "Brownlow! Dalton!"

"You doing the roll call there, Wilkins?" Brownlow asked, laughing. "Are we at muster? If so. Here!"

"Here," Dalton added.

Wilkins glanced at Tavington and Bordon, the former was shaking his head at Wilkins folly, the latter was brooding into his cups. "I guess I better mark these two are absent," he said when neither chimed in. "Oh well, it'll be cleanin' the latrines for them!"

Brownlow snorted with laughter.

"Deal them in," Tavington commanded and Dalton sent cards flying across the table toward Wilkins and the boys.

"Mighty kind of you," Wilkins quipped, swaying in his seat.

"You four look well warmed, where have you been?" Tavington asked.

Wilkins began picking up the cards as they flew toward him. "At a wedding," he dropped as if it were nothing. He could see Arthur and the twins looking aghast, nervous, yet trying not to laugh.

"Is that right?" Bordon straightened in his chair, his face thunderous. "You went to _the_ wedding."

"Yep!" James said cheerfully. "On account of how the two of you feel about Colonials and all, Colin decided you wouldn't want to be with such low company as Colonial aristocracy, and withdrew your invitations."

"Shut it, Wilkins," Richard snapped.

"I'm surprised you're… _lowering_… yourself to sit with us now," Wilkins continued. "Us being only Colonial aristocracy and all."

"Jesus, you don't know when to stop, do you?" Richard asked.

"Or maybe you're deigning to let us join you?" Wilkins asked, glancing at Tavington and Bordon. "Is that what this is? Are we being deigned by you? You're such generous creatures, to allow us into your presence, us being lowly Colonial aristocracy and all."

"Give over, Wilkins," Tavington said tiredly.

"I'm telling you," Bordon snapped, pointing an excusing finger. "Colin. He did it to spite me, the little bastard."

"He married Miss Tisdale to… spit you," Wilkins arched an eyebrow. "Wasn't he going to marry her, already?"

"Not today, and you know what I bloody mean," Richard said.

"You placed him in an impossible position," Tavington snorted, tossing his head. "I for one am glad they did it - I didn't relish sitting beside Tisdale in church with him glowering at me for fucking his wife, while watching his little chit of a daughter get married. I was only going to be polite, for Ferguson is one of my Dragoons. In eloping today, he removed my obligation and for that, I am grateful. Might even send him a gift to thank him."

"Washn't in a church," Arthur said, still slurring. "It wash at home. The Tisdale'shome I mean. Not my home."

"That tiny house? He cut his nose off to spite his face," Bordon snorted. "Having some tiny wedding instead of the lavish one he'd planned, just so he didn't have to have Harmony there. But nor did he have Miss Putman, or anyone else of note there."

"No one of note? Huh," Wilkins said, cocking his head. "And you say I don't know when to shut it."

"What?" Bordon asked sharply.

"You said no one of note was there. My sister was at the wedding," Wilkins said, not bothering to hide his offence. "And so was Miss Middleton." Michael, Marcus and even Arthur looked quite aggrieved. "And, so were we! So, we're no one of note? You going to keep digging that 'Colonial aristocracy' is inferior hole for yourself?"

"Might need to get yourself a new shovel though, it must be getting old by now," Arthur said, equally offended. James slapped his leg and laughed.

"Good one, Artie," he said.

"Jesus, I didn't mean anything by it," Bordon said, still seething. "I wasn't trying to offend any of you. Christ, Wilkins. I'm just saying, he did it on purpose. If anyone should be offended, it's me. By going behind my back like this, he insulted me!"

"Oh good God," James threw his head back and laughed. "You're insulted. Jesus."

"What?" Bordon snapped. "What's that supposed to mean."

"Do you value Cornet Ferguson as a Dragoon, or not," Wilkins asked, meeting Bordon's eyes and then Tavington's.

"He's a sharp shooter," Tavington said. "I value him highly, we need more like him."

"Yes, well, you keep goin' about the way you're goin' and frankly, you're going to lose the one you've got," James said bluntly.

"Hey! We're just as good," Marcus griped. Wilkins tossed him a withering glance - yes, the lads were all equally talented with a rifle but it was Ferguson Wilkins was speaking on, it was Ferguson he needed to use to make his point.

"Do you have any idea how close you two came to losing him today?" Wilkins asked his Superiors. They exchanged a sober glance. "This close," he held his forefinger and thumb slightly apart. "He told me he was seriously thinking about resigning from the Dragoons, because of this."

"He was?" Tavington asked.

"Yes. So maybe, _Captain_," James said to Bordon. "You might want to think about that, the next time you want to bring your mistress to another one of our affairs. Jesus fucking Christ." Wilkins suddenly noticed that a glass of whiskey had somehow materialised before him, he had no idea how long it had been there, he couldn't recall anyone placing it in front of him. He picked it up now and drained it back in one gulp. Silence reigned around the table, the muscles moved beneath Richard's cheeks as he worked his jaw. Wilkins slammed the whiskey down, then waved his arm in the air, trying to get the attention of Lily, the other barmaid who worked at the Mighty George.

"I suspect Cornet Ferguson had other reasons for this statement," Tavington said carefully.

Wilkins looked Tavington in the eye and said, "yes, he did. But that's a conversation between you and him. Are we playing or not?" He picked up the last of his cards and began to sort them. He could have told Tavington that Colin had said he could shove the Green Dragoon jacket up his arse, but that was just inviting trouble. He would push Bordon as much as he wished - they were both Captains, they held equal rank - though knowing Bordon, he likely thought himself higher even in this, being British born. Tavington was an entirely different matter, Wilkins knew better than the push the Colonel too far. "Oho!" he gasped. "What a blasted hand! You wouldn't read about it! Eh." He threw them, face down, to the table in disgust. And just like that, the serious mood and all the anger abated, the Dragoons discarding it in order to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Prior to Wilkins abrupt entrance, the tavern had been at a low din. A hum of men talking, laughing, drinking. With Wilkins arrival, and the other lads to be sure, the clamour had risen several octaves. James was already regaling Brownlow and Dalton with a story of some conquest or other - he was well known for not keeping to his wife's bed. The others were laughing and he spoke increasingly louder to be heard over the Officer's guffaws.

After several rounds, Bordon decided that this would be his last. He turned to Tavington and asked quietly, "are you leaving with me?"

"Hmm, I'll collect Linda on the way," he fixed Bordon with a stern eye as said quietly. "Seeing that you've had your way with Mrs. Putman."

"Christ, you're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Not in a hundred years."

"You'll just have to wait until I'm done with her then," Richard quipped.

"When she tires of you, you mean. She'd be far happier if I were to start rogering her."

"And who, exactly, might you be speaking about, Colonel Tavington?" A woman asked behind him. William glanced over his shoulder.

"Why, you, Miss Jutland - as soon as you come to your senses."

"As soon as she leaves me, you mean," Richard scowled.

"Never in a million years," Harmony laid her hand on the back of Richard's neck. "Let him think I'm a fool, I care not."

Richard flashed a grand smile. William scoffed.

"Another round for you, is it boys?" Harmony asked and the men expressed enthusiasm. Harmony kissed Richard's cheek and wafted away from them while the men returned to their game.

"She is a beauty," Wilkins said.

"She's my beauty and don't you forget it," Bordon said, though he said it lightly, with none of the anger of earlier.

"Lord - she's an exciting thing," Wilkins muttered, then a sparkle of mischief entered his eyes. "Tell me, how is she in the -"

"Enough!" Bordon roared with outrage. "Jesus Christ! Again, you don't know when to shut it, do you?"

"- In the sack," Wilkins finished. Scoring a hit, he preened smugly while the others laughed. His smug expression turned to a scowl, he was losing the hand at a very fast rate.

This lifted Bordon's spirits of course, for even if he did not win the hand, he would take great enjoyment at watching Wilkins lose. Which James did, when Tavington took his turn and showed his hand by placing his cards on the table. William had won the round, the coins in the middle of the table were his.

"Thank you very much, Gentlemen," he preened as he pulled the coins toward him, then rose from his seat. "It's been most agreeable."

This announcement was met with a chorus of protests from all of the Officers, not just James.

"You're not leaving!"

"No - that was the last of my coin!"

"Come now - one more hand!"

Tavington laughed and shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Gentlemen. A good evening to you all."

As the two left, the men at the table heard Tavington telling Bordon he would fetch Linda and they'd be on their way.

"Christ, you should hear the two of them," Cornet Brownlow began gossiped. A few of the Officers, Cornet Simms included, resided with Tavington and Bordon at the Putman residence. "I've known Tavington for some time now but I've never heard anything like it. She screams like she's being caned."

"That is because she _is_ being caned," Ensign Dalton snickered. "I've heard she likes it!"

"What of him - bellowing like he does? Surely he wouldn't let her do it to him? Not Tavington!"

"I don't know, but I happened to glance down at his wrists when he was pulling his gloves on this morning and his skin was red and grazed like he'd been bound!" Dalton replied. The men guffawed and chortled.

"I would never let a woman tie me up, even that pretty Linda," Wilkins bantered. "I'm not one for rough play, myself."

"I'll bet he's sore over Miss Martin leaving," Marcus Middleton said wistfully. "Linda's not got a patch on Miss Martin for beauty,"

"Oh-ho!" Wilkins cried. "You aren't carrying a flame for our little lass are you?"

"Perhaps a small one," Marcus smiled. "Well - don't you? I've seen you flirting with her in the past - and you're married to Arthur's sister!"

"Ah, but a married man can only be truly happy if he has a lovely mistress!" Wilkins declared.

Arthur laughed right along with the others. In his opinion, James could do no wrong. He worshipped the ground his brother in law walked on and turned a blind eye to James' many infidelities.

"Miss Martin has seemed quite receptive of me in the past," James continued in a boasting tone. "She even told me once that she thought I was handsome. I think I had a chance with her - I reckon I could've encouraged her to a quiet corner and spent a wonderful evening kissing those lovely plump lips of hers."

"Kissing only?" Michael Middleton quipped. "I'm surprised at you, I thought you'd want more than a few stolen kisses from any girl."

"I would've tried for more, but I doubt very much Miss Martin would be the type to give it," James said.

"I wouldn't be sho sure about that, she's not so innocent ash she seems," Arthur scoffed drunkenly. He regretted his words immediately as all eyes turned to him, all of them astonished and eager to hear more. "Shit on it, I shouldn't have said that," he moaned. He was too soused by far and he'd said the words before his brain could stop him.

"Well, well, well," James smiled brightly. "Me thinks my little brother has something to share, lads."

"I think he does too, if you ask me," Marcus bantered. "Michael?"

His twin was nodding agreement. Brownlow and Dalton joined in eagerly.

"Do tell," James coaxed and Arthur groaned, knowing the other men were not going to let it go.

"Christ, Tavington'll kill me. And Miss Martin - she did right by me and my family, so you keep this to yourselves, mind? I like my head right where 'tis, safely on my shoulders," Arthur said, speaking quietly as he leaned in close to the others, which caused them to crowd closer to hear him.

"My lips are sealed," James said eagerly and the other men nodded, promising never to repeat a word. A hush descended over the table as they waited with bated breath for the information Arthur had to share with them. Unfortunately, Arthur had been drinking for most of the afternoon and evening and even though he encouraged them to crowd close so no one else might hear the secret, he did not lower his voice as much as the situation warranted. Several people at the next table could hear his words clearly, as he spoke of acquiescing to Tavington's request, when the Colonel asked if he could use Arthur's bed chamber the night of the ball. .

Arthur confided in what he thought was a hushed tone. "Tavington came to me and told me he wanted to slip away with a young woman for a short while. I knew he meant Miss Martin and sure enough, when he disappeared, so did she."

James began chuckling as he exchanged glances with his amused companions.

"And then again later. They were at the dinner, but they vanished again soon after - they must have enjoyed themselves thoroughly to risk going back for a second round."

"You've managed to keep this to yourself, little brother. I'm most disappointed in you," Wilkins said, though the rebuke was not a serious one.

"Sweet Lord above - Tavington would've killed me. Anyway - that's not the end of it," Arthur continued and the laughing men fell silent again. "You all know my parents have been prating about me marrying Miss Martin? Anyway, a day or two after the ball, mamma summons me to meet with her. So I went along to see what she wanted to tell me. Only she started tearing strips off me, the moment I walked in. She said there was 'evidence of coupling' -"

"No!" Marcus gasped, outraged.

"His milt was everywhere," now he had the bit between his teeth, Arthur was off. "All over the coverlet, all over a cloth on the nightstand, everywhere." - James burst out laughing, unable to contain himself. - Arthur continued, "she tore right into me, wanting to know who the hussy was that I bedded - it was my bed so she thought it was me!"

"You poor thing," Michael laughed.

"And I couldn't tell her the truth, neither. Not without revealing what Tavington made me swear not to reveal. And then - you know what mamma said next? While she's telling me off for rutting some bawd - she threatens me, saying if I've hurt my chances of marrying Miss Martin, there was going to be hell to pay!"

"And it was Miss Martin in there all along," Wilkins laughed so hard and slapped his thigh until it hurt.

"And," Arthur said, for there was more to tell and he was still excited and drunk and not thinking clearly at all, "mamma said my _bawd_," he scoffed. "My _hussy_ \- that she weren't no virgin because despite all the milt, there was not one drop of blood."

"He won the wager!" Dalton gasped, not entirely certain how he felt about that. He'd liked Miss Martin and didn't like to think of her as a bawd. But her actions had gone against her.

"The wager?" Wilkins asked, eyebrows climbing his head. The Captain had been out of the city back then, but still, Dalton was astonished James hadn't heard of it by now. He told Wilkins about the wager between Tarleton and Tavington; the two were to contend for the girl's virginity and the victor would claim fifty pounds from the other. "Jesus," Wilkins said, stunned.

"Yeh, he won it, alright," Arthur said. "And well before he fucked her on my bed, too. Anyway, I couldn't say that it wasn't me, not without exposing Tavington. And nor could I say it was _Miss Martin_ with Tavington, because Tavington would've had my head for that too. So mamma kept going on at me that I'd better not have some strumpet knocking on the door in nine months time. Who knows, Miss Martin might be pregnant but it most certainly is not mine. And so mamma's still going on at me, telling me if Miss Martin finds out I was with a bawd and might have gotten her pregnant then I'm done for and if I don't court Miss Martin to marry me, I'll be disinherited and never mind that her maiden head is already gone to Tavington. I had to sit there and listen to a lecture on bedding women in my bed- under her roof!"

"Your mother's a damned dragon," Wilkins commiserated, speaking from experience.

"Hell, why do you think I've been staying with the Dragoons at the Putman's?" Arthur asked emphatically. "Anyway, get this. She asked me what _Miss Martin would think of me," _Arthur squeaked. "What _SHE_ would think of _ME_! if she found out about _MY_ debaucheries! Mamma was fuming, because she thought that it would ruin my chances to marry the girl! But it was Miss Martin in my chamber with Tavington, all along!"

"Oh, the irony!" Michael Middleton cried.

"So, Tavington got Miss Martin's maidenhead and fifty pounds! That wiley old bastard!" That from Wilkins.

"Yes, he got her maidenhead, don't know about the fifty pounds though, Tarleton has no money!" Arthur snorted.

"I wouldn't complain about not getting the fifty pounds. I wonder when he took her virginity, then?" Marcus mused, feeling somewhat dejected. "When would he have had the opportunity?"

"The public ball!" Michael announced, after much thought. "The girls stayed at the Tisdale's that night, remember Marcus? Becky was one of them. And that was when Tavington was still quartered there."

"Of course!" James slapped his palm against the table top. "I'd wager you're right - he probably told her to leave her door unlocked!"

"And crept on in when everyone else had retired for the evening!"

This time the tittering was not contained to Wilkins table - two patrons at the table close enough to hear began to laugh. Those two, when they were asked what the great joke was by others too far to have heard, repeated the tale in its entirety, having heard every word Arthur Simms had spoken. The tale was repeated again and again throughout the tavern.

"That's the reason she fled Charlestown! She's pregnant to Tavington!" Marcus said, outraged because he did carry a small torch for Miss Martin.

"You don't know much about the facts of nature, do you boy?" Wilkins snorted. "If he bedded her at the Tisdale's after the dance, that was what, two weeks ago? She wouldn't even know she's pregnant. How longs he been here? A month and a half? Even if he was trying to seduce her right from the start -"

"He was," Arthur put in.

"Well there you are. Even if he'd bedded her earlier than the dance, she couldn't be more than a few weeks along. She wouldn't even know she was pregnant, therefore, she wouldn't have fled because of it."

"So she fled because he took her virtue and refused to marry her?" Michael asked.

"He was going to propose to her the day she left," Wilkins said.

"I agree," Simms said as Harmony came to their table with a tray filled with glasses and a jug of ale. "He's been telling everyone they're engaged, remember? But they were fighting before she left, so I'm not sure what he's talking about there."

"Colin said something about that earlier," Wilkins mused.

"Judging by how surly Tavington's been," Arthur said. "I'd say Miss Martin left him. By the way, I like Tavington well enough, but just to be clear here; he only started talking about marrying her when he heard about her fortune."

Behind Wilkins, a woman began to laugh. Harmony Jutland placed the tray on their table then put both her hands on her hips, giving each Officer a mocking look in turn.

"Aren't you a bunch of brave ones, aye? To gossip like a cluck of old hens about Tavington when he is not here?"

"You're close to him," Wilkins said to Harmony. "How about you enlighten us, hmm? Why did Miss Martin leave Charlestown - was it -"

"Oh - ho!" Harmony cried, throwing her hands up before her. "You are not involving me, no Sir!" She laughed again and began to stride away, but a flirty Wilkins jumped up and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing her back to his chest.

"Come now, my beautiful one," he whispered close to her ear. He was trying to be charming but Harmony had had her fair share of men like him - she rolled her eyes and pushed at his hands but they would not budge from her stomach, he was far too strong. Wilkins laughed down at her, she was well and truly caught in his embrace.

"Miss Jutland, on my honor I will release you as soon as you answer my question."

"The drink has addled your wits," she said tartly. "You'll release me or my Richard will have your head."

"Just one little question, pretty please?" He coaxed. She sighed heavily and Wilkins smiled with triumph. "Why did she leave?"

"How in the world would I know that?" Harmony frowned. "I barely know Miss Martin."

"Has Tavington said anything to Bordon, that he has passed along to you?" Wilkins pressed.

"You're absurd if you think I'll break Richard's trust!" Harmony laughed. She tilted her head back to gaze up at Wilkins. "He'd have my head too!"

"So, there's nothing you can or will tell us?" Wilkins asked, disappointed. Then he realised that Harmony was not struggling in his grip, that she was gazing up at him with a small smile. Such a pretty creature, he'd desired her from the first moment his eyes had landed on her. He began running his hands across her stomach over bodice. "Perhaps we can make better use of our time..."

Harmony smiled and turned in his embrace, she reached up on the tips of her toes as if to brush a kiss across Wilkins lips. Without a thought for what Bordon would think, James smiled broadly and bent his head to receive her kiss.

At the last moment, just before their lips touched, Harmony announced loftily, "no, I've changed my mind." She jerked her head back abruptly, leaving James Wilkins kissing empty air. With a laugh at his expression, she disentangled herself from his arms and began to walk away while the men at the table began tittering at Wilkins.

But a thought occurred to her and she turned back to James, her face grave.

"I've heard the talk that is spreading through the tavern, that Miss Martin lost her virginity to Tavington. That's all come from you lot, I suppose?" The men tried, and failed, to look innocent. "For all you're wearing the Redcoat, you're a bunch of damned fools. There is one thing I will tell you," she said quite seriously, with no hint of her earlier amusement. "And that is Miss Martin did not bed Tavington, no matter how much 'evidence' there was on Simms' comforter. Also, she's still a virgin."

"Agh, damn and blast it," Arthur dropped his head to his hands, despairing at ever bringing this subject up. The whole tavern knew by now!

"Oh?" Wilkins arched his eyebrows. "How do you know?"

"They had an argument that night, before the fireworks were let off over the mansion. I was there, I heard and saw it all. So listen up, the lot of you. I heard Miss Martin with my own two ears, when she confronted Tavington for his treatment of her. She bought up the wager, and she said - and I shall quote word for word - _'you wager with Tarleton for my virginity, which you would have claimed tonight, if I had not stopped you in time.' " _She emphasised the last words - they were the only evidence she had to save the other girls virtue. "Word for word, my lads. She was a virgin then, and as she has barely allowed Tavington near her since, so there is no doubt in my mind that she is still a virgin now."

"Oh-ho!" Wilkins chortled. "Then it definitely was Miss Martin Tavington took to Arthur's room?"

"Yes, but..." Harmony frowned. "You're not listening! I am telling you, she is a virgin!"

"Yes, I'm certain she's a virgin," Wilkins gave her a slow wink and Harmony scowled with frustration.

"Have you never heard the saying 'words have no wings, but they can fly a thousand miles?' By tomorrow, all of Charlestown is going to hear what you lot have been saying, and none of it is true, but they will believe it. Miss Martin will be ruined, her virtue destroyed because you're speaking half truths and assumptions as if they are absolute truth!" She said passionately.

"Even if she is still a virgin - which I highly doubt, no matter what you heard her say - she was in Arthur's chamber alone with Tavington," Wilkins pointed out. "They could have been reading passages from the Bible to each other and it would make not one bit of difference."

"Sir, don't you understand how devastating this could be -" Harmony tried again but James cut her off.

"But it was not so innocent, however. She carried on with Tavington, pleasured him enough that the evidence was splattered all over the place, so much so that the servants noticed it. Either way - virgin or not, unless Tavington does marry her, I'd say Miss Martin is quite ruined, my beautiful Miss Jutland."

He bowed to her politely and turned back to his companions, who immediately began to discuss the unlikelihood of Beth still being a virgin.

_Oh well, I tried..._ Harmony thought sadly as she continued serving. At each table she visited, she heard men and some women, speaking of Miss Martin and Tavington, alone in Arthur's bed chamber. There was nothing she could do for the girl now, the gossip had taken hold of the entire tavern, like a fire spreading from rafter to rafter and though she had tried, it was beyond Harmony's ability to quash. It bothered her greatly that a woman's respectability and stature would be destroyed for no damned good reason. She had liked Beth! Harmony had always liked strong willed women over simpering fools.

Nevertheless, it would be as Wilkins predicted. Whether Beth bedded Tavington or merely fooled around with him, it would make no difference. She had been alone with the Officer, in a bed chamber, they had been intimate and that was more than damning enough.

The rumor took on a life of its own. As drunken men stumbled from the tavern - for the next tavern or to visit a doxy or even to stumble home to their wives, they took the tale with them, embellishing it with each telling. Of how 'Old Ben's' daughter had opened her legs for a Redcoat. How the Redcoat had refused to marry her, after claiming her virtue. Others said she was now carrying the Redcoat's bastard. Some said it was Tavington, others said Tarleton. Others still claimed that Miss Martin had left him when she discovered he had no fortune. The story changed, depending on who told it.

There are many things that can spread like wildfire.

Wildfire.

Disease.

Gossip.

Gossip was almost always as ruinous as diseased wildfire and it had a tendency to spread like nothing else. There were many adages learned people had developed, to help the more feeble navigate their way through life. "Never judge a book by its cover". "Do not cry wolf." "Four horses cannot overtake the tongue." And perhaps the most relevant of all: "It is easier to dam a river than to stop gossip."

That evening, the talk began to spread, like thorny vines snaking out from the Mighty George, spilling out onto the street, into nearby houses and taverns, to the docks.


	29. Chapter 29 - All that Fuss For Nothing

Chapter 29 - All That Fuss For Nothing:

Bordon loosened his cravat. He wished he could strip his Redcoat off and wear nothing but his ruffled white cotton shirt. Unfortunately, a British Officer was required to be in uniform at all times, except under special circumstances.

"I've decided that I hate South Carolina," he muttered to Tavington, who sat across from him at the desk in Mark Putman's office.

"I quite like it myself," William admitted as he read from his field journal. He had a fair amount of administration to catch up on and was endeavouring to get some done that morning. Clinton needed his reports and Tavington was painstakingly translating his scribbled notes into something more legible for the Commander in Chief. "Even with the heat," he continued, distracted.

Bordon scowled and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a kerchief.

"Has Miss Jutland heard that the Ferguson's eloped?" Tavington asked.

"Yes, but she doesn't know that it was because of her," Bordon said. "She was actually glad for it, she didn't think she was up to behaving like a 'fine lady', she wouldn't be able to drink whiskey, she said," he chuckled softly. "The truth is, she is uncomfortable with all the well bred women. She much prefers the more earthy company she usually keeps - with the other women at the tavern, for instance."

"Sounds as though she didn't want to go to start with. Perhaps you shouldn't have made such a fuss to get her an invitation, hmm?" William arched an eyebrow and pinned Bordon with a stern gaze.

"Perhaps," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's caused me a problem, Richard. Your argument with Colin Ferguson has caused a deep rift within the Dragoons. You heard Wilkins last night. He might act like a buffoon, but a buffoon he is not. He changed the topic to let you off the hook, not for any other reason. But he's still seething, I'm certain of it. They all are, especially Colin. The fact that he said he was thinking of leaving the Dragoons because of it… And if was all for nothing! Miss Jutland was happier not attending." He paused, adding firmly, "you caused this tension, I expect you to made amends."

"Yes, Sir," Richard heaved a sigh. "I don't know why I was so angry or why I had fought so hard for Harmony to be at a wedding she had no desire to attend."

"Well, you did. And it was guilt, I suspect."

"Guilt?" Richard frowned.

"You've been unfaithful to your mistress with Mrs. Putman," William said, quite seriously. "I suspect that is what was behind your stubborn determination to have Miss Jutland at the wedding."

"Or I just wanted to spend time with her," Richard muttered.

"I doubt you would have fought so hard for that, you can spend time with Miss Jutland anywhere. Because of your stance, Cornet Ferguson had to make a choice - and the choice decided the manner of his wedding. What had been meant to be an elaborate and very public affair, ended up being no more than an elopement. This was their _wedding,_ Richard - it had nothing to do with you, or with Miss Jutland. You denied them the sort of wedding they'd been all these weeks planning for."

"I didn't ask him to elope," Richard muttered.

"You will fix this," Tavington said, voice firm and cold - his commanding voice. Richard nodded.

A knock sounded on the door. Bordon and Tavington exchanged a 'pointed' look.

"I think I'll speak with young Arthur alone, Richard," William stated coolly.

"Just as I thought," Captain Bordon nodded. "You'll keep Harmony's name out of it won't you? She doesn't want the Dragoons to know she told me what they were saying at the Mighty George last night."

"Yes, yes - your mistress will be kept out of it," William waved the comment off. Bordon had risen and was letting a very nervous Arthur Simms into the office. Richard shut the door behind him as he left, leaving the other two Officers in private.

"Take a seat," William waved his hand to the seat Bordon had vacated and Arthur sat down slowly.

Tavington considered the youth for some time before speaking, watching with his piercing gaze as the boy squirmed in the chair.

"Do you know why you've been summoned, Cornet?" William said finally, his deadly drawl breaking the silence.

"Yes, Sir," Arthur hung his head in shame.

"Do you understand that I wish to marry Miss Martin?" The Commander asked.

"Yes, Sir," Arthur whispered.

"And yet you felt it a good idea to completely destroy my fiancé's good name, by announcing to Wilkins and the other Dragoons - in a tavern filled to the rafters with British soldiers and Loyalists - that I bedded her on the night of the ball."

"Sir, I am so sorry. I was drinking and -"

William cracked his fist on the table, the loud smack cut Arthur's protests off mid sentence.

"I expected discretion from you, Cornet, as you damn well knew!" He bellowed, out of patience. "If the drink loosens your tongue so much, how can I trust you would not reveal military intelligence to the wrong ears every time you get soused?"

Arthur closed his eyes, utterly mortified to have lost his Commander's trust.

"I have publicly declare her to be my fiancé, God damn it," William raged. "I want to marry her, but after what you revealed, she is as good as ruined!"

Silence from the youth. Arthur had no words, nothing to say in his defence.

"News is rife through the city and is already leaking out of the province! I wouldn't be surprised if Miss Martin hears of it herself in the next few days! Imagine how she will feel about it? How mortified, that everyone knows of the intimate moments we shared. She might even think it was me who revealed it! And how will she be treated by everyone, hmm? Did you think of this?" William leaned in close, his eyes raging as he glared at Arthur. "Can you fix this? Are there any words that you can say that will restore my Beth's reputation to her?"

Both knew there were none. It was a rhetorical question, serving to illustrate how important it was for one to think before one spoke.

"No, there isn't," William continued quietly. "So. How do you propose to fix this?"

"Sir, I…" Arthur swayed in his seat. His mind worked furiously, wondering what he could say, what he could do. "A public retraction, maybe?" He asked softly, knowing such a declaration would have little or no effect.

The gossips would continue to speak the stories. To make matters worse, a maid from the Tisdale's employment had come forward that very morning. She stated publicly that on the night that Miss Martin had stayed over at the Tisdale's home, she'd seen William leave Beth's chamber, with Beth darting out after him a few moments later. It was the truth, but a distorted one, one that made it appear as though William and Beth had spent time alone in the chamber, people were saying that that was when Beth lost her virginity to him. The maid has already been dismissed from service; Mary Tisdale - now Mrs. Ferguson - sent the woman packing the moment the maid opened her mouth. But again, it was too late, the damage had been done.

"A retraction," William repeated softly, then scoffed. "You and I both know how little effect that would have."

Arthur was at a loss for words.

"The way you spoke of her last night, the things you revealed. It makes me wonder if perhaps you bear her ill will for some reason."

"I don't, Sir," Arthur said desperately.

"Hmm. You would only repeat that sort of talk of someone you did not like. Someone who did you a bad turn, perhaps. But if I recall correctly," William tapped his lips, pretending to search his memory. "Miss Martin actually did you and your family a _good_ turn, did she not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"At great risk to herself," William added. "Miss Martin went to great lengths to protect you and your family, Arthur," William ground out. "The letter she sent you warning of the imminent abduction was signed anon, but we both know it came from her. And this is how you show your appreciation?" He leaned forward, forcing his words to sink in. "By destroying her virtue."

"I didn't mean to… to be ungrateful. I feel wretched about it, I truly do! I wish I could take the words back, I wish I could… I feel so guilty, she did go to efforts to protect my family! She even helped me out with my mother, got her off my back! Sir, I can not tell you enough… I am so sorry. I don't know why I said it and…" Arthur trailed off, his tone was filled with remorse and he stared at his hands as though trying to hold back tears. How mortified he would be, to cry in front of Tavington? That would just be the crowning glory of his misery.

"You're drinking is becoming problematic, Arthur," William said, finally taking pity on the boy.

While he wanted to drub him from one end of Charlestown to the other, the fact remained that this was William's fault, not the boys. William, Banastre and Bordon had introduced the lad to a life of whoring and getting crocked. At the impressionable age of eighteen years, William could not really expect the lad to behave more responsibly. He was well aware the lad idolised him, and William had hardly conducted himself to a standard the boy could - or should - emulate.

He would change that now, he decided. No more carousing, no more whoring. He wasn't ready to give Linda up and he would still take her with him when the battalion moved out, but he would have her instilled in her own tent. And he wouldn't allow himself to get so thoroughly soused in future. If he wished for his men to behave in a certain manner then he must lead by example. Not chastise them afterwards when they failed him.

Besides, it was William who asked Arthur for a discreet place to take Beth. It was William who had taken the girl to Arthur's chamber and it was William's seed the maid had found splattered all over the coverlet. While he would have liked to place the entire blame on young Arthur, it was, quite simply, William's fault.

"It is clear to me," Tavington continued now, "that the drink loosens your tongue and I can not have you revealing what you should not. I hereby forbid you to drink another drop."

Arthur raised his head, his expression chagrined. William waited him out, waited for the boy's response. He was not serious, of course. When men were forbidden a vice, they always found a way to indulge themselves. It was human nature.

William was merely attempting to gauge how remorseful Arthur was. The young Cornet nodded, accepting his punishment. That was what William had been waiting for. The fact that Arthur showed his willingness to accept his punishment without question proved how sorry the youth was.

"Yes, Sir," he said softly, his eyes lowered.

"Arthur, look at me," William said and Arthur raised his eyes. As he suspected, the boys eyes shone with unshed tears. "You, young man, are an exceptional Officer, a credit to the Green Dragoons. You have shown a flare for the military and with nurture I believe you may best us all one day. You will be glorious in the saddle with a pistol in one hand and a sabre in the other."

"Thank you, Sir," Arthur said, slightly assuaged.

"I do not believe you would have revealed what you did, if not for the ale. Some men function perfectly fine while drunk - better in fact, than when they are sober. You however, are not one of them," William pierced the boy with a hard gaze, waited for the nod of agreement. "I can not have you getting drunk and revealing what you should not. Be that as it may, I have decided against forbidding you liquor altogether. You have may partake but for the Lord's grace - show some moderation!"

"Yes, Sir!" Arthur said in a stronger voice.

"Very good. You may leave me now, I've been summoned by Clinton and must be away."

Both Officers rose and began to head toward the door. Before they got there, Arthur turned to Tavington.

"Sir," he said softly, still feeling wretched about betraying Beth. "I truly am sorry. I didn't mean to hurt Miss Martin but I know she will suffer the backlash of what I revealed. Is there anything I can do, anything at all?"

"No, Arthur," William said honestly. "Only one thing can save her now, and that is marriage."

"You'll still marry her, if people think she's ruined?"

William snorted.

"I'm the one who ruined her, boy. People will forgive it, if we marry. Besides, what Miss Jutland tried to tell you was quite true. Miss Martin is still a virgin. And I am a Gentleman. I will marry her."

Arthur's face lit up, he reeled with relief. As soon as the rumours had begun to fly, and knowing it was all his fault, he had worried for Beth's future. He told as much to William now.

"I even told Mamma I'd marry Beth after all," Arthur confided. Then, seeing Tavington's face darken with jealousy, he rushed on, "I know you care for her, I'd never step where you have a claim. It was just the thought of her being snubbed by everyone because of what I revealed that made me want to make the offer. But Mamma has changed her mind about me marrying Miss Martin, she flew into apoplexy at the very suggestion."

"Good, because Beth is mine," Tavington scowled. He paused and continued with a frown, "wait - what exactly did Mrs. Simms say?"

"Well, the day after the ball - when the maid told Mamma that there was… 'Evidence of coupling'… Mamma lectured me, thinking I'd taken some strumpet to my chamber. I didn't admit the truth, I allowed her to believe what she believed. But she was nagging me about Miss Martin, you see. She was worried what Miss Martin would think if she learned I'd been with a strumpet. Mamma feared that maybe Beth wouldn't want me for a husband. That was when Mamma told me she'd disinherit me if I didn't marry Beth. Of course that all happened before Beth left Charlestown. But this morning, when Mamma learned it was Miss Martin in the chamber all along - with you… Well, she felt duped, I guess. And now her regard for her has changed somewhat."

"Has she forgotten that it was Beth's warning that protected her family from the damned rebels?" Tavington raged, instantly furious.

"No, but she is speaking more of my 'lucky escape' now, and less of Miss Martin's assistance to our family…"

"And how many people has she been speaking to of your 'lucky escape'?" William ground out.

"No one outside the family, Sir. But when she starts receiving her daily visitors… I imagine it will be the first topic spoken of," Arthur replied weakly. He was the one to have opened his mouth about it, after all.

"I shall speak with your mother," William growled threateningly, seeing the danger at once. He had been intending to marry Beth for sometime, of course. And now with her virtue under threat because of these rumors flying about, it was even more imperative he do so. The only way he could help restore Beth's standing in Society was to marry her. Mrs. Simms position in Society was such that a few well chosen words amongst her peers could save Beth, or utterly destroy her. Not even marriage to the high ranking Colonel would save her then.

"What will you say?" Arthur asked nervously.

"I'll make certain she continues to sing Beth's praises, come Hell or high water," William growled. "I'll not have your mother undermine the efforts I intend to make to help Beth. I will not have your mother simply forget the good will Beth has shown your family!"

With that, Tavington marched from the office into the corridor, leaving an apprehensive Arthur behind.

* * *

As luck would have it, Tavington's meeting with Clinton was brief and to the point, he was only at the Assembly Hall for a half hour. Every moment he was there, he itched to be away for his 'chat' with Mrs. Simms. William was determined to have his say to the Loyalist aristocrat before she could spread any disparaging comments about Beth.

He strode quickly from the Exchange to the place where he had his horse tied, in the yard around the back. Mrs. Simms would, he imagined, be at her mansion, ready and waiting to receive her visitors for the day. Placing his foot in the stirrup, he prepared to mount when he was suddenly seized from behind. He cursed as he was pulled back down and whirled about, abruptly coming face to face with his attacker.

"You fucking bastard!" Watson screamed. The Ensign pulled his fist back and punched William in the stomach with all the force he could muster.

Utterly shocked, Tavington had no time to block. His breath 'wooshed' out of his lungs and he bent over himself, his eyes bulging as he clutched at his stomach.

"You've fucking ruined her!" Watson bellowed, pulling his fist back for another strike.

Instincts kicking in, Tavington responded at once. He drew a sharp breath to fill his lungs with air and raised his arm to block the blow, answering it with a quick jab of his curled fist to Watson's stomach. The Ensign gasped and staggered back a pace.

Stepping forward, William punched again, an upper cut to Watson's jaw that sent the Ensign sprawling to his back, moaning and writhing, clutching at his bleeding mouth. Breathing heavily from rage rather than exertion, William stood over Watson, his icy gaze glaring down at the youth. Before Nicholas could rise, William drew his sabre and planted the tip to the youth's throat.

Watson froze beneath the blade, his eyes widened with fear as he gazed up at the enraged Officer from where he lay flattened to the ground. The sabre was razor sharp, the tip drawing a bead of blood from Watson's Adams apple. Nicholas gulped, then tried not to move.

"You've just attacked a superior Officer," William drawled down at the Ensign, his eyes cold and hard. He utterly detested the young man, the youth who thought he could court Beth. "What have you to say for yourself, before I have you clamped in irons, hmm?"

"Irons?" Nicholas rasped, careful of the sword tip at his throat. "You've ruined her, Tavington! All those rumours flying about - that you and she… That you… Are they true?"

William smiled a slow, condescending smile.

"Is it true that my fiancé and I spent a very enjoyable time alone together at the Simms ball?" He taunted, amused now. "I hardly see how that is any concern of yours."

Ensign Watson momentarily forgot the sabre pressed to his throat, such was his incredulity. He gasped and lifted his head, ready to rise, only to suddenly become aware of the sword all over again when it nicked him a little deeper this time. With a grimace of pain, he held himself still.

"Fiancé?" He was absolutely astonished. "You're deluded Sir. She left here to get away from you!"

William's amusement vanished, replaced with violent wrath. Nicholas, seeing his own death reflected in the Colonel's eyes, stiffened and waited for Tavington to skewer him through the neck. After several long, tense filled moments, Tavington calmed himself somewhat, edged himself back from the brink of murder.

"You know nothing of it," he seethed. "Nothing. She has left but she is mine still. We are engaged and we will marry, one way or another."

"What is that supposed to mean, 'one way or another'?" Nicholas asked bravely. While it was tempting to throw into Tavington's face the reminder that Beth was engaged to Burwell, the Commander still had his sword pressed to Watson's throat. Besides, he was not meant to know about her engagement, speaking of it now might make Tavington suspicious of him.

"Again," William sneered, "it is none of your concern." He stepped back, easing the sabre tip from Watson's neck. "Be thankful that I do not have you seized for attacking a superior Officer, boy," he said as he sheathed his sword. Many other Officers had stopped by now, to watch the spectacle before them. William ignored them, his cold eyes fixed on Watson - he made no move to help as the youth rose. The lad dusted himself off and pressed a hanky to his bleeding neck. "If you are foolish enough to do so again," William continued, "I will not be so merciful. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Watson said, shooting William a contemptuous glance. "Thank you for your forbearance, Sir," he sneered.

"It seems you need a lesson in manners," William said with narrowed eyes. "You are dangerously close to insubordination."

After several deep breaths, Watson managed to compose himself in order to address his superior in a more correct manner.

"Sir," he began in a neutral tone. "I beg forgiveness for my outburst and hope that you will show clemency."

"That's better," William drawled. He eyed the youth up and down and decided, after much inward arguing, that the boy simply was not worth the time and effort. He still had Mrs. Simms to deal with and time was running out. "Next time, boy - you will be whipped and then expelled from the army. Do not doubt it, I can and will enforce this."

"I do not doubt it, Sir," Watson said truthfully. Tavington was well within his rights to do exactly that, based on this attack alone.

"Furthermore, do not question me in regards to Miss Martin. She is no concern of yours." With that, William turned and mounted swiftly. He whirled his horse, ready to gallop away but he drew rein beside Watson instead. He gazed down at the young man coldly. "She is mine, boy. Do not doubt that, either," he ground out. "I advise you to forget her."

Watson gaped like a fool and watched in astonishment as Tavington rode from the yard. Several Officers came forward to offer assistance and to berate him for a dolt, for taking Tavington on. Nicholas ignored them all, shrugging them off and marching through them for his own horse. He needed to get word to Ferguson and Trellim of this development at once.

* * *

The muscles in Tavington's stomach ached from Watson's punch. The wounds he had taken at the river were stinging like fire now but he didn't think any of them had opened. Seething with fury he kicked his horses flanks, urging more speed from his poor mount.

Attacking him, in the middle of the bloody yard at the Exchange! Questioning him in regards to Beth, doubting his word! They were engaged, whether Beth knew it or not. She would marry him and no other, everything he did where she was concerned was for that end.

And now it had become imperative that the aristocrats of Charlestown know she was engaged to him, for it might lessen the damage done to her reputation!

That was how he would help her now, he decided. He had already spoken of Beth being his fiancé - he would put it about that they were engaged, that she had 'secretly' accepted him before she left Charlestown. The damage would be lessened if people believed he and Beth had merely indulged in a little dallying before their marriage. That was not unheard of in the Colonies, many fooled around with their betrothed's and in some cases, the bride was already pregnant at the time of her wedding!

As long as she married, and if Beth had the correct support in Charlestown, she may not find herself ousted from Society at all.

Which was were Mrs. Simms came in.

The short, hard ride to the Simms mansion did nothing to mollify his temper. Dismounting at the broad front steps, he tossed his reins to the waiting servant and trotted up the stone steps, into the mansion proper. After announcing he was there to see Mrs. Simms and that the servant was to summon her immediately, he was escorted to the parlor to wait. There, he paced back and forth, his rage increasing by the moment.

Eventually, Mr. And Mrs. Simms came into the parlor to meet him. Both sensed his agitation at once, as soon as he stopped pacing and stood stock still to regard them so very coldly.

"Colonel," Mr. Simms spoke first. "You needed to see us immediately? What can we do for you?"

"I am here to see your wife, Mr. Simms," William declared crisply, his eyes fixed on Caroline. Mrs. Simms gulped at his stone hard expression. Sensing this meeting would not be pleasant, she slowly lowered herself to a seat. "As for what she can do for me," William continued in that same, fury filled tone, his cold gaze piercing hers, "she can damned well remember that Miss Martin warned your family of that plot - at great risk to herself - before she decides to destroy Miss Martin's reputation with her disparaging comments!"

Mrs. Simms drew herself up in her seat, though her face reddened with embarrassment.

"Sir," Mr. Simms sat close to his wife. "If you would take a seat, perhaps we can discuss this calmly?"

"I will not be calm!" William raged, taking several steps forward to tower over Caroline. Michael surged to his feet to stand between his wife and the looming Officer.

"Sir, you will distress my wife!" Mr. Simms cried bravely. "Please, I beg of you, be calm!"

William ignored him. Staring down at Mrs. Simms coldly, he continued to berate her. "You dare? After she sent you that letter, warning you of the pending attack against your family, begging you to keep yourself and your daughters safe?"

Mrs. Simms lowered her eyes and swallowed hard.

"This is how you would show your appreciation, by defaming Miss Martin to your son? You speak of his lucky escape?"

"Now, Sir," Mr. Simms said carefully, shifting to keep himself between the two. "Those rumours where true - it is not defamation."

"They are no where near as true as you might imagine. The derisive comments will stop now, you will not publicly speak against Miss Martin," Tavington ground out. "Miss Martin helped you to avoid the most dire hour of your entire life," he said to Mrs. Simms. "And now it is within your grasp to help her through hers. Miss Martin is a virgin, Mrs. Simms," he despised even having to say such a thing, despised that Beth's virtue was even being called into question. "I am not asking you to defend some strumpet whose bedded half the city. The gossip has blown what truly happened way out of proportion. She is a virgin, my oath upon it. It is within your ability to help Miss Martin keep her integrity intact. You have no other way of rewarding Miss Martin for the efforts she went to on your behalf. Therefore, I expect you to show complete and utter support for her."

Mrs. Simms raised her eyes, meeting Tavington's finally.

"I have not been silent on the possibility that Arthur might marry Miss Martin. Because of your… _encounter_… with Miss Martin in my son's bed chamber, we have suffered great embarrassment. To support her now could come at great cost to our family," she pointed out.

"As warning you of the plot against you or your daughters could have to Miss Martin," Tavington reminded her. "I understand that aligning yourself with a woman everyone considers ruined could reflect poorly on you. But with your assistance, others will not consider her to be ruined at all. You have it within your power to alter the opinions of others in this matter. You will do so. Or I will speak with the Commander and Chief about this immediately. Must I remind you that he holds Miss Martin in extremely high favour after she gave her assistance to help capture Burwell? And he will be none to pleased to discover your uncharitable words, not after her sacrifice for you and yours."

Caroline drew a ragged breath, her cheeks flushing all over again. Mr. Simms, however, was nodding agreement.

"It will be as you say, Sir," Michael said now. "We have no desire to earn Clinton's wrath, nor do we desire yours. Arthur is a Green Dragoon, as is James. Our lot has been cast with yours." He turned sidelong to his wife, staring down at her with a pointed frown. "Miss Martin did protect our family. If not for her, Therese or Emily - or you - may have been taken hostage. Colonel Tavington has declared her to be a virgin still, as he says, we will not be endorsing some bawd. It will not reflect poorly on us to defend a young virgin who is the victim of a torrent of vile gossip." He held his wife's gaze until Caroline lowered hers and nodded in defeat.

"It will be as you say, husband," she said finally, softly.

"There will be no more talk of 'Arthur's lucky escape'," William stated firmly.

Uttering those words caused William's fury to soar all over again. Something of his rage must have shown on his face for Mrs. Simms quailed and cowered back in her chair.

"No… No - of course not," she rushed to assure him. "And I will tell my companions that I do not believe it could possibly be true. I will speak only warm words of Miss Martin from now on, I will declare her innocence and declare her to be grievously wronged."

"See that you do," William growled. "If only you'd had this foresight this morning when you prated that rot to Arthur! How many servants heard you?"

Mr. Simms, not one to back down in any situation, gathered his courage and stated, "if only you'd had the foresight to not take Miss Martin to my son's bed chamber. You did those things with her, in my own home. Her reputation has been compromised Sir,_ because of you and your own actions!_"

"I know," William curled his lip with frustration. "I am well aware of that. Of all of it. I regret putting Miss Martin into a situation that could only bring her great harm. But she has shown you only friendship and good will, and for that I must insist you put it all behind you and help me protect her virtue!"

"My wife has already said she will, Sir, and so shall I," Michael ground out, then he muttered, "I need a whiskey." He turned from Tavington and sauntered over to the side board, pouring himself and the Officer a generous portion. Even Mrs. Simms was handed a smaller glass of the restoring liquor. "Would you please sit now, Sir?" Michael asked politely. When they were all seated and sipping the fiery liquid, he asked, "what of this other rumour, of you and Miss Martin at the Tisdale's? You say she is a virgin, but that other rumour says otherwise."

William heaved a frustrated breath. He ran a hand over his head, his heart felt as heavy as an anchor. "My fault," he murmured. "I… that was my fault. Nothing happened - because Miss Martin would not allow it to happen. She was with her friends, in Miss Tisdale's chamber, and I stupidly decided to wait for her to turn in, hoping…"

"To bed her," Michael said, disapproving.

"To bed her," William agreed. "However, she was quite distressed to discover me there. I indeed tried to seduce her, but I failed - for her virtue is stronger than my charms." He paused, had a much needed sip of his whiskey. "What this maid thought she saw… It's all garbled, she's got it entirely wrong. Miss Martin left the chamber first, she returned to Miss Tisdale's. I… I…" filled with reluctance, he continued, "I took the key to her door, and then left. She returned to her chamber, discovered the key was missing and knew I meant to return. She didn't chase after me for one last kiss after bedding her," he tightened his lips. "She chased after me to get the key back. She accused me of trying to ruin her, to which I vowed wasn't true. She did not believe me, she ran back to Miss Tisdale's room, to get away from me," he lowered his voice. "That's why she insisted on sharing with one of your daughters that night, when you offered for us to stay here after the failed attempt to capture Burwell," he admitted. "In case I tried again."

"Would you have?" Michael asked.

"Gods yes," Tavington replied. "I love her, Mr. Simms."

"Then I suggest you start acting like it," Michael snapped. William lowered his eyes. "That night, in my son's chamber?"

"Mr. Simms, Miss Martin loves me, too," William replied. "She… we just… Indulged a little. That's all. We didn't do anything other betrothed couples haven't done down through the centuries. I am going to marry her, all will be well then."

Husband and wife shared a glance, then nodded.

"And we will help you, as we have promised," this from Mrs. Simms, who'd recovered herself somewhat, and was now sitting tall and regal. "The rumours should not be denouncing Miss Martin or her virtue, Sir. They should be denouncing you and yours, for surely, you have acted as a cad."

William's mouth fell open. But the woman was right, damn and blast her. At length, he snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

"Yes. They should," he agreed.

"I'd rather neither of you we're denounced," Mr. Simms said. "We shall deny the rumours utterly. Miss Martin assisted in the ambush - we will suggest that these rumours are coming from the Patriots - that this is their vicious revenge."

"Yes!" William sat up tall and straight, excitement flooding through him. "Yes, that's perfect! Thank you, Sir. That's… that's perfect."

"You're welcome," Mr. Simms said. "Do you understand that - despite the efforts we are about to go through to save her - there is the risk that Miss Martin's standing in Society may never be the same again?"

William heaved a weighty sigh, knowing Simms was speaking the truth.

"I will still do what I can for the girl," he said finally. "I merely wish her to be able to hold her head high, and not be completely ostracised."

"It's truly not fair!" Mrs. Simms cried passionately, the single whiskey had gone straight to her head. "That a young woman can face being shunned from Society while the man who caused her distress walks free of all blame! You are truly too hard on our sex!"

William frowned. Never mind the fact that Mrs. Simms was herself on the verge of denouncing Beth to any she could find who would listen! Now, not only was she defending Beth, but her entire sex! Still, if it would help Beth maintain some modicum of respectability, he would welcome this change of heart.


	30. Chapter 30 - The Talk

Chapter 30 - The "Talk"

_20__th__ June - Freshwater Plantation:_

Two carriages trundled their way up the lane toward the manor house. The lead carriage, of simple construction, was being driven by Mr. Peter Howard. Inside the carriage were his wife and daughter, and his son George, who could not fight alongside his brother Joshua, because of his maimed hand. The second carriage was far more ornate, with its bright colours and flowery designs painted tastefully on the sides. This carriage was being driven by a slave of African descent and within the cabin sat Mrs. Henrietta Middleton-Rutledge, wife of Mr. Edward Rutledge who was currently residing in Charlestown's jail. Her son Henry was with her, and her maid of course.

Henrietta's face was pallid and worn, worry for her husband was taking its toll. Worse yet, their second born son, named for his father, had taken sick and the illness was lingering. So far the Doctors were doing what they could but none of them bore much hope for the boy. She had left little Edward in the tender care of his nursemaid for the day, simply to get away from all the stress and turmoil. Little Henry - her first born, needed the diversion also. A rambunctious youth, he played quite well with William Martin and so Henrietta, when Mrs. Howard invited her to join them in visiting the Martin's, had taken her up on the offer.

Besides, Rutledge Plantation - where she had retired to when Charlestown had surrendered to the British - was not far from Fresh Water, a mere half hour by carriage. Little Edward had been sick for three months now and she couldn't stay at his bedside forever, or so her friends kept telling her. Although she had spent the entire journey so far worrying about Edward, she admitted she was looking forward to seeing Charlotte again. And Beth, also.

"Look at all the soldiers!" Five year old Henry bounced on his seat in a fit of excitement, his head and shoulders sticking out of the open window. "They continentals?"

" 'Are they Continentals'," Henrietta corrected her son patiently. "And yes, dear heart, they are."

Henry continued to voice his excitement, waving frantically at the troopers as they past the many tents but Henrietta's gaze was on the house at the end of the lane - why Mr. Martin built such a tiny house when he had so many children, she had never been able to understand. The Martin's weren't quite as wealthy as her own families - the Middleton's and the Rutledge's, but their wealth certainly was not inconsequential! The Martin family home sported eight bedchambers which was a respectable amount, she supposed. But her own home dwarfed theirs by comparison, with its twenty chambers and all round balcony.

Mr. Benjamin Martin never had been one for such outward expressions of wealth, however.

Why, poor Beth hadn't even started wearing silk dresses until she came to Charlestown and her Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Mage took her under their wings! Thinking of Mage now made Henrietta melancholy all over again. The two women were blood relatives, cousins, sharing a common great grandsire. If it were not bad enough that her husband was confined in the city, now her own cousins were under house arrest, with Green Dragoons living in her home! Henrietta shivered, she couldn't think of anything worse than being forced to tolerate the presence of those detested British soldiers in her own home!

And she'd recently discovered that Michael and Marcus Middleton - more cousins of hers, had joined the Green Dragoons! Their branch of the Middleton family had always been a little odd. Their father - yet another cousin of hers, had always been a bit strange. And he'd always had Loyalist leanings, but this! Blood relations of hers, serving the British!

It was a disgrace to the Middleton name!

Finally the carriage pulled to a stop at the front of the small manor house. Olvi, her driver, hopped down and opened the door, helping his mistress step out of the carriage.

Henry was right behind her, bounding out of the carriage in search of young William and his older brothers. Mr. And Mrs. Howard with their three grown children were milling around their carriage, waiting for Henrietta to join them. She and her maid caught up to them and together they began walking toward the house.

And there, waiting on the steps, were Charlotte Selton, Benjamin Martin, and his three daughters. And Colonel Harry Burwell, also. The sun beat down on their backs, Henrietta could already feel beads of sweat trailing along her spine and beading her forehead despite the broad hat she wore. They would be inside in the relative cool soon. With cordial or tea, scones and cakes. And fine company, which was the most important part.

Charlotte and Beth greeted the guests warmly, embracing each one in turn before ushering them inside. Henrietta turned to look for Henry, but he had already taken off toward the river with William Martin. Samuel, Nathan and Thomas were following also, so the young mother set aside her fears of her son drowning and followed the others into the house. Henry had fallen into the stream at Rutledge plantation so many times and he'd never been worse for wear. Besides, with Thomas there, the boy would be fished out in no time should anything untoward happen.

Now sitting in the surprisingly spacious parlor - the companions began to exchange pleasantries.

"Were there any problems on the way over?" Benjamin asked Peter, who shook his head.

"No, but you know that Tarleton is drawing closer by the day," he replied, then pinned Harry with a firm look. "You know, you might want to consider moving on soon - his force is much larger than the one you have stationed here."

"I am aware of that," Burwell stated. He was sitting beside Beth on the chaise, holding the girls hand lightly. "But I have already decided to stay put for now. The roads are being watched for an enemy approach, but until they are sighted, I shall remain. If Providence is on my side, I will be able to remain long enough for the second Bann to be read."

He shifted his gaze to smile warmly at Beth, who returned the smile.

"Yes, he's not allowed to leave until then," Beth informed Peter. "So stop trying to convince him otherwise, Mr. Howard. Besides, Ban - ah, that is to say, Tarleton," Beth blushed crimson at her slip - almost calling the British Colonel by his first name! None in the parlor knew much about her friendship with Banastre, they certainly had no idea that he was in love with her. She cast a quick glance at the women, none seemed to have picked up on her slip. "Tarleton is many miles from here yet. Harry is getting missives almost twice a day, informing him of the Dragoons movements."

"Yes, I am, and new of other British detachments as well. We are ready to move on the instant if necessary," Harry confirmed. He shifted his gaze to Henrietta. "How are you Mrs. Rutledge? I know it must be a stressful time for you, what with Edward in British custody."

"It's been a trial, for certain," Henrietta replied. "And my little boy - Edward, he is ill - did you know?"

"No, I did not," Harry frowned, showing his concern. "Is it serious?"

Henrietta began to describe Edward's symptoms and detail just how serious the illness was. It was clear to the companions that the young mother was fearful and worried for her son. After a while, Mrs. Howard turned to Beth - hoping to brighten the mood and distract Henrietta from her troubles. That had been Alice's purpose in inviting the woman in the first place, to give the fearful mother a respite from her woes.

"Miss Martin, is that your engagement band I see on your finger?" She asked her.

"It is," Beth smiled and held her hand to show off the simple gold ring.

"Oh, it's lovely," Alice gushed, leaning in closer to inspect the ring.

"It is beautiful," Anne agreed. Just then, Gabriel appeared in the doorway and Anne blushed crimson. She had just been imagining a similar band on her own finger, given to her by the very man who now filled the doorway. Gabriel greeted them all tentatively, but his eyes were on Anne.

"Join us, Gabriel," Charlotte called and Gabriel removed his hat, crossed the room and sat beside Anne on the chaise. Peter and Benjamin exchanged a quick, knowing glance. Benjamin, who knew his children well and understood that Gabriel would most likely be quite embarrassed under the companions scrutiny, began to speak of crops and the like, to draw attention away from the blushing couple.

After partaking of a cup of tea and some delicate cakes, the men made their excuses to the women. George, Joshua, Gabriel, Peter, Benjamin and Harry all rose, bowing politely, then quit the parlor. Peter had information that he had to pass on to Harry, and so the men left the women to it.

As soon as the parlor doors closed behind them, Mrs. Howard began speaking in hushed tone.

"Oh, you will never believe that is happening up in Amelia County, with that Banastre Tarleton. I do hope he doesn't come down this far - to Pembroke. Sweet Lord, it's horrid!"

Anne had heard it all before but Beth saw her friend pale, her fingers twitching on her lap.

"What things?" Henrietta asked.

"Terrible things. First they attacked Captain Huddy in his own home - poor Mrs. Huddy was beside herself with terror by all accounts! Those Dragoons threw rocks through all of the windows, then opened fire! Huddy and Rollins defended the house for a whole hour, until one of Tarleton's men set the house alight and Huddy was forced to surrender. Rollins got away, but Tarleton took Huddy captive."

"Oh, sweet Lord!" Charlotte gasped and pressed a hand to her throat.

"No, no - he's fine," Mrs. Howard rushed to assure the women. The Huddy family lived miles away in the Smallwood but they were acquaintances all the same, seeing one another regularly in Charlestown and at organised events on the Santee. "The Patriot militia - those in Huddy's unit, fought a skirmish with the Dragoons, freeing Huddy. But now the militia is disbanded!"

"Yes, it's the same here too," Charlotte added. "The Patriot militia under Francis Marion has disintegrated since he was killed." Charlotte studiously avoided Beth's eyes, she did not mention Tavington's name, the man who'd killed him.

"No!" Henrietta gasped. "Who will protect us from the Dragoons when they come this way?"

"Well, Burwell is here," Charlotte said, trying to sound confident. In truth, she was worried - on several occasions in the last few days, Burwell himself had stated that he was outnumbered and might need to flee Fresh Water despite the earthworks and defences his men were building.

"Why have Huddy's militia disbanded, do you know?" Beth asked now. She was having a difficult time imaging Banastre attacking a house, firing on the occupants inside.

"Well, that is because Tarleton is going from town to town, village to village, farm stead to farm stead, burning his way across the Santee!" Mrs. Howard declared. She paused, glancing delicately at Beth and Anne, who were the youngest women in the room. Anne was eighteen years old and Beth was to have her twentieth birthday in another week. Still, she decided to continue, for the girls would learn of the horrors of war, eventually. "There have been hangings and floggings. Tarleton is destroying public granaries, destroying cattle so those in north Santee have no food to eat! He has this proclamation, you see. Cornwallis' Amnesty. If any Colonial who served in the Patriot militias under Francis Marion and Captain Huddy comes forward to serve the Crown, they will receive a full pardon."

"They want our men to turn coat?" Henrietta asked, aghast.

"Yes, and worse yet - some are taking him up on the offer. But many have simply returned to their homes in the hope of defending them. Most of them are pretending as though they had been home all along, that they had nothing to do with the militia. Tarleton has believed some of them and has left them alone, but quite a few homes have been fired."

"No," Beth breathed. "Surely Tarleton would not have a part in such evil!"

"He might have been friendly and charming toward you, Beth, but I can absolutely believe this," Charlotte said. "The British are known for their brutality."

Beth frowned, she simply could not believe it.

"It's all too true, I'm afraid," Alice said gravely. "Mr. Howard believes that Tarleton is trying to inspire fear amongst the Colonials - those who will not join the British and fight for them. He is committing these atrocities to dissuade others from joining the Patriot cause.

Beth hung her head, feeling sick to her stomach. The vision of Banastre, standing there, commanding for this farm or that to be burned, and this fellow to be hung, that one flogged. She couldn't rid herself of it. Banastre's face changed to William's and she wondered if he, too, would order these horrible actions. If Mrs. Howard wore a sympathetic look as she said gently. "It can't be easy, if you have indeed met the man yourself," she paused now and pinned Beth with a significant gaze. "He is the Commandant, he speaks, his men obey and our men are beaten, or killed."

Henrietta and Charlotte nodded sharply, both in agreement. Banastre had commanded his men - the blame could only be laid at his feet.

"Let's change the topic, shall we?" Anne said now, feeling quite sorry for Beth. The two women had seen quite a bit of each other since Beth's return, and Beth had confided some of what had happened in Charlestown to her younger friend. Anne had known of Beth's friendship with Banastre Tarleton and could only guess at her friends turmoil now. "I don't want to linger on such a horrible subject myself."

"Nor do I," Charlotte murmured.

"Very well, let's discuss marriage," Alice smiled at Beth. "Have you and Colonel Burwell set a date, Miss Martin?"

"No, nothing is agreed yet," Beth said weakly, still dwelling on what she had been told. "Though I would like to be married sooner rather than later. I don't think Papa wants us to marry too quickly because he doesn't want me to leave here when I've only just returned."

"With this war raging," Henrietta mused, "and with you being engaged to an Officer, I imagine it would be prudent to wait."

"Wait?" Beth frowned. "You mean, in case Harry dies?"

Henrietta paused, then nodded reluctantly. "Anything could happen, is all I'm saying. It would be best to wait."

"Well, I don't want to," Beth shook her head. "If anything were to happen to Harry, then I'd rather be married to him so I can be at his side."

"You could be a widow only a few months after you're married," Henrietta pointed out gently.

"If that is to be my fate," Beth replied in a small voice. "But Harry has survived so far! He's fought in plenty of wars and…" she trailed off, her argument sounded silly even to her own ears. One stray bullet was all it would take to end Harry's life, no matter how experienced he was in warfare. She continued softly, "I want to know my husband…"

"Oh-ho!" Alice began to laugh. "And so we come to it at last!"

"Come to what, Mamma?" Anne asked with a frown. "What in the world are you laughing for?"

"It has come to the 'talk', my dear," Alice replied, sharing a look with Charlotte and Henrietta. "We all received such talks from our mothers and older, married friends, though I admit it won't be easy to discuss it with you, my daughter."

"It won't be easy for me, either," Charlotte put in quietly. "Beth is my niece."

"Perhaps I should tell them," Henrietta offered.

She had received the 'talk' as well, and far more recently than the widow Charlotte or the much older Alice. The 'talk' - of men and pleasure and babies. Of course these girls knew that babies would come after coupling with a man - they were not so sheltered as that. But what the girls didn't know was how much pleasure one could have, while trying to make the baby.

It was not spoken of in polite society, not generally. But in a small, cosy gathering such as this, talk always turned to men. Women let their hair down and began discussing - in some detail at times - what occurred in the bed chamber. If they did not, then girls like Beth and Anne - they would have no clue! They would live in terror of their wedding night, for it was no secret that when a woman allowed a man to enter her for the first time, it hurt!

How shocking would it have been to see Edward naked on their wedding night, if Henrietta had not been warned before she'd married him? She would have frozen up and cried for a week, at seeing his manhood! Many women of their standing refused to discuss it, but Henrietta felt it was a necessary part of preparing young brides, as she had benefitted from the same preparations. And even though she'd been mortified at the time, she'd been grateful for the 'talk' on her wedding night!

Charlotte and Alice nodded primly and Henrietta suddenly found herself at a loss. How did her own married friends begin the 'talk' with her? She could barely remember now!

"I need a drink first," she suddenly giggled. Alice smiled her understanding.

"I'm certain Mr. Martin won't mind if we take a few sips of his whiskey," she whispered conspiratorially. Charlotte laughed and rose from her seat, she measured out five small portions of the fiery liquid and handed them out to the other women - even to Anne and Beth.

Henrietta did not begin until the glow of the third small glass of whiskey began to suffuse her. By then the other women were giggling and laughing, all of them made a little silly by the whiskey.

"Ahem," she called boldly, tapping the side of her glass with a spoon. The tink, tink, tink, sound silenced the other women, but they all wore silly smiles and the occasional giggle escaped their lips. "Now, the time has come, my Ladies, to discuss our 'first time', if you take my meaning!"

"Oh, no!" Beth and Anne collapsed in each others arms, giggling nervously.

"I shall begin, as I promised I would," Henrietta said. "And I shall start by telling you that…" she paused for effect and the other Ladies hung on her every word, "that is was absolutely divine!"

The warmth of the whiskey and Henrietta's declaration caused all five of them to begin laughing all over again.

"Oh, so was mine," Alice confided. She seemed to have lost her inhibitions, no longer prim over speaking of such things in front of her daughter. "Though I'll admit to you all now - we got started before we were married!"

"Mother!" Anne cried, aghast.

"Oh, hush you," Alice admonished. "Do you remember when young Gabriel came to stay with us, and we sewed him in that sack to ensure no 'funny business' took place?"

Anne nodded wide eyed.

"Well, I'll tell you now - I'm better at sewing than my mother ever was!"

This was met with another round of giggles. Beth was incredulous, Alice Howard seemed so respectable! And she was at least fifty five years old - the oldest amongst them! But here she was, telling them all, that she and Mr. Howard… That they… Oh, it was too much to even imagine!

"Now now," Alice held her hands up for silence and the other women began to quiet. "I was a virgin on my wedding night, I assure you! But I was no frightened doe by the time we did marry, I tell you that!" She giggled then continued, "if anything, I was as eager as Peter was!"

Anne groaned and dropped her head in her hands, Beth placed her hand on Anne's back, rubbing soothingly. The whiskey had quite gone to all their heads, however, and Anne eventually sat up to listen eagerly to Charlotte's account.

"Mine was… Well.." Charlotte paused. "I did have the 'talk' as well, though John and I never indulged before we married."

"Nor did I," Henrietta admitted.

"Prudes," Alice muttered, pouring out a fourth glass for the ladies.

"Alice!" Charlotte laughed her protest. "As I was saying, we did not get to 'know each other' in that way before we were married. I was nervous as most brides are and I admit it was not as enjoyable for me, not that very first time."

"Why?" Beth whispered, on the edge of her seat for more.

"Well, I was not… I was a virgin and therefore it did hurt that first time. But John was careful and considerate - he took his time. Still it hurt. However, when I became…" she coughed delicately and took a sip from her glass. "When I became… used to him, pleasure certainly did follow!"

"Whats it like?" Anne asked, made daring from the whiskey. The other women exchanged glances then began to laugh again, and Anne blushed crimson.

"Perhaps I'll put Gabriel in two sacks, next time he comes to stay," Alice murmured.

"It's like…" Henrietta became both wistful and thoughtful at once as she searched for the right words. "A tingle, a tension, which builds and builds."

This sounded familiar to Beth, who became lost in the memory of experiencing such sensations with William. She missed the pleasures he had awoken in her, almost as much as she missed him. She choked back a sob, covered it by raising her glass to her lips. The other women noticed nothing, to her relief. Surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes, she tried to push thoughts of William from her mind.

"It keeps building and then… Oh…" Henrietta smiled. "A pleasurable ache that you just want to keep feeling."

_'Oh... William. Oh... It feels... so... Oh…' _Beth remembered her whimpers, her pants, the pounding of her heart as William's fingers circled and circled her hardened womanhood while he kissed her so thoroughly, so completely. Despair rose inside her and she had to fight not to begin weeping right there in the parlor.

"It's so warm," Henrietta continued to describe the feelings.

_'Oh my God! Oh, William!'_ The tension had built and built, just as Henrietta described now. William had moved to lay on top of her at this stage, his hard bulge pressing against her quim.

_"So good,"_ he had whispered. The mere memory of his words, his husky voice, his warm breath against her ear, made her shiver now. _"Wrap your legs around me."_

"An ache?" Anne asked somewhat fearfully, distracting Beth from her thoughts. "It hurts?"

"Yes, but in the most lovely way," Henrietta smiled.

"That doesn't make any sense," Anne muttered.

It made sense to Beth. Her cheeks flushed and her heart pounded, she was caught between listening to the conversation now and living through the memory of what had happened in Arthur's chamber.

_"Oh William, it aches..." She whispered. "It aches, but.. oh, it feels so wonderful."_

_"Lord, I know!" His lips crashed against hers, nipping while he moaned._

Beth closed her eyes and let the memory cascaded over her. That ache was building between her legs now but anguish pierced her heart, deep and searing.

"It all sort of rushes forward," Henrietta was saying. "All at once and spreads through your entire body…"

_The feeling was overwhelming, the tingly warmth became a throbbing blaze. Her body was in a frenzy of movement, her legs gripping his waist, her fingers clutching his wrists, her body writhed, yearning for release._

_"Yes, my darling," Tavington rasped as he watched her, he moved more frantically, delighting in her moans. "Your first climax, come for me, my little Beth. I want to see you lose control - come for me!"_

_Demanding now, though Beth barely heard him, lost to the wonderful feeling, the quest for more. She urged him on, lowering her legs from his waist, she planted her heels into the bed and lifted herself up hard against him._

"It sort of lifts you." Henrietta said softly.

_Beth held her breath and suddenly it was there, the release her body was questing for. She arched her back and keened, it was so much more than she could have imagined. It flowed through her in surges, carrying her. Her entire body began to float on waves of heat and pleasure._

_Tavington, still watching her through his glazed eyes, gloried at the sight of her, as he gave her her first climax._

_"Mine!" he gasped against her ear as he thrust along her, drawing more from her. "You are mine, now. Mine!"_

_She nodded. "Yours," she rasped._

"Please, excuse me," Beth whispered now, rising from the chaise. She stuttered out an explanation as she backed toward the door. "The… the whiskey… I need to… to relieve myself…"

"Hurry back dear, theres more to tell yet!" Alice called, lifting one arm above her head and waving lazily, as Beth closed the parlor doors.

_Oh my god,_ Beth thought now as she stumbled up the stairs. Tears blurred her vision but she made it to her bed chamber, closing the door firmly behind her. _I'm his. His! And I always will be._

Crying in earnest now, she collapsed on top of her bed and clutched at her pillows. After a short while, she felt the bed shift and then someone was stroking her hair. Beth didn't have to open her eyes to know it was Mila.

"I m-miss him s-so much," she wept.

"I know," Mila said softly. Out of all the people in South Carolina just then, Mila understood best of all. Her own heart ached for her Zeke, she understood exactly the pain that Beth was feeling. "I know, dear one," she continued soothing her friend, curling up beside her to take the weeping girl into her arms. Her own tears blurred her vision, and the two clutched at each other, weeping their heart break.

* * *

"What bought this on?" Mila asked softly. She was reclined against the pillows, with Beth's cheek pressed to her breast, still stroking Beth's hair. They had both quieted by now, though the shared heart ache remained.

"They were speaking of… Of coupling, downstairs in the parlor," Beth replied woodenly. "Henrietta began to describe how it feels to couple, the pleasure of it. It bought back the memories of feeling the same with William."

Mila was the only one Beth had confided everything to, she was the only one who knew that Beth and William had touched one another. When Beth confided of her time in Arthur Simms bedchamber, Mila herself opened up and told Beth of her times with Zeke. Only Mila had done much more with Zeke, and had been fearful that she might be pregnant. Her mensies had come on just that morning to her - and to Beth's - vast relief.

"It all came back," Beth whispered. "The way he touched me, how wonderful it all was. His kisses… I love him, Mila, so much."

"I know, dear heart," Mila murmured.

"He claimed me that night," Beth continued. "He was so possessive, even in that short time, but I felt it too, you know?" She raised her head and met Mila's dark eyes, finding nothing but understanding and compassion. "No one else would understand this. Only you."

"No one else needs to," Mila said wisely.

"Why does it have to be so hard? I understand why it's necessary to marry, to have this connection to Harry. But I'll love William until my dying day. I swear, I'd marry him in a heartbeat if he arrived here at this very moment."

"It can never be," Mila said softly, giving Beth's shoulders a squeeze. "You said so yourself. He's ever so mad at you, he must you betrayed him. You'll only be safe if you marry Burwell, who will take you to camp, far away from here. Won't Tavington flog you, if he ever finds you?"

_"Listen to me very carefully now, Beth," He whispered dreadfully. "I promise you... As the Lord is my witness I vow, that if I ever discover you warned Burwell," he paused when she shook her head violently. Ignoring her protest, he continued implacably. "I will beat you myself. Do you understand? I will flog you, Beth, to within an inch of your life."_

Beth shuddered at the memory, his voice - so dreadful and filled with fury and threat, his pale blue eyes boring into hers.

"To within an inch of my life, he said," she confirmed sadly.

"Do you really think he would?"

"I don't know," she said weakly. "He's certainly capable of doing it but perhaps his temper has cooled by now…"

"I doubt it, not for something like that," Mila said, referring to Beth's betrayal.

"You're probably right," Beth sighed heavily. She sat up and perched on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

"Let's get you tidied up, the others will be wondering where you got to," Mila rose from the bed and began fixing Beth's hair. "You'll have to make up some excuse."

"No excuse needed - I'll tell the truth," Beth said and Mila's eyes widened with shock. "That the whiskey went straight to my head and I needed to lie down, because the room is spinning."

"Is it?" Mila asked, amused. Beth nodded and Mila giggled, then led the way out of the room.

When Beth stood outside the parlor doors, she drew a deep, steadying breath, then entered.

"Oh, thank the Lord, I'm saved!" Charlotte cried when Beth walked in.

"You'll not get off so lightly as that!" Henrietta laughed. "You will answer the question, Charlotte Selton."

"Where were you?" Anne asked, swaying slightly in her seat. Beth noticed her friend was having trouble focusing her gaze.

"I… the whiskey… I needed to lie down," Beth said as she sat beside Anne.

"Oh, good idea - I need to lie down too!" Charlotte rose but Alice - strong despite her years, reached out and grabbed Charlotte's arm, pulling her back down. Charlotte giggled, her cheeks were bright read with embarrassment.

"Do you or do you not have a lover?" Alice demanded and Beth gasped.

"Oh, it's been so shocking Beth," Anne began to fill her friend in. "The things they've been saying and now Mrs. Selton let something slip by mistake and Henrietta - and Mamma - they won't let it go! They are convinced your Aunt has taken a lover!"

Beth's eyes widened with shock and she stared at Charlotte, who reddened further under the scrutiny.

"Tell us!" Henrietta demanded.

"Oh, god, why did we decide to have the 'talk'!" Charlotte lamented. Finally buckling under the strain, she pinned each one with a hard stare. The effect was ruined somewhat, as Charlotte swayed slightly in her seat, her eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused, and her cheeks were flushed. But she tried to be stern with each of them. "This goes no further, and I'll not tell you his name. But yes, I do have a lover."

"Aunt Charlotte!" Beth cried as the other women crowed with delight.

"I knew it!" Alice declared. "Oh, tell us who -"

"Absolutely not!" Charlotte said decisively, waving her arms in the negative. "I draw the line there!"

"But… we're not supposed to… outside of marriage!" Beth burst out, shocked to her core. Her Aunt was so dignified and graceful, her conduct had never before been bought into question. She herself had instructed Beth these past four years, she was the one who filled Beth's head with the need to keep her respectability and her virtue!

"The rules are somewhat… loosened, for widows," Alice explained. "As long as the widow is discreet, of course."

"Oh," Beth said rather lamely. She shared a shocked glance with Anne, who seemed to be struggling with this news also. She had been raised the same as Beth, to believe a woman didn't couple outside of wedlock. It was not the done thing. Ever. Period.

Beth met Charlotte's eyes then, her Aunt's were clouded from the liquor but also filled with worry that she had lost some of Beth's regard. She recalled the pleasure she had felt at William's hand, his fingers in her most private place, drawing forth her first ever climax. And there had been more encounters afterward, the intimacy they shared several times, the intimacy she longed to share with him again. Charlotte's eyes - filled with wariness - still held hers.

_Oh, yes, Beth, you're one to talk, _she chastised herself as the memories continued to play out in her mind - of her curling her fingers around Tavington's erection and pulling, pulling, pulling until he cried out and coated her hand with his seed._ You've never been married and William is not even your fiancé!_

"I think I need another whiskey," she muttered darkly, reaching forward for her glass which was on the small table before her. "And then, Aunt Charlotte, you will tell us more about this lover of yours."

Charlotte relaxed slightly but Beth thought she still seemed rather tense. Alice and Henrietta both laughed, clapping like excited girls, eager to hear more.

* * *

"Shh, is that a horse?" Thomas waved his arms at the younger boys, commanding them to silence. The boys had grown tired of playing by the river and had headed to the edge of the property, close to the road, where they hoped to surprise the rabbits in the burrow Nathan had found the day before.

Sure enough, the clip, clop, clip clop of a rider drew closer and Thomas, excitable as always, jumped from the bushes out onto the road to see who it was.

He stopped dead with shock when he came face to face with a Redcoat soldier - a mounted British Officer.

"Woah!" The Officer called, twitching the reins and guiding the startled horse with his knees. When the mount was under control, he glanced down at Thomas, meeting the youths eyes. Thomas gazed back, wide eyed with fear. "Christ boy, you almost scared me half to death!"

The Officer didn't seem particularly angry, nor did he appear ready to change into a monster with huge teeth, ready to rip Thomas' head off. The boy relaxed somewhat, as his brothers and Little Henry made their way out of the bushes.

"Oh, it's an ambush!" The British Officer laughed as the lads revealed themselves. The boys exchanged confused glances, shocked that the Redcoat seemed so… _normal_.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Thomas said finally, hesitantly. "We were playing here. When I heard the sound of your horse, I wanted to see who it was."

"Well, it's me," the Officer smiled. "Private Crawford at your service," he doffed his helmet, even gave Thomas a small bow from the saddle. "Although at the moment you could probably be of more service to me than I could be to you. Tell me, do you know where Fresh Water Plantation is? Am I far off, still?"

Thomas stiffened. Luckily his brothers understood the danger and they held their silence, not blurting out that the soldier had already reached Fresh Water and if he continued on for another forty yards, he'd arrive at the gate! Luckily, from this angle, the tall tobacco plants hid the plantation from view. But if the Officer were to ride up the lane, he might see Burwell's Continental guards readily enough.

"Ah, yes, Sir. I am from Fresh Water myself," Thomas said truthfully, then he began to lie. "But you are far off yet, Sir. Miles even."

The Officer's eyebrows rose with surprise. "You're a little far from home then, aren't you?"

"I was visiting Nathan here," Thomas pointed to his brother. "He's my friend. He lives here."

"Oh, I see. How vexing, I was led to understand I was closer. Miles, you say?" The Officer seemed somewhat dejected. "I've been in the saddle for hours already."

"Well, I'm from Fresh Water, as I said, perhaps I can help you?" Thomas asked carefully. "What is your business there, if I might ask?"

"I am to deliver a letter to one Miss Beth Martin," the Officer replied, then continued hopefully. "Do you know of her?"

"She's my sister, Sir," Thomas confirmed.

"Oh, wonderful! Will you be returning home this evening, lad?"

"I will."

"Then I can give you the letter, will you see that your sister gets it?" The Officer reached into the saddle bag beside him and pulled out a small leather packet. Thomas nodded, he would deliver the letter.

"Ah, can I ask who it's from, Sir?" Thomas asked, fearing it was from Tavington.

Beth had not spoken to him about it but he'd heard the whispers, heard his father and Burwell discussing the British Officer. He'd even stumbled across Abigail - the families nursemaid and her daughter Mila talking about it! They'd stopped as soon as they saw Thomas but he'd heard enough to know that Beth and Tavington had become entangled romantically in some way and that his sister now feared the enemy Officer. He didn't entirely understand what had occurred, but he worried that the letter being sent might be from Tavington and would, therefore, cause his sister great distress.

"One Miss Mary Tisdale," the Officer said now, answering Thomas' query. "It's a good thing the roads are so peaceful out this way, otherwise I might not have been able to deliver it so easily."

_With the militia disbanded, there's no one left to fight you except Burwell, _Thomas thought, feeling futile.

"Oh, well let's hope it stays peaceful, so Beth can keep getting her letters," Thomas said a little lamely. He realised how stupid the words were as soon as he said them but he was too shaken to think clearly just at the moment. The Officer only smiled at Thomas' seeming innocence, however.

"Yes, let us hope," he replied genuinely. "Well, I'll be on my way then. If I am quick enough I might made it back to Manning before nightfall. There's a nice inn there."

"Don't eat their beans," Samuel said, speaking up for the first time. "They're yuck."

"Boy, beans are always yuck," Private Crawford laughed. He'd turned his horse and was now facing the way he'd come. "Thank you, young man, you've saved me quite a bit of time if Fresh Water is miles away yet. You've done me a service."

"You're welcome," Thomas called, waving, as the Officer galloped back down the road. "Jesus, that was close," he cursed softly. "Quickly, we must go and tell father and Colonel Burwell!"

* * *

"It stands to reason that Miss Tisdale would entrust her letters with a British courier," Burwell was saying gravely. "Her fiancé is a Green Dragoon now, or so they think."

"Yes, but this does present us with problems we hadn't considered before," Benjamin replied worriedly. "We can't have British couriers coming along with letters for Beth, you only have a few men here but if even if the courier sees only one Bluecoat, we'll be in for it." The two men were standing on the verandah. Thomas had run up, panting and frantic, and handed Benjamin the packet not five minutes ago.

"I'll have them wear their day clothes as well, instead of their uniforms," Burwell offered.

Benjamin nodded, his fear beginning to recede. "We should have anticipated this, Beth was popular with her friends," he glanced down at the leather satchel in his hand. "With Miss Tisdale most of all."

"At least we know we can trust the letter," Burwell said darkly, "seeing that it's come from Ferguson's fiancé."

"Yes, I'll take it in to her now," Benjamin replied. Burwell followed and as the two men entered the house they could hear giggling coming from the parlor. When they entered, the women froze guiltily, all of them. Benjamin frowned, then took in their reddened cheeks, their red-rimmed eyes, the way they swayed in their seat.

The glasses of whiskey around the room and an almost empty bottle on the table.

Benjamin and Burwell both stared down at them, shocked. The women gazed back, each wearing guilty expressions.

Then Beth turned to the other women and held one finger over her lips.

"Shh," she whispered conspiratorially. "It's my Papa and my fiancé."

For some reason, this set the women off. They burst with fits of giggles, tears streaming down their cheeks.

"I'm afraid there's… no hiding it… now..!" Mrs. Howard gasped between giggles.

"They're soused!" Harry exclaimed as he watched them.

"So it would seem," Benjamin murmured. Turning, he spied Mila as she was about to walk up the stairs. "Mila, would you put this in Beth's room? It's a letter from Miss Tisdale but I doubt she's in any condition to read it now."

"Yes, Sir," Mila took the packet and headed up the stairs. Benjamin turned back into the room. Sure enough, the women were still cackling, Beth was almost lying across Anne's lap, laughing too hard to sit up straight.

_Or too drunk to sit up straight…_ Benjamin had never seen anything like it! Nor had Burwell, judging by his astonished expression.

"Help me, will you?" Benjamin said. "I'll get Charlotte to her room, you get Beth to hers."

"Alright."

"Thomas!" Benjamin bellowed for his son. "Go fetch Gabriel, Mr. Howard and Joshua. They need to get Miss Howard, Anne and Mrs. Rutledge upstairs to a chamber were they can sleep this off."

Thomas darted away in search of Gabriel and the others.

"Beth," Harry called, standing over Beth.

He placed his hands on her waist and helped her from Anne's lap to sit straighter. She was still giggling, tears streaming down her cheeks. He shook his head and chuckled indulgently - he'd been this soused on occasion himself. Though he'd never expected his fiancé to ever be in such a state! He helped her up and led her from the chamber, all the way upstairs to her chamber.

"My poor darling," he sighed heavily as he led her across the room to her bed. The door clicked shut behind him but he wasn't too worried about propriety just then. "You're going to pay for this tomorrow."

"Don't you… Don't… threaten me, Colonel… Harry Burwell," Beth slurred, she was having difficulty stringing her sentences together. She waggled a finger at him, pointing it under his nose. "You're… not my husband yet!"

Burwell barked a laugh. "I'm not the one who will punish you, dear heart."

"Who then?" she squinted her eyes, trying to focus on his face, and swayed back and forth. "Papa?"

"No, my Lioness. The whiskey."

"No thanks, I don't think I want… any more… whiskey."

Burwell sighed and gave up.

"You sleep now, my sweet," he said, turning to go.

"Wait!" Beth cried, reaching for him. All those memories of Tavington, washing over her making her heart ache, the remembered pleasure, making her ache elsewhere. She became bold, gripping his wrist with her curled fingers, dragging him back to her. "Stay."

"I can't stay!" He laughed down at her. "Your father would kill me."

"Just for a minute? You've not kissed me today," she whispered huskily in his ear. "I do enjoy it when you kiss me…"

Burwell closed his eyes and swallowed, unable to control his reaction to her. His heart began to race as the tip of her tongue traced the shell of his ear ever so gently.

"You taught me that," she whispered, her tongue continuing that moist, warm caress. "It feels ever so delicious."

She drifted down, her lips suckling at the skin of his neck, her arms around his waist squeezing tightly.

"Yes, it is," he murmured, his voice deep and rasping. He could hear voices in the corridor outside the room, Peter's deep rumble of amusement as he led his wife to a spare chamber, Gabriel's astonished tone and Anne's bright laugh. It was not even midday but Burwell had no doubt the women would sleep for the rest of the afternoon. He sighed heavily and turned to meet Beth's lips.

"You taste of whiskey," he whispered, his tongue tracing her lips.

"You taste of… you…" Beth smiled at him. "I think I like whiskey."

"You won't in the morning," he chuckled. "Dear heart, I really must go, before we begin things we can't stop…"

"Hmm, Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Rutledge and Aunt Charlotte were telling Anne and I all about those things," Beth said, drawing closer to press a feather light kiss on his lips. "I can't wait until we're married, so I can feel them too."

Harry's breath caught and he closed his eyes, counting inwardly to ten in an effort to control the searing lust spiking throughout his body.

"You've gone so ridged, Harry," she murmured, against his lips, feeling his sudden tension. Removing her arms from his waist, she wrapped them around his neck instead. "Relax my darling," she said mischievously. "I'll try not to hurt you."

"Oh, Christ, exactly what did those women tell you?" He shook his head with incredulity.

Beth placed two fingers under his chin and turned his face back to hers. They began to kiss again, Beth parting her lips, gliding her tongue into his mouth.

"Do you really want to know?" She whispered. Her eyes were glazed with pleasure, both from the whiskey and from the kissing and the feel of his strong body pressed so close to hers.

"Yes," Harry found himself saying, hypnotised by her tone, so thick and husky, sensuous - wanton.

"They spoke of the pleasure that builds and builds," she said softly between kisses. "It keeps building, the tension. A pleasurable ache, so warm, so encompassing."

_I've felt it before and I want to feel it again,_ Beth thought, despairing and needful.

"Oh, God," Burwell whispered, utterly entranced. He placed one strong hand on either side of her face and deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing across hers.

"It rushes forward," Beth whimpered, squeezing her legs together. Burwell saw this and groaned deep in his throat. "And spreads through your whole body." She finished, her hips rocking back and forth ever so slightly as though trying to relieve her own tension. Harry saw that as well and he thought he'd die then and there.

"Have you ever felt that?" She asked him innocently. He gazed down at her, her brown eyes so deep and beautiful, her face cupped securely in her hands.

"Yes, Beth," he rasped, swallowing hard. "I have."

"Can we -"

"No," he said firmly, trying to sober. With a huge effort of will, he gathered himself and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently urging her away from him.

"Harry," she whimpered, looking so lost, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know what you want, darling," he told her seriously. "But I can't give it to you, not yet."

He rose from the bed and her eyes followed him, her head tilting back to gaze up at him. Her unshed tears cut him to the bone.

"Your Aunt and the other women, they were wrong to tell you so much," he said, turning to face her. His hands cupped her face again and he leaned down to kiss her one last sweet kiss. "Especially after giving you so much whiskey."

"It's not the whiskey," she said truthfully. Though the liquor had fired her even more, she had been aching for days. Aching for William, for his kisses, his fingers, his crotch rocking against hers...

"Nevertheless, we'll wait, dear heart," he said, knowing that there was no point arguing with a drunk person. Kissing her again, he barely noticed when her hands stole up to unbuckle his belt. She did it so slowly, without so much as a sound. When he did notice, he broke the kiss, glanced down at her fingers holding either side of his unbuckled belt, and began to chuckle.

"I'm not going to be able to keep up with you, my lusty fiancé," he said warmly. "I'm too old."

Beth giggled as Burwell straightened. Still standing before her, he placed his hands on his belt ready to buckle it again.

Which is the exact moment that Benjamin chose to walk into the chamber, to check on Beth. The door opened wide, Benjamin strode in, then stopped dead. Burwell's hands were on his unbuckled belt, Beth's fingers were now hooked in the top of Burwell's breeches where she had placed them while Harry was distracted.

"It's not what you think!" Harry yelped, jumping back from Beth, who almost toppled forward off the bed.

Benjamin stared, his eyes wide with astonishment and shock and… and… he barely knew what to think!

"No?" He snapped. "Do tell me, what am I to think - with your belt buckle open and my daughters hands in your breeches?"

Beth gazed between the two, caught between drunken amusement and mortification.

"It's the other women - it's their fault, Ben! They put all these ideas in Beth's head and she wanted…" Harry cut short, suddenly remembering who he was speaking to. He could hardly tell Benjamin that his daughter had become aroused! No father wanted to hear their little girl was actually a woman!

Beth's eyes were as wide as they would go now, she held her breath, waiting for her father to murder her fiancé.

"Papa -"

"Silence!" He snapped cutting her off at once. His eyes were fixed on Burwell's but he threw his arm out in her direction, stabbing his finger at her. Beth stared at his accusing finger until she was almost cross eyed.

Harry waited, every bit on edge as Beth, despite being a Colonel of the Continental army. Despite being Benjamin's own Commander once, so long ago. As the silence dragged on, Benjamin stared at him - clearly uncertain if he should be calm or raging.

Harry finally tried for levity.

"Don't worry, Sir," he said in a mock contrite tone, bowing low toward Benjamin. "I'll do the right thing by your daughter," he tapped his lips as though pondering and then, as if he and Beth were not already engaged, he announced, "Hmm, I know - I'll marry her!"

Beth's giggle broke the tension.

"Damned right you will," Benjamin huffed an angry breath. He glanced toward Beth who was still giggling where she sat on the bed. "Christ, what was Charlotte thinking, giving Beth whiskey? And Anne - have you seen what state she's in?"

"And Gabriel was putting her to bed, wasn't he?" Beth gasped. She imagined Anne, drunk from the liquor and aroused from the 'talk', she pictured Anne trying to pull Gabriel into her bed, much as Beth had tried to with Harry. She giggled and continued in a taunting tone, "Ooh, Papa, you better put Mr. Howard's musket away, or we might have to have their wedding tonight!"

"Jesus!" Benjamin cursed, understanding Beth's meaning at once. He turned and strode from the room, leaving the door wide open. "I'll be right back - this discussion is not over!" He called over his shoulder, his voice fading as he walked up the hall.

Beth almost toppled onto her side, she laughed so hard. Burwell watched his drunk fiancé in the throws of laughter, wiping her tears - of mirth now. Whiskey could have that affect on people - making them happy and content one moment, howling with laughter and then at the depths of despair the next.

Benjamin returned quickly. "It's alright, she's in the same bed with Mrs. Howard and is already sleeping."

"What of Mrs. Middleton?" Harry asked, his eyes lingering on Beth, whose laughter had died to the occasional giggle. Her eyes were dazed and she wore a silly smile on her face.

"She's settled as well," Benjamin replied. "Charlotte is in bed. Christ - it's not even lunch time yet!"

"Today was so much fun," Beth said wistfully, swaying where she sat. "The things we spoke about… You can't even imagine!"

"Oh, I have a fairly good idea," Harry scoffed quietly.

"Honestly," she continued, her eyes wide with incredulity, "who would have thought a man could be strong enough to lift a woman up against a wall, then take his hands away, but still hold her against the wall while they -"

"Beth!" Benjamin and Harry cried out at once, cutting her off.

"It's not my fault!" Beth defended. "It was Mrs. Howard who said it. And did you know she and Mr. Howard -"

"We don't want to know!" Benjamin waved his hands before him, silencing his daughter again. "What the Devil were those women filling my little girl's head with?"

"It's alright, Papa," Beth said in a placating tone. "We were just having the 'talk' and all women get the 'talk' from older, married women before they get married. It's… ah…" she searched her drunken mind for the right word. "Custom! It's custom." She smiled up at them, proud of herself for thinking of the right word.

Then she nodded once, curtly, as though everything was explained to their satisfaction and it was settled.

"Custom," Benjamin muttered darkly. "I'll tell Charlotte what I think of this 'custom' tomorrow, you can be sure of that!"

"Agh, it's not so bad, what does it hurt to prepare a girl before her wedding night?" Harry argued.

Benjamin rounded on him at once. "Your belt buckle was undone and her hands were in your breeches!" He said indignantly. "I'd say there was plenty of harm done!"

"Well," Harry mused for a moment, "perhaps it would better if they had this 'talk' of theirs without the whiskey."

"Oh, no - it was so much more fun with the whiskey!" Beth said emphatically. "Especially when Mrs. Howard told us the story - oh how we giggled - it was the story of how Mr. Howard escaped the sack Mrs. Howard's mother had sewn around him to keep him from visiting her bed chamber during the night before they were married!"

"No more!" Benjamin cried, though even he was seeing the amusing side of it now. "Burwell - get out of my daughters room now!"

Harry smirked. He strode forward to plant a chaste kiss on the top of Beth's head and she smiled up at him beatifically.

"Sleep well, dear heart," he murmured, then walked from the room, closing the door behind him.

"Hmm, I think I am sleepy," Beth said, yawning and stretching.

Benjamin sat beside his daughter as she shifted on the bed until she was laying down on her side, her head on the pillow and her eyes already closed. He reached down to pull her shoes from her feet and placed them on the floor.

"Are you alright, Beth, do you need to be sick?" He asked her, stroking her hair gently. Beth smiled with contentment and shook her head no - she didn't need to be sick. "The rooms not spinning?"

Another shake of her head, she was fine. Benjamin watched her for some time. The smile eventually faded from her lips, he could see she was almost asleep. And still he stared, despairing that his little girl was almost full grown and would leave him soon. She would marry Burwell and move to camp and Benjamin had no idea when he'd see his little girl again.

He sighed heavily and leaned down to plant a kiss on her cheek. She wasn't quite asleep after all, she shifted and her contented smile returned.

"Love you, papa," she muttered.

"I love you too," he said gently.

He stepped out of the room, leaving his daughter in peace to sleep the whiskey off.

* * *

It was late - night had fallen and Beth's room was lit by candles and lanterns. She was in her shift now, having woken up earlier - long enough for Mila to help her undress and change for bed. Mila had bought a tray of food to Beth's chamber, and Beth had eaten every bite and drank every drop of the water too.

Mrs. Middleton, Mrs. Howard and Anne had long since left Fresh Water for their own homes. Henrietta had climbed into her carriage looking decidedly green, as had Alice and Anne. Peter Howard had scoffed when his wife begged for sympathy, telling her she'd bought it on herself. Charlotte was in her chamber, in her bed, with a cold compress across her forehead. Margaret had been asking why the women had all taken ill. An empathetic child, she had been quite worried for them all.

A small smile quirked Beth's lips as she remembered some of the things she'd been told by the older women. The whiskey had loosened their tongues, rid them of their inhibitions. Hours later, her stomach ached from all the laughter, it had been the most fun she'd had in days!

Her eyes landed on the packet on her desk - the delivery of which had caused an uproar, though Beth had been sleeping at the time. Mila had told her later however, of how Burwell's detachment had decamped and shifted from the front of the property to further back, beyond the tall cornfield. In case any more British Officers stopped by with letters for Beth, from her Charlestown friends.

Beth missed her friends terribly and she hoped there would be more letters, but it wouldn't be worth it to receive future correspondence if it meant the British discovering where Burwell was quartered.

Grabbing up the small leather packet, Beth climbed back into her bed, reclining back against her pillows, getting comfortable under the quilt. A wall lantern above her head cast enough light down for her to read by. Opening the packet, she pulled forth a thick velum envelope. The thickness and weight of the envelope made her smile with pleasure - this was not to be a simple or quick note but a nice long letter, hopefully filled with news and Charlestown gossip.

When she opened the letter however, she was surprised to see another sealed envelope had been placed within the first. With a curious frown, she pulled forth Mary's parchment and the separate envelope - which, curiously, bore no address or salutation. She flipped it over, reading the words _Miss Beth Martin_ written neatly across the front.

Beth drew in a sharp breath. Her face drained of colour and her hand trembled as though it held a snake rather than an envelope. She recognised that handwriting, having received notes from William once before. All she could do now was stare at her name - written by his hand - with horror, her heart pounding furiously against her ribcage.

She'd been dying to tear into Mary's letter to hear all about the happenings in the city but now it lay on her lap, completely forgotten. The world had dwindled until there was nothing more than the letter in her hand, the one from William. Drawing a ragged breath, she fought through the sick leaping in her stomach to open the letter, fingers trembling as she snapped the seal.

_Dearest Beth_

_I thought I might share with you some news of the city. As you know, I fought a skirmish recently in which I was the victor, but this you already know, as you were there. There is a great deal that you already know, isn't there, my love? Still, there might be a few small items you are not yet apprised of, and so I shall beg your forbearance as I attempt to fill you in. _

_First of all, and this may cause you some distress though I think not, it seems your uncle, Mr. Mark Putman is a rebel spy. I came to suspect him while pursuing you, after Francis Marion took you. After returning to the city, I questioned Mr. Putman's staff and found one young negro who was quite knowledgable in his Master's rebellious activities. For the promise of his freedom, young Zeke was quite forthcoming. Mr. Putman, according to Zeke, is the leader of an entire spy organisation colluding within the city. We will, of course, endeavour to route these snakes from our midst before they can do any further harm._

_But alas, and I am certain you shall rejoice with me, the mystery as to who informed Mr. Burwell of the ambush has at last been solved. It was Mr. Putman, my dearest Beth, who passed along those tidings, like a good little minion to his Master Hound. _

_Zeke also informed me who told Mr. Putman this information.__ This person sent a letter to Burwell in their own hand. I shall not commit their identity here, for I would not want reprisal against the accused should this letter fall into the wrong hands and they are confronted. I shall divulge the identity to you in person, when next I see __you._

_To within an inch, if memory serves? _

Beth's face drained of colour. William had drawn a line beneath the word. He knew it was her. Gods, he knew. And he was trying to protect her, even as he threatened her. He would whip her, to within an inch of her life, he'd once told her.

_Zeke has told me very many things, he has earned his reward ten times over. Do be a dear and pass along word to your maid, Mila, that her beau is now free and expects to be in a position to beg the question of her, very soon. I will, of course, be posing that same question to you, very soon. I do regret that our beginning will be quite turbulent, with our many complications straining our affection. But love shall surpass all, even with the need for punishment for past wrongs._

_Gods, he's going to marry me, and then he's going to whip me. To within an inch of my life. That's what he's saying. Lord Above. _

_I received the letter you left for me. I have to admit that I found your… concerns… rather enlightening, in light of your own questionable actions. But these shall be discussed in person. _

_I hope you do not mind, my darling, but I am going to spend some of these pages venting my frustration regarding the ambush, your Uncle, Colonel Burwell and the one who warned them all. It's been quite a vexing time for me, as I am certain you can appreciate it. You see, the person who committed treason that day, with the writing of that letter warning of the ambush. _

_Treason against the Crown. Which is punishable by death. _

_But is it vexing on a more personal level, also. You see, I trusted this person, and all along, the culprit was untrue. After the dreadful failure at the Simms, I doubted myself. Burwell wrote how he'd discovered the plot and cited my own actions on the day of the ambush, to be the means of his being alerted. _

_Yet, Zeke has assured me that Burwell didn't learn of the plot under those circumstances, indeed - he had known __all along._

Here, he'd slashed his quill so hard the underline almost tore the paper. Beth licked her lips, tried to breathe. _Burwell had known only hours after the plans conception. _

_All week, I spent in the culprit's company, assuming innocence and cooperation. And all week, the person held fast to the secret. Their betrayal. The culprit had known all along that Burwell was not going to come, and that I would be faced with disappointment, self doubt and worse of all, humiliation of the grandest scale. I do not believe the person will be hung, my darling Beth, but by God, this person shall be punished._

_I know that I can, at times, be a little indiscriminate in my behaviour when it comes to the fairer sex. But indulging in the affections of other women does not come close to the crime our dear culprit has committed. Treason._

It took Beth a moment to understand his meaning and when she did, she gasped, her hand over her mouth. He was comparing her betrayal of him to his of hers and he was suggesting that hers was the greater.

_Enough of our culprit, our rebel, our betrayer. I refer now to your letter, and I recall to you your request that I do not follow you to the Santee, that I let you live your life in peace. This request I resolutely deny you, especially in light of Zeke's revelations. You are mine, you admitted as much yourself. Despite the miles between us, and I will not rest until you are again at my side._

_Yes, we shall have a turbulent beginning for we have both done one another great harm. However, as for my 'carousing ways', they ended long ago. As for my financial affairs - I do have an income of my own, as well you know! And the promise of rewards for my service in this damnable war! Why in the world would you assume that I would come to you penniless?_

_You accuse me of 'breaking you' and 'destroying you', when, ever since I met you, you have been doing precisely that to me. I told you once, that it will never be over between us, and I assure you now, that that is most certainly so. You may punish me, if you wish, for my affairs with those other women. I promised you once, that I would protect you until my dying days and that is another oath that holds. However, let me warn you here and now, that my protection shall now come at a price. You and I will marry, my darling, you will be my wife, and you shall offer to me your full and absolute allegiance. Or I shall inform Clinton and you can answer to the Commander and Chief himself._

:::::::::::::::::

Beth's eyes bulged and her jaw dropped. She'd been reading the letter at full tilt, her heart pounding through every word. But now she could do nothing but gape. Sweet Lord - he was blackmailing her! Marry him or he'd tell Clinton the truth, she could answer for her treason directly to Clinton! What the Hell sort of marriage did he think they would have, with that sort of beginning?

And what if she refused…

"Would he stand there and do nothing as they put the noose around my neck?" She asked herself aloud, utterly astonished. "If I refused to marry him?" shaking her head with incredulity, she ploughed on reading.

Even if she was not bought before Clinton, even if she was not executed for treason, she would not be escaping punishment. He still intended to whip her! Would that be before or after they said their vows? Gods, as he mad?

"A forced marriage, absolute allegiance and a flogging? Oh, this keeps getting better and better!" Beth whispered incredulously as she read. She turned over the first page and immediately saw on the second, a changing in his handwriting. Gone was the flowing, elegant script, now it was a clumsy scrawl, as if he couldn't write fast enough to keep up with the words in his head.

:::::::::::::::::

_Christ Beth, how could you do this to me? How could you just up and leave me? I love you so much, don't you have the slightest inclination of the pain this is causing me? You've left me cold and empty, I can't sleep, I can't eat. You are on my mind every waking moment and you invade my dreams when I do manage a few moments sleep._

_What I wouldn't give to have you in my arms at this very moment, to kiss you, to touch you. To hear your moans again as my fingers move between your legs. I want to feel your soft hands on me again, I've never climaxed so strongly in my life as I did with you! I feel like a man starved, I am ravenous for you._

_I've been swinging wildly from madness and grief at losing you, to fury that you left me. I am in such turmoil, I hardly know if I should love you or detest you for causing me this agony. _

_I hardly know myself how I will react when I see you again. I do not know if I will feel so elated that I'll take you in my arms and kiss you, or if the very sight of you will fill me with such rage that I'll beat you with the flat of my sabre. Both images hold great appeal and would bring me equal satisfaction._

_What I do know for certain, is that we shall marry. I will not be balked in this. I am in love with you, despite your protestations and stubborn disbelief, and I will not be denied you! As far as I am concerned, you and I are already engaged. I shall come for you and we shall say our vows when I take you from your father's plantation. _

_Do not test my patience, Beth; you are to respond to this letter favourably and at your earliest convenience, concealed in your return letter to Miss Tisdale. If there is one thing you can be certain of, it is my fury, my rage. Keep that in mind when you word your letter, my little Beth. A strong woman you might be, but I will accept nothing but complete submission from you now and you alone know only too well the reasons why I deserve it. _

_I am, dear Beth, your most affectionate and devoted lover,_

_Lt. Col. William Tavington_

::::::::::::::::::::

Beth slumped back against the pillows, exhausted as if she'd run full tilt from one end of her father's Planation to the other. Drained. Wrung out like a damp cloth. The parchment was limp in her fingers, her gaze lingering on the words William had written. The letter was so full of contradictions, he'd obviously been fully enraged when he'd written it. It was filled with threat, yet his longing fair shone from the page. He loves her, yet he hates her. He wants to kiss her, but he wants to beat her. With the flat of his sabre, no less.

And a whip.

And then what? Live the rest of their lives happily - in peace? Did he truly expect her to forget the beating, simply because he commanded her to?

And, she was to offer him complete submission; She was to give him absolute allegiance - believed he deserved it for he was covering her treason even from the Commander and Chief… If she was his wife, he would not allow her to even think of herself as a Patriot.

Oh, and the fury! Yes, his fury had come through with almost every word he'd written… He'd been angry with her before, they had had a few confrontations when she was in Charlestown. It was so easy for her to picture him at his writing desk, his body stiff and tense, his lips tight, his face set and hard. His eyes… they'd be so cold, narrowed and rage filled.

But then at the close of the letter…

_I am, dear Beth, your most affection and devoted lover._

Beth laughed aloud, an incredulous laugh, it helped to released her tension. It helped to lessen her fear. He was deranged, thats what! Deluded! Jumping from rage, to love, to despair back to rage!

"He's going to come for me," she said aloud and trembled. Ever since she and Charlotte had left Charlestown, it had been the families fear that Tavington would come for her. Now she knew for certain that he intended to.

Picking up Mary's letter she skimmed for anything that mentioned the Dragoons and when they intended to leave Charlestown. Halfway down the first page, Beth found it and she was flooded with relief, for the Dragoons would not be leaving for another three weeks or so. They were to continue their reinforcement of the city while Tarleton scouted the country, both under Cornwallis' authority when Clinton headed for New York.

So. Three weeks - a month at best, before William would be anywhere near Pembroke. With the first Bann already read and only two to go, Beth would be married well before then. Harry would remove her from the house and she would live in the middle of the Continental camp until the end of the war.

_Is that what you want? Do you want to escape him because of a whipping?_ A little voice whispered. A stupid, insipid, traitorous little voice. But it persisted. She yearned for everything William had detailed in his letter. Oh, not the flogging, but the pleasure. Gods, she wanted it as much he as did. She yearned for him, she just wanted to be with him again. She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut, tried too will such thoughts away. Thoughts that reasoned that she was strong, like William said. She could survive a flogging. He was angry, that small voice reasoned. In all likelihood, he would not give her the promised whipping at all. She could be married to William, the man she loved, they could be happy and content, for the rest of their lives.

Desperate to escape the voice, she threw back the coverlet, jumped from the bed. She crossed the room to draw her night-robe around her shoulders. Her father needed to be told of the letter. Harry needed to be told. She needed to tell them immediately that she had received confirmation of Tavington's intentions, that their fears were realised, William knew of her betrayal and was threatening to flog her.

She seized the door knob, and stopped dead in her tracks. "They will want to see the letter," she whispered with realisation. Merely telling them would not be good enough. They would want to read it too.

_What I wouldn't give to have you in my arms at this very moment, to kiss you, to touch you. To hear your moans again as my fingers move between your legs. I want to feel your soft hands on me again, I've never climaxed so strongly in my life as I did with you! I feel like a man starved, I am ravenous for you._

Shit. A cart full of stinking, steaming shit.

She couldn't show her fiancé and her father William's letter. Which meant she couldn't tell them of the letters existence at all. She lay back down, stared at the ceiling, trying to think her way through her quandary.


	31. Chapter 31 - The Colonel's Learn of Beth

Chapter 31 - The Colonel's Learn of Beth's Engagement

Amelia Township - Banastre Tarleton

The Dragoons horses kicked up dust, their hooves sounding like thunder. It could be felt as a rumble through the earth and the denizens of Amelia Township heard the Dragoon unit approach long before they saw the Green coated men themselves. Tarleton and Hanger led the unit, as they always did. Banastre had left the bulk of his legion in the camp he had established not far from Amelia. For this particular raid, only the Dragoons themselves were needed. He signalled the halt when he was deeper in town, with buildings to either side of him. Pulling to a stop, he glanced around at the locals who had stopped under the shops eaves, to gaze at him and his detachment fearfully.

Good. Word was spreading.

His Dragoons milled about him - some two hundred men, all mounted and wearing their emerald jackets with their tan buckskin breeches. Each wore a sabre at his side with a pistol in a holster attached to his thigh. They were an impressive sight as Banastre damned well knew. Impressive. Fearsome. Intimidating.

And most importantly, deadly.

He gazed back at the denizens from the vantage of his saddle, meeting the eyes of women clutching their children to their chests or pulling the older ones closer to their sides. The men urged their womenfolk closer, huddling together. Some children even began to cry - sensing the tension. Others gazed up with open and curious faces, one brave little boy even pointed and said "horse!" in a loud voice.

"Yes, horse," his mother agreed, meeting Banastre's eye - here was one woman who was not so fearful. Nervous, yes, but not scared. A Loyalist perhaps? It was so hard to tell - one never knew if a Colonial was a Loyalist or Patriot by just looking at them. Banastre edged his horse closer and tipped his helmet to the woman, revealing his dark shock of auburn hair.

"Good morning," he said in a polite tone that belied the Dragoons deadly purpose. "Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton at your service."

"Good morning, Sir. Mrs. Baker at yours," came the answer in the back country southern drawl. Which, he was coming to notice, became far thicker the further he journeyed from Charlestown. He was certain that if he went any deeper into the Santee, he would no longer be able to understand the good folk of the South.

"Mrs. Baker," he inclined his head politely and replaced his helmet on top of his head. "Would you tell me, please, where I can find Gillard's Mercantile and Wool?"

"Yes, Sir, just a little further down. You will find him two doors away from the blacksmiths, which you can't miss."

"Thank you. Madam. I've heard some rumours. Could you also tell me if Mr. Gillard is a Patriot and if he is involved in supplying the Continental army?"

"Ah…" Mrs. Baker cast a nervous glance at her clustered neighbours, who watched gravely. "I'd rather not say, Sir. If you don't mind too much."

Banastre nodded indulgently. The woman clearly feared retribution and seeing that Banastre would not in a position to offer her protection - he would not be remaining overly long - he decided to let the matter drop. Her evasion gave him all the answer he needed, in any case.

"Thank you very much, you have a nice day," he bid her, inclining his head down at her.

"You too, Sir."

"Wanna ride the horse, Mamma!" The little boy yelled, his voice growing more frantic as Banastre turned his mount. "Mamma, horse!"

"Yes, I know it's a horse and no, you can't ride it!" The women replied. Banastre smiled at her over his shoulder, then continued on his way with his Dragoons falling in behind him.

The Mercantile, it turned out, was almost on the other side of the small town. As Mrs. Baker had instructed, it could not be missed - only a few doors away from the Smithy. Banastre and his two hundred Dragoons drew rein outside the shop. There were even more people here. Seeing the Dragoons outside, men and women came spilling out of the shop, suddenly deciding there was someplace else they rather needed to be. Anyplace else than within the shop the ten score of deadly Dragoons had stopped in front of.

"Circle around," Banastre commanded of first Lieutenant Whitty. "Surround the shop."

He let the locals flee, he had no interest in them just now. It was the mercantile's owner who he had business with just then.

"Very good, Sir," Lieutenant Whitty took two score of troops with him and headed around the back of the shop. Banastre, Hanger and several others, dismounted and strode into the Mercantile. A few locals were still in the shop - holding baskets loaded with items they obviously intended to purchase. Only now they stared in stunned silence as Banastre strode in, the items in the baskets all but forgotten. Banastre took one look at the frightened customers and dismissed them at once. Glancing around, he discovered no sign whatsoever of the owner - Mr. Gillard.

"Upstairs," Banastre commanded shortly and the men strode purposefully toward the back of the store, to the stairwell. Without hesitation, they trotted up to the next landing where the family lived and began searching rooms.

"Oho!" Hanger called from one of the chambers. Banastre, who had been in the corridor at the time the call was raised, turned on his heel and darted into the chamber. An Office, as it turned out. Complete with a large oak desk and several high backed chairs, and with Mr. Gillard - who was currently being held by the scruff of his neck by Ensign Mitchell and Second Lieutenant Bell.

Major Hanger was still pulling forth the last of the large, leather bound books from the fireplace, adding them to the pile. Though tendrils of smoke wafted from the ledgers, and they were charred and blackened in some places, they were still mostly undamaged. Gillard had not had much warning of Banastre's approach.

"He was burning these," Hanger kicked at the stack of smoking ledgers.

"It's a little warm for a fire, wouldn't you say?" Banastre quirked an eyebrow toward Gillard. To drive his point home, he ostentatiously raised a handkerchief to his own forehead to dab away at the beaded sweat there. Gillard quailed with fear at being caught red handed.

Striding forward, Banastre squatted before the pile of ledgers and, picking one up, began leafing through.

"You're about as smart as a bag of rocks, aren't you?" He asked up at Gillard. "Why in the world would you keep this evidence?"

"I've done nothing wrong, Sir!" Gillard cried. He twisted, trying to break free of the Dragoons hold but they were far too strong from him.

"Sir," Whitty - the officer Banastre had sent to guard the rear of the shop - entered the office to make his report to Tarleton. "We caught Mrs. Gillard and her daughter trying to flee the store."

"Her daughter?" Banastre quirked an eyebrow. "How old is she?"

"Eleven or so, Sir," came Whitty's reply. He knew Tarleton well enough to know the Officer would balk at harming such a young girl.

"Too young," Banastre twisted his lips with distaste, confirming Whitty's thoughts. "Keep her separate from the others, downstairs. But bring Gillard's wife up, take her into one of the back rooms."

"Yes, Sir." Whitty, understanding the meaning behind Banastre's order, stepped back out into the hall.

"What for?" Gillard demanded, struggling even more in his captor's grips. "Don't you dare touch my wife."

Banastre gazed up at the rebel for several moments, before continuing to leaf through the ledgers.

"Who is Peter Howard?" He asked. The name was scribbled several times in one of the columns, often appearing next to 'Colonel Burwell'. "Another rebel?"

"What are you going to do with my wife!" Gillard roared. He surged forward, despite the Officer's iron hold. Banastre rose gracefully and pulled his pistol from the holster on his hip.

"Punish her for your treason," he explained calmly, gripping his pistol firmly. Gillard turned his gaze to the open door in time to see his wife being dragged past. She met his gaze and began screaming at him to help her. There was nothing he could do, however, caught as he was. Mrs. Gillard's frantic screaming could be heard, muffled now, coming from the closed bed chamber down the hall.

"Jesus Christ!" Gillard twisted and pulled but he was unable to break free. "Please!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Cornwallis had sent the Lieutenant Colonel to the Santee to inspire fear amongst the Patriot community in the South. To do this, Banastre was required to do far worse than burn a few public grain storehouses. Mrs. Gillard's screams became more frantic, Banastre could clearly hear her pleading and crying. Tarleton held Gillard's gaze, entirely unmoved. He had been hardened to this over the years, it was just another tool - another weapon to cause terror and dissuade others from joining the Patriot cause.

"Who is Peter Howard?" He repeated dispassionately.

"You bastard," Gillard panted. Sweat beaded his brow, his expression was dark, murderous. "You'll pay for this."

"Very well, you had your chance," Banastre shrugged. He would discover the information for himself - he had all the ledgers, after all and he was certain they would reveal many rebels - associates of Gillard's. From these ledgers, he would be able to form a list and begin targeting active rebels directly. "Hanger - find out who young Miss Gillard's nearest relation is, take her to safety. The rest of the shop is to be searched. These ledgers are to be removed, I will read them back in camp. When the men are finished with Mrs. Gillard and she is safely outside, fire the mercantile. Mr. Gillard, we shall hang."

Hanger nodded. With one last glance at the spluttering rebel, he left the office to see about Banastre's orders. Mrs. Gillard was quiet now, though Tarleton knew her ordeal was far from over. Most women grew quiet and withdrew into themselves when they realised their pleading went for naught.

"Lobster back bastards," Gillard whispered futilely, sagging in his captors grip.

"Eloquent," Banastre arched an eyebrow in disdain. "You are in rebellion, Sir. You have committed treason against the Crown. Shall I list your infractions? You have funded the rebel war effort. You have supplied the rebels with food, clothes, arms and ammunitions. Most importantly, you have provided them with Intelligence. These actions will not be tolerated gently, as you are now discovering. You have lost your livelihood, your wife has lost her virtue and you Sir, are about to lose your life."

"Please, just stop hurting Glenda. I'll tell you everything - just… stop…" Gillard hung his head, he was broken now and Banastre knew it.

"Very well," he agreed. As he headed to the door to stop the rapes, he threw over his shoulder, "but do not think to defy me. If you do, Mrs. Gillard's trauma will begin anew."

He stepped into the hall way. There were three Dragoons waiting outside the bedchamber, which meant the Dragoon within the chamber was still occupied with Mrs. Gillard. He ordered the waiting Officers to enter the room and stop the attack. That done, he returned to the office and began questioning Mr. Gillard at length. Although there was silence from Glenda Gillard now, the rebel held nothing back, he was too fearful that her attack would indeed resume. His brief flame of bravado was extinguished.

Almost one hour later, Banastre allowed a traumatised Mrs. Gillard to cling to her husband one last time, before having him dragged from the mercantile. Mrs. Gillard followed, slow and trembling, crying with near hysteria, to witness her husband's hanging. It was over quickly, Banastre found it distasteful to draw moments such as these out. When the rebel was dead, he had him cut from the tree and left Mrs. Gillard weeping over her husband's body.

Returning to the Mercantile, he glanced around the shop one last time. It was empty now - the patrons of the shop long since fled. Seeing nothing that could be of use to him, apart from several broadsheets from different publishing houses, he left the mercantile and gave the order to fire it. He did not bother to watch the inferno - the day was wearing on and he still had several towns to visit.

* * *

Later that evening, Banastre sat brooding in his tent. The news he had read in the broadsheets taken from Mr. Gillard's store had been unexpected indeed. Each one held the announcement of Beth's engagement to Colonel Burwell and Banastre had had to cope with this unwanted information for the entire day. Now he was alone except for his bottle of whiskey and his pipe.

Marriage to Burwell…

Banastre knocked back another whiskey, he'd lost count of how many he'd consumed so far that evening. Hanger ducked into the tent with a plate of food, his monkey - the Little Man - riding his shoulder.

"He's twenty-five years her senior!" Banastre slurred, not for the first time. "What is her father thinking, allowing a match like that? My beautiful Beth, forced to lay on her back for that old… wrinkly…" Banastre trailed off with a shudder.

"Eat up, Ban," Hanger nudged the plate across the table. "Soak up some of that whiskey, aye?"

"I don't want to soak it up," Tarleton ground out. "I don't want to be sober! Two more Banns, Hanger! And then they marry. And she'll have to… to… to do with Burwell the things she _should_ be doing with me!"

"Hmm," Hanger sat back and studied his friend, his Commander. He'd seen Banastre in love before, the Lieutenant Colonel was as passionate as he was lethal. This was different, however. Miss Martin had gotten under his friends skin. "I'll send for Electa, she'll help you through this."

"Getting my end away isn't going take my mind off this," Banastre, swaying in his seat, reached for the nearest broadsheet. He was seeing double, it took him several attempts before he could pick it up. The words blurred into one another, but that didn't matter, Banastre knew them by heart. Banastre had received a letter from Clinton several days before, to be on the look out for Miss Martin, to rescue her and have her returned to Charlestown immediately. For they had thought she was in danger, that Burwell had abducted her and would punish her for betraying him.

And it was all true. This was to be her punishment. Banastre had sent a rider off to the city immediately, to inform the Commander and Chief that while Miss Martin had not been found, he knew precisely where she was. At her father's Plantation, Fresh Water, in Pembroke, where the first Bann had been read for her forced engagement. Banastre had no idea what else had been done to Beth, a spanking or whipping perhaps? There were all sorts of punishment one could mete out - but this one was by far the worst - her father was forcing her to marry Colonel Burwell. Banastre had said all this in his letter to Clinton, he'd also asked for Clinton's orders - did they still hold? Was he to still rescue Beth, as Clinton had first commanded?

_Gods, yes, _Banastre thought now. _And if any directive arrives instructing otherwise, I'll damned well pretend I didn't receive it!_

"It will for a short while, and you'll fall asleep right after, I'm thinking. Come on, Ban, cheer up. She's not married yet!"

"No, she isn't. I'm going to go get her. I'm going to take her from there, I'm going to…" it was hard to form the words, the syllables all blending in together. "To rescue her," he finished.

"What are you mumbling about?" With a shake of his head, Hanger rose from his chair and circled the table. Grabbing Banastre by the arm, he hauled the Commander from his seat. Banastre was a dead weight, however and Hanger almost dropped them both to the floor. "Christ, I doubt this will work - you won't even be able to get it up!"

"I can always get it up!" Banastre protested hotly - sensing an insult to his masculinity. He began fumbling at his belt buckle with clumsy fingers. "You'll see. I'll show you!"

"I don't want to see it," Hanger chuckled. He hauled Banastre out of the tent and the two stumbled through camp to Electa's tent. Once they were there, Tarleton lumbered in, careening dangerously. Hanger ducked in as well and steadied him. The woman sat on her cot with an expanse of cloth across her lap and a sewing needle betwixt her fingers. She glanced up surprised to see the commanding Officer in such a soused state.

"Broken heart," Hanger explained shortly.

"My darling Ban, you don't have to be broken hearted, I'm still here," Electa offered her languid smile as she set aside the garment and rose. Her smile slipped and she cursed when Banastre, collapsing to his knees, reached for the chamber pot under the cot and heaved up all the whiskey he'd been drinking.

"Good God," Electa heaved a breath, lips pursing. "He's going to stink of vomit now."

"Agh never mind that," Hanger said cheerfully. "I'll throw you a few extra sovereigns."

"I'll hold you to that," the doxy knelt down beside Banastre as he continued to heave. She caressed his hair and back, offering comfort. When he finished, he sat back on his heels and swayed.

"Oh look at you," Electa pushed back his sweaty hair from his scalp. "You're a mess, my darling."

"She's engaged," Banastre whispered, swaying on his knees.

"Who is engaged?" Electa asked, still stroking his hair gently.

"My love. The woman I love."

"I thought that was me," Electa smiled.

"The other woman he loves," Hanger scoffed and Electa smiled up at him.

"Who is she?" She asked Hanger.

"Her name is Miss Martin. She's a girl we met in the city, Banastre here decided it was a good idea to fall head over heels in love with her. Only now, she's engaged to another man."

"Oh, that is distressing," Electa passed Banastre a glass of water. Tarleton drank the water then passed her back the glass and squeezed his eyes shut, swaying on his knees.

"I'll leave him to your tender ministrations, then," Hanger announced.

"I don't think we'll be doing much of anything," Electa said. "He'll be asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow."

"Just… try… alright?" Hanger begged helplessly.

"Of course, Major. Here, help me get his boots off first," she said. Hanger helped her to remove the soused Commanders boots, before leaving the tent.

Electa unbuckled Tarleton's belt and Banastre collapsed to the edge of the cot while the woman pulled his breeches off his legs. He gazed down at her, bleary eyed, and opened his legs to give her room. She edged closer, on her knees. She doubted this was going to work, but still, she hooked her long black hair behind her ears and bent her head to his crotch. He did harden in her mouth and she heard him sigh, but no sooner had his erection formed, that it began to soften again. Unfortunately for Banastre, he was so thoroughly crocked that he could only maintain an erection for a sparse few minutes before he collapsed back against the cot, snoring heavily.

The Commander lay in the most comical and obscene position possible. Laying on his back across the cot with his bare legs dangling akimbo over the side, his feet on the floor. His flaccid member dangled off to one side, nestled in his course auburn curls. Electa hefted a sigh and reached for a blanket. She lay the blanket over the prone, snoring Banastre to cover his nude and undignified appearance, then sat on the ground and quietly returned to her sewing.

* * *

The following evening after, Benjamin and Harry sat in the small parlor at Fresh Water Plantation. Sipping whiskey and smoking their pipes, and discussing the broadsheets that had arrived that morning. More accurately, they discussed an advertisement placed in the broadsheet by Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton. The communique took up almost the entire front page of the four page news paper.

"A call to arms," Burwell muttered. "How many from these parts will answer, do you think?"

"More than I'd care to admit," Benjamin replied. "Pembroke is almost all Patriot, as is Kingstree. Not many of us will be taking Tarleton up on his offer. But closer to where he is up in Amelia, you get more Loyalists there - in Orangeburg Township too. If I were him, I'd wait until I had at least double my numbers before attempting to push back toward us."

"Yes, me too. Christ, he'd double his numbers if he recruits from Amelia and Orangeburg," Harry agreed. "Well, at least we know he won't be moving from Amelia in a hurry - he will have to stay put and wait for all those good little Tory's to come to him."

"Yes, he is still a long way off from us yet, but he'll be pushing down the Santee - when he gets here, we'll be in for some trouble," Benjamin fretted. "If he knew you were camped here, with only one hundred men…"

"It'd be a massacre," Burwell finished when Benjamin trailed off.

"Are you going to make a break for it, then? Try and circle around him to get back to Gates?" Benjamin asked as he sucked on his pipe.

Burwell shook his head.

"No, I'd only risk encountering Tarleton along the way. I'll wait here until he's movements are clearer, get a feel for where he's going to be, and then slip back down into Hellhole Swamp, join the rest of my men in hiding there."

"That's what I'd do, if I were you," Benjamin nodded agreement. It was best to just stay put for now - at least they knew where Tarleton was and that was still miles away. Hellhole Swamp was the perfect place to retreat to, to lay low until the coast was clear and Burwell could circle by Tarleton and the other British forces out there, to get back up to Gates.

"Ever since the British appeared in the harbour, it's been a disaster for us," Burwell said. "My Continentals are scattered. The militia is in disarray."

"Mark is going to try to rally them, Harry -"

"Mark will get a few, I'm sure. But Gods, Tarleton is going after Marion's militiamen, he will force them to take Cornwallis up on his Amnesty. He's burning storage houses, murdering Patriot men, trying to turn the rest to their side! How many of ours will join him, Ben?"

"I don't know," Benjamin said helplessly.

Mark Putman was still trying to recruit men to his new militia, with the help of Captain Frank Doyle formerly of Marion's militia, and a few of Benjamin's men, from his old unit. Their aim was to try to coax Marion's militia to form up again, after slinking away to their homes after Marion's demise. Burwell had need of a sizeable enough force to help him and his one hundred take Camden. A messenger was also being sent to Thomas Sumter, whose militia group was three hundred strong. Burwell hoped the various militias would join his small band of Continentals in the attack against Camden.

"All I can say is, start praying," Benjamin said and Burwell heaved a frustrated breath. They were quiet for some time, before Benjamin began to express his own fears and frustrations. "Jesus, the next two Banns can't come quickly enough for me," he sighed.

"You want Beth off your hands already, aye?" Burwell asked as he took a sip of his rum.

"If it means taking her away from here, then yes," Benjamin replied. "Gods, Harry. He's coming for her."

"As we suspected he would."

"He knows she betrayed him. If he gets hold of her…"

"I will not allow that to happen," Harry said firmly. "I'm as worried about her as you are, old friend. I will not allow her to fall into his hands, of that I vow."

"Do you think… Do you think we should bring the wedding forward?" Benjamin asked. He'd been considering this for a few days now, ever since Beth took him aside and confessed to him what had been hiding in Mary Ferguson's letter. Concealed in the packet had been one from Colonel Tavington. Beth had received a letter from Tavington, a letter that made it abundantly clear that he knew of her betrayal and he intended to come to her, he was going to punish her. A flogging, he'd said. Gods, how was Benjamin supposed to protect her?

"Do you want to bring the wedding forward?" Burwell asked.

"I… we should at least discuss it. I'm helpless to protect her here, Harry. After the wedding, you could take her with you down into Hell Hole Swamp, where you'll be hidden away, with one hundred men to protect her."

"And when he comes here, demanding to see her?" Burwell asked.

"I'll tell him she's with her husband," Benjamin replied. "Hell, I'll tell Tavington that you've quite the war and've taken her to Raleigh."

Burwell laughed softly. "Yes, I'm certain he'll be convinced that is true. You're right, she's not safe here. As my wife, she'll be able to accompany me, and I'll be able to hide her, with my men to protect her." He was nodding. "Of course, she'll be living rough, which is not ideal. She might get sick in the swamps. And what about when I need to move out from there? I still intend to take Camden, I won't be idle for much longer, Ben. As soon as I've got enough men, I'll be leaving Pembroke completely. You don't want your daughter on the march with me. And I don't want my wife on the march with me, either."

"Well, it's not as though he's going to stay here, is it? Tavington, I mean. I need her safely away for when he arrives, but like you, he can't linger. He'll be sent by his Superiors to wherever they need him to go. Camden for instance, when you attack it. As soon as he's gone from here, Beth can come home. I'll be able to keep my daughter - your wife - safe here, after he's gone. But before? I just…"

"It's certainly a discussion to be had," Burwell agreed.

"The second reading is only four days away - we'll discuss the possibility with Oliver and see what he says - he might have some moral reason against it."

"I doubt that," Burwell said. "Not when we tell him the reasons why."

"Perhaps."

"I wish she hadn't burned the damned letter," Burwell grumbled. "If we had that to show Oliver, it'd give our concerns more weight."

"Well, neither of us are one to jump at shadows," Benjamin said. "So if he sees we're jumping at this, that should be enough."

Burwell nodded, agreeing.

They heard voices approaching from outside the house, heavy foot falls trotting onto the wooden verandah. The front door opened and eventually Gabriel entered the parlor, with several plain clothed men in tow.

"Rollins!" Benjamin roared, lurching from his chair to greet his friend. He belatedly remembered the women and children were all asleep, for the hour was quite late. He lowered his voice as he pounded Rollins hard on the back.

"Martin," Rollins returned the backslaps, then turned to Burwell. He stood to attention, having been one of Harry's troop back in the day. Burwell scoffed and greeted his former Lieutenant in much the same way Benjamin had, with hearty slaps to the mans back. Another man was entering, Robert Miller - otherwise known as Curly. More backslaps and much fuss later and the men were again seated, all with whiskey in their hands, as they told their tale in grave voices.

"So I went straight away to me own place," Rollins was saying. "But my sons convinced me that there's safety in numbers. We couldn't stay there though, with Bloody Ban coming after anyone who served in the Patriot militia. Hell will freeze over before I accept Cornwallis' Amnesty so if we're caught at our farm, we'll hang for sure."

"Where's Huddy?" Burwell asked gravely.

"He's gone to ground," Rollins informed the Colonel. After Banastre Tarleton attacked Captain Huddy in his home and took the militiaman prisoner, Rollins had alerted his unit, rallying what was left of the men, and they had rescued Huddy. "It was a hot and fierce fight - that Tarleton fights like a Goddamned demon from Hell. But we got Huddy away, though now he wants to lay low with his wife and daughters."

"Damn and blast it," Burwell muttered. "Now, when I need them most, everyone wants to lay low! Putman is having a hell of a time trying to rouse Marion's militia to return, Sumter is struggling to get new recruits; Jesus, what does that mean for my intentions toward Camden?"

Benjamin grew stiff, expecting Burwell to start in on him about joining again. He would be under even more pressure now, with both Marion's militia dissolved and - perhaps - Huddy's disbanded as well. Burwell was determined to take Camden while it was weak, but his forces were dwindling out from under him.

"Yeh, well, the rest of the unit has scattered," Rollins confirmed and Burwell threw his arms up, looking furious. "They're all trying to get to their homes before Tarleton arrives. They're going to try to get their families away, or try to make it look like they never left. As I said, I got to my sons but we've decided we can't just stay there on the farm and wait for him. There's so many British up that way, I haven't seen so many farmsteads burning all at once in… well… ever."

"Well, you're welcome to stay here," Benjamin said. Though where he was to put them… Benjamin sighed in resignation. He already had upward of a hundred Continentals living on the property in the makeshift cabins they'd built. Then again, what was a few more men thrown into the bargain? Though they were no longer Regulars serving in the army, these men were on Benjamin's own unit and he'd not abandon them now. "Welcome home, boys," he said, inclining his head and lifting his glass of whiskey. The men exchanged smiles of relief and, imitating Benjamin, downed their whiskey's in one gulp.

* * *

_Charlestown:_

Tavington and Bordon sat on the hard wooden chairs, waiting in the antechamber to be called into the chamber beyond.

"Banastre has arrived at Amelia," Tavington said quietly. "There has already been a flood of complaints from Colonials. Rebels, of course."

"Do you think he has summoned us to discuss Tarleton then?" Bordon asked dubiously.

"It better bloody not be," William replied. He stretched his long legs out before him and crossed them at the ankles, one boot over the other. "I don't want to stand there and listen to how Ban has single handedly destroyed Huddy's rebel militia."

"Ban has had his successes out there," Bordon agreed. "But so have we. Marion's militia has melted away like last seasons snow and Marion himself is dead. Ban might have scattered Huddy's militia but he lost his captive. With Huddy on the loose, who knows how long it'll be before his men begin forming up again? Amelia Township might become problematic again in short order."

William nodded. "You're telling me I should not be envious of the praise Tarleton has been receiving?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. His was a half measure of success. Our success was complete."

William laughed softly. "Yes. Marion's Santee militia will be in disarray for some time. I can't see them being able to reestablish themselves anytime soon."

"Not with hunting down each and every one of them as soon as we're despatched to the Santee," Bordon agreed. "When caught, their choice will be to accept Cornwallis' Amnesty, or face a hanging. I can see it already, each and every Goddamned rebel will try their best to convince us they are good little Loyalists and never served a day with the militia."

"Hmm. That will not save their farms," William observed. "If it is terror Clinton and Cornwallis want, then it's terror these locals will get."

"Just think of all the horses we'll gain!" Bordon said excitedly. William scoffed a laugh, one of their other objectives would be to outfit the Dragoons with horses. They'd purchase them, or take them, from the Colonial farmsteads.

"The sooner we leave the better, I'm getting tired of Charlestown," Bordon said now. "It's time to move on, get back in the saddle."

"Before your arse gets too soft?" Tavington taunted and Bordon laughed. William continued in a dark tone, "I couldn't agree more, Richard. It's time to leave." William closed his eyes, his thoughts on Beth. He wondered where she was now, and what she was doing. Was she thinking of him, as he did her? She was a constant bombardment inside his head, his thoughts never strayed far from her. His stomach twisted as he remembered that horror filled moment, when she was about to throw herself into the river, he would be forever grateful to the woman - her aunt, he knew - for pulling her back. She would have drowned, her skirts would have dragged her to the bottom of the river and she would have died. He'd never see her again, he'd be mourning her 'til the end of days.

"... Harmony," Bordon finished and Tavington started. He had been so consumed with thoughts of Beth that he had not heard a word the Captain had said.

"Ah..." He said, searching his memory for what his Captain had been saying.

"You weren't listening, were you?" Richard accused testily.

"Sorry -"

"Sorry you were so lost in a daze that you didn't hear a word I said?" Bordon arched an eyebrow. "Am I sitting here by myself?"

"You will be soon," Tavington muttered. "What were you saying?"

"Yes, because I truly enjoy repeating myself," Bordon complained. "I was just saying that the Middleton twins are causing some problems. It seemed the Redcoat has gone to their heads and the twins have been strutting about in taverns like a couple of peacocks. Harmony said she saw them at the Mighty George - she was working when the twins came in and within minutes a brawl started."

"Christ," Tavington muttered. "I never thought those two would be the type to bust up taverns."

"No, they are not like us at all," Bordon said with a straight face. He and William had caused their fair share of trouble over the last four years in the Colonies. William scoffed at the comment and Bordon continued. "Anyway, Harmony told me in the hope that you would settle the boys back on their heels."

"Certainly," William said. "It will be as I said, no more carousing. I'll have to crack down on the entire troop it seems, if Arthur Simms is not the only culprit. You and I will need to modify our own conduct from this point forward."

"There is nothing wrong with my conduct," Richard announced primly and Tavington snorted.

"Firstly, we both drink to excess," Tavington began counting points off his fingers. "Secondly, we game too much in public taverns. Thirdly, we both openly keep mistresses."

"I hope you're not suggesting I give Harmony up?" Richard said, aghast at the idea.

"No, but we need to learn discretion. I have decided that when we leave, Linda will keep her own tent - away from the Dragoons section. You will do the same with Miss Jutland. We might as well begin now, while we're in Charlestown."

"At the Putman's? Then you'll have to stop all that caterwauling from Linda," Richard bantered, relieved that William was still allowing Harmony to come to camp.

"I'll shove a gag in her mouth," William chuckled. "We can still play cards, gamble and get soused, but only amongst ourselves in the privacy of the Putman's. When we are at camp, we shall only play and drink in the privacy of the Officer's quarter of camp."

"In other words," Bordon laughed, "we can do as we wish, but we must do so on the sly?"

"It boils down to that, yes," William smirked. "As I said, discretion, Bordon. Discretion."

Bordon shifted on his hard seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. He wondered how much longer the Commander in Chief was going to be, he had summoned them and then kept them waiting for almost a half hour! He was getting bored and surly. And his backside was beginning to hurt on the hard seat.

"Perhaps you are right, my arse is getting too soft," Richard lamented aloud.

The men fell silent. Tavington sat back with his head resting against the wall, his eyes closed.

* * *

"Ah, Gentlemen," Clinton called across the chamber as Tavington and Bordon approached. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Some pressing news has reached me from New York and I needed to get some orders away on the hour."

"Nothing too calamitous, I hope?" Tavington commiserated.

"It is not ideal but the situation shall be dealt with. Please sit, both of you," Clinton suited his words by sitting at the large oak table he used for his council session. "I have some good news for you both"

"Good news, Sir?" Tavington arched an eyebrow, feeling his first stirrings of hope. Good news was exactly what he needed to lift his spirits and if the news was what he thought it was... He kept nothing showing on his face but his heart began beating faster and he leaned in almost eagerly.

"Yes, indeed," Clinton smiled. "Not only has His Majesty King George accepted your application to have your post of Lieutenant Colonel made official, he has promoted you. Please allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Colonel William Tavington."

Clinton sat back with a small smile and watched his adjutants face. Bordon was smiling broadly but Tavington - his jaw dropped, hung open like a swinging door.

"Full Colonelcy?" He breathed finally. "Sir, are you certain... There must be some mistake -"

"No mistake," Clinton smiled, taking great pleasure in providing the news. "King George writes that you have exceeded all expectations. I myself recommended you for the post, as Colonel Walters was about to be promoted to General, leaving a void in the rank."

"Congratulations!" Bordon slapped the bemused Tavington on the back with such force William almost toppled from his chair. "You deserve it!"

"He certainly does," Clinton agreed. "Though I admit it may cause some contention between you and Banastre Tarleton."

There was already plenty of that - contention between them. Though the friendship had alway been strong, Tavington and Tarleton had always competed against one another. Both purchased the commissions at approximately the same time, joining Dragoon Companies as Junior Officers, Cornets. Both distinguished themselves to their Superiors and were promoted at the same time to Captains in their own units. In recent years, the two received field promotions, Brevet Lieutenant Colonels - both held the full authority of that rank, but with only half the pay. When they were no longer needed in that capacity, both would revert to their formal rank - that of Captain. Both wanting more, they had applied to the War Office to have their Brevet rank formalised. Clinton had just told Tavington that not only had his been accepted, but he'd been promoted as well. Tarleton's had been rejected and that was most certainly not going to sit well with him.

"Rejected?" Tavington whispered. "On what grounds?" He still could not quite believe it. Full Colonelcy! For himself, but not for Tarleton. "He's had many successes, Sir," he found himself defending his friend. "He deserves this as much as I do."

"Yes, but that is not the question," Clinton said. "You've both enjoyed a meteoric climb through the ranks since you joined, William. There has been much jealousy among the other Officers, a fair amount of disgruntlement, as you already know. Much of this has been directed toward Tarleton, for his… air… is far less humble than yours."

"Humble?" Richard asked with a soft snort.

"Well, perhaps not humble as such," Clinton laughed. "But Tavington is not overtly proud as Tarleton, who is far more inclined to prance about, fanning out his beautiful tail feather."

Richard and William exchanged a startled glance. The Commander and Chief had just called Banastre a peacock!

"There is not as much jealousy toward you," Clinton explained. "Your promotion will not cause half as much disgruntlement. Besides, there was only the one position available, and I knew you were the right choice for it. Give it six months or so, young Banastre will receive the same." Clinton waved his hand to dismiss the topic. "You are now full Colonel in your own right, you will receive the full pay that the rank comes with, no longer the half pay of a Brevet. And when the war is over, you will retire as a Colonel, not revert back to Captain. Congratulations, Colonel Tavington."

"Lord, I've been called that for two years," William whispered. "But it sounds so much more different now."

"It carried a different weight, does it not?" Clinton asked, amused.

"Yes. And thank you, Sir."

"You're very welcome," Clinton turned to Bordon. "Captain Bordon, you may be wondering why I summoned you also. I have the very great pleasure of informing you that you have been promoted also. Congratulations, Major Bordon."

Bordon's jaw dropped now.

"Ah, well, th - thank you, Sir," he managed after several attempts.

"You're welcome. You deserve to be promoted as much as Tavington here. We never did replace Major MacIntyre when he resigned and I believe there are more than enough Captain's in the British Legion, don't you?"

Bordon smiled with pleasure and nodded. He exchanged excited glances with Tavington, who was finally coming to accept the news of his new rank.

Colonel William Tavington...

A swell of pride and pleasure spread through his body. Ambitious by nature, William mused on how he was only one step away to being raised to General Tavington - it was only one skip stone away now. Easily attainable. And then Brigadier General from there...

"...New York," Clinton was saying. His words pulled Tavington from his revery. "Shortly. You will be placed under Cornwallis before I leave."

"You will be missed, Sir," Tavington said.

"And I shall miss you, Colonel," Clinton replied genuinely. He had grown quite fond of his protege and was loathe to give him up to Cornwallis. They were at war however and Tavington's skills would be put to better use helping to quell South Carolina and the rebel militia.

* * *

Tavington was in perfect contentment, on top of the world, on the ride back to the Putman residence. Bordon had collected Harmony from the small room she rented over a cobbler shop, on the way from the Assembly Hall.

"To celebrate my promotion with my woman," he had explained to William, who understood completely. He considered sending for Linda as he trotted his horse into the yard at the back of Putman's manor. However, he had some work to do first, before he could settle in for the day with Linda. He had appropriated Mark's office for his own use and he headed there now.

As soon as he sat behind Mark's desk, he began writing a letter to his mother, informing her of his promotion. It would please her, he knew, and might - to some extent - lessen her disappointment. His letter informing his mother that he had decided to end his engagement to Miss Eleanor Price would still be aboard ship, making its way to England. She would learn the news in less than two months and William knew she would be less than pleased. But his promotion should cheer her somewhat. Once he finished the letter, he began a new one, now sharing the news of his promotion with his fiancé. He had originally planned to wait for Beth to reply to his first letter before writing to her, but now he found he was far too excited. Surely she would be pleased for him, despite the troubles between them. He had filled almost half the sheet of parchment with his neat writing when a knock sounded on the heavy oak door, three sharp taps which were followed by Captain James Wilkins. The Colonial Captain held a broadsheet in his hands and his face was set in an uncharacteristically grave expression.

"Ah, Wilkins," William greeted him with a small smile. He placed his quill down and closed the ink bottle to keep the dark liquid from drying out. "Have you heard the news?"

James eyebrows shot up with surprise. He took a seat opposite William, his grave expression shifting to bemusement. The broadsheet in his hand - the Anglican News - bore an announcement that James believed Tavington would certainly not be happy about. But William was smiling complacently.

"Ah, no, I have not," James said finally, deciding the two men must have had very different news to share.

"I was summoned by Clinton not long ago," William sat back in his chair and rested his arms to either side of him. Clearly at his ease, self satisfaction wafted from him. "He informed me that I have been promoted. I have been raised to Colonel - full rank, not brevet."

"Jesus!" Wilkins bellowed, the news sheet in his hand forgotten for the moment. Pleased and excited for the Officer, he reached across the desk and clasped William's hand. "Congratulations, Sir! What an achievement, Colonel in only four years!"

"Indeed," William drew his hand back, a small smile on his lips as he preened under Wilkins praise.

"You'll be a General soon," James predicted. "Be sure you don't forget your friends, when you've risen to the loftier heights!"

Tavington laughed.

"I won't forget, Wilkins. More good news - Bordon was raised to Major -"

"That is good news!" James asserted.

The two discussed the promotions for sometime, talking at length of what it would mean to the Legion, the political and military changes that would now occur due to the two promotions. At length, the discussion drew to a natural end and William now broached James' purpose for coming to him.

"Now, what do you have for me?" He quirked his eyebrows and glanced down at the broadsheet in James' hand, assuming there was information contained in its pages that needed to be bought to his attention.

"Oh, yes," James startled and glanced at the broadsheet, his pleased expression becoming grave once more. "My wife Emily handed this to me a short while ago. The Anglican Bulletin, which has published the recent Banns for the outlying Counties."

Wilkins unfolded the broadsheet and laid it out on the desk. William frowned - what interest could reading the Banns be to him? James placed his finger on the broadsheet, pointing, and William began to read aloud.

"Reverend Oliver of Pembroke Parish had the extreme pleasure of announcing the following Banns to his Assemblage this past Sunday, June 25th 1780,. First, Miss -"

William cut short and stared at Beth's name with disbelief and horror. He finally continued softly.

"Miss Elizabeth Mary Martin of Pembroke Parish to Colonel Harry Burwell of Raleigh Parish, in the presence and with the blessing of Mr. Benjamin Martin." His eyes were fixed to the page as he stared darkly at the announcement.

"I thought you would wish to be informed immediately," Wilkins said nervously, breaking the silence. "I understand that Miss Martin accepted your proposal, Sir, but it seems quite clear that Benjamin Martin is opposed to the match and is forcing his daughter to marry Burwell instead," Wilkins said. A corner of William's mind heard him, though it was difficult to think through the shock that pierced him. "This is the punishment you predicted she would receive," Wilkins finished.

William's mind finally began to work, the words screaming through his head.

Beth was engaged. To Burwell.

"Wilkins, leave me," he commanded, too deep in his own tumult to care if he was being rude. Without a word James rose from his chair and left the office, closing the door behind him.


	32. Chapter 32 - The Brawl

Chapter 32 - The Brawl:

_Charlestown_

And still Tavington sat, motionless, trying to deal with the riot of emotions flooding through him, making him shudder from the sheer force of them.

Hopelessness, despair. He detested those feelings beyond anything. But there they were, hopelessness, despair, threatening to pull him under. A heavy weight settled on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He was on the brink of shattering into a thousand pieces. All of his carefully laid plans, all of his plotting and manoeuvring, all to secure her.

And it was all for nothing.

Beth Martin was engaged to Colonel Harry Burwell.

It chilled his blood. Ice was flowing through his veins.

For a moment he was set adrift, lost in the memory of his and Beth's confrontation at the Simms ball. He could still see her dark brown eyes, darkened further with fury as she glared up at him.

::::

_"Colonel Burwell is in love with me, he would never treat me as you do!" She spat up at him from the ground. "He is a better man than you!"_

_Tavington snarled. With snakelike swiftness he seized her by the throat with one hand, raised his other hand threateningly, ready to slap her._

_"Oh," Beth gasped quietly with fear, unable to pull out of his iron grip. The tableau held, Beth wide eyed and waiting for the blow to land as Tavington struggled to control his fury and bloodlust. He curled his lip and pushed her back onto the grass. Rising from her abruptly, he strode away._

::::

His right hand twitched now, tense with the need to squeeze, squeeze and keep squeezing, choking the life from something, anything.

Not from Beth, never Beth.

From Colonel Burwell.

From Benjamin Martin.

The same bloodlust he had felt that night during their fight blazed through him now. The frenzy, the battle fury that took over him when he engaged the enemy, now had him in its grip.

Burwell and Martin were the focus for it. The two men who would take Beth from him.

Her father who was most certainly a rebel. Her father who must know by now that William would be coming for Beth, was trying to put her outside of Tavington's reach.

Colonel Burwell - who would take Beth to his bed each night. To touch her, to kiss her. To feel her body, naked, alongside his. Burwell would climb on top of her, part her legs.

He would enter her.

Sweat beaded William's brow and he began to pant angrily - deep quick breaths. The blood fury would not leave him but he had no one to lash out at, no one to attack.

A knock was tapped on the door, this time followed by Arthur Simms. The Cornet closed the door behind him and approached warily. When he reached the desk he stood stock still before Tavington, who barely seemed to know he was there. Arthur swallowed hard, his eyes were wide and fearful as he gazed at the British Officer, who stared coldly, blindly.

Tavington seethed. Nothing but rage and emptiness, thats what they had left him with. Burwell and Martin. They were to blame, he'd make them pay. He'd flay them both alive, relish in their howls. Beth was his - he would hunt her, find her no matter where they concealed her, kill her husband if need be. By God, she was his and always would be.

"Sir?" Arthur whispered finally. He'd continued to stare at Tavington, dread curling along his spine. The Colonel was unaware of how positively unhinged he looked at that moment, his eyes cold and blazing, his face a mask of stone. His body stiff, his only movement were his fists curling and uncurling on the armrests of his chair. Arthur had heard the news, James had just told him. Tavington, raised to Colonel. Beth, engaged to Burwell. He had come to congratulate William but also to see if he was alright.

Clearly, he was not.

Arthur swallowed and tried again.

"Colonel?" He called softly, tentatively.

A cool, frigid calm stole over the Commandant. William focused his gaze, lifting his cold piercing eyes to meet Arthur's. Arthur felt his mouth go dry, he recoiled, taking a full step back.

"Get me Bordon," Tavington commanded softly in a terrible voice.

The Cornet turned and fled the room.

* * *

"Hmm, my Major," Harmony danced across the chamber and threw her arms around Bordon's neck. "It's going to take some getting used to, you realise? Major... Major... Sounds so strange - it's as if you've changed your name!"

"I know, it is strange for me also, I've been a Captain for so long," Bordon said as he disentangled himself from her arms and sat heavily on the bed to pull his boots off.

Harmony took a step back to regard him with concern.

"Out with it," she said finally and Richard glanced up at his lover in surprise.

"Out with it?" He smiled lewdly and placed his fingers on his belt buckle, unclasping it. "If you insist."

"Not out with that! Well, on second thoughts..." Harmony laughed and climbed up onto the bed, positioning herself on her knees behind him to massage his shoulders. "Tell me what is bothering you dear heart. You've been quiet, I thought you would've been happier about your promotion."

Her strong fingers dug deeply into his muscles in the exact right places.

"Hmm, perfect..." Bordon sighed deeply and leaned back against her chest. "What would I do without you?"

"There is always Linda, and the other women back at the tavern. You're a wealthy aristocrat, aren't you? You could replace me easily."

"The Hell I could," Bordon muttered, quite seriously. He took his enjoyment of Mage Putman when his need stirred and Harmony was not there to assuage it. But Harmony most definitely meant far more to him than Mage Putman.

"I think I like you like this, Major Dick."

Harmony was fond of calling Bordon 'Captain Dick', a play on his name and title which amused her no end.

Richard laughed. "Major Dick... That took quite a bit quicker than I'd thought."

"Hmm, I do have to get used to your new rank… From Captain Dick to Major Dick in the space of a morning. Tell me whats bothering you, dear heart."

"Darling, it's Tavington," he tilted his head back slightly to gaze up at her. "He has said we must be more discreet - especially now with our promotions. I had thought you would be sharing my tent when we make camp, but Tavington said you and Linda must keep to your own tents, you will not even be in the Officer's quarters."

"Oh," Harmony was crestfallen. Her hands fell limply to her sides and she settled back on her heels. "Truly? I had hoped we'd be living together."

"So had I," Bordon admitted. Turning to face her, he reached up to stroke her face gently. "I'm sorry, darling. Perhaps he'll change his mind, I'll certainly be working toward that. But at least at first, we will be living separately."

"I see," Harmony lowered her eyes and turned her face away.

"Oh, darling," Bordon took his lover into his strong arms. "All will be well. No other man would dare to approach you - they will all know you are mine. And I'll work on Tavington, I promise. You'll be sharing with me in a matter of weeks," or so he hoped. He didn't know for certain if William could be swayed - especially with their new promotions making it even more important that the two of them act with propriety. Their conduct needed to be above question, now more than ever.

"Do you really think so?" She turned to him with a hopeful expression. Bordon smiled and nodded, even more determined to work on Tavington as soon as they reached camp.

"I do, darling."

"Good," she smiled and placed her arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer to her on the bed. "Because I was looking forward to having you sleeping beside me," she leaned forward to brush her lips against his ear. "And I was looking forward to your morning kisses."

"Well, you could have both of those now if you would give up your room and move in here," he told her as her lips drifted down to his neck, a moist and very pleasant trail. It was a bone of contention between the pair - Harmony's need to maintain her independence for as long as she was able before the army moved out from Charlestown.

Instead of entering another argument about her wilfulness, Harmony murmured against his neck, "I thought I said out with it?"

"Hmm, so you did, how remise of me," Bordon whispered, allowing himself to be distracted.

He released his hold on her, then pulled his breeches down and off his legs. Harmony lay back against the pillows and with an inviting smile, pulled up her skirts. He gazed down at her thinking, perhaps for the hundredth time, what a lucky bastard he was to have her, his beautiful Colonial with her golden hair gleaming in the candle light, her eyes shining bright with anticipation, her legs already parted and waiting for him.

He moved up her body, staring down at her all the while. After a lingering kiss, he took his heavy erection in his hand and positioned himself at her entrance, entering her in one fluid movement. He had to close is eyes and hold himself still for the longest time, feeling almost overcome as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

When he rogered Mage - it was purely for release. Screwing to release his need, when Harmony was not there. When with Harmony, however… He heaved a profound sigh, leaned his weight on his arms above her and lowered his lips to hers. They kissed gently, their lips moving and gliding against each other.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, as he finally beginning to move. "The loveliest belle in the Colonies."

"Only the Colonies?" She teased breathlessly as they continued to kiss, their lips never more than an inch apart as his hips surged up and down fluidly, thrusting himself inside her.

"In the colonies, in England, in Ireland," he whispered back. "Though there may be a greater beauty elsewhere, I've yet to discover her."

Harmony smiled. She shifted her position slightly so he could hit the perfect angle.

"Mmm," she moaned, meeting his thrusts. "A little faster, dear heart."

"I'll come too quick," he chuckled.

"Let me on top then," she said, gripping his shoulders and guiding him off her. He slipped out as they adjusted their positions. She sat up and lifted one shapely thigh to straddle his hips. Taking hold of his now slick cock, she impaled herself with a hearty sigh.

The two began to move faster now, Bordon snarling with pleasure. He dug his fingers into Harmony's hips as she rode him, bucking her hips back and forth hard, forcing his length deeper inside her. The bed hit the wall with loud thumps, and Harmony cried out wildly in accompaniment to Bordon's grunts.

"Major?" Arthur banged his fist on the door.

"Give me a minute!" Bordon rasped. He lifted his head to watch his cock as it was buried into Harmony's velvety depths.

"Oh, no! Longer than that, please!" Harmony cried out.

Richard grunted as his mistress moaned loudly and ground hard against him. He continued to watch as she lifted herself up until he almost slipped out of her, then pushed back down on him with force.

"It's urgent, Sir!" Arthur called through the door.

"Is Charlestown under attack?" Richard growled. He bucked his hips up in time with his lover, their pleasure not abating, despite Arthur's interruption.

"Ah, no Sir, but -"

"Then give me a fucking minute!" Richard snarled loudly. He heard Arthur's footfalls retreat.

"Do not disturb Major Richard Bordon when he is in the middle of a good rogering, for anything less than a full scale invasion!" Harmony laughed and bucked faster.

Richard sat up and kissed her hard on the mouth, and the woman groaned with pleasure as their tongues met and duelled.

"Oh, I'm so close!" She whimpered against his lips. A few more thrusts and she'd be done for! Well, so would he, for that matter.

"Sir!" Again that thumping against the door and Richard seriously considered murdering Cornet Arthur Simms. He even began to plan just how he'd do it. Some rope, a pistol. No - a long dagger, he'd kill the boy slowly... "Colonel Tavington says if you don't get your… Ah… that is, if you don't come down to his office now, he'll… ah…" Arthur paused, clearly not wishing to deliver William's true command. "Sir, Colonel Tavington has summoned you."

"Why the hell didn't you say so before!" Bordon growled with frustration. He continued more gently, "sorry, darling, duty calls." With that, he lifted Harmony off his length and deposited her unceremoniously on the bed beside him.

"Richard!" Harmony cried out with fury. She really had been so close!

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he stumbled off the bed to his feet. He jerked his breeches up around his hips, buttoning them across his hard cock. He would be aching for the rest of the evening, he knew. And Harmony would be too. That was another bone of contention between them - the amount time his lover spent working at the Mighty George. They would not be able to couple with one another again until the morning.

"You really are a Major Dick!" Harmony said crossly as she shoved her skirts around her thighs. She sat back on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Darling," Richard said. "I can't ignore a summons from Tavington − he's my Commander! If it was anyone else… But I can't, darling. Not when he knows we're in here rogering… He'd have me in irons!" He stamped his feet into his boots, then leaned over the bed to kiss her.

"Oh, no you don't!" She said furiously and climbed off the bed on the other side, keeping the bed between them. With a sharp glare she folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes flashed as she continued, "there's no time for that either! You've been summoned!"

"I'll make it up to you!" he promised as he opened the door.

"You'd better. And you tell Tavington he still owes me a bloody comb!" she raged as she strode around the bed. "He never did replace my one that he broke!"

Bordon chuckled and shut the door. Harmony shrieked, frustrated and picked up a pillow to throw at the closed door.

* * *

_Hopefully he'll be quick and I can get back to mollify Harm._ Bordon thought as he trotted through the corridors and down the wide staircase toward Putman's office. Bordon knew only too well how frustrating it was, to be so close to climax only to be hauled back from the brink. It left a person gasping, desolate and empty. Unfulfilled. As he was feeling just then - he'd been close himself, after all.

"What is this about?" He growled at Arthur, who kept pace with him.

"He'll tell you," Arthur said softly. "Though I don't know what he thinks you'll do about it."

Bordon frowned at the cryptic remark but before he could quiz the young Cornet further, they had arrived at William's office. Bordon spied Wilkins and several other Officers milling in the hallway outside the parlor a little further along the hall, each wearing a grave expression.

"Well, apparently they know what this is about," Bordon muttered. He opened the door without knocking and entered - leaving Arthur to join his comrades down the hall.

"This better be good," Richard announced as he shut the door. "Harmony's in a right rage upstairs." William made no response as Bordon crossed the room to sit across from him. Without so much a smile, William wordlessly slid a broadsheet - the 'Anglican Bulletin' across the desk toward Richard. "What's this?" He asked, picking up the broadsheet and scanning its contents.

When he spoke, William's voice was colder than a winter's night.

"The Official Publication of Miss Elizabeth Martin's formal betrothal to Colonel Harry Burwell."

Each word was pronounced deliberately in a crisp tone. Richard glanced up and met William's gaze, shocked to the core.

"Jesus Christ!" He whispered finally.

William held his silence, staring darkly as Richard began to read the publication for himself. He stared at Beth's name with disbelief.

"I'm sorry, William," he said finally, tossing the broadsheet to the desk in front of him.

Rising stiffly, his face stony and unyielding, William stepped away from the desk to stand before the window.

"Damned bastard is forcing her to marry Burwell," he drawled finally without turning. "Her father."

"None of this makes any sense," Richard said. "Miss Martin betrayed Burwell. He must want to punish her, surely? Unless… Unless she has somehow managed to convince him otherwise. But why would her father still want to marry her off to Burwell? It's not because Burwell is wealthy and Martin is not, we know that was a lie told by Putman. Martin is wealthy. And a Loyalist. Why marry his daughter to a man she betrayed? Unless Martin doesn't know she did. Does he know we tried to capture Burwell, that Miss Martin helped us?" Richard frowned at William's back. "It doesn't make sense, William. None of this fits."

"Trying to understand how it all fits is useless. A waste of time. She's engaged to Burwell, she's in his hands, they are going to get married," William's voice was death.

As disturbing as this news was, Richard was uncertain why Tavington had summoned him. Arthur had been right, he could do nothing about this, not a damned thing. The only thing he could do was listen, for there was not a damned thing he could say that would make this any easier for William to bear.

Tavington's jaw worked, his fists clenched and relaxed, clenched again.

Perplexed, Richard leaned back in his seat and studied Tavington carefully, wondering exactly what it was that the Colonel wanted from him. There was nothing he could do about the engagement, no way to stop Beth from marrying another man. Especially when her own father was supporting the match - a father's authority over his child was absolute. And how could Martin call himself a Loyalist yet be in Burwell's company without letting the British know his whereabouts.

"This will be the second time," Richard said, frowning. William turned back to him, a question on his grief stricken face. "Martin. He committed treason by quartering Burwell for the night at Fresh Water. And he's doing it again now, he knows Burwell's whereabouts, has been in his company, and has done nothing. Nothing we know of, anyway. He's committing treason, no matter what Putman said about Martin's -" Richard cut off, the blood draining from his face. "Was Putman lying about Martin all along? Was Martin a Patriot all along? Gods, that fits, William. It fits! Martin is -"

"She's being forced to marry another man!" Tavington hissed, cutting Richard off short. Richard drew back in his chair. Yes, his suspicions would need to be explored - and not only by him, but by Tavington as well. But perhaps… perhaps now was not the best time. Martin was far away, it was not as though he could be taken into custody on the moment. And here was Tavington, grief stricken, heart broken, needing something from Richard now. What he needed was not accusations against Mr. Martin. Or even against Miss Martin herself - Richard recalled William's suspicion that night, he'd suspected Miss Martin of being the one to warn Burwell of the ambush. She held Patriotic beliefs. She'd herself tried to claim that her father was a Loyalist - but clearly, the man wasn't. Which meant she had been lying all along too.

He ground his teeth - he would need to ask Mage a few question about this; but later. For now, William was waiting for Richard to do something, though it was doubtful even the Colonel knew what that was. The woman William loved was being forced to marry another man - William's enemy. The enemy Officers had faced one another in the field. And now the enemy officer was about to 'get the girl'.

How would Bordon feel, if he were in Tavington's shoes? Furious, jealous. Heartsore, impotent, helpless for there really was _NOTHING_ William could do about it. Burwell and Benjamin Martin were both far from William's reach. So, what could Bordon do about it? How could he help William? The Colonel had summoned him, he wanted Bordon to do something…

_How do I help him?_ Richard mused, tapping his lips with his finger as he stared at William's back. Not as a fellow Officer of the military, but as a friend. _He is edgy, he needs to be doing something_, Bordon thought. _He needs to act, yet he can't move against Burwell or Martin now. But he needs to… he needs to lash out…_ That was it - he finally got it. William needed an outlet for his rage. Bordon abruptly realised exactly how he could help William now. "Sir, I feel like heading out tonight," he began. "Not to our regular haunts, but somewhere a little more… Uncivilised. The docks perhaps? There are plenty little taverns of the more… rugged kind." William tilted his chin, gazing down at Bordon with an interested expression. "We'll get Wilkins and the boys, hmm?" Bordon continued. "Let's say you we forget this mandate you have put out - just for tonight. I feel like getting thoroughly soused."

"We will need to wear our day clothes," William mused softly. "It won't do to be seen in our Uniforms."

"I couldn't agree more," Richard said as he rose from his seat. "The dockside taverns mind - I want to taste the seedier side of Charlestown this evening."

"We shan't be recognised there, either," William confirmed, then continued darkly, "this could be just the thing. If I cant deal with Burwell or Martin, the damned rebel bastards, then any Patriot will do."

_So, he does acknowledge it. Good. _Leaving that train of thought for another time, Bordon grinned. "My thoughts exactly. And after we've had our fill of drinking in at the dockside taverns, we'll get ourselves a doxy or too and spend the rest of the night tumbling."

"Very good," the Colonel nodded decisively and followed Bordon from the Office. The other Officers were still milling about, waiting uncertainly. When they saw the Commandant and Adjutant emerge, they came to attention - gazing warily at William.

"We've decided to head out for the evening," Richard announced now, addressing them all. "To celebrate our promotions. You coming?"

"Hell yes," Wilkins face split into a grin and the other men relaxed also, all of them exchanging pleased smiles.

The Officers changed into their usual clothes and headed out, even though the late afternoon sun was still shining brightly. They called and laughed to one another as they mounted their horses and headed from the yard.

Only William was resolutely silent, his face still dark and stormy. His eyes, however - they were narrowed and focused. His fists tensed with the need to punch something. A small, cruel smile of anticipation curled the edges of his mouth.

* * *

Pain flared in his jaw and Richard could taste the sharp metallic tang of his own blood.

"Wanna have another go, do yeh?" The Patriot bellowed.

Bordon wiped his hand across his face, glanced down to see the glistening dark spot of blood on his leather glove. Lifting his gaze, he smiled at the Patriot.

"Hell, yes," he stated, then his left hook struck toward the grizzly man's unshaven jaw. It was merely a feint however. The rebel blocked the blow but Bordon cut in low to punch the man's fleshy stomach. The rebel groaned and bent over himself, clutching his gut and gasping for breath.

Richard glanced around briefly to see how his comrades were faring. Colonel Tavington, Captain Wilkins, the Middleton twins, Cornet Arthur Simms, Cornet Brownlow and Ensign Dalton - the latter both British born and bred. The men were fighting valiantly in the confines of the shoddy taverns common room, despite the greater numbers of rebels fighting them. There was a roar of noise, men bellowing with pain and anger, screaming insults, taunts and threats.

The evening had started out tame enough, but that hadn't lasted long. The Officers intended to spend the evening drinking a rioting, fighting Patriot Colonials. They rode directly to the docks where the coarsest of inns could be found, drinking a round or two of whiskey at each of them. They found card games here, dice games there, becoming increasingly drunk as the evening wore on. None of the pubs had met their requirements, however and so they had moved on, stumbling now as they continued their search.

Finally, they stopped, swaying and weaving on their feet before the tavern, gazing up at the sign above the door. The paint on the sign was chipped and fading against the wood, but they could still read the writing. "Abbotts Tavern", with a picture of a wine bottle and a keg of ale drawn above it.

What caught their attention however, was the tiny little flag that had been painted in the upper left corner of the sign. It was clear the flag was a recent addition to the sign, for the paint depicting it was bold and bright, almost glaring against the brown wood. The small flag bore thirteen rows of horizontal stripes, alternating red then white, red then white. And a circle of thirteen white, five pointed stars on a field of blue in the canton - the corner box of the flag.

This was the flag which had been gaining popularity amongst the Patriots, it represented their Cause and their unity. If the owner of the inn would go to the trouble of painting that flag onto his sign, then it was clear he wished only fellow Patriots to patron his fine establishment. It was doubtful that Loyalists would be welcome, and British soldiers? Certainly not.

The hum of noise coming from within was an indication of how full the tavern common room was. Any sensible Loyalist would continue on his merry way, to enjoy the evening amongst like minded people. Not so Tavington, Bordon and the lads.

"This is it. I think we've found what we were looking for, boys!" Bordon announced drunkenly. The un-uniformed soldiers exchanged expectant smiles - all except William who still wore that focused, deadly expression.

Finally, the evening could truly begin. They filed into the taverns common room. All seemed peaceful enough, men sitting at the tables, drinking and gambling, a low hum of noise. Tavington led the way deeper into the room toward an empty table. They received the occasional odd glance from the other patrons but no one spoke to them or made any move to challenge them as they took seats around their chosen table.

Though no signal was given, the out of uniform Officers immediately began to speak loudly, their words designed to deliberately provoke the Patriot's. Tavington was silent throughout, his gaze cold and intent. Bordon, Brownlow and Dalton made up for him, however. They pitched their voices high, speaking loudly enough for their British accents to be heard a few tables away.

Instantly the other patrons began to tense, falling silent and glaring at the newcomers. Though they were becoming increasingly strained, still none of them offered challenge. That was until Wilkins began speaking of Loyalty and the good King George in the loudest voice he could muster. The situation began to heat up then, and it escalated quickly.

"Sir," a rough voice called from another table. The coarse voice belonged to an older man, grizzly and unshaven. "You need to sit down and shut the Hell up."

"Sorry, Sir," Wilkins rose from his seat and called back across the room. He hung his head with feigned contrition. "I dare say you are quite right. Shall I buy you a drink, good Sir? Hell, I'll buy the entire tavern a round, what say you?" This was met with grumbles of reconciliation as the rebels thought Wilkins was trying to smooth their ruffled feathers. Besides, not a single one of them would say 'no' to a complimentary drink, even if the one paying was a Loyalist. But then Wilkins continued… "I know, we'll drink a toast!" He called out enthusiastically, glancing around the table at his companions. "To the grace and longevity of His Majesty King George!"

"Here, here!" The Loyalists called and drank their whiskeys down, slamming their goblets to the table and drunkenly patting each other on the back.

A deadly hush descended in the common room as the Patriots were silenced. The entire lot of them, at least twenty-five men, tensed and stiffened. Wilkins, sensing he achieved the desired outcome, sat down with a very contented and smug smile.

"You, my lads, need to leave," a lone rebel a few tables away spoke into the silence, standing up and stepping into the aisle between the tables. "Before it starts getting hairy in here."

It was clear he was trying to do the Gentlemanly thing and give the boys the opportunity to escape before a fray began.

Tavington eyed the Patriot up and down. The rebel was tall, lean, broad of shoulders. Strong and muscular under his jacket and vest, clearly he was a fighting man. Dark of hair - blue of eyes. Much like Tavington himself only the Colonial gentleman was older, by nearly twenty years. His face was lined with approaching age. His features were common to these parts but this particular man was strongly reminiscent of Colonel Burwell. Indeed, by his looks, the man could have been Burwell's slightly younger brother.

He fit the bill exactly, Tavington finally had a the target he craved. The poor soul on which he could exact his vengeance and release his blood fury. He'd been spoiling for a fight all evening but so far, the other taverns had not accommodated him. His fury over Beth's engagement was such that he needed something to punch, something to smash! Deprived of Burwell and Martin, he didn't truly care who the person was. By now, any damned Patriot would do.

"Ah, but it's hairy we desire," the wrath filled Tavington drawled, also rising to his feet.

He shoved his stool back from his legs - it scraped loudly across the floor. He had not drunk as much as the other Officers, choosing not to dull his anger and thirst for vengeance. He wanted to be focused, a knocked and drawn arrow. He wanted to spill blood, to flay the bastards alive. The hilt of the dagger he kept down the inside of one boot pressed firmly into his leg as he moved. Tavington's lips curled in a cruel and dangerous smile.

"Damned English dandies are not welcome here," the man who could have been Burwell's twin growled, low and menacing. "I'll give you this last chance for you and your companions to leave. You're being here can only end in your death."

As the Burwell lookalike was not privy to Tavington's ulterior motive for being in the tavern, the Patriot thought he could talk the Officer down from a fight and send him on his way. With menacing expressions, the other Patriots waited to discover Tavington's decision.

A dark chuckle escaped William's lips and he stepped away from the table.

Then, to Bordon's utter horror, William strode away from the safety of his comrades, marching purposefully into the Patriot's midst. He stalked across the room toward the rebel man - the one he had chosen to confront one on one. William finally stopped dead when he was directly in front of the man, the two standing toe to toe.

William's comrades were at least four tables away, a good ten yards separating them, with too many enemies between. Cursing like a sailor, Bordon immediately jumped to his feet. William was on his own amongst a sea of enemies and Bordon quickly rushed in to offer reinforcement. When he reached him, he turned - putting had his back to Tavington's, to gaze warily at the other Patriots as they all began to stand and step away from the tables.

"Have you got a Goddamned death wish?" Richard hissed over his shoulder at Tavington. A deadly chuckle was William's answer and Bordon cursed again. Yes, Tavington had a Goddamned death wish.

The rebels began circling the tables, slowly closing in. But the other Loyalists had reached Bordon and Tavington by now, each of them taking up positions in a loose circle, each facing outward, protecting one another's backs. Their Commanders - both Tavington and Bordon, had entered danger and the Officers would not abandon them. Even when the Patriots formed a circle of their own, two men deep, surrounding the Loyalists completely.

Inside the circle made up of rebels, Tavington and Burwell's double faced off. Their sharp blue eyes locked, both tense but ready.

"A fighting man are you?" William drawled softly, recognising it in the other man's stance. Well, so was William... He smiled tauntingly and repeated the other man's warning back to him. "Well, I'll give you this last chance to leave. You're being here can only end in your death."

"You're outnumbered three or four to one," the lookalike muttered.

"I'd say the numbers are even then," William stately quite seriously. He was not boasting, merely imparting a simple truth. "What say you?" He called over his shoulder without taking his eyes off his rebel.

"I agree, they're even enough," came Bordon's curt reply. He somehow managed to keep both of his eyes on every rebel in the common room at once.

"So what are you lot? Gentlemen looking to have some fun?" The rebel curled his lip with disdain. Mildly amused, William wondered what the man would say if he revealed himself as not only a gentleman, but as an Officer in his Majesties army. Colonel William Tavington, The Butcher of the Colonies, come out to play. The rebel continued, "your friend is right, you do have a death wish."

"Perhaps," William smirked, then his gaze sharpened again, his tone became deadly. "Care to dance with the Devil?"

"Oh, Hell yes," the lookalike smiled cruelly. William's heart leapt - he'd chosen well, this man would give him the fight he needed.

"Now see here!" The taverns owner darted in, hoping to stop the coming fight. "John - stop this now!"

"Too late, Amos," John, the rebel who so resembled Burwell, stated without taking his eyes from Tavington's. "I tried to talk some sense into them but they're too stupid to heed me."

"You won't be busting up my inn!" The innkeep rounded on the Loyalists in the centre circle.

"Oh, something tells me we will be busting up your inn," Wilkins smirked. He stood a little further away from Tavington, on the other side of Bordon.

"What are you laughing for, boy?" One Patriot growled, his hard gaze settling on Wilkins. He was gearing himself up for the brawl and began delivering the customary 'pre-fight' threats. "That smile will be wiped off soon enough, when I mop the floor with your face."

"Oh, you don't want to mop the floor with my face," Wilkins shot back.

"No?" The rebel positioned himself, ready to attack. "Why's that?"

"Well, for a start, you won't be able to get into the corners very well," Wilkins answered insolently.

The unexpected quip startled Bordon from his keen and deadly vigil. He blinked at Wilkins with surprise, then began to howl with laughter.

Tavington pulled his arm back and smashed his fist into John's face. The rebel's head twisted to the side but he kept his feet. Blood welled in the corner of the his mouth, dripping down to his chin. He lifted his hand absently and wiped it away.

Curling his lip with fury, he met William's gaze, sharp blue eyes piercing into steel-grey.

Like wild beasts, they hurled themselves at each other. Fists flew, sickening crunches as their knuckles found flesh. Legs kicked out, one trying to trip the other. They grappled and cursed, bleeding, neither giving an inch.

Meanwhile, around them the others started to brawl.

The fight had begun.

Bordon struggled at first, tears of mirth from Wilkins quip had blurred his vision. A sharp jab to his jaw sobered him quickly enough, the pain making him focus on the fight at hand.

Bordon, Wilkins, Simms, the Middleton's, Dalton and Brownlow held their circle, each man facing outward as the Patriots darted in as one. Tavington was one of the circle also but he was too intent on John - Burwell's lookalike - to give any thought to the rest of the fight.

Fists flew, punches met flesh, men lurched back and cursed, clutching at broken and bloody noses. Daggers were drawn but the efficient Officers disarmed their opponents and tossed the weapons aside. Unless Tavington said anything to the contrary, this was to be a fist fight only.

The inn keep disappeared, Bordon lost sight of him early on. He could barely hear himself think over the roar of noise from the fighting men. He was concentrating too hard on keep his position in the circle as waves of rebels came at him from all sides.

Eventually the circle broke but many of the rebels were down by then. Stepping and leaping over their unconscious forms laying haphazardly on the floor, the Dragoons brawled the remaining rebels. They were still out numbered. Wilkins leapt onto a table and kicked one rebel in the face. He was dragged off again, by several waiting Patriots. He disappeared to the floor but before Bordon could help him, he was tackled by two opponents at once. As fists flew, he caught sight of William - now a blur of motion in the centre of a small group of attacking Patriots.

John was already down and one by one the other rebels fell as William lashed out violently, unleashing his pent up fury. That was all Bordon had time for before he entered into yet another boxing match with the rebels who had tackled him.

Suddenly the men began choking on smoke, fighting for air. Out of necessity, the hostilities ceased and the combatants glanced around with confusion. Thick black smoke was billowing around them, the inn was on fire. With only a few rebels still standing, there was not enough to help those unconscious on the floor.

Tavington curled his lip with distaste, but he waved his arm, giving the signal to help the standing rebels carry out their unconscious comrades to evacuate them from the blaze.

"Who started the fire?" William panted, unceremoniously dumping the rebel he had been carrying to the ground. The Loyalists began to convene, limping forward, wiping at bleeding lips, clutching at bleeding noses and cracked ribs.

"Sorry, Sir," Marcus Middleton huffed. His face was awash with blood from a deep cut above his eye. "It was an accident, I knocked over a lantern and it -"

"Doesn't matter," William stated.

A man laying sprawled on his back on the ground close by began to groan, drawing the Colonel's attention. Stepping up close, he gazed down at the familiar face in the light of the fire blazing through the windows. It was him, the first Patriot he'd fought who had so resembled Burwell. He looked nothing like the enemy Colonel now, with his face a bloody and swollen ruin. Kneeling down on one knee, Tavington reached into his boot and jerked out the long blade he had concealed there.

Sensing the danger, the man's eyes snapped open. One of his eyes - the other was swollen shut. He stared up at William one eyed, small gasps bursting from his lips as he eyed the blade, which glinted from the light of the nearby blaze. Tavington stared back, his expression implacable and filled with murder.

"William, it's done," Bordon said at his side. He wouldn't stop the Colonel if he chose to kill the man, but if he could talk him back from the brink of murder, then it was worth a try. After a long, tense filled moment, Tavington shoved the dagger back into the sheath in his boot, and rose to his feet once more. Pure, unadulterated relief crossed the rebels features as the Colonel glowered down at him.

Turning abruptly, he addressed his grave and silent men.

"Now, I don't think I need to impress upon you the requirement for discretion, do I?" Bordon asked them and they gazed back drunkenly, swaying, Arthur nearly falling flat on his face. "Clinton will hear about this, no doubt. He can not know it was us, or we'll all be in for a damned whipping. Let's get the hell out of here before we're caught," he said crisply, striding away from the rebel. Bordon was not so soused that he didn't recognise the danger at once. To be taken by their own Redcoats and hauled before Clinton for starting a fight and burning down an inn… "Shit," he wheezed and the tension broke. They all began a lurching run to the rear of the inn. "Let's get to our horses."

By the time they rounded the tavern, smoke was pouring through the windows and the Officers were cackling with laughter. They mounted easily, despite their drunken state, and rode far from the scene of the crime.

* * *

The Officers had been drinking for many hours on the docks but the brief fight had sobered them. Nevertheless the time spent in the fresh night air on their way to the Mighty George amplified the effects of the whiskey. By the time they reached the tavern where Harmony worked, the boys were decidedly un-sober once more.

They trotted their horses into the yard then began the difficult task of dismounting while drunk. Arthur stumbled and tripped as soon as his feet touched the ground, Michael Middleton fell flat on his backside. He gazed up at Tavington, who made a far better showing of himself on his dismount, and gave the Colonel a drunken wave from the ground. Tavington rolled his eyes and held his arm out to help the younger man to his feet.

Wilkins began calling for ale almost as soon as they entered the common room. The other patrons had been drinking and quietly playing at cards when the rowdy Officers filed in. All eyes turned to the drunken Dragoons, most watching with amusement as the crocked men tried to negotiate their way past the tables. Finally the men were seated, Wilkins was still bellowing for ale when Harmony came along, bearing two plates laden with food.

"Jesus, what happened to you! Have you been fighting?" Harmony placed the dishes down on the table in front of the young Officers who had ordered the food, then rushed over to stand at Bordon's side.

The other patrons continued to watch, the newcomers were a sight - all of them, disheveled and bloodied.

"Yep, fighting," Wilkins said happily, drawing the attention of the other Redcoats and local Loyalist men to him. "Have I got a tale to tell you!"

Ignoring the others, Harmony began to fuss over Bordon.

"You stupid man, what of your wounds? Have any torn open?" Before he could answer, she took him by the hand to help him to his feet, then led him to the kitchens to clean him up.

"We're alright!" Brownlow called after Harmony, who shot him a furious glance over her shoulder. "Don't worry about us!"

"Whad'ya having, Colonel?" Simms slurred and swayed in his seat. "Whiskey or ale?"

"Whiskey," William said shortly. How close he'd come to murdering that rebel! And all because he resembled Burwell. The fight had released some of his tension, his fury, but his mood was still dark and brooding. When he was handed a whiskey, Tavington stared into his goblet, cheerless despite the joviality around him. Finally a cleaned up Bordon returned and took a seat beside William at the table. While everyone else in the common room wore smiles and laughed heartily, William scowled darkly into his whiskey.

_"Colonel Burwell's a better man than you!"_

Beth's words boomed in the recesses of Tavington's mind, over and over again.

_"Colonel Burwell's a better man than you!"_

The words echoed throughout his head, giving him no peace. Nor could he rid himself of the vision of her, her face twisted with fury and disgust as she uttered them up at him.

And now she was to marry him - Colonel Burwell. Who in Beth's opinion was the 'better man'. Did she want this, then? Was her father forcing her, or did she welcome becoming Burwell's wife? Burwell, who was better than William. His grip tightened on his goblet to breaking point. Before the glass could smash, a gloved hand covered his, easing the goblet from his grip.

"Now for phase two of our night," Bordon said as he drew his hand back. The other Officers were oblivious to William's turmoil, their up turned gazes fixed on Wilkins antics as he battled with an invisible foe. "We've succeeded in getting you thoroughly pummelled, now it's time to get you thoroughly rogered."

It was not entirely true - William had held his own quite well during the fight. Still, he was covered with bruises, the same as Bordon. After Harmony had cleaned him up, Richard had glanced at his reflection in a mirror and winced to see the bruises and swelling all over his face.

"She told me that Colonel Burwell was the better man, do you remember?" William hissed, his voice pitched low for Bordon's ears alone. Not that he needed to worry about being over heard, his drunken comrades were laughing uproariously and adding their bits to Wilkins retelling.

"I remember, William," Bordon sighed heavily. "She didn't mean it. Mrs. Tisdale had just told her of your affair with her and with those other women. We all say hurtful things when we're angry."

"Then why did she leave me?" William fixed his gaze on Bordon, his eyes demanding an answer. His face was still covered with dirt and blood, he had not bothered to try and clean himself up. Nor had any of the other men. His right eye was already purple and swollen from being punched, and there were bruises along his jaw. His face was still stone cold and hard, however.

William had held his silence for most of the evening but he was finally ready to discuss the issue - with Bordon, at least. Bordon, however, was not entirely certain exactly how to manage a vengeful and broken hearted Tavington.

"Her father was ill," Richard said and William snorted.

"I don't believe that for a minute," the Colonel said. "Not anymore."

"Well, I don't know what to say. She didn't leave because she felt Colonel Burwell was better than you."

"She would've accepted my marriage proposal," William whispered furiously, searching for a new focus for his anger, "if it weren't for Miss fucking Tisdale. Fucking Mrs. Ferguson. She told Beth about me and Linda." William drew a sharp breath, his shoulders tensing as he wound himself tighter.

"Ah, there's Mariah," Bordon said brightly, trying to turn William's thoughts from Beth, from Mary Ferguson, from Colonel Burwell. "You should grab her now before another does."

"What if she welcomes this marriage, hmm?" William asked without even looking up at Mariah.

"I doubt that very much. This is her father's doing, mark my words - most women don't have much choice in their husbands," Bordon assured William. "And if her father has discovered that she has fallen in love with you, then Miss Martin would have even less choice. He will be forcing her to this, to ensure he has a son in law he approves of."

"He's a damned rebel."

"And committed treason, which must needs be addressed. But for now, shall I call Mariah over?"

"And now she's on the Goddamned Santee, in her Goddamned father's house, sitting nice and safe," William curled his lip, caught up in a storming rant. "But she is not far enough, I tell you. By Christ, I vow, she'll never be far enough to escape me. I'll get to her before she marries him, there's still two banns to be read."

Bordon didn't bother arguing how unlikely it was that William would get to Beth before she was married. He personally believed her father would have Beth safely married and away with Burwell before William ever set out for the Santee. There were other holes in Tavington's spitting rant that Bordon left unanswered. The man was drunk, angry, grief-stricken and it was doubtful that he could be reasoned with.

William threw back his whiskey, drinking it one gulp. Swaying on his seat, he glanced around, his cloudy gaze finally settling on Mariah across the common room. She was smiling, laughing at some quip made by a Redcoat Officer.

"She's not as pretty as Beth," he complained.

"Not many are," Bordon agreed. "Except my Harmony of course."

"Yes, your Harmony is a beauty. How the fuck could I fall in love with a woman so strongly connected to traitors, hmm?" William stabbed a finger at Bordon and teetered forward on his chair, almost losing his balance, the whiskey finally taking a hold of him. He righted himself and sat back again. "I ask you that!"

"There's no reasoning with love," Bordon laughed. "Christ, what a question to ask. You must be pissed!"

"Not pissed enough," William muttered darkly, "thoughts of her plague me."

Bordon had nothing to say to this confession and he made no protest when William grabbed up Bordon's whiskey and drank that back too. "Come, William," he slapped the Colonel on the back. "There is only one cure for this… This… What ever this is." Bordon wasn't quite certain what his companion would be feeling and he doubted William knew for certain either. He was swinging wildly from fury to despair, outrage to heartbreak. All he knew for certain was that it was time to get William well and truly rogered.

"Mariah, you said?" William puffed his lips angrily.

"And Sandra, perhaps? You're at such depths, I'd say it'd take the two of them to drag you back out."

"Hmm, that sounds like just the thing," William rose unsteadily from his seat and stumbled back from the table.

"Oho!" Wilkins called to Tavington as the Colonel teetered across the common room. "Colonel Tavington has the right idea!" He jumped off the chair too suddenly and went sprawling to the floor, much to the amusement of those around him.

"Ah, Colonel," Mariah smiled at William as he approached her. "I heard of your promotion, congratulations."

"Thank you," he said shortly. He tried to stand still but the drink had him weaving dangerously back and forth in front of her.

"I see you've been celebrating," she laughed up at him. "Would you care to continue making merry upstairs?"

Linda, who had been waiting at the tavern in the hopes William would visit there - caught sight of her lover and began to approach with a warm smile. Mariah caught Linda's gaze and wondered if she would make protest over Mariah coupling with the Colonel. If so, Mariah would hold her ground. William had approached her, after all and he paid too damned well for her to give him up to Linda easily.

"Yes, I would like that," Tavington said. Linda's smile slipped and she stopped dead. Her distress heightened when Tavington continued callously, "fetch Sandra too, would you?"

"Not Linda?" Mariah frowned, seeing the shock in the other woman's face.

"No, you and Sandra." William said, heedless of Linda's distress.

"Alright," Mariah said slowly. Though it pained her to see Linda's hurt expression, she brushed past Tavington and said, "I'll go get Sandra, then we'll go upstairs."

William's eyes followed her as she strolled away, her hips swaying suggestively. His eyes fell on Linda again, noting her hurt expression. Instead of being moved, he rolled his eyes and blew out an angry breath. As if he didn't have enough to contend with.

"I'll take you home afterward," he said, shrugging carelessly.

"Well, we could just go back now," Linda whispered hopefully, coming forward to place her hand on William's chest. She gazed up at him with longing, and reached up her other hand to trace the cut on his lip gently. With a concerned expression, she continued softly, "my poor dear heart, you're covered in bruises."

Fury surged through him. His steel grey eyes flashed and he jerked his head back, recoiling from her touch. Linda's eyes widened and she caught her breath, staring up at him with shock.

"Don't call me that!" He hissed down at her, his eyes piercing and murderous. "Only Beth calls me that!"

She was still close to him - too close. Her hand was still pressed to his chest - her eyes imploring. Her chagrin meant nothing to him - if anything, it made him even more furious. Dear heart - he would not suffer any woman to call him that again until he had Beth in his arms. Curling his fingers around Linda's slim wrist, he gripped it cruelly then shoved her back from him.

Linda's heart pounded, tears filling her eyes, threatening to fall. William shoved past her, his shoulder knocking the stunned woman aside as he began to make his way toward Mariah who was returning with Sandra.

"William," Linda called to him desperately, her voice filled with hurt, but he ignored her. Never once since he'd taken her as his lover had he promised to be faithful to her. As far as he was concerned, she had no cause to complain if he took another woman to his bed for the night.

Or two women.

Winding one arm over Mariah's shoulders and the other over Sandra's, William began to make his way to the door at the back of the common room.

Linda could only watch with despair as her lover stumbled up the stairs to couple with two other women.


	33. Chapter 33 - Bordon's Indescretion

Chapter 33 - Bordon's Indiscretion:

_At the Putman's - Close to midnight_

Bordon poured himself a whiskey and sat heavily in the chair at his writing desk. What a night it had been, his knuckles were on fire from all the blows he'd dealt to the rebels - his fists had flown - left, right and centre. Luckily he'd been wearing his gloves, or his knuckles would be scraped raw. His wounds were killing him - as they were prone to do when he over exerted himself. When the Devil was he going to start remembering that he'd only faced off against Marion not even a week ago? He should still be in bed resting, for Christ's sake! But Bordon had far too many duties to be allowed such a luxurious recovery period.

Tonight was not the first night he'd been thoroughly soused - he found it helped to numb him from the pain - for the most part, anyway. Besides, the wounds were all knitting cleanly - no sign of infection. Lots of long, dark pink slashes criss-crossing his flesh, joining the patterns of his older, silvery wounds. They'd heal eventually, like all the others.

As Bordon began to sip his whiskey his thoughts lingered on the events of the evening. It occurred to him to wonder - belatedly - if perhaps he should have silenced Wilkins when the Captain began regaling the tavern with details of the fight and the burnt out inn. The whole idea of the Dragoons venturing out in their ordinary day clothes had been to avoid attention - and detection. He shrugged to himself - it had already been too late to worry about Wilkins mouthing off, for Bordon remembered now that Tavington had called him by name in front of that rebel - that John fellow who William had fought one on one. News of so many Patriots beaten and bloodied - and the blazed inn - would surely reach Clinton's ear. What will the Commander in Chief have to say about it? Bordon shuddered and pushed the thought aside. He had no desire to linger on something so worrisome just then.

He turned his thoughts to Harmony instead. His beautiful Colonial with her long blonde locks, her fine figure and her bright blue eyes. And her wicked, nasty, down right frustrating sense of humour.

"Come dear heart," Harmony had whispered in Bordon's ear and tugged on his hand at the same time. "I've got ten minutes."

Bordon had smiled brightly, anticipating. He'd lurched up from his chair and stumbled away with Harmony, ignoring the taunting calls and whistles coming from Wilkins and the boys, still playing cards at the table. He'd been waiting for Harmony to take a break from work for hours! Or so it seemed to him. Time had dragged on, while he watched her moving between the tables supplying drinks to the other patrons and flashing them with her beautiful smile. He wanted that smile all to himself and found it beyond frustrating that she could only spare him a moment here and there. Why she must continue working was beyond him! It was a major source for contention between them though Bordon had learned not complain about it for it always led to arguments between the otherwise happy couple.

Besides, it was his hand she was pulling on at that moment, back at the Mighty George. Bordon she was guiding through the tables to the rooms at the back of the inn. The other patrons all knew that Harmony was his mistress and most had learned to keep their hands off. That would have to be enough for him, for now. Harmony opened the door leading to a small chamber - large enough for two chairs and a small table. Odds and ends lined the shelves and cluttered the floor, Bordon assumed the chamber served primarily as a storage room.

"We won't be disturbed in here," Harmony said, closing the door behind them. "No one comes in here."

"Good," was all he had time for before she pressed herself to him, melting against his body. Her arms crept around his shoulders and she tilted her head back, pulling him down to kiss her. Which he did, of course. His lips moved across hers - a gentle brush at first.

"My, Miss Jutland," he whispered against her lips, feeling mischievous, "you must have impure intentions toward me indeed - to bring me in here! Pray tell, what is your purpose, what will you do with me, hmm?"

"We have unfinished business, Sir," came the breathy reply. "I thought we could continue were we left off."

"Ah, indeed we can. I like that idea very much," Bordon smiled down at her, raising one hand to trace her cheek gently. She leaned into his hand with a sigh and turned her face to catch the tip of first his finger with her lips.

"Then take a seat, dear heart," she whispered, drawing away from him. Bordon grinned with anticipation and obeyed her command eagerly. He sat in the chair and Harmony edged closer to push his legs apart with her skirt covered knee. When she stood between his legs, she leaned over him. Cupping his face with her hands, she began kissing him again - deeper this time. Richard's hands began bunching up her skirts, pulling them up her legs. With one hand still holding her skirts, he snaked his other hand between her legs to caress her, his fingers delving into her folds.

"Hmm, that's nice," Harmony whispered against his lips. "But allow me."

She said the words that every man longed to hear. Her hands moved down to his belt buckle and in short order his buttons were opened and his breeches were down around his thighs. And then Harmony - smiling into his eyes - knelt before him. Bordon sighed heavily. His fingers continued to caress her cheek softly as she took him into her mouth. He watched her work him - the thickness of his shaft disappearing into her wide, open mouth. And then she glanced up at him, meeting his eyes, he could tell she was smiling despite his cock filling her so completely. It almost undid him, seeing that smile. Knowing that she loved working him in this way. Back down went her head and Bordon brushed aside a lock of her hair that had come free, still watching her avidly all the while. Her tongue stroked him as she worked her way back up to suckle the tip and her fingers curled beneath his sack to massage gently.

Bordon, of course, had been in heaven. His fingertips gently stroked her face, her neck and shoulders, any bare skin he could reach. They twined gently through her bound hair then drew free to caress her cheeks again.

"Ah, Christ," Richard whispered. He soon began to pant, rolling his hips up and down in time with her. The moist sounds of her sucking him drove him wild, drove him further to the edge. His cock began to twitch and his breath hitched. His hands on her shoulders now, his fingers digging in with passion. "I'm close," he whispered, rocking his hips faster now. "So close."

Harmony's lips had formed a tight ring at the base of his cock. That ring pulled up the length of him as she lifted her head back up, her tongue working languidly all the way. Bordon held his breath, almost about to come. Just one more up and down inside her lips and he would be complete. Just one more bob of her head, just a little more suckling - he was yearning for release and was almost there -

Harmony let him slip out of her mouth with a popping sound.

"Oh, are you darling?" She had commiserated from her knees, her head tilted back to study him. Her eyes danced with amusement. "Oh, yes, I can see that you are."

She pulled her hand away from his sack and Bordon, his eyes glazed, frowned down at her with confusion while his cock ached and twitched with need. All sensation had ceased the moment she'd drawn off from his length and it left him feeling frustrated and empty.

"Harm?" He drew enough of a breath to utter.

"Sorry, darling," Harmony said in mock commiseration. She rose from her knees and dusted her skirts, already moving away from him. And Bordon suddenly realised what she had really been up to, the bloody little minx! Harmony continued, "duty calls, darling. I must away!"

"Harmony!" Bordon growled, surging to his feet and jerking his breeches up at the same time. "Don't you dare!"

"Oh, but I can't darling!" She reached the door, her hand on the handle. "Its Mr. Ingles - he's my commander! He'd have me in irons!"

"He would bloody not!" Holding his breeches up with one hand, Richard reached for her with his other but she skipping out of reach and yanked open the door, laughing all the while. "Christ bloody damn it!" He cursed.

Bordon raged for several minutes as his fingers fumbled at his buttons - his cock was hard and aching, raging at him for being shoved back into confinement. Such a trick to play on him! And then to throw his own excuses back at him. Damn and blast it! He threw open the door and stomped through the inn to begin a search for her, only to encounter her in the hallway.

"I'll make it up to you!" Harmony sang sweetly - the same as he'd said to her. Again throwing his words at him. He growled but before he could grab her - and drag her back into the chamber to damn well finish what she'd started! - She slipped toward the common room, where she blew him a kiss before disappearing through the door.

* * *

Now, sitting in his room at the Putman's, Bordon laughed. _Now_, he could find the amusement in it. Earlier, he'd been quite put out with her - though he knew it was his own fault. He'd done it to her that very afternoon, leaving her wanting, to answer William's summons. The trouble was, Harmony had told him she would not be coming to the Putman's tonight, she'd be going home to her own little room above the cobblers shop not far from the tavern - because of that damned independence again! And so he would not be able to see her again the following day. But his cock was engorged, raging for release now!

His dilemma was solved when his bed chamber door opened and Mage Putman peered in. "No Miss Jutland?" She began, then her eyes fell on him. "Good God - what in the world happened to you? Were you in a battle?" She shut the door quietly behind her and stared down at him in shock.

"You could say that," he replied, scoffing. "We were drinking down at the docks -"

"Rough place to go."

"I'll say. We got into a scuffle with some rebels."

"A scuffle!" She came closer, picked up a wash cloth, dipped it in some water and began to dab it at the dry blood on his lip. "Looks like you tried to murder each other. How do you know they were rebels?"

"Well, it became evident when they got a tad upset at Wilkins shouting a round of drinks for the whole tavern - so we could all toast to His Majesty," Richard laughed as he remembered. He had told his men that they were not to speak of the evenings events, they could not be tied to the brawl at the tavern. But he began to detail it all to Mage - his lover - from the moment they saw the small flag on the door of Abbots Tavern, to having to stop Tavington from murdering the rebel - John.

"You went in there deliberately to start a fight," Mage accused and Bordon nodded happily.

"Had to do something for him, didn't I?" Bordon asked. "Fighting and getting soused are the best remedies for a broken heart. Do you know of your niece's engagement?"

"I don't think fighting and getting soused are the best remedies for anything," Mage said. "And yes. I read the Bann in the Anglican. Does he feel better now, does he? He said he loved Beth oh so much; was getting soused and beaten up all the remedy he needed, was it?"

"No, he needed to get fucked, too," Richard said. "He's with two doxies down at the tavern. Speaking of getting fucked…" He reached for her, began pulling her night robe open.

"With language like that, am I again in the company of the rogue?" She asked, stepping closer, amused.

"How can I be the gentleman, covered with bruises and soused as I am? It's the rogue again tonight, I'm afraid. I hope you don't mind terribly."

"Oh, I don't mind at all," she said and he laughed.

He let his legs drop apart and began unbuckling his belt. "I'm helpless - entirely at your mercy - as you can see. Come and defile me." He lifted his rump off the chair and shoved his breeches down to his knees before dropping heavily back to his seat. His cock sprang free, already hard and eager after Harmony's mean prank.

"Lewd," she accused, swallowing as her eyes lingered on it.

Bordon sipped his whiskey and offered the glass to her. She took a deep pull and handed it back. Placing his whiskey on the desk, both his hands were now free. He took his time, slowly lifting her shift up her legs, over her calves, past her knees to reveal her smooth, pale thighs. "Are you wet for me, Mage?"

"Why should I make it that easy for you?" She asked, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips. "Make me wet for you, Richard."

"Gods," he groaned, his fingers began exploring her sex. "Open your legs, Mage," he commanded, his eyes fixed on the dark patch of blonde curls between her legs. She sighed heavily, she parted her legs and she placed her hands on his broad shoulders to brace herself. Bordon continued to caress her folds, his finger dipping in to circle her hardened quim. Mage bit her lip, gnawing. She had to concentrate on her breathing, and on keeping her legs steady. Hence her hold on his shoulders, without which she would have dropped to the floor.

"Would you like me to straddle you?" She whispered against his lips as his fingers dipped lower to her entrance and back up to her nub. "Right here on this chair?"

"I would love you to straddle me, right here on this chair," Richard whispered back. His tongue entered her mouth and she pushed her lips hard against his as his finger pushed up deeply inside her. He thrust in a few times to gauge her arousal, then withdrew to resume exploring her folds and clit. Her hips began to move back and forth, urging his fingers to glide along the length of her.

"Oh God," Mage moaned, her pleasure was building.

"Straddle me, Mage," he whispered up at her, his cock giving a twitch of anticipation. He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her closer, guided her until she had one leg on either side of him. Then he gripped his cock and positioned it as she placed her hands on his shoulders again and lowered herself onto his length. They both sighed with pleasure when he impaled her. They continued to kiss as they writhed and bucked, a frenzy of movement to reach climax. Mage began to roll her pelvis back and forth, Bordon rocked his pelvis up and down. He squeezed her hips with his fingers, the two surging fluidly as Mage rode him. Moving one hand to her front again, Bordon began working on her clit with the tips of his fingers, which elicited an excited gasp from her. He enjoyed it - very much - when she climaxed first, for his cock would be squeezed ever so pleasantly when her walls began to contract with her orgasm. And so he gripped her hips with one hand to guide her, and fingered her quim, while she panted and bounced on his length.

Finally Mage cried out and dropped her head to Bordon's shoulder. As he had hoped, he could feel the force of her climax around his shaft and he growled from the pleasure of it. He gripped her waist now, lifted her and shoved her down on him, over and over until he too cried out and came, in great spurts, deep inside her.

It took a while to calm, the lovers breathing heavily, their hearts racing.

"Gods, I needed that," Bordon whispered, the blood roaring in his ears. "You're a magnificent specimen of your sex, Mage."

"Oh, Richard," she laughed. "And you are of yours." She cocked her head - his rod was still buried inside her, she was in any rush to climb off of him. "I'm always well satisfied after."

"Only after? What of during?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, most definitely during."

"Why, thank you," he grinned up at her. He cocked his head, a sudden thought coming to him. "You do know that I will be leaving soon. A few more weeks, and I'll be gone." He studied her face, searching for a trace of distress. He enjoyed their encounters immensely and the intimacy and affection they shared was genuine, but he was not in love with her. He hoped that her sentiment for him did not exceed his for her. He had taken lovers before, when his stay in a city or town was to be a prolonged one, but he never had any thoughts of taking a single one of them with him, not until he discovered Harmony. Mage, she was the type to enjoy and leave behind, like those others. He hoped she felt the same.

"I know. You will be missed, Richard," she toyed with his hair, wrapping her fingers around a lock. "I might need to resort to…" She trailed off, her face colouring. Richard's eyebrows arched.

"Taking another lover?"

"No, not that," she replied. "I've enjoyed our affair, Richard, but it's too risky, isn't it? I'm always afraid we'll get caught. I don't think I'll take another."

"Then what will you need to resort to?" He asked, frowning. Her face blazed crimson and her gasped with understanding. "Touching yourself?" He asked, voice breathy as he imagined it. She was not in love with him, that was a relief, she would let him go without a fuss when the time came. But it heartened him, that she would remember him when he was gone. "Dear God, every night, I'm going to think of you, I'll be imagining you alone in your bed, your hands between your thighs, working yourself to orgasm. Will you be thinking of me, when you do it?" He asked, feeling a stirring in his groin again. Though she looked mighty embarrassed by her slip, she did giggle.

"And all the wonderful things you do to me," she whispered, kissing his cheek.

"Mage," he whispered. He licked his lips, trying to form words. "Do it for me now. Let me see you."

"I couldn't possibly! It's a thing to do alone, not with someone watching!" She gasped, though he saw the glint enter her eyes, the prospect of being naughty and exciting.

"Not just any somebody," he said. "Your lover, Mage. You can do it with me watching," he lifted the front of her shift up higher, again exposing her clit. "Do you know how? I can teach you."

"I know how," she whispered, which meant she'd done it to herself before. Richard's cock soared to attention inside of her. Mage gasped as the thing impaling her suddenly grew in strength and vitality again and her eyes becoming very serious, focused.

"Do it," he whispered. Biting her lower lip, she removed her right hand from his shoulder. He stared at it, her hand, as she shifted it slowly to that place between her legs. "That's it," he breathed, encouraging when her fingers stopped an inch from her clit.

"I can't," she said.

"You want to, I can tell you do. Go on. Let me see," he said and with a whimper, for she was being coaxed to do something she desperately wanted to do, and did not want to, at the same time. Her finger touched herself and she arched her back, his lips parted as he watched her masturbate herself.

"You'll think of me, when you're gone?" She asked, rocking her hips slowly, his cock delving deeply into her as she worked herself.

"Every day," he whispered. "Every night. I'll imagine you doing this with me on your mind. My Gods, I won't be able to get you off my mind." Not after this. He curled his fingers around her waist, keeping her shift up, his eyes riveted to her fingers on her clit, on his cock sinking up inside her.

"No matter how far you go?" She said.

"I won't be that far," he said. "Just the Santee."

"Maybe you can come back, just… oh… sometimes… oh…" she was moving faster now and Richard felt his stones begin to constrict with his encroaching orgasm.

"I'll come to you," he said, and meant it. If he was ever recalled to the city, even if it was just for a day, he would come to her, for this. Gods, what man wouldn't? She was in rhythm now, making small noises of pleasure, her fingers on her clit, his cock filling her completely. Suddenly her fingers gripped her neck and she gasped, her lips descended on his and their tongues began to duel until Mage, panting into his mouth, suddenly went completely still. She clenched around his cock again and he gasped, flailing beneath her as she drew out their second orgasm.

They grinned at each other, both looking like guilty youths caught in some naughtiness.

"I can't believe you made me do that," she whispered.

"We were being rogues, remember?" He said and she laughed softly.

"I do hope Our Lord was looking elsewhere just now," she whispered as she began rising from his length. She climbed off his lap and let her shift fall to her ankles. She closed the night robe around her body. " They were done now, there would be no third orgasm - they were both sated and their bodies were no longer questing for more.

"I hope the same, for every time I've done that."

"Oh dear, you don't, do you?" She laughed and he nodded. "Hmm, perhaps next time, I can be the one watching." His face blazed crimson. "Oh, don't you blush now - you got me doing it to myself. Fair is fair."

"So it is. If you think you'll enjoy it, then of course I'll do it. Fair is fair. You'll help things along though, won't you?"

"With pleasure," she sat on the edge of the bed, preparing for the next stage of their interlude - the pillow talk. "Do you think you'll get into trouble, for the brawl at Abbot's tavern?"

"We certainly would, if anyone knew it was us. But we took precautions not to be recognised, we didn't even wear our uniforms and we referred to each other by our first names only, no mention of rank or anything," he shrugged. "There won't be any repercussions."

"You're very naughty, deliberately rousing the rebels. Oh well. So. I take it Tavington isn't taking the news too well, then?"

"I can't believe she's engaged to Burwell," Bordon shook his head.

"Nor can I. She refused him, when Burwell proposed," she said.

"Would she have preferred to marry Tavington, do you think?"

"Oh yes, she is deeply in love with him, for certain. If he'd been able to propose, I believe she would have accepted him in a heartbeat."

"Such a pity - bad timing, her father falling sick and her fleeing and all," he said.

"Do you think Mr. Martin is forcing her?"

"Almost certainly," Mage replied.

Richard leaned forward, voice conspiratorial. "Tavington wants to go after her. As soon as we leave for the Santee, he is going to strike out for Fresh Water. He thinks if he can get there in time, he can remove her, he will marry her himself. Would she go along with him, do you think?"

"Gods, yes, she'd run off with him, I'm certain. Though you can be sure that her father will not let her go without a fight."

"Her father… Mage, you told me once that Martin is a Loyalist -"

"Well, he's always been more… in the middle. He never truly declared for one way or another," she said, hoping he did not recall her exact words at the time she told him outright that Benjamin was a Loyalist. Clearly, he was not, if he was letting Beth marry Burwell, without the excuse of needing a rich husband to help make a poor family rise.

"Well, he's declared himself now."

"He has?" Mage asked, shocked. That was news to her, she knew Benjamin was a Patriot - but had he made his stance known publicly?

"He let Burwell spend the night at Fresh Water, that was treason. But it was forgiven. But now, he's doing it again. The Bann was specific - the engagement was announced at the church in Pembroke, with her father in attendance, giving his blessing."

"Well, they are old friends, and -"

"Mage, he knew Burwell's location and he failed to inform us. He has done this not once, but twice. He has committed treason and this time, I don't think even he can say that isn't an act of rebellion."

"Oh," she said, her mind working furiously. Benjamin was under suspicion again, there would be no more believing him to be a Loyalist, not now. "Richard," she sighed. "Yes, I suppose… He has committed acts of treason now. But Benjamin wants to keep out of this war - my oath on it. He's just… conflicted, I'm certain of it. Old friendships -"

"Are no excuse for treason," he said firmly.

"You're right" she whispered, heaving a melancholy sigh, pretending to be on side with him. "My family is falling apart, isn't it? Well." She nodded, as if accepting what was happening to her kin.

He gazed at her with sympathy, she looked quite miserable and in need of cheering up. "Here, I have some news you might take enjoyment from."

"Oh?" She sat up straighter.

"I was promoted today," he grinned from ear to ear. "I sit before you not as a Captain, but as a Major."

She gasped, her fingers flying to her mouth, she clapped her hands together, acting like a giddy girl. "That's wonderful, Richard," she threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed his lips. "Congratulations, Major Bordon."

"Major Bordon," he sighed as she resumed her seat. "I'll never get tired of that." He told her all about it, of waiting to be admitted to see Clinton, of the glorious meeting, where he was informed of his promotion. When she spoke, her voice was a little chirpier and he was glad he'd told her, for it had helped to lift her from her little slump. He told her of Tavington's promotion also, and how they expected it would upset Tarleton for he hadn't been promoted at all. Talk turned to Tarleton then, and what he was doing out on the Santee. Enough time lapsed, that Richard was becoming inflamed again. He guided her back to the bed, peeled open her night robe, pulled down the top of her shift to reveal her breasts. She rolled her eyes with a smile, widened her legs and welcomed him to climb between them.

They coupled a third time, and came to a satisfying conclusion. He rose, dropped back into the chair, and poured himself another whiskey while she tidied her loose hair in the mirror.

"I'd best be gone," Mage said, pulling her night robe closed again. "I've lingered too long; if Cilla wakes up, she'll be worried where I am."

"Miss Jutland won't be coming here tonight," he said. "If you want to slip back here during the night, it'll be safe to do so."

"Will you be waiting for me like that, will you?" She asked, pointing at his lap with a soft laugh. He was naked from the waist down, his flaccid cock draped across his right thigh, his breeches a puddle on the floor at his feet.

"Might do," he grinned. "You can sit at my feet and I'll give you that show I promised you."

Mage laughed. "Until the wee hours then, _Major_."

Bordon closed his eyes and sighed, Gods, it felt good to hear that. When he opened then, Mage was gone. He picked up his glass and resumed drinking, feeling far too replete - and too soused - to move.

::::::

The Dragoons guarding the front of the Putman manor house let Harmony in without question. Before she could make a step toward the wide staircase, one of the men lit a candle and passed it to her, to light her way. Harmony smiled gratefully - she'd been to the manor quite a few times but she didn't know her way so well that she could walk it in the dark.

She lifted her skirts to the ankle, holding them aloft with her free hand as she began to climb the stairs. Harmony had begun to feel guilty for her little trick - her revenge - as soon as she entered the common room and saw that Richard's seat was empty. She asked Wilkins and the boys were he'd gone and they told her Richard had left for home.

Almost immediately, her heart had sunk and she began feeling wretched. Not that he hadn't deserved it for leaving her in the state she'd been in earlier! But he had been doing his duty, Tavington certainly would have hauled him over the coals if he hadn't answered the summons immediately. She'd known that, but had intended to take him out the back again a little later, to finish what she'd started.

Instead, with him gone, she'd had to do her full shift - feeling wretched with guilt all the while. She hoped he wasn't too wroth with her, but what else could it be for him to up and leave like that? She'd thought he would see it for the joke that it was meant to be, she had intended to take him back to the little room again a little while later, she most certainly hadn't anticipated that he'd leave in a huff.

When Mr. Ingles called the last round and finally kicked the last drunk from the tavern, Harmony had helped to clean - mopping the floor and the like. Finally, it was time to go and instead of going to her room at the cobblers shop, she went directly to Mr. Putman's, where she hoped to make it up to Richard. Now she reached the top of the stairwell and she began to make her way down the hall to his room, the glow from the candle making a pool of light around her. Finally, she stood outside her lovers room and she reached out to open the door, not bothering to knock first.

But then she heard a woman moan - as clear as the church bells that pealed around Charlestown on Sunday's. Horrified, Harmony's heart stopped and she stood stock still, her ears straining for more. Leaning in closer to the door, she could hear panting coming from within Richard's chamber. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Frozen in place, her jaw dropped and she gaped. The woman cried out then, and Harmony heard the distinct sound of Richard growling. That sound was as familiar to her as her own voice.

_Oh, my God, he's with another woman!_

Thought finally began to return to her but she was still hard pressed to move from her frozen position, out side his door with her hand on the knob.

A moment later, Richard cried out - a deep bellow of pure pleasure. Distraught, Harmony took several steps back, her eyes wide and her free hand pressed to her stomach. She felt she'd vomit, or cry, or scream or…

_"Miss Jutland won't be coming here tonight. If you want to slip back here during the night, it'll be safe to do so."_ She heard Bordon's voice indistinctly even through the door. _"Until the wee hours then, Major,"_ the woman replied. Harmony fell back from the door, stunned. Then the door was opening and a woman was backing out of the chamber, her long hair hung down her back and she was wearing a night robe. The woman shut the door then turned into the hallway.

Which was when Mage Putman came face to face with Harmony Jutland. Mage gasped with fright at finding someone standing where she had expected no one. That astonishment faded however. The two women locked gazes, neither able to move, frozen in place as they were.

"How long?" Harmony whispered, her eyes welling with tears, the vision of Mage's face swimming before her.

"I do not believe I should answer that," Mage whispered back.

Harmony choked on a sob, raising a trembling hand to her lips as her tears spilled over.

"I… I thought he… oh…" she trailed off, sobbing quietly.

Mage stared at the other woman uncertainly. "I believe he does. It doesn't mean anything, this… this thing," she said, feeling oddly moved by the weeping woman. It cost her nothing to admit this to Harmony, to offer some reassurance, such as it was. She tried for a stately tone as she continued, "I am deeply in love with my husband, Miss Jutland. He is my everything, my entire world. And Richard, he feels that for you. You are his all. This… this thing… It doesn't mean anything."

Harmony hung her head, still weeping pitifully as Mage tightened her night robe around her body.

"What will you do?" Mage asked her but Harmony shook her head furiously and turned away. There was nothing more to be said, Mage understood that she - as the other woman - could never offer any real comfort. "As I said, it meant nothing," she said, and when Harmony made no reply, she moved off down the hall.

_What will you do? _The question burned through Harmony's mind. What should she do? Leave this place, go back to her room? Her hand trembled, the candle wobbled. She should go home. But Richard was in there, behind that door, and he had treated her like a fool. She couldn't just go. Not before asking him why. Why he would do this to her. And then, she would leave, and she would never, ever return. Harmony stepped forward tentatively and pushed open Bordon's bed chamber door slowly. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, Harmony pushed open the door to confront him. Bordon spluttered on the mouthful of whiskey he'd just gulped down. The vision of him was blurred by her tears but she could see that his breeches were around his ankle, his phallus exposed and spent. She watched as he choked on whiskey.

"Harm!" His voice was shocked and desperate, he lurched from the chair, seized his breeches and started jerking them up his legs with clumsy movements. "I can explain!" He gasped. His flaccid cock was then hidden from her view as he glanced down and fumbled at his buttons, all the while shooting frantic glances up at her.

How he could possibly explain this was beyond her - she knew fully well what he had been doing! Finally pulling her eyes away from him, she began to glance around the room. Harmony had left behind some of her possessions from her previous visits to the house. A sewing kit, a pair of stockings, some jewellery and an ivory hair clip - these items had belonged to her mother and were precious to her. She had only removed them to couple with Bordon but had not feared leaving them in his care. But now she was not intending to ever return to the room - or to Bordon for that matter - and she was loathe to leave them behind. She began to search for them.

"Harm, please," his voice was less shocked now, but still desperate. He stood behind her as she began putting her belongings in her pockets as she found them. "What are you doing?" Bordon finally realised she was searching for her possessions and he feared what it meant. "Harm?" She finally turned to face him, her face a misery. Tears streaked her cheeks, her lips quivered - ready to begin crying again. And her eyes… Bordon gazed into her eyes - he'd never seen her at such depths, her anguish sliced through him, searing his soul. "Just listen, please," Bordon beseeched, reaching out to place his hands on her arms. "Let me explain."

Harmony recoiled. She jerked away violently, skirts swishing about her.

"There is no explanation," she said raggedly. "Not for this."

"It meant nothing -"

"That's what she said! She loves her husband, she said. And you love me, though I find that hard to believe now! She said it meant nothing. But when I asked her how long it's been going on for, she said it was best she did not answer! Therefore, this wasn't your first time! It wasn't some ill conceived, spontaneous encounter! And I heard you telling her that I won't be coming here tonight, you invited her to return!" She was breathing heavily by the end of this, panting with anger and misery.

"I just…" Bordon was at a loss. He swayed before her drunkenly but even as soused as he was, he was still coherent enough to understand that things were going badly for him. Badly indeed. "Darling - you are at work so often and I don't get to see you! I don't get to couple with you and you know how needful I am!"

"So this is my fault?!" Harmony gasped incredulously. "You keep a second mistress because I'm not here to see to your needs?"

"No, I mean yes, I mean…" Bordon cut off, trying to gather his thoughts with effort. "That's not what I mean! Why do you have to work so much? You and your damned self reliance - why is that so important to you? Why can't you just let me look after you, why can't you be here when I need you to be?"

"I can't believe you are blaming this on me!" Harmony cried in indignation. "You are gone from me often too - for days sometimes! I don't go searching for release elsewhere! Would those arguments hold any weight if I took another man to my bed!"

"No, they wouldn't!" Bordon bellowed, infuriated by the very idea.

"Oh, but you know how needful I am!" Harmony said, her voice with sarcasm. She threw her arms up and took several steps away from him. "If it's good enough for you, then it's good enough for me! I'll go back to the tavern now, choose one of the men there - if it's good enough for you to do, then it's good enough for me!"

Bordon's face twisted with feral fury - he lashed out, his hands snapping out too quickly for her to evade him. Fingers curled around her forearms, he jerked her to him, his savage face blazing above hers.

"You'll not take any other man to your bed!" He raged down at her, his eyes bright with blood lust. "This is your fault! You are meant to be my mistress!" He gave her a hard shake, Harmony's teeth rattled in her skull. Fear sliced up her spine, leaving her gasping. She'd never been afraid of Richard before though she knew he could be fearsome, he'd never directed his anger at her before. Her own rage drained from her and she instinctively became limp in his arms. But Bordon continued to scream, his deranged words slicing through her, hurting her ears and feeding her terror. "Mine! You're supposed to be here for me, in my bed! I shouldn't have to seek fulfilment with Mage when you're supposedly my mistress!" He screamed at her. "You should be here! But no, you're more concerned with earning every scrap of gold you can before we leave and why?" Again he shook her, hard enough that her bound hair began to come loose. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she sobbed pitifully, powerless against him. He was unhinged however, too fury filled to concern himself with her distress. "Because you think I can't provide for you!" He screamed. "Because you want your independence, like these simpleton liberty caps!" Another shake, Harmony felt faint and dizzy.

"Please, let me go," she whimpered. He ignored her, his fingers digging into her arms hard enough to leave indents and bruises.

"And now, after your very actions question my ability as a man, you tell me you'll put another in your bed?" He curled his lip and Harmony cowered away as much as his hold on her would allow, fearing that he would actually strike her. "You'd be unfaithful to me!"

The last was shouted in a berserkers rage and he did indeed pull his hand back, raising it high and threateningly. Harmony gasped, her eyes wide with fear and shock.

"Please don't hit me!" She begged, trying to pull free of the hand that still gripped her arm like a vice. Before Bordon could think of letting the blow land, the door slammed open and Tavington filled the doorway.


	34. Chapter 34 - Affair Exposed to All

Chapter 34 - Affair Exposed to All:

"What the Devil is going on in here!" Tavington demanded, his brows knitted, his piercing gaze narrowed. Drunk as he was, he took in the scene at once - Harmony, leaning away from Bordon though she could not go far. Tears flooding over her flushed cheeks as she sobbed wretchedly, her hair in disarray. Bordon, holding her arm in a tight grip, his body tense and tight, his face deranged with fury, one arm raised, ready to strike his lover. He met Bordon's eyes across the room.

"This is none of your damned business, Tavington!" Bordon shouted and William raised his eyebrows coolly.

"Have you forgotten that I am your superior? You are shouting the house down, Bordon - they can likely hear you two houses over. Besides, this woman is not your wife and I will intervene on her behalf if I feel the need to," William informed him calmly. "Richard, why don't you lower your arm and try to calm? You'll regret hitting her tomorrow."

"Why, you going to stop me?" Richard spat, focusing his rage on William for want of a stronger target.

"If I must," William gazed became focused, his eyes piercing Richard's as he assumed a fighting stance. The effect was spoiled slightly when Tavington swayed and stumbled, shifting his weight from foot to foot just to keep standing - he was decidedly soused himself. All he wanted was to collapse in bed - it was taking all of his willpower to stand at all. If he and Bordon were to fight a few rounds now, Tavington strongly suspected Bordon would be the victor.

"He's bedding Mage Putman," Harmony gasped in a pitiful voice, again jerking at Bordon's arm. "And he's blaming me for it!"

"Ah," Tavington replied, his eyes softening as he gazed at Harmony in her misery.

"I caught them at it," Harmony cried wretchedly. "Oh, just please let me go, Richard!"

"Not until we've discussed this!" Richard growled.

"There's nothing to discuss! You were with another woman - we are through!"

"I'll not let you leave me!" Richard bellowed, becoming incensed all over again. William watched gravely, ready to intervene if it turned violent.

"Just go next door to Mrs. Putman's room, she'll take care of you again!" Harmony shouted, becoming angry now. "Or wait for the _wee hours of the morning_, you invited her to return to you then! Let me go! I don't ever want to see you again!"

"I'm not going to make it that easy for you!" Richard bellowed. "You will listen, you stupid woman -"

Her full arm slap took all three of them by surprise. Even Harmony, who delivered the blow, whose palm stung from the strike across Richard's cheek. Bordon stared down at her with shock for a moment, then his face twisted with rage and he raised his arm high to slap her back.

Suddenly Tavington was there. As though there was no intervening space between them - he was at the door, then suddenly he was at Bordon's side, his iron grip holding Richard's hand, preventing him from slapping Harmony. "Release her," he commanded in a voice colder than snow. "That is an order, Major Bordon."

Bordon had been serving under Tavington for four years, obeying the Commander had become ingrained. He released his hold on Harmony and William released Bordon's wrist.

"You will calm down and the two of you will discuss this tomorrow in a calmer manner."

Bordon nodded but Harmony was shaking her head frantically.

"There will be no discussion," she shouted. Though she was crying, her voice was strong and decisive. "You have been screwing Mage Putman, for God knows how long. And you have the audacity to blame me! You accuse me of relying too much upon myself? Well I'm going to show you just how self reliant I am! I don't need you! I was fine before I met you, and I'll be fine now, too! I'm not coming with you to camp - in fact, I never want to see you again!"

"Harmony," Bordon whispered. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy weight settling there. The strength of his affliction was such that he had to fight back the urge to weep - but he would not allow himself to be so unmanned before Tavington. She whirled from him and began striding around the bed and out the door. She stopped dead in the hallway, seeing several Officers standing outside their chambers, listening in and looking astonished. She cast a glance down the hall in time to see Cilla Putman's shocked face.

"I'm sorry you had to learn this way," Harmony gasped out between tears. "I'm sorry _I_ had to find out this way!"

Cilla's eyes widened and with a wild gasp, she fell back into the chamber out of sight and slammed the door shut. Drawing herself up to full height, Harmony tried for dignity as she walked on by the shocked Officers down the hall and toward the stairs.

Within the room, Richard made a move to follow her but William placed his hand on his chest to halt him.

"Go to her tomorrow Richard," he advised. "You know what women are like - they are entirely unreasonable when they are angry. Give her tonight and go to her tomorrow."

Bordon nodded shortly. William removed his hand from the Major's chest and turned to leave. When he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder - his expression surprisingly compassionate.

"Well, at least I won't be alone in my misery now," he said softly. Then he shook himself, realising how weak and raw that sounded. Bordon's face was stone when William continued in a lighter tone. "We can always visit another Patriot tavern tomorrow, bust a few more rebel heads."

When Bordon did not so much as smile, William sighed heavily and left his adjutant to his despair. After all, he had his own to deal with.

* * *

"Oh dear God, oh dear God, oh dear God," Mage whispered to herself as she made her way down the hall toward Trellim's chamber. Her heart beat furiously, her hands shook, her knees felt weak. What was going to happen now? With Harmony Jutland discovering the affair, what was going to happen? She shot a look over her shoulder, hoping to see Miss Jutland fleeing for the stairs. Instead, she saw the woman enter Bordon's chamber, instead. _She's going to confront him. Oh dear Lord. _Her hands were shaking convulsively as she knocked on Trellim's door.

Trellim opened it, ushered her in, unaware yet that a storm was about to be let loose.

"I have information," she blurted all in a rush.

"What is it? What's wrong, Mrs. Putman?" He asked, worried for her.

"Everything. Nothing. Look, I have to tell you, Tavington, Bordon, Wilkins, Simms, the Middleton's, Brownlow and Dalton went out in search of a fight tonight. They wore plain clothes, so they would not be recognised. They deliberately targeted Patriots, for Tavington to take his fury out on, after being shown the Banns today and learning of Beth and Burwell's engagement. They went to a tavern on the docks. Abbott's tavern. Fought with rebels - one was named John, Bordon had to stop Tavington from killing that one. And then -"

Harmony's voice was rising in Bordon's chamber down the hall and Mage closed her eyes and reeled. Dear Lord, the entire house was going to know, now. Trellim was listening intently but he frowned now, his lips tightening as the shouting continued.

"And then," Mage said hurriedly. She swallowed hard, tried to keep from vomiting. Dear Lord, Richard's seed was still dripping down her thighs. She needed to keep talking, needed the distraction. Bordon was shouting now too… they were going to wake Cilla. Gods, Cilla would learn of this, if they weren't careful of their words!

"What the devil is that about?" Trellim asked as the argument continued to increase in volume.

"Never mind," Mage said. "And then they realised the inn was on fire. Middleton dropped a lantern and it took a hold. They escaped the blaze, ran to their horses. They could hear whistles blowing, they knew they were about to be discovered. Bordon reminded his men that they were not to speak of where they had been, so they could not be tied to the attack. But now the tavern of a Patriot is burning, because he is a Patriot. And Patriot men were targeted, because they are Patriot. Wilkins started it, knowing Tavington needed to get into a brawl, he bought a round of drinks for the entire common room, and then announced they were all to toast to His Majesty King George."

"Damned bastard," Trellim muttered. His eyes were on the door, he was still distracted by the argument raging down the hall.

"They can't get away with it," Mage said. "You must tell my husband. Or find this John person, tell him that it was Tavington and his lot that attacked him. Otherwise he'll never know, he'll just think it was a bunch of Loyalists out for a good time."

"Yes, yes."

"I need to get a letter to Mark," she said, wringing her hands, frantic now. "There's something I desperately need to tell him."

"Something more than this?" Trellim asked. "You can tell me, Mrs. Putman."

"It's… a more… personal… Please…"

"There's ink and parchment on my desk," he said. Mage rushed to the desk, quickly scrawled a quick note. She poured sand on the parchment and shook it off. Mark would understand her words, her affair might be over now, she might need to find another way to gain information.

_'There will be no discussion! You have been screwing Mage Putman, for God knows how long!' _Miss Jutland shout rang clear and carried despite the closed door.

"Mrs. Putman," Trellim breathed, wide eyed. "What did she say? That can't be true?"

"Please give the letter to my husband," Mage said, not knowing what else to say, her hands trembled as she passed it to him. She marched to the door but stayed there, still and quiet, waiting for the noise to die down. Doors slammed, the shouting stopped. Trellim, standing behind her, was as silent as the grave. She turned to him. "Everything I do, I do for the Cause. And for my husband. I've done nothing he himself hasn't approved."

Trellim's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "This is how you get your information. And with Mr. Putman's _blessing_?"

"Please find this John, and Mr. Abbott. Tell them who attacked them," she said. She opened the door, peered into the now empty hallway. She crossed quickly to her own room, stepped inside, and was confronted by her infuriated daughter.

* * *

For the first time since taking letters from Mage to deliver to Mark, Trellim broke her trust, by opening the letter. She'd been bedding Bordon and therefore, was no longer to be trusted. He couldn't believe what she claimed, that Mark Putman was in on it. That he was allowing it. It couldn't possibly be true. He read it quickly, and to his utter horror, the words confirmed what she claimed.

_'He and I were caught together. That means may now be exhausted, I will need to find another. I love you.'_

Trellim lowered his hand, shocked to his core. Mage was bedding Bordon for information, with Putman's knowledge and blessing.

_"Everything I do, I do for the Cause. And for my husband. I've done nothing he himself hasn't approved." _

Dear God above. Trellim most certainly did not approve, but there was nothing to be done about it. Ruining herself for the Cause… He shook his head, tried to gather his wits. Instead of dwelling on what he'd learned, he tried to focus on what he'd been told. The Green Dragoons, attacking Patriots, because Tavington was in a bad mood. That was just… an injustice, is what it was. He removed his banyan and dressed as quickly as he could, then made his way to the stables.

It did not take him long to find Mr. Abbott's tavern. All he had to do was ride for the docks and once there, he could see the glow of the torches and the many people working to help put out the blaze. A fire like that could have taken out half the buildings on the docks, if it had managed to spread. Fortunately, while the tavern interior seemed to get completely ruined, they had managed to put out the blaze. He approached, kept his face shielded by the British lest they recognise him, and asked about until he found the owner of the tavern.

"Sir, can I have a word away from the others?" He began in a quiet voice. "I am a… friend," he put gentle emphasis on the last word. A Patriot, is what he was truly saying.

Mr. Abbott, looking furious, stepped away from the throng. Despite Trellim's request to speak in private, another fellow fell in beside them, his face was bruised, bloody and swollen, which could only mean he, too, was a Patriot - one of the men who'd been beaten by Tavington's Dragoons.

"I know who attacked you tonight," he said.

"Who?" The battered Patriot asked. "Who were the bastards, and where are they now?"

"Safely tucked up in their beds," Trellim said. "As for who - they are Green Dragoons, Colonel Tavington and Major Bordon."

They both gasped, shocked.

"The Butcher himself?" The fellow rasped, his fingers balling into fists. "Why did they do this?"

"Tavington was… upset. He learned the woman he loves is engaged to another man. Bordon thought it a good idea to… well, to find a group of rebels and pound them to atoms."

"Fucking bastards," Abbott muttered. "Who are you, then? To know this?

"Nathan Trellim," he replied.

"Where are they now?" The battered fellow asked. "We'll go there now, burn their fucking house around their ears."

"Well, you can't do that," Trellim heaved a sigh. "They are quartered in Mr. Putman's home, and he is one of us, so -"

"The one that fled the city on account of being caught out as a spy?" He asked and Trellim nodded. "You one of his?"

Trellim hesitated. To admit to being a spy to these strangers… "best I don't answer that."

"I'll take that for a yes. Fucking bastards. I fought one on one with one of them, it was fists only at first, but then he pulled his knife. He was going to kill me."

"Oh, you're John?" Trellim asked. "I was told that was what happened."

"Yes. John Sumter, cousin to Thomas Sumter," he said and Trellim's eyebrows rose.

"Jesus, Bordon chose well tonight," he whispered. "They've kicked a wasps nest, haven't they?"

"That they have, Mr. Trellim," John Sumter said darkly. "Putman, he's the one that's recruiting to the militia, like my cousin?"

"Yes," Trellim said. "You should know, it was Tavington you fought one on one. It was Tavington who pulled the knife and almost killed you. It was Bordon that stopped him."

"Bordon, aye? Well, I don't expect I'll be thanking him for saving my life any time soon - not if he's the one that suggested this be done in the first place. My cousin's tavern, look at it!" Sumter threw his arm toward the black, smoking shell.

"How am I to trade now? I've lost everything!" Abbott said.

"Never fear," Sumter said darkly. "When we've won back the city, this tavern will be built bigger and better than before. For now, however… Thank you, Sir, for telling me who did this. I can tell you now, nothing that was done here tonight will go unanswered."

"What will you do?" Trellim asked, foreboding sliding up his spine.

"As much damage to those bastards as I possibly can," Sumter replied.

"Well, I'll leave you to that, then. I must be on my way."

"Thank you for coming down here and telling us this," Sumter said. "How did you learn it was Tavington who attacked us?"

"Look, I can't answer too many of those sorts of questions," Trellim said, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "I am one of Putman's, just like I said."

"Ahhh. A spy," Sumter replied, the word leaving his lips on a quiet breath.

"And I'm in a very precarious position, so it's best people don't know it was me that told you any of this. I am heading out of the city now, I have to speak to Putman. I'll tell him what was done here, he can let your Colonel Sumter know."

"You going to Putman now?" Sumter asked. "Mind if I come along?"

"It's best you don't know any more than you have to - Putman's location included."

"I have questions for you, and for him. Discussions that need to be had, for I intend to pick up where Putman left off. I am afraid I must insist, Trellim," John said, voice firm. Trellim nodded slowly, then began to lead the way.

* * *

The following morning found William sleeping the sleep of the dead. Eventually a noise began to intrude on his peace. At first, he thought the thumping was coming from inside his skull. He was sprawled face down and naked across his bed, his arms shoved under the pillow beneath his head. There was something warm curled around him, that something was moving, stroking his bare back. With eyes squeezed shut, his face pressed into the pillow, he groaned softly against the pain pounding in his head.

The thumping began again, more insistently this time. Awareness began to return slowly and he blinked open his eyes.

"William," the warm something murmured, still caressing his back. "There are Officers calling for you to come out - you have been summoned to Clinton."

"Agh?" Tavington moaned.

Linda, seeing William was still incoherent, rose from the bed. Wrapping herself in William's banyan, she opened the door and spoke quietly with the hard faced Officers outside.

"Colonel Tavington had a hard night," she explained. "He's sleeping it off."

"He has five minutes to get out of that bed and dressed, or we'll drag him out," one unsympathetic Officer announced.

"Yes, Sir," she sighed heavily. Shutting the door, she went back to William's bedside. Stroking his hair, she called gently, "darling, wake up. Clinton has summoned you and if you don't get up those Officers are going to drag you out of here."

She had avoided calling him 'dear heart' since his frightful reaction the previous evening.

"Agh?" Came the response again, no more coherent than before. Linda pursed her lips.

"William - you have to get out of bed and get dressed!" She began pulling his arm, trying to drag him up. William barely budged an inch. His hair was in disarray around his shoulders, his corded arms pillowed his head. His eyes were puffy and blackened, there were bruises along his jaw. Linda had not seen the fight, but had heard it being told over and over by the Dragoons when they reached the Mighty George. "William, they'll drag you out of here, they said they would! Get up!"

She pulled at him again and finally he turned over and gazed up at her bleary eyed.

"What?" he asked thickly.

"Officers. Here. You are summoned to Clinton. They'll drag you out in your skin if you don't get up and dress yourself!"

"Christ," William muttered, scrubbing his hand over his unshaved face. "What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock."

He sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He tried to rise to his feet but dropped heavily to the bed again.

"Chamber pot," he said weakly. Linda barely had the bowl under his chin in time before her lover began heaving. She held his hair back, stroking his head gently as he convulsed over the bowl. When he was finished, she sat at Beth's desk and with a wince for his many bruises, she watched him dress.

_All mine now_, she thought to herself, though she was careful not to let her smug satisfaction show on her face. _No more Miss bloody Beth Martin. I won't even have to share William with her in camp now, with her off marrying someone else._

She refused to let it bother her that the reason for his anger and distress - the reason he'd taken Mariah and Sandra to his bed - was because he was heartbroken over another woman. Linda felt certain she could ease that heartbreak, now that she had him all to herself. Now that she no longer had to live in Beth's shadow. She would come first and foremost in William's life from this point forward.

William moved slowly, his entire body ached from the fight. And his wounds - the ones he'd taken in pursuit of Beth and Francis Marion - were on fire. He was dizzy as well, from too much liquor. After several clumsy attempts, he managed to dress himself, waving Linda off when she tried to help him. He had to sit heavily on the edge of the bed in order to pull his boots on. And there he sat, with his head in his hands, groaning.

Linda watched him apprehensively. Eventually, she poured him a glass of water from the pitcher and handed it to him.

_Thump, thump, thump!_

"Sir! I really must insist!" The Officer called through the door, never ceasing the infernal pounding.

Tavington snapped. He pushed Linda's arm away, shoving the proffered glass of water aside, then lurched from the bed. Grabbing his sabre from where it was propped against the wall, he drew it from the scabbard as he flung open the door. The Officers in the hallway were astonished to be greeted by the enraged Colonel, the first Officer most of all, for the point of William's sword was suddenly at the man's throat.

"Pound on that door again," William began softly, his pale gaze piercing. "And I'll slice you down the middle, do you understand?"

"Ah, yes, Sir," the Officer backed up several paces and swallowed hard.

"I will be with you momentarily," Tavington growled, kicking the door closed with his boot. The door slammed in the Officer's faces and William turned back into the room. His face was stone cold but his eyes raged. Linda swallowed and lowered herself to the bed, but William, fingers still clutching his sword, barely looked at her.

He tossed the sword on the bed and, striding across the room, he sat at Beth's desk and pulled a bowl over, pouring water in preparation to shave. His fingers shook slightly - another effect from the liquor, but he managed to shave without cutting himself. All the while he considered the implications of Clinton's summons.

They hadn't been in uniform - they hadn't called one another by their ranks or surnames. Clinton could not know what Tavington had done last night. The burned tavern. Patriots beaten and bloodied. At least no one was killed, though it had been a near thing. William had been in a blood lust toward the end, and when he pulled his dagger he was quite seriously contemplating killing that fellow who so closely resembled Burwell, if Bordon had not intervened.

All of the other men had laughed hysterically for the rest of the night, drinking and gaming - eventually whoring - regaling all who would listen with stories of their escapades. William had been mostly silent, drinking and watching, wearing a forced smile when he was taunted and teased. His thoughts, however, had never been far from Beth and her engagement to Colonel Burwell.

Even later on, when he disappeared upstairs with Mariah and Sandra - ignoring Linda's hurt expression - even then, his despair over Beth was not quenched. He'd taken Linda with him back to the Putman's. But the last of his energy had been spent keeping Bordon from striking Harmony and when he finally stumbled into his own chamber with Linda, he had been too exhausted to do more than undress and collapse in the bed.

And now, after a night of roguery, the drinking, the burned inn, the wounded rebels, he must stand before Clinton and act the innocent. It was too difficult to think through the muddle in his mind. The only thought that came through as clear as crystal, was that Beth was going to marry Colonel Burwell.

* * *

"You look a sight," Clinton shook his head with dismay. Standing before him was the newly promoted Officer - Clinton's protege, 'Colonel' William Tavington. Tavington stood proudly - or tried to. His back ramrod straight, one arm looped behind him, his head held high. But that was where his military poise ended. Patches of stubble marred his cheeks, stubble he'd missed during his morning ablutions. His dirty, unwashed hair was hastily bound back in a queue, his uniform Redcoat and breeches akimbo. There was a very unpleasant stench wafting from him, tawdry wine and ale and the smell of an unwashed body.

William stared directly ahead, past Clinton, not meeting the Commander in Chief's eyes.

"Gods. You really are in love with her, aren't you?"

The question was such a shock, it completely disarmed him. Tavington gaped at the Commander, his mouth open and working like that of a dying fish. "You know?" He rasped.

"I read the broadsheets, too," Clinton sighed. "Take a seat, William," he said, not without sympathy. They withdrew to Clinton's favourite position by the open windows, Clinton poured cider into two glassed, handed one to Tavington. "I received word from Banastre Tarleton, as well."

William held the glass in his hand but made no move to drink. He stared out the window onto the street, though the view held no interest to him.

"I'd previously given Tarleton orders to take Miss Martin in hand if he should come across her. To help her return to the city, where she would be safe. Now, with this engagement… Tarleton has asked if my orders hold - is he to still rescue Miss Martin, as I first commanded."

"Yes," William whispered, his voice hoarse. "Yes, that… I hadn't wanted… but yes, Banastre… He should go to Fresh Water, he could make it far more quickly than I. He must go there, now, he must rescue her -"

"William," Clinton raised one hand and Tavington cut off mid sentence. "I can not give him such an order."

"Why not?" Tavington asked, a world of agony and desperation in his voice. "He could go there, he could be there as soon as this evening. Why -"

"Because a father's authority over his children, William, is absolute," Clinton said gently. William snapped his mouth shut. "Son, Benjamin Martin was there, at his daughter's side, during the reading of the Bann, as is stated in the broadsheets. He has given his blessing, his daughter is marrying Burwell at his behest. His jurisdiction over his children is absolute. I can not remove her from him, I have no right."

"He is forcing her to marry Burwell!" William snapped and Clinton nodded, having expected the outburst.

"A father's authority over his children," Clinton said again, slowly, firmly, "is absolute."

"What of everything she did for us? Helping us to lure Burwell," William said, knowing he was lying, knowing he was clutching at straws. "And the Simms family - she didn't have to send warning to Mrs. Simms, but she did and now she's in danger. You said she was under your protection!"

"Protection, yes. But not my authority," Clinton said, still using that gentle voice.

William's mouth worked, but no sound would come.

"It is clear to me now, for absolutely certain, that Mr. Benjamin Martin is indeed in rebellion," Clinton said, his voice hardening. "He is connecting himself to Burwell through marriage, though he does not require Burwell's wealth as we first thought. He has been in Burwell's company, and has done nothing to assist us in his capture, nor has he sent word of Burwell's - our enemies - location."

"Yes," Tavington agreed softly. "Bordon and I… we discussed the same last night."

"He is a traitor," Clinton said, the judge condemning the accused. "I have no jurisdiction over Miss Martin's person, however I have complete authority when passing judgement on a rebel. I have heard word from a Loyalist near to the Martin farm, he has said Burwell has somewhere upward of one hundred men, though he does not know where those men are camped. Burwell himself has been quartered this last week, within the Great House at Fresh Water," Clinton enunciated distinctly.

"Dear God," William breathed.

"Therefore, Benjamin Martin's property - his wealth, his farm, his house and everything inside it, is hereby appropriated. I will draw up the documents this morning; I am going to seize the lot. Mr. Martin is to be removed from his home, his children will be dispossessed. There is nothing I can do for Miss Martin, but I can, at least, do that."

"It's not enough," William said, shaking his head slowly. "I don't care about the rest - let Martin have it all, for all of me, just… Please, Sir, I'm… I'm pleading with you. Command Tarleton to attack Burwell at Fresh Water, command him to rescue Miss Martin."

"I can not. Yes, I can - and shall - inform Tarleton that he is to route Burwell from Fresh Water, to capture him and to find his camp, and to let Martin know he has forfeited his home, also. But I can not command him to take Miss Martin away from her father's authority."

"Sir," William ran his hand over his forehead, feeling desperate and ready to fall on his knees. "Gods -"

"You truly are in a state, aren't you?" Clinton asked, shaking his head. "Usually, you listen more carefully than this. You listen for what I leave unsaid. Usually you can anticipate me. Can you not try to do so now?"

William straightened, astonished. His mind flew over the conversation, searching for Clinton's meaning in his words, and what he was leaving unsaid. Finally, he understood it. "If we seize Fresh Water, both Burwell and Martin will be ousted from it. Burwell will flee, or better yet, he will be captured. He will not be able to marry Miss Martin."

"Give the boy a round of applause," Clinton's smile was fleeting. "You have me worried, Colonel," he said soberly as William sat there, reeling with relief. "I understand what happens to a man when he falls in love, having been in that predicament myself. But we are in the middle of a war, William. I am leaving for New York in a matter of days. You are my best Officer, and I need to know that I am leaving him at his best. Are you going to be able to function in the capacity that is required of you? If you need me to give you furlough -"

"No, Sir. No - I… I may not look it, but I assure you, Sir, I can still function at my full capabilities, I will not disappoint you."

"I certainly hope not," Clinton said, though he was ready to allow himself to be reassured. "You must truly love her, if you don't even care about my little hint as to the disposition of the Martin family wealth."

"I just… Yes, Sir, I do," he frowned. "What hint?"

Clinton laughed. "Martin is to be dispossessed. His holdings seized, to be reallocated as I see fit. And for her service to the Crown, both in her assistance in the capture of Burwell and in warning the Simms family, I see fit to bestow the property and wealth onto Miss Martin, it shall be hers -" he paused for effect, then continued, "as soon as she is married, provided her husband is not Burwell."

William's jaw dropped.

Clinton settled back into his seat and began speaking companionably, as he had so often before with Colonel Tavington. "When I read the broadsheet and saw the published Bann…" He shook his head, eyes narrowed. "I began turning the problem over and over, up here," Clinton tapped at his head. "Initially, when she was carried off from the city, I'd thought the same as you, that Miss Martin must have been carried directly to Burwell, who would be keeping her within his camp, punishing her as he saw fit. I had no idea where her father fit into it, did he know his daughter had been taken? I wrote to inform him -"

"You did?" Tavington asked, surprised. It hadn't even occurred to him to do so. Then again, he'd found out from Zeke the slave Beth's true destination and her full design, when he returned to the city after skirmishing with Marion. Unlike Clinton, William knew the truth. Beth betrayed them, fled the city, and retreated to her father's Plantation. Benjamin Martin would have had Beth safely with him by the same time William Tavington was carried into Charlestown to have his wounds tended.

"I did," Clinton said. "But I've received no reply. That is not the first missive I have sent him, that he has ignored." He took a sip. "The first Bann was read at the church at Pembroke, Colonel, where Miss Martin was raised. The publication lists quite clearly that the Benjamin Martin was at the church, present during the reading of the Bann, which was being announced with his absolute approval."

"Yes, I saw," William said.

"You saw, but did it not make you think?" Clinton asked. "Burwell, Martin, sitting in the church together as the Banns for Miss Martin's engagement are read."

William stared, his mind working furiously. Clinton had been puzzling out the course of events and William was worried now that his Commander might guess at Beth's treachery. Did he suspect Beth of warning Burwell?

"Martin, at Burwell's side, and the entire church celebrating the match. Martin, blessing the match and forcing his daughter to it. Martin, who may never have been sick at all. What I am trying to say is, _he might have been involved in the plot to have his daughter removed from the city. _And there is Putman, who escaped the city, Martin's brother in law, who was a rebel all along. Martin's son is in the Continentals, under Burwell's direct command. Like Putman, I now believe that Martin was a rebel all along, William."

"Yes, I believe as you do," William said.

"I'm worried for Miss Martin, however," Clinton continued, his fingers tightening on his glass. "It will be some days yet before Tarleton can arrive to Pembroke. If it wasn't enough that she betrayed them by helping us, her rebel father will be none too pleased when he hears these rumours that are circling about you and her. Those rumours will reach Fresh Water well before Tarleton arrives to offer relief to her situation - I fear she will have to face the wrath of both her father and Burwell, in the meantime."

William stiffened with alarm - this was not something he had considered! He had busied himself with trying to salvage what he could of her reputation, to ensure she would have a place in Society after he married her. It had not occurred to him how her father would retaliate when he heard the rumors. If William were a parent and his daughter had dallied with an enemy Officer, the strap on her bare backside would be the least of her concerns. Some of his unease must have shown on his face for Clinton leaned in closer, studying him carefully.

"Are those rumours true, Colonel Tavington?" He asked in a disapproving tone. When Tavington hesitated, he continued, "I had not given the gossip credence before now!" He studied the Colonel carefully as William hung his head with shame. "So it is true then!" Clinton's cried in disgust and fury. "That night - the night of the ball - just as the rumour says! You took her to a private chamber where you compromised her virtue!" The rebuke cut William to the bone and he lowered his eyes, again retreating to silence. Clinton, however, was not finished. "I should have you flogged for destroying her thusly!" He raged. "You were aware she was under my protection, I had announced her to be under my wing - in your very presence!"

"Yes you did, Sir," William admitted finally. He met Clinton's fury filled gaze and wondered if the Commander in Chief would indeed condemn him to be flogged. "I know and I am sorry. I've regretted my actions many times since that night. Sir, you know that my intentions toward Miss Martin are honorable, if we can wrest her away from her father, I will marry her myself, regardless of him. In the meantime, I have done what I can to protect her virtue - which is still intact, my oath upon it. Miss Martin is still a virgin."

"I am glad to hear it," the Commander in Chief curled his lip primly with distaste. The men were quiet for a long, tense filled moment, Clinton allowing William to stew in his juices for a time. "Judging by your appearance, and your stench," Clinton stated, his eyes taking the Officer in from head to toe, "you are already suffering far more pain than a flogging could inflict."

William averted his gaze. He detested admitting to such a weakness but it was true nonetheless. He was suffering the pain of a broken heart.

"I can not condone the manner in which you have comported yourself toward Miss Martin," Clinton's disgusted tone revealed his frustration as he glowered at the Colonel. "You will remember you are a representative of His Majesty King George, you will start behaving as a gentleman aught and above all, you WILL pull yourself together!"

Tavington tilted his chin, his eyes and face stone.

"I need you to straighten your head, boy!" Clinton raged, his faith in William Tavington taking a severe blow now he was discovering the rumours were indeed true. "I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour, let us be clear here and now!"

"There will be no repetition, Sir," Tavington again assured his Commander. "And if - when - we have Miss Martin in hand again, I shall marry her, and in doing so, her reputation will be salvaged."

"It should not have been compromised to begin with," Clinton snapped. "She was under my protection."

"I apologise, Sir, for any offence I have caused you," Tavington said. "My conduct toward Miss Martin has been less than it should have been. I am going to do my utmost to rectify this, to salvage her reputation, I vow none of the like will ever happen again. I love her, Sir."

Clinton pursed his lips, though some of his anger began to fade. He'd been in love also, he'd felt that strong lure - the desperate yearning. He also knew Tavington to be a proud, stoic Officer - to admit wrong doing and express remorse what not something the Commander and Chief had ever seen the Colonel do before. At length, he nodded, heaving a frustrated breath.

"Very well. All that can be done to secure Burwell and Miss Martin, shall be done. And when she is reunited with you, I expect to hear tell of your marriage from New York."

"I will write to you myself, Sir."

"See that you do," Clinton commanded.

* * *

Bordon reined his horse in at the cobblers shop and dismounted, tying the lead rope to a post to stop his mount from wandering off. His boots thumped heavily as he trotted up the few wooden steps onto the verandah. Entering the shop, he saw it was devoid of life and he assumed the master must be out the back. Heading that way now - he knew the place well, having visited Harmony there - he'd even spent the night on occasion.

They were having lunch, he saw when he strode through the shop and out the back, to the dining room. Harmony was not there, only the cobbler and his family. The master's eyes bulged when he saw Bordon, but he rose immediately to halt the Officer.

"I'm sorry Sir, but you may not go upstairs," he said, barring Richard's way with his body.

"And why is that?" Richard ground out.

"This is a Christian house, Sir. Besides which, Miss Jutland told me that she does not wish to see you and asked that I send you away should you visit her here."

Richard's nostril's flared as he drew a sharp breath through his nose. He glanced at the cobblers wife, who quickly averted her gaze. She was sitting at the table spoon feeding a young child in a high chair. Bordon returned his gaze to the cobbler.

"I am going up," he stated firmly. "If you try to stop me, it will not go well for you."

"Please Sir," the cobbler beseeched. "She has made her wishes clear!"

"Well, that's just too bad," Richard stated, pushing past the smaller man. "She will damned well listen to what I have to say or I'll tan her bloody hide!" These last words were delivered as Bordon began to climb the stairs. The family exchanged nervous glances, worried for their young lodger. Bordon reached the next landing and strode down the poorly lit hallway until he reached Harmony's room. His face a mask of stone, he reached out and tried the door knob. It was locked.

"Harmony!" He bellowed. "Open this door at once!"

"Go away!" Came the shout from inside the chamber. "I meant it - I never want to see you again!"

Harmony had spent a wretched night, twisting and turning in her sheets, crying herself out until exhaustion finally took her into a fitful sleep. She woke as heartbroken in the morning as she had been the following evening when she'd discovered him with Mage. He bedded that other woman, blamed Harmony and then threatened to hit her! Indignation and heartbreak did not go well together and she found herself unable to pull herself out of her bed. She had done so, in the end, but for no longer than it took to tell Mr. Phillips that she had no desire to see Bordon, before she went directly back to her room and climbed beneath the covers again.

"Harmony!" He shouted again, this time banging heavily on the door with his fist.

"You'll wake the baby and then I'll get into trouble!" Harmony screeched through the closed door. "You selfish, unfeeling man - go away!"

"I won't! If you don't want the baby woken, then open the damned door!"

"Why, so you can tell me how it's all my fault again?" She shouted, rising from the bed and standing at the door - she made no move to unlock it - just stood there keeping the thick wood as a barrier between them.

"I didn't mean any of that!" Bordon said, lowering his voice slightly and trying for diplomacy. "It was the shock of it all. Just open up the door and we'll talk -"

"Oh, we're trying to be reasonable now, are we?" Harmony chortled bitterly. "You weren't so reasonable last night, when you almost struck me! You were the unfaithful one, not me!" Her words stuck in her throat and an unexpected sob choked out. She pressed her hands to her stomach and leaned forward, squeezing shut her burning eyes in a futile attempt to stop yet another flood of tears. Somewhere down the hall, the cobbler's infant son began to cry - woken by Bordon's rage.

"Harm?" Bordon called softly, having heard her sobs. "Open the door, darling - we'll set this to rights." He tried the handle again, hoping she'd unlocked it.

Harmony rested her forehead against the splintered wood of the door, anguished. It was tempting, she had to admit. To let him in, to forgive him. To have his hands on her, to kiss him. Her Major - so strong and handsome - so loving… But then the vision popped in her mind, of Bordon being loving with Mage Putman as the two coupled in his bed at Mrs. Putman's home, the same bed in which he had made love to Harmony.

_He's not my Major,_ she thought with despair. _He'll be unfaithful again - they always are!_

Hardening her resolve, she called through the door, "please just go, Richard."

Bordon was quiet for a long time. He panted with frustration, his anger growing again. She was just on the other side of the door - so close, so close! If he could just speak to her, now that he was sober he could articulate himself and give a far better explanation than he had the night before. If she'd just see him, just listen!

"Harmony. Open. The. Door." He ground out, his voice loaded with implied threat.

"No."

"Damn it!" Bordon took a step back and kicked the door with the tip of his hard boot, pulled his leg back and kicked again. The door shuddered and the violent, loud cracks caused the baby to scream with fright.

"Stop it!" Harmony cried from inside. "Just go - stop that now!"

Eventually he did stop. Panting from his exertions, he glanced down the hallway to see the cobblers wife. Her eyes were huge and her face terrified. She quickly ducked into the bedchamber to soothe her baby who was screeching uncontrollably, terrified by all the noise.

"Just go," Harmony said again. "I'll be in so much trouble, they might tell me to leave! I just… Just go - I don't want to see you."

"You don't want to see me?" Bordon tightened his lips, cold fury searing through him. "Very well. This is it, Harmony. I will grant you your wish - I'll never come to you again. I'll not allow you to make me look a fool."

A heart wrenching sob was her answer but Bordon was cold now - implacable in his rage. If she wanted it to be over, then it would be over. He would pursue her no longer, he would humiliate and shame himself over her no further.

"I don't need you either," he said aloud.

Hearing this declaration, she began to cry in earnest but Bordon ignored it, hardening his resolve. They were in the middle of a war, for Christ's sake. He needed his head about him - just like William who had been hauled over the coals by Clinton that very morning. He would do as William had been commanded do, he would get his head straight - pull himself together. He would give his superiors no reason to question his stability or his strength. He would not allow himself to be weakened by a woman.

_I don't need her,_ he told himself as he strode down the hall away from her chamber and trotted back down the stairs. _She's just another woman, another notch in my belt. I'll find another, I'll be fine. I don't need her._

These cold thoughts became a mantra, helping him to harden his resolve as he repeated them over and over on the ride back to the Putman's. For if he didn't at least partway convince himself that he didn't care; then he didn't have a shit show in Hell of convincing Tavington.


	35. Chapter 35 - Patriot Revenge

Chapter 35 - Patriot Revenge

_Charlestown - Evening_

Stepping back into common room from the kitchens, Harmony was met with a wall of heat and noise. With an exhausted sigh, she wiped the sweat from her brow and shoved the handkerchief back into her pockets. Why the fires had to be lit on a Summers night, she had no idea. To add more light, perhaps? That couldn't be it, for every single wall lantern was alight and there were plenty of candles in sconces placed throughout the tavern, on shelves and in the centre of each table. The tavern was always well lit with a yellowish glow, even at night.

Every single table in the common room was filled with patrons this evening, a good thing for Harmony, for the calibre of patron the tavern attracted could afford to slip her an extra coin or two. When she first took up with Bordon, Harmony had toned down her flirting because she had known her lover disliked other men leering at her. She had still been friendly but the regular patrons had come to know she 'belonged' to Bordon and the flirting had been winding down to a natural end until she barely even had her bottom patted anymore. It had meant less coins slipped to her from the Patrons, but she hadn't cared - because she had belonged to Bordon.

No longer, however. With a false smile in place, she'd been swaying her hips suggestively all evening as she wound through the tables and flirted with the men. Because of this, her pockets had been bulging earlier, she'd had to slip out the back and hide her cash to stop from tinkling and jingling as she walked.

The bar was situated at one end of the tavern, close to the kitchens - a short walk from where she stood now.

A jug of ale and two goblets of merlot, that was what the newcomers had ordered. She began drawing the ale from the kegs. The men weren't quite 'newcomers', they had been at the tavern for hours - but they were strangers - she'd never seen them before. They were sitting sullenly at the rear of the inn, quietly watching the other patrons who happened to be enjoying their evening. The newcomers - the strangers - were battered and bruised as though they'd been in a fight recently. This didn't surprise Harmony, considering the way the men glowered at the other patrons - they were just asking for trouble! She was surprised a brawl hadn't begun already. The strangers were crouched low in their seats, their bruised and busted faces concealed by their deep hoods. Who ever heard of such? Wearing hoods inside, on such a hot Summers night.

Skulking. That's what they were doing. If a person could 'skulk' while sitting… Positioned at the rear of the tavern in such a way that they could keep an eye on the door, watching for those who entered. Were they Patriots perhaps? The thought gave Harmony pause. Yes, that would explain it. But why come to an inn that was well known to cater to Loyalists? And more recently to Redcoats? She shrugged and began pouring the two wines. These were for the Gentlemen in the coterie. Most of the other men sitting around the table looked to be farmers. But two of them were far better dressed than the others. Indeed, those two had already slipped her a few extra coins, and that was all she should care about. She was the lover of a Redcoat no longer. What did she care if a group of Patriots visited the inn?

Just then, the main door was pushed open. A gust of warm wind set the lantern flames to fluttering and Harmony was bathed was blessed fresh air. She stared nervously to see who the new arrivals were. Four men stepped into the inn, they nodded at Harmony and then made their way to a spare table. She blew out an explosive gasp of relief. Her stomach roiled and her hands trembled on the goblet and bottle, sloshing the red liquid onto the counter.

It wasn't Bordon, as she'd feared it might be. But still, it took her a while to recover from her nerves. It had been that way all night - each time the door opened, Harmony jumped. It had left her feeling jittery and on edge, the fear that Major Bordon would decide to visit the tavern. She did not want to see him, her heartache over their ruined relationship was still too raw, too new. It would kill her - just kill her, to see him so soon.

Or ever again

Drawing a steadying breath, Harmony fought to regain her composure. She willed her hands to stop shaking - she'd never be able to carry the jug and two glasses all the way across the common room with trembling fingers! Rounding the bar, she made her way - without spilling a drop, thank goodness, and made it across to the rear of the room without incident. Just as she was placing the two glasses on the table, the door was shoved open again. Harmony held the jug with a white knuckled grip as she stared in trepidation, waiting to see who was coming in now. She held her breath and prayed it wouldn't be Bordon.

When James Wilkins stepped in, she gasped in a sharp breath and spilled the jug of ale. The amber liquid sloshed over the side, landing with a splash in the Gentleman's lap.

"Watch it!" The man admonished, jerking his leg to one side. It was too late, however. One buckskin leg of his breeches was soaked through.

"Oh, I am so sorry," she whispered. She clumsily placed the jug on the table and reached into her apron for a napkin, all the while fretting that Bordon might be coming in behind Wilkins.

"Don't worry yourself, Miss," the Gentleman said, his flare of anger gone.

"Here, just dab it. Perhaps you should stand by the fire for it to dry? I'll get you a new jug, I truly am sorry!" Harmony spoke all in a rush, both mortified that she'd spilled ale on a patron and still jittery over James Wilkins entering the inn. She could barely breathe as panic set in, for she did not know who else had filed in after Wilkins - who never came to the inn alone. For all she knew, Bordon was seating himself with the other Dragoons at that very moment.

"As I said, don't worry yourself. It'll dry on its own. Or perhaps you could wipe it for me?" the Gentleman suggested with a naughty smile as he parted his legs, edging his soaked thigh closer to her. His comrades chuckled at the lewd suggestion. Harmony was used to such leers and lusty comments but was not in the mood now, when her heart raced and nerves roiled her stomach. Still, she plastered a smile on her face all the same.

"No, you will have to see to fixing this yourself, I'm afraid," she said loftily as though she hadn't a care in the world. If Bordon was sitting at the table - only yards from her - she sure as hell wasn't going to show how unsettled and upset she was. Despite it being all she could do not to scream.

"You're a pretty one, when this is dry will you sit on my knee?" He asked and his comrades laughed again.

"Depends on how many sips of whiskey I steal from beneath the barman's nose," she forced a giggle. "Here - I thought you were a Gentleman, ordering wine and passing about so many coins. You shouldn't be inviting me to sit in your lap!"

"Ah, I have quite forgotten my manners. I blame your beauty for that," he grinned.

"You boys been fighting, have you?" She glanced around the table at the other men. It was abundantly clear that they had been in a brawl but it was the first thing to pop into her head that could take the talk from herself sitting in the man's lap before he decided to take matters into his own hands and pull her to him.

"You could say that. Care to soothe me?" The Gentleman smirked, reaching for her - as she suspected he might - to pull her into his lap.

"No," she laughed, dancing away from him. She flicked the towel over his face playfully, "no more than I care to wipe you, Sir!" Dropping the napkin in his lap, she turned away to continue serving at the other tables. The men chuckled darkly as she left them.

She'd planted on a smile from the moment she began her shift, flirting playfully with the patrons as though her life was perfectly fine. As though she hadn't just experienced the most devastating heart break of her entire life. It was all false - her smiles and her flirting - but it was necessary to put on a facade. She could hardly tend tables with her bottom lip dragging on the ground. And now she would have to serve Wilkins and his boys - and Bordon if he had accompanied them. She was not certain yet of that yet, for she was too scared to look. Her heart pounded furiously with nervous fear - Richard could be there with the other Dragoons, right now, sitting at their customary table, dealing out cards…

_Will he be watching me? _She wondered, too afraid to check in case she met his eyes. _No, he said he'd never come to me again. That he didn't need me either. If he is here, he won't be watching me._

A terrible thought struck her then, making her freeze. The two empty jugs she'd just picked up clashed together loudly but she was oblivious. What if he's come to take one of the doxy's to his bed? Mariah or Sandra? Oh, Lord - which will it be? He wouldn't, would he? N_o, he's not so cruel - he wouldn't come here for that, knowing I would discover it..!_

The suspense of it was killing her - she had to know if he was there or not. Willing herself to move, she began to ease her way through the tables. As she drew closer she snuck a furtive glance at Wilkins and his companions.

A sigh of relief exploded from her lips, Bordon was not amongst them. Hot on the trail of her relief was despair, white hot and searing. Wilkins caught her gaze and raised his arm, hailing her over. Funnily enough - for the first time ever - Wilkins and the other Dragoons were a quiet, subdued bunch. Normally they were rowdy from the moment they walked in. No longer, however. With her false smile in place, she swayed her hips suggestively as she sauntered over to stand beside Wilkins.

"Ah there she is, my favourite beauty," James smiled up at her, though with none of his usual fervour.

"All women are your favourites," Harmony quipped half heartedly.

"Except his wife," Michael Middleton chuckled. "Ow!"

He jerked his leg back and glared across at Arthur, who glared right back.

"That's my sister you're talking about," he grated.

Harmony's eyes widened - Arthur usually took such comments about 'Wilkins wife' in his stride - accepting them for what they were - Officer's moaning about their wives! It surprised her to see Arthur so infuriated, he normally laughed right along with the others.

"Do you want to make something of it?" Michael shot right back and Harmony's eyes bulged. They wouldn't fight each other - they never fought each other! Marcus - Michael's twin, laid a hand on his brothers shoulder.

"Easy now - down boy," he murmured. "You're frightening Miss Jutland."

Harmony wasn't frightened - she'd seen brawls in the tavern before. No, she wasn't frightened, she was astonished. She snapped her mouth shut, certain that she must have looked quite ridiculous just then, gaping as she was.

"Is everything alright with you lads?" She ventured carefully. "You seem a little… edgy…"

"You would be too," British born Ensign Dalton moaned from further along the table. "If you had to walk on tenterhooks all day. I swear, Tavington and Bordon are blacker than the darkest clouds these days!"

"I'll say," Michael griped. "Bordon damned near took my head off today because I hadn't handed in my report from yesterday's training. Too busy whoring and drinking to do my duty, he said. He'd see me on my arse, kicked from the Dragoons if I was so lax again - and never mind that it was only 8.30 in the morning!"

While the others continued their griping, Wilkins was quietly gazing at Harmony. His speculative expression seemed to suggest that he knew she was at the core of Bordon's not so sunny disposition. She squirmed uncomfortably under his stare and kept her attention on the other Dragoons.

"Yeh, it wasn't like we were slacking," Marcus added.

"I understand Tavington - what with Miss Martin and finding out she's engaged to Burwell and all that. But Bordon? What's he got to moan about? He's leading a grand life, with his promotion to Major and his beautiful mistress," Michael waved toward Harmony.

Whose cheeks flushed crimson. Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly wished to be anywhere other than there - listening to the Dragoons speaking about her and Bordon as though they were still a happy couple.

"I'll get you some ales," she muttered and began to stride away. Wilkins however, was not about to let her go so easily. He snatched out his hand and seized a hold of her wrist, stopping her from going another step.

"Does he?" Wilkins asked, his gaze sharp. "Does he still have a beautiful mistress?"

"As a matter of fact he does," Harmony said honestly. "I'm sure you all agree that Mrs. Putman is a lovely creature."

James' jaw dropped. Silence descended amongst the men and they all stared at her with varying degrees of incredulity. At first she thought they were shocked to learn from her that Bordon was bedding Mage Putman, but then she saw the lads exchange uncomfortable glances.

They had known...

It was a heart wrenching discovery, that these men, who flirted with her and laughed and joked, drank with her when she wasn't working - had known all along that her lover was screwing another woman. It was painful indeed. She felt betrayed, not only by Bordon himself, but by the men who she had thought were her friends. She had thought she was an accepted part of them, one of the group!

"So yes, he does have a beautiful mistress," Harmony continued, her eyes welling with tears. "If you'll excuse me, please - I'll get you those ales."

_Of course they'd already known_, she thought bitterly. How could they not? Some of them shared Bordon's billet at the Putman residence! With blurry eyes Harmony rounded the counter and shoved a jug beneath the kegs nozzle, drawing the boys their ale. She had never been one of the group. They'd only been kind to her, joking and laughing, because she was the latest floozie of one of their Commanders. They'd probably been just as welcoming and friendly with all the women that had come before Harmony. And they'd behave the same with Bordon's next lover. She was nothing special, just another strumpet who had been raised higher for a short time, by virtue of bedding a high ranking Officer.

"Miss Jutland," Mr. Ingles was at her side, mopping up the ale she had spilled over the rim of the jug.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was so full!" Harmony gasped, her tears now threatening to spill down her cheeks just as the ale had spilled down the sides of the jug.

"It's alright," Ingles said kindly, studying her carefully. "Are you well? If you want another night off, you can go home…"

He had some inclination of what had happened - enough to know that Harmony's great love affair with her British Officer had come to an end and that she was heartbroken over it. He'd seen it all before, time and time again. Though it was the Bluecoats up until a month or so ago.

"No, no - I'm fine. I can't afford not to work - please don't send me home -"

"I'm not sending you anywhere," he whispered earnestly. "You carry on then, for as long as you are able. But if you find you want to leave - just say the word. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she hung her head and swallowed - his kindness almost undid her. Then again, he'd always been kind to her and the other barmaids and even to the doxy's.

"Take a break - I'll get this out to the Dragoons," he said. Correctly guessing that they were the source of her distress, he relieved her of the jug.

Needing to be alone for a spell, Harmony walked blindly to the back rooms of the inn - avoiding the chamber she had teased Richard in only the night before last. Once she was alone she wiped her tears and drew several breaths, willing her composure to return. A good ten minutes later, she finally felt ready to face the world again. Stepping into the hallway she caught sight of Lilly, one of the other barmaids.

"Ho, Lil," Harmony called as she trotted a few steps to catch up to the other girl.

"Hello, Harm," Lilly replied, turning to study Harmony. "You look awful."

"Thanks," Harmony choked back a laugh - or was it a sob? She wasn't sure. "Lil, I don't feel up to serving the Dragoons tonight - will you take care of this end of the common room, where they are sitting? I'll take care of the rear."

"Gladly!" Lilly said fervently. "And not just because those Dragoons are more generous tippers! I don't like the look of those new fellows - they're sitting at the back, have you seen them?"

"Yeh, I slopped ale on one of them."

"Dear Lord! I'm surprised he didn't make a fuss - they're staring at everyone all dark like. Glaring, you know? I wonder if there'll be a fight tonight."

"Don't know," Harmony shrugged. The two began to make their way back into the common room. "We've seen fights before. You know what to do."

"Keep down and keep quiet," Lilly replied fervently. "It still makes my heart pound - I get so scared!"

"I don't like it either, but it'll be fine. Don't worry."

Lilly smiled gratefully and the two women parted ways - Lilly to serve the Dragoons and those other Officers close to the bar and the front door, while Harmony continued on past Wilkins and his boys to serve at the rear of the tavern. She avoided James' eyes as she passed him, her head down and her eyes fixed on the floor.

How stupid was she? She had never been more than just another doxy to them. The camaraderie she thought existed between them had been one sided all along. They had never been her friends, not truly. They were Richard's friends and it wouldn't even occur to them that by keeping his affair secret, they had betrayed her.

The night progressed as any other, Lilly's prediction that there might be a fight did not come to pass. Though Harmony wondered with increasing discomfort if the battered and bruised newcomers bore a particular enmity for James, Arthur and the other Green Dragoons sitting at James table. They shot such scowls across the common room at the Dragoons. Under other circumstances, Harmony would have warned James that he was being watched but she couldn't bear to go near him just then. Besides, he was smart, and he was a soldier - he was likely already aware of the hostility.

The sullen men spoke in quiet murmurs and when they did laugh, it seemed forced, dutiful. As though they were putting on an appearance to not draw undue attention. They were a sharp contrast to the others in the tavern. The taverns regular patrons were laughing and making merry, getting more soused as the evening wore on. She occasionally caught James Wilkins eyes across the common room but she averted hers each time. She lost herself in her duties. As the night drew on, that dread feeling began to fade and she became certain that Bordon would not walk through the tavern door.

Eventually James and the other Dragoons up and left the tavern. This surprised Harmony - they usually stayed until Mr. Ingles shouted that the last round of ale was being served, his signal that he was about to close for the night. And then they usually stumbled out the back to entertain themselves with the doxies or a barmaid if she was willing. And they didn't stumble out either, they left in an orderly fashion, not soused in the slightest.

Hours later, the tables began to empty, the night was drawing to a close. Only a quarter of the tables were filled now, another hour or so and Mr. Ingles would call for the last drinks and the tavern would then be closed. Harmony turned from wiping down an empty table - she'd already taken the glasses and jugs away. As she was straightening the chairs, she was hailed by the Gentleman who she'd slopped ale on.

"Are you dry yet?" She asked him with a smile. He'd been friendly enough to her all evening, despite his earlier irritation.

"Almost," he told her. "Thanks again for the free ale."

"That's alright, it was my fault you got soaked." Mr. Ingles had allowed her to provide the table with a few complimentary ale jugs to apologise for her clumsiness.

"Ah, it happens," he waved her comment away. Then he cocked his head and gazed at her thoughtfully, his blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "I haven't introduced myself, have I? How remiss of me. Name's John Sumter."

"Sumter?" Harmony repeated, edging closer to the table. "What, like the Gamecock, Sumter?" She was referring to Colonel Thomas Sumter, an affluent South Carolinian politician and militiaman who was heavily involved with the Patriot movement.

"Just so," Sumter laughed. "He's my cousin."

"No!" Harmony breathed, wide eyed and awestruck. "Truly? Your cousin is as famous as Edward Rutledge!"

"Yes, he casts a long shadow, I'll admit. Puts the pressure on man, to live up to the name, to distinguish myself," Sumter said this cheerfully and Harmony didn't believe there was any enmity on his part toward his cousin.

"Oh!" She gasped with sudden realisation and continued innocently, "it's as I thought - you are Patriots! Your cousin is a Colonel in the Continental army! Is that why you were staring daggers at the Dragoons?"

John Sumter chuckled.

"Yes, I suppose we were at that, weren't we boys?" He glanced around at his companions who all nodded, their expressions dark indeed. "There's no love lost between us and Loyalists."

"Judging by those bruises, you boys are no strangers to fighting," Harmony exclaimed with nervous excitement. "Lilly and I - we've been worried all evening that there was going to be a brawl because of the way you were staring at the Dragoons. Why did you risk coming here? You must know that mostly Loyalists come here."

Harmony was so awestruck over who she was speaking to - and over the man's connection to such a famous personage - she was dumbfounded and couldn't think through her befuddlement. If she had have stopped to think it all through carefully, she may have been less awestruck, and more fearful of what their presence in the tavern could portend.

"Well, as to that, our usual watering hole was burnt to the ground last night," John replied seriously.

"No, truly?" She commiserated. "I hope no one was hurt!"

Sumter's face darkened - just for a bare moment. A flash of fury, gone so quickly Harmony was not certain she'd seen it at all. The smile he planted on his face seemed as forced as the smile she had worn all evening.

"No one was killed, Miss Jutland," Sumter said pointedly. "But plenty of us were _hurt_."

A frown crossed her pretty face and finally her befuddlement and awe began to dissipate. Her mind began working again - Sumter had been correct before, they had not been introduced. Of course he could have found out her name easily enough, by asking some of the regular patrons, but cold foreboding traced her spine and somehow she didn't think that was how he knew her.

Glancing around the table she eyed each Patriot nervously, taking in their bruises and cuts, their dark demeanour. That they'd been in a scuffle had been obvious from the start and now Sumter spoke of an inn burned to the ground. Bordon and the Dragoons had been in a brawl - an altercation they had instigated - at a Patriot inn, which was set ablaze during the fight. Finally, the implications of his words sank in.

Harmony shifted her gaze back to John Sumter, her eyes locking onto his. A small smile quirked his lips, he knew she understood now. Her eyes fixed on his, she froze in place like a startled rabbit, completely unable to move. These were the men Richard and Tavington had brawled with. And Sumter had made the effort to learn her name.

"Tell me Miss Jutland," John Sumter said. "How is Major Bordon? I do hope he is no worse for wear after our little scuffle."

Harmony gulped back her fear. They knew that she was - or that she had been - Bordon's lover.

"Then again," he continued as he reached out and took hold of her limp wrist, her feet stumbled as he jerked her closer to him. "With you to care for him, I'm certain the good Major's ills were soon forgotten."

Initially, Harmony had been frozen with shock but now Sumter was trying to draw her into his lap and she finally found the wherewithal to make protest.

"Let me go," she said, twisting her wrist as he pulled her inexorably closer.

"Nah, I kinda like holding you. Wouldn't mind doing it some more… Where is Miss Stokes, Miss Jutland?" He asked and Harmony felt herself grow very still.

They were here for her - and for Linda - she understood that now. Why else would they come to the Loyalist inn, why else would they wait until the Dragoon presence was gone before making their move? They knew her name - knew she was Bordon's mistress. And Linda was Tavington's. They would hurt them both, to get their revenge.

"I… I don't know. Not here," she replied.

Sumter edged his chair away from the table, making room for her to sit in his lap. His hold on her wrist was iron but she still struggled, a little more frantically now. But then she felt something sharp press into her leg and she glanced down to see the Patriot sitting closest to her was holding a dagger in his hand, jabbing it at her thigh. Harmony gasped and moved her leg back.

"You look distressed, Miss Jutland," Sumter said knowingly. "I can't imagine why, with such friends as us to protect you, to… take care of you."

Harmony certainly didn't like the sound of that! Especially as the last was said in an insinuating tone - she knew exactly how they'd take care of her.

"I couldn't think of a worse fate," Harmony hissed down at him. "Than being taken care of by any of you. Release me now or I'll scream."

Though she kept a nervous eye on the dagger, she jerked her wrist, still trying to pull free. Shooting a quick glance at the fat end of the tavern, she saw Mr. Ingles head was down as he wiped the counter at the bar - oblivious to her plight. The other Patrons were still making merry, no one noticed that Harmony was being harassed in the far dark corner of the common room.

"Now now," Sumter called soothingly, drawing her gaze back to him. "Let's not let this get unpleasant, hmm?"

Just then, she heard the distinct sound of several fire arms being cocked, though they were still kept low - under the table. The Patriot men were watching her intently, with such animosity and disgust - no one had ever stared at her like that before! They were disgusted that she, a Colonial woman, would take a Redcoat for her lover. Now that their pistols had been drawn, she stopped struggling against John's grip.

"Good girl," he approved with a bright smile. He pulled her down to his knee and she perched there - stiff, nervous and fearful.

"We don't want anyone to be hurt now do we?" Sumter whispered, pressing his lips close to her ear.

"No, we don't," fear made her voice breathy, almost indistinct. Harmony closed her eyes and swooned and Sumter wound his arm around her waist to hold her, to keep her from falling.

"My cousin's inn, Miss Jutland," he said, still whispering. His lips moved across the shell of her ear as though he were whispering sweet nothings. When she opened her eyes to catch sight of his face, she saw his eyes were closed and he wore a blissful expression. If someone was to glance at them from afar, they would assume the two were lovers. To reinforce this, he reached up with his free hand to stroke one cheek as his lips rained kisses on her other cheek. Her face flushed with acute embarrassment and shame. "Burnt to the ground," he continued in a husky tone as though he was indeed in blissful pleasure, kissing and canoodling a beautiful woman for all the tavern to see. "And what is going to be done about it?"

"I don't know," she hung her head, stifling a sob. Her fingers worked in her lap, she kept her eyes fixed on them rather than risk glancing at the hate filled men.

"Absolutely fucking nothing," he said, his tone darkening suddenly. His lips drifted to her neck, she could feel his warm breath on her smooth skin. His fingers continued their caress of her cheek - it felt like spiders crawling along her flesh and she resisted the urge to recoil.

"I'm sorry," she managed to choke out. She knew none of this, having ended her relationship with Bordon last night. Somehow she didn't think her apology would be worth a hell of a lot in this man's eyes.

"Ah, what a compassionate girl you are," Sumter said, drawing back for a moment to gaze up at her. "And such a lovely thing. I can well understand why Bordon is fucking you."

Harmony's face flamed red at his words and she lowered her gaze from his. It was all so unfair, she doubted Richard would even care if she were hurt by a group of Patriots! Everything he had told her had been a lie, he didn't care about her, he had never - ever - declared his love for her! He had only wanted someone to fuck in camp where the choice of willing women would be limited. And so he had kept her on the side, leading her along, giving her enough to believe he cared for her. But it was Mrs. Putman he wanted, and why wouldn't he? She was a well bred aristocrat - a woman of Richard's own class. And what was Harmony? A barmaid, a stupid, stupid barmaid! Mrs. Putman was Richard's true mistress, she held his heart. It occurred to Harmony that Sumter might let her go if he knew she and Bordon were finished, that he had never cared for her and he wouldn't be hurt by anything Sumter did to her.

"Sir," she began, lifting her gaze to his again. Her eyes welled with tears - it would hurt more than she knew, to say the words - but they were true nonetheless. "Major Bordon and I are not lovers -"

He spoke over her before she could explain further.

"That's not what Mr. Putman told me," he said and Harmony's eyes widened to sauces. Mr. Putman? "Come now, don't deny it," he smiled up at her for all the world as though he were her sweet heart, flirting and canoodling. "Mark Putman is very good at what he does - the digging out of secrets. Not that the two of you have been particularly discreet. You are Bordon's mistress - you fuck him nightly. You fuck Redcoats, Miss Jutland."

"Mr. Putman? He fled the city nearly two weeks ago!"

"Yes, well, I know where he is," Sumter replied. "After last night, I went and had a little chat with him. You know, to learn Tavington and Bordon's… weaknesses…"

"I'm not anyone's weakness! Things have changed!" Harmony gasped. "Please - it's over between me and him, you must believe me," Harmony begged Sumter earnestly. Was this Putman's idea of revenge - had he discovered Bordon and Mrs. Putman's affair, also? Was this his way of getting to Richard from afar, when he could not attack in person?

"Nice try," John chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. The other Patriots chuckled darkly as well and she shot frantic glances at them before turning wide eyed back to Sumter. He scoffed and shook his head - clearly, he didn't believe her.

"Please, just let me go," she wailed quietly, beseeching now. Hoping against hope that he would feel moved, that he had nothing worse intended than to merely frighten her.

"Now, that I can't do, whore of Redcoats," he said softly. Harmony hung her head and gasped back a sob. He placed two fingers beneath her chin and turned her face to meet his gaze. "Now, now. Don't cry. I have some instructions for you, which might make your role here easier to fulfil. Are you ready to listen?"

Harmony nodded wordlessly, biting her lip to keep from crying.

"Very good. I am going to release your hand and you are going to step back from the table, and walk slowly for the door. Do not try to speak to anyone on the way, you will do nothing to alert any of them. You will walk until you are all the way out of the inn. We will follow. Once we are outside, we'll be joined by some more of my comrades, who will take us some place nice and safe while these boys," he jerked his head to the men at the table with him, "hold down the fort. If you try to raise the alarm - these boys will start shooting at all these fine Tories, including your boss. They will die - all of them. Understood?"

She stared at him with shock - her mind working furiously. She was horrified that he could threaten to kill innocent men, just to ensure her co-operation.

"I understand," She whimpered, aghast at the lengths the man would go to. And for what? For nothing! Bordon didn't care - he wouldn't be upset in the slightest! These men would hurt her, thinking they were hurting Richard! She would be raped and possibly murdered - all for nothing!

"Good girl," Sumter was saying. "Now, walk to the door, exactly as I said."

With each step she took, her terror increased. What was going to be done to her, if she left with these men? What would be done to Mr. Ingles and the other men, if she didn't? Gods, this was some revenge for the brawl that had cost Sumter's cousin his tavern.

Sumter rose, as did a few of the others. They followed Miss Jutland, Sumter's eyes boring into her back. He distinctly remembered the moment when he lay on the ground, coming too after being knocked out, the moment when Tavington's face suddenly appeared above his. The Butcher's expression had been murderous and he'd held a dagger in his hand. John had felt certain his life was about to end. He would carry that nightmare to his grave. Bordon had intervened, but that meant nothing - all of it - what had been done to Sumter and his men, their bruise and battered pride, all of it was Bordon's fault, he was the one to suggest the jaunt in the first place. Sumter was desperate for revenge, and Mark Putman had been quite forthcoming, in how he could achieve it.

At that very moment, Sumter's men were scouring the streets, chasing down rumours of were Linda Stokes might be. Bordon, and Tavington, were both going to pay. He would hold both women to ransom until Bordon and Tavington gained a decent amount of money for their release. He would give some to his cousin, to go toward rebuilding the inn. But the rest of the ransom would be sent to his other cousin, Thomas Sumter. The Continentals needed coin - to pay their soldiers, to buy supplies. Taking Harmony and Linda would ensure him a nice amount - with a little revenge on the side.

Harmony reached the bar - the door was only a few yards away. Lilly was drawing an ale from a keg into a jug and she glanced up with surprise - meeting Harmony's gaze as she past by. Harmony tried to convey everything to her friend - but without words it was impossible. Sumter was only a few yards behind her, and the threat of the men with their firearms weighed heavily upon her. Would Lilly be killed, when the shooting started, if Harmony tried to give warning? Biting her lip, she looked away. She opened the door and stepped outside.

_You could run_, she thought, but then the door was opening again and John was stepping out.

"Just a little further, Miss Jutland. Away from the inn and prying eyes."

Harmony said nothing as they walked along the oyster shell footpath. Sumter led her past several buildings, then turned her into an alley. Further along, she saw men holding torches aloft, standing beside their horses. The men all turned to the pair, some of them nodding at Sumter in greeting. Clearly, they had been waiting for him there all evening.

"Can you ride?" John asked her.

"Yes," she whimpered as she gazed at the milling men and horses.

"Then shall we?" He reached for the reins of the nearest horse.

_He'll rape you_, she thought and then she panicked. Whirling suddenly, she bolted back toward the mouth of the alley. As fast as her legs could carry her, she ran and ran, her skirts flying around her shins. The men shouted behind her but still she ran, her shoes pounding the dirt. But then Sumter was there - his hand curled around her arm and he twisted her back, then slammed her against the wall. The breath left her body with a woosh and a flare of pain blazed in her back.

"Let me go!" She screeched and kicked him. The pointed tip of her shoe caught his boot covered shin and he bellowed, snapping his leg back.

Deranged with fury, he curled his fist and punched her hard, twisting her face to the side. Harmony cried out, sobbing incoherently, clutching at the blazing pain in her jaw.

"You dare!" Sumter shouted. He punched her again, not caring one jot that this was a woman he was beating. He hit her with as much force as he had Tavington the night before. Harmony raised her arms and curled into a ball to protect herself but one more punch landed on her ear. She collapsed to the ground, huddling in on herself.

"I told you not to cause me trouble! I warned you what would happen! Shall I give the order then?" John raged down at her as she sobbed pitifully and cowered away from him. "Shall I send one of the others back inside to shoot all those fucking Tories?"

"No, no please! I'm sorry - I won't do it again!" Harmony begged. She pressed herself as far against the wall as she could - blood dribbled from her mouth, she could taste it on her tongue. Her lip was cut, her ear was afire with pain and her cheek - God, her cheek was blazing! Was her jaw broken? Gods, it felt like it. "I won't, I won't do it again!" She sobbed wretchedly, cowed by terror.

"See that you don't," Sumter growled. He reached down and grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet, berating her the entire way back to the nervous horses. "You stupid girl. If you do as you are told you won't be killed. But if you try this again I'll choke the life from you myself, and then I'll go after that piece of shit lover of yours!"

Harmony's legs buckled and she dropped to the ground, only to be hauled to her feet again. Then they were at the horses - she had not run as far as she'd thought! - And John picked her up and dumped her in the saddle. He mounted behind her - he would not trust her to her own horse now.

They rode off into the night, through the alleys of Charlestown, avoiding the British patrolling the streets. So many twists and turns, Harmony soon lost track of where they were, she couldn't even say what part of the township they were in. Finally they were entering a yard and yet more men greeted them. Harmony was pulled down from off the horse. She didn't struggle at all when John gripped her arm again and marched her into the house.

* * *

"Right then," Sumter said sternly as he shoved Harmony into an upstairs chamber. "We're here - home sweet home."

He pushed her hard enough that she stumbled and hit her shin on a chest at the end of the bed. She gasped with pain and reached down to rub her leg. When the pain subsided, she straightened and immediately began to edge away from Sumter. Her hands pressed to her stomach, she walked backwards past the bed until her back was to the wall.

The curtains had not been closed though it was fully dark outside, being close to midnight. the chamber was well lit enough that Harmony could see her reflection in the darkened window pane. Marring one cheek was a huge, vivid bruise where Sumter had punched her. She saw her cut and swollen lip. The pain was immense. Her entire jaw ached, she felt as though she'd been hit with a brick on her ear. She looked a mess and with a flinch, she jerked her eyes away from the glass. There was no need to see the damage to know it was there. It was not the first time she'd suffered such beatings but it had not occurred for so long that she'd almost forgotten how terrifying it could be. How painful. Shying away from where those thoughts would lead her, she again turned her gaze to watch Sumter warily.

"You're wondering if I'm going to rape you, aren't you?" John smirked as he stepped up to her. She had been wondering exactly that, and after her attempt to get away - after the rage it had caused him - she knew that if he went down that road it would be brutal indeed. Harmony cowered against the wall, her blue eyes huge and pleading.

"Are you?" She whispered finally.

"I've never balked at it before at doing it before," he admitted. "You're a beautiful woman, Miss Jutland - even with all this bruising."

Harmony lowered her eyes and wished she could disappear into the wall behind her, wishing she could fall right through. He could do it - she would be powerless to stop him. Her heart beat frantically and she struggled to breathe through sheer panic.

This was heightened when Sumter lifted her chin with his fingers, leaned down to her, and laid a very gentle kiss on the cut on her lip. Harmony didn't respond at all, beyond staring at him wide eyed. He didn't draw away, instead he drifted gentle kisses along her jaw. Feeling disgusted, Harmony closed her eyes to shut out the sight of him as he began working on her neck, sucking and nipping her skin. His hands encircled her waist and he groaned, pressing his lower half against her - she could feel the evidence of his arousal against her stomach. John began to rock his erection against her, the friction of their clothes causing a lovely heated sensation in his groin. He was enjoying it even if she was not.

"I'll tell you what," he whispered against her neck. "You work me with your hands and I'll let you alone."

"Oh, God, please don't make me!" Harmony wailed, deploring the idea of touching another man - _there_ \- so soon.

"It's either that or I'll lay you down and take you fully," he replied. His voice deepened with threat and Harmony shivered with fear. "If I'm forced to lower myself to take you that way, like a farmer forcing an undutiful wife, I'll be every bit as savage." He lifted his head and met her eyes, she could see by the terrible glint that he was utterly serious. "If you refuse to work me with your hands - I'll do it, mark my words. I'll lift your skirts and fuck you, right there on the edge of the bed."

Harmony closed her eyes as if praying. Pleasuring him with her hands would mean she was willingly joining in the activity and it shamed her to her core to even consider it. She suspected that was his true reason in giving her this terrible ultimatum - he took great joy in making her submit. But the alternative… She shot a glance past him at the bed and imagined herself laying there, on the edge, her legs wide as she cried and begged. She imagined him pinning her down - striking her for protesting - then the pain and humiliation of him forcing himself inside of her.

"I can't go through that again," she whispered, still staring at the bed. Half in a daze, she reached up blindly and began unbuckling his belt.

"Again?" John quirked an eyebrow.

"Never mind," she said softly, keeping her face turned from his. Her haunted gaze was still fixed on the bed, in her minds eyes she was still watching the vision of herself being raped there.

He glanced down between them, watching as she worked his buttons and pushed his breeches down, she freed his erection without even looking. He smiled then, knowing he was in for a good time, especially when she curled both of her soft hands around his length. One hand was wrapped around the base of his shaft, one at the top. She was no stranger to this - she knew what to do.

"You've made the right choice," he said thickly. Rocking his pelvis back and forth, he pulled and pushed his erection in and out of her tight fists.

Harmony made no reply. Instead she tried to withdraw from the world - tried to pretend there was nothing happening below their waists at all. Sumter was not about to let her disappear so easily.

"Hmm, you are a beauty," he whispered down at her. Placing his broad hands on her slim shoulders, he leaned down to kiss her - forcing her to turn back to him. She returned his kisses dutifully, all the while tugging at his erection. She knew what to do. Make him come - and then this would be over - he wouldn't rape her. It was clear he was not going to let her escape in her mind and so she decided she must make him reach completion quickly. To do this, she had to do more than the dutiful tugs - she began to actively pleasure him by swiping her thumb up, gliding it around the helmet of his cock, smearing the moisture all around the bulbous tip.

"Ah yes!" He groaned into her mouth and bucked his hips furiously for a few heartbeats, unable to help himself. With a huge effort of will, he slowed down, not wanting this to end too soon. He was not young. He was close to middle years and he would not recover an erection until morning. Better to draw it out, savor it. It would mean for a stronger orgasm, in any case.

"Perfect," he encouraged her, kissing her - his tongue sliding between her lips to caress hers. Harmony permitted it, she responded in a dead pan kind of way, submissive and compliant.

_Oh, God, would you just come! _She raged in the recesses of her mind as she tugged him harder, faster, squeezed tighter, continually working his tip to give him as much sensation as possible, hoping he would hit his peak quickly. It was her fear that if he didn't climax soon, he might get it into his head to have her continue pleasuring him on her knees! As if this indignity wasn't bad enough! If he asked her to use her mouth on him - she didn't know what she'd do. Accept being raped, perhaps - no matter how painful.

_Agh! Just come! I want this over with!_

John was groaning in her mouth by this stage, panting and bucking his hips, his fingers digging into her shoulders. He even growled, nipped her lip - which made her wince with pain - before shoving his tongue back in.

As if her silent raging at him worked, he suddenly tensed. Holding his breath, he braced his legs, planted his boots to the floor and arched his back. This was it, she knew - it was almost over. Two, three strokes later and he erupted with a shout all over her hands, some spilling onto her skirts. She kept her fists clenched around his shaft while he came, his cock twitching and spasming beneath her fingers. She could feel the pulses of his seed bursting along his length.

Finally he let out an explosive breath and his grip on her shoulders loosened. It was done now and she unclenched her hands and drew them away from him, gazing up at him gravely all the while. Would he keep his end of the bargain? Or was she to be raped after all?

John swallowed hard, his breathing slowed as he calmed. When he opened his eyes, he met and held her gaze.

"You've been raped before?" He asked her - his voice was thick, breathy and content. His need had been assuaged.

"Yes," she swallowed, her eyes welling tears despite herself. "Am I about to be again?"

"Not by me," he said. Leaning forward, he jerked his breeches up and began buttoning them. "And not by my men. But if I feel like doing this again, you will be compliant, yes?"

It was not really a question. It was a warning of what would come if she got it into her head to protest. With a heavy sigh, she nodded, she would be as docile as a lamb, if it meant she could avoid raped. Sliding out from between him and the wall, she strolled over to the bed.

"I take it I'm to sleep here?" She asked as she pulled back the covers. Perched on the end of the bed, she reached down to remove her shoes.

"Yes."

"Alone?" She challenged, glancing up to meet his gaze.

"Yes, until I feel like your company again," he grinned down at her, his smile positively indecent. Harmony made no reply to that. Placing her shoes on the floor, she climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over herself.

"Don't bother trying to escape, Miss Jutland," he warned her as he strode toward the door. "That window is closed over, it hasn't opened in years. And your door is guarded."

_Well of course it is, how stupid do you think I am?_ Of course she didn't give voice to the thought. Sumter left the chamber, closing the door behind him and Harmony, finally alone - at least for now - succumbed to her fear. Curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, huddled beneath the blankets, she sobbed wretchedly into the pillow.


	36. Chapter 36 - Five Thousand Pounds

Chapter 36 - Five Thousand Pounds

_24__th__ June:_

Tommy McCormick's parlor, in Trellim's opinion, was not one bit cooler than Mr. Putman's. Even with his position by the wide open windows, without any wind to stir up a sea breeze, the heat was becoming stifling. Not that McCormick's manor could have enjoyed a sea breeze if one had stirred, for his home was too many streets back from the harbor.

Captain Trellim, Patriot spy, pulled at the cravat at his neck, trying to loosen it. While the thick cotton scarf would serve him well in Winter, in Summer it was nothing but constricting. One glance at Banksia, who was sitting beside him, showed the Sergeant was not fearing any better. Sweat beaded his brow and he continually dabbed at it with a kerchief while quietly cursing under his breath.

Trellim dearly wanted to peel his Redcoat from his shoulders. The coat was another garment that would serve him better in Winter than Summer, being made of wool. The heat however, was not the only reason he wanted to remove the hated Redcoat. Remove it, stomp it into a stinking pile of horse shit with his muddy boot, then burn it for good measure. He'd felt that way since the very first time he'd drawn the damned Redcoat of the Green Dragoons across his shoulders. He'd stood before his long stand mirror for the longest time, detesting what he saw reflected back at him.

When Colonel Burwell first took him aside and quietly requested that he embark on the mission of spying within the Green Dragoons, Trellim had accepted immediately, for he knew it was of utmost import that they gain enemy intelligence. He would be doing good work. Important work. And he had been doing so these last weeks, for Burwell. But these last few days, he had come to despise the task Burwell had set upon him, and not only because he hated wearing the Redcoat uniform.

Mark Putman. Gods, learning the truth about how Mage Putman was gaining intelligence for her husband was enough to make Trellim pack it all in. Not only the Green Dragoons, but his connection to Putman, as well. It was disgusting, despicable, he despised it. Each time Mage had come to him, face flushed - from nerves, he'd thought - to whisper new information in his ear. He knew now, that it was straight from Bordon's bed that she came to him. Her face had been flushed not because it was a nervous life, being a spy - it was not nerves that made her face so red and sweaty, but the pleasure she'd received from Bordon. Trellim hoped she'd had the decency, at least, to wipe Bordon's milt from the inside of her thighs before knocking on Trellim's door.

He understood the sacrifices Patriots would go to, for the freeing of their country. He was one of them, sacrificing himself - he could hang, if he was caught. Others threw themselves into battle and fought like demons, protecting every inch of their territory. It was necessary, these sacrifices. But the whoring of ones own wife? That was going several steps too far. He'd told Mark Putman as much to his face, only a few nights ago. Putman had been livid, had tried to make Trellim understand, but that, Trellim simply could not.

When the pair parted, it hadn't been on good terms.

"Damned heat," McCormick muttered from where he sat slumped in his chair across from the two Officers.

"Damned cider," Banksia muttered, scowling into his tall glass of cool cider.

"What did you expect?" McCormick smirked. "It's a bit early in the morning for whiskey."

"It's never too fucking early in the morning for whiskey," Banksia took a long gulp of his cider anyway.

McCormick rolled his eyes heavenward.

"How long is he going to keep us waiting?" Trellim asked him.

"He's upstairs with his hostage just now, so I'll say he'll make you wait for as long as it takes for him to _come_."

The double meaning was not lost on the Officers and Banksia spluttered on his cider.

"He's flaming raping her?" He asked, aghast.

"Nah, nah… He's just making her work him with her hands - that's what he told me, anyway."

"Jesus, and that's not bad enough?" Banksia - as rough as he was, as grizzled and scarred and ferocious in battle, had a soft spot for women and always treated them gently.

"What do you care?" A harsh voice came from behind them and the Redcoat spies turned to watch a man enter the parlor. Frank Abbot, John Sumter's cousin, who'd had his inn burned to the ground by the Green Dragoons several nights earlier. "The bitch is a damned Tory whore, mistress to a damned Redcoat." He eyed the Officers in their Redcoat, his expression both insinuating and provoking.

"You got something to flamin' say," Banksia growled with threat, "then I suggest you flamin' say it you whore son of a goat."

"I'd be careful of the words you use, however," Trellim advised coolly, taking a sip of his cider as though he had not a care in the world. Banksia's open aggression coupled with Trellim's veiled threat had the desired effect on the Inn keeper. With a half hearted scowl, he turned and fled the parlor.

"Well, that was unpleasant," McCormick said softly.

"I am starting to regret informing Mr. Sumter who attacked him the other night," Trellim said. "And I'm most certainly regretting taking him to Mr. Putman. What was Mr. Putman thinking, suggesting to Sumter that he take Miss Jutland and Miss Stokes hostage?" Trellim shook his head. "Lord, if I'd known any of this was going to happen, I would have stayed home when Mrs. Putman told me."

"It was important they be told," McCormick said.

"I am not well pleased with the outcome," Trellim said. He took a sip of his cider, though he wanted to throw the glass against the wall and watch it shatter. "Putman's own past conduct has left much to be desired, and his recent has put him in no better stead. He suggests this filthy idea of kidnapping Miss Jutland and hints strongly at what Sumter should do with her. And he has put Sumter in charge of the spy network here, we're all supposed to report to him now."

"I'm not all that well pleased either, if the truth be told," Tommy McCormick said, though he kept his voice low, his eyes on the door, looking out for any of Sumter's men - he did not want to be overheard. "John Sumter might be South Carolina born like his cousin, but he has lived in Virginia these last twenty years. These men of his? They are all Virginians; they are not our own."

"Yes," Trellim agreed. "And you can see how little they regard us, how little they trust us. For all that I showed my Loyalty by telling Sumter who attacked him, it is clear that he and his men see only Green Dragoons and Loyalist Officers when they look at us."

"Damned ignorant bastards," Banksia scowled. "And damn that Butcher bastard for putting us in this fucking mess."

"I'll drink to that," Trellim took another sip.

Banksia, Trellim knew, was speaking of Tavington's discovering the truth about Mark Putman, causing their leader to flee for his life. Mark had been in Command of the Patriot resistance in Charlestown but he was now out on the Santee, trying to encourage militiamen to form again for the strike against Camden. And for God knew what reason, he had passed the torch of leadership of the spy ring to Sumter. Who was proving to be unstable at best, a rapist at worst.

Then again, how much better was Putman, for suggesting it be done? For Miss Jutland and Miss Stokes to be taken at all, let alone demand that they be treated ungently? And for letting his own wife bed Bordon for the sake of gaining information. Only a day under Sumter's command and there was an air of distrust within the Patriot resistance now, a feeling of 'us and them'. Those South Carolinian Patriots and the newcomers from Virginia. If this continued, it would soon be Patriot against Patriot.

"Christ, I wish Benjamin were here," Trellim whispered.

"Yeh. If he was leadin' us, he wouldn't be up there bloody forcin' himself on the bloody captive," Banskia hissed back.

"I couldn't agree more," McCormick added, though he shifted restlessly, discomforted by the dissenting talk. This was his house Sumter was residing in, he was worried that if Sumter became angry, he and his men might burn it to the ground.

Just then, the parlor doors opened again and Sumter strode in with several of his lackeys. His men sported bruises and cuts and Trellim understood at once that these were the ones who had been beaten by the Dragoons the night before last.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Sumter said. He was looking relaxed in the sort of way that made Trellim's skin crawl, for he knew the root of the man's contentment. Even if Trellim despised Miss Jutland - which he most certainly did not - he would not condone this poor use of her. Sumter's men followed him to stand guard at various points in the parlor, they took on ready stances and their distrustful eyes were fixed on the 'Green Dragoon Officers' in a very unfriendly sort of way. Trellim drew in a sharp, frustrated breath, but decided to ignore them. Banksia had stiffened, fair reeking offence.

"Mr. Sumter," Trellim began in a mild tone, adopting the sort of tone he knew Benjamin Martin would use in this situation. "Thank you for seeing us. I've come to speak to you about -"

"Miss Jutland?" Sumter arched an eyebrow.

"Ah, no - not entirely, though she is at the core of my issue," Trellim frowned. As likeable as Harmony Jutland was, and although he thoroughly disliked what was being done to her, she was not the reason for this visit. He was not in command, there was nothing he could do to her, except take it up with the man who was. A letter was already on its way to Burwell, it was Trellim's hope that when Burwell apprised of the situation, he would oust Sumter from this command, he'd remove Putman from his, and demand Miss Jutland be freed. "Sir, as I've informed you, there is a plan in place to rescue Mr. Edward Rutledge from the prison. Everything is in place now - Ensign Watson was to begin the attempt today, while the Dragoons are away."

Sumter nodded and leaned back to eye Trellim knowingly.

"You fear my taking of Miss Jutland will interfere with the rescue," he said flatly.

"Yes, Sir. I do fear that, very much," Trellim leaned forward, fixing Sumter with his gaze. "Bordon isn't going to leave the city if he learns his mistress has been taken. It would be far better for us all, if you released her and forgot about this plan of yours."

"So you do want me to release her," Sumter said, amused.

"I think you fail to realise how important she is to Bordon, and to the Colonel as well -"

"Mr. Putman made it very clear to me how important Miss Jutland is," Sumter said. "And I'm counting on it."

"Why?" Trellim asked. "Why are you bothering with her? There is too much at stake, plans that are already in motion, which you could very well destroy! Gods, we need them to be gone from the city. But because of you, Tavington himself might well remain here with Bordon, until Miss Jutland is found! And if Tavington decides to visit the dungeon, he could encounter Watson."

"That's a lot of 'ifs' there, Captain," Sumter mused. "There is nothing to suggest that taking Miss Jutland could hinder the rescue at all. Honestly, why would Tavington bother? Is he known for visiting the dungeon?"

"Well, no, but… I am concerned. I wish to account for all contingencies. I have my men to protect, everything has fallen into place, now is the time to remove Rutledge, we've been waiting for this moment - for Tavington to be away from Charlestown before attempting the rescue! Your plot is threatening to undermine ours, ours might all fall apart because of it. Watson and my men could be taken as traitors and they could hang."

"What do we care if some Redcoat turncoat hangs?" Growled a grizzled Virginian Patriot whose name Trellim did not know. The man curled his lip as he gazed at the Redcoat Trellim was wearing at that moment.

"Watson is with us," Banksia growled right back, ready to lurch from the chaise and punch the distrustful Whig's face. "He has bloody served us well enough and is now puttin' his damned life at risk for us. And it's not just his life on the fuckin' line anyway. My cousin is one of their number and you can be damned sure I don't want nothin' happenin' to Jack!"

Sumter was gazing at Banksia thoughtfully and when he was finished speaking, Trellim spoke into the tense filled silence.

"Watson is a good man, Sir," he said to Sumter, ignoring the distrustful Virginian Patriot standing behind the Commander. "He has forsaken his oaths to the Crown and has thrown his lot in with ours. But as Sergeant Banksia has pointed out, I am not only trying to protect an Englishman, but my own men, some of whom are blood relatives!"

Sumter gazed back steadily, his expression giving nothing away and Trellim's frustration began to mount. Would their new leader dig in his heels merely to prove that it was he - and not Trellim - who held the command? His tone took on a decided edge as he continued.

"We are following Colonel Burwell's direct orders, Sir. Are you?" Trellim asked. Sumter's lips tightened. "Colonel Burwell commanded me to rescue Rutledge. And now I ask you, Sir, did Colonel Burwell command you to take Miss Jutland captive?"

"No, he did not, as you damned well know," Sumter murmured.

"I do know. He will very soon, however."

"You've told him, have you?" Sumter lifted his chin.

"Word is on the way to him as we speak," Trellim fired back, unapologetic. "You and Putman have overstepped, with this little plot of yours, and if it does anything to hinder Burwell's own commands, you will both be in some hot water. Burwell made it very clear Rutledge's rescue was to be made priority over all else and the Colonel will be none too pleased if your petty machinations render our attempt unsuccessful."

Sumter drew in a sharp breath but Trellim held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Petty mechanisations you have warned Burwell about."

"As is my right, when I believe my _so called _commanders are acting out of turn. May I remind you, Sir, that neither of you are in the army? Not you, not Putman. I answer directly to Burwell, if I so choose and in this, I have chosen to bypass both of you," Trellim said.

"It'll be some days before Burwell can make contact," Sumter grinned. "And neither of us truly knows what his command will be, when he does. He might well approve my plan to gain revenge against Bordon - I doubt Burwell has much love for the man."

"Revenge?" Trellim asked sharply, fury surging through him. "Do you mean to tell me Sir, that you took Miss Jutland despite the potential risk to my rescue mission, for revenge? All because you and your boys received a _spanking_ from Tavington and Bordon?"

"Careful Captain," Sumter said softly. "I'd advise against insubordination just now."

"Were you not listening? I answer to Burwell, _Mr_. Sumter," Trellim ground out. "I have laid my plans carefully, for weeks! I've placed many pieces on the game board, knowing fully well that one wrong move could result in death and disaster. As far as I am concerned, taking Miss Jutland is most certain a wrong move! Still, I had held out at least some hope that - despite the risks it posed to my plans - it was for a more… _profound_… purpose! One that would further our Cause!"

"It will further our Cause, Captain," Sumter informed him in clipped tones. "You wish to know why I took her? And Miss Stokes, as soon as she is found? I am going to ransom them both back to their lovers, Captain Trellim. And the ransom I shall request will not only pay for Mr. Abbott's inn to be rebuilt - the rest of ransom will be given to General Gates, and as I am requesting _five thousand pounds_ a piece, I am certain it will go far to help support the Continental army."

Trellim was stunned to silence. He slumped against the back of the chair even as Banksia whistled at the vast figure. Sumter nodded curtly.

"Not such a '_petty_ _machination_' now, is it?" He asked sharply and Trellim shook his head slowly.

"No, Sir. A grand figure indeed, if you are able to obtain it," Trellim said.

"You might have gotten a hundred pounds for Miss Stokes, if you are lucky," Banksia scoffed. "Linda is naught more than a doxy, raised higher for a short time by virtue of spreadin' her legs solely for Tavington."

Sumter looked profoundly disappointed. "I was led to believe she was higher in Tavington's esteem than that."

"Doubt it," Banksia shrugged.

"And Miss Jutland?" Sumter asked. "Will I find disappointment there, also?"

"I don't know," Banksia mused. "Might be you get what you ask for her."

"I was told that Tavington is in love with her."

"Putman told you that?" Trellim asked.

"Yes. And others have mentioned it. He's in love and will do anything for her, is what I have been told."

"Yeh, but with not Miss Stokes," Banksia said. "He's in love with Miss Martin. If you wanted a hostage for the Butcher - one he'd move heaven and hell for - it would be Miss Martin. Though I wouldn't recommend movin' against Benjamin Martin's daughter and Colonel Burwell's fiancé."

"Hmm… Thank you for telling me this, Sergeant, you will have to inform me the whole of it later," he said. Banksia snapped his mouth shut, kicking himself for his careless tongue. Sumter continued, "As for Miss Stokes - that is a disappointment. Mr. Putman had thought she was of more import than that."

"He'd try to get her back if your men took her, I have no doubt. But five thousand flamin' pounds? Hell, no Sir. Not when half of Charlestown has been between her thighs."

"But you believe Bordon will, for Miss Jutland?" Sumter smiled and he began to boast. "I don't blame him in the slightest, she's a delightful thing, quite beautiful. And very _skilled_, if you take my meaning."

Trellim almost twisted his lips but he restrained himself from showing such an overt expression of distaste. Sumter, Trellim thought now, was a fool; dallying with a hostage and still hoping to obtain such a vast ransom.

"Tell me, Trellim," Sumter said now. "Miss Jutland is under the impression that Bordon will not pay a single sovereign for her release. She maintains that the two of them quarrelled and that he has taken another mistress. Do you know anything of this?"

"They did have a quarrel," Trellim said. "I have no idea about the rest," he lied. He had been disgusted when he realised that Mage Putman was having an affair with Bordon, but he wasn't about to say anything that would prompt Sumter to take her hostage - and he likely would, he doubted Sumter's accord with Putman was very strong. He would not reveal Mage and Bordon's affair, especially when he knew how Sumter treated such captives. "I do not know of any other, Sir," he continued. "But as they have had a quarrel, it might well be that he won't try to seek her out today, if he is not alerted to her capture." It wasn't that Trellim wanted Harmony in Sumter's hands, he despised what was being done to her. But if this rescue failed, his men would be caught and executed. He was choosing Rutledge over Harmony, it was as simple as that.

"Will he still pay a ransom for her, if they are fighting? According to you, Miss Stokes is worth nothing and I am, therefore, already out five thousand, by the sound of it. How much with their fight lower Miss Jutland's ransom?"

"I doubt it will," Banksia said. "You'll get the whole amount for her, I reckon."

"Five thousand is better than nothing, I'm certain General Gates will agree," Sumter mused.

"I am certain Gates will be most impressed," Trellim said. "Though I doubt Colonel Burwell will be, he would not approve of women being treated so unkindly, for the sake of raising funds for the army!"

"Colonel Burwell is just that. A Colonel. My gift is for a General. Just as you are so prepared to bypass my command; in this, I will bypass Burwell's."

"You would refuse a direct command from Burwell, should he tell you to give up this folly?" Trellim asked incredulously.

"No, Captain, that is not what I meant. If, after he receives _your_ letter," Sumter said accusingly with a twist to his lips. "Burwell commands me to release her, I shall do so. But as there is no such command in place, I shall follow this through as I wish."

"I suppose you're going to write to Bordon and Tavington, to that effect?" Trellim asked and Sumter nodded.

"I was going to get a letter away to them this morning," he confirmed.

"God damnit," Trellim tightened his lips. "Today, Sumter. I need Tavington and Bordon out of the city, today. Do you think you could at least wait until tomorrow, before you start up with your demands?"

"Why wait?"

"I've told you why! I need them gone! With this argument they've had, Bordon won't realise yet, that Miss Jutland is gone. He might go about his business today, not knowing she's been taken. He might leave the city as planned, he and Tavington both, which will leave us free to continue with our plans to have Rutledge rescued today!"

"It'll also give Burwell more time to get your letter and write back, commanding me to release her," Sumter said with distrust.

"Jesus, Sumter, would you damned well work with me on this?" Trellim shouted, his composure shattering. "Can you not see how much more important my mission is to yours? Yours is for revenge, and to court Gates' approval! Hell, rescue Rutledge and he might give you the full ten thousand to donate to the army! We have to do this, today!"

Sumter drew a long, steady breath. He looked to McCormick, who had been watching and listening in silence.

"You can trust him, Sir," McCormick said.

"I can, can I? He wrote to Burwell - he tattled on me!" Sumter laughed with incredulity.

"He is not trying to subvert your plans now. I agree, it is of utmost import, to have those two commanders out of the city today."

"Very well," Sumter said, reluctant to side with Trellim who had as much as announced himself to be outside of his command. Still, he understood the reasoning as well as the rest of them. "I will not inform Bordon that I have his whore until he is returned to the city."

"Thank you," Trellim ground out, sharing a withering glance with Bankisia

* * *

The Green Dragoons convened at Greenwood Plantation. The majority of the Green Dragoons' horses, and many of the Dragoons themselves, were quartered at the plantation, ready to move out into the countryside. Greenwood Plantation was close enough to call the Dragoons to arms, only a short ride from Charlestown proper. It was Tavington's favoured meeting place for his scouting trips for it was situated close to one of the Post Roads which ran deep into the countryside.

The Dragoon Captains were waiting with their units. Many of the men were mounted on their horses, though most were still milling in their small groups. The sound of talking and laughing, the snorts and stamping of the horses, filled the large yard. The sun, shining above them in a cloudless sky, was hot on their backs.

In an orderly fashion, more Dragoons arrived and made their way to their units. Captain Wilkins stood at the head of his group, waiting patiently, as Captain Trellim stood with his. Within the manor house itself, was Colonel Tavington and Major Bordon. The two Officers stood in the parlor, pouring over a map spread out before them on the table.

"Did your master ever speak of this 'Pickens' person?" Tavington asked Zeke, who he had taken onto his personal staff. He'd promised Zeke a comfortable situation where he could earn an income to eventually support a wife and children. Zeke had vowed to keep Beth's betrayal secret and as a reward, Tavington had decided to employ the man himself. Zeke had proven to be a wealth of information for the Colonel, the latest being the identity of cohort of Francis Marion, a fellow named Andrew Pickens, a possible rebel who lived not far from the city. He was preparing to visit the man, perhaps to take him into custody and burn his homestead to the ground, if he was indeed guilty of treason.

"Yes, Sir," Zeke replied. He was sitting on a foot stool running a whet stone along the edge of Tavington's sabre but he glanced up now, aware that his new master would wish to question him further. In short order, Zeke explained all he knew of Mr. Pickens.

"I wish there was a way we could reach inside that head of yours," Bordon muttered when Zeke's knowledge of Mr. Pickens was exhausted. "And pull out all the information you have filed away in there. How many more rebels and designs do you know about?"

Zeke lowered his gaze, uncertain how to take the Major's comment. Was he accusing Zeke of withholding information? Or merely voicing the fact that Zeke had the information but did not know what to share and when to share it?

"It's not his fault," Tavington said. "It's a damned shame you can't read and write Zeke. I don't have time to question you about every single rebel and every single plot of Putman's. Bordon, make sure the men are assembled -"

He cut off when the parlor doors opened and Mr. Greenwood himself stepped into the chamber.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, Sir," the Loyalist began. "But there is a man and a young woman here to see you. Mr. Ingles he said his name is, owns the Mighty George. He said you are acquainted."

"What the Devil is he doing here?" Tavington frowned. Deciding it must be important, he continued, "send him in, please."

Mr. Ingles and the young woman came into the palor. Tavington searched his memory for the woman's name and it finally came to him. Lilly Eaddy, one of the barmaids who worked at the tavern. Mr. Ingles removed his cap and began twisting it in his fingers nervously as he nodded at Tavington, but addressed Bordon.

"Please forgive me, Major. But we've come to speak to you about Miss Jutland -"

"Miss Jutland?" Bordon cut him off with a scowl. "I have no desire to discuss Miss Jutland, nor do I wish to listen to anything you have to say on her behalf. I suggest you turn around and go back the way you came, Sir.

Mr. Ingles stared at Bordon in frank astonishment, shocked by the Major's frigid reception. The Officer stood ramrod straight, his chin raised as he stared down his nose at Ingles and Lilly both, his eyes colder than frost. Tavington was beside him, silent as the grave.

"Sir -" Ingles breathed, trying again.

"Do you think I am unaware that Miss Jutland left your tavern last night with another man?" Bordon spat in a cutting tone. "I was told of it this morning! For all her talk of not being a doxy, now she behaves like one? Well if the little whore wishes to roger other men, then it is to those men you can address on her behalf, I am shed of her."

"No - it isn't like that!" Lilly cried, darting forward to stand before the enraged Officer.

"It isn't like that?" Cold amusement made his voice harsh and disdainful. "I was told she walked out of the tavern, with several men following close behind her. Was it coincidence? Were they just leaving at the same time?"

"No, she left with them," Lilly wailed. "But please, you must listen! I knew something was wrong when she left, her eyes were all red rimmed and puffy like she'd been crying but I thought that was because of you and…" she trailed off, embarrassed. "But then we got a warning this morning from a gentleman who'd sent his boy out last night on an errand and the boy told his master what he saw and the Master knew it meant trouble so he came by this morning to tell us!"

"What the Devil are you talking about?" Bordon snapped. "You just said she left with them!"

"Yes, but the young boy told his master that he saw 'one of Ingles barmaids', in the alley, running for her life." Ingles asked.

Richard grew very still, his eyes widening.

"Why don't you tell us what else this boy said?" Tavington asked, coming to stand beside Richard.

"Sir, it's as Lilly said," Mr. Ingles began, his voice thick with relief and gratitude that Tavington was taking control of the situation. "The boy we are speaking of is a young slave who often comes into the tavern, to buy ale for his Master. He knows Miss Jutland because she slips him food when she thinks I'm not looking. That's why he recognised her. Last night, he saw Miss Jutland walking along the street with a large man, and the boy was about to call out and wave but the two turned into an alleyway. The boy had been avoiding the alley all evening because he'd seen several men, with their horses, loitering in the dark. He initially believed that nothing was wrong but he became alarmed when he saw that Miss Jutland was crying. Shortly after they disappeared into the alley, he heard crying and shouting. He risked a quick glance around the corner and saw Miss Jutland running away from the men with the big man chasing after her. The man caught her and then slammed her hard into the wall of the alley," Ingles voice was becoming distressed. "The man was shouting at her and he punched her in the face - twice."

"Jesus!" Bordon was on his feet, his body stiff and tense. He glanced back and forth between Tavington and Ingles, panting furiously as though he'd run ten miles. "Who is he? I'll kill him!"

"We don't know who he is, Sir," Ingles said worriedly as Lilly wiped tears from her cheeks. "But there's more. The boy said he saw Miss Jutland was on the ground, curled up and crying. From what the man was shouting, the boy knew the man was angry because he'd warned Miss Jutland not to cause trouble, that he'd warned her what would happen. Then he said 'shall I send one of the others back inside to shoot all those Tories?'"

"He was going to shoot the people in the tavern!" Tavington said sharply.

"Yes, and Miss Jutland begged him not to. She promised to not do it again, the boy said. Then the man pulled her to her feet and carried her back to the horses but the boy heard him say, 'You stupid girl. If you do as you are told you won't be killed. But if you try this again I'll choke the life from you myself and then I'll go after that piece of shit lover of yours!' And then she was lifted into the saddle and the men rode away with her."

An oppressive silence fell then, as Bordon and Tavington exchanged strained glances.

"Can you describe this man to me, Miss Eaddy?" Tavington asked calmly.

"Yes," she managed to choke out between tears. "He was tall - your height maybe. He had blue eyes but one of them was all bruised and almost closed. All of the men were bruised up and had cut lips, they'd been in a fight for sure. And I thought they was goin' to start a fight last night too the way they sat there skulking and glaring at everyone."

"Bruises?" Tavington stiffened and when he glanced at Bordon this time, both Officers wore equal expressions of foreboding. "Did they discuss this fight they were in?"

"No - I didn't want to go near them. Harm said she'd take care of them and I was to look after the Dragoons because she was too upset to speak to Wilkins and the others. But every time I looked over at those men they were glaring and -"

"At Wilkins?" Tavington pressed her. "Were they glaring at everyone or just the Green Dragoons?"

"Everyone, but mostly at the Green Dragoons," Lilly confirmed and Tavington began to curse quietly under his breath.

"Agh Jesus Christ it's them," Bordon breathed. As he continued his voice grew more frantic with each word. "William. It's them. I don't know how they knew it was us, but they do, and they've taken Harmony. Agh Christ - they're using my Harmony to get revenge! They've probably raped her - they've had her all night! Shit, what am I going to do? We don't even know who they are! Christ, how can I help her? She could be dead by now!"

"Calm yourself, Richard," Tavington strode to Bordon and clasped his shoulder with firm fingers. "The boy said he heard the man tell Miss Jutland that if she did what she was told she wouldn't be killed, remember?" William pinned Bordon with his gaze and the other man shuddered. "They need her for something, therefore she won't be killed. And Harmony - she is not a fool. She will do what she has to do to protect herself. They want something from you - and I suspect they'll use Miss Jutland as a means of bargaining to get it."

"Agh, Christ," Bordon collapsed to the edge of the chaise and buried his face in his hands. "That won't stop them from raping her."

"You will deal with that when we have her back," Tavington said firmly.

"Oh, gods, I hope they don't hurt her!" Lilly sobbed and threw herself against Ingles chest. Accustomed to comforting grief stricken girls, the large barkeep patted her on the back.

"Do you really think he'd have had us all shot?" Mr. Ingles asked. "Or was it merely an empty threat?"

"No," Tavington said. "I believe he would have begun hurting people and Miss Jutland left with him to protect you."

A solemn silence descended on the small group, broken only by Lilly's weeping.

"Bordon, stay here and wait for me," Tavington commanded. His motivation behind this order was to allow Bordon some time to compose himself. "I will have Trellim lead his unit out to collect Pickens, but you and I will go immediately to the Putman's and wait for these rebel bastards to contact us."

"Is that all I can do?" Bordon asked wretchedly. "Christ - is that all? I have to sit and wait. How long will it be? William -"

"There is nothing more to be done, Richard," Tavington said firmly. "I understand you are worried but there is nothing else to be done! Miss Eaddy - are you certain you didn't recognise them? Any of the men with him - you don't know their names?"

"No, Sir," her choked answer was muffled by Ingles chest. "No. I didn't recognise them at all."

"Damn and blast it," Tavington puffed his lips in frustration. "Very well. Ingles - I will send the Middleton twins back with you - I want Linda escorted to the Putman residence in case she is targeted next."

"Yes, Sir," Ingles nodded.

"Zeke, pack my rucksack." Zeke rose to begin his task and William was outside in moments, calling for Trellim. The Captain guided his horse through the throng to meet Tavington half way across the yard. "Captain, there has been a change in plans - I am needed urgently in Charlestown. You will take your unit out to collect Pickens - do you know where his farm is?"

"I do, Sir," Trellim frowned. "With respect Sir, think it is important that you and Captain Bordon are there, when we take Pickens; it is imperative that you and Bordon are there when we take important rebels captive, what with the failed plot to take Burwell still fresh in Clinton's memory."

It was blatant provocation, even Trellim knew that. Tavington gave him a sharp look, but Trellim held the Colonel's gaze, showing no guile. He knew it still stung the Colonel, that he hadn't caught Burwell that night at the Simms Plantation, it was his hope that if he used the memory as a weapon now, Tavington would would be provoked into joining him in the capture of Pickens after all.

"I killed Francis Marion and disbanded his militia," Tavington said. "My failure to take Burwell is ten times forgiven."

"Forgive me, I did not mean -"

"I understand your concerns, Captain Trellim, and I thank you for them. However, I am needed in the city; you must take Pickens into custody yourself. Fire his home and the crops, then return with him to Charlestown immediately. He is to be taken to the Provost, I will question him when you return."

"Yes, Sir," Trellim, trying to conceal his writhing nerves, ventured carefully, "what has happened, Sir? If you don't mind me asking."

"There's no time to discuss it," Tavington turned on his heel and strode away, Trellim watched him until the Colonel disappeared back into the house.

"What's happened?" Banksia asked. He had edged his horse over when Tavington turned away.

"I don't know, he wouldn't say. We're to collect Pickens and bring him back, Tavington is going back to the city."

"Shit," Banksia muttered. "Cock and balls."

"Just so, my eloquent friend," Trellim murmured. He glanced carefully around him at the milling Dragoons, then fixed his gaze on Banksia once more. "We will ride out immediately but first you need to have one of our boys slip away to warn Watson."

"Your orders?" Banksia asked, though he suspected what was coming.

"He is to stand down. We will not attempt the rescue when we do not know what information Tavington is acting on now. It could well be that he has learned that an attempt to rescue Rutledge is in place, he might be going directly to the dungeon, for all we know," Trellim growled, frustrated beyond belief, then kicked his horses flanks and sped back toward his men, with Banksia close behind. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Sergeant whisper instructions in Simon Howard's ear, and the young man turned his horse and trotted from the yard.


	37. Chapter 37 - Ransom

Chapter 37 - Ransom:

Major Richard Bordon was in a state of turmoil and trying hard to conceal it. Bordon stood, stiff and tense, at the street facing bank of windows. Behind him, several Dragoons chatted quietly while picking at a light lunch - Bordon himself had disdained the food for his stomach was writhing with nerves. Spying out the window, Bordon was trying hard not to think about what Harmony had been through, what she might still be going through.

Rape.

Torture.

Her bruised and batted face floated before him in his minds eye. Her eyes both accusing and haunted. He repressed a shudder and tried to push the image away but it was impossible. He was winding himself tighter and tighter and when Wilkins coughed, choking on a sip of his drink, Bordon damned near turned around to blister the Captain where he sat. He struggled to control himself - but the Dragoons, sitting at their leisure, chatting while eating from the plates in their laps, was almost too much to bear. How could they be so relaxed? Their voices grated on him, the sounds of the cutlery tinkling against their plates made him want to smash the fine porcelain to pieces.

When a communique finally arrived from Harmony's captors, carried in by a nervous maid, Bordon was ready to tear the heads from his men's shoulders.

"Get Tavington," he growled at the maid. There was another who was behaving as though nothing had happened - the Colonel had disappeared and Bordon suspected he was in his room with Linda - probably rogering his mistress at that moment. It was galling, that the Officers were continuing on as normal as though nothing was amiss!

But then he glanced up and caught his men's gazes. Each Dragoon had fallen silent and was watching him expectantly, to learn the contents of the letter he held in his hand. Bordon finally permitted himself to see what had been there all along - his worry reflected in their eyes. He drew a steadying breath as he realised that they _were_ concerned. If they appeared uncaring, well - they were Dragoons. Soldiers. Hardened men, used to battle and conflict and death. Their presence in the parlor - their plates on their laps and their quiet talk took on a whole new light. These men -_ his friends_ \- had made certain he had not been left alone. They had kept themselves near to him, offering their support with their companionship.

If they didn't care, they'd have eaten in the dining hall and they'd be laughing and ribbing one another. They'd be boasting about how much they would be drinking that night and how many women they'd flirted with and conquered. They would not be speaking in quiet, hushed tones. And Tavington had been there for most of the time as well, Bordon admitted to himself. He'd only just left a few moments ago when Zeke asked to speak to him about something or other. He hadn't been off coupling with Linda.

"What does it say?" Arthur Simms asked.

"I haven't read it yet," Bordon said quietly as he stared down at the folded parchment, almost afraid to continue opening it. Tavington strode into the parlor, the force of his presence drawing every eye to him.

"Well?" the Commandant snapped.

"I haven't read it yet," Bordon repeated softly.

"For Christ's sake," William scowled and snatched the letter from Bordon's hands. He read its contents quickly, his hard expression giving nothing away.

"She is well and unharmed," he said at once and a whoosh of air rushed from Bordon's lips. Tavington addressed the rest of his men, not just Bordon. "It seems our brawl of the other evening is coming back to haunt us."

"How did they know it was us?" Arthur asked. "We didn't go telling anyone, we were quiet about it, like you told us to be."

"I don't know," William said. "Perhaps it is our own bruises that gave us away. Either way, they know. If this missive can be believed, the man who offered us the opportunity to leave before the brawl began, the one I fought with, is John Sumter - cousin to Colonel Thomas Sumter of the Continentals. He is the one who has taken Miss Jutland."

"Jesus!" Wilkins burst out, too shocked to rein himself in. "You're joking!"

"If only I was," Tavington said darkly. "It seems Sumter has taken poorly to his treatment, to the treatment of his friends and of the burnt out inn - which according to this missive, belonged to his cousin. He wants recompense in return for Miss Jutland and has demanded five thousand pounds."

Jaws dropped and eyes bulged at the exorbitant amount.

"The rest of the missive is for you and you alone," William informed Bordon as he handed it back. He didn't let it go immediately. Both men held the missive with the tips of their fingers and Bordon frowned, even more wary now of its contents.

"You aren't going to like it, Richard," William pitched his voice for Richard's ears alone. "This is a personal attack on you, but you are surrounded by our men and must remember to conduct yourself accordingly."

Richard gaped with astonishment for all of a second before assuming a mask of indifference. William nodded once with approval and finally released his hold on the missive. The Major wasted no time. Unfolding the parchment his eyes scanned the contents, his face turning darker with each word. Sumter had gone into great detail of exactly how he was spending his time with Harmony. Twice thus far, she had been forced to pleasure him with her hands and Sumter had intimated in the note that the next time he visited her in her chamber, he would have her on her knees, using her mouth. With a supreme effort of will, Bordon managed to keep his composure as William had requested but inside he seethed - he roiled - with rage.

Bordon began to pace like a restless lion. Indeed - William thought - if John Sumter had been before him just now, Bordon would have torn the man limb from limb. He looked a sight, did the Major - as deranged as a man just back from Hell.

"Five thousand pounds," William's clear voice rang across the chamber. "We need to come up with five thousand pounds - any ideas, gentlemen?"

Bordon said nothing, too restless with pent up tension to consider reasonable solutions. Though he was from a wealthy family of high standing, his entire fortune was tied up in England and to get his hands on five thousand of it would take months! He could barely abide the idea of Harmony being with Sumter for another night, let alone months!

"Such a vast sum," James said carefully, his eyes shifting nervously between Bordon and Tavington. "I'm not certain Clinton would provide so much to have a…" he hesitated for a bear moment then swiftly changed what he had been about to say. "To have Miss Jutland returned."

Wilkins coughed delicately then, hoping the others had not heard his slip.

"To have a 'what' returned to us?" Bordon challenged, clearly assuming the worst of insults. His voice was soft and menacing as he stalked across the parlor, stopping only when he stood before Wilkins, to stare down at the Colonial Captain with murder in his eyes. Tavington folded his arms across his chest and watched impassively, willing to allow the Major a few moments to ease his tension before they returned to the matter of Harmony's ransom.

Though he was not trying to invite a fight, James could not allow the broad shouldered man to threaten or bully him. He rose to his feet to tower over the fury filled Major, forcing Bordon to lift his gaze. Bordon was now forced to glare up at the Captain, but still he challenged, "just what, exactly, were you going to say, Wilkins?"

"Nothing," Wilkins spread his arms wide, trying for diplomacy. "I was just -" James cut off sharply as Bordon balled his hand into a fist and punched with force toward his stomach. Wilkins - an experienced boxer - saw the blow coming and raised his arm up in time to block it.

"What were you going to call her?" Bordon raged up at Wilkins, then lashed out with another punch. Wilkins blocked this blow too, dancing back from the stockier man. James had no desire to get into a fight but he sure as Hell wasn't going to let himself be hit.

"Tell me, you fucking bastard!" Bordon screamed as Wilkins rounded the chaise to stand in an open area away from the other men. Before he could draw breath and explain, Bordon rushed him. With a wordless roar of fury, Richard's upper cut caught Wilkins' jaw. The Captain grunted, his head snapped back, the sharp metallic taste of blood flared on his tongue. Before he could recover, Bordon's fist flew for Wilkins midsection, a sickening thud as the punch met flesh.

As Bordon danced back to study his prey, Wilkins clutched at his stomach - the air rushing from his lungs.

"Should we stop them?" Michael Middleton asked uncertainly, watching tensely beside his brother. The men had risen - all of them had and they turned as one to Tavington who shook his head almost imperceptibly. This was what Bordon needed, and the Colonel watched impassively as Wilkins recovered himself. When he straightened, James' expression had shifted from innocent diplomacy, to bloodlust.

He flew at Bordon, his arm a blur as it swung up and clipped the Major's chin. Bordon twisted around, fell hard against a table. Wilkins darted in, grabbed hold of the Major's shoulders. Attack him for no damned good reason, would he? He'd slam the bastard's face into the table! He gripped Bordon's hair and jerked his head back, ready to do just that.

Palms flattened to the table, Bordon braced his arms, thwarting Wilkins attempt. As quick as lightening, the Major elbowed Wilkins in the gut. James groaned, his grip on Bordon's hair and shoulder slipped. In that moment, Richard whirled, punching at Wilkins face. James ducked low, then slammed his fist to Bordon's kidneys. Bordon groaned and clutched at his side, stumbled back to watch James warily while he recovered from the agony.

James prowled back and forth, his face as mask of fury. He'd wait, wait until the bastard was ready again, then they'd finish this. Settle this between them. Fucking bastard, attacking him!

"It was the damned rebels who took your woman!" He roared down at Bordon. "What the fuck did I do?"

"What were you going to call her!" Bordon ground out. He straightened though he still favoured his side. "A whore? A doxy? I'll kill you!"

"A barmaid you God-touched fool!" Wilkins shouted back, he swiped his hand across his mouth to wipe away the blood. "I just meant Clinton wouldn't give five thousand pounds to see a barmaid ransomed! And I was right, Goddamn it! Jesus Christ!"

Both panted, their gazes locked, both knew they'd be going for one another's throats at any moment. They studied one another, each sizing the other up, predators circling and stalking their prey, searching for weaknesses now that they had caused each other pain and learned a little caution. Sensing the fight was not over, Tavington nodded at his men. Brownlow and Dalton made toward Wilkins, while Marcus and Michael made toward Bordon. The two teams seized the fighters arms.

"Enough," William commanded, striding forward to stand in the space between them both. Bordon struggled between Marcus and Michael, trying to pull from their grasp, and Wilkins did the same, trying to pull free from Dalton and Brownlow. But Tavington felt that the fight had gone on for long enough - Bordon should have relieved some of his tension by now. He didn't want the two Officers to kill each other. Wilkins was the first to calm, it was not his lover who was in danger, after all. Bordon took far longer but eventually Tavington saw the madness leave the Major's eyes and some of the tightness drained from him. Both men stopped struggling against their captors grip.

"Feeling better?" William asked Bordon in a scathing tone.

"Not particularly," Bordon ground out. He tensed his arms again and Michael and Marcus strengthened their hold, fearing he was about to fly in at Wilkins again. Bordon scowled at them both but they did not release him.

"I commanded you to recall your station and act accordingly!" William spat and Bordon lowered his eyes. "And you are not thinking clearly," William pointed out with disgust. "Do you have five thousand pounds?"

"Of course I do! I have more than thrice that amount," Bordon glared at William. "But not bloody here! You know I don't!"

William shook his head, praying silently to be saved from fools. When he spoke, it was quietly and slowly, as though explaining a simple concept to a child.

"Then perhaps it would be prudent to not go around attacking those who do have quick access to the vast quantity of cash you will need, hmm?" He arched an eyebrow, waiting for his words to sink in. Bordon's eyes widened and he shot a quick glance at Wilkins.

"You have attacked one of the few men who might be able to loan you at least part of the ransom price, Major," William stated the obvious, taking a step back from the pair. "It's a good thing that you didn't try and involve Michael, Marcus and Arthur, or you wouldn't have any wealthy friends left to borrow from!"

Bordon met Wilkins gaze across the distance that separated them. James sported new bruises thanks to Richard, and a new cut above his eye. The inside of his cheek was cut, smashed against his teeth from one of the first punches thrown. Richard sighed heavily and lowered his eyes to Wilkins boots.

James drew several deep breaths, trying to steady his fury. He could make the Major apologize - Richard certainly seemed ready to do so, chastened as he was. But as his fury waned, so too did his need to make Richard humble himself. They were men after all, not women - to hold grudges! Besides, what were friends for? James understood that Richard had needed to unleash his fury and Wilkins had given as good as he'd gotten.

"Ah damn and blast it," he muttered. "I've always wanted to test my mettle against you anyway."

"Yes?" Bordon raised his eyes. "How do you think you fared?"

"Damned good, if I do say so myself. I think we should've taken bets first."

"Agh, damn it!" Arthur lamented. "We should have!"

"Too late now," Brownlow said forlornly, catching Dalton's gaze.

"One thousand pounds," James said now.

"You would have put one thousand on the fight?" Bordon asked incredulously.

"No, Major Dick," James taunted. "I can get you one thousand pounds by the morning to go toward Miss Jutland's ransom."

Bordon stared at the Captain with frank amazement.

"I think I can get my hands on five hundred," Michael mused. The Middleton's were as wealthy as the Wilkins family - probably more so. But the twins were not the head of the family as James was. Their own personal, immediate stash was not as large as the Captain's. Marcus was nodding, he could manage about the same. Arthur offered an amount, Brownlow offered another five hundred, also. Dalton didn't - but no one expected him to for they understood he was of far smaller fortune than the others.

"Thank you," Bordon replied simply, overwhelmed by their generosity. "I'll write home to my banker, every pound will be paid back to you."

"No doubt," Wilkins strode forward and clapped Bordon hard on the back. "We'll get her back for you."

The others did likewise, clapping Bordon on the back and assuring him they'd get his Harmony back safe and sound, just wait and see.

"And I shall go to Clinton now," Tavington announced, already striding for the door. "'Barmaid' Miss Jutland might be, but Clinton will still provide some small amount from the coffers to see her safe return, especially as it will eventually be paid back." He turned back to Bordon when he reached the door, his hand on the door knob - about to step out into the hallway. "We will discuss how much I can loan you when I return. In the mean time, I suggest you ask the other Dragoons if they are willing to put towards a ransom - as much as you can get your hands on."

Bordon nodded and the Dragoons began discussing who were his best options even as the door shut behind Tavington.

* * *

"You might not have to do this for much longer," Sumter told Harmony in a thick voice as she worked him.

He lay against the pillows with his breeches at his knees, with Harmony on her knees beside him on the bed. Her hands worked quickly, hoping he would hurry up and come, then go the hell away. Her gaze was fixed on the end-board of the bed, not looking at either Sumter's purpled member nor at Sumter himself. She ignored his fingers stroking her neck and shoulder - he liked to caress her while she pleasured him. Instead, Harmony distanced her mind from what she was being forced to do, tried to drift away in some fantasy world where no men existed.

"You've suddenly grown a heart and decided to free me, have you?" She said tartly, continuing to work him.

"No, nothing so humane, I'm afraid," he sighed and Harmony didn't have to turn to know he was smiling with contented pleasure. "Hmm, you are terribly good at that. No wonder he wants you back so badly."

Harmony's fingers stopped. Forgetting herself, she turned sharply to stare down at Sumter.

"What did you say?" She breathed. He couldn't mean Bordon! Mrs. Putman was Richard's mistress now! He didn't care for her, the lowly bred barmaid.

"Don't stop, whore of Redcoats - I was getting close!"

She began her ministrations again but her mind was awhirl, her thoughts in turmoil.

"Agh, yes!" Sumter groaned, his hips working to push himself deeper into her fingers. He bucked and writhed, his feet planted into coverlet and with one long groan his seed burst from him. When his climax finally began to wane, Harmony pulled her hands away. She kept her gaze averted as he lay there for several long moments, catching his breath and calming. Finally he lifted his backside and pulled up his breeches, then hauled himself up to perch on the side of the bed.

Harmony sat back on her heels, waiting for him to explain further - she wouldn't ask, she wouldn't! Finally he glanced over his shoulder and met her gaze.

"You keep trying to tell me that it's over between you - that you aren't his lover," John accused. "So tell me, Miss Jutland - exactly why is Bordon scrambling around holding out his hat, begging every single person in his acquaintance for a loan to make up the ransom I've demanded for your safe return?"

"He is?" Harmony whispered, her voice very small and hopeful. Confusion and relief flooded her, an odd mix of emotions.

"He is," John replied. "Makes me wonder just how good you are in the sack, Miss Jutland. If he is willing to go to such lengths, I think I'm missing out."

"You said you wouldn't rape me," Harmony reminded him softly.

"It doesn't have to be rape, I can make you enjoy it," John reached out to stroke her cheek. Harmony didn't recoil - she had learned from past experience that was the quickest way to make a man attack. Men were like wild animals sometimes and needed to be handled carefully or they'd bite.

_I doubt very much that I'd enjoy it,_ she lowered her eyes, leaving her thought unvoiced.

John seemed to come to a decision. Leaning forward, he caught her lips with his - kissing her gently but deeply. He'd done this often before and each time Harmony permitted it - as docile as a lamb. She responded now, stroking his tongue when he prompted her to.

"Hmm," he sighed against her lips. "Yes, I think I shall taste of your fruits before handing you back, Harmony."

Stifling her panic, Harmony tried to relax as he wound his hands around her waist. He shuffled his buttocks closer to her on the bed, then rolled her down to recline with him against the pillows.

"Lift your head, darling," he whispered and she obeyed, he slid his arm beneath her neck to pillow her. She knew he wouldn't take her just then - he'd only just climaxed and wouldn't be ready again until late in the evening.

Still, Harmony lay as rigid as a wooden plank, her arms stiff at her sides, staring blindly at the ceiling. John curled beside her, shaping his body to hers, his eyes closed as he resumed his kissing. His lips continued to move over hers, his eyes closed with pleasure. A moist trail of kisses drifted along her jaw to her neck, her throat. Harmony ignored the hand that kneaded her stomach, ignored his hot breath on her skin. Tried to ignore the words that he was whispering - the promise of the coupling to come.

"I'll take you to heaven and back," he murmured. His tongue traced her throat down to the tops of her breasts. "I'll give you such pleasure as you've never known with that Redcoat." His voice was husky and he sighed, then jerked at her bodice to take more of her flesh into his mouth. "I'll spoil you for him Harmony," he whispered between suckles. "And when you are returned to him, all you'll think of is me and the pleasures I've woken in you."

_Oh God, please don't tell me he'll really do this! _Harmony despaired.

She didn't want this man, she was barely able to stop herself from recoiling with disgust as it was! It had only been the knowledge that she was avoiding a rape that had enabled her to do what she had! She would pull and tug him - to stop him from needing to do more! But now he was declaring he would do more any way - so much more!

Someone knocked on the door and Sumter puffed a breath of disappointment.

"I'll be right there," he called, lifting his lips from her breasts. He stared down at her, his thumb stroking loose strands from her forehead. He studied her intently for some time, then leaned down and suckled her top lip, then her bottom.

"Tonight, Harmony," came the promise. "We will share one long, wonderful night of love making before I send you from me tomorrow." He saw her frown, the worry in her eyes. Rubbing away her frown lines with his thumb, he continued softly, "don't worry - I will make ensure you enjoy it. You are no stranger to bedding, you know it is pleasurable."

"I'm no stranger to rape either, as I've already told you," she said softly, hoping he'd be moved.

"Nor am I, as I've told you. If it must be that way, then so be it. You have a few hours yet to reconcile yourself to this - to make your decision - to accept me and enjoy it, or not. I won't hurt you any more than I must," he held her gaze until she pulled her eyes away. Drawing back from her, he continued as he rose from the bed. "But I will know more of you, I will taste of your delights before sending you back. I wish to know what it is about you that has your Lobsterback so frantic for your return."

He stood at the side of the bed, studying her intently. Harmony gazed back up at him, wide eyed with fear.

"I realise now that our bargain could never have worked," he stated. "I'd be wasting an opportunity to upset that British bastard by sending you back unspoiled. I've already taunted him with what you've done to me so far but I'd much prefer to boast of having fucked you," reaching toward the side table, he picked up his hat. He tipped it to her, then placed it on his head. "Until tonight, Miss Jutland."

Her stomach roiling, Harmony watched him stride toward the door, the inevitability of the rape to come holding her in its grip.

* * *

Her stomach roiling, Harmony watched Sumter stride toward the door, the inevitability of the rape to come clutching her in its grip. Her eyes were still staring at his back as he opened the door and stepped through. Before the door closed, she had a glimpse of several extra men - in addition to her two guards - waiting outside. Expecting them to move away, she remained on the bed, her heart racing in her chest, her blood pounding in her ears.

He would rape her. And then exchange her for a ransom in the morning.

The low rumble of voices could be heard from where she lay and she realised the men had not moved away. They were still in the hallway and she was certain she heard Bordon's name mentioned in their conversation. The need for more information forced her to shove her fear aside. Lurching from the bed, she staggered across the room and pressed her ear to the oak to listen.

"By all accounts, the Lobsterback has come up with two thousand, eight hundred pounds for his mistress," came a muffled voice. "Will you accept this amount?"

Harmony's jaw dropped and she barely stifled a gasp. Even if he had begged all of his friends and fellow Dragoons for loans, to come up with such a vast amount so quickly astounded her. And worried her, for he would have the pay the money back eventually. Bordon, she knew, was from a wealthy family but she couldn't imagine that he had access to so much! And she herself certainly did not. How they were to pay the loans was beyond her, but it was a problem for another time.

"With respect, I believe you should accept the amount, Mr. Sumter," another voice advised.

"You do, do you?" John Sumter asked coolly. "When we started this, I was going to demand ten! I'm already forced to accept half what I wanted, because you lot were unable to find Tavington's whore. Now I'm down to two thousand, eight hundred? After we've taken out enough to have my cousin's tavern rebuilt - there won't be much left to send to the Continentals, will there? I requested five thousand and I will hold her until I have five thousand."

"Sir, I understand how important it is to raise funds for the Continentals. I understand that the bastards need to know we won't be pushed over so easily. But your point has been made! And we've got almost three thousand pounds! And I don't like what I'm hearing - that Bordon's ready to spill blood. This is my house, for Christ's sake! I could hang, my home could be seized - what of my wife and children? And for what? He isn't going to get any more if he's exhausted all his avenues for borrowing! I implore you - accept what he's managed to raise so far and return her tonight, before we lose control of the situation. This entire endeavour could turn on us so damned quickly!"

A small silence followed. Harmony held her breath in suspense and strained her ears to listen. Perhaps Sumter would heed this other fellows warning, perhaps Harmony would be exchanged before nightfall - thus avoiding the attack Sumter threatened her with. She could be freed - in only a couple more hours!

"No, I have plans for her," Sumter said finally, dashing her hopes to the wall. Harmony choked back a sob, her knees suddenly weakened and she slid along the door to sit heavily on the floor.

"Christ, Mr. Sumter…" The owner of the house began to curse under his breath.

"Now, now - nothing is going to go wrong," Sumter's muffled voice was placating. "Bordon's got no idea where we're keeping his whore. And when I do the exchange tomorrow, it will be far from here - you will not be involved in any way. Miss Jutland has no idea where she is and when she is removed from your home, she will be blindfolded. I understand your concerns but I'll not pass up this opportunity - just think how damaging it will be for Bordon - that I've rogered his whore?"

"You said you weren't going to force yourself on her!"

"I changed my mind. I suggest you remove your wife and children from the house - I'm not entirely certain if Miss Jutland will fight me or not and her screaming might cause Mrs. McCormick distress."

"Gods, Mr. Sumter, why?"

"Because the Lobsters deserve it, is why! Miss Jutland has the choice of accepting me or being forced to it. I think she's going to make the right choice - she'll take me willingly to avoid more violence. But if I am mistaken - if she refuses me, she will be made to howl for it."

With a quiet whimper, Harmony drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her hands.

"Martin would never do this," the owner of the house said, sounding incredulous. "Nor would Putman."

"Are you joking? This whole plot was Putman's idea."

"The kidnapping, maybe. I doubt he meant for you to use her like this, though," came the retort.

"Putman knew. He told me he wants to get even with Bordon and, given the opportunity, he'd fuck Miss Jutland himself. Although he did not divulge why, he bears particular enmity toward Bordon, and he made it plenty clear what he hoped my course of action would be."

_Oh my God, Putman does know about Richard and Mrs. Putman! This was his revenge! _Harmony crammed her hand in her mouth and bit her knuckles to keep from giving herself away.

"Well then my opinion of Mr. Putman greatly lowered," Mr. McCormick said primly.

"It matters not. Let us be clear, McCormick. Putman is busy at Guerards raising a militia and he put me in charge of the spies in the city. As for Martin, he is at Fresh Water twiddling his thumbs and refusing to join this war, so what he would or wouldn't do, if he were here to command, makes no difference. I'm here, I'm in charge, and I'll do as I damned well wish."

Footsteps marched away down the hall. Harmony remained on the floor with her back against the door, weeping quietly for sometime. Putman wanted to get even with Bordon for sleeping with his wife and as he was not here to see the job done, he would get his revenge through Sumter. And Sumter was determined to have her, to know her fully, and he would do so, so certain was he that 'nothing was going to go wrong'.

For a moment - such a fleeting, short moment, she had felt such hope! That Sumter would see sense and accept the figure Richard had managed to gather. During that pause - when she'd held her breath to listen, she had felt certain he would accept and arrange the exchange that evening. But why would he? There was no danger to him - no matter how fretful the owner of this house - this Mr. McCormack - had become. Bordon didn't know where she was, and she would be blindfolded when she was removed - to ensure she could not inform the Redcoats where she'd been kept. Sumter had nothing to gain in freeing her now. And he had plenty of motivation to keep her. Her hands trembled and she cast a frenzied glance around the room hoping to discover something, anything that might save her.

A bed, a table, a chest of drawers and tall wardrobe. Stumbling to her feet, she began to search the room, pulling open drawers, searching amongst the clothes within. She did the same with the wardrobe and then dropped to her knees to search under the bed. She could hear the guard cough outside her door - there would be no escape that way.

She pressed her hands to her stomach, her entire body trembling. If she didn't find a way out, she'd be raped. There was no possible way that she could tolerate that man's hands on her, therefore she would resist, and then the violence would start. With one shaking finger, she traced the massive bruise on her jaw and shuddered convulsively.

_Pull yourself together, _Harmony, she admonished herself. _If there is a way out, you'll find it. You must find it!_

If she couldn't get herself out, then she must at least try to discover where she was. Perhaps if she could do that, then at the very least, she could tell Bordon in the morning so that he could bring Sumter to justice. Mrs. McCormick, Sumter had said. Which meant the other fellow - the owner of the house - was Mr. McCormick. Darting over to the windows, she gazed through the foggy glass to study the outside world. She could tell by the view that she was at the rear of the house - for the window overlooked a small yard. She could see a large shed and several other outbuildings at the rear of the yard, as well as a small, pretty garden with a lovers seat. Nothing to indicate her location - she could see no identifying landmarks beyond the property. Still, she had the owners name, perhaps that would be enough.

A woman was sitting in the lovers seat in the pretty garden, reading a book in the late afternoon sun. She wore a broad brimmed flat hat and her head was bowed - she would not see Harmony. If Harmony pounded on the window, would the woman help her?

Harmony doubted it. She pulled her eyes away from the woman and turned her attention back to the matter at hand - the study her surroundings. Immediately beneath the window was the tiled eave, the roof that stretched across the porch below. And then - the window itself. Harmony had tried to open it the previous evening but it had been mostly dark and when it didn't budge open, she thought it must have been locked. Now, studying it in daylight, she realised there was no keyhole in which to lock the latch. The latch itself, a wide half circle of metal hooked through a loop, was rusted shut. She reached up to touch it tentatively, running her fingers along the hook, wondering if she could free it somehow. If she could pull the window open, perhaps she could climb out...

With a sharp breath, she stared beyond again, at the eave below her. Doubts whirled through her. If she made it out onto the roof, what if someone was standing on the porch beneath her, wouldn't they hear her clambering about above their head? And just how high from the ground was the roof? Thoughts of falling, of breaking her ankle - or her head, caused her to swallow hard.

Just then, the woman on the lovers seat glanced up and Harmony gasped, falling back from view. Her heart pounding, she risked a peek, to confirm if she'd been seen. Though the shadows stretched long across the yard toward her, the woman's face was still bathed with sunlight. She squinted up above the house, then quickly averted her gaze and rubbed her eyes as though they pained her.

The woman then closed her book and headed toward the house. Harmony watched her, envying the woman her freedom. Envying the security the woman had - the protection of her husband. Hell, she even had the protection of Sumter, who would send her away, rather than force her to remain in the house while the captive was being raped, knowing how it would distress her.

_It'll distress me, more... _Harmony thought. _I have to leave..._ She glanced down at the eave again, and again knew a moment of doubt. Then she hardened herself and steeled her spine. One obstacle at a time - there was no certainty she could get the window open anyway. And if she did... Well - one step at a time.

First obstacle, freeing the hook from the loop.

Both hands delved into her skirts, searching, feeling. There! Her sewing kit! And inside - a small pair of scissors. She jerked the kit out and placed it on the table, pulling the string to open the kit. The scissors were small, but sharp. If she could just dig around the hook, she might be able to free it. Striding back to the window, she began at once.

Digging, scraping with the sharp metal tips - it was mostly noiseless - nothing the guards outside her door would hear. She kept an eye on the courtyard below in case someone happened along, happened to glance up and see that she was at the window. When a man did appear, she ducked away, hiding against the wall and peering around the casement edge cautiously until he went away. As soon as he disappeared through a side gate, she set to work again again.

The hook was coming loose, just a little more digging and it would lift from the eyelet. Dig, scrape, dig, scrape - there! It was free! She exulted as she wrapped her fingers through the handle and tried to pull the window open. It had been so long closed that it squeaked in protest. She cringed, casting a glance over her shoulder toward the door. No one in the hall was alerted by the noise - it could not have been so loud as she imagined. Pulling and tugging, she edged the window until it was open wide. The frame was tall and wide - perhaps even wide enough for a man to slip through. Certainly wide enough for her.

Harmony closed the window and began packing away her scissors and returned the sewing kit to her pockets. During her search of the room earlier, she had spied a lovely red velvet cape in the wardrobe and Harmony strode across the room now to steal it.

It was not a habit of hers, taking things that did not belong to her but the cape - with its broad hood - would provide her with the ability to conceal herself when she was out on the street, outside the house. As long as she got outside onto the street… It was a disguise that might prove useful, if she made it off the property. It would be just her luck, if she was to free herself only to be recognised and recovered by Sumter's men only a few houses down. If she did encounter the rebel bastards, with the hood pulled up, she could walk right past them unchallenged.

Without a trace of guilt, she pulled the cape from the hook. After Sumter's treatment of her, she would not allow herself to feel remorseful over the theft. Yes, it probably belonged to the woman she'd seen earlier - the mistress of the house. And yes, the wife might have felt distressed for Harmony's plight, but had she done anything to assist her? No. Not a damned thing. It would have been simple for the women, to slip away, alert one of the many Redcoat units who stood sentry all throughout Charlestown, and then slip back into her house with no one the wiser. Simple, easy and very quickly done. The woman could have informed the Redcoats of Harmony's location anonymously, without any danger to herself whatsoever.

_Piss on them_, she thought as she crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. She tried to relax, tried to calm, for she could not attempt her escape until nightfall and her wait was going to be a long one.

During the day, men came and they went, bringing her food and swapping out the chamber pot. None of them noticed the freed bolt on the window. They did not speak to her, they did their job and left her in peace.

Sumter was not going to leave her in peace. Tonight, he'd said. Would it be as soon as the sun fell? When full dark fell, how long would she have to make her escape? The shadows began to lengthen, the day was closing. Men entered again, took away her tray, started lighting candles. Without a word spoken between them, the man withdrew, closing the door behind him.

Though it was light in her chamber, the sun was almost down outside. Harmony stood at the window until the first stars began to appear in the sky.

It was now or never.


	38. Chapter 38 - Harmony's Dilemma

Chapter 38 - Harmony's Dilemma:

It was now or never.

With the cape in place, she glanced out the window and she realised that, if she was to attempt a climb down from the eave to the ground, it must be done bare feet. Her shoes had a slight heel and while they were comfortable enough to walk in, they would slip and slide while climbing. Not to mention the clatter they'd make on the roof tiles. The shoes would make the climb too dangerous - and too noisy. She removed them quickly, then hiked up her skirts to peel off her stockings, for she couldn't climb in those either.

Harmony had been taken from the tavern with only the clothes on her back - she had no belongings with her - nothing to accidentally leave behind. Except her shoes. She needed her hands free for climbing so she slipped one shoe into each deep pocket under her skirt. Another glance out the window showed the torchlit yard was now empty.

Opening the window wise, she swallowed hard and climbed up onto the casement. She held the sides of the casement as she crouched for a moment, searching the courtyard carefully and keeping her ears peeled for anyone standing on the porch beneath her.

Seeing and hearing no-one, she stepped out, placing one foot onto the eave, as quietly as possible in case some one was standing beneath it. Once both feet were on the eave she began to walk as lightly and quietly as she could across the uneven tiles. Some small amount of light spilled from her window, she could see part of the way but by the time she reached the far end of the eave, she was in completely darkness.

The roof was supported by pillars, if she kept her courage, she could possibly climb down one. Once she was at the corner, she paused to consider her next move.

To discover if anyone was beneath.

The best way to achieve this, she felt, was to lay down and take a peek. Putting her thoughts to action, she lay on her stomach - her shoes in her pockets digging into her thighs. It was not easy going in her skirts, but she crawled forward to the ledge and peered carefully over, giving her an upside down view of the verandah. There was a lit torch at the far end of the porch, there were several chairs and a table, but it was devoid of life. There was a ladder laying on its side, propped against the table.

She bit back a string of curses. What luck! To have a ladder so close - and yet so bloody far! Right there, on the ground, only yards from her! It might as well have been on the other side of the Colonies for all the good it did her just then.

The good news, however, was that no one was beneath the eave.

_Where the Devil are their guards? _She thought for the hundredth time. Harmony had been Bordon's mistress for long enough to know that sentries were of extraordinary import! There were at least twelve Dragoons posted at various sections on the Putman residence!

_Lax of them_, she thought with a disdainful toss of her head. _But good for me!_

Harmony turned her eyes to the support post on the corner of the eave - this would be her way down. Hopefully. Now that she was confronted with the actual descent, she suddenly felt rather faint. Her vision narrowed to two narrow tunnels and she reeled, staring at the ground, imaging it was suddenly pulsing with a life of its own, rushing up toward her.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, then began to think her way through the process, step by step, which it seem less daunting. Edge closer. Turn herself around, still on her stomach. Hitch her fingers into the tiles for purchase as she began to edge her way over. Gain a foot hold on the post, and ease herself down. Once she was halfway down, she would hold the guttering at the edge of the eave with her fingers, while gripping the post with her feet. From there, she could ease her way down, slowly, until her feet were on the ground.

Simple.

Easy.

Christ all bloody mighty.

_No, you can do it, Harmony._ She admonished herself quietly. _Just think, you'll be face to face with Richard in no time at all, and you can finally get the answers you need. You can shout at him until he never even thinks of sticking that Major Dick of his inside another woman again. Ever._

It was only then that she realised she would take him back. But she would not make it easy for him! Hell no. He'd almost struck her! Blamed her for his cheating! No, she would make him answer for it, the fucking unfaithful bastard!

Her silent tirade gave her heart and, determined to confront her lover, she began to move. Exactly as she'd planned it out, gripping the tiles with her fingers and edging her legs over. However, in her carefully thought out plan of action, she had failed to take her voluminous skirts into consideration. When the petticoats dropped in the way, she kicked them aside until her bare foot was able to secure a toehold on the uneven post.

Slowly, she edged herself over the eave. At one point, she was gripping the roof tiles with her fingers, as well as clutching at the post with her bare feet. Splinters dug into her toes - another thing she had not accounted for - but she ignored the pain. Whenever she had a secure hold, she would reach down and pull her skirts out of the way. It was slow going but eventually she was off the roof entirely, and wrapped bodily around the pole, with only a yard or two more to go. She glanced up at the bottom of the eave, now above her and shook her head with wonder. How the Hell…?

_Don't question it, just get the heck out of here…_

Harmony climbed down the last little distance and placed her feet to the ground. The splinters had pricked her toes but when she pulled free, the slivers of wood remained behind in the post.

_Shoes now? _She wondered as she stroked them inside her skirts. _No, later. Just get the Hell out of here!_ It would not do to be caught now - while putting her shoes on - when she'd come so far! It would be more prudent to put some distance between her and the house, she could put them back on when she was out on the street.

Torches were scattered at various places throughout the yard, lighting the path in some places. Striding along the path, she spied the gate she had seen that fellow disappear through hours earlier. Her fingers ached and felt as strong as mushy porridge after bearing her bodies weight, and her knees were weak - but from nerves rather than her exertions. Her heart raced - she had escaped the house! Freedom was in reach - just beyond that gate. She quickened her stride. Only a few yards from the gate now, near to the large shed.

Almost there.

"He had no right to call it off!"

Harmony almost shrieked, damn near jumping from her skin. She startled like a cat, her feet felt suddenly light as she jumped a whole yard back from the gate. She darted behind a tree, huddling in the darkness as the gate was thrown open.

"None!" Sumter's fury filled shout. She did not need to look to know it was him, she'd recognise his voice anyway now. "I am in command here and it's about time you people understood that!"

"Jesus, Sumter," a gruff voice replied. "We didn't know what the fuck Tavington was returning to the Goddamned city for. He could've been warned what was happenin' for fuck sake. Our men could've been caught red handed! We had to call it off, how many'd fuckin' hang, if Tavington showed up?"

Her back hard up against the tree, Harmony glanced over her shoulder toward the gate. So close. Gods, and Sumter was so close as well, on the other side of the tree. She did not dare move, and she was grateful that she'd stolen the cape, the deep red was black in the dark and shrouded her completely.

"Then word should have been sent to me, so that I could make the decision!" Sumter snapped out his reply. His voice made her shiver - if he was this riled, how patient would he have been with her in the bed chamber she'd just escaped from? She eyed the gate again, praying the men would move on without seeing her. They had stopped just on the other side of the tree when Sumter had whirled on them to confront them.

"There was no Goddamned time!" The gruff voice cursed. "Cock and balls, I told you, we didn't know what he was returnin' for! The mission had to be cancelled in case Tavington was about to take our men as they made their move! As it was, the boys were already about to leave - "

"Enough," Sumter growled. "His return had nothing to with your men! It was that damned Ingles - and that little whore! The warning Tavington received was about Miss Jutland being taken hostage, it had nothing to do with our plans!"

Harmony's knees went weak with shock. Ingles! Mr. Ingles - and some whore - had warned Bordon that she'd been taken! She was too shocked to move. A good thing, too, for keeping still was of utmost importance right now.

"Holy fuckin' shit, Sumter! We bloody warned you, we told you to release her! Your taking Bordon's mistress has fuckin' ruined everything!" The other man shouted. "Burwell is going to have your head for this! If Bordon does pay, Burwell will shove that five thousand pounds right up your arse!"

"You will not speak to me like that!" Sumter bellowed.

"Ah… How soon before the attack?" Another voice put in tentatively, as if trying to stop the other two from fighting and worried he was going to get caught in the fray. Harmony frowned, the conversation drawing attention away from her own fears. What attack?

"Soon," John Sumter replied tersely - clearly still tense and angry. "Putman has had two hundred men answer his call to join the militia, but Burwell doesn't think this is enough. He wants Putman to wait at Guerard's for at least another week. Burwell wants at least three hundred more men, before they commit."

_What attack? _She cursed quietly. _Where? How many? Who is attacking who? _

"Forget about them, that's a weeks away yet. We need to concentrate our efforts closer to home," Sumter said. "After seeing how frantic Bordon's been to get his mistress back, it's about time we made a more concerted get hold of Tavington's!"

"Yeh, because taking Miss Jutland hasn't caused us any fuckin' problems at all!" The furious one spat. "You're the desperate one, sounds like! You're desperate to salvage something from the Goddamned wreckage. But I've already fuckin' told you - Linda the doxy ain't worth horse shit to Tavington," the gruff man growled, the one who'd been arguing with Sumter. "Besides, Tavington's taken her to Putman's where she's safe and beyond your reach."

"I wasn't speaking of _Linda the doxy_," Sumter announced primly and Harmony had the distinct feeling he was trying very hard to ignore the rest of this Patriot's speech. Salvaging something from the wreckage, indeed. Clearly, kidnapping Harmony had prevented some plot or other, something that had been about to happen in the city, which was cancelled due to Tavington's return, and Sumter was going to be hauled over the coals for it. She was elated, for how much worse was it going to be, with Harmony escaping him now? Sumter wouldn't have the five thousand ransom to make up for his mistake!

If she managed to get away, that was… She forced her excitement down, she could not celebrate until she was far, far from McCormick's and out of Sumter's clutches.

"We will get word to our fellow Whigs on the Santee, to go and take Miss Martin into custody," Sumter finished.

"What the fuck for?" The rough voice growled, evidently outraged.

_Yes, what for? _Harmony thought, excitement snuffed like a candle. If Sumter was planning on taking Miss Martin, then Tavington would need to be told. Harmony quite liked Beth and wanted no harm to come to her. Her need to escape doubled, not only for herself, but for Miss Martin as well. Tavington needed to be warned, Miss Martin had to be protected.

"What do you think for?" Sumter replied coolly. "Tavington is in love with the girl - I've heard the news, he's been telling everyone that they're engaged. Even you told me that she'd make a very powerful hostage."

"Yeh, I was sayin' Miss Stokes ain't worth shit, that Miss Martin is who he'd give his left goddamned arm for. But I wasn't sayin' to take her!"

"If I can get nearly four thousand for Bordon's whore - think of what I could wrangle from Tavington for his?"

"If you are calling Miss Martin a fucking whore, Sumter, then you and I are going to have one hell of a problem," the gruff voice said.

_It sounds to me as though you and he had one hell of a problem already, _Harmony thought, pleased that the rebels were not entirely in accord, and that at least one of them would stand up for Beth. He'd even stood up for Harmony, it sounded like, though that was more out of concern for this other plot being put at risk, than it was for her own welfare, she supposed. Still, it was better than nothing.

"I understand you are friends with the girl's father -" Sumter began, but the fury filled man cut him off.

"Friends?" He spat. "That man saved my fuckin' life! He risked capture, risked gettin' himself scalped and fuckin' killed by savages to get my worthless hide free! Where the fuck where you back then? Who the fuck are you to me? Nothing, that's what, not even with Putman and Burwell trying to make you somethin'. Martin is not my friend, Sumter, you god damned sop. He is my_ fuckin' brother_! The hell will I stand by while you threaten his family!"

Harmony shivered at the implacable fury she heard in it. She wondered who he was, this Patriot who would defend Miss Martin so. Another pause, Harmony held her breath, fair feeling the tension straining from within the barn.

"I am going to ignore some of your… colourful insults," Sumter said finally. "Tell me, Sir, what do you suggest then, hmm? That I leave the lass to herself - the lover of a Redcoat? You heard the rumours, what they're saying about her! What makes you think Mr. Martin would want to protect her still, knowing that she's bedded Tavington?"

"I know Ben, that's why," the man ground out. "Miss Martin was seduced - what happened was not her fault. She's just a young, innocent little thing - and the piss poor Butcher took advantage of her, the whore son of a goat! She tried her damnedest to get away. _And_ she risked herself to warn Burwell about that ambush - so he wouldn't be captured." - Harmony's eyes bulged, her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp of astonishment. - "Or are you goin' to ignore that little fact so you can push on with your stupid plan? Are you goin' to gloss over her heroism, just so you can take Tavington's so called fiancé with a free conscience? It might not be common knowledge, but Tavington warned her - he said that if he found out she sent word to Burwell, he'd whip her to within an inch of her life! And you'd take her from her father and ransom her to the Butcher? You'd put her in his hands, you'd let her be whipped?"

"Perhaps we should wait," the third voice said carefully, trying to placate the other two. "Until we have more information. What occurred between Miss Martin and Tavington and Burwell - it is all still under debate - what we know is all jumbled and confused…"

"You want to fuckin' wait? You still think you should take Miss Martin?" The gruff voice growled. "Miss Martin is one of us, she is a Patriot, McCormick!"

"A Patriot who happens to have a Redcoat lover," Sumter shot back. "If she was dutiful to the Cause, she'd _allow_ us to use her as bait, just as she allowed Tavington to!"

"She didn't allow him too! She was forced too, and she warned Burwell so that he would _know_ she was bait!" The other shouted.

"She worked with Putman then, she should work with us now, to help bring Tavington to his knees! After all the rumours flying around about her bedding Tavington, I don't even believe she warned Burwell, I reckon she's just saying that now, to cover her betrayal! She's got to prove herself to us before I'll ever call her a Whig! Until she does, I'll never name her one of us!"

"She's not just sayin' it, Sumter; I bloody know the truth! She's already proved herself, which is more than you've done! All you've done is taken some poor girl hostage and forced her to do indulge in your sickness!" The rebel shouted.

"Please, Sir -" the other one, McCormick, tried to calm the furious one down, but was utterly ignored.

"And in doin' so, you screwed up everything!" The rebel continued to rail at Sumter, who was surprisingly silent. "Miss Martin has done far more for the Cause than you! She sent the bloody letter to Burwell warning him of the trap to take him! Cock and balls! That poor girl sat in the rotunda as frightened as a deer being chased by a fucking wolf _because she knew that Burwell wasn't coming_! And she was terrified that Tavington would suspect her! And he did! The Butcher threatened her with a fucking Goddamned whipping! He'd've done it too! It was only her own quick thinking that saved her, because it sure as Hell wasn't Tavington's mercy! And now you want to hand her back to him, so that she can prove herself to _you_? What more do you want from her?"

"I want to know that these rumours are lies!" Sumter cried. "Can you tell me, without a shadow of a doubt, that she did not have relations with Tavington?"

Silence reigned. Harmony waited apprehensively, hoping the men could not hear the pounding of her heart. She wished she could take a peek around the tree to see who Sumter was speaking to, but they might see her and then her torture would begin. And all the while, she was conflicted and torn, confused over what the men were saying. If they were speaking truthfully, then Harmony had just discovered that Beth Martin had betrayed Tavington - and she had committed treason.

"You can't, can you?" Sumter continued quietly when the gruff man, who had a tendency toward cursing, continued to hold his silence. "Even you doubt it. She's bedded the Butcher and you want me to believe we can trust her? You obviously regard the girl but for the Lord's sake - you can't still defend her now!"

"I fuckin' can and I fuckin' will. Tavington plagued the poor girl, damn near forced himself on her. He's a right bastard for doin' what he did - compromisin' her virtue that way! Fuckin' dog - he needs to be put down!"

"That's precisely what I am trying to do!" John Sumter cried. "Why in the world would you oppose this when taking such a valuable creature would do wonders for the Cause?"

"Are you forgetting she's engaged to Burwell?" The fury filled man spat. It was clear to Harmony that he was trying a different tactic to protect Miss Martin, for he'd run out of arguments. "Yeah - he'd fuckin' thank you for goin' out there and abducting his fiancé." He scoffed with derision. "You'll earn his enmity, that's what, if taking Miss Jutland hasn't done the trick! Jesus, as if you haven't managed to divide us enough! "

"Christ man - do you really think that Burwell will still take her to bride when he learns that she bedded the Butcher?" Sumter laughed with incredulity. "Open your eyes! You're a damned fool if you think Burwell will marry her now!"

"I agree," McCormick said softly. "He would not take a used woman as his bride. Especially when her soiling came from a Redcoat. Such a high ranking Patriot personage marrying a woman who has dallied with an enemy officer is too shameful to consider. In no possible way could he take Miss Martin to bride and keep his respectability and his position. His wife would not be accepted amongst us either - even our women will shun her completely. And Burwell will be ousted - and not just from the army, but from Society itself."

"It seems to me," Sumter predicted quietly, "that once Burwell learns of what took place between Miss Martin and Tavington, he won't give a pigs fart what happens to the girl. He probably won't care, if we take her and use her as we see fit."

"What a compellin' fuckin' argument the two of you make," the gruff one growled. "But it seems to me you're forgetting one very important person in all of this."

"And who would that be?" Sumter asked primly.

"Goddamned Captain fucking Benjamin Martin, _that's_ who," came the ground out reply. "The girl's father. Old Ben is more protective of his brood than ever a father was. You fuck with any of his children - you try and take his little girl - mark my words you'll be sparking a blaze that will be beyond your ability to control."

"Is that right?" Sumter growled, clearly beginning to lose his temper.

"It is. You already managed to fuck up our plans as successfully as if you'd told them to Tavington yourself," the gruff one growled. "And you've been treatin' us like we're nothin' since you fuckin' arrived. You've been dividin' us since you got here. We're supposed to be a united force but you've managed to split us down the damned middle - into two factions -"

"I've been trying to rectify that!" Sumter shouted. "I understand that you're all as Loyal to the Cause as my own men!"

"Then for fuck's sake - don't make the mistake of going up against Benjamin Martin!" the other bellowed back. "Because, Sumter, half the reason we followed Putman so willingly, was because he is Martin's brother in law! Martin…" The fellow laughed, it was dark and without humour. His voice lowered, but was no less intense. "Martin has decided to stay out of the war - but piss on his family and I assure you - that will change in a heartbeat! Not only would he suddenly get involved, but he'll rouse the entire country side against you! The divisions between us and your men here in Charlestown will pale in comparison. It'll be South Carolina Whigs against the few Virginian Whigs you've bought here! Because none of us would choose you over Martin - not even McCormick here!"

"You'd choose Martin, would you?" Sumter asked.

After a moment silence, McCormick answered. "I would, Mr. Sumter. I'm not entirely enthralled with the way you've conducted yourself since your arrival, or the plots you've put in place, whether they were suggested by Putman or not. If it came down to choosing between you, Putman and Martin, I'd definitely fall on Martin's side. I suggest you don't force us to make that choice."

"Yeh, just push us a little more Sumter," the angry one growled. "Come to think of it - Jesus! Do you really think you can just 'send word' to the Santee Whigs and they'll just trot along and take Ben's daughter from him? Hell, he might be a retired Captain, but he _is_ our Captain, still! He'll snap out a counter command - the Santee boys will obey his orders over yours any day! You're not even a military man! You're just some whoreson who gave over South Carolina to move to Virginia years ago, that the Santee boys've never laid eyes on!"

When he finally fell silent, Harmony could hear the men breathing - heavy bursts of fury filled breaths. It would not have surprised her in the least if the two came to blows right there on the other side of the tree.

"Are you quite finished?" Sumter said, his voice colder than frost.

"I'm giving you fair warning, Sumter," the other said, just as coldly. "I think you fail to realise how weak your command really is. If we chose to stop following you - what'll you have then, aye? You'll be done in. And we will chose to stop taking your orders, if you keep trying to divide us, and if you go through with attacking one of our own."

A sharp breath was drawn - Harmony knew it must have been Sumter's. She felt the need to gasp aloud as well - this man, the gruff fellow, had just laid a challenge to Sumter's authority - as blithe as blithe can be!

"Well?" Sumter snapped. Harmony frowned but when McCormick spoke, she realised he was looking to him to confirm the other's words. "Does Martin indeed have as much influence as our insubordinate friend seems to be suggesting?"

"Yes, Sir," came the firm reply. "He certainly does. After the war, most of Martin's unit followed him and settled on the Santee, he as good as built Pembroke County. He helped his men and their families to become established, from scratch in some cases - those who had nothing. They settled there because of him and are completely loyal to him. They've told their sons their war stories. Martin has become something of a legend out there, he is hailed a hero amongst them. He has a temper as well. Though he keeps it in check for the most part, it would not take much to rile him. But it would take much to bring him to heel. Attacking a member of his family will be enough to provoke his full fury, no matter how guilty you think Miss Martin is or what your reasoning might be. To put it in perspective… well, this might help. Mr. Putman's out there at Guerards _trying_ to bring Marion's militia back together again and how many's he got so far? A hundred and fifty? A couple hundred, maybe? And it's still not enough to commit to the assault. But Benjamin Martin - Gods, if he were the one sending out the call instead of Putman, _a thousand_ would answer, Mr. Sumter. If you took his daughter, or even just threatened her, he would rouse the entire countryside to set you back on your heels and to remind you that you're in his territory now. Because you are. Burwell, he wants us working together - we can't afford to continue all this infighting."

"Then why the hell hasn't he risen up against the British?" Sumter snapped. "If he has this much influence?"

"Because he don't want to use a blacksmith's hammer for something as delicate as goin' up against the fuckin' British," the gruff one said. "And because he's helped get everyone established out there in Pembroke - he don't want to see their sons dying, not in service to him. Just because he can do it, doesn't mean he should. That's the way he sees it. He's always thought the non violent approach is better with dealin' with our differences. But that don't mean he _won't_ get violent if pushed - push him too far, and he'll bathe in your blood."

"Jesus - the girl's been fucking Tavington! You can't tell me the Whigs of South Carolina will forgive that?" Sumter cried, incredulous.

"Perhaps not. However, it's not Miss Martin they'd be following, but her father," came the wise reply from Mr. McCormick. "You'll be hitting a hornets nest, if you try taking her."

Harmony heard a sharp, sullen sigh and she knew it came from Sumter.

"Very well, I'll abandon this idea, will that satisfy you?" He growled.

"Mighty fuckin' wise of you, Sir," the rough one cursed.

"Careful," Sumter's tone was filled with warning. "I still hold full authority in Charlestown. I warn you now, if you ever speak with such insubordination again, I'll have you whipped!"

"And whose goin' to wield the whip?" The gruff one laughed. "See? You're just not gettin' it, we tried to tell you yesterday too. Let me be clear - your authority is fuckin' thin, it's something we _choose_ to follow, because we're all got the same goal. But yeh, alright, I'll curb my tongue if that's goin' to help any. But if you think Burwell and Martin aren't going to hear about all this, think again. You might be in charge now, but keep going your own way, keep destroying our plans with your own pathetic plots and that will change mighty quick. If that's not being too _insubordinate,_ _Sir_," this was said with such derision that Harmony half expected Sumter to begin whipping the man on the spot. It was strange, all three men were rebels but Harmony felt like giving a jubilant huzzah for the fellow who'd gotten one up on Sumter. "I suggest you start heeding our advice. I've just saved you from a fuckin' disaster, goin up against Martin half cocked," he snorted with contempt. "You wouldn't even see the storm comin' 'til you were whipped up into the eye of it. Jesus Christ…"

"Perhaps," Sumter replied. "I agree - we must not be divided. Therefore, I will endeavour to listen to your advice in future. But you, my friend, will learn to voice it in a more respectful manner."

The gruff man accepted the rebuke, the tension emanating from the far side of the tree began to fade. She held herself as still as stone as she heard their footfalls resume, she attempted a glance but saw only the backs of them as they walked along the path toward the house. She watched them until they reached the house, hoping to catch sight of their faces where they stepped up onto the porch, before they entered. None of them turned, however, they disappeared inside and she was no wiser as to the identity of the other two men. She had to make her escape now - Sumter might very well be heading up to her chamber at that very moment. She wrestled with her pockets to pull out her shoes, she slipped them on her feet and then she began making her way toward the gate, eyes and ears peeled for danger.

She opened the gate and peered out onto the dark and narrow street beyond from the recesses of her hood. Seeing no danger, she stepped lightly onto the street, closing the gate behind her. The street was more of a narrow alley, a carriage lane that led to the yard. Harmony still had no idea where she was, nor did she know which direction to take. Glancing up the alley one way and down the other, she decided to walk along the side of the house toward the alley mouth where she could see carriages and horsemen riding by, carrying torches. She had the hood pulled close around her face - if she encountered any of Sumter's men, she should be able to walk by un-molested. They had no reason to stop and question her, they would not imagine for a moment that she was Sumter's prisoner, escaped. She could barely believe it herself - that she had freed herself!

She paused at the alley mouth, again undecided as to which direction to take. It was dark here too, but it was early evening and there were plenty of people about, walking, riding and in carriages, holding lanterns or firebrands. The points of light helped to guide her along the still busy street. Without knowing where she was, she feared her steps would carry her further and further from the Putman residence, further from Bordon. Then again, as long as she was putting distance between herself and Sumter, it did not truly matter.

She was halfway past the front of Mr. McCormick's house, when she encountered the first of Sumter's men. They were crossing the road toward her and met her on the footpath. Harmony's knees grew weak, aware that her disguise - the acquired cape - was about to be put to the test.

"Evening," one of the rebels tipped his hat to her. "You shouldn't be out alone in the dark. Where are you headed?"

"Home, Sir," she said softly, resisting the urge to pull her hood even further around her face. She was already concealed within its shadow and pulling it closer would only rouse their suspicions. "And I'm almost there, but my thanks for your concern all the same."

"We could walk you if you wish," the other rebel offered politely as she began to walk on by.

"No, truly," Harmony gasped. That would be a disaster! Thinking fast, she continued, "oh, if my husband saw you with me - he'd think… Well, you know what he'd think and he might beat me. No - I'm really fine to go on my own," she continued on by them quickly, leaving them with no choice but to let her go. She called over her shoulder, "again, my thanks!"

"Good night!" The first one called, and waved his arm in farewell.

"Phew," Harmony whispered and wiped her hand across her brow. It came away wet - she hadn't realised she'd begun to sweat!

Another glance over her shoulder showed the lantern bearing men disappearing through a wrought iron gate, chatting as they approached the verandah. With the danger behind her, she picked up her pace, hurrying along the street. Two more men tipped their hats to her and she considered asking them for help but she had no idea if they were Patriots or Loyalists - they could even be Quakers! She nodded curtly and continued past, unwilling to risk asking someone of the wrong allegiance.

It still bothered her, the lack of guards at Sumter's headquarters. While she was grateful for it, for it allowed her to get out of the gate and stride away, it was a puzzle. Tavington kept at least twelve Dragoon guards at the Putman residences, on the grounds alone. There were more stationed at various points within the house. Why didn't Sumter do the same?

_Because everyone knows the Green Dragoons are billeted there._

The thought hit her like a hammer blow between the eyes. Of course! Tavington needed the guards to protect himself and his men. But Sumter - he needed to lay low - to remain unseen in plain sight. It made perfect sense to her now. If he surrounded his command base with sentries, the Redcoats would come down on him like an avalanche! And so he kept only a few. All that worry, that the place would be crawling with rebels and she would not be able to take two steps once she climbed from the eave, had been for nothing. Sumter's requirement to only have a handful of guards, had allowed his prisoner to escape him.

_All the more reason to get to Richard quickly, before Sumter discovers me gone_, she thought grimly. _For Sumter has no one to protect him from the Dragoons…_

With that thought in mind, she began to trot, reaching the first intersection in only minutes. A man was walking by, she asked him what streets they were on. He was startled, but answered her. Wentworth and Smith. A thrill shot through her, for she now knew her precise location - Queen Street, where the Putman's lived, crossed Smith Street after the next intersection! She set out at once, glancing over her shoulder nervously for signs of pursuit. Her heart pounded - the street seemed so long!

Other people were out walking, trotting by on horses, driving their carriages, slaves running errands - she did not have the street to herself. Nodding politely to those who greeted her, she did not stop even when hailed. The first intersection, Beaufain Street. Harmony began to feel relief so vast, she felt faint. For there were still no signs of pursuit, the other people out on the street seemed to be taking their time, no one was rushing toward her, ready to throw her over their shoulder and carry her back to her captivity.

Queen Street came into view and Harmony began to exult. So close - so close! Another glance over her shoulder - still no pursuit, there was not a dozen men bearing down on her with torches. None of the people she glanced at were even looking for her. And even if Sumter was searching for her, it was suddenly too late.

Too late for Sumter, because Harmony had just encountered her first Redcoat patrol.

Never had she been so deliriously happy to see men in Redcoats - not even Bordon in his Redcoat had inspired such profound joy. Such bone deep relief, which left her gasping, uncertain if she should laugh or cry. She wanted to do both as she approached the unit of soldiers.

"Miss?" One greeted with a slight bow. "Can we help you?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Well, no - I'm almost there."

"Pardon?" The Officer frowned. "Miss - you are not making sense. Do you require assistance or not?"

"No. I thought I did, but I'm safe now," she answered, smiling brightly and beginning to edge away. "I'm almost there, he can't take me now."

"He? Miss, stop - I wish to speak to you!" These last words were shouted for Harmony, desperate to reach Bordon now, had broken into a run.

It didn't occur to her that running from a patrol of British soldiers who were hailing her might be construed as a bad thing in a city wary of the enemy. She was thinking of nothing but Richard now. Her shoes pounded the sand path, her cape flew out behind her. She shoved the hood back absently - it was no longer needed and it was in her way. Her heart was pumping now and her breath came in quick spurts - panting. She pushed on, rounding the corner, oblivious to the Guard chasing after her, hot on her heels. They were a suspicious bunch, were the Redcoats, especially when someone seemed to be fleeing from them.

The Putman residence was only a few houses down. When it came into view she pushed out an even greater burst of speed, then darted down the alley that ran the length of the house. She bolted past Tavington's startled sentries before they could challenge her and was into the brightly lit yard at the rear of the house. Of course, the sentries had recognised her, which was the only reason they didn't seize her and thrown her back. They gaped with astonishment to see her appear so suddenly, for the last they'd heard, she was a hostage in Sumter's care.

Harmony was at the steps to the house, she was about to dart in to search for Bordon but his and Tavington's appearance rendered this unnecessary.

"I'm telling you," Tavington was saying to Bordon over his shoulder. "We'll get more money. Wilkins is going to send to…" He trailed off when he saw her, his eyes widened as far as they would go. She laughed at him - feeling both exhilarated and reckless. Never had she seen Colonel William Tavington, Commandant of the Green Dragoons and British Legions, gape like a halfwit.

But then she shifted her gaze past the stunned Officer, and now Harmony's eyes were only for Richard. Bordon gave a wordless shout and pushed past Tavington. At the same time, Harmony threw herself at him. He wrapped her in his strong arms as she began to weep inconsolably, clutching at his sides.

The Redcoat patrol, puffing and panting from the short but wild run, came to an abrupt halt in the yard. Tavington stepped forward to deal with them while Richard and Harmony reunited.

"Harmony, oh my Lord," Richard tightened his hold on her, pressing her against his chest as she wept. He gazed wide eyed past her head at Tavington, who was still speaking with the Redcoat patrol. The Colonel met Bordon's gaze and, with a chagrined expression, Bordon mouthed at William over Harmony's head, '_she has been beaten!_'

William nodded gravely. Mr. Ingles had reported as much, based on what the little slave boy had told him. Hearing it was one thing but to see the bruises covering her cheek and jaw and the cut on her lip, that was entirely different.

Guilt warred with relief - he was so pleased she was returned to him, but she had been taken and beaten - and all because she was his mistress. She had been targeted because of him and he'd failed to protect her. He held her tight and she buried her head beneath his chin, her cheek pressed into the nook there.

She held as tightly as he, as though neither would ever let go of the other. Gradually however, awareness began to return and she remembered Mrs. Mage Putman.

By then, the Redcoat patrol were satisfied with Tavington's explanation and when he dismissed them, they left the yard to continue their patrol of the streets. Tavington's sentries on the gate returned to their duty, though they cast curious glances at Miss Jutland as they wondered how she had come to be there. Tavington hovered nearby, and was stunned all over again when Harmony jerked suddenly from Bordon's embrace, her battered face twisted with rage.

With a wordless shriek, she jerked back from Richard. He was too startled, unsettled, to do anything but stare. Her full arm slap across his face snapped him to attention pretty damned quickly. His eyes bulged as pain flared in his cheek and his face twisted to the side.

"How could you!" She screamed at him. "How could you do that to me! I love you, so much! How could you treat me like that?"

Slowly, for he was feeling somewhat stunned from the force of the blow, Bordon turned his head back to her. Her handprint was vivid on his cheek, the sting of it still sharp and strong. He watched her rage with a grave expression, unable to offer a defence for his actions in the face of her fury.

"You utter bastard, don't you know how much you hurt me? And to blame me, on top of it all!" Harmony waved off Bordon's attempts to take her in his arms again, slapping at his hands when he reached for her.

"Harm, I've been so worried," he whispered but again, Harmony slapped him away.

"How do I know you didn't seek solace from Mrs. Putman, hmm?" She asked tartly.

"I didn't, I vow it. I've slept alone since that night - I'll not take her to my bed again."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" She sneered. "Your recent indiscretion has gone against you, I'm afraid! It's marred my opinion of you and I don't trust you any longer!"

"Miss Jutland, Bordon is a man of his word and I assure you, he has been quite beside himself with fear for you since we learned you were taken," William informed her coolly. "He has gone to great lengths to raise the required ransom."

"Yeh, well, he can give it all back now, can't he? Now that I've rescued _myself_!" She shot at William before turning back to her lover. She continued in a stronger tone, accusing Bordon, "though I suppose I've just given you more cause to prate on about my 'independence' again haven't I!"

"Harmony," he replied softly but Harmony was not about to let him get a word in edgewise. Not yet.

"Well, I don't care. If you want some milksop of a woman, a proper Lady, you're welcome to her. You can choose Mage Putman, for all I care. But I won't change, just for you. I'm proud of the person I am - my strong will and all! I rescued myself. If anything, _I've_ saved _you_! I've rescued _you_ from debt! You can give it all back now. Besides, you didn't have to go to those efforts! You've no obligation to me."

"I didn't do it because I felt obligated, Harmony. I did it because I love you," Richard held her gaze, he saw the widening of her eyes, heard her breath hitch in her throat. Reaching for her, he pulled her against him and this time she didn't resist. She couldn't resist - all she could do was gape with astonishment at this wondrous declaration. They'd never declared their love for one another before and now she realised they had both said it in the space of a few moments.

"And I don't want some milksop of a Lady, I want you," Bordon continued softly. he reached up to stroke her face, gently pushing a lock of hair aside. "I swear, I vow it here and now, that I will never hurt you like that again."

"You love me?" She asked softly, swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat.

"These last few days have opened my eyes, Harm," Bordon said softly. He could feel her heart beating frantically against his chest. "I've discovered many things - first and foremost - is that I love you."

Harmony whimpered and melted against him again. He held her in the circle of his strong arms as she wept, rubbing her back consolingly. Eventually she began to calm and she lifted her face from his chest to dry her tears with a handkerchief, remaining in the circle of his arms.

"If you don't mind me intruding on your private moment," William began delicately. "How did you escape?"

"Oh - you must go there - right now!" Harmony turned to face Tavington. "I'd quite forgotten - I'd meant to tell you straight off! Sumter is staying with a man called Mr. McCormick, on Wentworth Street, the sixth house along. He had a guard in the hallway on my door. Sumter he doesn't have many other rebels there at all - I don't think he wanted to draw attention to himself by posting sentries. Go now - it might already be too late, if he's discovered I'm gone he'd know I'd come straight here and warn you. He'll panic and flee!"

"Simms!" Tavington bellowed through the door of the house and within moments, Cornet Simms appeared. When he saw Harmony, he gaped just as Bordon and Tavington had. "Gather the Dragoons!" Tavington continued. "Zeke - ready my horse!"

While the others went off to do the Colonel's bidding, he turned to Harmony.

"There is not much time, tell me what happened," he commanded her. "How did you win free?"

"Well, like I said, had a guard on my door, but it didn't do him a fat lot of good in the end because I climbed out the window," she said simply, her face blazing crimson for some unknown reason. She wasn't certain why she'd feel embarrassed, but she did. Genteel ladies didn't go climbing out of windows and clambering around on roofs. Both Officers stared at her with identical expressions of incredulity as she continued. "I was on the second level so I had to climb onto the eave and down a pole, but I did it and they had no idea."

"You climbed out the window," Bordon said with wonder.

"I had to - he was threatening to rape me," she said quietly, lowering her eyes from his. Richard tensed, his entire body became rigid against her. "He said he'd do it tonight, he wanted to know exactly what it was about me that would have you so frantic to get me back. That's what he said. And he wanted to taunt you with it, too."

"I'll kill him," Bordon ground out.

"I'll capture him," Tavington said coldly. "Miss Jutland - you climbed over the eave and then..?" He prompted her.

"And then I just walked clear of the house..." She shrugged. "As I said, there were no sentries. And the yard was dark mostly, with just a few torches lit. Oh - there is one thing though. As I was about to leave through the gate, Sumter came striding through, all angry and shouting at these two other men. I ducked behind a tree to hide, but they stopped on the other side and I could hear them talking. I heard the entire conversation and I've got so much to tell you."

"And you shall. Gods, Miss Jutland, I must say, I'm so very pleased that you are back."

Harmony smiled shyly, then glanced up at Bordon, who still had murder in his eyes. Just then, Green Dragoons began pouring from the house. A great clamour could be heard coming from the alley and when Harmony turned to look, she saw more of them riding into the yard, having received the call to arms. Zeke was bringing Tavington's horse to him and a few moments later, Tavington turned back to the reunited pair.

"We are going to route Sumter now," he informed Bordon without preamble. "You, Major - will remain here with Miss Jutland."

"With respect Sir!" Bordon protested at once. "I want to -"

"You have your orders!" Tavington snapped. "Question her while I am gone, while it's still fresh in her memory. I want to know everything she saw, heard - all of it!" Striding past the Major, he threw over his shoulder, "just as soon as you're done 'reconciling'!"

Harmony threw Richard a beatific smile, pleased that Tavington was leaving Richard with her. "I'll have to thank him later," she wound her other arm around Richard's chest, squeezing tight.

"Christ, I want to be with you but I want Sumter's head!" Bordon growled.

"Which is why he's not letting you go," Harmony said wisely. The two waited at the steps of the house as ever more Dragoons filed out. They waited long enough to watch them mount and then Tavington, at the head of the unit, led them out of the yard at a quick trot.

As soon as the dust of the many horses settled, Bordon steered Harmony into the house. She paused inside the door uncertainly, fearing she would see Mrs. Mage Putman - the last person Harmony wanted to see. She peered into the house nervously looking for the woman.

"They are in their chamber," Bordon informed her, guessing the source of Harmony's apprehension. "They don't often come out these days." Mage was too embarrassed to venture out, since those Dragoons over heard Harmony and Richard's argument. News of Richard and Mage's affair had spread like wildfire throughout the house, Richard wouldn't be at all surprised if Cilla had heard it, also. Mage hadn't come to Richard's bed since that night. He would have sent her away if she'd tried, but that was the thing - she hadn't tried. She did not come out at all, even taking her meals in the chamber.

"Oh, good," she relaxed visibly, then turned back to Bordon and sidled closer, tilting her face up to his.

"You are an amazing one, do you know that?" He whispered down at her. His hands moved over her arms, her back, her rump, her hair, her face. He couldn't stop touching her, the need to reassure himself that she was real, that this wasn't some awful dream was too great.

"Yes, I do know that," she smiled up at him and Bordon chuckled.

"Such a relief," he kissed her, gently at first then with increasing urgency. He cradled the back of her head, his lips moving across hers as he groaned into her mouth. Then he drew away to gaze down at her. She could see the question in his eye, the worry on his handsome face.

"I had to... To do..." Harmony closed her eyes as she remembered her hands moving on Sumter's erection. She continued in a strong voice - needing to be completely honest. Not that Bordon had cause to complain after his actions with Mrs. Putman! "I did some things you wouldn't approve of, but I thought you and I were ended and I was only protecting myself anyway."

"I know," Richard replied. "He already taunted me with what he was making you do. I'm just glad you weren't hurt too much."

"Were you so shocked to see me that you didn't see the bruises?" Harmony asked ruefully, tracing her cut lip with her fingers.

"I saw them," he said, stiff and tense. "Let's go inside, I want to check you to see if anything is broken."

"No, nothing is broken," Harmony said as they walked arm in arm through the house.

Bordon steered her toward the parlour, commanding food and cider be bought to Harmony. They sat down on the chaise and he pulled her against him, cupping her face and kissing her, careful of her bruises and split lip. He rested his forehead against hers, relishing the feel of her in his arms. The relief was overwhelming, having her back safe and sound. It had been harrowing, discovering she'd been taken by Sumter, but it was over now. It was all over. She stared gravely into his eyes.

"It was Putman," she said, feeling exhaustion settle deep in her bones. After what she'd been through, she was going to sleep for a week.

"What was Putman?" Bordon asked with a frown.

"Everything," she said cryptically. She knew she wasn't making sense. "After your fight with Sumter and his men, when his cousin's tavern was burned down, Sumter must have ridden out to Putman," she said and Bordon nodded. "He said he went to see Putman, who put him in charge of the spy ring here. When I was hiding behind the tree just now, I heard him say that Putman was only too happy to divulge to Sumter your weakness."

Bordon drew himself up, his face draining of colour.

"Linda for Tavington, he told Sumter. And me for you," Harmony continued. "

That Putman told him he'd fuck me himself, to get even with you."

Bordon stared at her gravely.

"I think he knows," she said, pulling her eyes away and staring at her lap. "About you and Mrs. Putman. Because Sumter said that Putman told him that he wants to get even with you. That he'd fuck me himself, given the opportunity. Sumter wasn't told what was behind it, but he understood that Putman bears you particular ill will and that he made it quite clear what he hoped Sumter's course of action would be." She lifted her gaze to Richard's. "I took that to mean that Putman wanted Sumter to force himself on me, seeing that he isn't here to do it himself. Maybe I'm wrong, but what else could it mean? And what else would make him despise you so, if not for him learning about you and Mrs. Putman?"

"I… I don't know. Gods, Harm, I'm so sorry -"

"Don't," she held up one hand, she didn't really want to hear it. "I could be wrong anyway, I don't know how he would have found out about you and Mrs. Putman."

"You and I were quite vocal the other night, Harm," he said quietly. "The Dragoons all know, as do the servants. I trust the Dragoons to be discreet, but the servants… With the spies he has in the city, I think your guess is quite feasible. Putman knows."

"Well, you'll need to watch your back, for he wants to get back at your for it. Anyway, Putman and Sumter's plan took off from there, though only I was caught, not Linda." She was quiet for a moment, listening to Richard's laboured breathing. "When Sumter told me, I thought it was a waste - useless, Putman suggesting Sumter use me to get back at you. The whole time I was locked away there, I thought you didn't care for me," she shrugged.

"No. Putman… He knew where to thrust. It was a sword to my heart."

Harmony studied his face carefully for several long moments. "Why did you do it, Richard? Why did you bed her?"

Richard could see the agony on her face, he knew it was still hurting her. "Harm," he shook his head. "I'm not a good man," he said. "I try to be, but I'm not. I don't know why I did it. I'm selfish, inconsiderate and Gods, I'm so, so sorry. I feel wretched for hurting you. Wretched for my conduct toward you during our argument. I was just so scared of losing you."

"Well, that's the fastest way to lose me," she said, voice firm, her eyes fixed on his - she was letting him know that she might be ready to forgive him now, but won't ever again. He nodded, hearing her underlying threat. He took hold of her fingers and bout them up to her lips, kissing them firmly. "Why in the world did Mrs. Putman bed you?" She asked, still unable to fathom it. However, her question was a blow to his pride.

"Harmony!" He gasped, offended. She arched an eyebrow and he subsided.

"I'm serious, I want to know why she did it. Is their marriage so awful, that she needs to look elsewhere for affection?" Harmony asked. "That can't be it. When I spoke to her outside your room -"

"You spoke to her?" Richard groaned.

"I asked her how long. She said she didn't think she should answer that. I started to cry, I was so upset."

"I'm sorry, Harm…"

"So you've said," she murmured. "Anyway, she tried to tell me it meant nothing. She said she is deeply in love with her husband and that you are in love with me, and that your affair meant nothing."

"She said that?" Richard asked. "That she loves her husband?"

"Does that bother you?" Harmony asked sharply.

"No, Harm, no of course it doesn't. I'm just… surprised she told you that. She has never said anything kind about her husband to me…"

"I suppose there's no answer," she said. "You love me. She loves him. Yet you fucked each other anyway."

"Harm…"

"I'm not trying to start the argument again, Richard. I'm just trying to understand why she bedded you, when she loves her husband."

"I… ah…" Richard hesitated, this was not a conversation he wanted to be having with her. It was too confronting. But she was waiting for him to answer, she wasn't going to let it go. "I don't know… She really said she loves him?"

"She did, and I don't think she was just saying it to make me feel better or something, because nothing could make me feel better, after seeing her come out of your chamber. Besides, I remember how they were at the Simms Ball, when we saw them," she said, she pulled her fingers from his grasp and stared at her hands, both of which were now in her lap." You were already bedding here then, weren't you?"

Richard heaved a sigh. He recalled the time she was speaking of, when he and Harmony had wandered far from the house, from the dancing, where the lantern light became sparser and the opportunity for intimacy became greater. They were about to make a direct line for the darkness but as they passed by a tree, they heard a giggle. When they stopped, they saw Mr. And Mrs. Putman pressed up against the tree, talking softly and kissing. Harmony and Richard had interrupted an intimate moment, Mage had been stroking Mark's face as he kissed her neck. No one else had been near to see them, so their intimacy hadn't been for the sake of keeping up appearances. Such intimacy as that would have been frowned upon, in any case. They simply would not have been doing that, unless… they had looked like two people very much in love. Richard recalled seeing their faces, when they realised they were not alone. Richard had been most embarrassed, for his new lover, Mage, had seen him with his other lover, Harmony, hanging off his arm and he hadn't known what reaction it would spark in Mage. However, upon seeing him, Mage had looked mighty embarrassed herself, at having been caught by her new lover with her husband. While Mage had looked mortified, the look that had crossed Putman's face had been hostile, though he'd stifled it quickly and Bordon hadn't been certain he'd seen it at all. After making some small talk with the pair, Richard had inclined his head, apologised, and walked on by with Harmony. He recalled Mage began whispering quickly and stroking Mark's face…

At the time, Richard had assumed Mark's flash of hostility had been caused by having been caught being publicly intimate with his wife. Now, however… he was beginning to wonder. Richard had seen Mage and Mark together a few times and they were always affectionate, always attentive of one another. Richard was never jealous, seeing them - he did not love Mage. And Mage hadn't been jealous at seeing him with Harmony at the ball, nor had she ever expressed jealousy when Harmony shared his bed beneath Mage's own roof.

Harmony's question was beginning to ring in his ears, growing louder by the moment, demanding a satisfactory answer. Why in the world had _Mage_ entered into this affair?

"She even instigated it," he breathed, his heart pumping wildly.

"Maybe he can't get her with child," Harmony said, interrupting Richard's darker, more suspicious train of thought. Her voice was snide when she added, "maybe Miss Putman isn't his. Maybe he loves her but he can't get it up. If he can't get it up, he can't get her with child. Maybe they want another, so she latched onto you."

Harmony's words jolted him, solidifying his burgeoning suspicion that indeed, Mage had to have had an ulterior motive in bedding him. For the couple were very clearly in love with one another. But somehow, he could not bring himself to believe that her motive was as innocent as a loving couple being unable to conceive, yet wanting a child enough that they would agree the wife would conceive elsewhere. If that were the case, why would they wait nineteen years between children?

His suspicions were stirring and he wanted, very much, to go and question Mage Putman now. But Harmony was there and he knew if he went to Mage now, Harmony would get the wrong idea.

A servant entered with a tray of food and cider, Harmony set to eating as if she hadn't had a bite in days. Sumter had been feeding her, she told Richard around a mouthful of lamb. But she had been in such a distressed state, she had barely been able to eat. She began telling him everything that had happed, from the beginning of her torment back at the Mighty George, to her times with Sumter in the locked bed chamber, Harmony was brutally honest and Richard had barely been able to keep himself from weeping. She told him of her resolve to leave - to rescue herself if she was able, and went into great detail of her planned escape, to getting outside the house and onto the path, only to encounter Sumter and two more men. She told him more of the overheard conversations - the one she'd heard earlier in the day where Sumter had told his men that he would rape Harmony, to the second one, when she was outside and hiding behind the tree. She hadn't finished when the Dragoons returned, Tavington entered, wroth that his quarry had slipped through his fingers.

"The house was empty by the time we got there," he said, frustrated. "He must have realised you were gone."

Harmony paled. "When I left there, I came straight here, and I ran most of the way. If he was already gone by the time you got there, he must've… he must've gone straight up to my room." She closed her eyes and reeled, thinking how close she'd been to Sumter's attack. Richard held her close as she shook in his arms. When she was recovered enough, she gave Tavington the condensed version of her time with Sumter, though she went into great details of the overheard conversations.


	39. Chapter 39 - Shadow Dancer

Chapter 39 - Shadow Dancer:

Beth was exhausted - dark, puffy circles were forming beneath her eyes. Laying atop of her bed now, she knew she was facing yet another such sleepless night. She rose from the bed and began blowing out her candles - it was time to at least try to get some sleep. Padding around her room on bare and silent feet, she extinguished all but a few lanterns, plunging the room into near darkness. With that done, she climbed back into bed.

"I'll wager William's not sleeping alone," she whispered bitterly as she tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. "It's almost a certainty. Hell, Banastre has probably got some wench curled around him also. Such is the calibre of the men who 'love' me."

Except for Burwell. One out of three weren't very good odds.

She rolled over onto her side and curled into a ball, but although she was comfortable now, thoughts of William would again keep her awake until the small hours of the night, as they did every night. Doubly so, since receiving his letter. He was as deeply in love with her as she was with him, after all. Her aunt's and Cilla had tried to convince her otherwise, and they had succeeded. They pointed out his shortcomings, reminded her that he'd only intended for her to be his mistress, his change of heart came only when he learned of her fortune. And the death knell, Cilla revealing to her that William had been bedding Linda Stokes again, during their time apart. Beth had left Charlestown distraught and heartbroken, believing William did not love her.

His letter revealed otherwise. He spoke of his desperation since her departure, the torture he was in, how deeply he loved her, longed for her. And she believed him, every word. It was all she could do to not make off with one of her father's horses, she would ride all the way back to the city by herself, to be with him again.

And if she did, if she broke faith with Burwell and ended their engagement, if she married a man her father despised without ever having met, she would lose them forever. Her aunt, her brothers.

Her father.

It was no use. With a groan of frustration, she threw back her covers. A glass of warm milk - that's what she needed. With Valerian root - that would help her sleep. She pulled her night robe around her shoulders, tying it closed at the front.

As she stepped into the quiet, dark corridor, and was barely two steps from her door when she saw her Aunt just as Charlotte was slipping into Benjamin's room. An odd suspicion stirred in Beth's stomach, though she reasoned that there must be a perfectly good explanation for Charlotte visiting Beth's father in the dead of night. Something had happened, perhaps. Beth padded down the hall toward her father's room and pressed her ear against the door.

As she expected, quiet voices came from within, followed by a woman's giggle and her father's deep laugh. Then all was silent for a short time, before Beth heard the distinct sound of a moan. She jerked back from the door as though it scorched her ear, then whirled and fled back down the corridor. Bypassing her own room, she continued to run all the way to Harry's bedchamber and with shaking hands, she turned the knob and slipped into his room. Closing the door behind her, she collapsed back against the wood and pressed her hands to her stomach, gasping quietly, her heart pounding furiously.

_Father and Aunt Charlotte… Oh sweet Lord…_

How was she to face the both of them, in the morning? Knowing what she now knew? Having heard their laughter and their… Sweet Lord - their moaning! Right at that moment, her father was helping her Aunt to disrobe. The two would touch each other - they would lie down in his bed together! In the very bed he had shared with Beth's mother!

"Beth?" A dark shape moved on the bed, Burwell's deep voice called to her. "Is that you? What the Devil are you doing in here?!"

"Aunt Charlotte and father are having an affair!" She blurted softly. Stepping deeper into the room, she sat heavily on the edge of Burwell's bed. "I just saw them - I saw Aunt Charlotte creep into his room, I heard them talking and laughing! And… I think they were kissing because it went all silent and then I heard my father moan! They will lay together, Harry - in my mother's bed!"

Beth stopped sharply and closed her eyes, drawing deep, sobbing breaths.

"Agh, damn," Burwell cursed, scrubbing his rough hand over his long hair with frustration. He gazed at Beth, barely distinct in the sparse light. "Are you alright, dear heart?"

"They are bedding one another!" Beth wailed. "At this very moment, she is in his room, and they are… Did you know?"

"I did not know Mrs. Selton had begun sharing your father's bed, but I have known for some time that they are in love," he paused as he considered her. "You don't seem to be handling this very well. How do you feel about it, Beth?"

"I hardly know!" Beth said on the verge of tears. "Outraged that they are bedding one another - they're not married! Nor are they engaged! Saddened for Mamma, who loved him so very dearly! How could he do this to her?"

Beth, overcome and confused, grief stricken and heartsore, could not stop the tide - great sobs burst from her chest, leaving her gasping for air.

"Oh, sweet heart," Burwell sighed. Though it went against all propriety - Beth should not be in his room at all! - he reached for her and pulled her to him on the bed. She wept in his arms as he stoked her loose hair from her face.

"H-has he f-forgotten my m-mother, then?" Beth wept as Harry reclined with her against the pillows.

"No, of course not," he shook his head and tightened his hold on her. How to explain? Elizabeth was dead these last seven years - just as his own Bridget was, these last twenty. "My sweet, your mother past a long time ago, most men would have remarried by now already. But Benjamin loved Elizabeth so much, so deeply, that he could not bring himself to move on so quickly. He will always love her, dearest but… well… he loves Mrs. Selton too. Should they both live in misery?"

Beth shrugged. In her confusion and misery, she had no answer for him.

"Take me, for example. I love you so much. But I loved my Bridget and she will always hold a place in my heart. But I am alive, Beth. I have to move on and so does your father."

"With my Aunt?" Beth wailed.

"Shh, quietly, dear heart," he admonished and Beth obediently quieted her sobs to a sniffle. "Why not with your Aunt? Don't you love her, too? Who else can you think of, that might suit you and your family better, than a woman you already love?"

This was sound and reasonable thinking, Beth knew. But just then, after getting no sleep the night before, she was beyond sound and reasonable thinking.

"How long, though?" She asked, an awful feeling spreading through her stomach. "How long has this been happening? How long have we been without a mother? And here is my father, with Aunt Charlotte - having an affair. No marriage, she isn't becoming our mother - they take their fill of each other and they give us nothing! For how long has this been happening?"

"Gods," Burwell squeezed his eyes shut, feeling Beth's pain.

"I'm so confused," she whimpered. They both fell silent. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into Harry's chest and moved one leg up to curl over his. Burwell allowed it, he would hold her for a few moments more while she digested and came to terms with her discovery, then he would send her back to her room. "Lord, I'm so glad you're here," she whispered into his ruffled shirt.

It was open down the front, Beth reached her hand up to trace the tips of her fingers over his chest. Despite meeting a few times in the hayloft of the barn - the only place they could be alone together - after all their stolen kisses - Beth had never touched him so intimately before.

She rested her fingers over his beating heart, feeling it race. Then her fingers drifted across his chest and she traced the rise and fall of his muscles and the hard ridges of his many scars. At one point she traced a scar which was so long, her hand disappeared beneath the shirt all the way down to the side of his chest. Burwell shivered, unable to pull her hand away from her explorations despite his resolve to send her back to her chamber.

Her eyes had adjusted to the dimly lit room and she lifted her herself onto one elbow to stare down at his chest, at the silvery white slashes.

"You've so many… how many times could you have died over the years?" She asked softly, frowning as her fingers continued back up his chest to his throat.

"Often," he said in a thick voice. His arm was curled around her, his fingers caressing her back and through her loose hair.

"They must have hurt like…" She had no idea what wounds like his would have hurt like. But it must have been awful.

"Like fire," he admitted. "Especially when they were healing."

"This one is very old, it's silvery…"

"Courtesy of the Cherokee War," he smiled up at her.

"Oh," she said, then her fingers drifted to a newer one. "What of this? It's still bright pink - only just knitted."

"Ah, that one is courtesy of Lieutenant Colonel Tavington himself."

"What?" Beth gasped.

"I told you of our battle - he send in a missive demanding my surrender, I sent one back refusing. We fought, though to this day, I don't think he realises that _he and I _exchanged a few blows one on one - I took this wound and then fled with Gabriel and my other men."

That's why Burwell had fled! It had always bothered Beth, that.

"Oh, my sweet Lord!" Beth gasped and snatched her hand back from his chest. She placed her open palm over her gaping mouth. Now was not the time for the delicate Beth to hear tell of William trying to kill her fiancé! Still, she asked fretfully, "you fought him yourself?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my God," she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her arms wrapped around him to hold him tight.

"Don't worry," he chuckled, not sensing how deep her distress was just then. "I gave him a few cuts before I retreated."

It was meant to reassure her but the idea of one of those 'cuts' killing the man she loved was too much. Especially when the killer might well have been her own fiancé. With a whimper, she drew away from him as she imagined the same scars crisscrossing William's chest, courtesy of her betrothed, Colonel Harry Burwell.

"Beth," Burwell drew her back toward him, rolling their bodies over until she was on her back and he lay alongside her, propped on his elbow above her. "I told you, given the chance, we will try and kill each other during battle. Though I admit we both have even more incentive to see the other dead now."

"Oh, don't say that," she squeezed her eyes shut, her heart beating frantically. Harry and William would do their level best to kill one another. "The two of you tried to kill each other!"

"Yes. And I will try even harder to kill him now."

"Oh my God, because of me?" She squeaked.

"Yes," he said simply.

"I don't want that!" she placed her palm on his cheek, stroking gently. "It doesn't have to be that way - you could avoid him on the battlefield, you don't have to kill him!"

A surge of jealousy shot through him and his face darkened. It caused him to react instantly, without reason. Reaching up, he seized her wrist with an iron grip and leaned forward, pinning her with a hard stare.

"You are begging for his life?" He ground out, his blue eyes darkening with fury. "I know that you are in love with him - but you are to be my wife Beth! _Mine_!"

"Harry - I know that!" Beth gasped, surprised at the ferocity of his reaction. It reminded her of William.

"Do you?" He shot back. "I won't have you pining for him - begging for me to spare his life! If I kill him - will you go into mourning? My wife - wearing black, grieving for another man - my enemy!"

"No!" She shook her head frantically. "Release me, Harry! You are not being at all reasonable!"

"How can I be reasonable when the woman I love is worried over another man?" He snapped. "You are to be my wife!"

"For Christ's sake!" Beth snapped back. "I know it and I want it! I've nagged you and father week! Hell - it's because of me that we're marrying at all! I'm the one who wrote to you, accepting your proposal, remember?"

Her words eased some of his jealousy and Burwell loosened his grip on her wrist.

"I'm sorry," he muttered finally.

"I haven't concealed my feelings for him from you Harry," Beth continued, frustrated. "I know it can't be easy for you - but this reaction was completely unwarranted! I will marry you - and gladly! But that doesn't mean I'm not going to worry - for _both_ of you - on the battlefield!"

Burwell tightened his lips with displeasure at these words and Beth threw her arms up with frustration. This action freed her wrist from his grasp at the same time.

"My Aunt is in the room down the hall screwing my father at this very moment!" She raged as she began to rise from the bed, she would return to her own room and deal with this devastating news on her own. "I don't need this from you right now. Christ - I came to you for support!"

"No, Beth - don't go," Harry reached for her and pulled her back down to sit beside him. She glared up at him stiffly. "I said I'm sorry - alright? Did I hurt you?"

"Yes!" She rubbed her wrist ostentatiously. "You'd better not turn out to be one of those men who beats his wife, Colonel Harry Burwell, for I won't tolerate it even for a moment!"

"I'm not," he reached down to take hold of her wrist again, gently this time, to kiss away the ache he'd caused with his hard grip.

"I should slap you!" Beth frowned at him as his lips moved across her wrist to her palm, then to the tips of her fingers.

"Why, Beth," Burwell chuckled. "You'd better not turn out to be one of those women who beats her husband!"

"Droll," her voice was thick with sarcasm, though his kisses were helping to ease her irritation. "That does feel nice."

"How about this?" He cupped her chin gently with one hand and brushed a kiss along her lips. "Better?"

"Much," she melted against him and Burwell placed his hands on her waist to lower her to his pillows.

* * *

When their kissing became heated and heavy Burwell drew away, the same as he _always_ did when their kissing became heated and heavy.

"Perhaps you should return to your own chamber," he panted, his voice thick and his breathing laboured. Beth lay on her back with Burwell propped up on one elbow alongside her. He pulled away now, ready to sit up and send her away from him.

"Almighty no, I'm not going anywhere," Beth shook her head decisively and reached up to pull him back to her again. She had been enjoying herself immensely. Besides, if her father could be in his chamber with Aunt Charlotte, then Beth could be here with Burwell. At least they were engaged!

"Beth, if you're caught in here your father will kill us both," Burwell tried to reason, though it was difficult with her lips continually moving over his, her moans and sighs of pleasure humming in his mouth.

"He is not one to talk just now," Beth murmured, then slid her tongue into his mouth to stroke his. Burwell groaned and tightened his hold on her abruptly, deepening the kiss. This continued for several long moments, with Burwell leaning his hips away from her body in case she felt the aching bulge in his light cotton pants. Beth noticed this action and she smiled up at him.

"Is there a problem?" She taunted, knowing fully well what the problem was. She'd felt his bulge against her on the few occasions they had managed to slip away to the barn to be alone.

"You're a vixen," he muttered, stroking her face tenderly.

"We don't have to wait, Harry," she said to him now and his eyes widened with astonishment. "We will be married very soon, it wouldn't make a difference. No one would ever know - even if there was a baby from it."

Burwell swallowed thickly with desire. His cock twitched - the sentient being residing in his breeches agreed with Beth wholeheartedly.

"Not a good idea," he said only and the sentient being twitched again - in protest this time.

"I think it's a wonderful idea. I want to know what it's all about - every thing the other ladies told Anne and I yesterday. You could teach me…" Beth blushed furiously with embarrassment but she continued bravely, "to do the thing that Mrs. Howard does with -"

"Agh, dear lord!" Burwell groaned and pulled away from her to sit on the edge of the bed. Christ - to feel her lips on his shaft - that was what she was suggesting! His cotton breeches formed a tent over his cock - which raged with fury at him now.

"Don't you want me to?" She asked innocently. He could feel her sit up behind him and then her palms began moving over his back. "Harry - don't you?"

"Jesus Christ, of course I do!" He muttered. Burwell dropped his head in his hands and groaned. "And I want to do it to you, too!"

"You can do it to me?" She asked with such astonishment that Buwell began to laugh. He half turned to her and when his eyes fell on her face he laughed even harder at her shocked and excited expression.

"I can, my sweet and lusty fiancé," he told her as he pulled her into his arms, chuckling all the while. "But not until we're married."

"But that's a whole week and a half away - I want to feel it now!"

"Spoilt brat," he accused fondly. "Just think of how much sweeter it will be, after the wait." Beth pouted, then drew breath to protest but he spoke right over her. "Hell - you only have a week and a half to wait - I've waited for this for two years! Do you know how many times I've imagined kneeling between your legs, tasting you?"

"Harry!" Beth squeaked, shocked at his lewd words.

"And I've imagined you on your knees, my darling one, doing the same to me. For two years I've imagined that!"

"I was only eighteen two years ago!" Beth admonished but Burwell merely smiled and tapped her nose with his finger.

"And a beauty you were too - though you grow more so every year," he kissed her forehead - a chaste kiss only. "If you can't have me describing my fantasies to you without blushing - how are you going to actually perform the task?"

"I'll do it," she whispered, lowering her eyes and blushing even brighter. Then, suddenly brazen she lowered her hand to his waist and placed it on his lap. "Here, let me show you."

She knew he would stop her. As she anticipated, he groaned low in his throat and grabbed her wrist, jerking her hand away. She had managed to brush the side of her hand against his erection before he stopped her and the expression on his face was perfection. Beth collapsed back onto the pillows and dissolved into shameless giggles.

"Christ, what am I marrying?" He muttered as he watched her, tears of mirth streaming her face.

"Oh… the look on… your face..!" She gasped out between breaths, wiping her tears with the back side of her hand. "And when… I touched it! Oh, sweet Lord!"

Burwell stared at her as she laughed at him, his beautiful fiancé with her hair fanned out around her on the pillows, wiping away her tears as she giggled. The touch of her hand on his cock burned and he certainly wanted more. She had been wanting more all week - each time they slipped away to the barn she had tried to touch him and he had continually refused her, though it had been a major effort on his part.

"Fine," he said now with mock ferocity. "If you want to feel it, feel it."

"Harry!" Beth gasped through her giggles as he moved across her to straddle her. "Oh, no - we must wait!" She protested playfully. She placed her hands on his shoulders as though to dislodge him from her body. Burwell was far stronger however. He braced himself on his arms above her and leaned down to kiss her despite her hands playfully trying to push him away. She was still laughing, but eventually her hands slid over his shoulders and she returned the kiss with a sigh.

"You want to feel it?" He taunted in a thick voice between kisses. Before she could draw breath to answer, he slid his tongue between her lips - and pressed his hard bulge down between her legs. Beth gasped, her laughter puffing away on a pleasure filled breath.

He held himself still, with his legs on either side of her hips. With his erection hard against her with nothing more than the thin layers of their clothing between them. His body was still propped above her, braced on his arms and he kissed her deeply. If she gave protest, he wouldn't force this - but if she wanted to, then by Christ he was done refusing her.

"Harry…" Beth breathed and he drew away to study her face carefully in the sparse light. She reached up to stroke his cheek, her eyes as lust filled as he knew his own must be.

"You want to feel it?" He whispered again. At the same time, he moved his hips almost imperceptibly, pushing against her slightly harder. Beth's gasped quietly through her parted lips. She swallowed, then nodded.

"Very well," he said softly. He struggled to form the next words, his voice heavy and thick. "Part your legs, then."

He almost died when she obeyed. Her legs parted and he shifted his position, placing his knees between hers and moving his hips lower to align himself against her to blissful perfection.

"Are you ready?" He asked her, giving her one last chance to stop him. Again she nodded, her eyes fixed on his, her arms draped over his shoulders. He watched her face as he began to move. Her lips parted and she drew a quick, sharp breath, then closed her eyes and sighed.

She joined him, rocking her pelvis back and forth, meeting his small movements.

"More now, Beth," he whispered, leaning down to suckle on her earlobe. He relished her gasp of pleasure, his tongue gliding over the shell of her ear as he ground his cock down against her. Beth gripped the back of his shirt and arched up, her breath puffing past her lips.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her tongue again finding his.

"Wider, Beth," he instructed and she parted her legs more, giving him more room to move. He began thrusting forward along her and Beth tipped her head back, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. They found their rhythm, one that suited them both, it changed as their need grew. Softly at first but before long Burwell set an almost brutal rhythm which she met eagerly. The two kissed greedily, lips moving all over one another's skin as far as they could reach. At one point, Burwell grew so frenzied that he gripped the top of her robe and shift, pulled both aside to reveal one breast. He groaned then and massaged that perfect globe with firm fingers, then caressed her nipple with his tongue.

Beth's breath caught and she began whispering incoherently, her fingers wound through his hair, holding him against her breast. She thrust her pelvis up against his, moving in small circles which grew wider and wider on each rotation. Burwell groaned against her breast, enjoying the feel of her sex circling up against his.

"Oh, Harry, mnnnnn!" She cried out and Burwell quickly lifted his lips from her nipple to press his hand over her mouth.

"Quietly my love, quietly," he panted thickly and Beth gripped his hair with one hand. She curled her fingers around his corded arm with her other. With an almost agonised expression, she lifted her head from the pillow as one long, near silent moan escaped her.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

She held still for a few moments, gasping as her climax washed over her, before falling back to the bed with a long sigh.

Harry could take it no longer. He kissed her harshly, grunting in her mouth as he bucked his hips convulsively. His seed shot from his length to pool in his cotton drawers, then he collapsed on top of her, spent.

"Oh, my word!" Beth whispered, her eyes wide with amazement and release. She'd forgotten how wonderful it all was!

"I take it you were pleased?" Burwell laughed down at her.

"Very much!" She replied happily, linking her arms over his shoulders.

"Good, perhaps you'll be satisfied now and you'll stop tempting me into taking you sooner," he teased her.

"Don't count on it! Not after this!" She laughed up at him. "If anything, I'll be cornering you even more often now!"

"Lord, being married to you is going to be…" he trailed off, at a loss for words. "Sweet Lord!"

"What is it going to be? Hmmm?" She teased him as he climbed off her to collapse on his back against the pillows. "Tell me."

"A whirlwind, Beth. You are like a whirlwind. You make my head spin."

Beth laughed with delight and pressed her body tight alongside his, with her leg pulled up to drape across his thighs.

"Let's get some sleep - I will wake you before dawn, so you can slip back to your room."

Beth yawned and sighed with contentment. "Hmm, unless you want to -"

"Go to sleep Beth," he growled and she giggled, snuggling in closer.

Beth finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It shocked her when he shook her awake - she felt as though she'd only just closed her eyes! But when sense returned, when the haze of her sleep washed away, she noticed that the light of dawn was peeking through the gaps in the drapes at the windows.

"Oh!" She complained at once. "You didn't wake me early enough!"

"Early enough for what?" He taunted,

"You know damned well what," she accused tartly. He chuckled and lay back against the pillows with his arms beneath his head, watching her rise from the bed. Once she was standing and had fixed her night robe in place, she turned back to him. It was light enough for her to see the tent between his legs, his straining cock sticking up proudly within his cotton pants.

"Hmm, well there's some consolation I suppose," she teased. "Are you a little bit uncomfortable, my dear?"

"As it happens, yes," he arched an eyebrow.

"Oh well, you should have woken me earlier," she giggled.

"Vixen," he dragged her to the bed to give her a more thorough farewell. The kiss left her gasping and reaching for him - wanting more. He had more willpower this time and he shoved her unceremoniously from the bed, then ushered her to the door.

After one last, lingering kiss Beth stepped from his room and the door was shut firmly behind her.

* * *

"I feel sick to my stomach," Beth confided to Mila, who was sitting on the side of the bed. Beth leaned back against the headboard, her fingers splayed across her stomach. "I feel like I'll vomit."

"Beth…" Mila breathed. She shook her head. "Gods. If yer feelin' like this just kissin' and… that other thing… how are you going to be when time comes that you have to lay with him as husband and wife?"

"I don't know!" Beth wailed and burst into tears. Mila held and rocked her until the confused girl subsided. "I don't understand, I did… enjoy it," she whispered, wiping her eyes, the words still stuttered as if she might still weep. "The kissing. The… I… well, I felt that wonderful thing again. And I didn't truly think of William, during. That is to say, he was there, in my thoughts, but I wasn't dwelling on him during… while Harry and I were…"

"I know what you mean," Mila said. "Reckon you were too upset about that other thing." She shot a look over her shoulder to make sure the door was still closed. "Between your da and your aunt."

"Yes, that," Beth said miserably.

"Are you going to tell 'em that you know about 'em?"

"I don't know how I can," Beth said miserably. "How do I confront them? All I can think about is papa and aunt Charlotte doing… being… intimate. And what I did with Harry last night, Gods, I wish it was with William! Will it always be like this?" She asked desperately. "I'll be fine while we're coupling, maybe. But afterward, I'll yearn for William all the more and wish I was with him?"

"Yes," Mila said honestly. "I reckon it will be."

"Oh," Beth groaned. She laid down and rolled on to her side. "I don't even want to get out of bed."

"Colonel Burwell is wonderin' when yer goin' to come down, though," Mila said. "I heard him say somethin' about havin' a surprise for you. If you want, I'll tell him yer unwell?"

"I don't know," Beth whispered. "I just want to stay up here forever."

"I'll tell him yer sick, then," Mila said. She cast another covert look toward the door. "Beth, have you ever considered leavin' here, of goin' back to the city?"

"Every single minute of every single day," Beth confessed. "But I can't, Mila."

"We could," Mila said, voice filled with excitement. "You and me, we could go. Zeke is your man's manservant now; which means I won't be comin' with yer to North Carolina if you marry Burwell."

"You won't come with me?" Beth whispered, sitting up again. This was one blow too many.

"I'm sorry, Beth. I love Zeke and I will be his wife, I will choose him over mamma and even over you. I'm sorry, but I… I just will. But I won't have to choose him over you if you marry Colonel Tavington; everythin' will be perfect, then!"

"I can't," Beth shook her head, miserable. "I can't do that to my father. To Harry. If we fled from here, it'd be a great cause of embarrassment for both of them, especially Harry. He would break the engagement, which wouldn't necessarily free me to marry William, not if my father has a say in it. Ending the engagement would be another blow - it would break Harry's heart, he would be shamed, and it would destroy my father's and his friendship, and my father would never speak to me again, and nor would my brothers and… Gods, everyone knows I'm engaged, how can I possibly break it? I want William so much, I truly do. If he was here right now, I'd throw all of it away to be with him again, I know I would. But to actively leave here and run back to him? For my father, that would be galling. And we wouldn't make it five miles before my father came after us, and then…" Beth shuddered. "Oh, Gods, we'd be in for it then. I would be, anyway. I'm sorry, Mila. I just can't."

"What about me?" Mila asked, her eyes filling tears. "What am I supposed to do, then?"

"Nothing," Beth said with a shrug. "All you need to do is wait. William is coming here. I'll be gone and married before he does, but that doesn't have to be the end for you and Zeke. William will bring him here, to you. He will pay Zeke back," here, Beth's voice hardened, "for his _service_, just as he promised."

"Yer angry with him?" Mila asked, looking miserable.

"He told William everything, Mila. What did he have to do that for? Why'd he have to tell him that I warned Harry? William is threatening to flog me!"

"I'm sorry," Mila said. "I understand why Zeke told everything, but I wish he'd kept that back. Please don't think badly of him."

"I suppose I don't," Beth dropped back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling. "In return for that information, he now has his freedom and will soon have you. And as that will make you abundantly happy, I am not wroth that he told William everything. I can't expect him to be like me, picking and choosing what I tell William and what I tell Harry. At least Zeke is steadfast - that's a good character to have. I hope it doesn't result in me getting flogged," she said wryly, "but I'm glad it means you two will be together."

"Do you really think he'd do it?" Mila asked. "Flog you?"

"I keep talking as though I'm going to see him again. As though he will be given a chance to decide if he's going to embrace me or flog me, like he said in his letter. Mila, he's never going to get the chance to do either," Beth said. "I'll be married soon and gone from here, I'll never, ever see him again."

"I'm sorry," Mila said, rubbing Beth's arm. "Here, I'll go tell Burwell that you're sick -"

"No," Beth shook her head. Her body was heavy with exhaustion and misery but she forced herself to rise. "I don't want him worrying about me. I'll come down."

* * *

When she was downstairs, Harry held his hand out to Beth and she took it.

"I have a surprise for you dear heart - in the barn," he explained and her eyebrows climbed her forehead.

"Not very subtle, Harry," she whispered back, half panicking at the idea of sporting with him again. It had been enjoyable, he'd managed to arouse her to the point where she could forget everything but the pleasure. But then she'd felt awful - wretched, lost, and yearning even more for William. She didn't want a repeat of that, ever. When they were married, it would be unavoidable, but just now was far too soon.

"Goodness, I'd not risk that," Harry patted her hand. "I meant what I said - I have a surprise for you."

They stepped off the porch onto the path, their feet crunching on the gravel as they walked.

"And this surprise is… in the barn?" She glanced up at him, startled. "What is it?"

"You're not a patient girl, are you?" Burwell teased. "If you can't wait the five minutes it will take to walk to the barn for your early wedding present."

"Early wedding present?" Beth gasped, uncertain if she should be despondent or excited. She tried to give the latter dominance. "Oh, what is it?"

Harry gazed at her with a contented smile, he'd intended to present her with his gift on the morning of their wedding but last nights discovery - that her Aunt and father were having relations - had upset her greatly and Burwell decided to give the gift to her now in the hopes it would cheer her. Judging by the way she was pulling on his arm, his plan had worked.

Rounding the house, they continued on past until they finally reached the barn. They had gained a small gathering by now - Gabriel and several other Officers who all knew of the present Burwell had organised. Even Benjamin fell in with them, though he was still awkward and trying not to show it. They entered the barn and Beth darted in before Harry, searching for something that would resemble a gift. Seeing nothing, she turned back to him, puzzled.

"Over here," he strode past her to a stall on her right. There, tied on a lead rope to the wall, was the most unusual horse Beth had ever seen. An Arab - which was not unusual in and of itself - it was the colouring that made the horse so distinctive. The mare was a dark grey all over, with white spots dappled all over her coat. Beth gazed with wonder as she approached, staring at the horse with awe.

"She's mine?" She whispered, glancing up at Burwell.

He nodded and waited nervously for her reaction. He'd given her a horse after all - not the most usual gift for a bride from her groom. It was not customary for the groom to give a gift at all, but if he did so, most women would be expecting jewellery. He needn't have worried, for Beth was utterly transfixed. With a wide smile she approached her mare carefully, running her fingers lightly over the unusual coat. The horse rolled her eyes nervously and stamped her hooves, her entire body gave a shudder of apprehension. Beth continued slowly - her horse needed to become accustomed to her presence.

"She is," Harry confirmed with a sigh of relief. Beth was in raptures, stroking the mares black forelock and patting her muzzle.

"I've never seen anything like her," Benjamin came into the stall and patted the mare's hip. While Beth was busy gazing into the mare's dark brown eyes, transfixed by her beauty, Benjamin began a clinical examination.

"Nothing to say about me buying a horse for your daughter?" Harry asked with surprise. He'd expect a lecture and a half from Benjamin Martin.

"No - but I'm questioning your wits just now," came the reply. "This horse would've set you back a pretty penny."

"More like a pretty pound," Gabriel commented, entering the stall also. "You could've gotten Beth an Arab bay for twenty pounds and she'd have been happy."

"Yeah, how much did this one cost? I've never seen a coat like this before," Benjamin agreed. He continued his inspection, raising the mare's left foreleg to check her hoof. Seemingly pleased with what he found, he moved onto her muzzle, peeling her lips back to inspect her teeth.

"No less than eighty pounds, I'd wager," Rollins pinioned.

"Would you all shut it?" Burwell muttered. "I wasn't thinking about the price. Let it alone would you?"

Benjamin, Rollins and Curly sniggered. Rollins and Curly began whispering about 'fools in love', taunting Burwell.

"She's shod, Beth," Benjamin told his daughter.

"Oh, can I ride her then?" Beth asked both her father and Burwell. "I can, can't I?"

"I didn't get her for you to look at, Beth," Harry said. Then, partly because he wanted to see Beth astride the mare and partly to get away from Rollins and Curly's teasing, he offered, "we'll go for a ride now, if you want to."

"Oh, yes!" She would have clapped with glee but doing so would have startled the mare.

"Why did you get her a horse, Harry?" Benjamin asked as Rollins and Gabriel came forward to saddle and bridle the horse - more gifts from Harry. He'd purchased all the necessary accrutements. Benjamin's question was borne from curiosity, not fatherly concern. It was not seemly for women to ride - especially Society ladies - which Beth was despite her unconventional upbringing. But Beth could ride - and well. He had been the one to teach her, after all.

"She'll need one in camp," Burwell shrugged. "I can't imagine Beth sitting in a carriage all day long when the army is moving. And if we need to travel quickly - well an Arab is the best breed for that. She's a speedy one too - she's won several races already. She's four years old, strong, damned fast and -"

"Beautiful," Beth breathed, interrupting Harry who was listing the mare's qualities. With her gaze fixed on Harry's, she strode past her horse and threw herself into her fiancé's arms. "Thank you so much, I love her. She's the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on!"

"And you thought I should have gotten her a simple bay," Harry scoffed at Gabriel over Beth's head. The unusual breed - called Dapple - certainly had cost him a pretty penny. The other men's estimations had not even come close - the mare had set him back one hundred and ninety pounds. Not to mention the heartache of trying to get her through enemy lines, and then to keep her hidden from Beth's view at the plantation until their wedding day.

But holding his excited betrothed in his arms now, he knew it was all worth it.

"What will you name her?" He drew back slightly to ask Beth.

"Dirty Snow?" Curly offered. Beth arched an eyebrow at her father's friend and the man threw his hands up defensively. "What? Her coat is all grey with white spots - like Dirty Snow."

"I'm not going to call her that!" Beth admonished. "She is too majestic to have 'Dirty' as part of her name!"

Beth turned in the circle of Harry's arms, her back to his chest, his hands around her waist, holding hers at her stomach. She was only just tall enough for the top of her head to brush his chin - and that was with her heeled shoes on. She frowned and nibbled her bottom lip as she studied her horse, trying to think of a name that might come close to matching the characteristics of her mare.

"Snow Dancer?" Beth mused aloud. To her it made sense - the mare would be as speedy as Burwell had said - and graceful with it no doubt. And her coat did remind Beth of snow, with the brilliant whites peaking through the grey. To her irritation however, the men exchanged incredulous glances, then began laughing uproariously. Each one of them began ribbing her choice in name. All of them except Burwell, who would not dare earn his lovers ire by laughing at her. He was basking in the glow of her admiration just then, holding her close against him - he wasn't about to spoil the moment for anything! "And what is wrong with Snow Dancer?" She asked the chortling men tartly.

"What's right with it?" Rollins jeered.

"Never trust a woman to name a horse - some things are the province of men and should remain so," Curly opined.

"Shadow Dancer, Beth," Gabriel offered. "Don't you think she's more like shadows, than snow?"

"Perhaps," Beth answered non-committally but in truth she did like it more than her own idea.

"Sword Dancer!" Rollins suggested but Beth shook her head at once.

"No, this fair lady is not going into battle!" She said decisively.

The men began making suggestions so fast Beth could barely keep up with them. 'The Grey Ghost', 'Shades of Storm', 'The Silver Lady', were some of them and Beth gave them all merit. But then Curly suggested 'Smoking Pistol' and 'Bluecoat Continental'.

"No battle names!" She scowled at him. "No, I think I like Shadow Dancer the most," she declared, stepping from Harry's arms to pat the horse again.

"Then Shadow Dancer it is," Burwell said decisively. "Let's lead her out of the stall so Beth can put Shadow Dancer through her paces."

"More like Shadow Dancer putting Beth through her paces," Gabriel quipped. The horse was bred for strength and speed - Beth was the one who would be exhausted by days end - not the horse!


	40. Chapter 40 - The Martin Family Name

Chapter 40 - The Martin Family Name:

Charlotte came into the room slowly, carefully. Beth had been very cool toward her, had barely spoken to her, for at least a day now. Indeed, Beth had done her level best to avoid Charlotte's company until it became painfully obvious. She felt certain something was terribly, dreadfully wrong, and she needed to know what.

Beth was standing at the side of the bed before a pile of clean, dry clothes, she was sorting and folding them. The girl glanced up to see who'd entered and Charlotte saw Beth's face close over, a stiffness entering her body, when she saw Charlotte. Beth jerked her gaze away, her lips becoming tight. And that was all the confirmation Charlotte needed. She closed the door behind her and approached.

"We'll be leaving for Pembroke shortly. Are you ready?" Charlotte asked as a way of breaking the ice. The family were heading into Pembroke today, in order for Benjamin and Harry to speak to Reverend Oliver about skipping the last two banns and marrying Beth and Harry earlier.

Beth shot Charlotte a dark look and made no reply.

"Beth, are you alright?" Charlotte asked softly.

"I'm fine," Beth said shortly.

"Dear heart," Charlotte came closer to the bed and smiled weakly at her niece. "Dear heart - please. If something is wrong, if I've done something to upset you, please tell me."

Nothing. Absolute silence. Beth's movements were faster now, jerky, she was tossing the folded garments onto each neat pile, rather than placing them gently.

"Beth, you've not spoken to me since… Lord, it was two nights ago now. Please, will you just -"

"I don't want to speak about it."

Charlotte lowered her eyes, profoundly saddened by Beth's abrupt tone. "I had hoped we could discuss what has upset you… Perhaps I can fix it?"

"It's not a good time. As you say, we're leaving for Pembroke any minute now."

Charlotte reached up and gently touched Beth's hair, tracing stray, loose curl.

"Yes. If Reverend Oliver is agreeable, you might be married far sooner than we call could have imagined. You must be so excited," she said kindly, hoping to draw her niece into a conversation. Perhaps if she got her talking, Beth would open up about whatever was bothering her.

"I must be? Excited. Aunt Charlotte, you have absolutely no idea how I feel," Beth said testily.

Charlotte, though hurt that Beth had spoken so sternly, tried again. "Is this about Tavington? Is that why you've been so quiet?" Since yesterday morning! "Time heals all wounds, dear heart. You will fall in love with Harry and Tavington will soon be forgotten."

"Does it help to ease your guilt, if you tell yourself that?" Beth snapped and Charlotte's eyes widened.

"Guilt?" Charlotte whispered.

"You. My uncle. My brother. My father. Even Aunt Mage. All of you have been putting so much pressure on me to marry Harry, not a single one of you care about how I feel about it!"

Charlotte stared, lips parted, eyes wide. "I thought… I thought you were in agreement. Colonel Burwell has been courting you for two years, you knew it was for marriage."

"Yes, and I also knew it was what all of you wanted, and if I didn't agree, I'd be berated and badgered until I did."

"I don't think anyone would have -"

"Gabriel did. He just about climbed down my throat that day Harry proposed and I said I was unsure. And you did. Uncle Mark did. How many times did the two of you nag me about writing to Harry back in the city? To dispel ambiguity, you all said. To tell him I accepted his proposal, despite the fact that I told you I didn't feel ready. It wasn't my fault he kissed me! I can't count on one hand, how many times I was asked when I was going to write that letter. Not _if_. When. It was taken as a given that I'd be a good little girl and do what I was told. And then papa writes saying the same, that I'm engaged and that was that. So don't tell me you don't think no one would have berated and badgered me, for that's exactly what you all did! Even you! It's what all of you wanted, but no one ever asked me a damn thing."

"Beth…" Charlotte trailed off, entirely uncertain how to handle this situation. "You have never voiced a doubt before."

"I've never been in love with someone else, before," Beth shot back.

"Oh, Beth. I know it hurts, I truly do understand. But don't let your mind be clouded, you have a wonderful future laid out for you with Colonel Burwell, don't let Tavington put a blight on it. You will forget him soon, he will fade from your memory and Harry will replace him in your heart. This infatuation will pass."

Beth stared at her Aunt with shock. "Infatuation?" She said incredulously, her voice rising with anger and frustration until she was shouting. "Infatuation? Will you not listen? What I feel is not infatuation! And despite what you would prefer, it is not going to go away as soon as I marry another man!"

Charlotte's jaw dropped. Beth have never shouted at her before. Never!

"I am not some silly little girl suffering from... from..." Beth searched for the right words, finally spitting, "puppy love! What I feel is real, it's strong, it's so consuming I feel I shall die of it!" Tears sprang to her eyes but she ploughed on, relentless. "It's not going to fade away just because _you_ want it to!" Tears traced her cheeks. "I will do the right thing, the responsible thing; I will marry Harry, but don't you dare diminish how I am feeling or the sacrifice I am making to make _all of you happy_!"

"Beth, I'm sorry," Charlotte pleaded, aghast. "I was just trying to reassure you, to comfort you. Heart ache doesn't last forever and -"

"You keep belittling my feelings for William and I want it to stop!" Beth shouted, cutting Charlotte off. The two women stared at each other, breathing heavily with emotion. Beth's voice dropped to a hushed whisper, for she didn't want her father or Harry to hear her. "As God is my witness, I swear, if he arrived this very moment, if he rode up that lane and demanded my hand, I'd give it no matter what any of you want. I'd leave with him in a heartbeat!"

"Beth," Charlotte breathed, astounded. "After all he has done..!"

"I know. After all he has done, I'd still throw everything away for him. Because I love him. I love him!" She choked back a sob, then forced herself to continue, "I will do the right thing. I will. I don't want to lose my family. Harry is to be my husband and I will try and be a good wife. I will try. It's alright for you, isn't it?" She accused. "You have the man you love! All this time, you've been with him, behind our backs, while we've been without a mother!"

Charlotte's heart stopped beating. That's how it felt. Or someone had thrown her hard against a wall. Slammed her. Her mouth worked but no words would come.

"I saw you," Beth spat. "I saw you go into papa's chamber. I heard you talking. Then laughing. And then -" She choked off, furious and overwhelmed. Averting her gaze, she said, "I heard the moaning. You and my father. All this time!"

"Oh my God, Beth - "

"Don't!" Beth threw off Charlotte's attempt to touch her. She could speak no more; wracked with sobs, she fled the chamber and ran through the manor until she was outside, slamming the front door behind her.

"What the devil is the matter?" Thomas said. He, Gabriel, Nathan and Samuel came striding toward her. Beth stopped, hands pressed to her stomach as she wept. And then Thomas was putting his arms around her, pulling her close and she was sobbing into his neck.

"What's happened, Beth?" Gabriel asked, voice grave, cajoling. They wanted to know. They deserved to know. They'd been without a mother as long as she had. All this time, her aunt and her father.

"I'm can't bear this alone anymore," she stammered out. Lifting her head from Thomas' shoulder, she stepped back, wiped her eyes, then in a voice as grave as death, she told them.

* * *

Upstairs, Charlotte sat heavily to the bed.

"Everything alright?"

She glanced up to see Benjamin standing in the doorway. He gazed at her warmly, his mere presence a comfort. Stolid, dependable, robust, calm. That was how she saw Benjamin Martin, the man she loved.

"She knows," Charlotte whispered. "Oh, Gods, Beth knows."

"What..?" Benjamin breathed. He came closer, sat on the edge of the bed with her. "How..?"

"She saw me go into your room," Charlotte felt dazed, as if the wall she felt she'd been slammed into was real and had truly stunned her. "She heard us. She knows."

"Dear God," Benjamin closed his eyes and felt blindly for Charlotte's hand.

"What are we going to do?" She asked desperately. "She hates me!"

"She loves you," he shook his head. "She is just… confused… I don't know. I'll… I'll talk to her. Would you like me to talk to her?"

"Perhaps… perhaps we both should?" Charlotte ventured and Benjamin, not wanting to face this alone, nodded his head.

"Let's go down and find her," he suggested. Together, they made their way through the house, asking after Beth as they went. _'At the front of the house with her brothers'_ was Mila's very disconcerting reply. Filled with dread, Benjamin, with Charlotte at his side, stepped through the front door onto the porch and gazed down at his five eldest children. They all turned to him, identical expressions of dismay etched on their faces. Beth was wiping her eyes and Thomas put his arm around her. Benjamin began forward slowly, Charlotte walking with him down the steps and closing the distance between them and the children. Gods, they weren't that now - the youngest was Samuel - at twelve years old, what was he to think of this? Nathan and Thomas, however, were full grown and almost men in their own right. All of them were old enough to have… views…

"Is it true, father?" Gabriel asked solemnly, his eyes flickering to Charlotte, who hung her head. "The two of you..?"

"I…" Benjamin drew a ragged breath and forced metal into his spine. "It is true. I love your aunt and I do not wish you to think poorly of her. Or of me. It just never seemed the right time to…"

"Marry her?" Thomas asked sharply and Benjamin's eyes widened.

"I was going to say 'to tell you'," Benjamin said. He felt Charlotte stiffen beside him, offended. It wasn't that he wasn't going to propose, he had a very solid plan to do precisely that. But he wished to do it . Gods, how had his plans gone so wrong? Now wasn't the time he had planned for this discussion. At that moment a proper double house was being built on a tract of land he had purchased six months ago. His plan was to wait until the house was built, take Charlotte there on the pretence of visiting friends, then reveal that the house was for her, when he proposed within its hall. But because he hadn't agreed with Thomas' assumption, Charlotte was certainly thinking he would never propose, just as she'd been thinking all these years. If he fell to his knees right now and proposed to her, it'd certainly make her feel better. But it'd ruin the plan he'd had in place for nearly a year now, and it might overshadow Beth's wedding, as well. Damn and blast it, the timing of his children discovering his affair couldn't have been worse. "Can we talk about this inside -"

"There you all are!" Harry said, striding toward them. "Good, you're ready - the carriage is waiting, the horses are saddled. Shall we?"

"In a moment, I just have to -"

"Yes, we're ready," Beth said, chin lifted as she turned her back and strode away. "Did you saddle Shadow Dancer for me, Harry?"

"I certainly did," he smiled down at her and offered his arm.

"Beth, you mustn't ride!" Charlotte cried. "Come with me in the carriage, and -"

She cut short when Beth whirled with a quelling look on her face. "With you, is it?" She asked. "I am going to ride Shadow Dancer, Aunt Charlotte." She said, without so much as a glance at her father for confirmation or permission. She turned her back again and began striding away, Harry having to walk double step to keep up with her. The boys shared a look with one another, then began to walk away from Benjamin and Aunt Charlotte also.

"Oh, I've made a mess of things, Ben," Charlotte said when they were all gone, then burst into tears. Benjamin pulled her into his arms, he cradled her head against his chest and stroked her hair as she wept.

"I'll talk to them," he whispered into her hair. "And I'll talk to you later, too. I vow, Charlotte, all will be well." He tipped her head back and gazed into her eyes. "Please believe me, dear heart. All will be well."

She nodded miserably and wiped her eyes, then slid her arm through his as they made their way back inside to get the younger children.

* * *

They were on their way, Beth riding Shadow Dancer at the head of the group with Harry at her side, sitting tall in the saddle. Gabriel and his other men, as well as Samuel, Nathan and Thomas were behind, and the carriage was at the rear. Young William sat in the saddle in front of Harry, he could barely sit still for the excitement of being among the Continentals.

"Your father is going to speak to Reverend Oliver about us getting married sooner," Harry said to Beth. "If Oliver is agreeable, the second Bann will be read and then we'll get married," he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "instead of a week and a half, we'll only have three days to wait, if you take my meaning."

Beth's breath caught as she was struck between panic and confusion. For when the vows were made, there would be no going back. Gods, what was she thinking? There was already no going back, she was engaged and that was as binding as the marriage itself. It wasn't that she didn't want to marry Harry, per se. She just desperately wanted to marry William, instead. But she could not be with him, and she did welcome Harry, in her way. Despite all she'd said to her aunt earlier, she knew Harry would be the best husband he could be. And after several nights of slipping into his chamber, she also knew he could set her blood on fire, just as William did. She would not be left wanting pleasure. Nor would she be unloved.

She just wished she could love him as he did her.

"I do take your meaning," she smiled back, understanding him completely. "That is certainly something to look forward to," she said and he thew back his head and laughed.

It was a lovely day; the midmorning sun shone on their backs, it was early enough for that to be pleasant rather than overbearing. The birds chirped in the trees - a pleasant chorus to round off a thoroughly pleasant morning. Though she did not need the assistance, Burwell helped Beth dismount. The carriage was driven off the road out of the way, Benjamin and old Lucas climbed down from the front, Old Lucas opened the door for Aunt Charlotte, Maggie, Susan, Abigail and Mila to climb out. Beth kept her back to them for she did not want to look at her father or aunt. She could hear them though, the rest of her family - who had no idea anything was amiss - was chatting excitedly, for it was a rare treat indeed, a trip to Pembroke. William raced on ahead and joined his father and the rest of them. Thomas, Nathan and Samuel were striding off in another direction entirely, Beth wished she was going with them. Harry and Beth began to walk along in the same direction as Benjamin; the children, Benjamin and Charlotte were a little ways ahead of the couple, and Burwell's men were behind. Burwell offered her his arm as they began to make their way toward Howard's store, which was where Gabriel was heading - to see Anne Howard.

"Oh, there's Miss Emery," Beth said, seeing her friend and her mother as they walked into the Cooper shop. Only a few weeks had passed since they had all learned of Peter Cuppin's death, Miss Emery's fiancé. Since Beth's return from the city, Miss Emery had called on her a few times, Mrs. Emery strongly believed the cure to her daughter's grieving lay in constant diversions and frequent visits to her friends and acquaintances. When they were alone, Miss Emery had confided to Beth that none of it was helping. Nothing could distract her for her grief, she was pleased to see Beth again after these past two years, but if she was entirely honest, all she wished to do was curl up in bed and weep.

Yet, here was her mother, forcing her daughter out into public again, believing it to be good for her.

"I might go and see how she is," Beth said to Harry, who nodded agreement. He opted to wait outside, while Beth climbed the steps onto the verandah, and entered the Coopers. There were barrels of all kinds, from small enough to fit in ones hand, to large enough that a grown man could climb into. The two women were looking over one of those.

"I'll be with you in a moment," Mr. Higgins called to Mrs. Emery as he knelt before one of his barrels, varnishing it with a paint brush.

"There's no hurry, Mr. Higgins," Mrs. Emery replied.

Beth cast a smile of greeting toward Mr. Higgins but the Cooper wasn't looking at her. "Good morning," she said at Mrs. Emery's shoulder. Both women turned, curious at who was greeting them. Beth smiled at Miss Emery and moved in to embrace her. The previous times she'd done this when her friend visited, Miss Emery held tight, trying not to weep. Now, she stood stock still, her arms at her sides. Only for a moment did the embrace hold, before Miss Emery recoiled from it. Beth stood back, surprised. She had enough time to notice how out of countenance Miss Emery was, before Mrs. Emery seized the younger girl's arm.

"If you'll excuse us," the woman said, eyes narrowed, bright blotches of red on her cheeks. Her look was anything but friendly.

"Oh, of course," Beth said, confused as the two women walked past her. Miss Emery jerked her skirts from Beth's when they almost touched. "Is something… wrong?" Beth asked, becoming worried.

Miss Emery turned, her face twisted with fury, she looked very much on the verge of imparting a blistering insult.

"Don't stop, Emily, it's just the wind speaking, nothing more," Mrs. Emery said, voice haughty. Beth's jaw dropped.

Beth threw an embarrassed glance toward Mr. Higgins, but had his back turned by now. She turned back to the women, who were now striding out the door. Rubbing her fingers nervously, Beth followed them out. Harry was waiting for her. When she reached him, she said nothing of the encounter within the shop; she was simply too embarrassed.

"Did you chat with your friend?" He asked her as he offered his arm again.

"They… they were in a hurry," she said, feeling sick to her stomach. The two women were ahead of her, their legs carried them so fast, they were almost running.

"I'll say," Harry laughed and Beth managed a weak smile.

The devastating, confusing encounter was not to be an isolated one. As they continued to walk down the street, with Beth at Burwell's side, almost every single person she glanced at frowned back at her with hostility. People stopped to glare at her. There was no doubt about it, their cold gazes were directed at her and they made her shiver. Burwell noticed them also. He drew her closer to him, his face becoming rock hard and set.

"What do you think has gotten into them?" She asked nervously.

"All will be well," he said by way of answer. He couldn't begin to guess what had 'gotten into them'.

They headed toward Howard's Mercantile, stepping up onto the long verandah. They were just reaching the door of one shop as an elderly couple exited onto the verandah.

"Oh, excuse me," Beth said, making way for the couple. A little afraid of how it would be received, Beth smiled weakly at Mr. And Mrs. Gettes. Her fears were founded when Mrs. Gettes drew a sharp breath, her eyes widening as she recoiled. It was the exact same reaction as the Emery's. Mrs. Gettes seized her husband's arm and marched him on in her haste to get away.

Beth stopped dead, staring wide eyed at the fleeing couple. She swallowed hard as she turned back, and met Charlotte's eyes. They - Charlotte and her father - had noticed the looks as well, and it made them profoundly uneasy. Picking up on the mood, the children's chatter ceased, their expressions growing somber and worried.

"Let's just get into Howard's," Benjamin said and Burwell nodded curtly. With that, the family quickened their strides, and darted into the mercantile.

There were a few people perusing the shop, more familiar faces who glanced toward the door when it opened, to see who had entered. And each one of them stopped dead when their eyes fell on the Martin family.

Mrs. Alice Howard came around from the counter with a tremulous smile - she greeted them in a friendly enough manner but there was a nervousness to her. Her eyes darted at her other customers, several of which stepped away from the wares, averted their gazes from the Martin family, and began to file out of the shop.

"Look who it is, Anne!" Mrs. Howard said with exaggerated pleasure, as if trying to ignore the customers reactions to seeing the Martin family. Beth watched them go, wide eyed and fearful.

Anne and her brother George came out from the back of the shop - from the little kitchen where the family ate their lunch. Anne and George greeted them with the same enthusiasm as always - nothing had changed there, at least. George held out his hand - not the one which had been mangled in an accident so long ago - he kept that one resolutely at his side. He shook Burwell's hand, then Benjamin's, Gabriel's, Thomas', all of the men while his sister embraced the women and children. Beth held on longer than usual.

"Something's dreadfully wrong," she whispered to Anne, on the verge of tears. Anne drew back, she gazed at Beth and swallowed hard. Alice began ushering the women to the back of the shop - trying to get them out from beneath the cold stares of the other parishioners, those who had stayed were watching with disdain. Beth paused and glanced up at Harry nervously. Just then, the door opened again and Reverend Oliver stepped into the mercantile.

"Just the person I wanted to see," Benjamin said, stifling his unease. "I was hoping you could spare Colonel Burwell and I a few moments of your time, Reverend."

"And I was hoping the same," Oliver said nervously when he stopped before Benjamin and Harry. "I was going to visit with you this morning but you've saved me the need. Will you come to the church? It's urgent."

"Yes, of course," Burwell replied while Benjamin nodded - both men hoping the Reverend would be able to shed some light on the villages strange and offending behaviour. Harry began to steer a fretful Beth along to follow Oliver.

"Ah," the Reverend said when he turned and saw this. "Miss Martin, if you could please wait here, I need to speak to Mr. Martin and Colonel Burwell alone."

She was bordering panic now, Harry could sense it.

"All will be well, dear heart," he patted her hand. "Just go with your Aunt and Miss Howard."

Beth nodded, wide eyed. She turned to follow after her Aunt as Burwell and Benjamin stepped through front door, onto the verandah.

"Go through to the back," Alice encouraged. "I'll get the kettle on."

The children went through first, then Charlotte and Alice, with Anne and Beth falling in behind. As she was stepping through the door to the back room, Beth heard someone speak a single word and she whirled, back, astonished. Hussy. It had sounded awfully like hussy. She met Mrs. Abernathy's eyes and the women glared back, unapologetic.

"Come, Beth," Anne said, pulling her through the door to the chamber beyond.

* * *

It was a short walk to the church, and once they were there, Oliver led Benjamin and Harry through to his small office at the back, he gestured for them to sit.

"What is all this about, Reverend?" Benjamin asked. His nerves were frayed, as were Burwell's. Though the trip to the church had been a short one - they had endured many a stare from young and old alike - people had stopped in the street to watch them pass. And not a single one of them had smiled - each one had worn a grave expression, either tinged with disdain - or with pity. And even before the three men had past them by, the villages bowed their heads together and began whispering furiously behind their hands, each one of them.

"I have something grave to discuss with you both," Oliver began as he sat across from them both. "Tea?"

"No, thank you," Burwell shook his head, as did Benjamin. Neither of them showed their impatience but neither of them wanted to wait another moment, especially as long as it would take for Oliver to boil water in the bloody kettle!

"As I said, I was about to leave for Fresh Water, for some unpleasant tidings have reached my ear," Reverend Oliver sighed heavily.

"What's wrong?" Benjamin asked.

"Well… It's not an easy conversation, I'm afraid," Oliver began. "It is never pleasant, the repeating of vile gossip, it is not a pastime I take any joy in whatsoever. However…" He paused, at a loss for word, uncertain how to continue. "Well, the person carrying it came to me this morning, it was presented to me along with a very strong objection to your coming marriage, I'm afraid," he said to Burwell.

Benjamin and Harry stiffened as one.

"It is a rare thing, for anyone to come forward to contest the banns," Oliver continued. "But nature of the news that was imparted to me has been a cause of great alarm for me and it has cast doubt as to whether or not I should read the second Bann at all."

Harry's face was burning, he loosened his cravat for it felt too tight. "Then I thank you for seeking me out as soon as you heard I had arrived to Pembroke, Reverend," he said finally, quietly. "Please, tell me what you have heard, if you will."

Oliver was clearly filled with reluctance as he leaned forward toward the two men. "I am not certain where the rumor began. Nor do I know who were the instigators. Some suggest that the rumours were created by our fellow Patriots in retaliation for Miss Martin's assistance in the attempt to ambush you, Colonel Burwell. Her willingness to help Colonel Tavington is widely known in Charlestown, while her betrayal of him is not. I pray that is the case, and if it is, I shall declare it to the parish and stand by you all."

"Dear God," Benjamin murmured. "Reverend, what the devil are they saying?"

"It, the rumor, concerns Colonel Tavington and Miss Martin," Oliver said. "It suggests that the two of them are… attached. That they have been… indiscreet."

"Agh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Burwell cursed. He met Benjamin's gaze, his former Captain looked as shocked as Harry felt.

"Lies!" Benjamin spluttered, his reaction immediate. "My daughter would never..! She would not..! How dare they even suggest it?"

"I do not doubt your daughter's virtue," Oliver assured the enraged parent. "Be that as it may, this is most serious, it can not be dismissed so lightly. Miss Martin's virtue has most certainly been called into question."

"What are they saying?" Benjamin snapped. "How was she indiscreet?"

"Mr. Martin, it pains me…" Oliver shook his head. He steeled his spine and continued, "it is being said that on the night of the ball hosted by the Simms family some time back, Miss Martin stole away with Colonel Tavington to the bed chamber of Mr. Arthur Simms."

Burwell stared at Oliver, his face hard and cold. A chill traced his spine and his jaw worked.

"No Patriot would say such a thing," Benjamin said. "This is the British - it's Tavington! This is his doing - it's retaliation! He knows Beth betrayed him! He wrote to her, he said he is coming for her, he's going to flog her! And this… this vile, wicked, filth is further retaliation!"

"Perhaps," Burwell said, surprised. "He knows, does he? Miss Martin received a letter from him to this effect?"

"Yes," Benjamin raged. "I did not have the opportunity to read it, Beth panicked and threw the letter on the flames, she was so terrified. Barely got a wink of sleep all night. But she told me all of it, and she was trembling, Reverend. She was shaking with fear. He told her one of Mr. Putman's slaves revealed everything. He threatened her, he said he is coming for her, he is going to punish her. It's why I was coming here to speak to you. I can't protect Beth, not from that. She needs to marry Harry now, so she can leave with him and be protected. I was going to request that the wedding take place this Sunday!"

"Well, well, let's just… let's just discuss this more fully first, Mr. Martin," Oliver held up placating hands, gesturing for the furious father to slow down. "There are other rumours extending from the city, Sir. One of them being that Tavington proposed to Miss Martin, that she accepted him, and they are now engaged."

Benjamin curled his lip as he barked a grim, incredulous laugh. "He was going to propose," he admitted. "It's partly why Beth fled the damned city when she did. She removed from him the _opportunity_ to propose. They are not bloody engaged."

"What are the exact words, what are people saying?" Harry asked sharply. Oliver ran a weary hand over his head. He was quiet for so long that Benjamin and Harry both felt the need to brace themselves, preparing for the worst.

"That Miss Martin was alone with Colonel Tavington for hours," Oliver finally began, his voice heavy with reluctance. "That there were signs of coupling in the form of Tavington's seed soiling Mr. Simms coverlet -"

"Stop!" Burwell shouted and the Reverend fell silent. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, panting heavily. Benjamin was in no better state. His hands were clenched into fists and his eyes were wide and wild.

"I know this is difficult for you to hear, Colonel. And you have my sympathies, both of you. And Miss Martin. I am certain that when I summon her she will be able to set everything to rights."

Burwell nodded curtly.

"However, you asked to hear what is being said and I'm afraid it does not stop at seed on the sheets. The absence of virginal blood is also a component to the rumour."

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Benjamin groaned.

"So," Burwell said coldly. "They are saying she bedded him at the ball and that it was not her first time."

"Just so," Oliver said quietly.

"And what else?" Burwell spat. "Do they have anything to substantiate these rumours, any eye witnesses?"

"Yes!" Benjamin seized on this. "This is Tavington's doing, I'm certain of it. And unless there were any witnesses, I shall not give it any credence whatsoever!"

"Witnesses," Oliver sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Martin, but of witnesses, there are several."

"Several," Benjamin breathed.

"First, a testimony from a woman who attended the ball. According to the the gossip, this woman of Miss Martin's acquaintance declared that she over heard an argument between Tavington and Miss Martin on the night of the ball. The woman's claim is that she heard Miss Martin and Colonel Tavington mid quarrel, that she heard Miss Martin tell Tavington that she regretted ever stealing away to be alone with him earlier in the evening."

"So, a testimony from a person at the ball, who alleges to have heard of this from Beth's own lips?" Burwell asked forthright.

"Just so," Oliver affirmed. "Second, a testimony from a maid who worked at the Tisdale residence, where Miss Martin spent the night with Miss Tisdale and her other friends after attending a public dance. The maid claims that she saw Colonel Tavington enter the chamber she knew would be Miss Martin's that evening. According to the maid, Miss Martin then retired from the group early, returning alone to her chamber, where Colonel Tavington was waiting. This servant claimed that, after a protracted length of time in which the couple were alone in Miss Martin's chamber, she caught sight of Colonel Tavington leaving and a moment later, Miss Martin emerged to chase after Tavington down the corridor, wearing only her shift," Oliver paused. "I'm sorry, you must know how difficult this is for me to..." he closed his eyes as if praying, then went on in a clear tone. "She said that Colonel Tavington and Miss Martin were alone in the chamber for at least half an hour."

Silence descended in the office as the men struggled to come to terms with what they had heard. These rumours... The weight of them alone were enough to crush Beth.

"A maid and some woman whose identity we don't even know," Benjamin ground out. "He - Tavington - he's likely paid these women to say those things!"

"I believe that we should discuss this issue with Miss Martin," Oliver advised.

"Do you believe this?" Benjamin asked, incredulous. "Surely you don't!"

"I don't know, Mr. Martin," Oliver spread his hands wide. "If it is as you say, if this is a plot of Tavington's design, then only Miss Martin can refute it."

"What does Tavington say of it?" Burwell asked. "Has he published any sort of decree denying the rumor?"

Oliver's lips tightened, his jaw worked. This was the last and most damning piece to impart. "As I said, Colonel Tavington has declared himself to be engaged to Miss Martin. It is reported that he has declared he and she to be in love, and that they will marry." He paused, feeling the weight of both stares upon him. "Do you understand what I am saying? Without saying so directly, he is confirming the rumours to be true but that it doesn't matter, for he intends to marry her."

Benjamin and Harry exchanged a glance.

"Reverend, please summon Beth," Burwell commanded.

"Yes, Sir."

The Reverend disappeared from the room, leaving the two friends alone. Benjamin turned to Harry at once.

"Harry -"

"Don't!" Burwell commanded. He held his hand up and Benjamin fell silent instantly. "I will wait to speak to Beth. If she denies these rumors, I will publish that Tavington is a jilted and lovesick courtier and no Gentleman. That he has spread vile gossip about my fiancé. I will stand by her side and help her weather this storm, Ben." Before Benjamin could express his relief, Burwell continued severely, "but _only_ if she denies it!"

"You believe it's true!" Benjamin confronted, outraged.

"I believe that where there is smoke, there is fire. I believe that she is a lovesick girl, who may have surrendered to an aggressive suitor," Burwell twisted his lips with distaste. "I vow to you right now that if she has done these things with him - I will not forgive it. I will not marry a woman who has given herself to another man while engaged to me. Especially not with my enemy."

Benjamin's jaw worked. As furious as he was to hear his daughter discussed in such a manner, he had to concede that he would do no less. The tension between them quickly became oppressive. They heard footsteps coming closer, then Oliver was leading Beth into the Office. Her face was colourless and she looked on the verge of fainting.

"Harry," she said, then fell to her knees before him and began to weep.

Oliver must have told her on the way over, or perhaps it had come from Alice Howard. Either way, she already knew.

_If it weren't true, she'd be denying it._ Burwell felt rage blaze through him - if it was not true, she would have immediately expressed outrage, and would have denied it - not damn near faint with shame!

"Is it true?" He hissed.

"Harry," she sobbed again. "It's not what you think -"

"It's not what I think?" He snapped, outraged. "That's what you will say to me? No denials? Did you bed Tavington?"

"Harry! No!" Beth cried out, aghast. "No - I vow on my honour! I never -"

"Don't you dare lie to me!" He roared down at her.

"Now, why don't we just all calm down," Benjamin cut in - it was his _daughter_ that was being yelled at. Burwell shot him a glare, which Benjamin ignored. "Beth has said it is not what you think, and I believe she deserves the opportunity to explain herself! I seriously doubt my daughter has done anything to compromise her virtue, so I suggest you..." he tightened his lips and continued harshly. "I suggest you remember this woman is my daughter and that you calm the hell down!"

"You believe her virtue is un-compromised?" Burwell asked, his tone was icy calm.

"I shall believe whatever Beth tells me, Harry!" Benjamin shot back. "Elizabeth, we require an explanation and I suggest you stop crying and give it!"

He hardly ever called her Elizabeth, it caused him too much pain to do so, being his wife's name also. He only ever called her Elizabeth when he was angry with her. The use of her full name made Beth shiver with fear. Great choking sobs escaped her and it was several moments before she was able to speak. By then, Burwell had resumed his chair, sitting stiff and bolt up right. Oliver watched with concern and Benjamin with ill disguised and mounting impatience.

"I..." Beth began. She closed her eyes as though praying - appropriate enough, they were in a church and she was already on her knees. She swallowed hard and tried again. Her voice was thin and high, verging on panic. "I... It is true that... I was at the Tisdale's, I slept over for the... the evening. After bidding Mary good night, I went to my chamber... He was in my room..."

"Oh, sweet Lord above," Benjamin moaned.

"I told him to leave. I swear, Papa."

"What happened? Tell me all of it, Beth," he commanded. Beth's breath caught and she shot a frantic glance at Burwell, who watched her in stony silence.

"I... He tried to kiss me. I mean, that is.. He did kiss me, but I told him to leave. When he did not - I walked away from him. I fled to Mary's room, asked her for a hair pin or something. When I heard my chamber door click shut I returned to my room and he was gone. Only..."

"Only what?" Burwell ground out when Beth trailed off. He kissed her? Christ! He felt the need to lash out - to punch a wall, to smash something, anything. Tavington kissed Beth!

"Only the... the key was missing from the lock," Beth faltered, she was only able to speak in quick spurts, between pants and sobs. "He had taken it... He had intended to return... I went after him - made him give it back. I was angry - and distressed, I thought he was trying to ruin me!"

"And a good job he's done of it so far!" Burwell growled.

"Colonel," Benjamin ground out furiously. "I'm warning you -"

"How long was he in your room for, kissing you?" Burwell spoke over Benjamin. "Your timing does not marry up with the maids, who said she had seen Tavington leave and estimated he was alone with you for at least a half hour!"

"No, no!" Beth cried desperately. "That's a lie! An exaggeration - it was no more than five minutes, perhaps. No more!"

"You were alone, with Colonel Tavington, in a bed chamber, for no more than five minutes?" Burwell hissed. "In nothing more than your shift - or was that an exaggeration too?"

"No, that was true," Beth wailed. "But it wasn't my fault - I didn't know he was in the room, he was in the shadows and I took off my robe. I only saw him when I was about to get into bed. Oh, Harry - please, you have to believe me!"

"Kissing a man in your bedchamber, Beth! And minutes passed before you walked away!" He snapped furiously. "Tell me what happened at the ball!"

Beth hung her head, tears spilled down her cheeks. What could she say? She might be a virgin but what she had done with William in Arthur's chamber had been enough to ruin her. And she had done it twice!

Burwell leaned in close - his glinting eyes fixed on hers.

"Tell me about the seed on Arthur Simms coverlet," he held her gaze, watching her reaction with an eagle eye.

"Oh dear Lord," Beth's breath caught and she covered her mouth with her free hand.

"So that's true, too?" He asked, his voice implacable with fury. "Seed on the coverlet. But an absence of blood that indicates you were not a virgin!"

"Oh, my Lord - I am a virgin!" Beth cried. "Harry - I beg you, please believe me!" She reached for his hands, gripped them with both of hers. "Please, Harry - I am... My virtue is intact, I didn't bed him!"

"Then - explain - the - seed!" He hissed down at her. Though, after having her in his own bed, he knew exactly how Tavington's seed might be explained. Beth lowered her head and cried. Burwell ripped his hands free of hers and rose from his seat, taking a step away from her. She stayed on the floor, on her knees, sobbing pitifully. Benjamin leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. He watched his daughter as she cried but made no move to comfort her.

"Explain it!" Burwell roared, finally pushed past his endurance, beyond his patience.

"We... We did... things..." She whispered.

"Agh, Christ," Benjamin muttered.

"What things?" Burwell asked dangerously. When Beth did not answer, he roared again, "WHAT THINGS!?"

"Kissed," Beth gasped from the floor as Burwell stood over her. "We lay on the bed... We kissed..."

"Kissing doesn't produce _milt_, Beth!"

"No... He... Oh God, please don't make me say it, Harry! Please!" It distressed her utterly, being forced to speak of it now, in front of her father, her fiancé, her Reverend - and all in a House of God!

The worldly Burwell asked harshly. "Did you touch his manhood!"

"I… I… Yes," A barely audible whisper but Burwell heard it. They all did.

"Jesus Christ!" He yelled.

"Sir! I must protest, please refrain from using profanity in my church!" Reverend Oliver said primly, finally drawing rein on Burwell's cursing.

"Swearing in a church is the least of our concerns!" Burwell bellowed. He threw his arms up with disgust and turned his back on Beth. He whirled back to face her, his very gaze demanding she obey him and tell him the truth of it.

"He lay on top of me," she told Burwell dully. "He... He vowed on his honor to not take my virginity. He kept that vow, he did not enter me."

There was no need for more, Burwell understood, having done the same with Beth himself. Only Beth and Tavington had been skin to skin - they must have been, if she'd worried he would take her virginity. The other men understood also. In that moment, Benjamin knew what would come next. Burwell would end his engagement, he had no other choice. And Benjamin could not blame him, not in the slightest. It was Beth he blamed, Beth and Tavington.

"I see," Harry said finally.

"I'm a virgin," Beth whispered. She sat back on her heels, her eyes on the floor. She knew herself that at this point, that it did not matter. Burwell would end their engagement based on that alone, it made no difference if she was still a virgin.

"You touched him intimately," Burwell said quietly. He had recovered much of his equilibrium, he was no longer in a rage. Calm control now, and rock hard resolve. "You allowed him on top of you. What else?"

"Harry," Beth whispered, meeting his gaze. "It's enough - you know that I'm damned. Please, I... I can't..."

"Tell me details?" He finished for her. "Let me guess then. You pleasured him with your hand, and no doubt he pleasured you in turn."

_As we did with one another the other night_, he thought to himself as he remembered the two of them panting into one another's mouths as they touched each other intimately. Though he did not say the words out loud, he arched an eyebrow and Beth understood his thoughts. She blushed crimson with shame and lowered her eyes to the floor.

"Why did you burn his letter, Beth?" He asked, voice crisp and clear. He saw her stiffen, her throat worked as she gulped. "You didn't toss it on the fire because he threatened to flog you and you panicked, did you? What did he say in his letter, Beth?"

"He… He did threaten me," she said weakly, almost delirious with panic. "To flog me. He knows I betrayed him, Zeke told him everything; what I told you is all true. But he also…" She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut around her tears. "He told me he loves me, that he wants to marry me. And he spoke of that night… of our… of what we did… In Cornet Simms chamber."

"So. You tossed the letter on the fire so I wouldn't learn of your… infidelity. I don't know what's worse. Your betrayal, or your deceit at trying to hide it."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Benjamin locked gazes with Burwell over Beth's head. Beth wept quietly on the floor between them, wringing her hands in her lap as she waited for Burwell to declare what everyone in the room knew he was about to declare.

"As much as I detested it, I had accepted that she had fallen in love with him," Burwell said finally, his tone implacable. He was addressing Benjamin as though Beth were not in the room. "She is young and he pressed an aggressive suit for her." He drew a steadying breath and continued, "but I can not ignore this. I am sorry Ben, I will not marry your daughter."

Beth gasped and whirled, throwing herself into Benjamin's lap.

"Harry," Benjamin protested, though he knew there was no hope. But Beth was crying and despite his fury with her, she was in torture and it wrung his heart. "She wants to marry you - I know she does. She may have been foolish - hell, even Elizabeth and I - we did things before we were married! And I know that you and Beth have, I only forgave it because you're engaged!"

Burwell stiffened, tense all over, bracing himself to be confronted by an enraged father.

"I know it's not... Ideal," Benjamin said instead, shying away from a confrontation. No father wanted to discuss his daughter's intimacy with other men! "Cock and balls - do you think this is easy for me to hear?" He flared up suddenly. "She is my daughter and no father wants to hear that their child has…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. "With you, or with Tavington. It is not easy for a father to hear. Harry, I understand your position - and still, I beg of you. Reconsider. She has behaved foolishly but she is still a virgin. Her virtue is intact."

"No, Benjamin, it isn't," Burwell stated firmly and Benjamin blanched. "I'm sorry, Ben. I can not," he turned to Oliver. "Reverend, I formally abrogate my engagement to Miss Martin."

Oliver sighed heavily. Rubbing his hands together slowly, he gazed at Beth as she wept in her father's lap, with Benjamin stroking her hair.

"I find no pleasure in this," Burwell stated coolly. "I will have the Continental's removed from Fresh Water immediately."

"He has threatened to flog her, Harry. Who is going to protect her, when he comes for her?" Benjamin asked Burwell, completely at a loss.

"I have no answer for you." The door clicked shut and Colonel Burwell was gone.

* * *

Benjamin drove the carriage to the rear of the church. Beth, the hood of her cape pulled up around her face, rushed from the rear door straight into the carriage. He turned to see Charlotte and Thomas approaching him from different directions.

"You'll never believe the things I was told at the tavern just now," Thomas said, his face was blotched red, his shoulders were pulled back as if he were gearing up to brawl someone.

"What were you doing at the tavern?" Benjamin asked, aghast.

"Drinkin," Thomas shrugged.

"Is it true?" Charlotte pulled her cape tight around her body.

"Did you heard it too?" Thomas asked. "I had to tell Paul Gettes to shut his mouth or I'd shut it for him!"

"God damn it boy," Benjamin snapped. "You stay the devil away from that tavern - you're not going to get drunk and into brawls! As if I don't have enough to deal with!"

"It was all innocent fun, until Gettes started sayin' the things he was sayin'," Thomas said. "I was just minding my business, tossing the dice, drinking a whiskey and the next thing I know, I got Gettes' up against the wall and Nathan tryin' to pull me off him. He shouldn't be talkin' about my sister like that."

"Boy, there is enough truth in what is being said that people aren't going to stop just because you threaten to punch them," Benjamin snapped. "You'll only make it worse."

"Oh my God, it's true?" Charlotte gasped, her hands over her mouth.

"She is a virgin, but the rest…" Benjamin trailed off, his face like thunder.

"Jesus damned Christ," Thomas spat.

"Don't you bloody curse, boy," Benjamin said and Thomas gave him a baleful glare. Charlotte closed her eyes, her expression pained, seemingly on the verge of tears. "One child acting out is enough for me, thank you very much!" To Charlotte, Benjamin said, "Colonel Burwell has ended their engagement, and is leaving Fresh Water."

"Dear God," she whispered, tears spilling. He put his arms around her, needing the comfort as much as she.

"That's why I saw him ridin' away like he's got the hounds of hell on him," Thomas said, his shoulders slumping. "Damn and blast it."

"Stop your damned cursing!" Benjamin shot at Thomas over Charlotte's shoulder.

"Please, Ben, Tommy, we mustn't fight among ourselves," Charlotte implored. "We are facing a crisis, the townsfolk are saying the most wretched things, we need to leave immediately! For Beth's sake, and ours! Tommy, you need to get your brothers, where are they? You didn't take Sammie into the tavern with you, did you?" She asked in a strangled voice.

"He's twelve, Aunt!" Thomas frowned. "And Nathan is even older. They aren't there no more anyway, they've gone to get the horses."

"Is the Martin name worth so little to my children then?" Benjamin confronted Thomas. "Beth, fooling around with that Britisher and you boys, fooling around in damned taverns!"

"I don't know father. You've done your fair share of foolin', you tell me what you think the Martin name is worth," Thomas shot back, his eyes shooting to Charlotte suggestively. His aunt's face drained of colour and with a soft gasp, she averted her gaze. Benjamin was momentarily dumbstruck.

"Boy," Benjamin said, low and threatening as he took a step toward his son, "you're on dangerous ground now. I strongly suggest you retreat."

"You might think it's all alright, you two being widows and all," Thomas said, ignoring his father's threat. "But the rules are no different for you than for anyone else, and you know it or you wouldn't have tried to keep it secret all this time. I rather think that if the townsfolk knew, they'd be sayin' wretched things about the two of you, too!"

"Thomas Martin!" Benjamin shouted, throwing his arm out and jabbing his finger toward Thomas. "You will not say another word! You will go and get your brothers, you will meet us back here and you will do it in silence!"

Thomas drew a long, shuddering breath. Rife with fury, he turned on his heel and strode away, it was too ingrained in him to obey his father to stop doing it now.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte," Benjamin said.

"It's still a shock to them, is all," Charlotte whispered, though her stomach was churning so badly she thought she might vomit. "Thomas is right. If it was known, about you and I, they'd be saying awful things about us too -"

"They don't know," he said, seizing both her hands and hold them tightly in his. "They do not know, nor will they find out. One crisis at a time, please, Charlotte. Please."

She nodded. "Very well. Ben, you know what this means, don't you?" She asked. He arched an eyebrow and waited for her answer. "We need to find Beth a husband. Even if she is still a virgin, she can not hope to hold any standing if she is not married immediately."

"She might not, even then," he muttered. "You know what the sentiment is here, so many are Patriots. And she betrayed Colonel Burwell with a British Officer."

"That is true," Charlotte whispered.

"Frankly, because of that, I can't think of a single man among my acquaintances, who'd want her," he said. Charlotte reached up and stroked her fingers along his cheeks. He leaned into the touch, taking solace. "Will you stay with her while I get the children?" He asked.

"Of course."

* * *

Taking the long way home, Benjamin drove slowly, hoping to give Burwell enough time to reach the plantation, pack his belongings, and be gone ahead of them. Upon arriving to Fresh Water, the subdued family climbed out of the carriage and down from their horses, then made their way into the house. Benjamin, unable to meet Beth's eyes, fixed his gaze someplace above her head and commanded that she go immediately to her chamber. She lifted her skirts to her ankles and ran. A tray was sent up to her, he did not invite her to join them for dinner. He sat with Charlotte and the rest of his family, who were as quiet and solemn as he until he dismissed them.

Then there was a rather heated and unpleasant exchange with his sons, who confronted him about his affair with Charlotte. It seemed it hadn't been enough for Thomas, what he'd said earlier. He returned with Nathan and Samuel, to finish the job. Thank the Gods they had the sense to wait until he was alone, before they sought him out to demand answers. He carried Thomas' parting words for the rest of the night, and likely would for the rest of his life.

"_You're angry with Beth, are you? For doing those things with Tavington out of wedlock? Yet, here you are with Aunt Charlotte."_

_"It's hardly the same thing, son," Benjamin replied. "Charlotte and I are both widows, and we're in love."_

_"Anything excuse will sound like justification to the one saying it," Gabriel said angrily. _

_"You and Aunt Charlotte, being widows, are somehow above all that 'sin' nonsense, are you?" Thomas threw in. "Because you're in love? Do you think God would agree?" Benjamin felt his lips tighten, his entire body stiff with tension. "But like Gabriel said, you can justify anything, if you word it just right. What is Beth's excuse, do you think? That she's an innocent virgin, too young to know better, and she's in love?"_

_"I don't care what her excuse is. Nothing she says can excuse what she did," Benjamin spat._

_"Exactly," Thomas shot back, as if he'd just made his point. "There can be no justification, not for what she did and not for what you have been doing. The townsfolk are against Beth right now but they'd be set against you, too, if they knew."_

_"Does it truly bother you that much? I thought you loved your aunt," Benjamin said. _

_"We all do," Gabriel said._

_"Which is why we can't understand it," Nathan added. Samuel said nothing, he just stood to the side, looking miserable. "It does bother me that a woman we love, is doing the things she's doing, with a man who doesn't seem to have any intention on marrying her."_

_"At least Tavington's saying he's going to marry Beth," Thomas folded his arms across his chest._

_"It's not the same thing at all!" Benjamin cried. "And I am! I mean, I do have intentions of marriage! I've just… It was going to be a surprise, when I do!"_

_"Believe me, it's already a bloody surprise. How long's it been goin' on for?" Thomas asked. His fists were shoved up under his arm pits, as though he were trying to keep them contained so he did not punch Benjamin. "A few months?" _

_"A…" Benjamin closed his eyes, heaved a breath, shook his head. "Longer," he said reluctantly. _

_"Longer?" Gabriel asked, aghast. "How long?"_

_"Years," Benjamin said shortly. _

_"Years," Thomas' lips tightened to two thin, white lines. "Years."_

_"I am going to marry her," Benjamin said to Thomas, who seemed the angriest of them all._

_"Well, congratulations father, well done," Thomas said, voice dripping sarcasm. "I am pleased the Martin family name means somewhat to you after all."_

_"Thomas," Benjamin breathed._

_"As for if it bothers me, well, to that, I have to say yes. It does. For the reason Nathan gave, and another. It truly bothers me, father, because what I would have really loved to have all these years, what I've yearned for since I lost mine, is a mother," Thomas leaned in close, confronting. "And now I know you've been in love with aunt Charlotte for years, and instead of marrying her and giving us a mother, you kept her all to yourself." _

_Benjamin's heart broke, he felt like sobbing. "I… I wasn't ready. And I didn't want you to feel I was replacing her." _

_"You did replace her, father. You just didn't share her replacement with us. You deprived us of a mother, Sir," Thomas unfolded his arms, held them out wide. "You wanted to know why I was so bothered by this, and now you do." _

Thomas had stormed out of the parlour without a backward glance. His other sons filed out in utter silence, leaving Benjamin alone with his confusion and guilt. When Charlotte came to him during the night, he decided not to tell her of his disturbing conversation with his sons. Instead, they spoke of Beth and they discussed at length what their course of action should be. He couldn't worry about Thomas and the boys just now, his affair with Charlotte was secondary to a much larger issue.

He needed a husband for Beth and after considering and dismissing several possibilities, Charlotte suggested George Howard. Benjamin resolved to speak to the Howard's the next day - not only to speak to Peter of George, but to ensure all was well with Gabriel and Anne for in truth, he wasn't entirely certain Peter Howard would allow Gabriel and Anne to marry now, not after this.

Benjamin rose to Howard's small manor not far from Pembroke proper. Though it was early, Peter invited Benjamin into his small parlour and poured them both a glass of brandy. Holding the glass between his fingers, Benjamin tried to find the right words to broach his idea.

"Thank you for seeing me so early," he said now as he watched his brandy swirling in his glass.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're always welcome here, no matter the hour," Peter replied.

"Am I, Peter?" Benjamin arched an eyebrow. "After what happened yesterday…"

"Ben, Anne loves Gabriel. Gabriel loves Anne. They still have my blessing to marry."

Benjamin blew out a relieved breath, some of his tension easing.

"There is… another matter I wish to broach with you," Benjamin said after thanking him. "Beth, ah… the rumours have some truth. I mean, there is some truth, to the rumours. But not all. She is a virgin, Peter. She… did things…" His lips twisted with distaste and fury. "Gods, I'm so angry with her," he confided. "I can barely look at her. I sent her to her room as soon as we got home, so I don't have to look at her. And this morning, I left before she even got up, so I don't have to look at her. Every time I think about what she did… I just… I've never taken my belt to my children but God knows, for this, I think it'd be fully justified."

Peter listened in supportive silence.

"And Colonel Burwell. Gods, I'm furious with him, too. I understand him ending their engagement, I do. I would have done the same, I'm certain. But it doesn't stop me from being so damned angry with him. He kissed her, he took liberties with my little girl, too." He heaved a breath. "It doesn't matter, none of it does. All I can do is try to salvage something from the wreck. Tavington - I'm fairly certain he is a madman. He is in the city telling everyone that he's engaged to Beth, yet he sends her a letter, telling her that he knows she betrayed the ambush to Burwell and that he's going to come for her, that he is going to flog her."

Peter whistled, eyes wide with surprise.

"And Burwell knows that, yet he takes off like Beth's warning, her help, like none of it matters. And maybe none of it does, not when she was fooling around with Tavington. But I've got to protect her, Peter, and I don't have Burwell and his one hundred men to send her off with, not now. Tavington is going to come for her, and he's going to flog her, and then he is going to force her to marry him - all to get her fortune, I do not doubt - and I am powerless to stop any of it!"

"This is one hell of a situation," Peter sympathised.

"I need her married, Peter, and not only to prevent Tavington from forcing the issue, but for her own good. Her virtue… It's in tatters. She needs a husband, if there is to be any hope of restoring her reputation. I've gone over all the men of my acquaintance and I can only think of perhaps three that might be willing. Two of them are thrice Beth's age," he paused, then said quickly. "And the third is your son."

"You want her for Joshua?" Peter asked, astounded.

"No, not Joshua," Benjamin said. "George." Joshua likely wouldn't agree, not with Beth formerly engaged to his superior and not with her conduct with Tavington. But George might.

"George," Peter murmured. "He isn't in the army, Ben. He won't be leaving Pembroke any time soon, he won't be carrying her off and away like Burwell had intended. Nor does he have one hundred men to protect her, as Burwell does. She'll be staying right here, and she'll be in the exact same boat as she was in this morning."

"Except she'll be married, which will prevent Tavington from trying to force the issue. And she'll be here, in hiding. There's no reason for Tavington to come here, and I certainly won't be telling him where she is."

"Do you honestly think he'll leave the rest of you alone, if he does show up there? If I were you, I'd be packing up the whole family and going… I don't know… to Mrs. Selton's aunt's place in Rhode Island."

Benjamin slumped back in his chair, feeling one hundred years old as he pictured the British Colonel riding up to the Great House with two or three hundred Dragoons. He fretted on what Tavington's actions would be, when Benjamin refused to tell him where Beth is.

"She has committed treason," Benjamin said quietly. "He will be hell bent on finding her."

"Leave, Benjamin," Peter said seriously. "While you've still got the chance." He filled Benjamin's glass and the two fell silent.

"Is that a no, then?" Benjamin asked when the silence stretched.

"Between Beth and George?" Peter asked, startled. "Not at all. It'll be up to George though, not me. And what of Beth, what if she refuses?"

"Refuses?" Benjamin ground out, his face twisted as if he were tasting the word and found it not to his liking. "Refuses. No, Peter. Beth will refuse nothing."

"Well, an unwilling bride… it'll be one hell of a start to the marriage. I'll talk to George. If he is agreeable, we will come to Fresh Water, for I do not doubt that George will wish to discuss it with Beth, before he commits to anything."

"If he is agreeable at all," Benjamin muttered.

Peter scoffed. "Will my son, whose mangled hand makes young women shudder and turn away with revulsion, marry a beautiful young virgin of wealth from a respectable family?" He began to laugh, a hearty rich laugh. "Trust me, George will have no problem with this."

"I would, if I were him. Mangled hand or not, I wouldn't want to settle for a lass of ruined virtue. I know he knows she's wealthy, but please tell him that I've increased her dowry. He might not be getting a bride of virtue, but at least he'll be getting one of fortune."

"One vaster than he ever would have considered possible," Peter agreed. "As for virtue… The way I see it, Beth's been messed with by those British Officers - and frankly, your brother in law didn't help matters, constantly throwing them together as he did."

"I know," Benjamin's fingers tightened on the glass. "I'm damned wroth with him, also."

"Yes, well. George will see it the way I do. Beth - a woman he's know all his life, needs him to protect her where her uncle failed - from the British who tried to ruin her. As for the other - well, like you said, marrying will restore Beth's reputation." Peter paused, then added, "and a few years of conduct that becomes her, and perhaps a few children."

"Time and children," Benjamin agreed. "And a scandal worse than hers. The people will forget what she did, then."

"I agree."

Benjamin drank back his brandy. "I'll go now, so you can speak to George. You will speak to him now?"

"And I'll come by shortly with his answer."

"Thank you, Peter." Benjamin shook Peter's hand, daring to hope that perhaps he might finally be able to see some good in this calamity.


	41. Chapter 41 - Guerard's Swamp

Chapter 41 - Guerard's Swamp:

_Late June_

Tavington followed his guide through the swamps, his unit following behind him. They stuck to the trails as best they could, wary of keeping their horses safe in the boggy mire. There would be alligators – a warning he could have done without, as it was pitch black beyond their torchlight. Chances were, the Dragoons wouldn't even see the beasts coming, if one choose to attack.

Drawn to the light, mosquitoes swarmed around the torches and lanterns, buzzing around the Dragoons faces – the only bare skin they could reach. Tavington had a scarf covering his neck, mouth and nose, an attempt to protect the only place the mosquitoes could reach. He'd cover his eyes too, if he could.

Tavington dwelled on Harmony's repeating of the overheard conversation. It was particularly worrisome – something had been about to occur in the city - and it would have done, had Mr. Ingles not arrived to inform him that Harmony had been abducted. Had William not remained in the city to support Bordon, and in the hope of rescuing Harmony Jutland. In staying, the rebels had called of… What? What had their intentions been? Would they wait now, for the next time he left the city? Which he had done now, therefore was it happening at this very moment?

He would find out when he returned, he supposed. There was naught to be done about it – he could not stay in the city forever in the hope of preventing the rebels of completing this mission of theirs. Securing Mark Putman was far more important. At least, he hoped it was. He had no way of knowing, as he did not know what this mission was that the rebels temporarily abandoned.

At that moment, five Dragoon units of forty men were converging on Guerard's Swamp from five different directions. William had chosen a dozen Loyalist militiamen to enter ahead of him, one by one or in pairs, to 'answer' Mark Putman's call to arms. Their instructions – to convince Putman that they were rebels and were returning to, or first time joining, the Patriot militia. Their mission - to stay close to Putman. When Tavington's Dragoons descended on the rebel camp, Putman would inevitably try to escape into the swamps. As it was dark and the swamps were a confusing maze of trees and brush and trails and water, Putman would have likely succeeded, just as Burwell had, before the surrender of the city. Burwell had slipped through William's fingers during their skirmish, it had been like trying to catch smoke.

But, Tavington had learned.

The Loyalist militiamen were to stay near to Mark. As soon as the rebel militia discovered the Green Dragoons were approaching, they would panic and, undoubtedly, they would flee into the night. During the panic, Tavington's loyalist men were to seize Mark and forcibly prevent him fleeing into the swamps as the rest of his militia was bound to do.

This tactic had a very large chance of success, Mark Putman would have no reason to doubt any of the men coming in to answer his summons. He would be pleased with each new recruit, proud that they had come at his call. He himself would only be familiar with a fraction of the rebel militiamen - most would be complete strangers to him. The militiamen themselves likely did not all know one another, the rebels answering Putman's summons would be coming in from provinces miles around. Throw in a few familiar and high standing Patriot names, and his Loyalists would be accepted as rebels in a heartbeat. A few were to claim acquaintance to Marion, a few to Huddy and the last, to Benjamin Martin.

Who, according to Sumter's eloquent speaking adversity, had the power to call one thousand men to arms. As relayed through Harmony Jutland, according to Sumter, Putman had managed to gather one hundred and fifty to two hundred rebels for this 'assault'. Martin, by contrast, could raise a thousand. If he cared to join, that was. Surely that was an exaggeration, but still, William worried.

The division within the Patriot ranks that Harmony had reported should have made William pleased. But what good was it to him if the Patriots split down the middle, if Martin could rouse his own militia numbering a thousand men? And Martin had Burwell's full support - Sumter, by contrast, was walking on egg shells.

Sumter. William's mind shifted to the more immediate - and the less threatening. Sumter was nothing when compared to Martin, according to that other fellow Harmony had overheard. Still, it was galling that the bastard had escaped him. He'd been gone - the house emptied entirely, before William and his Dragoons had reached there earlier that evening. It was his, Bordon and Harmony's belief that Sumter had gone immediately upstairs to commit his rape of Harmony, only to discover her escape. He must have known Harmony would have gone directly to Bordon and Tavington, he would have known he'd run out of time.

It had been frustrating, but when he returned to the Putman's and asked Harmony to report, frustration had shifted to blind rage, it had burned through him like fire.

_'I'll kill him,' _Bordon had said before Tavington led the Dragoons out of Putman's yard to capture Sumter. _'I'll capture him,' _Tavington had rejoined. If he'd known then that Sumter had - even for those few moments - intended to abduct Beth from her home to use as a hostage, William would not have torn the man's head from his damned shoulders.

But Sumter had fled, just as Burwell had fled. Gods, if Tavington lost Putman too… His fingers tightened on the reins, his eyes narrowed.

"Did you speak to Clinton about Martin?" Bordon asked beside him, drawing Tavington back to the present.

"I did," Tavington replied from beneath the scarf wrapped around his face. "As Miss Jutland heard that rebel declare that Martin has not taken up arms against the Crown, yet has the power to rouse the countryside if provoked, Clinton advised that Martin is to be treated with extreme caution. For now."

"Leaving Martin free… I'm not certain that is a particularly good idea. It seems to me that he can be quite volatile - and if he decides to come against us, we'll be faced with a force to be reckoned with."

"I expressed the same to Clinton. Clinton is still of the opinion that Martin has committed treason by not reporting Burwell's whereabouts and with connecting himself to him. He has no desire to leave Martin free, but after what Miss Jutland over heard that fellow saying to Sumter - Clinton has decided to proceed with caution. If we do take Martin when he hasn't moved against us, beyond the withholding of information, that is; that might be just cause alone for his men to rise up against us. Leaving him alone is like leaving a slow burning flame. But arresting him might be the tinder to the flame." Tavington heaved a frustrated breath. "Hell, my treatment of Beth might be the tinder he needs to flare up into some uncontrollable bonfire. I know I'd be raging, if some fellow treats any daughter of mine that way."

"Lord, that sounded very much like an apology, William. Did you just apologise?"

"Fat lot it would do me, apologising without the father here to hear it. I do regret it though, I compromised her virtue, I'd only ever intended to keep her as my mistress. I should not have done it," William met Bordon's eyes, the only part of his face visible in the lantern light. "And if Martin takes exception to it…"

"I'm certain he absolutely will take exception to it," Bordon sniggered. "Perhaps you should write him a letter of apology?"

"Yes, I'm sure that would ease his anger," William snorted, scoffing. "No, Major - it will be what it will be. If that small spark is enough to ignite him, then he could flare up over any other little thing, I'm sure. As you said, he does sound quite volatile and the war is coming his way, now."

"Whipping his daughter would be a fairly large spark," Richard said. William had the feeling that his Major was testing him. William loved Beth, therefore would William be able to go through with his intention of punishing her for her treason?

_'I feel wretched for her. She found herself caught in an impossibly difficult position. I urge you to remember that she was faithful to you, as well - sending that letter to Mrs. Simms. She has betrayed them, too. Can't the good outweigh the bad? And if not, surely everything that she has gone through - and will go through when those rumours reach her ears - will be punishment enough? Will you really take a whip to her, as well?'_

These questions, from Harmony, who admitted that she'd heard the men speak of Beth's treason. Richard had stared hard at William, watching for his reaction. Watching him for weakness.

William hadn't answered, for he'd been unwilling to admit before Richard that he had no intention of flogging Beth, even without Harmony's plea.

"Yes, it would," William replied, averting his gaze from his Major. Though the punishment would be just, it would cause William as much pain to deliver it, as it would be for Beth to receive it. And after everything else William had done to Beth, it could ignite her father to devastating consequences. Still, "I will not cower from him," William said now. "We shall be careful of him, but if he does erupt, I will match him storm for storm."

Richard nodded, seeming satisfied. "That's all I ask," he said and William shot him a stunned look. Richard shrugged, smiled, and said, "you saved my life, William. I owe you."

He would forgive Beth's treason, because William had saved his life. William felt a weight loosing around his shoulders, pressure he hadn't realised was there, and he smiled weakly.

The guide signalled that they were getting closer - they would encounter Putman's sentries in the next half mile or so. William's men went on alert, they paused to check over their weapons one last time, to have a long drink from their flasks and a bite to eat to nourish them for the battle ahead. They mounted, fanned out across the byways and then galloped their horses toward Putman's camp in the swamps.

* * *

The battle was fierce but thankfully short and successful. As predicted, many rebels threw themselves into their saddles as soon as their sentries gave the warning cries that the Dragoons were coming. Putman had been one of those, the first to his horse in fact, but he was wrestled back by the newcomers, ten Loyalist men that fell upon him all at once and kept a perimeter around him to prevent other rebels from helping him. They'd only had to hold Putman for a few minutes before those who wished to help their leader were scattered by the storm of Green Dragoons.

It was over before it began. Eight dead rebels, twenty captured. One hundred and fifty or so escaped the Dragoons charge, but the remaining were now prisoners - including Putman. Tavington saw the knot of men surrounding the Patriot spy, and he rode his horse toward them.

The men parted for William and there stood Putman, blood pouring down his face from a cut above his eyebrow, his handlers had not been gentle with him. William met his eyes.

"What was it you said to me?" William asked him now, cocking his head. "Riding about in the height of summer through fetid swamps was not your cup of tea..? And yet, here you are," he gestured with both hands, indicating his surroundings, the fetid swamps. Putman's lips tightened. "But don't worry, your new quarters below the Exchange, I'm certain, will be far more to your liking." He let the moment stretch, before adding, "these others I shall hang before we leave."

"Goddamn you!" Putman shouted, red fury soaring over his face. "You've no right!"

"We both know the level of authority I hold," William said, voice crisp and clear. "Bestowed upon me by the Commander and Chief himself. Your inexperience has just killed twenty men." William smiled coldly. "Twenty eight, if you include those who fell in the first charge."

"My inexperience?" Putman tossed his head, fuming. "You're speaking of the man I've presented to you all this time? That is not who I am. You know nothing about me, Butcher. You don't know me from Adam, you fucking popinjay."

"If you think he's a popinjay, then you don't know him from Adam either," Bordon said to Putman, riding up close to Tavington. He dismounted - he'd been chomping at the bit to reach Putman. He closed the distance with several long strides and smashed his fist into Putman's face. The man's head snapped back and he grunted, sagging somewhat in his captors grip. "That's for setting Sumter on to Miss Jutland," he snapped. "Do you know what he did to her, you bastard?" Putman was dangling from the grips of his captors, he shook his head as if trying to get his bearings after being punched nearly to unconsciousness. "He was going to rape her," Bordon slammed his fist into Putman's face again and the man sagged to his knees in the mud. Putman reeled, when he recovered he stared up at Bordon, bleary eyed. "Just as you would have done. Don't try to deny it. Sumter said you would have fucked her yourself, given half a chance."

"You fucked my wife... Would've made... us even…" Putman said through the pain.

"You put your wife in my bed, and then you take exception to me taking what is freely offered? For that, you set Sumter on Harmony! He would have done it and you are to blame. When they hang you for treason, I'm going to be up there on the gallows with you, I'm going to be the one to pull the damned rope." He turned back to Tavington, who was watching impassively. "The camp is secure. Your orders, Colonel?"

"Hang them," William repeated. "I will not be lumbered with prisoners, we will return swiftly to Charlestown - " he glanced down at Putman with a curled lip, eyes burning implacable resolve. "And then questioning shall begin," he finished, sharp eyes fixed on Putman.

Putman spat. "Do your worst."

"Believe me, Sir, I most certainly shall," Colonel Tavington murmured.

* * *

Like a caged lion, Cilla paced her enclosure, her every nerve strained. She stopped momentarily at the window and stared out but could see nothing more than a couple of Tavington's Dragoons and a few of her father's negroes. Non no longer her father's - they were freed now, every one of them. She had seen less and less of them since her father fled, the negroes had been allowed to leave, to go where they would. The ones that stayed were in Tavington's employ now. No longer hers to command. Cilla did not even have her own maid anymore. It was lower ranking British soldiers that bought food to the dining hall, she even had to make her own bed and take away her own chamber pot. Seeing Captain Wilkins walk into the yard, she pictured herself throwing open the window and tossing the contents of her chamber pot on his head. But with Colin so close behind him, he'd likely get splattered with the muck too.

Colin. She stared down at him, willing him to look up. And he did. A quick glance filled with news she could only imagine at. Not much longer now, she would know what was happening, very soon. Her stomach roiled unpleasantly, terror for her father made her queasy. Colin hadn't even been able to send the spies ahead of the Dragoons to warn her father of their approach, for Trellim had been sent by Tavington to Andrew Pickens' house and hadn't returned in time to be part of the force of Dragoons that had left the city for Guerard's Swamp last night. Colin was circling the house, he would enter by a side door and, Cilla hoped, would come straight up to tell her the news, good or bad.

Her door opened - too soon for it to be Colin - and her mother entered. Cilla gave her mother a disgusted look, then turned her back.

"Mr. Ferguson is here," Mage said, voice trembling. "He'll tell us what has happened with your father."

"As if you care," Cilla spat. She was so angry, she was certain the hairs on the back of her neck stirred from it - like a bristling cat.

"I do care," Mage said, almost on the verge of tears. "I love your father, Cilla."

Cilla snorted. "Yes. So much so that you've been bedding Bordon for how long now?"

"I told you," Mage wrung her hands together, she approached slowly, indeed how a rabbit would approach a wild cat. "I wasn't being unfaithful. Your papa knew what I was doing - it was for the Cause -"

"Oh, yes, for the Cause. Such a sacrifice - you didn't enjoy yourself at all now, did you?" Cilla hissed, whirling to face her mother, whose face paled as the blood drained from it.

"I know you can't understand, but I swear, I have done nothing that your father himself is not aware of, or disapproves."

"Even after that piece of filth chased papa out of the city? You continued to bed Bordon. Were you doing papa's good work then, were you?"

"Yes," Mage said simply, unshed tears shining bright in her eyes. "Yes, Cilla, I was."

"Oh, and who did you report your pillow talk to then, hmm?" Cilla gave a disgusted laugh.

"Mr. Ferguson. Mr. Trellim. Mr. Banksia. Whom ever I could," Mage replied. "Gods. I told your father that if he was going to hate me for it, then that was too high a price to pay. But now _you_ hate me for it instead and Gods, it's too high…" Mage shook her head. She sat down on the bed, head bowed and began to weep. Cilla watched her for a long moment, then turned her back again, appalled.

"And did he?" Cilla asked, whirling back, the question blurting from her lips.

"Hate me? No, Cilla, he doesn't," Mage gasped between sobs. "Your father knows I love him, I cherish him, I would do anything for him. I was doing it for him. It was harder for him to bear than he'd thought it would be, but as he has said, we all must make sacrifices. Men are dying, their lives ended in the blink of an eye. Patriot families are losing their sons - their sacrifice is their loss and mourning. Your father's sacrifice is suffering that awful feeling that comes when the woman you love is in bed with another man. My sacrifice was my virtue and _your_ respect. We all must pay a price. I'm so sorry that you have to deal with this pain, Cilla, I truly am, but Gods, it was worth it."

"The pleasure was worth it? Was Bordon that good between the sheets, was he?" Cilla curled her lip.

"No, it wasn't worth it because of Bordon! But because of the information I gained. I stopped a _battle_, Cilla," Mage punched her chest, trying to explain the pride she felt to the daughter that now despised her. "Me. Because of the information Bordon - stupid, malleable Bordon, gave to me. I was able to tell your father, who was able to get word out to a company of rebels that were being hunted and were about to be found! I stopped them from securing a powder cache that some stupid Tory had told them about, by telling your father in time for it to be moved! So many of their plans, I have foiled. I've saved lives!"

Cilla lifted her chin, studying her mother in her misery. "Would that you'd _fucked_ Bordon last night then, aye? You might have found out he was going to go after papa."

"Don't ever, ever use that language with me again, ever," Mage flared up, surging to her feet, rage crossing her tear streaked face. "You are a lady, don't you ever forget it, no matter what you think I have become!"

Cilla's lips thinned, her face became hard.

"And yes, would that I had!" Mage cried. "Of all the plots and plans and schemes I'd bed Bordon to stop, that would have been first and foremost!"

"Whose idea was it?" Cilla snapped, desperate to know. "Yours or papa's?"

Mage heaved a breath, her brief flare of fury fading. She sat down on the bed again. "I don't know. Neither. Both. When we learned that there were Dragoons quartered at the Tisdale's, it was my idea that we - you and I - befriend them. Your papa agreed. As he said, men starved for a pretty face will speak volumes he aught not to. But later, when your father and I were discussing it alone, I asked him what I should do, if the Dragoon I flirted with thought I was promising more than I was. You didn't need to worry about that, you're a young maiden - you were only ever going to talk the men. I'm a married woman, however, I know what truly drives a man. I had intended to flirt with them, from the start. Your father asked me what I thought I should do, if my target grew too amorous. I worried that if I backed down all of a sudden, the Dragoon might become suspicious. Your father agreed that indeed he might. We both went quiet, neither said anything for a while. And then we started to talk about what we were willing to do, how far we were willing to go. We were setting our perimeters and… they were so much broader than the perimeters we set for you. We agreed to it, that if things got out of hand, I'd just… I would be honest with him about it afterward, and he would not be angry with me for it. That was our vow. This was before I even met the Dragoons, Cilla, well before I decided to focus my efforts on a Captain. I care nothing for Bordon beyond the information I gleaned from him! My only regret is that he and Miss Jutland had to scream the house down about it."

"So I wouldn't find out?" Cilla snapped. "You had your little bargain with papa - you'd be honest, he wouldn't be angry. And what about me? Where did I fit in? Am I not a part of this family, too?"

"Of course you are, Cilla."

"The two of you, bringing me in to this grand plan, this scheme of befriending the Dragoons so we can learn what we can from them. But was I taken entirely into your confidence? No. You left out some glaring details, mamma! You and papa both!"

"Because you're so young - we didn't think you'd understand. And I was right, you don't understand!" Mage cried. "How could you possibly understand and accept what I was doing? When we've raised you to be virtuous, honest, principled! I would never want you to understand why I did what I did - I just… I just wish you would not hate me for it!"

"You're just upset that Bordon and Miss Jutland's argument exposed you," Cilla snapped. "You'd rather I was kept in the dark!"

"Yes!" Mage threw her hands wide. "Oh my God, yes, I absolutely would have preferred you were kept in the dark! This was meant to be purely between your father and I. I don't want you to think poorly of me or of him!"

Cilla grunted and turned back to the window. "What would Bordon do, do you think?" Cilla asked, snapping out the question with fury. "If he knew you your true motive for bedding him?"

"I don't like to think," Mage said and Cilla cast a glance over her shoulder, started by the very real fear in her mother's voice. "None of this was supposed to happen," Mage continued, looking haunted. "Your father fleeing -"

"Don't you make it sound like he abandoned us, he tried to keep us safe!" Cilla's voice raised several octaves.

"I was not suggesting that for one moment," Mage said, trying to find calm. "We were so careful, I never would have thought we'd be caught. I never thought it'd come to this," she threw her hand around the room. "Your father unable to protect us, the Dragoons taking over our house, us confined to this chamber. I conspired with your father, I am a spy also. We were both so confident, we thought we were so clever. Careful. Covert. But now your father might be caught and if he is, he'll -" Mage choked off with gasping sobs and Cilla's eyes burned also, terror and grief that her father would hang if he was caught.

An awful thought occurred to her hand she asked, voice quavering, "if Bordon finds out you are a spy too, would you hang too?"

"I don't know," Mage said miserably. "I just don't… But Cil, please know - he will never know that you were involved. No matter what happens to your father and I, we both swore we would vouch for your innocence to the end. You've done nothing except repeat a few conversations. I swear, you will be safe -"

"You think I'm worried for myself?" Cilla cried, tears burning her eyes. "Gods, my mother and my father might hang and you think I'm worried for _my_ life?"

Mage surged up from the bed and crossed the room in two strides, to hold her daughter. Cilla struggled at first, still angry with Mage for bedding Bordon. But she only fought for a moment before she succumbed and fell against her mother, both weeping.

"I'm so sorry," Mage whispered into Cilla's hair. "I love you. I love your father. I -"

A knock on the door cut off whatever it was Mage was about to say.

"Mr. Ferguson," Cilla gasped, twisting out of her mother's arms and rushing to the door. She threw it open and Colin, looking grave, stepped in.

"Are you alright?" He asked, immediately concerned. "You've been crying."

"We were… talking," Cilla said, gesturing to her mother with one hand while wiping her tears with the other. Colin's eyes darted to Mage and flickered away just as quickly, clearly uncomfortable in her presence now, because of Bordon. Another one who did not understand. Mage's shoulders slumped and she sat heavily on the bed. "My father?" Cilla asked, frantic for news. Colin lowered his eyes, his face falling and just like that, Cilla knew. "Oh no," she whispered, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh Gods." Mage rose again, her eyes as wide as saucers. It was to Cilla only that Colin spoke.

"He has been captured," he said gravely. "I'm sorry, Miss Putman, but your father has been taken to the dungeon beneath the Exchange."

Cilla's hands flew to her mouth in horror. "What will they do to him?"

"I don't know… I… I'm sorry, Miss Putman, but he's a spy and… Nothing good," Colin said, unable to meet her eyes. "Nothing good will come of this."

"Dear God," Cilla fanned her face with her fingers, her breathing came in short bursts and she paced the room again in an effort to settle her racing heart. "Tortured. He'll be tortured. And hung."

"I don't know," Colin whispered, feeling helpless. "I'm so sorry. I could not send word ahead, I had no one to send! Trellim never came back from Pickens - I reckon he was off getting Mr. Picken's to safety, not realising that all the has happened. I couldn't send Ensign Watson and the other boys were with Trellim."

"No one is blaming you," Mage said, horror flaring in her chest. Torture. Execution. All she knew was, if Mark was hung, she would not survive him long. "This is not your fault. This is one of the few times where events have worked against us. But Gods, what a price!" Mage buried her face in her hands and choked back gasping sobs.

"What of us?" Cilla asked, voice tremulous. She wiped her tears with the heel of her hand. "We've never been confined to our chamber like this before, they usually let us have run of the house and grounds, at least. Does Tavington suspect mamma and I? I don't care for myself but I can't lose both my parents in one day, I just can't!"

"Shhh," Colin put his arms around her. "Miss Putman, I don't know. But Tavington doesn't suspect me, therefore I think he would have told me, if you were suspects. He hasn't mentioned anything, so… I don't think so. You might be confined due to the nature of the Dragoons mission to ambush your father, and not wanting to take chances of you and your mother being rescued, with Sumter on the loose and likely still plotting against Tavington."

Cilla allowed herself to be comforted, Colin's reasoning was sound.

"I can't stay, I just… I just wanted to tell you the news and… to tell you how sorry I am," Colin said. He released Cilla, who nodded. "I'll keep my ears peeled and will report back anything I hear, as soon as I hear it, my oath on it."

"I know you will," Cilla sighed. Colin gave her one last anguished look, before slipping back out the door. Cilla sat on the far side of the bed, her back to her mother's back. She felt the bed dip as Mage rose. She circled the bed and came to sit beside Cilla, who slid back away from her. She didn't want to lose her parents, she loved them both so much. But Gods, she was so very angry and disgusted with her mother just now. Had she ever even known her mother? Or her father, who would allow his wife to bed other men for the information it gave him. Who were these people?

_People that could be taken away from me,_ she thought with a gasping sob. When her mother began stroking her back, this time Cilla did not pull away.

It was only a few minutes before the door was opening again and this time, Brownlow stood in the empty space. Both women began drying their eyes and trying to compose themselves.

"Mrs. Putman, Major Bordon wishes to see you," the Cornet said. Mage pulled her hand away from Cilla's back and rose, and Cilla bristled with indignation.

"Now?" She hissed, glaring up at her mother through eyes bright with tears.

"Cilla, I -"

"Agh, don't speak to me. Just get out!" Cilla bellowed and Mage, having no idea what else she should do, followed Brownlow out the door.

* * *

It was to Mr. Putman's office that Brownlow escorted Mrs. Putman. When they arrived, Bordon rose from where he'd been sitting behind the large oak desk. Mark's desk, was Mage's mutinous thought as she entered entered and Brownlow withdrew. Richard approached her and Mage stared back, nervous.

Was Cilla right? Does he want to couple? Gods, she hoped not. Not now, with her husband in jail suffering who knew what degradations. Would he hang? Mage bit her lip and willed herself not to cry.

"You look distraught, Mage. Here, take a seat," Richard gestured to the chaise. There were several armchairs as well, single seats, meant for one person. Mage ignored Richard's direction and crossed the room to one of those, intending to sit alone. Only, Richard's strong hands seized her waist and he turned her swiftly, guiding her to the chaise.

_He wants to couple. God, he does, _she sat on the chaise, tried not to shrink away when he sat too close beside her.

"I… we… we can't. I have a dreadful headache," she lied. Richard looked startled a moment, then he laughed softly.

"Oh, you think I want _that_," he chuckled, withdrawing his hand from her hair. He placed both his hands in his lap and did his best to look as unthreatening as he could. His voice was mild, calm, soft. "I don't. I finally have Miss Jutland again and I have vowed to be faithful to her."

"Oh, well, that is good," Mage said. "I was thinking that… with the other night - the fight between you and her, it was so loud. People… they know, now… I think… I had thought that perhaps this thing between us, it is over, now."

"I agree, it is done."

"I shall always have fond thoughts of you, however," Mage said.

"And I of you."

"I'm glad. Well, I'm glad, to have discussed this. Should I… I should go," she made as if to rise but he put his hand on her shoulder.

"No, Mage, I had you bought here so we could talk."

"Didn't we just talk? What else is there to discuss?"

"Well, the ending of our affair, to be sure. But I also wish to ask you something. I have a very particular question for you," he said, and noticed it immediately when Mage grew as stiff as a wary bitch hound. "I need clarification, you see," he said.

"Clarification of what?" She asked, trying to assume a vacuous expression.

"I'd like to know why you started coupling with me," he said simply, clearly, to the point. Mage blinked, she grew very still.

"What..?" Mage's eyes darted, though Richard was doing his best to maintain steady eye contact. She reached up to stroke her face, adopted a bewildered smile and even gave a soft laugh. "I don't understand, why would you ask me such a thing?"

"Call it… a former lovers need for reassurance. You've told me previously that you don't hold that high an opinion of Mr. Putman."

"He is my husband," she said. "I don't like to speak poorly of him."

"You have, though," he reminded her.

"Yes, I suppose I have. But, as I was saying, I… I have needs beyond… what he can cater." Gods, she hated saying such an awful thing about Mark, whom she loved and loved bedding, more than she ever would Bordon. But she'd led Bordon to believe this previously and it was the only way to protect herself and Cilla. "Especially now he's gone… Still, considering how circumstances have been of late, we should stop. You and I, that is. We've enjoyed one another, but… Gods, my daughter knows, Richard. And your Miss Jutland was hurt and… I think we should end our affair."

"We already decided that," he said, cocking his head. Was she trying to distract him from his question? "And I agree, it's ended between you and I. It's just, you see, Miss Jutland asked me last night, why you would bed me in the first place."

"Oh," Mage forced a laugh. "That is a… pointed question. I think she might still be angry with you."

"Yes, I thought so too initially, I admit I was a little offended by the question at first, but it got me to thinking of the few times I've had the opportunity to be in both your husband's company and yours at the same time. You've indicated to me several times that you don't hold a particularly high regard for him, and you've said before that he's left you wanting between the sheets."

Mage nodded, her face was a little too pale however, her lips becoming bloodless, he could hear her breaths coming faster.

"But on those occasions that I've been in both your company and his, you both have shown how fond you are of one another. I have sensed no marital discord between the two of you, indeed your servants say the same."

"You spoke to my servants about my husband and I?" She asked, giving a weak smile. "Wh-why… why would you do that?"

Ignoring her question, he said, "and another thing Miss Jutland told met. When you encountered her in the hallway that night, you tried to reassure her that I love her -"

"I did," Mage rushed to agree. "I would not try to put a wedge between you, not intentionally."

"I know," he said. "So. You told her that I love her. That our affair meant nothing, because you are in love with your husband."

What little colour that was left drained from Mage's face.

"She said you told her that he is your everything, your entire world," he continued and she swallowed hard. "Which is all very strange, considering how disparagingly you've spoken of him in the past… It's left me quite confused, and I fell a strong need to ask you. Why did you start coming to my bed, Mage?"

"I… I guess I just… I'm not… as virtuous as perhaps I should be," she said. She did not want to paint herself as a bawd, but it was better than having him suspect her of spying. "I just… I enjoy it so much. You know I do. Bedding. Mr. Putman, he can't… I do love him, Richard. But he can't…" _say it. Say it! _"Satisfy me as I need." She became aware of sudden pain in her palms, where she'd driven her fingernails deeply into her flesh. Atonement, for saying such an awful thing.

"Hmm, that is certainly something I can relate to," he murmured and relief welled up so strongly, Mage almost swayed. It was short lived, however. "But I don't believe that is the reason you sought me out…"

"Richard -"

"It was you who initiated our flirting, you allowed me to know from the first instance, that you were… amenable. I find it extraordinarily strange," he said, reaching up to glide his fingers along one of Mage's curls. "How quickly Sumter learned the identity of who attacked him. Straight after I told you all about it. How did you get the message to him, Mage?"

Her face became as white as her hair.

"What… What do you mean?" She asked. "You don't think I… I was here, I never left."

"You didn't need to. Mage, I am going to ask you again," Bordon said, keeping control of the questioning. "Why did you bed me?"

"How could you accuse me?" Mage asked, flaring up. "Just because my husband is a spy, you think I am also? How could you think that? I even showed you that letter, when he sent me one!"

"Yes, he wrote to you. And yes, you showed it to me. But all that proves is how wily you are. It was the perfect way to throw me off the scent and make me trust you, my lover who would betray her husband for me."

"How can you say that? My husband would be furious if he knew I showed you that letter! I did so at great risk to myself!"

"Mage," Bordon repeated, refusing to be drawn in further. "Why did you bed me?"

Mage stared at him, her mouth working.

"Do you know that we caught Mr. Putman?" She swallowed hard and nodded, he could feel her trembling beside him. "Mage, why did you bed me?"

"I- told you. I have needs! I-I was lonely," she stammered but Richard sighed and started shaking his head.

"No, you weren't," he said. "Your marriage is a strong one. Do you remember that time I came upon you and he at the ball? Standing in one another's arms, kissing and whispering sweet nothings, completely oblivious to the world. He loves you and more to the point, you love him. I saw how much pain it caused you just now, to lie about how little you enjoy being in his bed. I could tell you were lying, Mage, it was writ all over your face. And you are lying to me now."

Her mouth worked but no sound would come.

"I recall, quite distinctly, the time you told me that Benjamin Martin is a Loyalist. Before, when I was still living at the Tisdale's and we were meeting at the bawdy house. You were very clear, you said Martin is a Loyalist. But recently, you said he's always been neutral, on the fence, undecided either way." He cocked his head and she stared back, trying not to panic.

"We had many conversations afterward, you and I. Pillow talk. I was, perhaps, a little more forthcoming than I should have been," he said, as if blaming himself, letting her feel that he was removing the guilt from her. "Did you repeat any of these conversations to your husband, Mage?" He asked, voice gentle, showing no judgement or accusation. A simple question. Mage looked as though she were ready to vomit.

"I… I don't know," she whispered, mind whirling, thoroughly unsettled and uncertain what to say. He knew. Because she'd rushed to Trellim to tell him what she knew about the Dragoons attacking those Patriots. And because he'd caught her out in her lie about Benjamin. Both had caused Richard to suspect her now. She'd thought she had been so careful! But he knew. He knew!

"You would not be the first to so do. You're a dutiful wife, dutiful to your husband. Your husband is a Patriot, it is expected that you - as his wife – adopt and support his allegiance. We are experiencing a time of war, we all do as we must, to further the designs we ourselves believe in." He left out the fact that the Putman's led Bordon to believe they were Loyalists. If Mage had repeated their conversations to her husband, it was not accidentally done. They'd all been traitors from the start – but now was not the time for that. Soon, it would be. But not just yet.

_Gods, he is being so reasonable. _Mage glanced at his face, saw only kind sympathy. He already knew the truth, he was doing her a courtesy by asking. He understood why she had done it, he just wanted her to be honest with him now.

"Mage, why did you bed me?" He asked yet again.

"My sacrifice," she whispered, so softly Bordon almost missed it.

"Your… sacrifice?" He asked, trying to maintain that even, empathetic voice even as he concealed a sudden flare of fury.

"Our men sacrifice their lives on the field of battle," she said, not meeting his eyes. "For the Cause. My sacrifice was bedding you."

"For the Cause?" He asked and she nodded. "I see." His calm facade was starting to slip, the fury he'd buried in order to draw out the truth was beginning to rise. He stood, strode across to the mantel, stared into the gaping maw of the empty fireplace. "I was the bait, you were the honey. And you reported everything you learned from me, back to your husband. From our very first encounter?"

"Yes," she breathed.

There were various ornaments on the mantel. Some made of crystal, others porcelain. Birds. A ship. Silvery candlesticks. The Putman's had lied from the start, all of them pretending to be Loyalists - even Cilla Putman. She must have known her parents true allegiance and she never said a thing. They were all guilty of treason.

"I… I did what I had too. Just as you do what you have to, every day since you purchased your commission. If I had been working for the British, gaining intelligence from the Patriots, you would not question it," Mage said.

With one swipe of his arm, Richard sent the fragile ornaments flying. Mage gasped at the same time the items on the mantel smashed on the floor.

"You did it to me!" He shouted. Sloughing off his kindly facade like a cloak, he whirled on her, showing the full force of his anger. "Do you know what you've done? You've destroyed me, you goddamn bitch!" He towered over her as she cowered back into the chaise and tried to make herself small. "Everything I've worked for, everything I've achieved! All for nothing. I'm going to lose it all, the respect of my superiors, I'll be a laughing stock now! They will have no confidence in me, no trust!" He bellowed, spittle flying from his lips to land on her cheek as she tried to cringe away from him. "Why was I your quarry, your prey, your _mark_! Why me?!" He shouted.

"You were a Captain in the Dragoons," she gasped, panting, tears coursing her cheeks. The words ripped from her chest between sobs. "And now you're a Major! We agreed it had to be someone high in rank - it was nothing personal!"

"Nothing personal," he spat. "You've ruined me, you damned bawd! Nothing personal? Your husband sent Sumter after Miss Jutland to cause me pain, because he was jealous that I was fucking you and never mind that he put you in my bed in the first place! Do you know what he did to her?"

"No, I don't, I'd never condone such an evil thing, I had nothing to do with that -"

"Your husband did! Your husband had everything to do with it. He knew Sumter wanted to cause me pain - and so he told Sumter to abduct her! All but told him to rape her! You chose me as your prey! You decided to spread your legs for the stupid Captain of the Green Dragoons and get what intel you could off him! Gods, Vera Tisdale – I remember it now – she couldn't understand why you suddenly started visiting when only Miss Putman had bothered before, for Mary, and even then not very often! I thought the two of you were just curious about the British Officers billeted there but no, we were your targets!" He recalled the times Cilla would sit with Brownlow and Dalton, in the far corner of the chamber while Mage flirted with Bordon, arranging their secret little rendezvous. "You're all bloody spies, the whole lot of you, all of you were in on it, Miss Putman too!"

"No, my daughter never –"

"Do not lie to me!" He shouted, furious. "You've humiliated me! Don't tell me this was nothing personal, you've ruined me!"

"I'm sorry," Mage gasped, weeping. "I didn't mean -"

"It doesn't fucking matter what you meant or what you didn't mean or what you would condone - the things have been done and now Harmony has to heal and I'm going to be faced with complete disgrace!" He lurched back from her and strode several steps away, striving - struggling - for calm. He needed to salvage something from this… this… utter mortification.

"Please, Richard, my daughter had nothing to do with this, on my oath, she did not."

"Your oath?" Richard barked a harsh laugh. "You've lied to me from the start – and I know you are lying to me now. Your oath means nothing to me." He started for the door and when she tried to rise he threw a hand in her direction, finger pointing at the chair. Sit down. Mage lowered herself to the chaise, legs trembling. "You will stay here," he cared not for her weeping, or her terror. "And you are not going to tell a single bloody soul about any of this. Do I make myself clear?" She nodded frantically. Richard marched into the hallway, slammed the door shut behind him.

"Guard the door," he commanded a junior soldier who was snapping out a salute. Richard strode for the stairs, before whirling back. "And have the windows guarded from outside!" He doubted Mage had as much courage as Harmony to go climbing out of windows, nor would she abandon her daughter, but he was not about to take any chances, either. The situation the woman had put him in was mortifying enough, without that.

He took the stairs two at a time and when he reached the landing above, he strode down the corridor, not stopping until he reached Miss Putman's room. He entered without knocking and she leapt from the window seat, as startled as a frightened rabbit.

"You all pretended to be good little Loyalists," he ground out. He was a large man, he used his height and his broad shoulders to its full effect as he advanced on her until he towered over her as she cringed back in the window seat. "But your entire family is in rebellion! Your father, pulling the strings, your mother, gleaning information from me and all this time, you were doing the same with Brownlow and Dalton!" Gods, that galled – those two poor bastards, their careers were only just beginning and these bitches were ruining them, too! A sudden thought occurred to him and with horror, he said, "Miss Martin – Jesus, was she in on it too?"

"No, no, I swear, my cousin had nothing to do with it," Cilla gasped, too terrified to even consider lying.

"Your father did not hesitate to use his wife and daughter in this despicable plot, why would he hesitate to use his niece? Miss Martin was spying on Tavington and Tarleton!"

"She didn't know she was!" Cilla said, desperate to protect Beth. "My father questioned her but Beth never knew why."

"How could she not know?" Richard asked, throwing his hands wide, flabbergasted.

"She just never… suspected that we'd…"

"Spy?" He snapped. "Oh, but you knew though, didn't you?"

"Yes, I knew. I told him he should keep Beth out of it, that Mamma and I would -" She cut short, snapped her mouth shut and Richard's ears pricked like a dogs.

"What?" He snapped. "What were you going to say?"

"Never mind."

"Never mind? Are you mad? I have your father in the dungeon, your mother confined downstairs, both for committing treason. You are guilty of it yourself! Do you imagine what you were about to say would make their situation _worse_? I highly doubt it! If anything, your co-operation now might make things easier on them later! What were you going to say? That your mamma and you would…?"

"Do what needed to be done," Cilla said, dark eyes narrowed with frustration.

Richard drew back, stunned. She was as much as admitting that she'd bedded Brownlow and Dalton and she didn't even have the grace to look ashamed.

"I asked my father not to involve Beth at all, he was getting more than enough information from my mother and I," she said, unapologetically. "But then those two fools would not leave her alone - Tavington and Tarleton - both _Colonels_; far higher than you or Dalton or Brownlow! My father despised doing it, but how could he not? We all must make our sacrifices for the Cause!"

"Gods, your mother touted the same rot. I still can not believe Putman would use his own wife and his own daughter - it shows me the true measure of the man! You, the honey pot, Brownlow and Dalton your prey! For all the intimacies you shared, do you not even care that you've ruined the careers of two extremely promising Officers?"

"They are both amiable gentlemen, whose company I enjoyed -"

"Oh, I'll bet you did," Richard scoffed, thinking of how much Mage had enjoyed his. "You selfish being. For _your_ moments of felicity, _they_ will have to pay for the rest of their lives! They're as good as ruined now."

"I never intended either of them harm, but we're at war! You can't tell me you don't have your eyes and ears out there, spying on the Patriots and the Continentals! You're angry that it was done to you, but that's like being angry when one of your own gets stuck with a bayonet on the field when at the same time, you're sticking yours in the nearest Patriot!"

He stared at her, incredulous - where she'd been cringing a moment ago, now she blazed up at him, defiant. He still towered over her, threatening with his size, his rank, his fury, and she hurled coherent thought back in his face?

"And who was paying this so called sacrifice when your father orchestrated for Sumter to take Miss Jutland hostage?" Richard roared and Cilla cringed back into the window seat, finally looking frightened. "Your father? Sumter? No, neither of them. Miss Jutland paid the price, that's who. Do you know what Sumter did to her? Your father told Sumter to take her! Your father put Miss Jutland in Sumter's hands. In the literal sense! Sumter made her pleasure him in his bed!"

Cilla's mouth fell open, she began to look quite pale.

"I'm dreadfully sorry Miss Jutland was… that that happened to her," Cilla said, voice shaking. "But that was all Sumter - my father would never condone -"

"Of course he would!" Richard shouted. "He is the one that suggested she be taken! He knew what would be done to her _and he did not balk_! He told Sumter _he_ would fuck Miss Jutland if he could, to get back at me for screwing your whore of a mother, and never mind he was in on that plan in the first place!" Disgusted, he stepped away from her, strode toward the door. "You will remain in here, do not try to leave this chamber." He commanded, his hand on the bolt.

"What about my mother and my father?" Cilla asked, rising from the seat. "What will happen to them?"

"Worry for your own pretty neck, Miss Putman," Richard said, throwing open the door. He turned back to her, she faced him gravely from across the room. "You got pleasure from your sacrifice, Miss Putman, but I assure you, Miss Jutland most certainly did not!" He looked her up and down, eyes narrowed, disgusted. "I never knew silk skirts could be so light!"

"What did you…" He could see her mind working, then her cheeks flushed red. Her voice was high, squeaking, "did you just call me a _light skirt_?"

"You are every bit like your mother - two whores from the same pod," he taunted.

"Now you just listen to me!" She raged, crossing the room with quick strides, but Richard slammed the door shut behind him. He could hear her banging on the locked door and shouting on the other side, but he ignored her and strode back down the hall. He'd confronted two Putman's, now he must confront the third - and most important of all.


	42. Chapter 42 - Interrogation

Chapter 42 - Interrogation:

Laying flat on his stomach with two Dragoons holding him down, Mark had screamed when Tavington pressed the cherry red and glowing end of a poker - straight from a fire - to the bare flesh of his side. He'd passed out then, not for the first time, either. When he came around, it was to more pain - ever more pain.

There had been other tortures inflicted upon his hapless body, he recalled vaguely though he shied away from the memories. He breathed deeply, relishing this moment of respite, though he knew there would be more horrors visited upon his body soon.

"You played for me for a fool, didn't you Putman?" Tavington asked and Mark flinched at the sound of that cold, drawling voice. "You played all of us for fools, but me especially. Martin has the ability to raise one thousand men to answer the call of whomever offends him, be that the Patriots or the British. He isn't a Loyalist," Tavington spat. "That letter you showed me, it was all cock and bull, wasn't it? He'd given succour to Burwell, and you show me his letter where he states how conflicted he is over it? You asked my advice on the matter? The good little Loyalist, caught in the middle? Yet Benjamin Martin, I discovered yesterday, hasn't picked a side at all. He isn't involving himself at all."

Mark closed his eyes, tried to breathe through his pain, and wondered how much worse the next bout of torture was going to be. Though he was containing it, Tavington was furious, Mark could feel the Colonel's anger emanating from him in waves.

"I've seen correspondence penned by your hand," Tavington continued. "The letter you showed me was in the same hand. You wrote it yourself, didn't you? As a way to mollify me, to make me believe Martin is a faithful but confused subject of the Crown. So many lies… did you truly believe they would not catch up to you?"

Mark said nothing, there wasn't a damned thing he could say. He was terrified that if he did open his mouth, all the information he was withholding would come tumbling out like a flood.

"If you are hoping for a quick death, you will not be granted one," Tavington said now in a voice colder than snow, chilling Mark's blood. Tavington knelt down to stare eye to eye with the prisoner. "This will continue, for days in need be. How long much longer can you resist, Putman?"

Mark tried to focus his gaze on the brutal Officer, who began asking the same questions over and over and over again.

"Who or what was your rebel militia going to attack? Who are your spies? What was the cancelled plot within the city?"

Tavington quirked an eyebrow as though he expected Mark to answer him. When no response was forthcoming, he continued in the same, crisp tone.

"What if I begin slicing off body parts?" Tavington toyed casually with the cruel looking dagger in his hand - and Mark shied away from the it. He knew from earlier that the edge of the blade was as deadly sharp as it looked. Mark shuddered with horror, imagining Tavington's dagger not only slicing into him as it had earlier - but actually coming away with goblets of flesh. He was covered with shallow, stinging cuts, but he knew the next lot Tavington delivered would be far deeper.

_How much longer can I resist? Just keep your mouth shut - it'll all be over soon. I'll be dead and the dead can't speak. The dead feel no pain. It will be gone. I will not betray the Cause. This is my sacrifice. _

Mark could not betray them. Tavington wanted Mark to list his spies. If he did that to avoid pain, then Trellim, Banksia, Watson, Ferguson, and so many others would be tortured as Mark was now, and in the end, they would all hang. No. This was his sacrifice.

Tavington wanted Mark to tell them who he was attacked. If he did, then the British would move to protect Camden. Mark's militia could still do their mission - Huddy had joined them, he could lead them. And Burwell was to join them as well. Three hundred men, to take Camden and deny the British the backcountry. Such a pivotal mission - how could Mark betray it? No. This was his sacrifice.

Tavington wanted Mark to reveal to them the plot within the city. Which would mean Edward Rutledge could not be rescued after all. Perhaps not such a crucial mission in the grand scheme of things, but Mark had promised he would try. Besides, revealing that would lead to him revealing his spies, which would lead to more hangings. Especially Ensign Watson. No. This was his sacrifice.

And so he would endure - Tavington could not keep this up forever. It had to stop at some stage - Mark's heart would eventually give out. Death would be welcome now. Preferable, even, than betraying his own people. He would not betray the Cause.

"How much longer, Putman?" Tavington said again, snapping Mark's drifting awareness back to the present - the dungeon, to the smell and agony of his stinking, scorched flesh.

Mark cringed when Tavington stepped closer. That was all it took - to make him cower like a broken coward - this one step forward… Gods, was he on the verge of breaking, then? The Colonel crouched down, then reached up to grip a fistful of Mark's hair, jerking his head up and back painfully. Mark groaned despite himself. He blinked the blood from his eyes and met Tavington's cold, piercing gaze.

"Who or what was your rebel militia going to attack?" The Colonel's calm voice belied the violence of his actions. Tavington had not shown the slightest anger at all during the questioning. He performed the tasks clinically, with no trace of pleasure - nor of remorse. It was a job to him, nothing more.

"Who are your spies? What was the plot within the city?"

Mark made no answer. It was better not to speak. If he started talking, he feared he'd never stop. It'd all come spilling out of him, and plenty more besides. He kept his mouth firmly shut.

Tavington - still with a fistful of Mark's hair - shook the man's head viciously. It was the first visible sign of his anger - his face twisting as jerked his hair so hard, Mark feared a chunk of it would be ripped out. The pain was immense and bought tears to his eyes. Suddenly he was released as Tavington jerked his hand back, wiped it on his breeches, and strode back to begin whispering to Bordon. Mark hadn't even seen the Major enter. He couldn't hear a word of what was said. Instead, he dropped his chin to his chest and breathed deeply, savouring his few moments of respite.

* * *

"Jesus, he's a resilient bastard," Tavington muttered to Bordon. The two Officers retreated to a far corner of the cell to discuss their next move. Mark Putman had proven to be resilient indeed, dedicated to the Cause and to his Country. No amount of the pain inflicted so far had been able to make him speak, much less reveal Patriot secrets. "The man is a rock!" Tavington continued. "Not many of these rebels have his stamina."

"Perhaps we can try a different tactic?" Bordon asked.

"Clinton and Cornwallis want answers, Major."

"And they shall get them," Bordon said. "Why don't you leave me to this for a span? A changing of the guard during interrogation can be most unsettling."

William stared at Putman, lips tight, and finally nodded. "Very well, you have the command. Do whatever it takes - but don't kill him. For his crimes, I believe a very public hanging is in order. I'll be upstairs doing some paperwork, send for me if you need me."

"I will," Richard promised.

* * *

Tavington was gone. Thank God above. Mark had been pulled from the table - screaming as his agonised body was moved - and he was now tied to a chair, his arms pulled behind his back, ropes around his ankles and the chairs legs. Blood dripped down his face, stung his eye. He didn't want to think about the other pain - the scorched skin, the dozen cuts, the punches, the blows. It was over, for these blessed few minutes, he could rest. Bordon pulled up a chair, sat opposite him. They were alone - Bordon had sent the other guards out. The Major pressed a cup to Mark's lips, let him take several sips. Lit a pipe, drew a long smoke from it, before pressing that to Mark's lips as well. Mark tried not to show the pleasure these simple favours gave him, the smoke filling his lungs, relaxing him in a way tobacco had never relaxed him before. The pipe was set aside, the cup pressed to Mark's lips again, the offer of more whiskey.

"Your wife is going to hang, Mr. Putman," Bordon said.

Mark choked on the whiskey.

"Mage spoke of sacrifice, but is that the sort you wished for her to make?"

"You can't… Gods, you can't," Mark protested, his voice croaky from his screaming. "You've no… right, she's done… nothing wrong."

Bordon rolled his eyes heavenward. "She's done plenty. Spied on me. Reported intelligence back to you. She's committed treason. Just like you."

"No proof, you can't hang her, you have no proof."

"I have her confession," Richard said.

Mark's eyes widened, his sweat and blood slicked face appalled. "What did you do to her?" He hissed. He threw himself at Bordon but tied to the chair as he was, he fell flat on his face, chair and all. He let out a bellow of pain, then lay still, panting, cursing.

"You think I tortured her as Colonel Tavington tortured you?" Richard asked. He rose, knelt down at Putman's side. "Or perhaps you fear I did to her, what Sumter did to Miss Jutland?" He asked. Rising suddenly, he sent his foot flying, the tip of his boot smashing into Putman's stomach. The air rushed from Putman's lungs and he lay there, curled on his side, face on the ground, gasping. "You knew he would do that to her!" Richard raged. "You'd let her be raped, because I was fucking your wife?" Again, he kicked Putman, who tried to huddle in on himself, but could not because of the chair.

He squatted beside the fallen man, still tied to the chair yet sprawled on the floor. He seized a fistful of hair and jerked until Mark gave a squawk of pain.

"You couldn't handle it, could you?" Richard asked, giving Mark's head another shake. "You thought you could be as ruthless as a spy master needs to be. And putting your own wife into the bed of your enemy is ruthless indeed. But it hurt more than you thought, didn't it? Because you love her. You found you had no stomach for it, didn't you? You grew to hate me, the other man, the oblivious lover, who was fucking your wife, cuckolding you with each thrust." His hold was eye watering and he had pulled Mark's head back so far, Mark was forced to stare up at Bordon, his face ravaged with pain. Eye to eye, Richard said, "I suppose her enjoying it didn't help matters. So you got angry enough that you wanted revenge, and you took that revenge out on Harmony. But _you_ put Mage in my bed. All that anger and jealousy you were feeling, you did all of that to yourself. Why should Harmony have to pay for it? You bear me ill will for fucking Mage, so much so, that you would, and I quote - fuck Miss Jutland yourself given the opportunity. And as you did not have the opportunity, you set Sumter on her, instead. She had to masturbate him, Putman." Richard's fingers tightened, he could feel Mark's hair plucking away from the man's scalp. Ignoring Mark's scream, he said, "and he was resolved to rape her, and would have done, had she not escaped. Because you were angry with me, you did that to her. An innocent woman. Harmony was innocent of all wrongdoing, yet you sentenced her to rape, to get back at me, for fucking your wife, despite that being your plan all along!"

Richard threw Mark's head down so hard, his skull struck the floor. Mark lay there groaning. Richard wiped his hand on his breeches, there were blonde strands between his fingers. He rose abruptly, hands `at the back of his head as he turned his back to Putman.

This was not the way. When questioning an enemy, the interrogator should never lose his temper. Richard knew this. He'd done this a hundred times before.

But he'd never had such provocation from the captive before. With his back still to Putman, he said, "her hands, stroking Sumter's manhood. Her stomach, roiling with the need to vomit. Her soul, shattered to atoms!" Richard whirled around and smashed his foot again into Putman's stomach. Ignoring the grunts and groans coming from the floor, Richard threw open the cell door.

"Help me get him up," he said to Brownlow, who was waiting outside. The Cornet's eyes were huge, his face horrified. _He needs hardening_, Richard thought. Then he thought of how Cilla Putman had seduced him - and Dalton both. Which made him wonder if Brownlow would be in the army long enough to harden to anything. He might very well be sent packing in disgrace. Even if he wasn't, this would haunt Brownlow for the rest of his career.

Brownlow and Bordon lifted the chair - and Putman - back into place. Putman leaned forward as much as his bound arms allowed, his head bowed, barely seeming aware of his surroundings. Bordon nodded at Brownlow, who stepped back outside the cell.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. Our dear sweet Mage is going to hang, Mr. Putman," Bordon said, resuming his seat. He sipped the whiskey - this time without offering any to the captive, and he relit the pipe, and began smoking. It was a facade, this control of himself was outward only. Inside, he seethed, wanting to smash Putman's skull into the floor again, again and again.

While that would be fitting revenge for the bastard, it would not get Bordon his answers. He was nothing if not dutiful to the Crown. _This is _**_my_**_ sacrifice_, he thought with a sneer, recalling Mage's and Cilla's justification for fucking their way into the receiving of intelligence.

Mark could barely lift his head, but Richard knew the fellow was listening. He'd jerked, drew a panic stricken breath. Richard allowed enough time for the fear to settle in.

"We've all been to hangings," Richard said conversationally. "They're not the nicest way to go. Well, if it's a clean drop and the neck snaps, it isn't so bad - nice and swift. But all too often, as you know, the drop isn't so clean. The body dangling from the neck, legs kicking and body writhing uselessly as the condemned struggles for air. Suffocation. I wonder which it will be for Mage, Mr. Putman? A snapped neck - nice and quick? Or slow suffocation, allowing for enough time for the body to feel nothing but panic and terror…" Richard paused, looked Mark directly in the eye and taunted, "I don't want that for her, it would be a waste of perfectly fine quim."

"Please," Mark whispered. Richard laughed.

"Come now, man. You can do better than that," he taunted. "Harmony begged Sumter too, did you know? Please, she said, begging to be released. Begging for mercy. Did she get it? No. He made her wrap her hands around his cock and pleasure him to completion anyway. She had to rescue herself from her torture, and her rape to come. You're not going to get mercy from me, not for Mage. And not for you. Three questions, Colonel Tavington has asked you. I'll admit you've done well to resist thus far. Many a lesser man would have quailed and capitulated long since. You've shown bravery, you are stoic, you remained firm. But that's all over now, Mr. Putman. It's not just you, now, isn't it? It's your wife, too. So. Give me the answers to those three little questions, and I promise you - as a gentleman and an Officer, on my oath, that your wife will not hang."

Mark slowly lifted his head, blinked bleary eyes at Bordon. He could barely move for the pain; even if his wrists were not bound, he could not have moved to save himself. He thought that perhaps a rib or two was broken from Bordon's kicks.

_It's a good deal,_ he thought to himself. He'd made promises, to both Mage and to Cilla, that he would bear the punishment if they were caught. They would be kept out of it, he would deny their co-operation utterly. Only, Mage had given herself away, there was no way he could protect her. Unless he accepted… Bordon was giving him an offer. Making a deal. She would go free. Mark would likely still hang - he would not have accepted a deal that saw him giving up his men to avoid a hanging, but for Mage…

_It's a good deal_, he thought again. But it would end in disaster. Trellim, Banksia, Ferguson, Watson, all hanging beside Putman. The attack on Camden, all his efforts in recruiting to his militia, would be for naught. Two hundred had answered his summons and only twenty or so had been caught that morning by Tavington. Two hundred were still out there, ready to fight. Colonel Sumter had been recruiting as well, adding to his own militiamen. Sumter had reported only yesterday, that his numbers had swelled to nearly four hundred. Nearly six hundred militiamen, ready to join Burwell's Continentals to take a poorly defended Camden. And right now, Mark's nearly two hundred would be seeking out Sumter or Burwell, joining the groups together, all they needed was for Burwell to give the command. Jesus. Who was he to oust the plot now? How many of them would die during the assault, right there on the battlefield? For as short manned Camden was, they would fight back. There _would_ be deaths. And yet they were still ready to commit to it. To the last man, they were ready.

And Mark had been ready to lead them - how could he expose them now? He had been ready to risk death, to gain back the strategic stronghold. Had that changed, just because he was a captive now? No. The only thing that had changed, was the battlefield. He would fight here, right now, suffer whatever degradations these bastard British dished out to him. And he would die a hero.

He was going to hang either way, and he knew Mage would not survive him long anyway.

"You're right, it's not just me now," he said, blinking slowly. Talking slowly, for it hurt to form words. Bordon leaned forward eagerly - Mark would have laughed at him, but he worried that would cause even more hurt. He didn't understand - Bordon didn't. Time to illuminate him. "It's my wife, too. She loves me. I love her. Neither will survive the other long, if one of us died, so what's the point of saving one and not the other? Bravery, you said. Stoic. Firm. That I have been, and that I shall remain."

Richard grew very still. "Your wife will hang," he ground out.

_And how many more will die, if I give them up to you now? Mage won't thank me for that, when I'm dead and gone and she's still alive to see all those others murdered. _"To avoid the deaths of so many others, so be it. This will be our sacrifice. If you have a soul, you will hang us together."

Richard smashed his fist into Putman's face, knocking the Patriot spy out cold.

* * *

Cilla followed the Redcoats warily. While every instinct she possessed screamed at her to bolt, she was surrounded by the British soldiers - there was no escape. One marched in front of her, one behind and one on either side. They led her, trotting up the stone steps into the foyer of Provost prison.

The bottom of the steps widened into a large, cavernous space. Lanterns in wall sconces lit the the space, the walls were built of red bricks which curved above her into peaks. It was cold there, so cold - despite being in the height of summer. She clutched her cape around her with nervous fingers, the chill was not entirely caused by the low temperature of the dungeons but by her own nerves and fear, despite her attempts to stifle them.

The floor beneath her heeled shoes was made up of hard packed dirt. Immediately she was assailed by the stench - of blood, sweat, shit, piss and vomit.

And of death.

Wide eyed, she glanced furtively into the dungeon cells as she continued past them. Some were empty but others were occupied, prisoners residing behind the thick, metal bars. She stared as close as she dared, both hoping and dreading to see her father. The men behind the bars were all ill kept. Some were beaten and bloody, groaning where they lay on the bare dirt floor or reclining listlessly against the cold, brick walls. One man was not moving at all as far as Cilla could tell - she averted her eyes from him, fearing he was no longer of the living.

Her heart beat wildly and she almost stumbled. None of her soldier escort offered her a hand to steady her. Her silent escort continued further along. And still they continued on until finally her guards stopped at one cell and the Redcoat in front of her turned to face her, extending his hand.

"In here, Miss," he commanded quietly, his extended hand gesturing to the cell on the right.

The Major.

Bordon was inside the cell, waiting. It was he who'd given the order to remove her from her home. It was he who the guard would obey.

And then the door was shut behind her. The Major stepped to one side and Cilla's eyes fell on what his body had been concealing. With a quiet cry, she rushed forward and dropped to her knees on the hard packed dirt floor, before the prone man bound to the chair.

"Papa!" She wailed, reaching up to push his lank hair back from his bloodied face. He lifted his head slowly and Cilla shuddered, then burst into tears. Her father was covered in blood, from cuts and burns all over his bare chest. His face dripped blood, his eyes were swollen, his fleshed bruised all over. His head was bowed, barely conscious.

"Oh, my God!" She gasped, seeing the scorch marks on her father's side, caused by the now cool poker laying on the ground a few yards away. She whirled on Bordon then. "You are a monster!" She accused. "How could you do this! How?" He gave no answer - a stone could feel more than Bordon. She was wasting her time, speaking to him and with a heart wrenching sob, she whirled back to her father. "Papa… Lord… Sweet Lord…" She could say nothing else as she wrapped her arms around Mark's shoulders and buried her face in his neck.

He recognised her for he whispered her name, but he was slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Who or what was your father's rebel militia going to attack? Who are your spies? What was the cancelled plot within the city?"

"What…?" Cilla breathed, turning slowly to Bordon. "What…?"

"Answer the questions, and no further harm will come to your father," Bordon said. "Answer the questions, and no harm will come to _you_."

Cilla drew in a soft breath; hearing the threat, she stared up at Richard, stunned. "He won't talk," she whispered. "You've bought me here because _he_ won't talk."

Richard twisted his lips.

"How could you do this? You tortured him. He is a fellow human being and look at what you've reduced him too!" She turned to her father and continued whispering his name, but Putman was barely responsive, drifting in and out at the edge of consciousness. "He needs a doctor. After this vile, vile thing you've done, you need to get him a doctor!"

"Who or what," Richard began to grind out. "Was your father's rebel militia going to attack? Who are your spies? What was the cancelled plot within the city?"

"He could die!" She shouted.

Richard shrugged. "Who or what was your father's rebel militia going to attack? Who are your spies? What was the cancelled plot within the city?"

Cilla stared at her father, she very much feared he was near to death. She stared at her father, whose head lolled on his neck, he was unable to lift it. Still hovering on the knife edge of consciousness, all he could do was groan when he became too aware.

_Don't try to wake, papa, _she begged silently. _There is only pain for you here. _

"A doctor will be sent for, if you answer my questions," Richard said. Cilla didn't look at him.

"You'll send for help?" She asked, shifting her gaze to Richard in time to see the self satisfied smile cross his face. He knew she would talk, now. He knew she would. Cilla drew back from the edge of temptation. If her father wanted them to know, he would have talked already. If she told Richard now, what her father would not, then all this pain her father had suffered would be in vain.

"I vow on my honour as a gentleman, your father will be provided all the care he requires. A doctor, bandages, relief for the pain."

He spoke with such relief, as if - with her reaction to his offer of a doctor - he deemed it to be a foregone conclusion that she would talk. All he had had to do was show her her tortured father, and she would reveal everything her father had fought so hard to keep hidden. Other men would die, if she answered Bordon's questions. Battles would be lost. And for what? So her father could be given a warm bed and some laudanum, until the time came for them to carry him off to the gallows and hang him for a traitor?

"I don't believe you have any honour," she said to Bordon, quivering with rage. "And upon reflection, I do not believe a doctor is going to be able to help him now."

His face flared with fury, he stepped up to her so quickly that she gave a wild gasp and fell back with fright. He glared down at her.

"Then consider yourself. Answer my questions, before you are tortured beyond the point that a doctor is able to help you," he said, his voice as quiet and deathly as the grave.

Cilla stared at him, wild-eyed. Would he do it? Would he torture a woman for information? She glanced at her father, who leaned over to one side as far as his bonds would allow, only his tied wrists keeping him to the chair. The blood, the cuts, the burns… could she withstand such pain?

Likely not, but should she fall to her knees and reveal all, on the threat alone? Not when her father had shown such bravery, such conviction, and hadn't broken. If she broke now, after all he'd been through, his sacrifice would be for nothing.

_I am no less a soldier for being a woman. Men have suffered, fighting for the Cause. They have been wounded, imprisoned, killed. Yet those that survive fight on. Such is their conviction. Such is my father's conviction. I can do no less in the fight for our country. At least show some backbone, at least try to hold out, for as long as you can! Don't you dare let their sacrifice be for nothing! This is my sacrifice!_

"If my father can withstand this and not betray the Cause, do you think **I'll** tell you, just for the asking?" Cilla spat. "You've bought me here because _he_ won't talk. Therefore, I shall not either."

"You say that now," Bordon said. "We'll see how long you last."

Snapping his hand forward, Bordon gripped Cilla's arm and hauled her up. He thought Cilla seemed oddly calm, strangely detached, though she must have known the pain she was about to endure.

He dragged her away from her dazed father, stopping momentarily to speak to a guard he now had positioned in the cell with Putman.

"You are to inform me as soon as Putman starts talking," he commanded and the guard nodded. Bordon pulled Cilla's arm again, guiding her out into the corridor. Brownlow was there, giving him a wide eyed look of astonishment. Bordon ignored him as he bodily handled Cilla into the cell next door. He wondered for a moment if Brownlow - or Dalton - had fallen in love with the girl. He hadn't told them what he knew, he would do all he could to protect them both from the ridicule and censure that would surely come, if it became known that they had been duped by Cilla Putman. Now in the cell, Bordon clanged the door shut. The chamber was exactly the same as all of the others, only this one had a large, hard wood table, complete with leather straps to restrain a victim. A fire was burning in a brazier in the corner; Cilla's eyes widened as they fell on the various implements laid out beside it.

"When he starts talking?" Cilla asked, voice quavering. "You'll torture _me_, to make _him_ start talking?"

"You're an effective tool," Bordon agreed. "You will give me the information, or he will. Either way, I will have the answers to my questions shortly."

"You're so certain of that?" Cilla spat. _I'll do my best. I'm going to do my damned best, not to give in to him. I will not give in to him! _Already, she was preparing her body. She wasn't sure how she knew what to but somehow, she was sending out a resistance of some kind, a gritting of ones teeth, as if were. As if she had a stick in her jaw to bite down on, though there was none. She would withstand this, for as long as she could. "I have no intention of giving in to you, Bordon. And as for my father, he doesn't even know I'm here. He's barely conscious!"

He sensed resolve. She was steadfast. Fearful, but steadfast.

"Then let's wake him, shall we? A little screaming aught to to it."

She lifted her chin, her eyes bright with challenge. Rage flared over his face at her defiance. He lunged forward and gripped her right arm, hauling her so abruptly she almost fell to her knees. Cilla kept the groan of pain in, though his grip on her arm was iron, his fingers digging in painfully. He hauled her roughly, almost throwing her across the table. Cilla landed hard, pressing two palms to the table's rough surface.

Panting, she pushed herself up slowly and turned to face Bordon.

_That's what Bordon wants, he wants my screams to wake papa, who will panic and talk, to make my pain stop. You will be silent. No matter what he does to you, you will be silent, until you can't hold back any longer. You've got to at least try!_

"Last chance, Miss Putman. Miss _Traitor_. Who, or what, was the rebel militia going to attack? Who are your father's spies? What was the plot within the city?" She snapped her mouth shut, lips pressed tight. He seized her jaw with his strong hand, his fingers digging in deep into her cheeks. He saw the look of agony pass over her face, heard the little moan her closed lips could not hold back. "Little Miss Traitor," he smiled down at her. "Do you really think I can't make you scream?" Bordon lifted her bodily and crashed her down onto the table. He seized her ankles, jerked her back toward him, her legs on either side of his waist, her crotch to his. With one hand holding her down, he snaked his other between their crotches to begin opening his breeches.

She'd expected knives, pokers, punches! In her wildest dreams, Cilla had not expected this.

"No! Major, please!" She gasped. She tried to twist and writhe away but his body pressed down over hers, holding her pinned to the table. "No! Don't do this!"

"Why not? You fucked Brownlow and Dalton," he taunted.

"I didn't! You misunderstood! You mustn't do this, I'm a virgin!" With all the strength she could muster, she placed her hands on his chest and heaved, as hard as she could. Bordon laughed down at her, for all her pushing, he'd barely budged. Frantically, she tried to scurry back, but Bordon held her fast, his grip iron. His breeches were around his thighs, his cock was free and he stood between her legs. Flipping her skirts high, he gripped her hips and positioned her backside at very edge of the table. He began to position himself, she flailed and begged all the while.

"I misunderstood nothing. As for being a virgin - Gods, do you truly think me a fool?" His eyes transfixed on the sight between her legs - of her sex bared to him, with the head of his cock poised at her entrance. "Brownlow has been here. Dalton has been here. You _enjoyed_ it, you said. Let's see if you enjoy me as much." He knew she wouldn't. Giving yourself freely was one thing, but even a doxy who took three men a night would be horrified at being raped. Cilla was panicking beneath him, trying to throw him off; this would make her scream, like nothing else could.

"No, no, you misunderstood - please -" Cilla clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth, her face set in a rictus as the Major touched her intimately. She tried to squeeze her legs shut but he was between them and his hands were holding her down, preventing her from writhing away.

"There are many different types of torture," he bent over her to whisper in her ear.

She could feel his phallus pressing against her sex and it made her want to scream. _Mustn't. Mustn't, mustn't, mustn't!_

"I can see now that the poker never would have worked, no matter how hot," his lips brushed her ears and she tried to cringe away but could not. "This is the poker you need, this is the one that will have you screaming, just as Bordon and Dalton had you screaming. You will find no felicity with me as you did with them, however."

"Gods, I didn't… I'm a virgin… please," she sobbed quietly.

"This is what Sumter would have done to Harmony," he spat, furious, ignoring her ridiculous claim. Taking hold of his cock, he began moving the tip around her sex, feeling for her entrance. "Because of your father. This is what your father would have done to Harmony, because he couldn't handle letting me fuck his wife. An innocent, destroyed, ruined, because of all of you traitors. You Putman's talk about sacrifice for the cause? This will be the sacrifice I shall make for the Crown!"

"Don't do this!" She whispered. "Please don't take my virtue!"

"Jesus, we both know that's already gone," he cocked his head to one side. "Congratulations, Miss Putman, you started with a Cornet and an Ensign, and have graduated to Major."

"I didn't, I didn't!"

"I'll give you one last chance, Miss Putman," he said, staring down at her. "Which is more than your father and Sumter gave to Harmony. Scream for me. Scream until your father starts talking. Better yet, you start talking, right now. If you don't, once I start, I shall not stop. We will see this through to the end, you and I."

Horrified, Cilla held Bordon's gaze, saw the utter lack of pity or sympathy, of anything approaching human. Betray the Cause, or be raped. Virgin or not, those were her choices. _I will not scream and I will not talk, _Cilla thought frantically as she made her choice. Still, she sobbed quietly and dropped her head to the table. She clamped her mouth shut and steeled herself, knowing that what was about to happen, was going to hurt, in too many ways to count.

"You told me you were willing to do what needed to be done," he said to her when she stopped fighting him and closed her eyes, as if preparing herself against the battering to come. Clearly, she'd meant it. "Have no doubt, Miss Putman, so am I. I will not give you a second chance - your answer?"

She had clamped her mouth shut, squeezed her eyes closed, her entire body tensing beneath Richard. Waiting for the onslaught. He scowled down at her.

"You treasonous little bitch. Very well, this is what needs to be done. This is my _sacrifice_." He raised his voice so Putman could hear him. "Do you hear that? _This_ is my sacrifice Putman! Yours - and mine!"

There was no answer.

"Your papa's still taking his nap, whore. But this is going to wake him," Bordon whispered, drawing her attention back to him. Her dark eyes were so wide, he could see the white all the way around the brown. She would start screaming, any moment now. He continued his advance, impaling her carefully, because she was dry and tight and his member was long and thick. If he was not careful, did not take her slowly, then he risked chafing, damaging the soft skin of his shaft. Pulling back slightly, he edged in deeper, pulled back, edged in.

The pain and humiliation were too much, Cilla struggled to choke back her sobs, her fingers digging into the wooden table top. To stop from screaming, she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to concentrate on that pain instead. It was like trying to watch a single drop of rain in the most violent thunderstorm.

Bordon had not stopped his advance. He was eventually sheathed completely inside of her, and as he began to withdraw, he glanced down at her quim and his cock. And was utterly shocked to see that his shaft was slick with her blood. He stared, astonished. His eyes lifted to hers but they were squeezed shut and her face was averted. She'd been a virgin after all, he'd just taken her maidenhead.

"It seems you were speaking truly," he said. "You were a virgin. Well, you are ruined now. I hope your sacrifice was worth it," he told her.

Cilla said nothing despite the shame, despite the pain and discomfort of having his erection impale her.

The assault continued. He'd said he would see it through to the end, and he'd meant it. At some point, she would scream. He closed his eyes and, gripping her hips with his strong hands, he began to pinion in and out of her. He drove into her unmercifully, a deliberate attempt to cause her pain, to make her cry out, or reveal all. His hips snapped back and forth. The way was easier now, with her blood and his own dripping seed. He began sliding in and out, punching forward to her roof and pulling almost out of her before punching forward again. He soon bent over her, his face buried in her neck, his breath panting in her ear. She was quiet now, barely whimpering. Bordon was lost in the brutal pleasure. He shifted his legs, forcing hers to part further. He pulled back further and shunted forward again, thrusting inside of her relentlessly.

Her face was a ruin of despair and fear, her cheeks tear stained, red and blotching, her eyes bulging with pain. Her virtue - gone! By this man who was now puffing above her, groaning wordlessly, his eyes squeezed shut and his face fixed with lust filled pleasure. The physical pain was immense. The emotional pain was as great and would last her the rest of her life. She felt she was being split asunder, his manhood stretching her, scraping her raw.

"So tight," he snarled harshly as his pelvis snapped back and forth, his hands lifting her buttocks to meet his thrusts in a parody of participation. "Tight… Rebel… Traitor… Whore…" He began to pant, he was close, so close. His breathing changed, his eyes closed, and he began to moan.

Cilla tried to distance herself from Bordon's disgusting sounds. Through it all, she still had not screamed. She began to think forward, a way to distract herself from the ongoing assault, but she could see no light at the end of the tunnel. He would finish soon, she knew that much of coupling. He would reach the end, and she would not have screamed. He would still have no answers. What, then, would he do to her?

_Is there anything worse? _She closed her eyes again, sobbing, as she thought she would surely have preferred the knives and hot pokers to this. But that would come, when this was over and Bordon still had no answers, those tortures were sure to come next.

Frustrated, Bordon ceased his thrusting. He stared down at her, understanding that she would not scream - she was waiting for it to end. He slapped her hard across the face.

"This will make you scream, you Goddamned savage bitch!" He pulled his member from her body but gave her no chance to feel relief. He seized her arms, pulled her to her feet, spun her, threw her back over the table. He'd worked so quickly, her skirts remained bunched up around her waist. He booted her legs apart at the ankles, positioned himself. "I'll take your virginity twice!" Instead of her quim, he positioned himself higher and forced the tip of his erection into her anus, shoving forward so hard, impaling her with such force, the agony took her breath away and she let loose blood curdling shriek after shriek, fingers scrabbling at the table, her body writhing beneath his.

"That's better," Bordon said, the required calm finally descending upon him. Her piercing screams had quieted to soul dying sobs - still loud enough for Putman to hear. Bordon continued to draw those out of her by maintaining his onslaught, panting as he moved back and forth within her anus.

Incoherent now, Cilla whispered, begged, and sobbed with pain, until Bordon finally relented. Pulling out of her, he left her back side a blaze with pain. She gasped with relief to have his penis withdrawn, however this was short lived. She felt the tip of him slide downward along her flesh until he was again pressing at her womanhood. All she could do was whimper and clutch at the table with her fingers as he entered her and the onslaught began again, it was so fierce that she could not help but cry out again.

"That's it," he gasped. "Scream for me. Scream so your traitorous fucking father hears you."

The words sliced through Cilla's turmoil and she bit off mid shriek. Frustrated, Bordon seized her jaw, pulled her head back up into his chest, his lips hot against her ear. "Now you know what Harmony would have endured, what she climbed out of the window to avoid, this is what would have been done to her, because of your father. This is what he wanted to do to her. You tell him. When this is done. You tell him," Bordon rasped in her ear even as drove into her, her feet lifting from the ground from the force of his thrusts.

"Agh, Christ!" He moaned and threw his head back. His fingers gipped her hips and he pulled her to him, bending his knees to shift his position inside her. "Agh, yes! This is your sacrifice, do you hear me?" Bordon shouted, hoping his own bellowing would rouse the man and make Putman realise who Bordon was fucking in the next dungeon. "This is for Harmony, you goddamned bastard!" The heat in his groin was searing, and he planted his hands to the table on either side of Cilla's head, bracing himself, ready for the climax. He was at the apex and he held his breath, ready for that rush of pleasure. "He would have filled her body with his seed, giving her a bastard! I'll give your daughter my damned bastard!"

_"Gods, no."_ He heard Putman wail. It had worked! Putman knew. If the traitor said more, Bordon was not aware of it. Heat scorched his body, radiating from his manhood, spreading to his stomach. His heart pounded, sweat beaded his forehead. His body constricted, twitched, and then his seed was raging up his shaft, spurting into Cilla's body. He thrust several more times, emptying himself inside of her, and then held still, his front firm to her buttocks, his shaft in as deep as it could go. He stood tall behind her, his eyes shut, breathing quickly through the orgasmic calm.

He was barely aware of the door being thrown open. He was mightily aware of the fist that caught his jaw. Pain flared and his head snapped to one side. Furious, he sent his fist flying at his assailant, only seeing when it was too late, that it was his superior. He did not have time to pull the blow - his fist slammed into Tavington's jaw, sending the slighter man flying back and into the dungeon wall.

"Jesus!" He cried out, jerking his manhood from Cilla's body.

As soon as she was free, Cilla's heels hit the ground and she shoved her skirts down to cover her nudity. Bordon's seed and her virgin blood seeped out of her, a hot thick wetness spilling down the insides of her thighs. She wept in earnest, barely noticing when Tavington approached her. He reached out slowly and helped to adjust her skirts around her legs, to cover them more fully in an attempt to give her back some of her shattered dignity. Though her legs were weak and her body ablaze with pain, she lurched back from him.

"Easy, easy," Tavington said, standing at her side, his fingers on her aching arm. "I'll help you -"

"Get away from me!" She shrieked and like a mad woman, she raised her hands up to claw at his face. William stumbled back out of harms way. "Don't touch me! I hate you! All of you! You bastards! Keep away from me!"

William straightened himself then stared down at her as she continued to shriek and rage. He met Bordon's eyes over the raging girl's head.

Bordon swallowed at the look in Tavington's eye.

"What have you done?" Tavington asked, throwing one hand out to Cilla, who was pressed into the furthest corner. She slid down the wall, her knees to her chest, her arms around her ankles, she stared at both men wide eyed, captured prey watching the hunters.

"Gods, William," Bordon continued fixing his clothes, his movements jerky. "I did what I had to! He wasn't talking for you and -"

"So you _raped_ his daughter?" Tavington spat. "Is this what you intended when you took over the questioning?"

"No, I did not plan this. But Gods, William - I was desperate - Putman put his wife in my bed!"

"What the devil..?"

"A honey pot! The oldest trick in the book and I fell for it! That time you caught us at it, when you walked in on us fucking against the wall in my chamber? I stole your quarry, you said? That wasn't our first time!" Bordon had meant to keep all of this to himself but it all came tumbling out in a panicked rush. "It started almost the first day at the Tisdale's," he said, the words tumbling from him at a fast rate of knots. "When Mage started bringing her daughter around. Flirting, drinking, seducing! And I fell for it, I fucked her and I told her…" He closed his eyes, shame welling. Tavington cursed under his breath. "I have suspected since last night, but Mage confirmed it today, she was a spy all along. Putman knew I was fucking her. He wanted my fucking her. But he couldn't handle it, he wanted to take it out on me, as if it were somehow my fault that he put his wife in my bed! It's why Putman told Sumter to take Harmony. He would have fucked her himself, he told Sumter. My Harmony, who is completely innocent! Putman ordered it done to her! My affair with Mage, it was Putman's conspiracy all along, he gave his own wife up for a honey pot! She'd return to him after our encounters and tell him everything I told her. Gods, William, I thought they were Loyalists! We _all_ thought they were Loyalists. I didn't think… Pillow talk - I didn't think it would matter! But it did. She humiliated me, they both did. They have ruined me! And she -" he pointed at Cilla, who gasped and shrank back, "was doing the same! She was set to spy, she chose Brownlow and Dalton as _her_ marks. I thought she was bedding them, as that whore Mage bedded me, but I realise now she was… she wasn't. She was a virgin." He was breathing hard. "It doesn't matter though, she's a traitor, even if she wasn't fucking them. She questioned them, got information from them, possibly ruined their careers! Virgin or not, she is guilty of spying, guilty of treason!"

"For which she should be tried and if found guilty, hanged!" William whispered harshly. "She is her cousin!"

"Her cousin was spying on you all along, Sir!" Bordon shot back. "Just as Cilla was spying on Brownlow and Dalton, gaining information, reporting it back to her father! Miss Martin was doing the same, to you and to Tarleton!"

The blood drained from Tavington's face.

"God damn it," Bordon muttered. "Miss Martin didn't know her uncle was using her, but it's why he kept letting her go off with you. He'd question her later, though that traitorous little bitch," he pointed at Cilla. "Maintains that Miss Martin never understood why. She knew though," his finger jabbed toward Cilla again. "She let it all happen, she was doing the same to Brownlow and Dalton. She is no innocent, William. Gods, I had to do this! You gave me command," he cried. He licked his lips to work moisture back into his mouth. He'd pulled his breeches up and was now fastening the buttons. "I did what was necessary." He shifted his gaze from the Colonel, his eyes meeting Cilla's. Curling is lip, he chose his words deliberately, "_I made a sacrifice_."

She gasped and jerked her eyes away.

"I gave you command - to torture the prisoner, to get him to answer the questions!" Tavington hissed. "I did not give you leave to bring anyone else down here, I did not command you to torture Miss Putman!"

"You love her cousin," Richard whispered, holding Tavington's gaze. "You could not have bought yourself to do what needs to be done. Did it work?"

William's lips tightened, his eyes were flint.

"Did it work?" Richard pressed.

Breathing heavily enough to flare his nostrils, William jerked his head in a curt not. "The assault is directed at Camden."

Richard's shoulders loosened as if they were being held up by wires that were suddenly snapped. It worked, Putman had broken. "Is that all he's said so far?" Tavington nodded again. "He'll answer everything else we ask now, of that I swear. If not," Richard glanced again at Cilla, eyes filled with threat. She looked ready to vomit.

"There will be no more of that," William said firmly, his gaze taking in both Cilla and Richard at once. Cilla took no comfort in it.

"It doesn't matter," Richard said. "He'll answer anyway. Just for the threat of it. Gods, it was Putman who told Sumter to take Harmony and Linda. He told Sumter how to get back at us for the attack! It's alright for you, Linda was never found and you don't love her anyway. They got hold of Harmony though and she had to do those things with Sumter and he was going to rape her - all because of Putman! It's all his fault. Linda would have suffered the same if they'd gotten to her that night. And Sumter spoke of taking Miss Martin hostage too - he would have done all that to her, as he'd have done to Harmony, because Putman put him up to it!"

"My father would never let that be done to Beth," Cilla shrieked, pulling her legs closer, trying to make a wall around herself so she could not be hurt again.

"But it's alright for him to let it be done to Harmony? Is it? He knew what she would go through. And maybe he wouldn't have condoned it being done to his niece but Sumter got the idea of doing it to Miss Martin, because of your father telling him to do it to Harmony!" Richard spat. "Well. Putman got his revenge. And now I've had mine!"

Tavington was staring at Cilla, who began weeping quietly in the corner.

"She's a traitor, Sir," Richard said, curling his lip. "Yes, she's her cousin, but Miss Martin is a traitor too." William whirled back to Richard, eyes wide. "I told you, I'm not going to say a damned thing about that. But this one," he pointed at Cilla. "Her, her mother, her father, they will all hang! What does it matter what is done to them, beforehand? Camden, William! How many lives have we saved?"

"We?" William asked, shifting his stern gaze back.

"Me, then," Richard lifted his chin. "How many lives have I saved? For one girl's virtue."

William heaved a breath, forced his quivering rage too still. There was more questioning to be done, they knew so little. When was the attack on Camden to take place? They might need to move quickly to protect the small town. How large was the rebel force? And his other questions, who were the other spies, and what was this plot he'd foiled by remaining in the city?

"Go continue the questioning," he commanded to Richard. "Do whatever you must."

"Miss Putman?" Richard asked and Cilla stared wide eyed at them both.

"I am having her returned to the house," William said. "Do whatever _else_ you must."

Richard nodded and left the chamber.

The Colonel stared down at her. "I'll send for a surgeon," he said, voice grave. "To look you over."

"That's all?" Cilla gasped, wiping her cheeks with her hands. "He raped me!" Tavington stared at her, it was writ all over his face that he had no idea what to say. "What will you do to him? He should be hung," she spat. He looked at her, met her eyes and she felt a chill along her spine.

William began to approach her slowly, unthreatening. "I'll get you home, Miss Putman. I'll help you up," he took a hold of her arm.

"Don't you touch me!" She screamed.

"Cilla!" Mark cried out and she could hear the terror in his voice. She began to slowly push herself up, using the wall for purchase. Once standing, she leaned back against the wall on her shaky legs.

"It's alright, papa!" She shouted the lie toward his cell. Quietly, she challenged Tavington, "you're not going to do anything about it, are you?" When he stared in utter silence, she shook her head in disbelief. "You're not… Dear God, you're the devil. He's a demon sent from hell but you are the devil!" She shouted, filled with outrage and pain, barely aware of her father calling out to her. "Bordon raped me and you're not going to punish him!"

"If I were to take action against him, it would be through court martial. I can not stress this enough, Miss Putman; the court-martial and subsequent whipping or hanging, of an Officer of Bordon's rank, would become a very public affair. You will have to declare in detail what was done to you," Tavington said quietly. "Are you prepared for that? Do you want anyone else to know what was done to you this day?"

Cilla's eyes widened, her mouth worked but no sounds would come. She stared at him, her face draining of colour. She stared at the table, where the torture had been done to her. Right there, at the lip of the table, there was a smear - slick and pink - shining right on the edge. Her virgin blood and Bordon's seed. She stared at it, at the place of her defilement, pictured herself thrashing beneath Bordon as he took her, his phallus murdering her virginity, driving in and out of her body, his dragging her off the table and forcing her down across it, to take her again. Sodomy. She pulled her eyes away, repulsed. Wordlessly staring at the far wall, she tried to imagine what it would be like, if other people knew. Raped. Sodomised. Her cheeks flushed red with humiliation. With shame. Slowly, she shook her head. She wanted no one else to know.

Tavington approached again, wrapped his hand around her arm. "I'll take you home," he said.

"Who else knows?" She asked, cringing back away from him. "Who is in the other cells, how many guards - oh Gods, the guard -"

"The other cells are empty at this end of the dungeon. The guard… He shall be led to believe you were tortured, but he will not know you were defiled."

"Brownlow," she whispered frantically. "He was out there too -"

"Brownlow is the reason I am here, he came to warn me something ill was about to be done to you. I left him upstairs, he has not returned. You know. I know. Bordon knows. That is all."

Cilla's mind whirled, she was vaguely aware that she was weeping.

"Come, can you walk?"

Cilla became aware of his hand on her arm and she jerked back from him again, almost falling without his support, her legs were so weak. "Don't touch me," she hissed, wrapping her arms around her body and drawing away. He raised both his hands in the air and took several steps back. She began to walk - slowly - toward the door, feeling Bordon's seed leaking down her thighs with every step. It was disgusting, foul, a filthy feeling and she paused, set her feet apart slightly and with both hands she shoved her skirts up between her legs to dry them on her petticoat.

"What are you… Oh…" Tavington turned around to give her a semblance of privacy, handing her a handkerchief back to her. He felt it snatched from his fingers, heard her soft but frantic weeping. "I'll have a bath drawn for you when you reach home."

"Bastard," she spat between sobs. "You. Him. All of you! Gods, I hate you!" She threw the rag down and gripped the table for support, then realised she was touching the place of her defilement and she jerked away. Body and soul, she was in agony. She wanted to scream at Tavington, to claw his eyes out. To take up the poker on the floor and smash it over Bordon's head. She wanted to curl up into a ball in the corner and die. Her tears made it impossible to see and this time, she did not jerk away when Tavington's fingers closed around her arm again - she was unable to walk unaided but she wanted out of the cell, therefore had no choice but to suffer his touch.

When they stepped out of the cell she hovered in the doorway, staring one way down the long corridor and the up the other.

"No one else is here, Miss Putman. No one else knows."

She hated his voice. He began to guide her down the corridor away from her father's cell - twisting in his grasp and stumbling back, holding the wall for purchase. She reached his cell even as Tavington took hold of her again.

"Please, don't hurt him," she whispered up at the Colonel. "No more, please, no more."

"I don't think more is necessary," he replied, gazing in to the cell. Cilla glanced in, flinching when she met Bordon's eyes. The Major stood deep within the cell in front of Cilla's father, whose chair was facing away from the door. He was huddled in on himself and she could hear him talking, his deep voice rasped as the secrets he'd held so close to his chest spilled from his heart. Bordon held her eyes and she stared at him, aghast. She jerked her eyes away, unable to hold her tormentor's gaze any longer.


	43. Chapter 43 - Patriot Treachery

Chapter 43 - Patriot Treachery

The guard at the cells read through Watson's orders. One of them frowned, finding it curious that only earlier that day, Tavington himself had questioned Putman in his own cell. And yet, now, he was commanding that two valuable prisoners be placed in the custody of this Officer, for further interrogations elsewhere. Everything seemed in order, however - and who was he to question Colonel Tavington's Command?

"This way," he said, leading the way deeper down the corridor, leading to the cells.

Watson tried to keep his face stone hard and cold, holding himself erect and dispassionate. Inside, he was writhing with the nerves firing through his veins. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears, it was a shock to him that the guards on duty could not hear it. Flanked by Sumter's Patriots - all dressed in Redcoat uniform and breeches - who followed him as he followed the guard down the hallway, stopping outside one of the cells.

He did not like the change to the plan. There had always been a sense of urgency surrounding the plot to rescue Edward Rutledge from these very cells, and with Mark Putman taken prisoner that morning, Watson could understand why the rebels would move now, to have Mark removed before he could be tried and hanged. And if they were moving quickly to get Mark Putman out, they might as well do their level best to stick to the original objective and have Rutledge removed also.

But Watson was uneasy - committing to the attempt when Tavington and Bordon had both been in the cells that very morning and could return at any moment - went against everything they had planned. Sumter's urgency was making him reckless. Nicholas wanted Mark away from the British also, so he would not be forced to endure more agony, though Sumter's reasoning was likely more practical - Mark couldn't give away Patriot plans, if he were no longer in British hands. Whatever the reason, Nicholas could understand the desperation, but Gods, it was one hell of a risk.

Also, it did not sit well with him that Sumter would suddenly decide that Trellim's men - those Watson was familiar with - would be replaced with Sumter's own. Trellim had previously complained to Watson about the politics dividing the Patriots within Charlestown under Sumter's leadership; was this decision - this abrupt change - an extension of that division? Of Sumter's need to prove himself and assert his command? Or lack of trust and confidence in Putman's crew? In an endeavour this important, where the slightest thing could go wrong and the men in Watson's command could be taken and executed, Watson was feared this already fraught mission was doomed to failure.

So far, however, it was going off without a hitch. Rutledge was escorted out first. Head held high, he marched out, his eyes glittering with fury. Standing in the corridor, he gazed at his captors, clearly wondering what was to come. His contemptuous gaze fell on Watson, who continued his cold bearing. Rutledge did not know him, and Watson had no way to convey that this was a rescue. He could only take solace in knowing that Rutledge would discover the truth soon enough. While all of this was taking place, the guards had opened Putman's door and were lifting him out - one on either side of the tortured man, carrying him.

"We'll relieve you of that burden," one of Sumter's men - Mr. Flint - darted forward and took Putman's arm, draping it over his shoulder while a comrade did the same on his other side. Putman gazed at them bleary eyed. Then his eyes fell on Watson and they widened with recognition and incredulity. Watson nodded curtly, at least one of the captives understood what this was about.

"This way," Watson said, then turned on his heel and began to lead the way back, trying hard to keep his pace measured and unsuspicious. Rutledge and was surrounded by Sumter's five, while Flint and his comrade continued to carry Putman's weight at the back of the group.

Ensign Watson flashed the parchment with Tavington's forged signature each time he was asked to, at each checkpoint inside the prison. After seeing Putman's tortured body, Watson began telling these guards that Putman was being taken to a doctor. "Don't know why Tavington would bother," Ensign Watson said to one of these guards, "he's just going to hang in a few days anyway." That had gotten a few nods of incredulous agreement. Finally, they were outside. Rutledge and Putman both squinted as the bright sun stung their eyes, both having been in the dark cells for so long. Watson could not give them time to adjust however.

Nicholas fell back to Mark, who was hanging on to Sumter's men for dear life. "Though we don't have far to travel, we must move quickly. We can't risk being caught now."

"God, I can't believe you freed us," Putman whispered and Rutledge, who was close enough to have heard, began to frown. There was no time to explain, however.

"We're not safe yet," Nicholas muttered, glancing about at all the passersby on the street. There were too many Redcoats for his liking though none of them were paying him any mind just then. "Can you walk?"

"I can walk," Mark whispered. "Hell, I'll run!"

Nicholas doubted that, but he nodded curtly at Sumter's men to begin moving. The rebels assumed a military bearing, trying their best to imitate real Redcoats, as they fell in around the 'prisoners', with their heads held high, their expressions stern and their muskets held straight and level against their chests. They only had to go a short way, to where they had more of Sumter's men waiting with a covered wagon. They helped Mark and Rutledge climb into the back, then pulled the canvas closed. The escort then began to drive down East Bay Street, with the wharf to their right. Another change in the plans that Watson did not like - they were supposed to be heading in land toward Mr. Tisdale's residence on Montague St. Did Sumter fear that Tisdale had been compromised? He wasn't a very trusting sort of fellow.

On the corner at the far end of the alley was a warehouse - this was to be their destination. It was a Patriot owned lumber yard and storage barn, with its own small dock on the Cooper River. Once they were within the dockyard, they would be safe. Safer than they were now, in any case. The new plan was, the prisoners would wait in the warehouse until night fall, and then they'd be rowed across the Cooper in a small boat.

"My brother will see you taken care of, young man," Rutledge - on Mark's other side - told Watson. The introductions had been made, the explanation given. Rutledge knew that Nicholas was risking his life.

"Thank you, Sir," Nicholas replied. "I am a Redcoat no longer but I am still a soldier and wish only to serve. Captain Trellim is certain that Colonel Burwell will accept me into his ranks."

It was slow going along the alley but they were drawing closer to the yard - and to safety. They could hear the noise of the workers on the other side of the large heavy wooden gates, only another twenty yards or so to go now. Watson adjusted his weight to bear Mark's weight better and Rutledge shifted closer and put his arm around Mark to help support the tortured man.

"That he will," Mark said. His voice was a mere rasp - after all his bellowing and howling earlier, his throat was sore and he was losing his voice. He coughed but his voice was no louder than before. "And gladly. Watson, have you had word of my daughter or my wife?"

"No, Sir," Nicholas said. "I am not particularly welcome at your house any more, I am unable to visit there."

"Then you don't know…" Mark trailed off. Nicholas gave him an inquisitive look, but Mark waved the comment away. Gods, Cilla… He would carry her screams to his grave. Bordon - Gods, he'd never wanted to murder someone before, he'd never wanted to kill a person more than he wanted to kill Bordon now, for defiling Cilla. While Mark thought he might confide to Watson later, he would not discuss it now, before Sumter's men and Mr. Rutledge, one of the highest standing gentlemen in South Carolina. There was always an element of blame and suspicion born toward a raped woman. Almost as strong as superstition. They were anathema, cast out from polite society, no matter how innocent the woman was. That was why, all too often, the victim was forced to marry her rapist.

Mark would never allow that, however. He'd kill Bordon before letting that happen. He would find a decent husband for Cilla, as swiftly as he could in case a babe came of it.

Gods, to have to consider this - being forced to plan for Cilla's future, to conceal her shame. In a hundred years, he'd never thought something like this could happen to his little girl. Always, he'd thought he would be able to protect her.

But he'd been wrong. So damnably wrong. And now Cilla had been raped.

They were close to the yard now and the gates were opening already. Only a few more yards to go - they wagon carried them over the distance quickly through the gates, which were promptly closed behind them. They continued to drive deeper into the yard, and when the gates clanged shut, they all gave an audible sigh of relief.

"You did it, lad," Mark said now.

The cart stopped. The canvas was thrown back and several men - strangers, all of them - began to help the rescued prisoners down. Watson climbed down himself and went to stand at Mark's side. A few of Sumter's Patriot guard began to walk toward the barn, while the other's stayed close by the escapees. It was noisy in the yard - hammering, banging, men shouting at one another - an ever present hum of noise that stopped momentarily when the workers in the yard stopped, curiosity getting the better of them. They studied the newcomers, before beginning their work and the noise began anew.

"This way," one fellow approached the group and began leading the way into the warehouse. All three were led to a small chamber at the rear of the building. And there, waiting behind a desk with a glass of whiskey in his hand, was John Sumter. He drank it back, made a hissing noise, then rose. Watson's unease grew - this was not the warm welcome he'd been expecting. He began subtly counting his weapons, flexing this muscle and that, in order to feel them, to be certain they were still in place. He counted the guards in the chamber - four of them. And Sumter. Rutledge, Mark and Watson. The door behind them was closed. A window, large enough for a man to fit through, was wide open and, when he went to stand beside it for a casual look, he saw it was a direct drop into the Cooper. He took this all in at a moment, his soldiers instincts kicking in without thought. It was that sort of mood - Sumter wore that sort of look on his face.

"Mr. Rutledge," Sumter said, holding out his hand. Rutledge shook it.

"Mr. Sumter, I presume? Lord, thank you," Rutledge said, shaking his head, grateful. "To be free of that awful place… you have done me a great service, Sir. It will not be forgotten."

"Well, I can not take all the credit," Sumter preened. "The plan I was working with was Putman's own, though I changed it somewhat to suit the circumstances. I never thought I'd need to use it to save Mr. Putman himself, however." Sumter inclined his head toward Mark.

"Thank you," Mark said, huddling within his torn and bloody shirt.

"You look like you've been through the wars, friend," Sumter said. "Tavington was not gentle, was he?"

"No, that he was not," Mark said, eyeing up the chair in the corner of the room. He wanted very much to collapse into it, his entire body was aching and needed rest.

"He's a base born bastard, isn't he? The Butcher, indeed," Sumter sniffed. "Still, I would like to think I would hold up better than you did."

"What..?" Mark breathed, stunned.

Sumter sloughed away all friendly facade, his face becoming ugly with fury.

"And," he moved closer to Mark, who took a full step back, "if they bought me to my knees as they clearly did you, I would like to think I wouldn't give up someone else's men, over my bloody own."

Mark's face turned white.

Sumter gestured and a shocked Rutledge was removed from the room. Three men now, including Sumter. Nicholas kept himself glued to Mark's side.

"You're wondering how I could possibly know, hmm?" Sumter ground out, standing over Mark, who tried to cringe away.

"Just give him some space, Sir!" Nicholas placed his arm between the men - trying to bar Sumer's way. Mark's torture was far too fresh and raw to respond with any sort of threat with anything but intimidation.

"They came after my men!" Sumter shouted. "In the space on one afternoon, I've lost five men, because you couldn't keep your damned mouth shut!"

"Look at him!" Nicholas shouted back. "Tavington used a hot poker on him! He is all over with cuts and who knows what else! I'd like to see you stand up under such torture!"

"Stand I would!" Sumter shouted. "And if I caved, I certainly would not hand over someone else's men! He gave mine up, to protect his own! You're not captured, I see!" He spat at Watson. "Trellim is still free! Banksia, Ferguson! None of Putman's men were taken, but mine - oh, yes… he gave mine up to end his torture! Mine are being hunted like dogs, Tavington's got a whole list of names - of my Patriots! And here's Trellim barking on about me creating a division! Gods, why did you do it, Putman?" Sumter growled down at Mark. "You betrayed me! You kept your own men safe, and you betrayed mine!"

Mark's eyes were lowered, his lips tightly sealed.

"What else did you give them?" Sumter snapped when Mark said nothing. "Camden? Do they know you and my cousin were raising the militias back up again?" Mark drew a ragged breath and Sumter's eyes grew wide with fury. "Heaven above, you did. Didn't you?" He leaned in close, contemptuous. "Did you give him the names of those men, too? The locations of their farms? And you call yourself a Patriot. What about Burwell's lot? The Continentals?" Sumter spat. Since the surrender of the city, the Continentals that had fled had been forming up, one thousand men split into three companies, hiding north of Camden. They were to strike the north side of the town while Sumter's cousin, Thomas Sumter and Mark Putman's militias, with Burwell's one hundred, struck from the south, east and west. The British soldiers in the small city were weak and sick, Burwell would have been able to take and then hold the town with ease with that many men. The way would have been open for Gates to come down from North Carolina, swelling the ranks by thousands. Had they lost the element of surprise? Had Putman given all this away, under questioning?

Mark Putman's silence was all the answer Sumter needed.

Sumter glared, then took a step back. "Shoot him. Shoot them both," he snapped out the command and Nicholas flew into action, pulling pistols and knives, even as Sumter's men levelled their rifles. There was no room for them to manoeuvre well, not with rifles as long as the men were tall. Watson got off the first shot, felling one of the men, then threw one of his knives - the deadly blade sailing through the air and felling a second. Men were screaming outside the room, the last standing rebel within got off a shot, Mark bellowed with pain, he was hit in the leg. Sumter was reaching for a Brown Bess on the floor when Watson, pulling his dagger from one fellows chest and sheathing it, grabbed Mark's arm, gave him a shove toward the window. Without thought, the two leapt through, Sumter's shot sailing over Watson's head as he dropped into the welcoming embrace of the Cooper River.

* * *

Rumours ran rife through Charlestown about the small battle which had taken place at the lumber yard. The rifle shots alerted nearby Redcoats. Drawn to the commotion, a large number of them darted into the yard, only to stop dead when they saw their fellow Redcoats and lumberyard workers. When the true Redcoats began asking questions, they quickly learned the 'Redcoats' in the lumberyard were not what they seemed.

Without Watson to back them - without his British accent and his forged orders, Sumter's Patriot Redcoats quickly lost all validity and were taken into custody. Mr. Edward Rutledge was abandoned by John Sumter - who launched into his saddle and galloped from the yard as soon as the Redcoats arrived. Rutledge was returned to the cells and Tavington was informed.

The Colonel - who was meeting with Clinton to discuss the impending threat to their Camden garrison - was summoned. When he arrived to Provost Dungeon, he questioned the returned Mr. Rutledge and Sumter's Patriots at length, discovering Ensign Nicholas Watson's betrayal. Putman and Watson were both believed dead, as both Rutledge and Sumter's Patriots were certain the two men had been shot dead, their bodies falling into the water, to be swept away by the fast flowing Cooper River.

* * *

It was nightfall. Hours had passed since Bordon left her, Mage walked about the now candlelit room, restless as a caged wolf. There was a guard on the door and she'd even noticed guards outside on the porch. Did the Major truly believe she would climb out the window? She paused at the fireplace, stared into the empty grate. Yes, she likely would have done, if the way had been available to her. If not for Cilla upstairs. But she would never flee, not without her daughter.

Soldiers had come and gone, bringing her food she'd been unable to touch until day shifted to night and she became to hungry to ignore it any longer. She drank, too. Mark's whiskey, straight from the bottle, dulling her senses, soothing her nerves. What was happening at the Provost? What was being done to Mark? She hadn't seen Bordon in hours, hadn't seen Tavington at all. What were they doing to her husband? Was he even alive? She choked out a sob, trembling fingers covering her mouth as tears - hot and searing - burned her eyes. Would they both hang? As long as they were together, she couldn't find it within herself to care. To be afraid. Except for Cilla. Earlier, before the whiskey had dulled her mind too far, she'd drafted up a Will, of sorts, bequeathing her estate to Cilla. Mark had done a will several years ago, leaving her and Cilla as much of his fortune as he could, them being women. He'd left the rest to Gabriel, his nearest male blood relative. This afternoon, Mage had signed over her share over to Cilla.

It might have been a useless, empty gesture. If Cilla was accused - and found guilty - along with her mother and father, then she might hang with them, too. But Mage had done what she could, and now there was nothing left to her but to pray. She wiped her wet cheeks, wiped them again, then took a swig from the bottle. Her step was unsteady as she made her way across the room to the chaise.

The door opened finally and Mage lurched from her seat, stopping dead when Tavington walked into the room. With a wild gasp, she clutched her hands to her stomach, only to remember the bottle. Wildly embarrassed at having been caught getting soused, she set the bottle hard on a small table, only for it to topple. Whiskey began spilling from the opening and she quickly righted it, almost dropping it again. He met her eyes, her face flushed red. Several others strode in behind him. Bordon, his face hard as granite. Mage shuddered at the look he wore. Brownlow, Dalton, the two Officers Cilla had been spying on. And then Cilla herself, her head bowed, her arms wrapped around her chest. Mage stared at her, willing her daughter to meet her gaze, but Cilla would not.

_She despises me_, Mage thought with a gasping sob, her eyes following her daughter as Cilla edged away from the Officers and sat on the edge of a seat in a far corner of the room. She'd changed her dress, Mage saw. And her hair was wet - it was pulled back in a simple braid - Indian style, which meant she had had to do it herself. Her head was still bowed, her eyes on the floor. Mage took several unsteady steps toward her, but Tavington strode forward to block her way.

"I bring news for you, Mrs. Putman. I believe it would be for the best if I deliver it with you sitting down."

Mage's eyes flew from Cilla to Tavington, she covered her hand to her mouth and backed away several steps, fearing the worst. The chaise hit her in the backs of her legs and she down with a thud. Her eyes darted, Bordon was by the door, staring directly ahead, not meeting her gaze. Brownlow and Dalton both stood at attention, expressions grave. And Tavington… He had come closer and now towered over her, eyes cold, hard, without pity.

"Your husband has been murdered, Mrs. Putman," he said and Mage's eyes bulged.

"What?"

She heard Cilla's whisper from the far side of the room. Mage, her heart pounding, shifted her wide eyed gaze to her daughters. She could see the shock in Cilla's face.

"Murdered…" Mage said, quivering fingers at her throat. Her mind whirled, she stared now at Tavington. "You killed him," she breathed.

"Not I," Tavington replied. "I was far from gentle with your husband during the questioning, but he was still very much alive when we left him. It was Mr. Sumter, who murdered your husband."

_Mark is dead… _The thought flew through Mage's mind, crashing in her skull as Tavington continued to speak. Mark had talked, given away secrets and plots and intentions when put to the question. Tavington spoke of conducting an enquiry, discovering that Ensign Nicholas Watson had orchestrated an escape from the prison almost as soon as Tavington and Bordon left it. That Watson had taken Mark to a lumberyard, which Sumter and his men had taken over. The workers there had been questioned and Tavington had been able to piece together what had possibly happened. Mark, during the questioning, had earned Sumter's enmity for the secrets he'd revealed.

Both Mark and Watson were shot, their bodies shoved out the window and into the Cooper River.

"Do you understand what I've told you, Mrs. Putman?" Tavington asked Mage, who sat there with her lips parted, her eyes unseeing.

"Dead?"

He heard the whisper behind him. He turned, Cilla was staring up at him in horror.

"Yes, Miss Putman," he turned back to Mage. "Mrs. Putman - your husband is dead. Killed for betraying his fellow rebels - for betraying the Cause."

Mage focused her gaze, meeting Tavington's eyes. He questioned Mark, he'd said. Interrogated. Tortured. For Mark to have given up the Cause, he had to have been tortured, and by the man standing before her.

"_You_ killed him," she whispered.

"I beg your pardon?" William frowned, leaning closer to hear her.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" She shrieked, lurching to her feet, her fingers curled into fists. "YOU! YOU MURDERED HIM! YOU KILLED MY HUSBAND!"

"I assure you, I had nothing to do with your husband's demise," William said firmly.

Mage, however, was beyond coherent thought.

"Liar! You're a Goddamned liar! You tortured my husband! You made him betray the Cause. If he earned Sumter's enmity, it's because of you! They might have pulled the trigger, they might have thrown his body into the harbor! But it was all you, your fault! You did this!"

Tavington said nothing - he stared at Mage coldly as she panted before him, challenge shining brightly in her eyes. When she reached for the bottle and sent it flying toward his head with a banshee shriek, he seized her arm mid swing and raised his hand to strike her.

"No!" Cilla screamed and a moment later she careened into him, pushing him away from her mother. Tavington fell back, then lowered his arm as he stared at Cilla gravely. Mage, sobbing uncontrollably, sank slowly to the chaise. Cilla, in much the same state, sat beside her, the two women clutching at one another.

At that very moment, Tavington's Dragoons, companies from the British Legion and several companies of highlander Scots were marching from the city for Camden. The British had been led to believe that the Continental force had been quelled. It had been quite a shock to learn that one thousand had escaped the city and that the one thousand had formed up into several companies, in preparation to assist in the strike against Camden. It had been quite a shock, to learn that the late Francis Marion's militia had come back together under Mark Putman, and that Colonel Thomas Sumter was now in the field, with a militia of his own. Added to that was Burwell's Continentals, those who'd fled the city, had answered Burwell's summons to form up into three units and hide in the swamps surrounding Camden while Burwell himself waited until everyone was in position, before he would join them with one hundred more, to fall upon a city weakened with sickness.

If Tavington had not received this information from Mark Putman when he did, the British would have been faced with a disaster, as a greater than fifteen hundred strong force struck a town held by one thousand men, and many of them weak with yellow fever. The way would be open for General Gates to come down and confront the British forces holding the city.

Their only hope now was that they had secured the information in time to thwart the attack.

Tavington, as impatient as he was to join them, waited for the women's weeping to run its course. He left them sitting there sobbing, poured himself a whiskey and then handed the bottle around to Bordon, Brownlow and Dalton. The men said not a word, they did not speak, all that needed to be said between them had been. The Officers, Tavington was certain, would be far more guarded against honey pots such as Mage and Cilla in the future.

The contents of the bottle were considerably less by the time the women's sobs shifted to soft weeping. They did not stop crying entirely, but then again, they did not have to. As long as his voice could be heard without the need to shout, that was all that concerned him.

"The two of you are guilty of treason," he said and he saw them both stiffen. Mage swallowed hard, seemed to be trying hard to get weeping under control. Tavington did not care if she did or didn't, she could hear him and that was all that mattered. "If Mr. Putman had not been removed by Watson, if he had not been killed by Sumter, he would have died by execution in a matter of days and you," he gestured to them both, "likely would have joined him. You most certainly, Mrs. Putman," he said, believing that Cilla's crime hadn't been quite as serious as Mage's - Clinton might not have condemned her to a hanging. Her mother, however, most certainly would have been. "However, in light of the events of today," and now he met Cilla's eyes, silently letting her know that he was speaking of more than her father's death. "I believe you have both suffered punishment enough." Cilla swallowed hard and jerked her gaze away. "I have decided not to reveal your treason to the Commander and Chief, at all; the only people who know of it are in this room." He nodded toward Brownlow, Dalton and Bordon. "And they have all agreed to forgive it."

"Forgive it?" Mage asked. Her breathing was laboured, she lifted her tear filled gaze to Tavington, her eyes shining with hatred.

"It will go no further than this room, none of it will," he said, the second half of this was for Cilla, who curled in on herself, her head bowed away from him. "Mr. Putman has died, that is punishment enough. I shall protect you by sending you from the city, to your brother, perhaps. If you keep quiet about your treason, so too shall we."

"You are not protecting us," Mage said, rising slowly, her face filled with hate and fury. "You are protecting _them_!" She pointed at Brownlow and Dalton, then at Bordon. "If we keep quiet, so too shall you! To protect their standing in the army, to shield them from embarrassment, from ridicule!"

Tavington took a single step closer, his back ramrod straight, his eyes cold and hard.

"Would you rather you hang?" He asked quietly.

"I don't care," Mage gasped, she began to cry again. "I - I don't care! You t-took my husband, you t-tortured him and n-now he's dead! You've t-taken everything from me!"

"Not everything," he gestured toward Cilla, who was turned away from them all and was as silent as the grave. "The 'you' was plural, Mrs. Putman," he bluffed. He doubted very much that Clinton would condemn Cilla to a hanging for her small part in all of this, but Mage did not know that. Mage cut short and gaped up at him. "Would you rather you _both_ hang?" He asked, repeating his question with this small amendment. Mage shifted her grief ravaged gaze to her daughter, her fingers curled protectively around Cilla's and Tavington took that as her answer. "I shall send you to Mr. Middleton. Your belongings are being packed, you will leave within the hour. Good evening to you both," he sketched a bow, turned on his heel and strode from the room, his men falling in behind him.


	44. Chapter 44 - A Father's Anger

Chapter 44 - A Father's Anger:

Beth was finally allowed to come out of her chamber, though initially, she did not exercise this new freedom. It was only at Margaret's insistence, that she got dressed at all. Margaret forced her to venture outside. Her colour was poor, Maggie said. Beth needed to get some fresh air.

With her arm looped through Maggie's, Beth walked along listlessly, with no real destination in mind. If she'd known she would cross paths with her brothers, she would not have come outside at all. But there they were standing outside the barn, huddled in a small group, all of them except little William. She met Gabriel's eyes and he glared and looked away. Bright blotches suffused her cheeks as she stared at her elder brother's face, but he kept his eyes resolutely from hers.

Thomas shouldered into Gabriel as he stepped away from his brothers and approached his sisters.

"You right, Beth?" He asked gently.

She glanced at him with such gratitude, his genuine concern almost undid her. Her father wasn't speaking to her, that much he had made abundantly clear since the evening before. And now Gabriel would barely look at her, and Nathan and Samuel seemed too confused to know what to do. But here was Thomas, taking her arm.

"Not really," she said.

"We're going for a walk," Maggie said to Thomas.

"I'll come too," Thomas said, giving Beth's arm a squeeze.

As they passed the open doors of the barn, Beth caught sight of Shadow Dancer still in her stall inside. She stopped dead to stare at her horse with shock.

"He didn't take her," she whispered.

"Why would he? He's not an Indian giver," Thomas replied, surprised that Beth would even think Burwell would take back the thoroughbred. "She was a gift -"

"From a bridegroom for his bride," Gabriel's tone was grim. "Under the circumstances, Burwell would've had every right to take her back."

Beth lowered her eyes and averted her gaze, unable to hold Gabriel's accusing stare. As she began to walk away from the barn, Gabriel called out to her.

"You know, I could take her with me on the morrow when I ride out to meet him," he strode toward Beth when she paused and glanced back with horror. "Oh, you don't like that idea, do you? You seem to have forgotten what decent is, these days - but giving back the horse - that would be the decent thing to do. Shadow Dancer was a wedding gift and after what you did -"

"Leave over will you?" Surprisingly it was young Samuel who spoke up in Beth's defence.

"Can't you see she's upset?" Margaret chimed in. "This hasn't been easy for her, you know!"

"You two are both too young to understand," Gabriel defended himself. "Beth betrayed Colonel Burwell, their engagement is over, she's got no right to keep Shadow Dancer."

"Then take her," Beth whispered, meeting Gabriel's eyes. "You're right. I shouldn't keep her. You should take her back to him."

Gabriel's mouth worked, no words would come. Finally, he spat, "she'd be nothing but a constant reminder to him."

"Then which way do you want it to go?" Thomas snapped. "Either take the horse or bloody leave over, would you?" Gabriel's jaw dropped as his mouth fell open but Thomas was beyond caring. He steered his sister's away from the barn. "We're going for a walk. Anyone who wants to join us, can join us. You keep your damned mouths shut about Burwell and the damned horse, though. Got it?"

Gabriel's astonishment faded into a glare as he watched Nathan and Samuel fall in with Thomas and their sister's. Instead of joining them, he turned on his heel and strode away.

* * *

Beth was alone with Mila now, and while she enjoyed the other girls company usually, just now, she did not. Mila was full of inappropriate cheer and determination that was entirely improper for the circumstances.

"You don't get it," she said to Beth. "You're free!"

"I'm not free!" Beth said. "I can't run take off to be with him, Mila!"

"Why not!" Mila gasped. The two were in the kitchen, where Beth was helping with evening meal as a means to distract her. Both girl's arms were covered with flour, they were kneading bread for the oven. "Why stay here?" Mila asked across the table. "I heard what they're sayin' - you're not welcome in Pembroke now. You ain't welcome with the Patriots. And he left you your horse - you won't be stealin' one of your Papa's! We have the means to go. So let's go!"

"I can't," Beth whispered, her eyes flicking toward the door. If anyone was outside listening in, both girls would be in for a tongue lashing. "They already hate me - my Papa, Gabriel. If I leave - they'll never forgive it!"

"They'll never forgive it anyway! Let's go -"

"It's too dangerous," Beth shook her head and began kneading the dough more violently. "What if we were caught by… by… Well - I don't know whose out there - and neither do you! Two women on the road alone? It's a long way to Charlestown! Besides - William's coming here, remember?" As Beth whispered these last words, her eyes widened with consternation. "Oh, dear Lord - he's going to come here. He'll meet father, can you imagine? Papa said I would marry William only over his dead body!"

"So let's go!" Mila whined, frustrated.

"I can't! Papa said that William did it on purpose - spread those rumours himself, he's been telling everyone in the city that we're already engaged, papa thinks it's all to force papa to marry us! Oh - what if he did? Do you think it's true? Who else could have told about him and I in Arthur's chamber? No one else knew! Only William. Papa thinks he did it so that Harry would cancel the engagement, to free me to marry William. And Harry did. And now I am free. But at what cost? My reputation, my virtue, the regard of my family, it's all in tatters! I'm ruined!"

Mila was silent for so long, it eventually became clear to Beth that the other girl had no answer.

"Who else could have?" Beth said desperately. "I wish I didn't believe it, but how else did it spread, if it didn't come from William himself? Bordon knew I was alone with William. Miss Jutland knew too. But I can't imagine either of them repeating it. What could they possibly gain? Only William had something to gain, no one else."

"So he did it to make you marry him?" Mila frowned.

"I don't know," Beth said miserably. "Papa said he was 'lining his nest'. I've been thinking about it and it does make sense. He's conniving, is William. A schemer - I know that from when he tried to seduce me for that stupid wager. He would have read the publication of the banns, he would have learned I was engaged to Harry. He then spread the rumours to stop the engagement and tie me to him, instead. I love him, I truly do, I want to be married to him. But not like this, Mila. Not like this!" She seized a cloth and pressed it against her eyes to soak up her tears. "Papa says he's doing it for my money. I know he's doing it because he loves me, I believe him now. But Gods, what a way for us to be together! Me, as ruined as a doxy working the wharves! Oh, God, this is such a mess!" Beth gasped out, bursting into tears. Mila rounded the table and pulled Beth into her arms.

"I won't keep harpin' on about leaving," Mila said softly. "Let's just work on getting you happy again. I'll slip you some valerian root tonight to help you sleep tonight, would you like that?"

"Yes," Beth nodded and wiped her tears.

"There there," Mila stroked Beth's hair and back. "It's all gonna work out. You'll see. It all seems low and bad now, like it can never get better but it will. I promise you it will."

The kitchen door opened and Charlotte walked in, stopping dead when she saw Mila holding Beth. Beth lowered the cloth to the table, then returned to her work. Charlotte came to stand beside her, gazing down at her niece, who said nothing.

"Beth," Charlotte said, placing her hand on Beth's shoulder. "It's not the end of the world, dear heart. Soon this will be a horrible - but distant memory."

"I'm not welcome in Pembroke," Beth pointed out as Mila rounded the table to continue her work. "I won't be welcome in Charlestown. I'm not welcome _in my own home_! You heard the things papa said to me yesterday!"

Charlotte gave a vexed sigh. "Your father was angry, but he should not have said those thing. I've spoken to him quite sharply - him and Gabriel both. Mind you - they both have a right to be angry, but I won't have them continuing to bait you with snide remarks. You are suffering enough with out that."

"At least Thomas and Maggie still love me," Beth said pitifully.

"Oh, Beth - we all do!" Charlotte cried. "Your actions - well, they are regrettable and have led to a terrible conclusion - we do still love you! You just have to give everyone time, dear heart. Your father, brothers, our neighbours…"

"I'll never be welcomed as a member of this family again," Beth lamented. "Nor will I be welcomed by Pembroke."

"Not never. A long time, yes. But not never. It will be a long time healing, the damage you - I mean, this - has caused," Charlotte corrected herself just in time but Beth heard the hesitation. Even her Aunt blamed her. "But we'll get there. Your Papa does love you and he's been working hard - on your behalf - to have your place within the community restored. Of course, you probably won't have equal standing with your neighbours for sometime, but you won't be completely ousted."

"What do you mean?" Beth asked, perplexed.

"I've said too much," Charlotte frowned, vexed with herself. "It's why I came in here - your father has returned and is waiting for you in the parlor - he has something to discuss with you."

"Oh," Beth glanced with panic at her Aunt. "I can't - I can't speak to him! He hates me!"

"Beth - your father has summoned you," Charlotte said firmly, forthright. She held the younger woman's gaze until Beth finally sighed with resignation.

When a father issued a summons, a dutiful daughter must make haste. Beth washed her arms and her face and began to try and pull herself together for her meeting with her father.

Who had worked hard to have her place within the community restored.

_Christ - what does that mean? What does he have in store for me?_

* * *

Beth approached the parlor cautiously, her fingers fidgeting at her stomach. She stopped at the closed doors and pressed her hands to her stomach, trying to settle the roiling within. Closing her eyes, she drew several deep breaths. Finally composed - in a manner of speaking - she opened the parlor doors and stepped inside. Her father was waiting for her, seated in his old armchair by the unlit fire with his legs stretched out in front of him, his heavy boots crossed at the ankles - holding his pipe loosely in his fingers. It was such a familiar vision to her and for a moment she was cast back to almost sixteen years earlier. For the space of a few moments, she was a little four year old girl again.

Her father would sit in that very chair, with his pipe in his fingers. Her mother - her beautiful, elegant mother with her blonde hair and brown eyes - would sit across from him, reading a story to six year Gabriel as he played on the floor at her feet. Seeing her father relaxed after a hard day of working, Beth would climb up onto his lap. The top of Beth's head would fit snuggly beneath her father's chin. As soon as she was on his leg, he would lift his other leg up enough for her to put her cold feet beneath for warmth. His arm would curve around her back and she would settle against his chest. He would talk to her mother and Beth could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. The smell of his pipe, the lingering scent of horse and leather, the warmth of the fire…

And Thomas, tottering around on his little, chubby legs. In this particular memory, he drew too close to the fire and their mother - heavy with her fourth child, rose clumsily from the chair to usher Thomas away before the little boy could burn himself. Thus thwarted, Thomas then ran over to Gabriel who was playing quietly, and grabbed up the little toy carriage that Gabriel had been pushing around on the thick woven rug. Beth remembered Gabriel screaming and her father barking a single command in his deep voice. Thomas instantly dropped the carriage and went looking for an easier target.

For a few long moments the memory had held her in its grip - she had seen it all so vividly. Her heavily pregnant mother - she was carrying Nathan and had been almost to full term. Thomas' mischievous smile as he took the toy carriage from Gabriel - knowing it would make Gabriel scream. Her parents sharing a knowing smile and her father saying _'that boy will be the death of me'._

But now, when she met her father's cold, hard gaze, she was bought crashing back to the present. Four year old Beth disappeared, as did her young brothers and her mother. Beth's warm, comforting father was gone, replaced with the stern man who sat before her now, his face carved from stone. Despite the oppressive warmth of the day, she shivered - the contrast between the vivid memory of happier times and the reality of her current situation threatened to overwhelm her.

"Come in Beth," Benjamin's tone was oddly formal. Waving his hand, he gestured for her to sit opposite him - in the very chair her mother had been sitting in, in Beth's vivid remembrance.

"You wished to see me, Papa?" Beth asked breathlessly. She smoothed the back of her skirts down with her hands before perching on the edge of the chair stiffly.

"Indeed," Benjamin studied his daughter carefully, his eyes lingering on her face. A young woman now - no longer a little girl. He had to face it now, despite how much he detested it. Beth was not Susan's age - she was woman grown. Old enough to lay alongside a man. Old enough to let that man lift her skirts and pleasure her. Old enough to wrap her fingers around that man's shaft and -

Benjamin shuddered. His fingers dug into the chair-arms. He held on tight as he tried - so very hard - to dispel the vision from his minds eye. The vision of his little girl holding a grown man's cock.

_Is she a virgin? _He wondered as he stared at her intently. Beth flushed and lowered her gaze, seeming to sense her father's thoughts. O_r is she lying? Has that bastard - that fucking Goddamned Lobsterback bastard, taken my little girls virginity? I wish he were here. By Christ I wish it. I'd wedge my fucking tomahawk between the bastard's shoulder blades. I'd get my musket and shove it so far up his arse before shooting it that the bullet fires out of his mouth. Touch my daughter will he? RUIN my little girl? I'll fucking kill him and bury him in the tobacco field!_

Beth's fingers twitched on her lap. She kept her gaze low, staring at her trembling hands. To steady them, she gripped her knees, each hand clutching so tight, her knuckles grew white. And still Benjamin continued his wrathful thoughts.

_Never have any of my children disappointed me so thoroughly. As angry as I was when Gabriel joined the army, I was proud of him. So proud - that my boy had the courage to fight for his convictions - for his Country. As irate as I was, I was pleased with his audacity and strength of will. Never have any of my children given me cause for this… this shame! Certainly Elizabeth and I dallied before we married. But at least we were engaged! And we weren't damned well engaged to someone else at the time! Christ. Burwell…_

Benjamin swallowed hard and his face darkened.

_Three decades of friendship - all tossed away. And why? Because my stupid - stupid daughter decided to let herself become entangled with a Redcoat. Let herself be touched by that Redcoat! Let herself be encouraged to touch him in turn. Christ, I thought I'd taught her better than that!_

Beth did not raise her head, she continued to stare at her hands. Benjamin noticed her white knuckles, her wide eyes, her blotched face. It was clear to him that she was repentant and anguished but still, when he spoke, his voice was hard. Thwart with tension and ill suppressed rage.

"You are my daughter, and I love you," he began. Though the words were welcome - his tone was not. It was blunt and filled with disgust. His eyes were locked on her though she still would not lift her head to meet his gaze. "But I can not begin to tell you how…" Benjamin paused to draw a sharp breath, trying to ease the spike of fury. "…I can not begin to tell you how utterly disgusted I am by you."

Beth swallowed. She shuffled in her chair, her eyes growing wider with ever word. Her lips quivering, she turned her face to one side, to stare anywhere but at her father. He tapped his finger against the chair arm as he considered her, sitting so listlessly now, still unable to meet his eyes.

"Do you know what they are calling you, Beth?" He paused and she stiffened, staring blindly, frozen to the spot. "Redcoat whore."

"Papa…!" Beth breathed, closing her eyes against the pain and shame.

"The Patriots around these parts will spare you no quarter. Already, they turn away from us. This afternoon, two of my workers threw down their tools, packed up their families and left. Two families - Beth."

Beth swayed, her heart pounded and her roiling stomach became the surging sea. It was all she could do not to vomit right there on the rug at her feet.

"The Adams brothers?" She whispered. The brothers Adams, white Colonials and very ardent Christians and Patriots. Yes - it would be them. They had lived at Fresh Water for eight years or more, with their wives, raising their children in the cottages Benjamin had built for the Plantation workers.

"Just so. I was confronted by Jonah Adams this morning, demanding to know the truth of it. He and his brother began packing shortly later. I have lost two of my best workers. And they will spread the tale with them, you can be certain of that. Not that they need to - it's already rife through all of the Santee. But to lose my own workers over this - it's shaming, Beth. Our entire family is in disgrace."

Benjamin took a long pull from his pipe, hoping it would help to calm him somewhat. Feeling restless, Beth began tapping her foot at an imaginary mark on the carpet, staring down as she did so.

"This is not going to be easy to recover from - nor will it be quick. And what else would you expect? I wouldn't respect a family whose daughter romped around with a bloody Redcoat, especially if she had a Patriot fiancé! Of all the foolish things to do! What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking," she replied softly.

"Clearly. Or rather - you were thinking only of yourself. You gave not a thought to the rest of us, how it would affect us."

"I'm sorry," such a useless thing to say, Beth knew it even as the words left her lips.

"You're sorry," Benjamin said flatly. As he continued, his voice began to rise until he was bellowing with fury, "my daughter is bloody sorry. Well, that's just grand, Beth. Wonderful. But it changes nothing. You stupid, stupid girl, letting Tavington destroy your virtue! You have bought this family to it's knees! We are at the brink of destruction because you allowed yourself to be defiled!"

Beth shrank away from her irate father, trying to make herself small in the chair even as she began to sob.

Shuddering, Benjamin glared at his daughter for several long moments, not trusting himself to speak. "With a British Officer," he ground out finally. "When you were engaged to a Continental! Can't you see how that has compounded this entire affair?"

And still Beth wept. Though she heard his words, she was unable to form any kind of response.

"If it had been any Patriot man - that would have been bad enough. However, I could have kept you from being ostracised - by forcing him to marry you. Now this Tavington, I know that he wants to marry you - Clinton has made that clear in his letters and Tavington has been spreading it the length and breadth of the city, that you're already engaged! But like hell will I ever allow it. He will not have my wife's fortune. He will not have my daughter. He will have no tie to this family whatsoever. Tavington has ruined you, but he will not be the fixing of you. I will not allow it, though someone has too, of that there is no doubt. There is only one way to remedy this situation - this - _sullying_ of yourself with a Redcoat while you were engaged to Colonel Burwell - Christ, you have gained the fury and enmity of every single Patriot in the Santee and beyond!"

He gazed coldly, without pity, at his weeping daughter. Where he would normally have gathered her up in his arms, Benjamin made no move to comfort her now. It took a while - long minutes ticked by - but finally Beth gathered herself. He waited her out, said not another word until her weeping subsided and she again slipped into that lethargy, the listlessness of earlier. Only then did he speak, and by then his voice was calm, if a little abrupt.

"My remedy will not restore you entirely," he began and Beth slowly turned to her dull eyes to him. "I doubt you'll be invited to picnics any time soon nor will you be welcome at public affairs for a very long time. Still, the course of action I've chosen will restore you somewhat, especially if you conduct yourself as a lady aught to from this point forward."

"What would you have me do, Papa?" She asked softly, utterly cowed by him.

"You will marry, Beth," he said firmly and Beth's gaze focused on him. He gave her no time to muster an argument, if indeed she was still capable of it. He doubted she could - the fire was completely gone from her by now. "And in this - I will brook no nonsense. You will marry the only man left on the Santee who will have you - Mr. George Howard."

"I don't want to marry anyone, Papa," she whispered, lowering her eyes. Her objection was not shouted, there was no defiance. Just a young girl expressing a pitiful protest, already knowing it was useless to even voice it.

"I am beyond caring what you want, Beth," he said firmly. "This is not about you - not any more. This is about saving the family, our position in Society, our reputation, my business, my _bloody_ farm! This is about you sacrificing yourself after the trouble you've caused, so that your brothers and sisters will not be spurned! Now - you know damned well that I have every right to force you to marry who I wish. But I will not have to force you, will I Beth."

It was not a question and his tone was heavily loaded with threat. Beth - already at her lowest point, found it completely outside her capability to defy him. She nodded, accepting.

"No, Papa," she whispered. "I'll do as you say."

"Good, for George is coming here to discuss the matter with you. He will not take you if you are not willing. Therefore, when he arrives, you will show only agreement, compliance, and bloody good sense! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Papa," she said by rote.

"By the time the Howard's leave today, you will be engaged to George. In a week or so, there will be a quiet ceremony, just our family and the Howard's."

"Yes, Papa," she whispered.

"You will go and live with the Howard's, and when that filthy Britisher shows his face here, I will take great enjoyment in telling him that his cursed plot did not work, that you are already out of his reach," he inclined his head toward the door and Beth rose slowly. "You may leave now."

* * *

_Following morning - Fresh Water:_

"Beth, what are you doing?"

Beth whirled, her heart racing in her chest, frightened witless by the sound of Thomas' voice. She could just barely make him out in the dim light of the stable. Two more figures - which turned out to be Samuel and Nathan - emerged from behind Thomas.

"Sweet Lord! Don't frighten me like that!" Beth gasped, holding her hands to her chest to still her wildly racing heart.

"We saw you sneak off after Gabriel and Papa left. You should have gone back to your room but you came here instead. Why?" Thomas folded his arms over his chest, his blue eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Beth - you're not running away are you?" Nathan asked, shifting his gaze to the task they had caught Beth at. She was in Shadow Dancer's stall and had been in the process of saddling the mount.

"With nothing more than the clothes on my back?" She asked quietly. "No. I'm not running off. I just… Gabriel was so mean just now and I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. I… I need to go - somewhere - anywhere. Just for a few hours. That's all. I was coming back, I swear."

"He didn't mean to be," Samuel piped up. "He's just a little angry and confused."

"Yeh, we all are," Nathan lowered his gaze from Beth's, idly shifting the hay on the floor around with the tip of his boot.

Beth had no reply to that. Leave takings were never pleasant at the best of times and this one had been particularly bitter. Benjamin had decided to escort his Continental soldier son to Rutledge Plantation where Burwell had established his camp, due to its close proximity to Hell Hole Swamp. The entire Martin family gathered before dawn to bid Gabriel farewell. Jovial as always, Gabriel had thrown mock punches at his brothers and embraced his sister's warmly - all except for Beth, who he'd ignored completely. She'd hung back behind the others on the porch and he made no move to embrace her or acknowledge her. Instead, with the farewells done, he met her eyes, nodded curtly, then trotted down the porch steps to mount his horse.

As soon as the men rode down the lane to the road, the family began to make their way past Beth, into the house proper. Beth had darted into the parlor and, after scrawling a quick note to her Aunt, raced from the house to the barn. She hadn't thought anyone had seen her.

"Where would you go?" Thomas frowned. "Surely not to Pembroke, they were horrible to you the other day."

"No, not Pembroke," Beth replied as she continued moving about her mount, checking straps and buckling cinches. "I was just going to ride in the woods. Maybe see if I can shoot a deer."

"You can't go alone - there's bears out there!" Nathan gasped.

"Yeh. And how, exactly would you bring the deer back, if you did manage to shoot one?" Samuel frowned.

"If I 'managed' to shoot one?" Beth asked incredulously.

"You're just a girl."

"And you're just a little boy who, until now, was too young to go hunting with the rest of us," Beth planted her hands on her hips and glowered at her brother. "You've never seen me shoot, Sammie, but I can do just as well as any boy. Though you're right, how would I bring it back..?"

"And what would father say, if he knew you'd gone off hunting alone?" Nathan quirked an eyebrow.

"Why, you going to tell him?" Beth challenged. Nathan could not tell her father anything - not easily. Benjamin was on his way to Rutledge Plantation at that very moment. Though if he rode hard enough, he could catch up to his father. Or he could just go inside and tell Aunt Charlotte.

"He's gonna think you ran off, Beth," Thomas said gravely.

"No - I left a note," Beth's blush could be seen in the ever growing light. Her brother's faces were more distinct now. "Look. I just want to go for a ride, is it too much to ask?"

"Beth! Are you wearing breeches?" Nathan gasped - he hadn't noticed that when they'd first entered the barn.

"I can't very well ride in skirts, now, can I?' Beth retorted. Then she deflated with a heavy sigh, the fight draining from her. "Though I doubt I'll be going at all now. Will you at least let me get back to my room? And please - when he gets back, don't tell Papa what I'd planned - he'd have a fit and I'm already in so much trouble. Can you do that for me, please?"

Thomas regarded his sister with surprise. She normally fought so hard for what she wanted but here she was, giving up with barely an argument, her tone plaintive, pleading. He didn't like that, not at all.

"What could it hurt?" He said aloud. "I'll say it was my idea, if we get into trouble. That you only came to look after us."

"Us?" Beth quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeh, us," Thomas turned to the younger boys. "I don't particularly want to spend the day with Aunt Charlotte. Whaddya say?"

"We can all have a day out," Nathan agreed. "It's been horrible here, I could use a few hours in the saddle myself."

"Alright," Samuel nodded.

"What about the note I left for Aunt Charlotte?" Beth asked. Once Charlotte read it, she would know it had been Beth's plan all along. Thomas' idea to take the blame was doomed to fail.

"I'll go get it and write another. You saddle my horse, get him ready for me!" The last words were shouted over Thomas' back as he darted toward the barn door.

"Wonderful! It's on the table in the parlor!" Beth called out, letting Thomas know where she'd left her letter.

The three of them worked in silence while Thomas was gone. Finally, they had four mounts saddled and waiting. The sky was brightening by the moment - they needed to be away now before their Aunt came looking for them. She'd notice they were all missing soon. Just when Beth was beginning to panic, Thomas returned with several rifles, panting from the short run.

"Let's go!" He commanded. The siblings exchanged smiles of excitement as they mounted.

"Quietly," Beth whispered. The four horses trotted out of the barn, the children casting furtive looks all around in the greyness of dawn. They went unnoticed however and once they passed the tobacco crops, they knew they were home free.

* * *

"Nate," Thomas whispered. "Over here!"

Nathan stepped soundlessly over the bracken and dropped to his knees on the leafy ground at Thomas' side.

"Woah, he's a big one," he whispered. He peered through the thick brush to eye the large buck as it grazed a good fifteen yards away. "Where's Beth?"

"She and Samuel are circling around to the side to cut off his escape."

"Better make sure it's a quick death. If it's not a clean kill the meat will be too tough and we'll have an easier time eating our boots, even if Abigail stews the meat for hours."

"Yeh," Thomas agreed, eyes front again. The buck was oblivious to their presence, though Thomas saw glimpses of movement in the bracken to the right of him. He began to ready his musket as slowly and quietly as he could. "Beth's nearly in place."

The large buck lifted his head, scenting the air, suddenly alert.

A shot rang through the air from Beth's position, the sound of it echoing off the hills all around them and Thomas cursed. He and Nathan rose quickly and sited their muskets, firing seconds after Beth. More loud claps echoed off the hills and when the smoke from the muskets cleared, Thomas saw the buck was on the ground, dead from the first volley.

Thomas and Nathan grinned at each other, then rushed forward to take inspect their kill. Beth and Samuel emerged from the brush, dusting their breeches and jackets free of dirt and leaves.

"Not bad for a girl, wouldn't you agree?" Beth asked smugly when she reached him. Her face was covered with dirt - Thomas knew his own must be also.

"Huh, that wasn't your shot, mine was the one that downed it," Thomas sniffed.

"The hell it did," Beth shot back, edging the buck's head with the tip of her boot. "See? A shot right through his head."

"That was my shot," Thomas said, though he knew it wasn't. The shot had come from where his sister had been positioned in the brush. Beth laughed and began to taunt him.

"Don't worry, your shots weren't a complete waste of time," Beth smirked. "You needed the practice and the stags side gave you a nice large target."

"Yeh, Tom. Even Samuel's a better shot than you!"

"He is not!" Thomas threw a punch at Nathan's arm.

"I am too!" Samuel joined in as the brother's began their rough housing.

"When you're quite finished fooling around," Beth said primly. "We will need to work out how to get this beast home. None of us are big enough to carry him."

The boys stopped tackling each other and turned to stare down at the buck.

"Reckon we should've thought of that before we shot him," Thomas said. "Perhaps we should leave him here, come back with the wagon."

"Are you joking? What if someone else finds it? The meat from a buck this size will feed the entire plantation for days!" Beth exclaimed. "Papa's gonna be furious as it is that we went off hunting without his permission, we can't let our stag be stolen. We can't go home with nothing more than a few raccoons!"

"True - he'll say we wasted his bullets," Nathan predicted.

"He will. This stag might settle his temper though. Well? Any ideas?" Beth asked the boys.

Who stared at her, blank faced.

"Hmm, figures," she sighed heavily. "Hell, at least we've got plenty of rope. Alright, Nate and Sammie - you two go back and get the horses. We'll try to fashion a litter if we can, to be carried between Mouse and Shadow Dancer."

Thomas scoffed. " 'Mouse', who ever heard of a horse named mouse?"

"Better than 'Buttermilk'," Samuel shot over his shoulder as he and Nathan trotted away to fetch the horses back.

"I wasn't the one who named her Buttermilk," Thomas muttered. "How we gonna do this? We could make a litter…"

"He's heavy..." Beth sighed again as she knelt beside the dead animal. "Maybe we'll need to quarter him up… It'll be fine, Thomas."

"Ever the optimist."

"Shut it," she dusted her hands on her breeches as she stood up. "Where are those ropes?"

"In my haversack," he turned to run back into the brush a few yards to collect his haversack where he had dropped it. When he returned, the two argued over the best way to rope the animal, with Beth finally giving way to Thomas' greater experience. When they were finished the task, they settled in to wait for their brothers. They could do nothing more until the younger lads returned with the horses. The two sat side by side against a tree trunk.

"Do you miss Charlestown?" Thomas asked as he pulled some dried meat from his sack.

"Yes..." Beth said. "No..."

"Well, which is it?" His voice garbled by the food in his mouth.

"I don't know. I thought I would miss the balls and the dances, the theatre and the picnics. And I do… I miss my friends too," Beth explained. "But I didn't realise how much I missed this!"

She waved her arm, indicating the woods all around them. Then she chuckled quietly.

"Lord, if Miss Rebecca Middleton could see me now, riding through the woods, wearing boys breeches..."

"Hunting deer," Thomas finished for her.

"Especially that, Lord she would have apoplexy. I did enjoy it there but it's such a... delicate world, isn't it? Charlestown and all its finery."

"Delicate is a good word for it," Thomas sat back, getting comfortable. "It's not for me. I'd never live there, though it's fun to visit."

"Hmm," Beth rummaged through the sack and found some hard cheese to nibble on.

"Beth, why did all that happen with Colonel Burwell?" Thomas asked. Beth almost choked on the mouthful of food.

"What do you mean, 'all that'?" She asked after her coughing fit subsided.

"Well, all of it. You did that stuff with Tavington. And then Burwell found out and now you can't even go to Pembroke and you have to hurry up and marry George Howard."

"I don't want to talk about it," Beth said, her good mood fleeing. She'd been enjoying her day out in the woods and had almost forgotten all of her problems. Irritated with her brother for ruining it, she said flippantly, "besides, it's none of your business."

"Maybe not! But the first Bann was announced and everyone was all happy and then it all ended. Papa's furious, Burwell was mighty upset about it and Gabriel - I've never seen him treat you like this before. What really happened to set it all off?"

"You wouldn't understand," she said finally.

"Try me," he shot back.

"Fine," she snapped. "If you must know it's because I'm young and stupid." She said bitterly, then she continued softly, "and apparently I'm a Redcoat whore."

"Don't say that!" Thomas gasped with shock.

"Why not? Papa said that's what our neighbours are calling me and never mind that I'm still a virgin. But William and I… we just… Did things… That's all. I know I shouldn't have."

"What things?"

"Kissing mostly," Beth said quickly, then she admitted softly, "and some other things."

"Why would you want to kiss a Redcoat?"

"I told you - you wouldn't understand."

"Did Papa really say that?" Thomas asked then, his eyes were wide with shock.

"He didn't call me a Redcoat whore, but he made damned sure that I knew other people were saying it," her appetite gone, Beth began folding the cheese and meat into the cloth napkins.

"Oh. Does that mean Lucy Ferguson is a Colonial whore?" Thomas asked.

"Lucy?" Beth gasped. "Colin's sister? Why would you say such a thing?"

"Promise not to tell?" Thomas asked and when Beth nodded, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure their brothers weren't nearby. "Well, we… did things."

"Oh my dear Lord," in-spite of herself, Beth began to howl with laughter. "You didn't!"

"We did."

"Careful," Beth hooted. "Mr. Ferguson will make you marry her - at musket point!"

"Stop that chortling, you look like an imbecile," Thomas muttered. "I shouldn't have told you. Besides, we didn't go that far - she can't get pregnant."

"Oh, my dear Lord! I never would have thought… Oh, you're my brother!" Beth gasped. "Oh, no - now I have this image of you and Lucy! Naked! Get rid of it!"

"Shut it," Thomas placed his hand on Beth's shoulder and shoved the already unbalanced girl over. She toppled to her side, propped on one arm, still laughing. The boy smiled - the only reason he'd confessed what he had was because he knew Beth would be amused and he wanted to hear her laugh. Eventually her fit subsided to a few sparse chortles and she straightened up with a heavy sigh.

"Still, as funny as that was - you better be careful. The Ferguson's are our neighbours and good friends. Lucy's father will be furious if he ever discovered you two… did things."

"I know. I'm going to marry her, so that makes it alright, doesn't it? Not like papa and aunt Charlotte, who'd been doing even more, for years. At least I intend to marry Lucy."

Both were quiet and solemn for sometime, Thomas glowering into the clearing, Beth gazing at her brother.

"Do you love her? Lucy?" Beth asked gently.

"Yeh. I think so," Thomas said.

"You think so?" She laughed. "If you did, believe me, you'd know it."

"Yeh? How do you know? Have you ever been in love?"

"Oh, yes," Beth whispered, closing her eyes and thinking of William.

"How does it feel?"

"Exciting," Beth murmured, her eyes still playing over the vision of William's handsome face. "Incredible. Like you can never get enough of seeing him. Touching him. Kissing him."

"Jesus, you're talking about Tavington, aren't you?" Thomas asked. Beth did not open her eyes, she just nodded.

"So very much," she confessed. "Being parted from him is the worst pain I've ever felt before. It's torture. Like a piece of me is missing but worse. I'll never know peace, without him. When we're together… even when I know he's going to visit… Lord, I just… I'm anxious and excited and desperate all at once and then he comes and I just… I want to _drown_ in him. I can't get enough of him." She opened her eyes finally. Gravely, she said, "it's how he coaxed me to do those things with him," she confessed. "Because I wanted so much of him. You can't think, Thomas. Your brain, it just stops working," she tapped the side of her head. He handed her a handkerchief to wipe her eyes and cheeks, for tears had come unbidden while she was describing her love of William. "I never would have done it, otherwise. Betray my fiancé with another man? An enemy?" She shook her head. "Court my father's fury and disgust? Gods. You just don't understand what it's like to be so… It's overwhelming."

"I think I do know," Thomas said softly. "Lucy will be back any day now and I'm chomping at the bit to be in her company again. And yeh, I knew we shouldn't be doing those things we was doing but like you said, there's no thought when I'm with her. But at least I had the sense to fall in love with another Patriot."

"Love doesn't come from sense, Tom. That's what I'm trying to say. It wouldn't have mattered if William was an ally or enemy. I would have fallen in love with him even if he was a Papist."

"A Papist!" Thomas threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Gods, you tell that to Reverend Oliver, that you'd love a Catholic. He'd be in fits! Jesus, at least tell me he's not - if he's a Papist -"

"He's as Anglican as you and I," Beth said.

"Good. So, does he love you the same?"

"I thought he did," Beth frowned. "I keep doubting it because of the way he's treated me. But then I got his letter and I started truly believing that he does love me as I do him. But if that's so, why did he go and tell everyone, Tom? Would you go telling everyone about you and Lucy?"

"Gods, no," Thomas shook his head violently. "And you better not either."

"I won't. I'm just so confused. I go from believing he loves me to believing he just wants my fortune and back and forth like a swinging pendulum and I just don't know what to think. I thought he loved me, but now everyone knows about what we did together and I just don't think he'd have told everyone, if he did."

"Fortune hunter then? I'm told they can be real convincing."

"I just don't know. It doesn't matter anyway."

"Because of George?" Thomas asked and Beth nodded.

"I'll marry George and I will never see William again, and that's that."

"You don't look all that happy about it."

"There's absolutely nothing in this situation to be happy about. I feel bad for George though, he's the innocent in all this. He knows I'm ruined and he's accepting me anyway."

"Your fortune added some spice to that decision."

"I know," Beth nodded. "Still. It'll be a gentle existence and I think that's what I need. A gentle, quiet life. George doesn't like going out much with the way everyone stares at his hand, and they'll all be staring at me too, now. He said he's not going to force me to go out to dinners and the like, we can stay home and just… be quiet."

"Sounds dreadfully dull," Thomas said, breaking the solemn mood Beth had woven.

"Thomas!" She gasped. "That's not nice."

"Well, Lucy ain't goin' to want to stay home. I'll take her to visit the other families every other day and we'll visit the city frequently and go to the theatre and what not. I think we'll hardly ever be home."

"If her father lets you marry her," Beth said. "I've gone and blighted our family name." she said truthfully. Beth studied Thomas' face as she continued carefully, "you realise it means the Ferguson's might not want a marriage connection with our family now, thanks to me?"

"Father's done his sharing of blighting," Thomas scoffed. "Besides, Mr. Ferguson will want the tie - I've three hundred acres of land from papa and I'll get a portion of Fresh Water when he's gone, which Mr. Ferguson will be quite pleased about, with his property bordering ours. Everything comes down to money, eventually. Look at Papa - giving you a dowry on top of your inheritance? George is taking you happily! I reckon the Ferguson's will be happy enough, especially if Papa cedes some of our land to them as part of the marriage bargain. Besides, everything is going to die down after you've married George. And I'm not planning on asking Lucy to marry me for a few years yet - I want to go to war first."

"Oh, Thomas… Papa will be so mad!"

"I'm real mad at him right now so I just don't care. He's kept me back long enough. I'm old enough to join now - but only with his permission - which he won't give - so Burwell won't take me. Boys a year younger than me are already serving!"

"What if you die?" She asked tremulously.

"What if Gabriel dies?" Thomas challenged. "What if a bear had attacked you, if you'd come out here alone today? You'd be dead. I could fall off my horse, break my neck and die. At least this way, I'd die for something worth while. I'd die fighting for my Country."

"You'll be seventeen in a few months," Beth smiled sadly. "Then you'll be old enough to join without Papa's permission. Will you do it straight away?"

"The day after my birthday," Thomas stated emphatically. "Ah, here are the boys..."

Beth glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, Nathan and Samuel were returning, leading the horses.

"About bloody time!" Thomas said as he rose to his feet.

"What's wrong?" Beth said in an alarmed tone. Thomas looked back at Nathan and Samuel and saw that something had scared them witless.

"Dragoons, lots of them," Nathan panted fearfully.

"Oh, my God is it Tavington?" Beth gasped. She swayed, feeling faint.

"Must be. They're wearing green jackets, don't the Green Dragoons wear green jackets?"

"No," Beth breathed, disappointed and relieved all at once. "It's Tarleton's Dragoons you saw. Gods, what is he doing this far down the Santee?"

"Why do they call the Green Dragoons the 'Green Dragoons' if they wear red coats? Shouldn't Tarleton's Dragoons be the _Green_ Dragoons, if they wear green?"

Beth stared at Thomas with astonishment.

"How the bloody hell would I know?" She burst out. "Christ, Thomas! Couldn't you choose your time for dumb questions a bit better than this?! Nathan - where are they? How far?"

As Nathan began to answer, Beth strode purposefully toward the roped stag to see how best to lift him.

"They're heading straight for us, coming up the back trail. We were nearly caught but we got the horses out of their sight just in time."

"They must have heard our shots!" Beth gasped.

"What's gonna happen?" Samuel asked in a quavering voice. "If they catch us? We're not in trouble are we? They've been murdering Patriots and burning houses and… and…"

He trailed off, panting and terrified. Beth drew a steadying breath, understanding that her panic had made Samuel even more fearful. It was down to her to protect her siblings, and to keep the youngest one present calm.

"No," she said, forcing _herself_ to calm down. "No - they have no reason to harm us. If worst comes to worst and we're caught, I'll be able to talk our way out of it."

"How?" Samuel fretted. Beth glanced up from where she squatted at the stags side.

"I'm friends with Colonel Tarleton," she said evasively as she set to work.

"You're friends with Colonel Tarleton?" Thomas asked incredulously.

"Look, are you going to help me? We probably don't have much time! I can't lift him myself and I'm sure as hell not leaving my kill here!" Beth snapped. Another exchange of glances between the boys - Beth's face darkened, it was really rather quite annoying those 'looks' - and her brothers eventually came forward to help lift the stag.

"Quietly," Thomas advised.

They worked as quickly as they could. Samuel held the reins and soothed Mouse and Shadow Dancer, but the horses could smell the blood and didn't like it one bit.

"Do you think they've had word that Colonel Burwell was camped at Fresh Water?" Thomas said softly, lifting the stags front hooves.

"Yes!" Nathan gasped as he and Beth lifted the back hooves. "That's why they're here! Lord, will they invade our home?"

"Burwell's gone," Beth said shortly. "It's highly likely that they are here for him, but it makes no difference. Burwell has gone."

They puffed and panted even as they talked, the stag was damned heavy - and cumbersome - for the three youths to lift.

"True. How long before they find out where he's gone to?" Thomas fretted. "If Tarleton finds out Burwell is at Rutledge Plantation, they'll fall on the Continentals there. Colonel Burwell was worried because Tarleton has hundreds more men than him. It'd be a slaughter!"

"And Gabriel's there!" Samuel whined, his eyes wide with fear.

"Alright - pull the ropes and lift the stag between the horses on the count of three," Beth commanded, then began to count. Her brothers waiting and when Beth reached 'three', exerting a great effort, the three youths managed to lift the dead weight, then quickly pulled the lead ropes tight and tied them off. The horses danced and skittered but Samuel kept them under control. With the stag dangling between both horses, Beth fell back, struggling to catch her breath. She rubbed her hands together to dust them off.

"Hurry, we have to go!" Samuel said, quivering and restless with the need to be away before they were caught.

"We're doing this as fast as we can, Sammie," Thomas growled. Nathan threw an end of rope over the stag and Thomas caught it on the other side. "There, we're done. Let's get the hell out of here - we need to get word to Colonel Burwell that Tarleton's Dragoons are here and are most likely coming for him."

"I didn't even think of that!" Beth admitted, abashed. "I was just worried _we'd_ be caught."

"Me too," Nathan confided.

"Neither of you are soldiers," Thomas soothed them. "Mount up, let's get out of here."

"Samuel, do you want to ride with me?" Nodding wordlessly, Samuel waited as Beth mounted, then climbed up into the saddle behind her. Beth glanced down and blushed crimson, suddenly very conscious of the way the breeches hugged her shapely legs. "Oh, dear Lord, I can't have Dragoons see me in breeches!" She lamented. "Why didn't I think to bring skirts to change into?"

Thomas pitched his voice high and spoke primly in imitation of Beth. "Christ Beth! Couldn't you choose your time for dumb questions a bit better than this?!"

"Shut it," Beth said darkly. Thomas smirked and mounted Buttermilk.


	45. Chapter 45 - Damned Bloody Dragoons!

Chapter 45 - Damned Bloody Dragoons!:

As they made their way from the clearing into the bushes, Thomas took the lead and Nathan fell back to the rear, with Mouse and Shadow Dancer trotting side by side with the stag dangling between them.

"Let's stick to the back trails and get into the swamps," Thomas called softly. "We know the area better than they do."

"Alright," Beth agreed.

They rode in silence, Nathan following behind Beth and Samuel, who followed Thomas. The only sounds were the birds in the trees and the horses hoof falls on the leafy trail. All four youths were tense, fearful of encountering Tarleton's Dragoon force. Tarleton's Dragoons, they were otherwise known as and their reputation was as fearsome as Tavington's Green Dragoons. They were well known for swooping into well established villages and townships, leaving nothing but burnt out and blackened husks in their wakes.

Beth tried to remind herself that Banastre Tarleton was a friend, that he would wish her no harm. He had declared himself to be in love with her. But that was so long ago, a lifetime ago now. And she had been engaged to Burwell - Christ, Tarleton would know by now. It had been published in the Banns. If they were caught by the Dragoons, they would be capturing the woman they believed to be Colonel Burwell's fiancé. After experiencing Tavington's scheme to use her to secure Burwell, she had no doubt Banastre would do the same. She could be taken as a lure, to bring Burwell in.

Her heart began to race as fear took hold of her. With the reins held lightly in one hand, she reached up to pull forward the hood of her jacket, in order to keep her face shadowed as much as possible. It was not a perfect disguise but it might serve to help conceal her identity. With the dirt covering her cheeks, the Dragoons might not even realise she was a woman. If they didn't look too closely, anyway. And as long as Banastre wasn't with them. That particular possibility made her shudder, for he would recognise her for certain and her fears would be come a certainty.

Beth decided to call out to Thomas, to demand he pick up the pace. However, just as she opened her mouth to give the order, two green coated Dragoons bearing muskets stepped onto the trail from the bushes, directly in the youths path.

"Halt!" One of them commanded as yet more emerged from the brushes all around them.

She bit back a curse, as she realised that the Lobsterback bastards had known they were there all along, and had set up an ambush. The Martin children had walked right into the trap! Beth twisted in her saddle this way then that but there was no escape, there were too many men. They crowded the trail to either side of then, completely surrounding them. Samuel clung tight to Beth's waist, his fingers grasping. Nathan drew alongside Beth, his eyes wide with fright. The same Raider spoke again, addressing Thomas - the leader of the group.

The Green Coat Officer smiled up at Thomas, who blinked down at him uncertainly. Beth's eyes narrowed as she studied the Raider, for he looked quite familiar. He was a handsome man, with full lips, a straight nose, high cheeks bones. Everything about him was perfect and exact - his long dark hair bound back in a queue beneath his plumed helmet - there was not a single strand out of place. Despite the lateness of the day, his face was clean and closely shaved as though he'd just performed those grooming tasks. His uniform was exact and perfect - pristine as though he had not just tramped through the woods and then waited in the bracken for the youths approach. When she glanced down at his boots, she saw they were clean. Clean! It was absurd, she wondered if he had scrubbed them before taking up his position in the woods. Glancing down at his hands, covered in fine black, buckskin leather gloves, she thought snidely that his fingernails were probably clean. She glanced at her own and saw they were embedded with dirt beneath.

Beth's eyes widened as she finally recognised the Officer to be Major George Hanger - Banastre's adjutant! She pulled her hood even further around her face with one hand as she guided Shadow Dancer with her other.

"Boy, that's a fine breed of horse you have there," Hanger said to Thomas, still smiling his handsome smile. "I think I'll be taking him if you don't mind."

"What?" Thomas gaped, trying to make sense of Hanger's words. "No - she's mine! My father gave her to me, you can't just take her!"

Every single soldier levelled their weapons - not just on Thomas - but on all four of them. The abruptness of their action, and finding herself staring down the barrels of so many muskets, left her breathless and faint from fear. She could hear Nathan and Samuel's heavy breathing, they were clustered so close to her.

"Oh, I believe I can," Hanger smirked in response to Thomas' protest, inclining his head toward the sited muskets. The threat was clear and he lost his charming smile, his voice became cold and hard. "Now, get off of those horses, all of you."

Keeping a close eye on the firearms, the youths dismounted warily, then moved away from their horses. They convened at the side of the trail and huddled together while the Dragoons moved in to inspect the horses, eyeing them appreciatively.

"Would you take a look at this one?" One Officer whistled as he patted Shadow Dancer's flank. "I'd say Tarleton just gained a new horse!"

"Yes, I'd say you're right, Whitty! Tarleton will claim that one, for sure," Hanger nodded cheerfully, coming forward to inspect Beth's horse. "What a beauty!"

"This is stealing!" Thomas cried frantically, whirling to face Beth. "They can't do this!"

"I believe they just did," she whispered. Fearing for their lives, she put her hand on Samuel's stomach and began to guide him to stand behind her. The boy was almost as tall as she was but at only twelve, he was scared stiff. Instead of shrugging her off in an attempt to be brave, he did as she bade him and huddled behind her.

"Ah, dinner!" Hanger declared, eyeing the stag Beth had shot.

"That's our kill!" Thomas burst out. A nearby Officer scowled and raised his arm, cuffing Thomas around the back of his head. Thomas cursed softly, but he understood the message and fell silent finally.

"And a fine kill he is," Hanger said, his lips curving. "Thank you."

Although she was terrified, Beth wanted to slap that smirk off his face. Instead, she kept her eyes lowered, her face as deep back in the hood as she could manage.

The astute and suspicious Hanger noticed her attempt to conceal herself. With a frown, he came forward and leaned down to gaze into the hood, to study her face carefully. She drew a sharp breath as his eyes met hers. His expression changed from suspicious to suddenly intent and ice shot along her spine.

"What do we have here?" He asked softly, tilting his head this way then that, leaning in to see deeply into her hood. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her face. He continued in a whisper, "a woman..."

Her face reddened as his stare drifted lower, lingering on the curves that weren't quite concealed under her short jacket.

"How did I miss it?" He breathed. "How could I possibly have missed it?"

Beth swallowed. Hanger lifted his gaze and met her eyes again. Almost tenderly, he reached up to gently push her hood back from her face. He let it fall down to her back, but did not remove his hands - they hovered to either side of her face, almost touching her cheeks. He smiled at her then, the same charming smile he'd offered Thomas before declaring the horses were his. It was a content, expectant smile. No longer satisfied with his almost touch, he moved his hands closer, to cup her dirt covered face gently. With his thumbs, he began to caress her smooth cheeks.

With a hiss, Beth recoiled sharply from his touch. All her brothers could do was watch in horror as the Officer focused all of his attention on Beth, to the exclusion of all else.

"Well, well, well. Not just a woman but a beautiful one. At least, I think you might be - I can't quite tell what is beneath all that dirt. But that's nothing a bath wouldn't fix," his face split in a feral grin. "I have a tub big enough for the two of us back in the baggage train. We shall bathe together this evening, you and I, I'll even scrub your back."

Gathering her pride, she lifted her chin haughtily.

"The hell we will," Beth ground out. "I'll bloody drown you in the water."

Hanger arched an eyebrow, then smirked down at her.

"Spirited," he whispered. "I do like spirited…"

Hanger grabbed for her then and Beth yelped as his left arm curled around her and jerked her forward against his chest, while his right hand delved low, shoving up beneath the bottom of her jacket to stroke her between her legs.

"Get off me!" She shrieked, trying to push back but his hand on her back held her pinned against him. He was free to stroke her sex at will, until she twisted wildly and managed to push her way out of his grasp. She danced back several steps from him, breathing frantically, her eyes wild and frenzied. Hanger wore a smoky smile, eyeing her as an eagle did its prey. He had let her go, she realised then. It was all part of his little game.

"You leave my sister alone!" Thomas shouted, shoving in between them to confront Hanger. The youth was almost as tall as the Officer and despite his fear, his eyes blazed with fury. "Don't you touch her again!"

"Oho! A wolf pup!" Hanger laughed at him. As tall as Thomas was, Hanger was taller. He drew himself up to loom over the boy, believing the 'wolf pup' would back down, but Thomas held his ground.

"You will not be sharing a bath tub with my sister!" He growled, his body stiff and thwart with tension. "How dare you touch her that way! Have you no respect for a Lady?"

"A Lady? With those breeches?" Hanger chuckled. His smile never slipped in the slightest. He stared past Thomas' shoulder at Beth, his eyes darkening with lust. "A beautiful woman in breeches - she is no lady, boy. I dare say she's spread those beautiful thighs many a time, and she can do as much for me tonight."

"You dare!" Thomas balled his hands into fists, clenched tightly at his sides. He had enough sense not to attack Hanger, knowing fully well that he was outnumbered and it would only go badly for him. Hanger's gaze grew focused and threatening, this time intent on Thomas as he waited for the youth to attack.

"Thomas," Beth breathed the warning. Nathan closed in beside her as though the youth could protect his sister. Samuel cast frantic glances around at the watching soldiers. They were already scared stiff, but now they sensed the danger to Beth personally - for the crime of being a desirable woman. If Hanger did as he threatened, the boys would be powerless to stop him.

When he realised Thomas would not attack, Hanger settled his gaze on Beth again, his hooded eyes taking in what he could of her around the confronting Thomas. With her free hand, Beth tugged her short coat down as much as she could to cover her rump, but her thighs were still very much exposed.

For all his staring, Beth realised that Hanger did not recognise her. The two had met on several occasions, when Hanger had insisted on hounding Aunt Charlotte. Beth had always worn fine silks in the city, though, and her hair had always been elaborately arranged.

And her face had always been clean.

Beth didn't blame him for not recognising her as the same woman, now she was wearing her breeches with her hunting jacket, her hair in a long braid and her face covered in a film of dirt. She watched the Major warily for his next move, uncertain if she should reveal herself or not.

His eyes on hers, Hanger tilted his head to the side as though trying to make a decision. Then he turned abruptly and barked a single command.

"Bring them."

Dragoons darted in toward them, two fully grown men for each youth. Samuel was jerked roughly from under Beth's arm and hauled away.

Beth, Nathan and Thomas were likewise manhandled. Thomas and Nathan bellowed as they were shoved forward, both of them tried to twist around in their captors grips, in order to keep Beth in their sights at all time. Beth herself had her arms seized, the Dragoons strong hands curling her arms in an iron like grip.

"You're hurting me!" Beth screeched at them, trying to pull away.

"Then stop bloody struggling you little hell cat and we won't bloody hurt you!" One of them snapped, emphasising his words with a rough shake that left her gasping. "You done now?" He growled and Beth cowered back from him, her eyes wide as she nodded mutely. As Beth had been cowed by the Officer's rage, the two of her captors loosened their grips. She sighed with relief as the pain eased.

Her brothers were ahead of her, each one trying to twist enough to catch a glance of her over their shoulders, to ensure she was alright. She met Thomas' eyes and when he saw she was unharmed, he relaxed considerably and stopped twisting. Having seen Beth was well, Nathan followed suit, walking along meekly between his guards. Samuel was ahead of both of them, however, and he could not see Beth. He was, therefore, frantic.

"Beth!" He screamed and before she could draw breath to call to him to settle down, one of the guards holding him raised his free hand and slapped the boy hard across the face.

Beth was overcome with an all consuming rage so strong, she reacted instantly, without thought. Cuffing Thomas was one thing - at almost seventeen, he was the largest of her brothers - larger than Beth herself. But Samuel was just a boy - barely twelve! In her rage, she again jerked fiercely in her captors iron grip and screamed for Hanger, who was now busy inspecting Shadow Dancer's hooves.

"You there!" She screeched, lurching wildly toward the Major only to be jerked back. "God damn it! I'm talking to you, you damned bastard!"

One of the Officers holding her drew a sharp breath. He raised his arm back, ready to slap her, but Hanger waved him down. He released Shadow Dancer's hoof and began to walk toward her slowly, his face set and hard as he considered her. She took the much needed time to try and gain control of her temper and when he was finally before her, gazing down at her as though she were an insect, she gathered her pride and her courage.

"Sir," she said in a low and dangerous tone, her narrowed eyes blazing up at him. "I suggest you tread very carefully now. I happen to be a very close and personal friend of Colonel Banastre Tarleton and when he learns of your behaviour today, you will earn your stripes!"

"You threaten me with a whipping?" Hanger asked incredulously. He exchanged incredulous glances with the Dragoons holding Beth's arms, his face lined with shock. "You, a personal friend of Tarleton's?"

By his tone, it was clear he did not believe her.

"Sir, you do not recognise me and you are most certainly acting in ignorance," she declared. "I suggest you release my brothers and I now and begin treating us with more care." It was a gamble, for she did not even know if Banastre was still in love with her, or indeed, if he ever had been. Still, she had begun this and so she pitched her voice even lower and forced as much threat and danger into it as she could. "I tell you this for your own sake. Heed my warning Sir!"

The Major stepped up to her as close as he had before and this time, Beth did not back away. She craned her head and met his eyes, glare for glare.

Hanger had noticed her blonde hair and brown eyes on his earlier inspection but now he studied her in a whole new light. Belatedly, he realised he knew this woman. It was her, the one Banastre had spent so much time pining for.

"Your name?" He asked finally, though he knew. He _knew_! And he suspected that Banastre might very well have him whipped. He'd stroked the girl between her legs! Hell, for that - Banastre would wield the whip himself!

"Perhaps you should have _started_ with that, _Major Hanger,_" Beth spat. "You know damned well who I am now. But to ensure there is absolutely no doubt - you can rest assured that I have the honour to be Miss Elizabeth Martin."

His burgeoning suspicions confirmed, Hanger's eyes still bulged with shock.

"Release them," he said at once and the other Dragoons obeyed instantly. Her brothers stumbled to be let go so abruptly but as soon as they were free they darted back down the trail to huddle behind their blazing, enraged sister. Even Thomas - who towered over her. The boys shot bewildered glances at their sister as she continued to confront Hanger.

"All doubt dispelled, then?" Beth lifted her chin haughtily, challenging him to deny it.

"He told me of your temper..." Hanger mused with a quiet chuckle. He gestured toward the Martin youths horses. "Shall we? It's a long ride back to camp."

"Camp?" Beth repeated. "I see no need for us to accompany you, Sir. You recognise me now, you know I am an acquaintance of Banastre's -"

"Acquaintance? Didn't you call yourself 'a very close and personal friend' only a moment ago?" Hanger taunted, amused. Beth tightened her lips and ground her jaw in frustration.

"Be that as it may, I see no reason to return to your camp," she said crisply. "I'll not risk my horse by riding her in the dark, we must be away now if we have any hope of reaching home before nightfall. I can not imagine that you will be stealing our horses now."

"Stealing?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Did you offer to pay for them?" Beth snapped, her voice rising. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned forward, her eyes flashing. "Did you ask our permission to take them? And yet you were going to take them anyway, Sir. I believe that is the very definition of stealing, is it not?"

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "You can argue the semantics with Banastre when we reach camp."

Beth had one last card to play - she hadn't been certain if was of any use before, but she was out of options now. "Sir, if you let us go, I will not tell Mrs. Selton how awfully you treated me just now."

Hanger stopped dead, his smug smile sliding from his face.

"You had your hand between my legs," she reminded him crisply. "She will not be pleased to learn of it. Release my brothers and I now, and on my honour, she will not."

Hanger's jaw worked, his eyes large and fretful. Beth held her breath, daring to hope her ploy had worked. But then the Major shook his head. "I have far more to fear from my Colonel, than from a woman I may never see again. I am taking you to Tarleton, and that is all there is to it."

"I know you care for my aunt, and who knows when you'll see her again? It's up to you, you can choose in this moment, the manner in which you are to be received by her. With joy, at friends reunited? Or fury, at the abuse of her niece?"

"While I would not wish to court the latter," Major Hanger said. "Colonel Tarleton would have me flogged if I let you go your own way now. I would court your aunt's wrath, over Tarleton's any day. Besides, you have _declared_ yourself, Miss Martin." He leaned in close to her, his eyes fixed on hers intently as he continued, "fiancé to Colonel Burwell of the Continentals."

Beth's cheeks reddened and her brothers shifted restlessly at her back.

"No," Hanger continued. "I'm afraid you will be returning with us -"

"The engagement is at an end, Sir," Beth interrupted him, understanding his intentions at once. He was no different to Tavington, they would use her all over again! "I am no longer Burwell's fiancé, I hold no value to you as a hostage!"

"A hostage!" Thomas gasped.

Hanger stared at her for a full moment, then laughed outright.

"Nice try," he chuckled. Then he turned and walked away, still chortling under his breath. Beth heard snatches of words such as 'spirited' and 'beautiful'.

"He didn't believe me," Beth said incredulously. She turned to her brothers. "He didn't believe me!"

"Hostage?" Thomas hissed. "I thought you said that Tarleton is your friend!"

"He is - "

"Friends don't take friends hostages, Beth!" Thomas cried, panicking. "I can't protect you - Christ!"

"What do we do?" Nathan asked frantically.

"What you've been told to do, boy," said a green coated trooper. "Mount up, we're riding out."

The Martin's exchanged fearful glances but there was no help for it. Their horses were returned to them at Hanger's orders and they had no choice but to mount up and ride out with Tarleton's Dragoons.

Aptly named, Beth thought furiously. Damned Dragoons indeed!

* * *

Tarleton's full force - Tarleton's Legions - which constituted something upward of eight hundred men, had been traveling down the Santee for days. Keeping a steady pace ahead of the Legion, was Tarleton's Dragoons - three hundred mounted, elitist soldiers. Tarleton himself rode at the head of the column. A short while earlier, when he heard shots ringing out, the claps rebounding from the hills all around them, Banastre had called the halt, fearing attack. When no enemy came surging from the woods, he'd commanded that Hanger take a small unit of Dragoons into the woods to inspect the cause for the rifle fire, while he and the rest of the Dragoons waited back on the road.

While Hanger was away, the rest of his Legion - his mounted infantry, marching infantry, the camp followers and the baggage train - caught up to him. When they were reunited, he had the full Legion make an impromptu camp, and his defences set up around it.

It was to this camp that Major Hanger was en route to now, as he led the way through the woods with the Martin children in his midst. Hanger rode at the head of the column with a few Officers behind him, the Martin children next with more troopers bringing up the rear. The narrow trail ended and they turned onto a wider road. Hanger picked up the pace then, urging more speed from the horses in order to join the rest of the Legion as quickly as possible.

Eventually they approached the first pickets and sentries, entering the hastily erected camp scattered throughout the hilly forest amidst the trees. Beth gazed about curiously despite herself - she'd never been in an army camp before. Oh, she'd seen Burwell's set up up at Fresh Water, but that was only one hundred men. Tarleton's was close to a thousand. The supply wagons formed a long line back on the road but here in camp, Green coated men lay about smoking pipes and drinking from metal cups. Most of them stopped chatting to gaze at the newcomers. Others were hard at their work, tending weapons and caring for the horses, which were grazing a little further back from camp.

As Beth cast her eyes about, she was surprised to see so many women, then belatedly recalled Colonel Burwell explaining to her that women formed the backbone of any camp, especially the larger ones such as this. Women - usually family members of the soldiers - were employed to wash, cook, mend, help with tending wounds and a myriad of other chores that took the load from the troopers themselves.

Beth tried to keep a tally of the soldiers but gave up when her count reached past a hundred - there were at least seven times as many as that. A deep sense of foreboding built steadily in the pit of her stomach as she considered fearfully what would bring such a large force this far down the Santee. She glanced over at Thomas who looked equally worried. And awed - definitely awed. After a moment of mulling the problem over in her mind, she began to wonder if Thomas was right, if Banastre had learned Burwell was in the area, if Banastre had come for him. That would certainly bring these Redcoats down from the Wateree River to sniff about, and it would be a disaster for the small Continental force if Tarleton found them. Burwell only had one hundred or so in his detachment and couldn't possibly hope to be the victor in a skirmish against Tarleton's Legion.

Only a scant few tents had been erected, as Tarleton did not intend to remain for overly long. Hanger led them directly toward the large command tent in the centre of the camp. Beth's heart began to pound, uncertainty causing her to feel faint. What if Banastre didn't believe her, the same as Hanger? Would he keep her in camp, as a hostage, because he believed she was still Burwell's fiancé? How were hostages treated - surely Banastre wouldn't hurt her?

She gnawed at her bottom lip as they drew closer to the command tent. She pinned her gaze on the large tent, expecting - and fearing - to see Banastre step out at any moment. And then Banastre himself did duck out and he immediately began striding toward them to meet Hanger.

Beth's heart stopped. It had been so long since she'd seen him. With Banastre's gaze on Hanger, she was free to study him. He looked exactly the same and yet somehow different, she couldn't place how. He wasn't wearing his helmet, his auburn hair was tied back in a queue and bound by a black ribbon. His legs - covered by snug, tan buckskin breeches, showed his athletic build to full advantage and when he smiled in greeting at Hanger.

Banastre was powerful and imposing, with all his Officers and soldiers straightening and saluting as he passed them. Beth wondered if his ardour for her had faded during their time apart and the thought gave her a twinge of regret. She might not be in love with Banastre but the thought of him falling out of love with her left her feeling dejected and empty. With her father barely speaking two words to her that didn't contain a cutting barb, and her brother unwilling to speak to her at all - or even embrace her farewell, she couldn't imagine that anyone would love her still.

"I have a gift for you," Hanger called down to Banastre, pointing down the line in her direction.

_Gift? _Beth bristled at the comment but held her silence.

She saw him gaze down the line toward her, and she also saw no flare of recognition cross his face. He walked along, looking back questioningly at Hanger, who grinned and pointed him on. Banastre's eyes landed on Shadow Dancer, Beth saw him draw a sharp breath, his eyes widening with delight. He closed the distance and was quickly at her stirrup, his hands already moving over the mounts fur. Hanger, Beth saw, began laughing uproariously.

"He's beautiful," Banastre breathed, before taking a quick look under Shadow Dancer's chest. "Oh, a she. She's beautiful." He turned back to Hanger. "A gift indeed, Major!"

"Oh for crying out loud!" Beth snapped and Banastre whirled back, his eyes on her now. "He doesn't mean the damned horse, Ban!"

Banastre's face went slack, his eyes drinking her in.

"Beth?" He shouted incredulously. "Sweet Lord - it is you!" His voice was filled with wonder. She was a far cry different to the woman he'd bid farewell so long ago, the girl he'd kissed deeply in frantic farewell. He found he enjoyed looking at her as much now, with her dirt smudged face and leather jacket and Gods, breeches of all things! - as he had when she'd been covered in silks. "How? What are you doing out here - and what the Devil are you wearing! Breeches?"

"I was hunting," she replied. "We were hunting but then your men, they ambushed us and tried to steal our stage and our horses and I swear, over my dead body will I allow you to keep mine!"

"Beth!" Thomas whispered. Beth threw her brother a sharp look.

Banastre raised his eyebrows and shot a glance at Hanger, who suddenly seemed a little wary, for some reason. "Ah... Your stag?"

Beth fired up at once. Furious all over again, she began to rage down at Banastre.

"_I_ shot it, it was my kill! We were taking it home when Hanger stopped us. He cuffed Thomas and another one grabbed Sammie by the scruff of his neck and slapped him! Your men hurt my brothers, Banastre! And Hanger - he declared our horses were his! He was going to give _you_ my Arab - my beautiful girl! - and I swear, if you do dare try to keep her, I will never speak to you again!"

"I won't," he said, waving his hands before her, though she was not yet done.

"And he was going to keep _my_ kill!"

Under this onslaught, Banastre's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He was not so concerned with Hanger's rough treatment of her brothers, it was Beth herself who shocked him to his core. His eyes fell on the rifle looped through the saddle belt and he realised she was speaking truly. Beth had been hunting. She had been riding - astride! She was wearing breeches! He could barely take his eyes off her exposed thighs - so shapely in her snug breeches.

In his minds eye, Banastre was reaching for her, dragging her from the horse, and then escorting her into the woods away from prying eyes. Once there, he pressed her to a tree and, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and smiled up at him invitingly, he reached down between them to rub his hands along those exposed, shapely thighs, feeling the smooth buckskin beneath his fingers. His heart began to pound as he imagined his hands rubbing higher, with one hand cupping her womanhood through the buckskin. He enjoyed that very much himself - when a woman palmed him through his breeches, the friction of the leather moving over his erection. He imagined how wonderful it would be for Beth, to have him palm her thus, pressing up against her as she panted and ground down against the heel of his hand. Would he feel her womanly wetness through the thick leather? Would that same wetness make it slippery for her, adding to the pleasure of his touch? His eyes became hooded and he struggled to stay focused on the now.

And she had killed a stag!

Though the sight of her in her hunting finery excited him in new and wonderful ways, it was really quite scandalous! But as he lifted his gaze back up to meet her eyes, he scoffed softly, for it all fit her so perfectly. The hunting, the horse riding, the rifle! They fit her as well as her silk dresses and picnicking had, back in Charlestown. When they had been back in Charlestown together, he had often imagined lifting those silk skirts of hers to touch her sex with his hand, his fingers dipping into her folds to finger her hardened pearl. He wondered now which was the preferred fantasy - feeling her bare nakedness under her skirts or feeling her in the same place over her breeches. The latter would mean he was not touching her bare flesh but even still, it held an equal appeal to him.

"Your kill," he murmured and gazed up at her, his eyes bright and warm. His fantasies had left him feeling flushed and dazed, he found it difficult to think, much less form words. He focused on the most surprising of what she'd told so far. "I had forgotten you hunted..."

"That's all you can say?" She asked sharply. With Samuel seated behind her, she could not dismount in the usual manner, so she lifted one slim leg over Shadow Dancers neck, shuffled until she was perched on the horse with her legs together, then slipped gracefully down to the ground. Once there, she glared up at him as she folded her arms across her chest beneath her breasts.

This action had the unfortunate effect of accentuating her bosom and Banastre's eyes bulged. He forcefully kept his eyes on hers, rather than at her incredible bosom, which was threatening to cause him to drift into a whole new fantasy, of him reaching out to knead those large globes over the leather of her jacket -

"That's all you can say!" Her sharp words snapped him back to attention. "After all we've been though! He was horrid, your Major Hanger!"

"Threatened to have you whip me," Hanger quipped.

"And I didn't like the way he ogled me either!" Beth snapped.

"And he touched her, too!" Thomas accused from the saddle, taking his cue from Beth, who had just now challenged the Colonel and had not been spanked for speaking out of turn. Indeed, Tarleton seemed more interested in conversing with her, than he was in taking her hostage. So far. Though Thomas was still wary, some of his fear receded, enough to continue listing Hanger's crimes. "He put his hand between her… her…" He trailed off then, embarrassed to admit where Hanger's hand had been.

By his suddenly sharp expression and his darkened gaze, Tarleton clearly understood what Thomas had left unsaid. He had been listening to the youth and his eyes became narrowed, his lips tight. Slowly pulling his eyes from Thomas, he stared up at Hanger, and Thomas noticed now that the Colonel was working his jaw, as though he was grinding his teeth.

Hanger swallowed, hard.

"The man is a rake!" Beth glared up at Tarleton. "Said he'd make me bathe with him because I was dirty! Even worse, he said I was no lady and that I'd be spreading my legs for him tonight!"

Filled with fury, Banastre hissed sharply through his clenched teeth and Beth shot Hanger a smug look. The Major stared down a little wild eyed, unsure of what defence he could give, that would soothe Tarleton's rage.

"You touched her between her legs, did you?" He asked Hanger coldly, his voice colder than winter frost. "You'll spread her legs, will you? You know damned well how highly I regard Miss Martin - you dare treat her so? Perhaps I will have you flogged!"

"Hmp!" Beth agreed, raising her chin haughtily. She was enjoying this part immensely, seeing Hanger squirm in his seat as he thought frantically of what to say. It was clear he was worried and rightly so - he was in the simmering stew now and he damned well knew it! She was determined to enjoy his discomfort, for as far as she was concerned, he deserved every moment of it, after what he'd done to her and her brothers!

"I didn't know it was her!" Hanger cried. "She only told me after I'd done all that. Besides, she's wearing breeches!" He spread his arms wide then and shrugged, as if to say _'what did you expect from me?'_

"How could you not know it was her?" Banastre flared, waving both his hands at Beth as though it was so obvious, he couldn't understand how anyone could miss it. "How many times did you accompany me when we visited her aunt's house?"

"She was wearing silks, Colonel!" Hanger wailed. "And she was clean! She's got so much dirt on her, I can't see her face! Christ, who'd expect this to be the same girl?"

Banastre tightened his lips. He pulled his gaze away, choosing to ignore Hanger for now. Drawing a sharp breath, he strove for calm as he addressed Beth.

"And who are these?" He asked her, gesturing toward the other youths.

"I told you, they are my brothers. Thomas, Samuel and Nathan," Beth pointed toward each one. the boys began to dismount and each one gave a polite but unpracticed bow to Tarleton, who inclined his head politely in return.

"This was pure folly, Beth," he said then, ignoring her attire for now. Ignoring his desire - and how inflamed he'd become with his own imaginings. His voice took on a sharp edge as he continued, "what were you thinking, hunting in the woods with only boys for protection?"

"I thought it would be safe enough, there is no one around here for miles!"

"No one except us..." Banastre argued pointedly.

"Well, yes... but... we didn't know that," she said. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she dropped her gaze to the ground, then tugged at the bottom of her short coat absently. She finally glanced up at him, meeting his unyielding gaze. "Last I heard, you were all the way up at the Wateree and there hasn't been any other British Companies this far down."

"Yes, that was the case. But the tide changes quickly where war is concerned, especially given the tiding's that Burwell's force is stationed at your Plantation," Banastre replied, he arched one eyebrow and his tone was confronting. Beth drew a sharp breath and exchanged wary glances with her brothers. Thomas met her gaze momentarily before returning to his study of the massive camp. Beth thought furiously for what to say, how to respond - knowing full well what trouble this could mean for her father, who had allowed Burwell to quarter with them.

"So that is why you've come them?" Thomas asked. "To attack my home?"

"To attack Burwell's force -" Banastre began.

"Which is the same thing," Thomas shot back.

"- and to rescue Miss Martin," Banastre finished. Beth cocked her head, looking perplexed.

"Rescue me!" She frowned. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"Beth -"

"Miss Martin," Thomas corrected, drawing himself up to his full height. Banastre was older, but Thomas towered over the shorter man.

"I'd appreciate it, Sir, if you would stop interrupting me," Banastre said with haughtier.

"And I can certainly accommodate you there, Sir. As long as you call my sister Miss Martin," Thomas shot back.

"Tommy!" Beth hissed, glaring at her younger brother.

"Well, he ain't family," Thomas glared right back. "I'm only saying what papa would, if he were here."

"Very well," Banastre said, eyes like flint. "As I was saying, I have indeed come to attack Burwell's force, to question your father as to why he would allow the enemy to quarter at his home, and finally, to rescue _Miss Martin_ from her forced engagement," he said with emphasis.

"My forced…" Beth murmured, stunned. "Banastre -"

"Beth, Gods, you're as bad as he is!" Thomas snapped, folding his arms over his chest.

"Colonel Tarleton," Beth's voice was a growl, her eyes narrowed and fixed on Thomas. Who inclined his head, approving. She shifted her gaze to Banastre, her eyes softening when she saw his small smile. "_Sir_, Colonel Tarleton, _Sir_," she said, deliberately exaggerating formality. His eyes crinkled with amusement. Her tone became serious. "I assure you, I'm in no need of rescuing. Your news is old, I'm afraid. Yes, Colonel Burwell was stationed at Fresh Water for a time. Only him and a few men, not his whole force! However, they are there no longer. My father did not give permission for Colonel Burwell to quarter there, he does not want to join the war on either side - he just wants to keep out of it in order to keep us safe. As for questioning him, he is not there - he has gone to Wakefield to look at some horses a rancher has for sale," she said. Banastre smile was gone, his expression serious. "Lastly, as for my rescue… Gods… Ban, Colonel Burwell and I are no longer engaged."

Banastre stared down at her with frank disbelief. "Couples don't go around ending their engagements, Beth. Miss Martin," he corrected, for the benefit of her brothers. "Especially not the higher sort."

"Are you accusing me of lying?" She asked, eyebrows arched.

Banastre scraped his finger along his cheek as he studied her and in doing so, he realised that he was in need of a shave. "I wouldn't accuse you of lying. It's all a bit… convenient though, isn't it?"

"Certainly not for me," she sniffed. "Convenient is not how I'd describe it! Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because of my innate suspicion of rebels, Beth. I've been lied to too many times to count. And, I've just told you that I'm about to fall upon your home to attack the enemy force stationed there -"

"There is no enemy force, Burwell had perhaps five guards with him! The rest were -" She snapped her mouth shut, horrified at what she'd been about to reveal, and to whom she'd been about to reveal it.

"Yes? Where were they?" He asked intently.

"Camped… elsewhere," she said, her eyes darting to her brothers. "I… I don't know precisely where, they don't stay in one place for long, for fear of discovery. Not all here are Patriots - there are Loyalists who would give their right arm to see the rebels ousted. They would report Burwell's whereabouts to you in a heartbeat."

"Pity your father is not one of those, aye?" He asked, eyebrows arched.

"Ban, please."

"I tell you that I'm going to Fresh Water to capture Burwell, and you tell me he and his force are gone. I tell you I'm going to question your father about his treason, so you tell me _he's_ gone, too -"

"Because they both are! Dear God!"

"And I tell you that I'm going to rescue you from your engagement, so you tell me it's over. Men of Burwell's standing don't simply end engagements, Beth. And Gods, why wouldn't you want me to rescue you? I'm doing this at Clinton's order, for the help you gave us in the city. Don't you want to be rescued? Surely you don't want to marry Burwell?"

"I don't… Gods… I…" She closed her eyes, reeling as she tried to gather her incoherent thoughts. "Clinton sent you to rescue me?" She squeaked.

"He was afraid of how Burwell might be punishing you, for betraying him. When we read the Banns, we knew that a forced marriage was part of it. Only your father must have supported it, so please don't tell me he hasn't committed treason -"

"Marrying me to Burwell is not committing treason," she said tiredly.

"Perhaps not, but letting him quarter at Fresh Water is. And it proves which side he is on."

"Lord," she whispered, opening her eyes and staring at Thomas. "Well, that's a discussion you'll have to have with my father," she said finally. "You'll have to decide yourself."

Banastre studied her carefully, his eyes fixed on her face. "Why would he end the engagement, Beth?"

"Because…" She glanced over her shoulder at all of Banastre's men, so many were watching and listening, hanging on every word. "I don't want to say. Not here. In private, perhaps. Not even then…" She whispered when her stomach churned. "Can't you just believe me when I tell you he ended it?"

"Maybe he was under pressure from the other Patriots, for marrying a woman who betrayed him to the British?" Hanger asked at Banastre's shoulder.

"No, that's not it," Beth sighed, staring at the ground. "In a few days, you'll know. I'm surprised you haven't heard it all already."

"Heard what?" Banastre asked her gravely, picking up on her lowered mood.

"Everything," she said. "Have you got any whiskey?"

"Whiskey!"

"I could really use a drink after all this. My brothers, too. You're not going to steal my horse, are you Ban? Please don't, she means the world to me, she's mine and -"

"I'm not going to take your horse, Beth," he sighed. "But I do want answers, and those, I intend to get from you. I also intend to follow through with Clinton's command to rescue you -"

"I don't need rescuing," she said.

"I have my commands," he replied, voice firm. "Come along, my tent is just there," he pointed, placed his hand on her arm and began to turn her. "Hanger, see her brothers are given a repast, I will speak with Miss Martin alone."


	46. Chapter 46 -The Arrival of Mrs Turnbull

Chapter 46 - The Arrival of Mrs. Turnbull:

Banastre let the tent flap fall closed behind him, then he turned Beth toward him and cupped her face.

"Whiskey, is it? That I can give you, for now. When we reach Fresh Water, I'll make sure you're given a bath. Lord, look at you," he laughed softly.

Her face flushed embarrassment, her fingers lifted as if with a will of their own, to touch her cheeks. "Do I look that awful?"

"Awful? I don't know if you're more beautiful to me now, or when you're freshly bathed. I guess I'll know in a few hours, yes?"

"I can't believe you were on your way there now," she said, shaking her head. "Ban, my sisters are in that house. And my aunt. You haven't made up your mind about my father - are they going to be hurt while you're trying to decide?"

"No body is hurting anybody," he replied.

"Except for my father who you might hang for treason," she accused.

"He knew what he was doing when he let Burwell stay," Banastre said, his voice hardening. "I will discuss the matter with him, just as I said. However, I am very reluctant to respond to such acts with quarter, you should be warned of that here and now."

"And as I said, he is not there, so…" She heaved a breath. "Whiskey, you said."

"No," he grinned down at her. "You said. It is for me to obey."

"Then obey," she laughed softly despite herself. He stepped away from her, took up a bottle and poured a glass for her and for him. The tent was large enough to accommodate a table strewn with maps, and chairs all around. The command tent. The map Banastre had clearly been following was spread out on top of the others. Her eyes followed the trails that should lead Banastre to Fresh Water, only on his map, the trails and creeks had been corrected, either with dead ends that did not exist, others had lines leading away from the place she knew was her home. And instead of the large plantation being depicted, there were little marks signifying swamp land instead. She frowned, confused, this map was completely, utterly wrong.

Eyeing the map still, she eyed the route to Burwell's true location. Being native to the area, it was easy to identify where she was in relation to Rutledge Plantation and to her chagrin, she realised the Legion was only an hours ride away. So close - it was a damned good thing that Tarleton didn't know where Burwell truly was, for if he did, he'd be falling upon the unsuspecting Colonel in not very long at all!

But even here, the map was full of glaring inaccuracies. It was not just the routes to Fresh Water that had been altered, but the routes leading to Rutledge Plantation were marked as a series of broken trails, rather than the complete roads they actually were. Perhaps the map had been given to Tarleton by a Patriot?

"Aren't you going to drink it?" He asked.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Beth said, pulling her eyes from the map. She smiled weakly as she took the glass. Should she tell him he'd been lied to? By yet another Patriot. If she did, he'd want her to correct the map. Not that it mattered - he wanted to go to Fresh Water and he now had guides in her and her brothers, he no longer needed the map. But the ones leading to Rutledge Plantation…

If Banastre realised where Burwell was camped, she'd rather the map confused him enough that he could not reach Burwell quickly or easily.

"This is wrong," she said, tapping the area of Fresh Water. It occurred to her that he would soon know it was anyway, for she was sure he would soon ask her to guide him. When he realised how inaccurate his map was he might wonder why she hadn't said anything before setting out.

"What do you mean?" He asked, frowned. He came to stand at her side, far closer than he aught.

"I think… If we're here," she tapped the place she knew them to be. "Then Fresh Water must be here," she tapped the place that was signified to be only swamp land.

"That's Fresh Water?" He asked as she took a sip of her whiskey. "You live in a swamp."

She laughed. "Well, a portion of it is a little swampy, enough to grow a nice crop of rice. But there's far more solid ground than you'd imagine there is looking at this. And these trails aren't right either. I suppose you'll want me to direct you. We'll take this trail," she pointed. He began to frown.

"That leads away."

"No, it cuts back in here," she tapped the trail originally depicted.

"I was told the swamp had taken that trail back."

"I rode along it just this morning, it's fine," she said, preferring to not reveal what she suspected, that the map had been tampered to mislead Banastre.

"Alright," he gazed down at her. "I prefer to rely on guides than on maps." His face split into a grin. "Especially a guide as beautiful as you."

"Stop it," she giggled, the whiskey beginning to warm her.

"I missed you, Beth," he admitted, his smile disappearing. He cupped her face again. "When I read of your engagement… Gods, it nearly killed me."

"You can't honestly still feel as you did," she said, shaking her head.

"I do. I told you. I always would. It never faded, Beth. It never will. Please, be truthful with me, did he really end it?"

"Yes," she murmured. She drank deeply, almost spluttering at the fire scorching her mouth and throat. It felt so nice once it was in her stomach, though. He would ask her why, now, and she was no more willing to explain it now, than she had been before entering the tent. Just then, a knock was sounded on a post outside the tent and she almost thanked God out loud.

"Colonel? I have someone who wishes to see you, she has information."

"Come," Banastre called.

Beth stepped away from him, he was standing too close to her - anyone coming in from outside would get the wrong idea and just now, she couldn't have any more ideas said about her. She took a seat at the table as the newcomer followed Whitty in. Beth recognised the woman at once, Mrs. Turnbull, who ran a milliners shop in Pembroke. Not wanting to be recognised herself, Beth angled herself away from the woman and pulled her hood up to cover her face.

"Who is this?" Banastre asked Lieutenant Whitty.

"Sir, this is Mrs. Turnbull," Whitty introduced them. "She has made haste to alert us to Burwell's presence not far from here."

Hearing this, Beth stiffened on her stool. She was quite well acquainted with Mrs. Turnbull and was just now pleased she'd thought to cover herself with her hood, the woman would speak more freely, not knowing she was in the presence of Benjamin Martin's daughter. Gods, she'd come carrying word of Harry, and this, Beth needed to hear.

"Indeed?" Banastre bowed to the Loyalist woman. "I thank you, Mrs. Turnbull. What can you tell me about Burwell?"

"Where he is," Mrs. Turnbull. Although Beth was turned away from her and therefore could not see her face, she could hear the smile in Mrs. Turnbull's voice. "He is at Rutledge Planation."

"At Rutledge Plantation!" Banastre gasped, his gaze shifting from Mrs. Turnbull to Beth, whose face was stone. "So it's true? He's no longer at Fresh Water!"

"No, Sir," Mrs. Turnbull said. "He left there abruptly a few days ago, after a fall out with the family."

"A fall out with the family," Banastre repeated, as if he were astonished. Beth glowered at him, she'd been telling the truth and only now he believes her? Then she slumped, for it was sure to come out now, everything she'd done with William, her disgrace, her downfall.

"Yes," Mrs. Turnbull said. "Colonel Burwell was engaged to Miss Martin, but he is no longer."

"Is that so?" Banastre breathed, his eyes flicking to Beth with astonishment.

"Oh, yes. There is quite the furore over it," Mrs. Turnbull said. "If you ask me, the family is better off not tying themselves to rebels, I'll never understand Mr. Martin's wanting to do so."

"Nor can I," Banastre ground out. "Would you tell me more about Burwell - are you certain of his location."

"Yes, Sir, I certainly am," Mrs. Turnbull said. "For I saw him for myself."

"Tell me," Banastre said, not quite demanding.

"I have a small milliners shop in Pembroke, Sir. Some while back, Mrs. Rutledge commissioned some dresses and other pieces and today, I delivered them to her. She was acting awfully strange, she'd forgotten I was coming, for a start, which is most unusual for her. She seemed… disconcerted, to have me visit and she ushered me out as quickly as she could, which is quite strange as well, for she's normally quite cordial. I realised why later. You see, Mrs. Rutledge sent me on my way fairly quickly, I was in the house for no more than five minutes before I was being shown to my carriage again. We - my negroes and I, that is - were halfway along the carriageway and heading away from the house, when we were forced to the side to make room for horses. We stopped entirely, rather than risk damage to the carriage. I was gazing out the window, curious to see who was arriving, when I recognised Burwell. I've seen him before, you see, at Pembroke a few times and at church last week when his engagement to Miss Martin was announced." - Beth stiffened and Banastre, picking up on the movement, made no move to present Beth to Mrs. Turnbull, or to inform her that she was there. - "The others, I assume, were his men, though they were not in their uniform. As they came toward us, I could hear them talking about the soldiers in the camp - how the men were settled in their tents and appearing to be comfortable. Clearly, Burwell was returning from an inspection of his troops. The Colonel asked one of his underlings if he had the list of provisions required to have the soldiers camp more comfortable, the other replied that he did. One of his men then mentioned that Mrs. Rutledge had promised that a bath would be drawn and waiting for him in his chamber, which indicates to me that he is quartering at the Great House. And if this fellow is, Burwell must be, also."

"I agree, and he is settling in for at least a few days, if he is worried about provisions for his men," Banastre said.

"I listened as well as I could, while trying to act as though I was taking no notice of him."

"No easy feat."

"No sir," Mrs. Turnbull agreed emphatically. "I heard enough to be able to tell you that he will be staying there for a few days yet, before moving on."

"Did he say that?" Banastre said, frowning.

"Not in so many words. He and his men were abreast of us and passing when that one mentioned the bath. Another said that they were to take what rest they could, 'for the Lord knows, when we leave here, it will be some time before we get another.' Burwell replied, 'the sooner we leave this wretched County, the better.' I think they intended to leave soon anyway, but he is doubly determined to leave after the debacle with his ended engagement."

"That information is worth my weight in gold, and I think you for bringing it," Banastre said. "Did you see where his camp is?"

"No, Sir, not from the carriage lane and I'm sorry, but I didn't think it prudent to go snooping. The Plantation is massive, nearly five hundred acres. It's swamp and woods and open fields. I'd say they'd be in the swamps someplace, away from the house and casual observers like myself. But that is a guess only, I can not tell you for certain."

"If you saw no tents, then that means he will have only a small guard with him at the house - perhaps no more than the men you saw with him. How many were there?"

"Five, Sir."

"With so few immediately to hand, I should be able to ride straight up to the house and capture him, without interference from his soldiers in the camp. I thank you, Mrs. Turnbull." Banastre passed and he pushed the map under Mrs. Turnbull's nose. "Can you mark where Rutledge Plantation is, Mrs. Turnbull?" He asked, handing her a quill. Beth held her breath, hoping against hope that Mrs. Turnbull did not know the area as well as Beth did. However, if the woman had been able to find Banastre in the thick woods, chances were she knew the area quite well indeed.

"Of course," Mrs. Turnbull continued to speak as she leaned over to study the map on the table. "It's not far - only a few hours ride to the East of here."

"Indeed!" Banastre gasped, watching Mrs. Turnbull intently.

"Hmm… This isn't right… Oh - I see what's happened. Your map is not correct, Sir," she gestured at the quill in her hands and glanced up at Banastre. "May I?"

"By all means!" Banastre waved both his hands to the map, nodding enthusiastically.

With an expression of horror, Beth watched from the corner of her eye as Mrs. Turnbull began to correct the irregularities that Beth herself had noticed earlier. The woman drew a long line through the gaps of all the trails that would lead Banastre to Rutledge Plantation.

"I wonder if they've only just arrived there," Banastre mused as he stared down at the map.

"Well, Burwell has likely been there for a night or two already, for he left Fresh Water two days ago," Mrs. Turnbull said as she drew new lines on the map.

"After a fall out with the family. What was that, exactly?" Tarleton said. Beth threw him an astonished, chagrined look. He met her eyes.

"I… do not like to gossip," Mrs. Turnbull said, her eyes flicking toward the hooded youth. She'd been rather curious about the lad from the moment she came into the tent, for he had not pulled down his hood and nor had she been presented to him. A spy, perhaps? Excitement flared through her - this was like an adventure straight out of a novel! Spy or not, she did not wish to speak of her tidings before whoever he might be. "Perhaps if we were alone?"

"You can speak freely, madam," Banastre said, ignoring Mrs. Turnbull's pointed look at the back of Beth's head.

"Very well. I suppose there won't be many around these parts who don't hear the tale anyway," she said. "What I'm about to tell you… it's quite disturbing, Sir. But I've heard the account from several different sources, it has been carried fresh from the city, and I have very little doubt that it's true." She was about to continue when the young man suddenly rose.

"I'm going to wait outside."

He spoke with a higher pitched voice than Mrs. Turnbull was expecting and he was quite short of stature, Mrs. Turnbull realised he wasn't a young man, but a boy. "Yes, that would be for the best," she agreed. This was no tale for children.

Banastre met Beth's eyes as she remained hidden in her cowl. She looked miserable, he arched his eyebrows but said nothing as she picked up the whiskey bottle, clearly intending to carry it, with her glass, from the tent.

"I'll come and talk to you in a minute," he said.

"In a minute, you won't want to talk to me at all," she muttered, turning away. He watched as she stormed from the tent, the bottle in one hand, her glass in the other, she kept her face hidden from Mrs. Turnbull, who was watching with undisguised curiosity.

Disturbed and trying not to show it, Banastre asked Mrs. Turnbull to proceed.

* * *

Shadow Dancer had been been placed with the other horses in a sectioned off area amongst the trees. An impromptu corral, where she'd been fed and watered. Leaning against a rail fence, Beth poured whiskey into her glass, set the bottle on the fence post, and began to drink. Shadow Dancer came trotting toward her, tail whipping, mane flying, she stopped on the other side of the fence.

"At least I still have you," Beth murmured, reaching over the fence to massage the horses muzzle. She bent her head to Shadow Dancer's and the horse stilled, pressing closer, as if understanding that her mistress needed comfort. Gasping back a sob, Beth set her glass down, climbed the fence, wrapped her arms around the mare's neck and leaned into her. The weight of Shadow Dancer's head and muzzle draped over Beth's shoulder and down her back, giving Beth the feeling that she was being embraced.

"Beth?" Thomas placed his hand on Beth's shoulder and she turned to face him. "What's wrong? Are you - are we - in trouble?"

"No," she sniffled and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Mrs. Turnbull is in there telling Colonel Tarleton all about me and Colonel Tavington. I didn't want to stay and listen so I left."

"She started saying all that in front of you?" Thomas asked incredulously.

"She didn't know I was me, I had my hood pulled up and kept my face turned away which is a good thing because she started talking about Harry and me and the engagement being ended -"

"At least Tarleton will believe that now," Thomas sniffed.

"And she told Colonel Tarleton where Harry is," Beth said and Thomas's eyes bulged.

"She what..?"

"It's why she's here. She went to Mrs. Rutledge's today and as she was leaving, she saw Harry with his officers, and she heard them talking, so she knows they're all there. Banastre is going to go after them, I think. As soon as she's finished gossiping about me," she finished with a dejected sigh.

"Jesus, he's going to go after Burwell! Someone needs to warn them!"

"Who? When? How?" Beth asked. "I agree, he needs to be warned. But there's nothing we can do, we're stuck here. Perhaps Banastre will release us now, after he's heard all Mrs. Turnbull has to say about me. He'll be shed of me soon, perhaps we can go straight to Mrs. Rutledge's and tell Burwell? I'd say he'll go straight there, he won't bother with Fresh Water at all now."

"Yes. I… I'm going to talk to Nathan," Thomas said and with that, he turned on his heels and strode away. Beth watched him go, then she turned back to Shadow Dancer, who was nudging her arm.

With her tears spent and nothing else to do, Beth asked one of the soldiers tending the Dragoons horses for the use of a coarsely bristled brush. She tried to lose herself in the soothing task of brushing out Shadow Dancers coat. She had already combed out the horses mane and was now working her way over her back and one foreleg.

It didn't work, she couldn't lose herself entirely. She doubted she'd ever escape it - the shame, the disgrace. It left her feeling miserable and exhausted, she just wanted to climb into bed, curl beneath the blankets, and never rise again. She was utterly wrung out. Each time she was forced to confront her situation, it chipped away at her spirit, at her very soul. And soon, she would be confronting it all over again, when Banastre was finished with Mrs. Turnbull. Soon, he would tear into her, call her a whore and who knew what else, and then he would send her from the camp, declaring to never see her again.

At least she and her brothers would then be free to warn Colonel Burwell. But to lose Banastre now, to be denied his affection and his friendship, Gods, that was going to hurt. The dapples on Shadow Dancer's coat swam before her eyes as tears blurred her vision again. Christ, she was sick of crying. It left her feeling empty, wretched and with a blinding headache. All she was left with now was a horrible desolate and useless feeling.

"Beth?"

Not Thomas this time. Beth's arm froze mid stroke, her fingers curled to a white knuckle grip on the brush. She did not turn, she did not want to see the disgust in his eyes.

"Is it true? Gods, please, tell me it's not true."

"Depends what she told you," she said without turning. "I'm still a virgin, if that's what you're asking; you don't have to pay him fifty pounds." She threw down the brush and began to storm back to the fence, ready to climb over it and go find her brothers. She'd placed one foot on the bottom log and was pulling herself up when a pair of hands encircled her waist, preventing her. Banastre, far stronger than she, pulled her back down and turned her to face him. She kept her eyes lowered as he studied her face.

"You and William," he said. She could hear the agony in his voice, could feel his world shattering. "Why, Beth? Gods, why?"

"I don't know why! Because I'm a fool, is why! It felt good, so I guess I'm a whore like everyone is saying!" She cried, tears stinging her eyes, sobs tearing through her chest.

"Shhh, Beth, you're not a whore," Banastre pulled her to him, cradled her against his chest, even as she tried to pull away. But in the next moment, she fell against him, threw her arms around him and held tight, as if fearful that he would be the one to let go. He was conflicted, caught between the need to comfort her and confront her. He held her for a bit, then asked softly, "so all that about you being alone with him, in Arthur Simms bedchamber?"

"Events of that night were greatly exaggerated," Beth said tiredly. She turned her head so her cheek was pressed against his chest, then repeated in a dull voice, "I'm a virgin."

Banastre frowned, puzzling through what she left unsaid.

"So, you were alone with him in a bedchamber?" He asked then. If so, he had a fairly good idea of what the two would have been doing with one another, that had 'felt good' but would still leave her a virgin. When she nodded, he closed his eyes, his face became pained. "I really don't like hearing this," he whispered finally.

"I'm sorry," she said, tightening her hold. "Please, Ban, don't… I know this is hard for you. But Gods, I couldn't stand it if you turned away from me too, Ban!"

"Jesus," he whispered. His arms came about her more fully and he held her as tight as he felt she needed. "Just tell me… Just tell me you don't love him. Please, Beth, tell me you don't love him."

Beth froze in Banastre's arms. Gods, it was so tempting. To admit she loved William would result in Banastre withdrawing from her and she knew she could not stand that, not now. Not after losing her father, her brother, and ever family within a hundred miles. "I… " she shook her head. "I care so deeply for you. I shouldn't have done the things I did with him, I wish I hadn't done them. Please, Ban, I've lost everybody, I couldn't stand to lose you too."

Banastre closed his eyes, relief flooding through him. She was just a curious girl, caught up with an aggressive suitor. She didn't love William, for she'd shaken her head in the negative. And she regretted doing those things with him, it was Banastre she cared for. His tension eased somewhat - not entirely, for she had done those things and there was no taking them back. But she regretted them and she didn't want to lose him, it was Banastre she wished to be with.

"It was painful for me to hear those things, Beth," he whispered against her hair.

"I'm so sorry."

"But you didn't… couple with him?"

"No," she said shortly and the breath burst from him.

"Oh, thank Christ," he sighed, closing his eyes and letting the relief of it rush over him. "Christ, I thought you'd… To be honest, I didn't know what to think."

"No one does. They all want to believe the worst, as if the truth isn't bad enough," she said miserably. "Not that it makes any difference to anyone here. I'm ruined regardless. I've disgraced myself, as they see it. And worse yet, I've shamed my fiancé, a gentleman they all respect and adore. I'm done in here, I'm utterly ruined. If that was what William was trying to do, it worked. Gods, how it worked."

Banastre drew a long, deep breath. It was so very hard to discuss this - it was pure agony. "You think he was trying to ruin you?"

"My father thinks so. My father is barely speaking to me now… If I had that night to do over again, in no way on God's green earth would I do any of it the same. God, sometimes I wish I'd never met him."

Banastre mulled this declaration over in his mind for several long moments. Before he could decide how he felt about it, Beth lifted her head from his chest and met his gaze.

"I know this is upsetting for you, Ban, but to be frank, I think you have little cause to be. I doubt you have been celibate," she accused gently.

"No, I've not been celibate," he admitted. "But I still have great cause to be upset, Beth. You know how I feel about you."

"Yet you've gone with other women…" She said, lifting her head and meeting his eyes. "Are you saying you still love me?"

He sighed heavily as he gazed into her brown eyes. She looked far from beautiful just then, her eyes blood shot and red-rimmed from crying. Her cheeks dirty and smudged. Her hair - some of which had come loose from its binding, hung in limp and dull strands around her face. She was not smiling - he much preferred her when she was smiling. Her radiance was gone. In short - she looked a misery.

"With all my heart," he replied honestly.

There - a flash of her radiance shone through and she smiled at him, taking his breath away.

"Thank you," she said, resting her cheek against his chest again, snuggling in against him, content. "I needed to hear that."

"I know you did." He bent his cheek to the top of her head, giving her the feeling of being entirely encompassed. Though she had been in desperate need of it, no one had embraced her so thoroughly since Burwell's abrupt departure two days before. No one had wanted to - not even her own father. Nor her own brother, who had left her to go to war with only a curt nod as his farewell. And so she clung to Banastre, wrapping her arms around his back and stepping as close to the warmth of his body as she could get. In response, he tightened his hold and kissed the top of her head.

"Shh, there, there," he whispered, resting his chin on her head. He continued to whisper soothing reassurances and eventually her sobs eased to quiet sniffles. She made no move to leave his embrace, nor did he make any move to release her.

"It's been so horrid," she confided, her eyes squeezed shut tight. "My Papa hates me. The way he looks at me now… He's disgusted. Ashamed. So angry! He told me I've bought our family to its knees, that I've disgraced us all. He acts like his usual self with my brothers and sisters but as soon as I come into the room… he goes all quiet and barely looks at me. He didn't speak a word to me this morning when he rode out with my older brother, who is treating me the exact same way. I feel like I should just stay in my chamber, so I don't offend them with my presence!"

She choked up on those last words and Banastre gave her a squeeze.

"It'll get better," he lied. They both understood the truth of it, Beth was already shaking her head, denying his words.

"No, it won't. My father and my older brother both hate me. And I can't show my face in Pembroke or anywhere else. I'm lucky my other siblings will speak with me. Apart from them, I am abhorred! My father has lost decent workers - they've packed up their families and left. People I've known all my life sneer at me now, as though I'm worse than dung. Mother's won't let their little daughters speak to me. The things they've said about me - I've heard them. But it's worse seeing them whisper behind their hands, I know they're talking about me. The Redcoat whore."

"Shh, you are not a whore," he assured her.

"They think I am. They think I'm the worst kind of whore. Oh Banastre, I really don't think I can take much more. I thought you were about to abandon me now too, and that would have killed me, I know it would have."

"I'd not do that to you," he said.

"I don't know how to keep going! Especially without my family! Without my Papa..!" She choked off again, breathing raggedly against Banastre's chest. "And then there's Colonel Burwell…" She continued softly, her voice wooden. "My father's closest friend. Burwell saved my Papa's life when they served together. He was in love with me - oh, Lord - I never meant to hurt him."

"He was in love with you?" Banastre asked, genuinely startled. His mind was cast back to the time when he and Tavington had joined Beth and her friends, who were picnicking beneath an oak in the Square. That Miss Claire something or other - Banastre quite forgot the girls name - had just blurted out that Burwell had proposed to Beth. During the conversation following, Beth had told both Tavington and Banastre that Burwell felt nothing for her, beyond the desire to have a pretty wife, and the alliance it would bring between his family and her father's - his close friend. Beth had said then, that Burwell had not cared overly much when Beth had refused his marriage proposal. She had said nothing of the Colonel being in love with her.

"You said - back in Charlestown - that he didn't care for you -"

"Oh, I lied, I lied!" Beth wailed. She lifted her head from his chest to meet his eyes. It was beyond frustrating, she'd already been through all this with William, who had been furious to discover that Beth had lied about Burwell's feelings toward her. "I only said that so you and William wouldn't use me. And was I wrong to think it? Goddamn it, William did use me in that stupid ambush, as soon as he learned the truth, he tried to lure Burwell to me, using me as the bait! Yes, I lied to you, but none of that is important now, Ban!"

"Not important?" Banastre arched an eyebrow, feeling quite differently about it. He felt quite the opposite in fact - he thought it was very important - her lies.

"No!" She despaired. "It's not! I've been through all this with William when he found out I lied. Please - I'm going through enough just now, I can't deal with your anger on top of it all! I just can't!"

She sagged then, wilting against him, her brief flare of fire gone. Tears threatened to fall all over again, he saw them welling in her eyes and he realised she'd been speaking quite truthfully, losing him now would be her undoing. That she cared as deeply for him as he did her was some he was certain of now.

"Very well," he said gently. Drawing one arm from her back, he reached up to wipe her tears, smearing the dirt across her cheeks with his thumb. "God, you are filthy," he smiled down at her, hoping to get at least a chuckle out of her. Beth stared at his jacket blindly, however. She felt listless and weak in his arms. He said earnestly, "I'm here now, Beth, and I won't let anyone shun you ever again."

"You won't be staying here forever," she whispered, still looking dejected and depressed. Heaving a sigh, he pulled her against him again and she nestled her cheek against his chest. There were no more tears for the moment, though a headache was growing behind her eyes, it would be blistering soon. The two were quiet but the camp all around them was in full motion. Men calling to one another, the clatter of equipment being packed. The Command tent was struck. The horses were being taken by their owners and Hanger was shouting at the top of his voice to make haste, they were moving out immediately.

The two were quiet for sometime, Banastre stared over Beth's head, his hands now moving up and down her back.

"You're going after him, aren't you?" She asked and he knew she was speaking of Burwell now.

"Gods, yes. I'm not going to look this gift horse in the mouth." The camp was almost packed, they would leaving any moment now.

"Banastre - my brother is a Continental," she drew back slightly. "Lieutenant Gabriel Martin and he serves with Burwell. Please, don't do this. You could kill my brother tonight."

He gazed at her with sympathy. It was a situation he had encountered before, though it was usually a Loyalist begging clemency for a Patriot family member. Being on opposing sides of the conflict did not stop broken families from loving one another.

"Beth, I have my duty," though his tone was gentle, it held a ring of finality. "I will not be swayed in this. It might bring you some reassurance that I do not plan to go in with guns blazing. With Burwell at the Great House, it is my hope that I will have him subdued and in hand before his soldiers even know we're there. And then, they will scatter or surrender. I do not anticipate a full scale battle."

"And if they don't scatter or surrender?" She asked in a small voice. "If they do fight back?"

"Then they will have made their choice," he said firmly. "And I will not balk."

Beth lowered her eyes in resignation. She'd always known it was a possibility, that Tarleton or Tavington would come up against Gabriel in battle. All she could do now was hope and pray that Burwell had the sense to surrender - for if he did not, it was highly likely her brother and former betrothed might not survive the night.

"Are you sending us home now? My brothers and I. It's almost dark, Ban. If you let us go now, we might make it home before full nightfall."

"Hmm. I'm very reluctant to let you go…"

"Please?"

He heaved a breath. "I don't know. I will think about it," Banastre drew one arm from her back to place two fingers beneath her chin and tilt her head up to his. "How many numbers has Burwell, Beth?" He asked her when she met his gaze.

"I will be a turncoat if I answer that," she whispered.

"You will be a turncoat if you don't," he said shortly. "You need to co-operate with me, Beth. Come to think of it, did you know Burwell was at Rutledge Plantation?"

"No," she lied. "I knew he was close by, but that is all."

"Well, he was staying with your family for long enough that you must know his numbers. If you want little to no bloodshed, I suggest you help me."

"About one hundred," she admitted, knowing he'd find out soon enough.

"Thank you Beth. What is their fire power? Do they have artillery pieces or the like? Are they militia or regulars?"

"Regulars. Continentals only. I believe they are all carrying flintlocks, I doubt they have cannons. Nor can I be entirely certain. I didn't see his camp, Ban. He stayed with us while his men were…"

"Were where?"

"Camped in a swamp not far from Fresh Water," she admitted.

"Alright. Look, if I can protect your brother, I will."

"You don't even know what he looks like!" She fretted. "And it'll be dark by the time you reach them! How can you protect anyone under those circumstances?"

"I'll do what I can," he shrugged.

"And my brothers and I?" She asked, unable to keep the tartness from her voice. He stared at her gravely for sometime. "Ban, Sammie is only twelve years old and Nate isn't much older. Please, let Thomas and I get them safely home."

"They can go. But you're staying with me."

"Ban!"

"I came here to rescue you, remember?" He grinned down at her. "Clinton couldn't stop the engagement from going ahead, for he has no authority over you. However, he indicated that if my path crossed yours, I was to do all I could to save you from it."

"But I'm not engaged, there's nothing to save me from."

"Perhaps not, but do you really want to go home? Back to your father who doesn't even want to speak to you?"

"I told you, he's not home," she said sullenly.

"Beth, come with me," he said and when she began to shake her head, he became earnest. "If you're worried you'll get into trouble with your family, I'll say it was all me. We'll go find your brothers right now, I'll tell them that I have my orders, therefore you're to stay with me."

"To what end?" She asked with a shrug. "What would we be doing?"

"Having an enjoyable evening," he grinned. "I am going to take over Rutledge Plantation, we'll dine there and spend a few hours together. If you want, I'll take you home later tonight, or tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?" She arched an eyebrow. "And where would you be sleeping?"

"In my own chamber, as you will be in yours," he laughed softly. "Come Beth, doesn't that sound better than returning home and being all alone, without me?"

"Spending an evening dining with you certainly does sound better than returning home and being all alone, I could not agree more. But Ban, I don't want to see you capturing my former fiancé! I don't want to see a battle! And what will he think, seeing me there? He'll think I gave him away, is what. And then there's Mrs. Rutledge. I haven't seen her since… Since the rumours began and… She'll be horrid to me, I know she will be. I can't go there! "

"I won't let any of them near you," he replied. "Do you not understand what power I wield? I can take over a house entirely and put the current occupants in an outside if I wish."

"Oh, no, please don't do that to her."

"I promise you, Beth, I will not let her be rude to you. I'll banish her to her quarters before she even sees you, she won't even know you're there, if you wish it."

"And Burwell?"

"He won't know you're there either. He, I will contain in an outhouse and on that, I shall not be budged. He will be removed from the house, his men routed from the woods and all of them will be imprisoned as best I can, they will be kept away from the house and none of them will know you're there, either. You can wait with the camp followers until it's done."

"My brother will be among them."

"Well, I'll be sure to send out a cask of wine to him," Banastre quipped and Beth gave his shoulder a shove and laughed softly.

"You won't be hanging any of them?"

"We don't hang Regulars," he said. "Only criminals. They'll all be safe and sound, their wounds tended if they receive any. They will spend their night under guard and will be removed to a more secure location on the morrow. It's tonight I wish to discuss, Beth. Come, it'll be fun! After the skirmish, it will be."

"I…" She shifted from foot to foot and gazed up at him uncertainly. He could see he was swaying her and he flashed her his most winning smile, hoping to seal the deal.

"You, my beautiful Beth, will have as much fun as you've had in weeks, and no one will blame you in the slightest."

"They'll blame you?" She asked and he shrugged.

"If they wish. Not that they can do a hell of a lot about it. So, do you accept my invitation, my darling?"

"You'll return me home tonight?"

"…or… tomorrow…" he said and she laughed softly. "Is that a yes?"

"Alright," she said, nodding. He kissed her cheek.

"Let's go find your brothers, they must be worried about you by now. Let me do the talking, alright?"

Beth nodded. He offered her his arm and they began making their way through the camp to find her brothers.


	47. Chapter 47 - Rutledge Plantation

Chapter 47 - Rutledge Plantation:

Henrietta's silk skirts swished as she glided into the parlor. Gabriel glanced up at her and she inclined her head in polite greeting before taking a seat across from the stone faced and silent Colonel Burwell. A small table held a tray, with a delicate decanter filled to the brim of ratafia. The Plantation's mistress began pouring the sweet liqueur for all three of them. Her own glass was only half filled, Henrietta still struggled to stomach drinks of a stronger nature after her ill advised whiskey adventure with Charlotte and Alice, back at Fresh Water plantation.

"Thank you," Gabriel took his glass when she handed it to him.

The young Lieutenant had arrived at Rutledge Plantation some hours ago with his father and the two militiamen, Curly and Rollins. They were gone now. After bidding his father farewell, Gabriel had joined Burwell on an inspection of the soldiers camped in the woody swamplands, and upon his return to the house, he'd had a nice long soak in a bath before dressing and heading down stairs to join the others.

Gabriel studied Burwell surreptitiously over his glass of ratafia as he continued to sip. The Colonel's face was a mask of stone, his eyes cold and hard. _Like granite_, Gabriel thought. Burwell had become granite. What a mess it all was. Burwell and Benjamin had closeted themselves away for a private discussion before Benjamin left earlier and Gabriel knew without needing to be told that Beth had been the topic for their conversation. Gabriel twisted his lip with disgust and placed he took a larger gulp of the delicate liqueur, all the while wishing it was strong whiskey.

Beth.

He shook his head, fury welling inside him all over again. How his sister could do what she had done was beyond him. To dally with a lobsterback Officer. To break Burwell's heart. To shame the Martin family so utterly. It had surprised him that his father had not disowned her, for her ruinous conduct! It had surprised him that Henrietta Rutledge welcomed Benjamin and himself, he would not have blamed her for sending them on their way!

"Thank you again for allowing us to stay here," Burwell said.

The suddenness of his voice made the other two jump. It was harsh and unexpected, and oh so cold. He was merely going through the forms, being polite to a friend and ally - without that need, he would not have spoken at all. His voice was frost, his body thwart with tension even while sitting relined in his chair, apparently at ease.

"You're always welcome here, Colonel Burwell," Henrietta replied. She eyed the Commander with concern, clearly she wished to ask him questions but Burwell averted his gaze. It was clear he had no wish to discuss what had taken place with himself and Beth.

Beth.

Gabriel scowled again. She was to marry George Howard now. No doubt Benjamin had told Burwell this earlier, adding to the Colonel's heartbreak. The youth suspected that this was the reason Beth was still considered a member of the Martin family, for her willingness to try to make amends. She had not refused to marry George, she was doing it willingly, to save the family from further shame.

_That's something, at least_, Gabriel thought. _If only she hadn't gone and lifted her skirts for a damned Lobsterback in the first place…_

He drew a shuddering breath and turned his mind to Burwell, wondering how the Colonel was taking the news. Benjamin must have informed the Colonel of Beth's new engagement. Not well, the younger man suspected. He would not be taking the news well at all. But there was no help for it. Burwell would not - could not - marry Beth now, ruined as she was. Nevertheless, she was in desperate need of a husband to help her claw her way back into Societies good graces. Gabriel fervently hoped that Beth was grateful George would take her under the circumstances. He also fervently hoped his sister didn't make a mess of that too! Not when Gabriel himself wanted to marry Anne Howard. If she messed up the strong, long thriving, relationship the Martin family enjoyed with the Howard's, if Mr. Howard denied Gabriel permission to marry Anne because of Beth, there would be Hell to pay.

Christ. What a mess.

"Are your men comfortable enough in the woods, Sir? I wish I had more room to accommodate them all," Henrietta's voice was cautious, tentative, as though she feared straying to 'forbidden' topics of discussion.

"They are soldiers, Mrs. Rutledge," Burwell replied tersely. "And are well used to far more rugged conditions. It is summer at least, food is plentiful here, I am certain they are content enough just now."

"Oh, good," Henrietta sucked at her lips, trying to think of more to say. Burwell's chilly disposition made the making of idle conversation a difficult task indeed.

"Your tobacco looks ready for harvesting," Gabriel said. He tried not to cringe - women didn't want to speak of harvesting crops! But there was nothing else - no other subject safe enough. Every other topic that flashed through his mind led back to Beth and they avoided speaking of her as much as possible.

"Yes, Lieutenant. The Plantation's overseer wishes to begin the day after tomorrow, I believe. I have a buyer for the crops and I should fetch a good price for them."

"Oh, that's good," Gabriel nodded. They fell silent again - the topic was a dead end. Like all the topics they had broached so far.

"My cook tells me that the deer she'd been roasting all day will soon be ready," Henrietta said finally. "And we shall have a butter pudding for after. I do so like pudding, don't you?"

"I do," Gabriel smiled. "You are spoiling us, I don't think we'll ever wish to leave here."

"Well, you can stay as long as you need but don't even think of stealing my cook when you do leave!"

Gabriel smiled. Their eyes flickered to Burwell again but the Colonel remained resolutely silent, cold, and hard. Gabriel met Henrietta's gaze and she shook her head imperceptibly. Clearly, she was at a loss - having run out of conversation.

"Perhaps a whiskey…" Gabriel suggested and Henrietta brightened at once.

"Oh, yes - I'll pour you and the Colonel one. I won't be joining you I'm afraid - not since our unfortunate -" she cut off abruptly and swallowed, shooting another glance at Burwell. She had skirted too closely to a subject that would take them directly to Beth - the memory of the day the ladies had drunk to excess in the parlor at Fresh Water Plantation. "I'll just pour a dram for the two of you," she finished softly. She made to rise but was forestalled when several Officers stepped into the parlor. They stood to attention immediately before Burwell, who glanced up in askance.

"Report," he commanded sharply.

"Sir, Captain Martin's son has arrives. He is frantic to speak to you."

"Send him in," Burwell said and a moment later, Thomas Martin strode into the chamber.

"You have to leave," he said without preamble. "Tarleton is coming for you, he knows you're here."

"Oh no," Henrietta gasped. Burwell and Gabriel were already rising.

"How long?" Burwell asked.

"Not much. I came the short way and I know that Beth will be leading him around the long way, but I started from Fresh Water which added a bit to my travel time -"

"Beth is leading him?" Gabriel's voice was strangled.

"She has no choice," Thomas said, folding his arms across his chest. "Tarleton has taken her, he wouldn't let her leave with us. He was told where you were and he is going to use Beth as a guide. I know she'll send him circles for as long as she can, for as long as isn't dangerous for her, but I don't know how long she can keep that up before that gets dangerous for her. She told me to tell you to get the hell out of here while you still can." Thomas shrugged. "Not her words, but still."

After a shocked exchange of glances with Henrietta and Gabriel, Burwell barked a series of commands to his Officers to have the soldiers immediately decamp and withdraw. As officers darted in all directions, Burwell turned back to the Martin boy. "Walk with me and start from the beginning."

They strode upstairs, Burwell led the way to his chamber, Thomas speaking all the while. Henrietta and Gabriel followed.

"The beginning?" Thomas was saying. "Well, this morning, after Gabriel left, Nathan, Sammie and me, we caught Beth in the stables saddling Shadow Dancer. We thought she was running away but she said she was just upset and needed to ride in the woods for a few hours, because Gabriel wouldn't hug her or say goodbye."

"What?" Gabriel snapped. "She was going to take off because of that?"

"Pack your belongings, Lieutenant," Burwell said before striding into his chamber.

"I'm mostly packed, Sir," Gabriel replied, wanting to have this out with Thomas here and now. He followed as Thomas and Henrietta went into Burwell's chamber. The Colonel started packing immediately. Gabriel opened his mouth to defend himself but Thomas got there first, he pinned Gabriel with a hard look.

"Yeah, she was right upset that you snubbed her. I notice you was still talkin' to papa just fine, though!"

"Thomas," Gabriel breathed, shocked, his eyes slicing toward Henrietta.

"And to Aunt Charlotte, you gave her a big old hug before you left," Thomas snapped and Gabriel shifted with discomfort, fearing Mrs. Rutledge and Burwell would come to guess that his father and aunt were having an affair, with such plain speech from Thomas. Henrietta frowned, but said nothing. Burwell appeared to be barely listening, tossing his belongings into his bags. Thomas continued, "Beth is distraught because she thinks you and Papa hate her."

Gabriel flushed red with guilt, it was true - he had not wanted to look at his sister, let alone embrace her in farewell. And yes, he had embraced Charlotte farewell and perhaps he shouldn't be treating them differently when they had both done the same thing.

"The beginning, Mr. Martin," Burwell snapped.

"Oh. Yeh. Well, when we realised Beth just wanted to get away for a bit, we decided we'd all go hunting, because she couldn't go off into the woods all alone and we all needed some time away from the farm." Thomas continued. "I left a note for Aunt Charlotte and then we left. Everything was going fine, we caught some racoons and then a stag, but when Nathan and Samuel went back to get the horses, they came back saying they'd seen Dragoons! Beth asked what colour they were wearing, she said it'd be green if it was Tavington -" Thomas noticed it when Burwell froze, his fingers clenching around the stockings he was packing. "And it'd be red if it was Tarleton. Nate said they were red, so we knew it was Tarleton. Either way, we needed to get out of there. We got the stag tied as quickly as we could, we decided that we'd come straight here and warn you that Tarleton was close by." Burwell gave a quick nod of acknowledgement. "But we were still worried. Beth said that if we were caught she'd be able to talk her way out of it because she was acquainted with Tarleton from Charlestown. She was sure he'd just let us go. And then they did capture us, they's heard our rifle fire and they laid an ambush for us and when they caught us, they were anything but friendly!"

"What happened?" Burwell prompted without pausing in his task, on edge now as he waited for Thomas to catch his breath.

"First off - that Hanger, he said he was taking our horses. We got angry but there was nothing we could do. He cuffed me around the head, and he even grabbed Beth! He put his hands between her legs and said she'd be opening her legs for him soon enough. It was disgusting the way he spoke - I wanted to lay into him! And then he said he'd make her have a bath with him because she was all covered in dirt!"

"Did he now?" Burwell's eyes narrowed and even Gabriel's face darkened with fury - that Hanger would molest Beth in anyway! "And what did Tarleton do about it?'

"Oh no, that came before we were taken to Tarleton. But I thought she'd be raped! The way Hanger was treating her, I would not trust him to be a gentleman. He let Beth alone after that because he wanted to leave. But as they were dragging us away, one of the soldiers hurt Samuel. That's when Beth lost her temper and began screaming at him, at Hanger. She told him she knew Tarleton, that they were friends and she'd have Hanger whipped for hurting us. She had to reveal herself then."

"Wait, why didn't she reveal herself from the start?" Gabriel frowned. "You said she said they were friends and she'd be able to talk her away out of it."

"Well, then she remembered how Tavington had used her, when he found out about her engagement to Colonel Burwell, how he'd set up that ambush and made her go along with it all. You know," Thomas turned to Burwell, met his gaze over the bed. "The ambush she risked herself to warn you about?"

"I do know," Burwell ground out.

"Oh. Wasn't sure if you remembered that anymore," Thomas spat and Burwell drew back, stunned. "We remembered it though, even if you're acting like you've forgotten -"

"Thomas!" Gabriel gasped.

"- and Beth worried that Tarleton might try to use her as the other one did, to try to get some leverage against you," Thomas continued, ignoring Gabriel's protest. "So she decided not to reveal herself to Hanger. So really, as we was all worried she'd be used to lure you, we all risked ourselves, for none of it all that would have happened, if Beth had told Hanger to start with."

Burwell stared darkly at Thomas for a moment, Gabriel feared the Colonel would storm from the chamber. Instead, the commander stood there across the bed, glaring at Thomas.

"Continue," he said, voice firm as he returned to his work. Gabriel and Thomas both started to help him, to make the work go faster, Thomas speaking all the while, adding his little knives in when he felt the need. Burwell was packed, Gabriel quickly threw his own meagre belongings over his shoulder and they made their way downstairs and outside.

"Has the camp been alerted?" Burwell interrupted Thomas to ask of one of his officers. When he was informed that the soldiers had packed and were fleeing, he strode toward his horse and mounted.

"What are we going to do about Beth?" Thomas asked at Burwell's stirrup. "He's taken her, he's bringing her here. I understand why you need to flee, but Gods, what am I supposed to do about his holding her?"

Burwell stared down at him, eyes and face as hard as an anvil.

"There is nothing I can do for her," he replied and Thomas stared up at him in horror.

"I know she's done wrong," he breathed. "But by Gods, after all everything she's done for you - the good things, I mean, the parts where she was risking her own neck for you, and you tell me there's nothing you can do for her?"

"She's not unsafe," Gabriel snapped, pushed a little too far by Thomas constant jabs. "Tarleton thinks he's rescuing her."

"From an unwanted marriage," Burwell curled his lips, his voice was disgusted.

"It's not like she ever said that, that was the British saying that," Thomas shot back. "You're just going to leave her with him?"

"I suggest you head to Wakefield and tell your father what has happened," Burwell said. "He will deal with Tarleton, lad, for I certainly can not. His numbers far exceed what I have here. I have Sumter's and your uncle's militia's are far from here, my scattered Continentals are on the other side of Camden, preparing for the strike. I have one hundred here, and Tarleton has close to seven times that amount. There is nothing I can do."

"So… you're saying… we'll just leave her?" Thomas glanced at Burwell and Gabriel with growing incredulity. "By the time I go get papa and bring him back here, it'll be an entire night gone! Christ, Gabriel, she's your sister too, no matter how angry you are with her! You can't just bloody leave her! Neither of you can!"

Henrietta spoke up then, she noticed what Thomas did not - the stark look of pain that flashed over Burwell's face at his conflicting obligations, the guilt that he would willingly put his own safety before that of the woman he loved. And the fear - of leaving Beth in the hands of the enemy.

"You said Miss Martin instructed you to come here and warn the Colonel, Miss Martin?"

"Yeh, though it ain't like I needed instructin'." The proud boy said. "I'd have come myself without her suggesting it. But she did tell me too and here I am, and they're just going to leave her!"

"And what do you think Miss Martin herself would prefer, considering her stance?" Henrietta asked and Thomas stared at her wide-eyed, no blinking. "She told you to warn Colonel Burwell. To tell him to flee from here ahead of Colonel Tarleton. What use in that, if Colonel Burwell stays here, to rescue her? If he engages with Tarleton, how many will die? And for what? An unwinnable fight, by the sound of it. Burwell stays to rescue Beth, and then they both end up caught, with men dead thrown into the bargain. That's not what you want, is it?"

"Of course not," Thomas was frowning.

"We all know how important it is - what you're doing," she said to Colonel Burwell. "I believe that Miss Martin feels that way, also, or she never would have suggested that warning."

"I agree," Gabriel said. "None of us are feeling particularly well disposed toward Beth right now, but she is one of us. She wouldn't want her freedom if it meant you became a prisoner for it. Especially when she herself doesn't think she's in danger."

"And why is that?" Henrietta's eyes narrowed and she continued shrewdly, her voice thick with suspicion. "Tarleton, I'm told, is as ruthless as he is heartless. I might not have met the man but I do know that where there is smoke, there is fire. And yet," she paused, her tone changing slightly. Becoming suspicious. "Tarleton greets her 'all friendly like'," she quoted Thomas. "Beth reassures you that nothing untoward will happen to her. Why should she believe she is safe? What, exactly, is between them, that would make her think for one moment that she is safe in his care?"

Burwell nodded, his jaw tightening as Henrietta's words caused him to consider his own suspicions again.

"Because he told us she was rescuing her!" Thomas said, then asked hotly, "what are you trying to say, Mrs. Rutledge?" Henrietta raised her hands and shrugged her shoulders in a matter of fact gesture. She spoke her suspicions no further, but Burwell was eyeing her thoughtfully.

"She became acquainted with Tarleton in Charlestown, Thomas," Burwell growled. "Lad - you said that you think he 'likes' her? Why did you think that? What did you mean by 'likes'?"

Thomas gaped for a moment before frowning. "I don't know - he was just… friendly… he was very pleased to see her."

"Thomas said he was angry…" Henrietta mused. "Thomas - do you think perhaps, that Tarleton was jealous that Hanger had touched Beth?"

"No! What do you mean?" Thomas glanced back and forth between the older Colonials warily. "What are you getting at!"

Again Henrietta fell silent but her words had strengthened the seed of doubt within those old enough to understand her unvoiced thoughts. If Beth could defile herself with one British Officer why not two? Had she had an affair with Tarleton, as well as Tavington?

"No," Gabriel shook his head firmly. "No - she was foolish to get herself entangled with Tavington, but my sister is not a whore. She's not a hussy - she lost her brain for a few hours. It doesn't mean she fooled around with Tarleton too."

"Of course she didn't!" Thomas cried out, finally understanding. He shot a glare at Henrietta. "My sister is not a whore! How dare you even suggest it?"

Henrietta raised her eyebrows, Beth's own conduct was against her, what else was anyone to think?

"We have to go, Sir," Gabriel said. His belongings were tied to his mount, he and the others were all ready.

"Do you think Miss Martin told Tarleton you are quartered here?" Mrs. Rutledge asked.

"Are you determined to think the worst of Beth?" Thomas snapped.

"Who else could it have been?" Henrietta asked. "Tarleton thought you were at Fresh Water and after a few minutes alone with Miss Martin, he suddenly knows precisely where you are."

"Stop it - just stop it!" Thomas rounded on and glared down at the Society Lady. He began to shout, "how dare you! My sister risked herself to keep Colonel Burwell safe! She is not a turncoat! She is as Patriot as any one of us and she'd never betray the Cause!" Even louder, he bellowed, "she told me to come here!"

Thomas was panting, his face set in a scowl. Thoroughly intimidated, Henrietta tried to smooth her expression as she leaned back away from the enraged youth.

"If you want to know whose fault it was, it was bloody yours!" He accused Henrietta, whose eyes widened as far as they could go. "It was Mrs. Turnbull who told him. After she came here to deliver your pretty dresses!"

"Oh no!" Henrietta's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, Colonel, I'm so sorry - I had quite forgotten she was coming today!"

"It's not your fault," Burwell said.

"I sent her on her way as quickly as possible, she came when you weren't here. I hadn't thought she had seen you, I'm so sorry."

"I remember seeing a carriage," Burwell said. "As I said, it's not your fault, Mrs. Rutledge."

Henrietta lowered her hands to her lap, feeling miserable.

"So can we stop the accusations against my sister?" Thomas snapped. "If you don't bloody mind!"

"She's leading them here as we speak!" Henrietta shot back, lifting her chin.

"She's been given no damned choice in the matter!"

"Stand down, lad," Burwell spoke calmly. Thomas' blue eyes burned as he glared at Henrietta but he obeyed, he snapped his mouth shut and glared at Henrietta. Burwell addressed Henrietta next, his tone sharp and firm, filled with the full command of his rank.

"Mrs. Rutledge - Beth's actions to date have given me no reason to believe she is a turn coat, even if she is leading them here, for I believe she has been given no choice, just as Thomas has stated. Beth is not against us, she is just a confused young woman who allowed herself to be seduced by an aggressive suitor determined to claim her fortune." His voice took on an edge with the uttering of those last words. "Be that as it may, I believe her to be a faithful Patriot and I will have words with anyone who suggests otherwise."

Henrietta lowered her eyes and flushed at Burwell's rebuke.

"The truth is," the Colonel continued earnestly, "this whole affair has been… Very hard on Benjamin. His family is facing ruination right along with Beth. And now, if people begin doubting Beth's Loyalty on top of everything else, they will doubt Benjamin's also. And he doesn't deserve that. I will not have the entire countryside rising up against my friend."

Henrietta nodded with understanding. To protect the father, they must protect the daughter. Otherwise the entire family would share in the the disgrace that only Beth deserved.

"Luckily, Gabriel here is a perfectly fine Continental Officer," Burwell smiled sadly. "That should help Benjamin's neighbours keep faith with him."

"Then let me join too!" Thomas blurted out and Burwell shifted his gaze to the excited young man. "Please!"

"You, lad, can not decide from one moment to the next if you should be polite toward me, or if you should snipe at me. You are angry with me, you can not pretend otherwise."

"Oh, I am, Sir," Thomas admitted with a harshness that made Burwell's eyes widen. "But I wouldn't do any of that if I was under your command. Two of us from our family serving - no one will question my father's Loyalty then! Please, Sir!"

"Not without your father's permission," Burwell said calmly, repeating the words he'd said to the youth so many times before. "As soon as you turn seventeen, I'll take you - and willingly, angry with me or not. I'll even make you a Corporal, the same as I made your brother here, when he first joined. But I will not take you any earlier - without your father's permission."

Thomas deflated, thoroughly dejected.

* * *

Afternoon faded to twilight as they rode toward Rutledge Plantation and it was full dark by the time they reached it. From her vantage in the woods, Beth could see that only a few of the rooms in the stately manor were lit. A yellow glow emanated from perhaps only three of the front facing windows.

Still mounted on Shadow Dancer's back, she shifted her gaze from the mansion to stare wide eyed at the arguing Officers at her stirrup. The two were on their feet waving their arms around and stabbing accusing fingers. They were surrounded by mounted Dragoons - most of which held lit firebrands to light the dark woods. The Dragoons eyed their Commanders warily, clearly as uneasy as Beth herself. Even Shadow Dancer was feeling nervous, she began to snort and stamp. Beth edged her a little further away from the Officers and whispered soothingly in an attempt to calm her. She wished someone would do the same to her - stroke her hair and whisper that everything was fine. After all, some of the uneasy glances from the Dragoons were directed at her - for Beth was at the heart of the Officer's furious argument.

"With respect, Sir, how else could Burwell have found out we were coming?" Hanger said through gritted teeth, never forgetting that Banastre was his superior. "I am telling you - Miss Martin warned him somehow!"

"Christ, Hanger!" Banastre scorned. "She's not a witch! How could she bloody warn him when she's been with us all this time? Did she grow wings and take flight? Did she turn into a cat when I wasn't looking, and race on ahead of the troop? Jesus - think man!"

The two glared at one another, then Hanger turned that glare on Beth and she quailed. Hunched down in the saddle, she lowered her eyes and tried to make herself small. Shadow Dancer sensed her nerves and began to shy and skitter again.

"It was her brothers then!" Hanger cried. "When they said their farewells, she likely whispered instructions in their ears - no doubt! I dare say she told him to go directly to Burwell and give warning!"

"Major," Banastre sighed, he felt very much as though he were addressing an angry child. "I was there for the farewell's, I heard the entire conversation, and I can attest that no warning was given."

Beth held her breath, terrified that some soldier or other would come forward - right now - and tell Tarleton that he saw Beth speaking with Thomas earlier, during the time that Banastre had still been in the tent, speaking with Mrs. Turnbull. That was when she'd told Thomas what was happening, and that Burwell needed to be warned.

"Colonel," Beth began tentatively. She'd been too nervous to speak up for herself initially, allowing Banastre to do that for her. But she couldn't let this idea take hold - the other Dragoons were already watching her speculatively now. No, she would stomp on it, right now. She addressed Banastre though - not Hanger, "Colonel, I don't understand how Major Hanger could possibly accuse my brothers, you had them escorted to Fresh Water! Unless they slipped your men?"

"They did not slip my men," Banastre said, having already received the report that his men had escorted the boys safely home before continuing on to join the Legion.

"Then it was not me, for you heard my entire conversation. And it was not them, because they were escorted home and could not possibly have flown on ahead of your Legion." Gods, please, don't let Ban learn about the short cuts through the swamps! For there was no doubt that one of her brothers must have used them, likely leaving Fresh Water almost as soon as Banastre's soldiers left them there. "The warning could have come from a dozen sources, surely you understand how little the people around here care for the British? As soon as you were sighted, warning would have been passed from ear to ear until it reached Colonel Burwell. It didn't need me or my brothers. To be frank, to believe we are your only suspects is pure folly."

"Oh, likely story!" Hanger threw his arms up in the air. He glared up at her. "Did you tell your brothers to come here and warn Burwell or not!"

"I did not," she replied firmly her gaze shifting from Banastre's and locking on to Hanger's. "Were you not listening? Do you not understand how much resistance you're going to encounter here on the Santee? Each step you take will be hard won, Major. But as I said, even if I was the culprit, my brothers could not have made it here ahead of you. We struck out from the same place and kept to the same road before the Legion soldiers and my brothers split away and headed home, while we continued on a direct path to Rutledge Planation. Keeping their detour to Fresh Water in mind, how in the world could they have reached here ahead of us?" There were a dozen trails that made that a very real possibility but she did not say so to Hanger. "This is Patriot country, Sir. If Mrs. Turnbull saw Burwell here in time to warn you then you can be rest assured that at least a dozen Patriots would have seen you in time to warn Burwell."

After a long moment of studying her face, he finally began to calm himself. "Very well, I believe you," his more gentle tone acknowledged. The relief from the surrounding Dragoons was palpable. Their superiors were rarely at odds but when they were, they found it quite disconcerting. Banastre was Commandant and would have the final say in all cases - and none of them had wanted to witness Hanger being flogged for insubordination.

"Christ, it doesn't change the fact that our bloody quarry has escaped us!" Hanger muttered.

For there was no disputing it - Colonel Burwell and his one hundred strong troop had, most certainly, vanished from Rutledge Plantation.

"No, it doesn't," Banastre scowled. Silenced reined, broken only the the snorting and stamping of the many restless horses.

"Besides," Beth ventured carefully. "You said you questioned Mrs. Rutledge and she said Burwell left hours ago."

"After an unexpected visitor saw him riding up toward the house," Banastre agreed, heaving a long, slow breath. He'd already interviewed Mrs. Henrietta Rutledge, who told him that Colonel Burwell had indeed been staying there, but he had fled when Mrs. Turnbull arrived to deliver the items Mrs. Rutledge had commissioned. Burwell, Banastre was told, was long gone well before Tarleton arrived there. Perhaps it was even true, though Banastre also anticipated the possibility that Mrs. Rutledge claimed this merely to protect the person who had betrayed Banastre's location too Burwell. It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest, if that were the case.

"Where the Devil is Whitty?" Banastre burst out so suddenly that Beth jumped, startled.

He began to pace, tension in every line of his body. Beth noticed he even curled his fingers around the hilt of his sheathed sabre with a death grip. Lieutenant Whitty had been tasked with trying to find the Continental camp, in order to discover how long it had been discarded for, and if tracks could be found, to indicate which way Burwell would have fled.

"They won't all have gone the same direction, Ban," Beth said, gliding up to him and placing her hand on his arm. He glanced at her. "They just won't have done. They have been in the area long enough by now to know all the trails, and to know who they can flee too, to find help. You won't find one force marching along one road away from here. They'll be scattered to the four winds and will rely on Patriots to bring them back together over the next few days. As for where Colonel Burwell will have gone, Gods," she laughed softly - there was no amusement in it. "He might as well be on the moon for all you'll be able to find him."

"Wonderful," Banastre spat.

"I'm sorry, I'm just saying," Beth raised her hands as if in surrender. "I'm not trying to upset you, I'm trying to warn you that I truly doubt that even if Whitty discovers a few tracks, that anything will be found at the end of them."

"I know," he nodded once, she felt he was thanking her.

"Jesus," Hanger placed his fists on his hips and shook his head with frustration. "We have to find him, Ban. Miss Martin is useless to us now. We've come all this way, we've rescued the girl, and for what? Their damned engagement is ended - now we've got nothing to draw him in! To add insult to injury, we've now been saddled with a useless passenger that we have to take care of!"

Beth stiffened with affront.

"Would you be saying that if I was Mrs. selton?" She shot at him.

"No, I would not," he gave her an insolent grin.

"Gods, I'm liking you less and less than I ever did in the city," she snapped. "I'm not asking for you to look after me! You can always send me home!" She glared. "Or hang me from a tree, so I won't be such a burden to you!"

"Shut it, Hanger," Banastre growled, then he rounded on Beth. "How many times do I have to say it? You are safe with us here!"

"I didn't ask to bloody be here!" Beth raged at Banastre now. "In fact, if you recall correctly, I asked you to send me home with my brothers. And now I'm being called useless? A burden! No doubt you make use of your female captives by passing them around amongst your Officers for their enjoyment −"

"Beth, for Christ's sake!" Banastre shouted, but Beth kept right on with her tirade.

"I suppose I could be useful warming your blankets," she said tartly. "I won't be such a good-for-nothing then!"

"Don't think I haven't considered it!" Banastre shot back. Beth gaped at him, shocked to silence.

Lieutenant Whitty trotted into the clearing and the irate Commandant rounded on him at once.

"Whitty! Where the Devil have you been? What took so long! Did you find the camp?"

"Yes Sir," he reported breathlessly. "It was difficult to gauge how long it's been abandoned - the fires were out cold, the logs still damp where they had been doused. But that doesn't mean much with the rain we just had, everything is wet out there." Beth tried to keep her face impassive; one of way that Whitty should have been able to tell how much time had passed since the camp was abandoned was by the fires the soldiers left behind. Still burning meant only a few minutes had passed, a half hour at best. The same if the logs were still wet, if the fired had been doused with water. In that case, if the logs hadn't had a chance to dry, then chances were, again, only a short time had passed. But with everything still wet and sodden after the short and hard rain that had passed over just now. Providence was shining down on Burwell's side, by sending that rain.

"Tracks?"

"Scrambled, sir," Whitty replied. "I'm sorry, Sir, but there are so many tracks, they appear to have fled every which way into the swamplands, it's impossible to determine which way they went. I'm sorry."

Beth met Banastre's eyes, the words _I told you so_ hung in the air between them. She looked away before she made the very bad mistake of speaking them out loud.

"Shit. A cartload of stinking, rotten, shit!" Hanger growled and kicked at a log with his heavy boot.

Banastre took several deep, calming breaths. His men were awaiting his orders, all gathered around, mounted or standing, all eyes were on their Commandant.

"Very well. I will not risk splitting up the Dragoons to give chase, that would only end in disaster. The Legion is on its way here, with the baggage train. There is a perfectly good mansion right here, I am certain the mistress will be more than willing to quarter us as she did Burwell."

He received a few dark chuckles from his men - including Hanger.

"I don't want to go in there, Ban," Beth said, very real panic entering her voice. "Can't we go someplace else? Fresh Water isn't as big as here, but you could quarter there and -"

"It's dark already," he replied. "And we do not know where Burwell is, he could be hiding in wait ready to attack if we try to make our way in the dark," he held his hands out to her and she took them, allowed him to pull her close. He sighed heavily as he studied her. "How close were the two of you?"

"Our families have always been good friends," she whispered, gripped by the certainty that her friendship with Henrietta would most certainly have come to an end. "But after what happened in the city… Oh, and her husband was caught by the British and thrown into jail. He's still a captive in the city. And now after all that's happened with me, with my engagement ending… She won't want to be my friend anymore."

"I doubt it, little one," he said gently, but firmly.

Beth hung her head, the desolate feeling seeping into her again.

"Right then," Banastre said, trying for cheer. "We make camp here. Hanger, send word to the Legion to make haste. Send scouts to try to find Burwell. As for you, Beth, a bath is what you need, my filthy Colonial princess. And bed, I think."

He put one arm across her shoulders and steered the forlorn, miserable girl through the trees toward the mansion, with his Officers falling in behind. Beth walked blindly at his side. Her feet began to drag as they drew closer to the mansion, her nerves increasing with each step. She wrapped her arm around Banastre's waist and leaned into him, nestling her face against him to feel safe.

"And food," Banastre said, still in that cheery tone. "Most definitely food. I think I could eat an entire deer on my own. What about you, Beth?"

"I'm not hungry," she whispered.

"I am," Hanger admitted. Walking along at Beth's other side, he lifted his head and sniffed the air. "Hmm, can you smell it? I reckon that's Burwell's dinner, my lads."

Whitty and Banastre both laughed.

"I'd say you are right, Sir," Whitty smiled. "How fitting, that we get to eat the food that was cooked for the Continentals while they go hungry out there in the swamps."

"It is fitting," Banastre agreed. "And it certainly makes me feel a damned sight better about their escape!"

When they reached the steps to the mansion, Beth drew away from Banastre. She removed her arm from his waist and disentangled herself from his embrace to walk on her own. He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised in question.

"Don't be offended. It's just… I can't have her see me… You know… With your arms around me…" Beth trailed off.

"I understand," he said. Then, with a mischievous smile he continued, "perhaps I should bind your hands and put a gag in your mouth. Make you think I'm your unwilling captive."

He was joking of course, hoping to cheer her.

"Somehow, I don't think she'll believe that," Beth said woodenly without so much as a smile.

* * *

Henrietta had known they were there - having seen the light of their firebrands glowing from the woods. Burwell had warned her they would come, he had tried to make her come away with him but little Edward was far too sick to travel and she was not about to abandon her own son. He was such a little thing - only two years old - he couldn't sustain a panicked journey through the swamps.

And so she'd chosen to remain, though she had thought she'd have more time than this! More time to prepare. Though in truth, after her interview with Tarleton, nothing could have prepared her for meeting him.

Henrietta watched the firebrands drawing closer, the indication that Bloody Ban had given up his search for Colonel Burwell's camp and was on his way back to the house. It terrified her, she was petrified senseless of what was to come. He knew she'd housed the enemy, there could be all manner of awful punishments ahead of her. Her heart was pounding against her ribs when she heard the British voices returning from outside. She remained seated on the same chair she had occupied when Burwell was in her parlor only this time, she had to prepare herself to look surprised, for she was not supposed to know that Beth was with them, a thing she would not have known, if Thomas had not told her.

An African slave led the Dragoons into the parlor, where Henrietta tried to emanate calmness. Earlier, it had been Tarleton only, and that was bad enough. Now, there were at least five more and she had never felt so intimidated. To add to the illusion of calm, she took our her fan and began to wave it before her face as if she didn't have a care in the world. Nothing could make a woman look more at her ease. Inside, she was writhe with nerves.

As they all filed in, Henrietta studied Beth closely, though she remembered to look surprised. The dismay that followed was not feigned, the girl was wearing breeches for the Lord's sake. And her face was covered with dirt. Hunting. Henrietta drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. She wondered if Beth was determined to see herself as ruined as it was possible for a young woman to be.

Hunting. In breeches.

The girl stopped shortly behind Tarleton, off to one side, huddling with her arms wrapped around herself as though she could hide what she was wearing, and refusing to meet Henrietta's eyes. The older woman shifted her gaze back to Tarleton, who she'd met a short while earlier. He looked innocuous enough, with his auburn hair and flourishing manners. He was deadly though, by all accounts, deadly and ruthless. She would not forget now that in her dealings with him.

"Madam," Banastre said with his usual charm, making a leg and a flourishing bow.

"I had thought you would have moved on my now, Sir," Henrietta replied coolly without rising. She did not offer the Officers to sit, either. Tarleton lifted his chin, he looked amused rather than angered.

"And why would we do that?" Banastre asked. "When there is such fine lodgings right here."

Henrietta gave Tarleton a flat stare, they both knew damned well she had no choice in the matter.

"By all means, Sir," she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "You are more than welcome."

"Wonderful!" Banastre clapped his hands together. "I'm pleased you would say so, Madam. The rest of the Legion and my baggage train will be here shortly."

"The rest of your Legion?" Henrietta asked weakly and Banastre flashed her a dark smile.

"Indeed, all nine hundred of them," he smirked and Henrietta swayed. "And I have quite a few Officers who will take up residence in your bedchambers, and of course Miss Martin requires one for herself."

"Of course," Henrietta inclined her head graciously. "I must admit, it's quite a surprise to see Miss Martin in your company, Sir. I wonder how it came to be?"

"Sir Henry Clinton deemed Miss Martin to be in danger and instructed me to take her in hand," Banastre replied while Beth stared at the floor, huddling slightly behind and to one side of him.

"I see. You do have friends in high places now, Miss Martin," Henrietta said and Beth finally looked up, her eyes flashing.

Beth wasn't entirely certain what the insult was, but she knew Henrietta had delivered one. Was she insinuating that the Martin's were lower than the Middleton's and Rutledge's, and were only just coming up in the world now? If so, that was nonsense, pure and simple. Or perhaps Henrietta was alluding to Beth's liaison with William, it was more likely to be that. Either way, it was an insult and Beth wasn't going to stand for it. "I always had friends in high places, Mrs. Rutledge," she replied, heat in her voice. "I am a Martin." _And don't you forget it._

"So you are," Henrietta murmured. She shifted her gaze to Banastre. "How long do you plan to stay, Sir?"

"As long as I need, Mrs. Rutledge," Banastre replied, voice sharp. He'd seen the exchange between the pair and had some idea of the nuances taking place. Henrietta Rutledge was baiting Beth and that, Banastre would not suffer.

"I do not know that I have enough to feed you all, Sir," Henrietta murmured.

"You did not seem to mind playing hostess to Colonel Burwell, Mrs. Rutledge. If you would not be frugal with him, you will not with me. When my quartermaster arrives, I shall place him in charge of your cellars, pantry and outdoor storage shelters. You will provide us with all that we need."

Henrietta pursed her lips, infuriated that Tarleton would suggest for one moment that he would be taking over her stores so thoroughly. How was she to feed her workers and slaves when the Lobsterbacks departed? They'd eat her out of house and home! It occurred to her to wonder how much wine and whiskey would be left by the time the Legion left.

"You have somewhere near to nine hundred men, Colonel Tarleton," Beth said. "Colonel Burwell had one hundred and I doubt they were being fed from Mrs. Rutledge's larder. You will eat through her food stores in a matter of days."

Major Hanger spoke up as Banastre was still opening his mouth to do so. "Those who are Loyal and dutiful are expected to provide for the British army. Those who are not - especially those who have given succour to the enemy - usually have their house burned to the ground. I think an empty larder is the least of Mrs. Rutledge's concerns just now."

Henrietta paled visibly and swallowed hard. Beth turned to Banastre. "She has small children, Colonel. One of whom is very ill. If you burn down the house, her child might suffer for it."

"Do you have any idea how often I hear that?" Banastre asked, allowing his asperity to show in his voice. "Mrs. Rutledge knew, before committing treason, that she has small children, one of which is ill. _She_ knew that, yet she committed treason anyway. She allowed Colonel Burwell to quarter on her property, she assisted him with food and who knows what else. If she cared for her son's welfare, she should have turned Burwell away and sent word to let us know where he was. She failed to do so, and now you're saying _I'm_ the one who should care for the child's welfare, when she did not? She made a choice to commit treason, yet she mustn't be punished because her children might suffer?"

"In short, Miss Martin, Mrs. Rutledge should have thought of that before," Hanger finished.

Beth stared at them both, her fingers tugging the bottom of her jacket, still trying to cover her legs even as she considered their words.

"And let us not forget her husband," Hanger put in. "A signer of the Declaration of Independence, he has as good as spat in His Majesties face."

"Indeed. Even without taking Mrs. Rutledge's recent treason into consideration," Banastre continued, "I am under no obligation to show this woman or her traitorous husband even the slightest clemency."

He let the threat settle, watched as Henrietta shrank in on herself, her self assurance of before deflating. Beth was back to staring at the floor again, her face ashen. To drive the point home, he said, "I have not decided what fate holds for Mrs. Rutledge or her house. Until I do, while I am staying here, I will take what I need, when I need it. Understood?"

That last was for both Henrietta and Beth. Both women nodded, Henrietta hurriedly to show co-operation, as if hoping that if she was compliant enough now, he might show clemency later.

"Colonel Tarleton, so, ah… Miss Martin is your... Ah… what will you do with her, will you return her home?" She cast a dubious glance at Beth, clearly uncertain exactly what Beth was to Tarleton. The two were far too familiar with one another for Henrietta's liking. Beth had seated herself by now and Tarleton followed suit, sitting so close to the young girl, there was barely a gap between them. And the way he looked at her… Like one infatuated.

"Now why would I do that?" he adopted an insolent smile. "As I said, I have rescued her. She is my ward."

"Your… ward…" Henrietta arched an eyebrow, her gaze landed on Beth, who looked ready to chew rocks. "Well, I am glad to hear that she is under your protection. But she is perfectly safe here, I shall take Miss Martin in hand now. She needs to wash immediately to get rid of all that dirt and she must be dressed more appropriately." When Tarleton nodded graciously, Henrietta turned to the younger girl, "Beth - I will have my maid work on altering some shifts and a dress while you take a bath."

"Thank you," Beth said. Henrietta stood and indicated for the girl to join her. When Tarleton made no protest, the two women left the parlor. Beth followed Henrietta through the mansion in silence.

The two women were soon in Henrietta's chambers, and the other woman opened her wardrobe to search for suitable clothes for Beth.

"This, I think," she said, speaking for the first time since leaving the parlor. She pulled forth a simple cotton bodice and skirts. As simple as the blue dress was, it was finely woven cotton with white embroidery worked all the way throughout, and lace on the sleeves and across the chest and shoulders of the bodice. "You are shorter than me, Sarah will have to take up the skirts. I don't think it will need any other alterations so it should be done by the time you've finished your bath."

"Thank you," Beth said, admiring the dress. She had several like it, suitable to wear to church, or to visit friends.

"It's nothing," Henrietta said shortly, laying the garments out on the bed and striding away to rummage through a wooden chest for other items of clothing that Beth would need - a shift, stockings and garters, ribbons for her hair.

"Henrietta..." Beth began carefully but the older woman cut her off.

"Stop. Just stop," she said, holding one hand up decisively. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. I'm sorry, Beth - but I am helping you solely for your father's benefit."

"Oh," Beth hung her head, her eyes lowered to the floor.

"I can not believe you led Colonel Tarleton to my door."

"Good God, Henrietta, that was your doing as much as it was anyone's," Beth snapped, suddenly angry. "Mrs. Turnbull delivered dresses to you just this morning, didn't she?"

"Yes," Henrietta said, lifting her chin. Thomas had said much the same, that it was her fault that Burwell had been discovered and was forced to flee.

"When it became clear that Colonel Burwell would be quartering here, why in the world did you not send word to Mrs. Turnbull to not come?"

"I… In the chaos of his arrival, I forgot we had an appointment," Henrietta admitted.

"Well, this is the consequence. She told Tarleton where Harry was, Tarleton had me in hand by then and insisted I show him the way. I did my level best to ensure we took the long way around, to give my brothers as much time to reach here as possible, to warn Harry at least. Which one was it? Who came here?"

"Thomas," Henrietta breathed, feeling very much on the back foot now.

"Thomas. So. The Martin's risk their skin yet again and yet again, instead of getting thanks, we get censure. Blame. It's my fault Tarleton is here, because I led him. It's not your fault, of course. Not at all. All you did was _forget_. You were careless, Henrietta, at a time when none of us can afford to be. Lives could have been lost this evening, because you _forgot_. We fixed it. Thomas and I." Beth paused, scowling, then said deliberately, "you're welcome."

Henrietta was at a loss for words. Beth was renown for her temper - all of the Martin's were. Hell - Thomas had given a fair showing of it little more than an hour ago. The two women fell silent then, both of them thoroughly confused, miserable, and in Beth's case, furious.

As Henrietta continued to lay out clothes and accruement - gloves and the like, her thoughts shifted to Tarleton and a small measure of her fear took hold of her. Huddy's house, burnt to the ground, his wife and children, dispossessed. She had refused to flee with Burwell with her son so sickly. Would she soon be forced from her beloved home, regardless?

"Thank you for the clothes," Beth said, her voice a lower, calmer register than before. She was extending the olive branch as best she could. "I am grateful for them. When my brothers and I left this morning, none of us thought we would encounter anyone in the woods, I am mortified to be dressed like this in company."

_As well you should_, Henrietta thought but did not say. "You are welcome," she lifted her chin, unsettled and embarrassed. "I know you're trying to behave now as if everything is normal between us, but it is far from it. I am not well pleased toward you, Beth, not at all."

Beth braced herself. She stood stock still, her hands folded over her stomach, ready for the blows to come.

"I do not like how friendly you and Tarleton are. It stinks worse than offal and I don't like it by far," Henrietta said, taking the conversation in a slightly different direction than Beth had expected. She'd thought Henrietta would confront her about Tavington, but she had not. Yet, anyway. That was likely still to come. She remained braced for the worst as Henrietta continued. "I noticed the glances he gave you even if you did not. The way he sat beside you, how he is taking care of you, you are now his ward, he said, however a different word comes to my mind when I see the two of you together."

"And what word is that?" Beth asked, striving for calm.

"Lover."

"I'm not his lover!" Beth protested, aghast.

"No? Well if that is true, it is clear he wishes to be and men don't usually long for women who give them no encouragement."

"I haven't encouraged him," Beth ground out. "And it appears you do not know men as well as you think. My aunt Mage believes the opposite to you, Henrietta. The less encouragement you give, the harder the man will try. That is what she says. Which tells me that in this situation, frankly, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, you'll think the worst of me either way."

"Indeed," Henrietta agreed. "For Tarleton is not the only issue, is he?"

_Oh, here it comes, _Beth thought, steeling her spine.

"There is Tavington as well. That day in the parlor, when we had 'the talk', you already knew first hand what I was speaking of, didn't you? The pleasure of coupling," Henrietta accused.

"Yes, I knew," Beth admitted, trying to remain calm, though she could feel her eyes burning with tears she tried to keep imprisoned. She would not reach Henrietta through weeping and sobbing. She might not reach Henrietta at all, but if she could, it would not be through crying. "But it's not what you think Henrietta. I didn't bed him - I'm still a virgin."

"If that is true - you are a ruined virgin so it makes no difference," the other woman shot back, her tone blunt and harsh.

"It is true, no matter what you believe," Beth said listlessly. "I think I'll wait downstairs until my bath is ready."

"You might as well have bedded him, Beth," Henrietta said, ignoring the younger girls distress. "You might as well have lost your virginity for how ruined you are now. Though I suppose George Howard would disagree - he will look forward to marrying you all the more if you are a virgin. Mark my words, Beth - if you are not a virgin, he'll probably know it right away and the two of you will have one hell of a troubled marriage."

"Is this really the end of our friendship, Henrietta?" Beth asked. "I made a mistake. A fairly large one, I know that. But does our friendship mean so little to you, that you would be so willing to discard it now? The Howard's are standing by me, which proves the measure of how much they care for me. Do you not care in the slightest? All this time, was our friendship just a facade?"

"I…" Henrietta paused, overwhelmed by the warmth and passion Beth was conveying. "Of course I care. This… this is not easy for me. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done. Beth, your conduct has been disgraceful," Henrietta returned the passion. "By all rights, I should _shun_ you. I should cut you completely, I should not suffer you to be in my presence!" Beth hung her head, tears springing to her eyes again. But Henrietta was not done, she continued - her voice firming now. "Be that as it may, I do care about your family and to protect them, I must protect you. I will not shun you but you should know that yes, our friendship has suffered severe damage. I can not predict if it is irreparable or not, that will depend on your future conduct, but I am certainly not well disposed toward you just now."

"I understand," Beth choked. She turned her back on Henrietta and covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her sobs. Henrietta stared at the back on Beth's head, feeling torn, conflicted. Everything she'd said had been true, however and she refused to take her words back simply because she felt pity for the girl. Beth would be suffering that and worse from other Colonials before long.

"It will take time, Beth, but when you are safely married, our Parish will begin to accept you back amongst us. Especially if your conduct is more becoming in future. If you prove to us all that you have put your wild days behind you. You can start by being a good wife to George, and a good mother to the children you bear him."

She strode closer to Beth until she stood at the younger girls side.

"In short, with your marriage to George, you are being offered a second chance to return to Society. I suggest you do not mess it up," Henrietta began to walk from the chamber then, though she turned back when she reached the door.

"I don't sleep in here any more - it reminds me too much of my husband Edward who, I remind you now, is languishing in Provost dungeon thanks to the British you seem to esteem so highly. I have been sleeping in the nursery with the boys, especially since Little Eddie took ill. When I retire for the evening I'll be locking the nursery door. I suggest you do the same - I am not certain which chamber Tarleton will end up providing for you, but I suggest you _lock the door_."

Beth nodded and Henrietta strode from the bedchamber. Once the older woman was gone, Beth could no longer hold her tears back and it took some time to compose herself. She reached into her jacket pocket for a handkerchief but when she wiped her cheeks and glanced at the square of linen, she saw it was thick with dirt.

_Perhaps she'll be nicer to me when I'm bathed and dressed properly_, Beth thought hopefully. Henrietta would have found it far easier to speak as she had, with Beth dressed as she was.

"Beth?"

She could hear Banastre's call from the hallway, he was looking for her.

"I'm in here," she called back, eager for his company. Banastre was now her only friend in the world, the only one who truly loved her despite all she'd done. He was in love with her, and he let her know it. He let her _feel_ it. She felt safe and warm - and loved - when he was near. It was a feeling she had longed for these last few days, but on one had wanted to offer it to her - not even her own father.

Especially not her own father.

A few moments later, Banastre appeared in the doorway and it was a massive relief to her when he sauntered into the chamber.

"Your bath isn't far off, I thought I would show you which room I've chosen for you," he said as he drew closer. The room was not bright - lit only by a few lanterns on the wall. When he drew closer to stand before her, he could finally see that she had been crying again.

"I'll kill her," he said flatly, then turned on his heel to stride out of the room in search for Henrietta.

"No, Banastre!" Beth squeaked, darting forward to grab his arm and stop him.

"I won't tolerate her speaking out of turn, Beth! I won't have you crying because of her!" He snapped, his brown eyes dark with fury. "If she doesn't want her house burnt to the ground, she should be trying to court my good will and she can bloody start by being kind to you!"

"She didn't say anything I didn't already know. Everything she said was the truth and well... the truth hurts," Beth finished softly. "At least she said we might be friends again one day."

"One day," Banastre tossed his head and curled his lip. "Christ, this is all William's fault. Perhaps I'll kill him instead!"

"Get in line," Beth whispered and Banastre arched an eyebrow with surprise. "Well, it is his fault! Oh, I know it's mine too but he swore no one would find out we'd been alone together. And my papa said… well, we've both started thinking that maybe William spread the rumours himself on purpose, so that Burwell would hear eventually and break our engagement."

Banastre stared at her with growing horror. "As if I didn't have enough reason to despise him," he said.

"William has been telling people in Charlestown that we're engaged, that I was captured by Burwell and my engagement to him was forced, that I'm truly engaged to William. And with what he's revealed about us, people will be expecting me to marry William and if I don't, I'll be considered a ruined woman. Gods, I'm already considered that… I can't believe he told everyone, I can't believe my fortune is worth so much to him that he'd stoop to such conniving…" She trailed off. "That's what my father thinks, anyway. And I can't honestly say that I think he's wrong."

"Nor can I," Banastre said. He wanted to spit and rant about William but Beth was upset, she was in need of comforting, and him raging was not going to help her with that. "His father burned through his wealth, Tavington has only his income from the army to support him. When he returns to England, he will need to find some trade or other."

"Or he'll need a wealthy wife," she said. She paused, remembering that William had been engaged to a woman of high fortune. She frowned, trying to make sense of it. Why had he given Eleanor Price up in favour of Beth? Miss Price had a house in London, William had said. But Beth had three hundred acres in South Carolina. You can't grow crops and earn a fortune on a house in London. So, it was either Beth's wealth or Eleanor's, and Beth won out, because she could provide an ongoing income from her land. And perhaps he just didn't want to return to England…

"Come - I'll show you which room I've chosen for you," Banastre, wanting to change the subject, offered her his arm and she wound her hand through his elbow nook. Collecting a lantern on the way, Banastre led the way from the chamber and down the hall.

"I've taken the room next door to yours," he explained as they strode through the corridor. "And Major Hanger will be on the other side to you."

"Wonderful," Beth said flatly.

"Oh, he's a good fellow," he laughed. "You've just gotten on his bad side."

"Or perhaps he's gotten on mine? Have you forgotten the way he grabbed at me, and told me I'd open my legs for him?"

"No, I haven't forgotten," Banastre scowled. "But I assure you, there will not be a repetition of that! Here - this is to be your room."

It was already well lit in preparation for her, the candles in their scones and lanterns on the wall. The double bed was in the centre of the cosy room, and the small fire was lit although the night was still very warm.

"Oh, that bed looks comfortable," Beth said, eyeing it wistfully. "Perhaps I'll forget about the bath and dinner, and just climb in right now."

"Hmm, can I join you?" Banastre flirted, his eyes dancing with mischief. Beth rolled her eyes. "Come now, I seem to remember you offering to warm my blankets to make yourself 'useful'."

"If you want me to be useful, give me your linen to mend," Beth laughed softly. "You must have shirts with holes or socks to be darned."

"There are plenty of women in camp who will mend my clothes, my darling. I would prefer to make more... thorough... use of you than that."

"You're as much of a rake as Hanger," Beth accused.

"Who do you think taught him?" Hanger asked. The Major had heard his name as he was passing by and felt free to enter Beth's chamber.

"Is that a monkey?" She gasped, seeing the small animal riding Hanger's shoulder.

"Yes, this is the Little Man," Hanger lowered his shoulder down to Beth, offering the monkey for her to hold.

"Oh, does he bite?" She asked. Hanger shook his head and Beth smiled as she put her hand out to the little furry creature. She wasn't certain how to take hold of him but the Little Man took matters into his own hands, and jumped from Hanger's shoulder into Beth's arms.

"What a dear wee fellow!" Beth exclaimed, immediately cuddling and cooing down at the little monkey.

It warmed Banastre, to watch Beth now. She seemed happy for the first time since their reunion, her smile no longer held a trace of sadness. She sat down on the edge of the bed and let the Little Man clamber all over her, even began to laugh at the monkeys antics.

He turned to George and arched an eyebrow, but Hanger just shrugged and mouthed "What?" a little too innocently.

Banastre scoffed at him.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice pitched for Hanger's ears alone. "That was kindly done."

"Yeh well," Hanger said gruffly, "you're in love with the little minx - I reckon I better stop riling her up."

"For her sake or her aunt's?" Banastre asked and Hanger grinned.

"If I'm nice to Miss Martin now, perhaps she won't go carrying tales to Mrs. Selton."

"You fool, her brothers have likely already told her everything," Banastre said, noticing it when Hanger's face paled. "Perhaps you should have kept your hands to yourself?"

"Yes, indeed," Hanger said, coughing in embarrassment.

"What are you two whispering about over there?" Beth demanded, glancing up from the bed as the Little Man danced and squeaked up at her.

"Your beauty, Miss Martin," Hanger said at once, giving her a flourishing bow. "Or the beauty that we both know exists under all that dirt."

"Charming," she rolled her eyes. "The sooner I have that damned bath the better."

"Now to that," Hanger smirked. "The baggage wagons have arrived - which is why I have reunited with my little friend there," he jutted his chin toward the Little Man. "And with the baggage wagons came that large tub I mentioned -"

"Big enough for two, yes," Beth said primly. "But you, Sir, will not be in it with me. And neither will you, Ban, so you can wipe that smirk off your face right now."

Banastre spread his hands and assumed an innocent expression. He perched facing her on the bed to watch her play with Hanger's monkey until a servant came in to inform them that Beth's bath was ready.


	48. Chapter 48 - An Impromptu Ball

Chapter 48 - An Impromptu Ball:

One of Henrietta's servants knocked on the door to inform Beth her bath was ready. Despite their offers to join her, the Officers went their own way - to check on the men encamped on the Plantation grounds and to take stock of Henrietta's stores of food. Her dirt soiled body turned the water a ruddy brown almost instantly, nevertheless, Beth luxuriated in the bath until the water was almost cold. Only then did she climb out of the tub. After she dried herself, a servant helped her to dress and fix her hair. It was a very different woman who walked through the manor toward the parlor - one fresh and clean, the beautiful, borrowed dresses transforming her back into the young lady she was. As she climbed down the broad stairs, she began to hear music - a harp accompanying the pianoforte. When she stepped into the parlor, she blinked with astonishment.

The chamber was awash with light, every candle in the wall sconces and candelabras blazing. The furnishings had been pushed against the walls to make a small dance floor and two Officers of Tarleton's Dragoons played the instruments for all they were worth. More Officers - and several women - danced in the centre of the room. The Little Man was screaming and chattering, jumping from the tops of the furniture and bouncing with excitement, while yet more of Tarleton's Officers with their young ladies snuggled on the settees and chaise loungers against the wall.

Banastre, seeing that Beth had arrived and was standing in the doorway uncertainly, came forward with a welcoming smile, his hand extended, and when he stopped before her he offered her a flourishing bow.

"My Lady," he greeted with his warm, charming smile. "You promised me four dances, I believe."

"I did?" She asked breathlessly as she took his proffered hand and allowed herself to be led deeper into the room. She glanced nervously at the other women, uncertain of her welcome amongst them, for she was a stranger _and_ an outcast.

"Alas, you did. But I was called away to deal with that rabble up near the border and was never able to claim them from you," he declared. "And so we shall have a ball, right now, this very night and you shall give me those promised dances."

"Oh, you're speaking of the Simms Ball!" Beth laughed. "But that was so long ago!"

"Ah, but a debt is a debt, a promise is a promise," he informed her. Banastre led her amongst the women, who in themselves were a surprise to Beth. They were Officers wives and widows, she was told, but their attire did not match what Beth would expect the wives of Officers to wear. Even in Henrietta's seconds, Beth was still the best dressed among them, their threads were made of course wool and linen. She would have thought the Officers to be better paid than what was reflected in their dress of their wives. Still, she was not one to judge. While it startled her, she was not about to look down her nose because of it.

The dancing got underway, with Banastre claiming far more than his four sets. Their impromptu ball was interrupted for as long as it took to dine on the feast which had been prepared for Burwell, before retiring to the parlor for more dancing. Beth was not certain who opened Henrietta's fine wines - but she soon lost count of how many she consumed throughout the course of the evening. Before long, her cheeks were rosy and flushed, from dancing, from the wine, the warmth of the room and the warmth of Banastre's gazes.

Henrietta did not join them - for the dancing, not even for dinner. She dined in her rooms and did not come out for the entire evening. Initially, Beth was worried about Henrietta's house staff seeing her enjoying herself for surely they would report ever detail back to Henrietta. Perhaps it was precisely for that reason that none of her staff were present. It was Banastre's lower ranking soldiers that tended table and fetched more wine, there wasn't a servant to be seen for the entire evening. Still, Beth tried - at first - to show reserve before the Officer's wives, to not show too much excitement or to be seen enjoying herself overly much, but they themselves seemed to suffer with no such compunctions. They laughed uproariously and drank as much as the men, it was almost scandalous. It would have been scandalous, if they weren't married to the men. With company such as that, and with the constant flood of wine, it was all but impossible for Beth to maintain a dignified decorum and it seemed pointless besides. None of the women seemed to care about the usual proprietries, so why should Beth? Banastre's efforts to throw her a ball to lift her spirits were not wasted. His charming ways, his flirtatious manner, all of it went a long way to pull her out of the deep emotional mire she had been in and when it came time for the Officers and their wives to retire for the evening, Beth found she did not want the night to end. She was not the only one to voice her objections - two of the other Officer's wives pouted and fussed, they joined forces with Beth in an attempt to keep the party alive and going.

But despite the women's laughing protests, the musicians stopped playing, the wine stopped flowing and the men stopped dancing. Banastre commanded his soldiers to begin cleaning the room, even as he put his arms around Beth's waist from behind, to guide her up the stairs to her own room. And she certainly needed his support to climb the stairs, for the wine had addled her wits and her head was spinning. She giggled as she stumbled up the stairs with his help, for just behind her, Lieutenant Whitty had picked up his laughing wife and thrown her over his shoulder.

"Let's race, Colonel!" A very drunk Whitty said to Banastre as he trotted up the stairs past, as he bore his wife's dangling weight.

"Don't you dare!" Beth rounded on Banastre, who arched an eyebrow a little too innocently. The Officer rounded the landing and continued on up. When Beth stumbled, Banastre tightened his hold on her waist and continued guiding her. She was enjoying the flushed and warm feeling the wine gave her, though when she reached the landing, she had to stop and lean against the wall for a moment.

Banastre stopped with her, standing in front of her now, still with his hands on her waist.

"Are you unwell?" He asked in concern as other Officers filed past him, seeking their rooms.

"No, I'm exceptionally well, thanks to you," she murmured, her warm brown eyes gazing drunkenly up into his. "You threw me my very own ball!"

"That I did," his gaze became hooded as he stared down at her face, her features flushed and her eyes bright from the wine. "As I said, you promised me four dances."

"You got more than four," she cocked her head to one side as she tried to recall how many dances they shared. "I think… I've lost count."

"I've lost count of how many glasses of wine you drank," he laughed as he wrapped one arm around her waist to continue helping her along the corridor. "Perhaps two bottles all to yourself, judging by how soused you are."

"I'm not soused," she pouted. Just then, she tripped and he grabbed her, tightening his hold.

"No, you're not soused at all," he scoffed.

Up ahead, Whitty, who was still carrying his wife over his shoulder disappeared into his chamber, he kicked the door shut, muffling his wife's laughter.

Once at Beth's door, Banastre stopped their progress and gazed down at her.

"Did you enjoy your evening, my dear?" he asked, his brown eyes alight and a warm smile on his lips.

"I did," she replied seriously, her words slightly slurred as she leaned against the door frame with a sigh. "Thank you, Ban. I haven't had so much fun in… Well, I've forgotten to be honest. It's been a long time."

"Probably since before I left Charlestown," he quipped. "I dare say you've been quite forlorn in my absence."

"I dare say you're quite right," Beth smiled, somewhat sadly. She wondered now how different her life would have been if Banastre had been in Charlestown to attend the Simms ball - she doubted he would have let Tavington steal away with her at all, let alone twice. As wonderful as her time with William had been, she was ruined now because of it.

'_You might as well have bedded him, Beth_,' Henrietta's words came to her now as Banastre reached up to stroke his fingers along her cheek. _'You might as well have lost your virginity for how ruined you are now.'_

"Good night, Beth," he murmured. "You sleep well."

He took a step back from her and Beth panicked. She could not imagine him retiring to the room next to hers, sleeping in the large bed, all alone as she slept, equally lonely, in hers. Not after spending such a delightful evening in one another's company. She couldn't imagine it - the thought of being alone now left her feeling wretched. And then another, equally distressing thought occurred to her, that perhaps Banastre would not be sleeping alone. He would summon a camp follower, or maybe bed one of the widows she'd met earlier. She swallowed hard against a stab of jealousy. He would be entwined in the arms of another woman, while Beth lay in her bed all alone.

With the warmth of the wine spreading through her, Beth wound her fingers through Banastre's cravat and tugged him forward. Laughing at his astonished expression, she pulled at his cravat until he stepped into her chamber. Banastre did not have to be told twice. He closed the door behind him and turned to face her. Beth reached past him, around his body, to turn the key - locking her door as Henrietta had instructed. Of course, Henrietta's intention had been for Beth to lock the Redcoats _out_ of the chamber, not lock an Officer in the room with her.

She lifted her gaze to his and she gnawed at her bottom lip, suddenly unsure how to proceed. She had been quite forward, pulling him into her room, but from here she was at a loss. He gazed back at her, a little uncertain himself, neither knowing quite how far the other wished to go. Banastre reached up and traced the backs of his fingers across her cheeks again.

"Are you certain, Sweet Beth?" He murmured, his brown eyes warm on hers.

Though she leaned into his touch, she hesitated. Her virginity, once it was gone, could never be reclaimed. And George would know, Henrietta had warned. They'd have one Hell of a marriage, Henrietta had warned.

"I just want to feel your arms around me," she whispered up at him.

"I think I can do that," he murmured back.

Both understood the boundaries Beth had drawn, Banastre was not to take her virginity but he would be doing a damned sight more than 'holding' her in her bed.

And then Beth waited, for she was not about to throw herself at him, she had already been far too forward! Banastre took charge from there, he pulled her into his arms, his hands cupping her face as he leaned down to kiss her. His breath caught as his lips moved over hers, he swallowed hard as he edged her backward, and laid her down on the bed.

* * *

"Hmm, that feels nice," Beth smiled wistfully. She lay reclined back on the pile of pillows, with Banastre alongside of her. His lips moved over her neck, drifting along her skin softly. He was braced on one arm, with his free hand circling her stomach over her bodice. Beth's arm was curled beneath his head and her fingers caressed his nape beneath his queue.

He lifted himself to smile down at her.

"It feels good, having you in my arms," he whispered.

"Being in my bed…" Beth replied softly. Her expression grew serious and she withdrew her arm from his neck and ran both her hands down his chest over his green coat. "So many belts… Can I start unbuckling them?"

Her fingers already began the task as she held his eyes and he gulped, nodding firmly.

"Please do," he murmured thickly. His cock was aching - utterly aching - in his breeches and he couldn't wait to move things along, sensing she might be willing to pleasure him with her soft hand. Perhaps she would be willing to do even more - perhaps he could coax her into pleasuring him with her mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed, his face going slack with pleasure at the mere thought.

"What are you thinking, Ban?" She asked him, amused to see such a blissful expression cross his features. It could not be caused by her hands moving over his chest as she unclasped his buckles - that was hardly enough to inspire such a gratified look. No - he was imagining something - he was imagining doing something with her - she just knew it. His buckles undone, she pulled the first away from his body and dropped it to the floor, and the second from his waist, dropping that also. Both clattered as they hit the thick carpet.

"I merely enjoy being here with you, my sweet," he said - which was the truth but not the whole of it. He could hardly admit that he wanted to feel her lips on his member.

"Me too," she murmured. Her fingers moved over the buttons of his coat now and when it was completely undone, she pulled the sides apart and began edging it off his shoulders. "Help me?"

"Of course," he said thickly, barely able to form the words as he moved to a more upright position. He removed his jacket, this was deposited with his belts. Beth began untying his cravat and when it was free of his neck, she idly traced his neck and shoulders - her fingers disappearing beneath the material of his shirt. She watched her own progress intently, while he watched her, just as intent. Sitting up, Beth began to tug the bottom of his shirt free of his breeches, guiding it as he pulled his arms from the sleeves. She sat up tall to pull it off over his head.

"On the floor?" She smiled at him mischievously, then dropped his shirt to the floor. He was about to answer with some witty remark or other but thought fled as her fingers began to explore his bare chest. He swallowed hard and glanced down at her hand, which was moving over his hard muscles, the dips and rises of his chest, causing him to shudder. Her fingers quivered slightly when they reached his nipples, which she circled slowly, fascinated.

"I hope you'll let me do that to you," he quipped as little shivers shot through him. When he spoke, his voice was thick, heavy and grainy with need.

"Perhaps…" She swallowed, too embarrassed to admit that she wanted to feel him touch her breasts, to circle her nipples as she was doing to him now.

"Perhaps..?" He prompted softly, daring to hope.

"Perhaps," she said only. A smile flared across his face and Beth knew he would try and do it - she did not need to embarrass herself by saying the words. His smile was one of contentment, also. Beth laughed and shoved at him. "Smug, are we?"

"That I'm finally going to get to touch you, as I've longed to do for months now?" Banastre's smile broadened. "Hell, yes."

Holding her gaze with an expression that dared Beth to stop him, he reached up between them and began working on the laces of her bodice. She made no protest, she even glanced down to watch his progress. When she lifted her gaze, she saw his smug smile was gone, replaced with a consuming eagerness. With her bodice unlaced, Banastre edged the garment off her shoulders and she pulled her arms free of the sleeves.

"Turn around," he commanded thickly and Beth knew he wished to unlace her stays. She did so, shuffling around slightly and gathering her hair for him. His fingers worked deftly at the laces and with a heavy laden sigh, he leaned in to kiss her nape.

"Hmm," Beth sighed, leaning back in to him. His tongue traced soft skin, making her shiver. He kissed the nook - the hollow of her neck above her shoulder, as he pulled her stays away from her body and tossed it across the room. Still kissing her, with Beth still leaning in to him, he reached up to grip either side of her shift, and pulled both sides down her arms to reveal her slim shoulders. Again, she pulled her arms free as the garment slipped lower. His hands drifted up and down her bare arms, then his fingers returned to her shift, pulling it down further, down her chest, baring her breasts. He kept pushing it down until it pooled around her stomach, above the top of her skirt.

"Turn around," he commanded again, his voice breathless, thick, expectant. "Let me see."

Beth swallowed. She covered her breasts with her arms and her face blazed as she shuffled back around to face him. Meeting his eyes, he saw her nerves, her tension of being seen as naked as the day she was born.

"Lower your arms, Beth," Banastre said, holding her gaze. "Fair is fair, after all. You've seen me."

She laughed softly, both knew damned well it was hardly the same thing. Banastre took a hold of her arms, wrapping his fingers around her wrists gently, and guiding them from where she held them across her body. Beth lost her smile then. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, her heart pounding against her ribs like a hammer, but she made no protest. His indrawn breath, almost a hiss, caused her to open her eyes and watch him gravely.

His eyes were pinned on her breasts, on her two full globes, he stared at them as a man drowning. Or dying of thirst. He released her wrists and reached between their bodies, placing his hands on her, he began at her waist, gliding higher along her soft skin, higher until they were on either side of her ribs, inches away from her breasts. His eyes flickered up to meet hers, and he leaned in to kiss her lips gently, with a soft groan, before drawing away to stare at her bosom again. This time, when his hands began to move, it was inward, to cup her breasts. Beth sighed and closed her eyes as his thumbs traced her nipples, his hands kneading her softly. She felt him shift, and then felt his hot breath on her flesh a moment before feeling something warm and moist on her nipple.

"Mnnnn," she groaned and leaned in to him, arching her back like a cat as he suckled first one breast, then the other. "Oh…"

She wrapped her arms around his head, holding him against her.

"Your heart is pounding," he whispered, before circling his tongue around her nipple again. Shivers and jolts coursed through her entire body, emanating from that place under his tongue. Her entire body was flushed and hot - it was no surprise her heart was pounding.

"It feels wonderful," she whispered, her fingers moving over his queue, freeing the ribbon and shaking his auburn hair loose.

"Unbind your hair for me, Beth," he asked as he moved to her other breast again. She reached up to begin working on her pins and ties, finally letting her hair flow around her body. He raised his head then, sat back slightly to take in the sight of her, bared to her waist, her hair spilling over her shoulders to pool in her lap. She gazed back steadily, despite the coiling nerves at being half naked in front of him.

"You're a vision," he said honestly and she smiled up at him tremulously.

"You're not bad yourself," she quipped. Reaching up, she began exploring his chest again, and he did also, their fingers lightly moving over one another's dips and rises, over each others nipples, their explorations causing the other to shiver. He kissed her and drew back to gaze at her, then kissed her again, as they continued their tentative caresses.

"So smooth…" He said, speaking of the soft skin of her stomach.

"Yours isn't," her fingers traced over the many scars. "How did you get these?" She asked softly, not meeting his gaze.

"This one, in a skirmish before Charlestown was surrendered," he pointed down to his side, just above his breeches, at a long line - still pink though it was healed. It was not old enough to have silvered. Beth sighed and, pulling her hair back from her face, she leaned in low to kiss the long scar. When she sat up again, she saw he was watching her gravely and somewhat puzzled.

"How about we rid you of these?" She asked him, her fingers looping in the tops of his breeches.

"Now you're talking," Banastre muttered. "Christ, I'm aching for you, Beth!" He said as he threw himself down to his back, lifted his buttocks and began clawing at his belt in his haste to be free, to feel her touch him.

"Wait! Slowly!" Beth admonished with a laugh as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists to pull his hands away. "Stop - I want to do it."

His breath caught and he stared up at her. He lay still - frozen - as her fingers began to work his belt buckle with agonising slowness. He gulped, his heart pounding, but he forced himself to slow down.

"You're quite correct," he whispered up at her. She was working his buttons now, freeing each one, her fingers inadvertently raking his cock. "Agh, Christ…"

He collapsed back against the pillows and closed his eyes, barely able to control his reaction to her. Or his anticipation.

"Slowly…" He muttered again, pushing himself up to one elbow, and reaching between them to caress her breasts as she continued working his buttons.

"Don't be a grouch," she laughed down at him. Those tingles were returning as his fingers tweaked and caressed her nipples and she closed her eyes and sighed. "Perhaps we could go faster…"

"No, you wanted slow," he teased her. "Slow is what you'll get."

She smirked. "Lift yourself, Ban."

He did so, lifting up at his hips, his rump clearing the bed and Beth began pulling and tugging his breeches down. He watched her carefully, for her eyes were pinned on his pelvis, and he wanted to see her reaction when she spied his manhood for the first time. It popped into view finally and Beth stared at it, swallowing hard, her pulse racing.

"This is what you do to me," he whispered huskily, speaking of his heavy erection. He was as hard as a rock, his thick cock straight and rigid. She met his eyes then and smiled.

"I know," she teased smugly.

"Vixen!" Banastre laughed. "Are you going to finish what you've started - or are you going to stare at it all night?"

She returned her gaze to his member, to his dark patch of auburn curls, as she continued tugging his breeches down lower. She had to remove his boots before she could remove his breeches, but all three items were soon tossed to the floor in an untidy heap. He lay completely naked before her, his eyes focused on her to see what she would do next. With her legs folded beneath her, she bit her lip as she traced her fingers along his bare thigh, over the coarse hairs there. Banastre waited patiently for her to work up enough courage to move higher again, to touch him where he most wanted to be touched. He reached up to stroke her hair from her face, his fingers working through her that golden wealth, caressing her shoulders and arm, then back up to her shoulders and neck again.

Finally Beth moved her hand higher and Banastre sighed to feel her fingers begin to stroke him. She shot him an uncertain glance and he smiled up at her, encouraging her.

"It's perfect," he whispered, his hand still stroking her arm. Beth drew a deep breath and, returning her gaze to his member, wrapped her hand around his girth. "Agh, God," he whispered, arching up in her hand. "Tighter, my sweet. Agh…"

She tightened her fist and allowed him to stroke within her fingers, setting the pace as he panted and bucked - slowly.

"God, Beth," he lifted his head to watch. Beth took over, moving her hand up and down his length. His seed was already seeping out of the tip, he doubted he would last long with her doing this…

"My turn," he said, not wanting it over too soon. His eyes were hot on her as he sat up and Beth licked her lips, understanding he wanted to remove her skirts and stockings. He leaned in to kiss her first, his hands cupping her face as she continued stroking his member. Banastre lowered his head to her shoulder to enjoy the feel of her warm, satin smooth fist working him. She turned her face to him and began kissing the side of his neck, picking up the pace of her strokes at the same time. Banastre groaned, her lips on his skin and her soft hand heightening his pleasure. He turned his face to meet her lips and the two kissed as he rocked his hips back and forth in her hand. Eventually he shook his head and drew away, curling his fingers around her wrist to pull her hand from him.

"You'll be the death of me. Lay back," he commanded her and Beth - her heart racing - obeyed him. She lay flat on her back, with Banastre now at her side, with his legs folded beneath him. Holding his hair out of the way, he leaned down to kiss her breasts again, his tongue tracing each nipple, while his fingers worked at tugging her skirts down. She lifted her pelvis up at his bidding and he reached under her to untie the laces of her skirts. She remained high - with her rump in the air - as he tugged them down past her hips, down her thighs. Only then did she lower her rump, lifting her ankles then so he could clear her skirts, petticoats and shift from her body. Before he could drown in the sight of her, he quickly removed her boots, and threw them across the room to land with a thud on the thick carpet.

And then he gazed down at her, at the whole of her. Her bared breasts, the curve of her stomach, the patch of dark blonde curls and then… He licked his lips, his heart pounding, and his fingers shook as they touched her bare thigh. Beth sighed. With their reversed positions, she began doing as he did her earlier, reaching up to caress his shoulder and arm.

"You're so beautiful, Beth," he murmured. "May I?"

She frowned, unsure what he wanted, but then his hand was prising her left thigh to part and he was shifting his position, lifting her leg high as he did so. Still on his knees with his legs folded beneath him, he was now between her parted thighs.

"God," she blushed crimson and bit her lip, averting her gaze and squeezing her eyes shut. The room was blazing with candlelight, and she was utterly bared to him.

"What's wrong?" He smiled down at her, knowing full well what caused her distress, her nerves. "You're beautiful, and I want to see you." He suited his words by shuffling again, this time he was leaned forward above her, his face inches from her sex.

"Banastre," she squeaked as she lifted her head, meeting his gaze. "I've just never… you know… I've never been… So naked in front of anyone before…"

Even with William in Arthur Simms bedchamber, she had been mostly dressed when he knelt between her legs as Banastre as doing now. But with Banastre, she was completely naked - with only her stockings, which did nothing to conceal her, for they ended at the tops of her thighs.

"Good," he said flatly. "I don't want anyone else to see so much of you."

It made him wonder just how much she had done with Tavington that fateful night at the ball, if she had never been this bared to a man before. Despite her declaration that she was a virgin, he had still assumed that Tavington would have had the girl's clothes off to view her as Banastre himself was doing now. It left him feeling exultant, the understanding that perhaps he was about to do more with her than she had done with Tavington. He hoped that was the case, for he wanted to be the one to introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh.

"Just relax, my darling," he said as he leaned in closer to her.

"Oh, my God - I can feel your breath on me… There…" She swallowed hard and, when it became too much - his scrutinising of her womanhood - she began to close her legs.

"Uh-uh," he admonished and, placing his hands to either thigh, he pushed them apart again. "Just relax, I said. You'll be in heaven soon, I vow it."

"Oh," Beth did relax then, she melted beneath him, surrendering to his greater experience.

"You're glistening, you realise?" He said thickly, moving his hands from her thighs - stroking inward. His thumbs caressed the sensitive flesh at the tops of her thighs, before moving in further to her folds. "Glistening," he repeated, staring at her moisture, his voice thick and heavy. "Now I know I do the same to you as you do to me."

"What do you mean?" She whispered, then drew a sharp, pleasure filled breath as his thumbs began to stroke her folds gently.

"The moisture," he said, his eyes riveted to her folds, her bud, and lower, to her entrance. All of which was slick with a film of her musky scented cream. "Your arousal…"

"Oh," she murmured. "That feels so… Oh…"

His thumbs dipped lower, to her entrance. He couldn't get enough of looking at her, kneeling between her legs, his face a mere inch from her womanhood. He prised her opening apart and allowed one thumb just inside her. Beth gasped and arched up against him, holding her breath.

"You like that, hmm?" He asked, amused by her reaction. He swallowed hard and removed his thumb from that achingly tight embrace, and leaned even closer to view her. He could see her maidenhead at her entrance and it made him exult. He might not be able to claim her virginity this evening, but he knew for certain now that she was a virgin. No one else had had her. He kissed her there, his lips moving over her, tasting her.

"Oh, God!" Beth cried, writhing beneath him and Banastre lifted his head to smile down at her.

"I've wanted to taste you for so long," he confided in a whisper.

"Oh, Ban… Please… I need… Oh…" Beth gasped. She sat up quickly and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. "Please, my love," she whispered.

"Gladly," he said, then abruptly shoved her back to the pillows.

"Ban!" She laughed, his eagerness to indulge her taking some of the intensity from the moment.

He smiled as he settled between her thighs again. His cock was aching - so hard, so needful, seed seeping from the tip - almost a steady stream, not just a mere droplet. But he ignored his own need, for pleasuring her would only heighten his own, make his own orgasm that much more intense. His thumbs prising her open again, he began to kiss her, his tongue tracing her folds and circling that hard gnarl, her clitoris. Beth arched up again, and her fingers reached down to twine through his hair.

"You taste every bit as divine as I'd imagined," he murmured, then he flicked his tongue across that ever hardening bundle. Around and over, around and over, his thumbs to either side of it, massaging her, heightening her pleasure. Beth writhed and panted beneath him, whispering her appreciation softly.

"Oh, Ban… Oh, it feels so good, oh please don't stop!"

As if he had any intention of it. He was lost to the sound of her noises, to her writhing beneath him and her taste and scent. He'd do this to her all night if he had any say in it! Beth was bucking up now, her pelvis rocking as she strained and strove toward orgasm.

"Oh, it's… it's…" she whispered. "Lord… Not like anything I've felt… Ban.." And then, with a rush of moisture leaking from her, she arched up and cried out, holding there against his tongue as pure sensation broke and washed over her. "Mnnn! Ban!" She gasped, panting, holding his head tightly to her as his tongue writhed over her quim and his thumb worked at her entrance, pleasuring her through her orgasm. Then she collapsed to the bed, gasping, her head swimming from more than the wine. Her entire body was languid now, he could feel it as he moved up her, kissing his way over her stomach and breasts. When he was above her, he braced himself on his arms and stared down at her.

"You're so flushed," he murmured, gazing at her cheeks. She turned her face to him and opened her eyes. "Your eyes are glazed…"

She laughed softly and reached up to stroke his face. "I've wanted to know what it feels like, ever since I heard about… That a man would do that… There…" She confided, blushing crimson all the while.

"You mean..?" His eyes widened. Tavington had not done it to her. What the Devil had the two of them done then, that he had not pleasured her with his tongue? Did that mean she had not done it to him, either? "Beth," he said now, his eyes on her. "Does your curiosity extend to… Returning the favour?"

"I don't know how," she whispered uncertainly.

Banastre exulted, for Beth had just told him she had not pleasured William that way.

"It sounds as though we'll be doing more than you and… Him…" Banastre half teased.

"Yes, you're right," she teased back, smiling mischievously now her own need had been sated. Not even the reminder of her time alone with William could ruin her glowing mood. She stretched languidly, not seeming to realise how perfect she looked to him, with her breasts high now that her arms were above her head. "Perhaps we shouldn't do any more than I did with him - perhaps we should stop now?"

Banastre laughed aloud. "Hell, you are a vixen! Come now, my darling, must I beg?"

"You'll have to tell me what to do," her gaze became uncertain and he sensed she feared she might not please him. With a grin of anticipation, for he was certain she would do it to him now, he took a hold of her wrist and bought her hand to his lips.

"It's simple," he whispered, kissing the tip of her finger. "Just like this."

His tongue circled her finger tip and Beth shivered - she enjoyed that very much. He knew he would enjoy it even more, however, when she was kneeling between his legs. His eyes holding hers, he continued to circle her finger tip with his tongue.

"Then this," he murmured, suckling her finger tip until she licked her lips. "And this," he took her finger into his mouth and sucked. Beth's lips parted, her pulse racing. "The only rule, my sweet," he said then as he gazed down at her. "Is: be careful of your teeth."

"Oh…" She stared up at him, swallowing hard. "Very well. But how do you know so much? I hope you've not done it before."

"Beth!" He gasped, then saw she was laughing at him - somewhat nervously, he thought. "Vixen. You scandalous woman, what a thing to suggest! I've had enough women do it to me, that's how I know what to do!"

He edged away from her and lay back down, only then realising she had lost her amusement.

"If so many other women have done it to you… What if… you don't… like it when I do it?" She asked uncertainly as she sat up beside him.

"Beth, I'll love anything you do to me, I vow it," he said earnestly. "Even if you just kiss me, I'll be happy."

"Alright," she smiled tremulously. Shifting position, she was soon on her knees, her legs folded beneath her, between his parted legs. "Oh, I'm nervous now!" She giggled as she stared down at his member in apprehension.

"Come my sweet," Banastre said seriously, needing relief, yearning to feel her lips on him. "Please, Beth…"

"I won't make you beg," she whispered, lowering her head to him. Pleasure lanced through him and she hadn't even touched him yet. Seeing her head lower to him, though - it almost made Banastre die then and there. He hurriedly gathered her hair, holding it out of her way. When he felt her lips on him, he grunted and arched up to her.

"Like that?" She asked, seeking reassurance as she brushed her lips along his length.

"Agh, yes," he murmured, her lips felt so warm and soft. Pure bliss. "At the top, my sweet," he said breathlessly and Beth worked her way higher, kissing his helmet, her lips moving along the ridge. "Agh, God!" He grunted - the sound was so sudden and Beth jerked back, fearing she had done it wrong.

He sat up quickly and kissed her reassuringly, his hands holding either side of her face. "Perfect bliss," he whispered, his heart pounding against his ribs. "Bliss," he repeated as he lay back down. Beth, feeling more sure of herself, lowered her head once more. She resumed her kisses, much the way her lips moved over his while kissing in the more usual manner. Banastre's thighs tensed and he swallowed hard, his fingers curling gently in her hair.

"Like this?" She asked, and then circled his helmet tentatively, with her tongue.

"Exactly. Like. That." He ground out through gritted teeth, then moaned a long, satisfied moan. Her lips had felt good - wondrous even, but her tongue. Lord. He held his breath, waiting, hoping, to feel her move onto the next wonderful thing, the next delight. When she did it, when she opened her mouth to suckle him, it was all he could do not to push up into her deeply. His fingers grasped the coverlet in a tight fist and his thighs tensed, his feet moving restlessly as he panted. Lifting his head, he gazed down at her, just as she raised her eyes to his. With his cock buried deep in her mouth, and her eyes on his, he groaned and tried hard not to come.

"Christ," he muttered. "Agh, Christ. Beth - God, I love you. Christ - this feels so good. Ah, yes," he continued to murmur his encouragement as her lips moved up and down his length, the heat of her mouth scalding him. "Circle your tongue around as you suck - Agh, yes!" He arched his back and gasped, his cock pulsing and twitching in her mouth as she did as he instructed. "Harder, please, darling, more. Agh, so much more!"

She obeyed again, moving up and down faster now, suckling as hard as she could manage as he panted and writhed and groaned beneath her. An eternity later, but all too soon, she lifted off him.

"I'm sorry, do you mind if I stop now?" She asked him. He didn't question her - he understood her mouth was becoming sore - the muscles would not be used to those particular exertions.

"My darling, come here," he rasped out, holding his arms out to her. She moved up his body, kissing his stomach and chest as he had done to her, until she settled into his arms, laying alongside him, skin against skin. He kissed her forehead and stroked her cheek as she reached between their bodies to stroke his cock with her soft hand, for he had not had his orgasm yet.

"My sweet," he shifted her to lay back against the pillows and then he moved across her body to settle himself on top of her. This was familiar to Beth, having done it with William and Harry both. She parted her legs to allow him room, assuming he wished to move his member along her as her previous lovers had done. He began moving as they had done, but he was edging downward, lifting and tilting his pelvis and trying to catch his tip to her entrance.

"Ban…" She whispered up at him, stroking his hair back from his face. "Ban - we can't."

"Just a little bit..?" He begged. His lips found hers and he kissed her so deeply, with such a heartfelt groan. "I won't take your virginity - just let me put the tip inside you. Please, darling…"

"I don't know," she frowned, uncertain. Surely if he put it inside her, even slightly, her virginity would be gone? He stroked her face, rubbing his thumb along her forehead to smooth her frown lines.

"Please darling," he cajoled. "You're so moist down there, so warm and tight. I thought I'd explode when I just put my thumb in you! You liked it, didn't you?"

She nodded, swallowing hard, for she certainly had liked it very much, when the tip of his thumb had pumped in and out of her.

"It'll be just like that, but so much better," he promised, already nudging at her entrance as though he had her permission. She shifted slightly, allowing him more room despite her uncertainty. "It'll be better, and you'll still be a virgin," he continued, believing his words wholeheartedly. "Just the tip - I won't go deeper - just the helmet to the ridge…"

Beth nodded. Surely he was speaking truly - he had bedded many women after all. If anyone would know, he would. The helmet of his cock - to the ridge - was only a couple of centimetres long. Perhaps the entire shaft had to be inside her before her maidenhead would break and she was no longer a virgin. And his shaft was at least four times longer than his helmet.

"Agh, Beth," Banastre whispered, his lips crashing to hers, overwhelmed that she was allowing him to do this. He pressed his pelvis forward and she opened up around him, the head of shaft sunk deeper inside her and he groaned against her lips in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He began to move, lifting his hips almost imperceptibly and sinking in again, but no deeper than the ridge of his helmet, as he'd promised her. He longed to sink in more fully, to claim her utterly, but he managed to control himself.

"So strange," Beth murmured as her opening was stretched around his girth.

"But good?" He panted, shifting to one elbow to gaze down at her. She swallowed and nodded.

"It's good," she began to breathe heavily and she even lifted her own hips slightly, meeting his small motions. "Isn't it supposed to hurt?" She gasped out, shocked to feel pleasure mounting all over again.

"No," he panted, struggling to keep his thrusts shallow. "Only if I was deeper and maybe not even then."

That was all he could manage - words were becoming difficult to form as he moved above her, with Beth writhing beneath him. The two kissed, Beth wrapped her arms around his neck and arched her back, striving and straining for more. Her pleasure was mounting but she needed more, his thrusts were too shallow, she would not reach completion this way! She groaned, frustrated and pleasured all at once. Ban was feeling as frustrated, and pleasured as Beth. His body was on fire, his cock burned even hotter. He longed to sink in more, but was satisfied with what they were doing just then. He'd come soon, he was certain of it. He could feel it mounting, as his sensitive helmet was engulfed in her tight warmth.

"I'm so close," he murmured, panting against her lips. "Agh, Beth. So close."

"Oh, Ban - please!" She despaired, her fingers sinking in to clutch his shoulders. "Oh, God, I want you deeper. Oh please - go in deeper!"

Banastre groaned, a harsh, animalistic sound. He froze above her and jerked his lips back from hers. Beth's eyes widened and fear curled her spine at his suddenly infuriated and intent expression. Holding her startled gaze, he glared down at her.

"I know you are crocked just now after all that wine, but I swear, if you beg me to do that, I will," he bit out. "I'm struggling not to already, my love - I'm only flesh and blood! I want nothing more than to be buried inside you - as deeply as possible. So if you don't want your virginity shattered, right now, don't ask me again!"

Beth swallowed as she stared up into his blazing eyes, struggling to control her own need now. It had felt so wonderful, and torturous, having him moving inside her entrance and she'd wanted it deeper, wanted to feel that sensation deep inside her. Nevertheless Henrietta's warning lanced through her, that George Howard would know she was not a virgin on their wedding night and they'd have one Hell of a marriage. A rebellious part of her seized her and she stared up into Banastre's fire filled eyes, trying to decide who she would give her virginity to.

Banastre. Or George? Who should she allow to claim her virginity? The man above her, the man who loved her, who was poised and ready to take her, his eyes aflame with need that matched her own? Or the boy - her childhood friend - who she was being forced to marry?

'_You are a ruined virgin so it makes no difference_,' Henrietta had said. '_It will take time, Beth, but when you are safely married, our Parish and I will begin to accept you back amongst us. Especially if you conduct yourself properly in future. If you prove to us all that you have put your wild days behind you. You can start by being a good wife to George, and a good mother to the children you bear him._'

_Who are they to judge me? How many of my damned neighbours had swollen bellies when they said their vows? How many of them screwed around with others - especially the men, jumping from bed to bed? Who are they to tell me how to conduct myself? Put my wild days behind me… Lord - those bastards! Even my father, who beds Aunt Charlotte every opportunity they get. And Henrietta doesn't seem to give two figs that my widowed aunt has a lover - but I'm ostracised for doing so much less?_

She swallowed hard, her eyes pinned on his, her heart pounding with excitement and defiance. Rebel, Hanger had called her. She laughed now and Banastre frowned down at her.

"You think I'm joking?" He snarled. "I'll do it, I swear. God, I want to so much! Don't beg me to do what I know we can't do, because I'll do it. I'm trying to be a Gentleman, but I'm only flesh and blood!"

"So am I," she said, losing her amusement as her need took over. "Only flesh and blood. And I want you deeper."

Banastre reeled when she raised her legs, opening herself further to him, her movements heavy and sluggish as she wrapped her ankles over the backs of his thighs, sliding them up and down his legs.

"Agh, Christ!" Banastre groaned as he began thrusting forward, her open invitation destroying his ability to control himself further. This time, he did not stop when his ridge nudged inside her entrance. This time he continued, sliding in deeper, holding his breath as her hot, tight velvet walls closed in around him. Her already torn maidenhead was ripped asunder around his shaft.

"Ho…" Beth gasped softly and her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her entire body stiffened beneath his inexorable onslaught, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. She felt his lips kissing her brow, soothing her hurt even as he continued to cause it with his impaling of her.

"My love," he whispered as he reined those kisses. "My love, my darling, agh Christ."

And he was inside her, as deep as she'd wanted him to be, until their pelvis's were mashed together and he could go no further. The pain was gone. Banastre began to move back and forth.

"I never dreamed…" she gasped as he speared her and the tightness in her stomach, in her body, began anew. "Oh, Lord, Ban…"

Those strangled words unleashed the demon inside him and Banastre grunted as he began to thrust wildly.

Beth began to pant again, she clutched his shoulders and whimpered, the pleasure lancing through her more intense than anything she'd felt before. Each thrust caused her to gasp and writhe, bringing her quickly to climax.

The mounting tension and fire surged through him, needing release. Banastre rocked his hips, up and down, his cock at the tip of her almost slipping out only to thrust deeply back in again. It caused Banastre to pant, to stop his continual kissing and drop his head to Beth's shoulder. With a long groan, both agonised and pleasure filled, his cock twitched inside her, the fire scouring his veins rushed through his body and burst out of him in spurts. He pulled out as he came - his hot seed pulsing from his length to spill just in her entrance, hoping that gesture was enough to prevent pregnancy. He shuddered, his entire body convulsed, with Beth stroking his back, kissing his cheek and neck as though to help calm him. He held her tight, his eyes squeezed shut at the peek of his orgasm, holding her even as it began to fade away.

"Lord," he whispered into her neck, not wishing to move an inch. "That was… Perfection."

Beth sighed and continued kissing him, her lips moving across his shoulder until he lifted his head to claim her mouth. Slowly, as though his limbs were moving through honey, Banastre pushed himself up off her warm body to kneel between her legs. He stared down at her, laying back against the pillows with her arms under her head, no longer caring that she was so utterly exposed to him. Feeling the profoundness of the moment - she had given him her virginity! - he smiled and she smiled back.

"Can you pass me your handkerchief?" He asked her, nodding at the thin square of white cotton on the side table. Beth turned her head in that direction, then reached over languidly to get it for him. She watched him tidy himself up, then lifted her bottom at his request so he could wipe her clean as well. Reason began to return to her then, now that her need was sated, and it crashed down on her tenfold when she saw the handkerchief come away bloody and slick with his seed.

"Oh my Lord, what have I done?" She whispered.

"Beth?" He sat alongside her and put his arms around her as she began to cry. It was only now that she was faced with its loss that she realised how important it was - her last shred of dignity, of virtue, after her destroyed reputation and ruination. She had been able to cling to that last vestige, that at least she was still a virgin. And to make matters worse, not only was she going to George a woman rather than a virgin, but she might also have her belly filled with another man's bastard.

"Oh, God, it's all gone now - I really am ruined now!"

"Shh," he held her against his chest, his hands moving over her hair and back.

"Oh, Ban - I'm so stupid, we shouldn't have done this!" She sobbed. "Oh, God - I could get with child!"

"My darling," he nuzzled his nose into her hair, kissing her cheeks as he did. "All will be well, " he whispered and she drew back, startled, staring at him with hope and despair both.

"How will it be well? How can you say that? I know what happens when men and women couple!"

"Shh, I don't think you'll get with child from this," he took hold of her hands and kissed her fingers but Beth was still far too panicked to be calmed so easily.

"How can you say that?" She wailed again. "That you think I won't get with child! You can't know! You don't know!"

"Shh, shh, shh!" He whispered, trying to sooth her.

"How can you know?" She collapsed into his embrace, tears coursing her cheeks.

"I was careful, my love," he told her. "I didn't spill my seed inside you - I pulled out of you before it began."

"You did?" She whispered through her tears. "Does that work - I don't know how it works!"

"I do," he lied - for as experienced as he was with the way of women, his knowledge was not full proof. He knew of several men who purposefully pulled themselves out of their women before spilling their seed, but their ladies had still fallen pregnant. He needed to calm her however and so he put as much confidence into his voice as he could. "I know how it works and I took what measures I could - you won't get with child from this."

"You're sure, Ban?" Beth pleaded fretfully. "Please - are you really certain?"

"I am," he lied, stifling his guilt over speaking this falsehood.

"Oh, God," Beth collapsed against the pillows, panting every bit as much as she had earlier when he'd pleasured her. This time, however, it was with relief. "Oh, sweet Lord, I was worried for a moment there!" She laughed nervously.

She turned her face to his, laying her palm along his cheek as she leaned in to kiss him.

"Well, there's nothing to worry about, my sweet," he said.

"Oh, Lord," she laughed again - a release of pent up tension. "I'm sorry - I spoiled our special moment, didn't I? With my panic…"

"Understandable," he tightened his hold on her. "You made me doubt myself for a moment there too. But there's none of my seed in you, my darling. All will be well."

"Hmm," she snuggled closer and draped her leg over his.

As Banastre lay there with her in his arms, he began to feel a new sort of possessiveness toward her. An ownership of sorts. For Beth had lost her virginity to him - giving herself to him freely - and was, therefore, entirely his.

* * *

Despite the long and stressful day, neither of them felt particularly sleepy. As they lay back on the pillows, the two began to chat, speaking openly of all that had occurred during the time they were parted. He spoke of his travels up at the border and through the back country. She spoke of her time in the city, her return home, and of Shadow Dancer, her wedding gift from Burwell.

"She was almost mine, that horse," Banastre chortled. "Can you imagine? Burwell's wedding gift for his fiancé, and Hanger was going to take her, to give to me."

"Well, you can't have her," Beth said primly. "And stop that chortling. Everything went wrong after that - I can't tell you any of it while you're laughing like that."

"Sorry," he chuckled some more over how close Burwell's 'wedding' gift had become his, but eventually subsided. When Beth felt he was sobered enough, she continued, speaking now of the trip to Pembroke - and the villagers altered attitude and treatment toward her. Her voice was a quiet, grave whisper as she told of her meeting with Reverend Oliver, which resulted in Burwell ending their engagement and being ostracised by the entire community, starting with Emily. As she began to tell of her father and Gabriel's reactions, she choked off and began to cry. Banastre soothed her, rocking her gently.

"Well, you have me now," he said. "And I'd do nothing to hurt you, my sweet Beth."

"For how long?" She asked bitterly. "You'll not be here for ever, Banastre. You're here to find Colonel Burwell and when you do, you'll move out and I'll be all alone again. Until I marry George. I like him well enough but I don't want to marry him. Father says I must though, it will help to save us, this marriage."

"What?!" Banastre exploded as he understood the implication of her words. He sat up so abruptly that Beth fell back against the pillows and stared up at him. His face blazed with fury as understanding hit him like a hammer. "He's marrying you off?"

"Yes," she whispered, surprised at the strength of his emotions. "I'm engaged again. It was sudden but formally done - between our fathers - and acknowledged by our Reverend. Papa wants to wait until the furore dies down, but he says the wedding will take place in a few weeks."

"Jesus!" Banastre spat. His jaw worked, clenching tight as he ground his teeth with frustration. He glared at Beth as she sat up, her face lined with concern. "You're bloody mine, damn it! I thought you were mine! I've waited for so long to see you, to be with you! And then I read of your engagement to bloody Burwell. I hear of you and bloody William doing who the hell knows what with each other. Do you have any idea how relieved I was when I discovered your engagement was truly over? And that you and William didn't… Jesus, Beth! I thought that now you were finally free!"

Beth hung her head, her hair falling to either side of her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered finally. "I'm not free, Ban. I can't break this engagement - not without incurring the wrath of my entire family all over again. I can't go through that a second time. My father said that my actions in Charlestown could very well destroy our entire family - my sisters might not marry well. If the plantation loses custom because people refuse to make contracts with us, we could lose the farm. We've already lost workers, two families who up and left in disgust when they heard what I'd done, because I'd done it with a Redcoat. I've bought my family its knees, my father said. I can't have Maggie and Susan suffer for this. My brothers too - they might not be able to marry well either. And to lose the farm? How would my father provide for them?" She shook her head and continued sadly. "And it's all my fault. No one else's. I've done this to us and now I have to do everything I can to fix it. If that means marrying the man my father has chosen, then I'll marry him. He's a nice enough fellow - I've known him all my life."

"What about us?" He ground out and she glanced at him blankly. "God, Beth - I am in love with you. You know that!"

"I do know that," she admitted. "But what would you suggest I do? My hands are tied! My actions have just about destroyed my family. I can't cause all that damage and then run off to be your mistress in camp, if that's what you're suggesting!"

"You could!" He tightened his lips, glaring at her with fury. "You can come with me, Beth! I can't just leave you here to marry some other man - no matter how 'nice' he is!

"You have to," she asserted. "Banastre, admit it - you weren't thinking beyond the moment when you came in here with me this evening, and neither was I! You'll move on with the army and I'll stay here. I'll do what I can to minimise the damage I've done. I won't make it worse by traipsing off with you!"

"Christ!" He spat, then threw himself back against the pillows, his body stiff and rife with tension. His eyes glittered up at her as she gazed down at him gravely. "You really won't come with me?" He hissed.

"No," she shook her head. "How can I? Run off with a Redcoat," she scoffed softly. "Lord, my family would truly be destroyed then. I care for you Ban, you must know that," she lay down alongside him and reached out to stroke his chest. "But I can't run off and be your mistress. I'm sorry."

"Christ." He clenched his jaw and pulled his eyes from hers, refusing to look at her. Her fingers continued to stroke his chest but he ignored that too, he was too angry. She had spoken truly, however - her family would be destroyed if she took off to be with him. But just then, he didn't care. The woman he loved - the woman he'd been pining for all these months - the same woman he'd thought he'd finally won, was going to marry another man, rather than be Banastre's mistress. In a fit of fury, he swatted her hand away and lurched up, threw his legs over the side of the bed and perched there, his head buried in his hands.

Beth watched him for a while as he sat there - obviously filled with tension. With a heavy sigh, she rose to her knees and kneeled on the bed behind him to stroke his back. Then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek to his back, waiting for him to calm from his anger. He did eventually, understanding that she was well and truly caught. There was nothing she could do about her situation - and running off with him would only make her life worse. He leaned back into her, allowing her to comfort and soothe him. Eventually, he turned in her embrace and took her into his arms. They kissed as they lay back on the pillows, and as their ardour rose, they began pleasuring one another once again.


	49. Chapter 49 - Meeting the Martin's

Chapter 49 - Meeting the Martin's:

Beth couldn't move. The blazing pain behind her closed lids, the roiling in her stomach, the weariness in her body seeping to her very bones. All she could do was lie on her side, her eyes squeezed shut, and groan softly. She thought she must be dying, she was so utterly ill and wretched. One of the many sicknesses from the swamps, perhaps, causing her to be prone, unable to move a muscle.

Her head and stomach ached, but there was another pain making itself known to her, an ache deep inside her, centred between her legs, cutting to her very soul. For she had given it away, her virginity, her virtue. She had given it out of wedlock, to the man whose bare chest she now rested her weary head. She could feel the rise and fall beneath her ear, hear his heart beating within. She knew he was awake, for his hand gently stirred through her hair, waiting for her to awaken also.

Banastre Tarleton. She had given her virginity to a British Officer, when she should have waited to give it to her husband to be, George Howard. Would George know, as Henrietta warned her he would? Beth kept her eyes shut and tried not to cringe, as she imagined the handsome young man laying beside her for the first time after they said their vows. Of him rolling on top of her as Banastre had done, entering her in the belief that no one had been there before him. Would he know? As soon as his phallus slid into her depths, would he freeze above her? Would he stare down at her, shocked and shamed? Would that shock turn to an accusing glare, would he beat her? Surely not - George was a gentle man. But what sort of marriage could they hope to have, with her having bedded an enemy Officer? What would she say - what excuse could she possibly provide him, that would satisfy him? Banastre hadn't forced her, she'd damned near begged him to do it. It was just utter stupidly, borne from too much wine.

_Ahh, the wine_, she thought now. That was why she was so ill just now. The same as her day of drinking whiskey with Aunt Charlotte and the other women that afternoon so long ago. When the whiskey had pervaded her senses and caused her to try and unbutton Burwell's breeches. If her father had not come into her chamber, Beth wondered, would she have opened her legs for Burwell as she had opened them for Tarleton last night?

At least Burwell had been her fiancé. What was Banastre Tarleton to her? A friend? Her lover, now? Was she a loose whore then? To give her virginity away just for the asking? Her stomach began to churn with more than the sickness that came from too much drinking. Guilt twisted her insides, remorse and shame bone deep and so cutting she could barely stand it.

_Lord, what will George say? _She fretted to herself. _Will he demand an annulment? I couldn't bear the shame! Everyone will know it then, that I bedded a British Officer. They won't care which one. They already call me a Redcoat whore… Oh, Lord, I'm a Redcoat whore in truth!_

Her thoughts were tormenting but there was nothing she could do to stop them - any more than she could stop a tidal wave from surging in the sea. They continued on, accusing and shaming her, causing her grief and remorse and guilt and shame to swell until she thought she would die of it. She did not love George but she liked him well enough and had hoped they could find happiness together - a mutual respect perhaps. But that would never be, not if he knew she was tainted, used, her innocence gone - given away so freely!

_No body knows_, she thought to herself now in an effort to console herself. _Only Ban and I. He won't boast, he is not the kind. Is he? He won't tell anyone, will he? He loves me. He wouldn't do that to me, would he? He's be a rotter if he did. Surely not… Perhaps George won't notice…_

It did not work, she was still feeling utterly wretched and she tried to steer her thoughts away from how shameful it was to give her virginity away so easily to an enemy Officer, merely because he was in love with her. She had felt such desperate need to be held, to be loved, to dispel the crushing loneliness that had been consuming her before their reunion. Only Banastre - out of all the people in the world, loved her. Tavington did not love her - he'd bragged about bedding her, so that everyone would expect her to marry him, to force Beth's father's hand, so Tavington could claim her fortune. Burwell had abandoned her - how could he have ever claimed to love her, only to break their engagement at the first sign of trouble? Her father and her brother no longer loved her, would not even embrace her farewell. None of them cared for her.

Only Banastre did. He loved her and he didn't hesitate to show it. He'd thrown a ball for her, all for her. Merely to cheer her, to see her smile. And he'd stayed with her the whole night through, showing her how much he loved her, over and again.

_How do I feel for him? _She wondered. _I love him_, she told herself fervently. Her stomach gave another lurch, and she pushed away her doubt and repeated the phrase over and over. _I love him, I love him. I gave myself to a man I love. What is so bad about that? How could that be wrong? If I must spend the rest of my life with George - who I respect and like, isn't it better that the man I love was able to claim me first?_

"Good morning, sleepy head," came the fond murmur in Banastre's deep timbre. He had realised she was awake and he raised his hand, placed two fingers beneath her chin and lifted her head to meet his gaze. With a small shuffling, he laid her back against the pillows and his lips began to move across hers. She gazed at him gravely all the while, deep brown eyes staring into deep brown, his warm lips caressing hers. She wound her arms over his shoulders and opened her mouth, accepting his tongue when it entered. His ardour was rising again and Beth let herself sail away on the tide with him, letting her problems drift away. For what problems did she have? What could be better, than laying in the arms of the man she loved? Skin to skin, kissing and touching each other with tenderness and ever increasing arousal? Wasn't that the definition of perfect bliss?

"I feel sick, Ban," she confided, whispering against his lips. "I can barely move - can barely speak. My body hurts… my head is splitting. I'm dying."

"I feel that way every time I drink too much wine too, my love," he laughed at her. "I'll fetch you some water. I promise it'll do you a world of good."

He climbed out of the bed, as naked as the day he was born. Beth's eyes lingered on his body, on the ripples and hard planes of his stomach and chest, of the muscles moving beneath the skin of his back. His auburn hair, unbound, drifting down his back as he moved about the room, fetching her the promised water from a jug. He was returning to her, a glass in his hand, and she was afforded with a view of his front, her eyes now lingering on his rock hard erection. He was completely unashamed of being so thoroughly exposed to her, in all his majesty. She licked her lips, dragging her eyes away from his phallus.

"Here, I'll help you up," he offered when it became clear she could not even do that much. Taking a hold of her arm, he pulled her up and she clutched at the sheets to cover her nudity. A sharp contrast to his blatant exhibition. She kept her eyes on his face as he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her. Even still, she could see the evidence of his arousal poking up from his lap, from the corner of his eye.

"Drink up," he murmured, his gaze on hers. "The headache, the sickness - it'll all pass, you'll see. Just drink up."

"I will," she whispered, closing her eyes and swallowing hard against a wave of nausea. And then she did as he ordered, and began to drink. One glass, then another. After the third glass, she could drink no more, and reclined against the pillows while he returned the glass to the side board.

"My poor darling," he murmured when he returned. Laying along side her, he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have let you drink so much."

She said nothing, she didn't have the energy to form a reply. Instead she snuggled in closer, her head under his chin, her arms loose about his waist as he stroked her back and hair.

"I'll have to leave soon," he said softly, and she could hear the reluctance in his voice.

"No, don't go," her whimper surprised even her, and she tightened her hold on him as though she could stop him climbing out of the bed. "I want you to stay with me."

He stiffened beneath her, shocked by this profession and by her obvious need. Hope bloomed in his chest as he wondered if she returned the strong feelings he felt for her.

"It'll only be for a short while," he assured her, instead of broaching the subject. "Just to be certain that the servants see me coming from my own quarters instead of from yours. We don't want them to suspect where I spent the night…"

For answer, she snuggled closer, clearly unwilling to release him. He was content enough - they had some time yet before the servants began to stir. Though it was morning, it was still dark outside - barely past 5-am. They wouldn't have time to couple again, for Banastre didn't want to take her quickly merely to assuage his own need. He wanted to pleasure her, to ensure she enjoyed it as much as he did. But they had time to snuggle for a bit, at least until the water did its job and her nausea left her.

"Oh, I didn't think of the servants," she said softly. "Do you think they already know?"

"No, my sweet. They did not see me come in here, and as I said, they will not see me leave." Nor would the servants discover anything untoward on the sheets - not this time. For Banastre had taken far more care to be discreet than William had. He'd washed the seed from the sheet during the night and the patch that was wet then was quite dry now. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. That had been the ruin of her the first time - William's seed on Arthur Simms' coverlet. How much worse, now there was Beth's virgin blood? Banastre had taken care of it however. He would take care of everything. "We've had quite a fun evening, have we not?"

"We have," Beth sighed. "I am a virgin no longer."

"No, you are not," he kissed the top of her hair. "Any regrets, my sweet?"

"No," Beth said, though she wasn't certain if that was at least in part a lie. "I enjoyed it as much as you did." _That_ wasn't a lie - she had enjoyed it, but now she was faced with the cold light of day and sobriety, she found she _did_ regret it. "You were right about the water, I do feel a world better."

"Told you…" Banastre watched her as she pulled her shift over her slim shoulders. She seemed to be slipping back into her melancholia from the previous day and he felt his rage mount all over again. She'd been happy the night before.

"Will you help me dress?" She asked, her stays dangling loosely from her fingers. He climbed out of the bed to help her.

"I've always preferred removing these," he said as he stood behind her, pulling the ties closed.

"I'm sure," she said, sounding slightly amused.

"Was that a smile?" He teased, leaning forward to brush his lips against the shell of her ear.

"Perhaps," she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You do have a wonderful way of cheering me…"

"Does that mean," he wrapped his hands around her waist and ran his fingers up and down her stays. "I can remove this after all? We can climb back into bed..."

"Hmm, perhaps…" She smiled up at him. "It was your idea to leave. Not mine."

Banastre exulted, feeling certain he would be buried to the hilt in her wonderful sheath and moving inside her again in the next few moments.

"I love you, Beth," he said earnestly, without a hope of returning the sentiment. He froze dead with shock, when she did.

"I love you too, Ban," she whispered, then buried her face into his neck, her lips kissing his neck gently. He couldn't move to save himself, such was his astonishment. His confusion gave way to joy so deep, his heart pounded and he felt lighter than air.

"Beth…" He breathed, tilted her head back to meet his gaze. He crushed her to him and held her close, his lips moving frantically over hers. He edged her back to the bed, determined to be inside her, to consummate her wonderful declaration.

"Mrs. Rutledge!" A frantic woman screamed from somewhere in the house. "Come quick - it's young Master Eddie!"

"Oh, no!" Beth wailed, pushing Banastre away abruptly.

The mood was broken, the moment gone.

She finished dressing quickly in the clothes Henrietta had provided - the light blue bodice and skirts from the day before. He sighed heavily and watched, and made no move to protest when she disappeared through the door. With his mind on her profession of love, he dressed more slowly, drawing his breeches on and fixing the buttons on his shirt. It was not until he was completely dressed, with his cravat in place, his green coat across his shoulders and his boots on his feet that he finally stepped into the corridor.

The screaming in the house had not abated and it cut through his awe, destroying the moment utterly. After stopping to speak with one of his men, whispering instructions that would have Beth's bed sheets discreetly changed for new, clean ones, he followed the noise of crying women. Hanger and Whitty, both curious to discover what the furore was about, fell in beside him. They climbed the stairs to the nursery in silence and finally, when they entered the nursery itself, they discovered the cause of the women's distress.

"Banastre," Beth stumbled to him, her grief stricken face streaked with tears. He glanced past her at Mrs. Rutledge, where she sat on the floor, clutching her younger son to her chest. It was clear to him what had occurred, but Beth continued brokenly, "it's Edward - he passed away. He's been ill for so long and… Oh, sweet Lord…"

He wrapped her in his arms, giving her an encompassing, but brief, hug. Though the other women barely registered that the Dragoons had arrived, it still would not do for any of them to notice him cuddling Beth. He released her and she tried to compose herself, enough to stand by a very confused looking Henry - Edward's older brother. She wrapped her hand in his and the two stood back from the other women.

Young Edward Rutledge had finally succumbed to his illness, and the household was grieving. The mother could not hold in her anguish - Mrs. Rutledge knelt on the floor, screaming over her little boy's body.

It was then that Banastre decided they would not remain at Rutledge Plantation after all. It would be far too dismal a place to reside and while he would not normally be bothered, he didn't want Beth to slip into a deeper melancholia. He informed Hanger of his intention to leave, as he turned on his heel and strode from the nursery, back down the stairs to pack Beth's meagre belongings.

* * *

Not an hour later found Beth in Shadow Dancer's saddle, trotting not far back from Banastre and Hanger, who led Tarleton's Dragoons. The British Legion followed along more slowly - the Dragoons were not pushing very hard, which enabled the Legion's infantry, wagons and supply carts to keep pace.

Their destination - Fresh Water Plantation.

When he set out, Banastre had not been certain where they would go next. He had been pouring over maps of the area in the search for a suitable place, when a messenger - another dutiful Loyalist, had arrived at Rutledge Plantation as the Legion was breaking camp. The Loyalist had ridden hard to impart his information - that Burwell's force had been sighted entering Hell Hole Swamp. Without consulting with Beth, Banastre decided that he make his encampment at Fresh Water, for the Plantation was situated perfectly, in between Pembroke and to where Burwell had been sighted. Banastre would send out his scouts to search for Burwell, while he began raids against the people of Pembroke county.

As he trotted, he glanced over his shoulder and met Beth's eyes - the poor girl had been prone to bouts of weeping ever since little Edward Rutledge died earlier that morning. She had tried to comfort Henrietta but the Society woman had rebuffed Beth completely. She had been deranged with grief and completely uncaring of the hurtful words she'd shouted at Beth, until Beth fled her presence and fell against Banastre's chest, weeping and distraught. She was not crying now, he was pleased to see, but her eyes were red-rimmed and her return gaze was evidence of her distress.

There was nothing more he could do for her just then - not on the road as they were.

The extensive plantation they were passing through, Beth had informed him, was Fresh Water. The house was situated on a rise and was visible despite the distance.

"This is your property?" He called over his shoulder, surprised and he glanced at Beth in time to see her nod. "Huh," he grunted.

The land was extensive, at least three hundred acres. He was expecting to see a properly large Great House much like the Rutledge's - which was a mansion for want of a better word. Instead, sitting on the rise was a simple three story home with a double front. It was a well constructed house and maintained well, with a fresh coat of paint. Still, it was not representative of the vast wealth he now knew the Martin's to possess. It was surrounded by outhouses and a kitchen. A village of smaller, well built cottages was positioned forty rods or so from the main house. Not the slave cabins he'd come to expect on a colonial plantation, though there might be those further away again and out of sight from the house. The nice cottages he could see were the homes of the many workers in Martin's employ. Clearly, judging by all he had been told of the family, the Plantation was quite well to do and it surprised Banastre utterly that Beth's father had not built himself a mansion to rival the Rutledge's.

He approached the mouth of the driveway and noticed the lack of sign - he could see the posts where the sign was supposed to be but Beth had already told him it had been taken down for maintenance. He held his arm up to signal the halt, and his Dragoons fell in behind him. Beth caught up to him, sensing he would have questions for her.

"Is that your property also?" He asked, pointing across the road to the fields beyond, as far as the eye could see.

"Yes," she replied. "Why?"

"I can't fit nine hundred men in your front yard," he smiled at her. "Your home will house a couple of my Officers, and the Dragoons will be immediately close to the house, in the rooms that Burwell vacated," his eyes flashed fury - still angry that Beth's family had hosted the Continentals. She lowered her eyes and blushed, but offered no reply. Banastre was finding it difficult to believe Clinton's letter, informing him that he had learned from a conversation overheard by Miss Jutland, that Martin intended to stay out of the war, not when he'd allowed Burwell to stay for so long, and had been prepared to marry his own daughter off to the enemy Colonel. Banastre was there in part to discover the truth of Martin's allegiance. He continued, "but I still have the rest of the Legion to find some flat ground for."

He rose up in the saddle, standing in his stirrups to survey the Plantation. A tobacco field in the distance, an extensive garden at the back of the house, outhouses to the left and an Indian Cornfield to the right. And, according to Beth, her father managed rice crops in the swamplands he owned bordering Hell Hole Swamp. There were several large, flat, empty spaces that could accommodate the various units of the Legion. He lowered himself to his seat.

"Each unit will need to post sentries and pickets. I want no drinking in the camps - on pain of a flogging," he commanded and Hanger nodded agreement. "Burwell won't be able to do any damage to the Legion when it's camped together, but separated as we'll be, each unit will be vulnerable and might prove a tempting target."

"He's a brash one," Hanger agreed. "I wouldn't put it past him to try."

Beth's eyes widened as the reality of the situation hit her squarely between the eyes.

"You think he'll attack you here?" She squeaked and Shadow Dancer skittered beneath her, sensing her nerves. "There could be a skirmish outside my front door after all!"

"There could be," Banastre agreed. "As I said, we may present too tempting a target. And I'll not be able to respond quickly to direct a battle - not if I am quartered inside your home."

"Will you stay in a tent then?" Hanger taunted, his eyes flicking to Beth. He knew damned well that Banastre had bedded the girl the evening before, and was holding onto the hope that he'd be able to slip into her chamber at her father's home also. He couldn't very well share her bed if he was sleeping in one of the tents in the middle of camp. "Across the road amidst the infantry? In case they are attacked…"

"Don't be a bloody fool," Banastre muttered and spurred his horse forward, leading the way up the gate. Hanger barked a laugh, then issued several commands to his Captains to begin directing the bulk of Tarleton's Legion, in their various units, to the various fields. Then he turned and followed Banastre and Beth toward the house, with Lieutenant Whitty, Second Lieutenant Bell and Ensign Mitchell fell in behind him.

As bold as brass, Banastre galloped toward the house, completely unconcerned about the commotion his arrival was causing. A man approaching his middle years already awaited him on the porch and judging by the worry lines Banastre saw on the man's face, he guessed this to be Beth's father, Mr. Benjamin Martin. Behind him stood several other men, a woman and a few youths, all looking grave and huddling quietly. Banastre drew rein at the front steps of the verandah and nodded coolly at Mr. Martin. Her nervous gaze fixed on her father, Beth drew rein alongside the Colonel, as did Hanger, who exuded as much confidence as Tarleton. Beth, in contrast, barely seemed to know what she should say or do. She waited in breathless anticipation.

"Daughter," her father greeted her, ignoring Tarleton for the moment. "I've been worried sick. Thomas came all the way to Wakefield to fetch me back - he said you'd been taken captive. Are you well?"

"I am, Papa. It was a misunderstanding, is all," Beth said, her voice a mere croak. She turned to Banastre. "Colonel Tarleton, may I present my father to you? Mr. Benjamin Martin."

Banastre and Benjamin eyed one another up, both taking in the measure of the other, both sensitive to the under currents playing between them.

"'Mr.'?" Banastre quirked an eyebrow in polite incredulity. "I was given to understand that this Gentleman was 'Captain' Benjamin Martin, veteran of the Cherokee War."

Banastre saw Benjamin's sudden tension - the tightening around his eyes and hardening of his jaw - and he knew his comment had hit its mark. Clambering down from his mount gracefully, he strode up the steps of the porch, pulling his helmet off and placing it under his arm. He held his free hand out to Benjamin, who clasped it warily in turn.

"Colonel Banastre Tarleton at your service, _Captain_ Martin," Banastre said with deliberate emphasis on the man's military title.

"_Mister_ Martin, at yours," Benjamin corrected. "I'm retired from the military."

"Ah, once a soldier always a soldier, I dare say?" Tarleton smirked.

"You can take the soldier out of the fighting," Hanger called, working together with Banastre in an attempt to ruffle the Patriot. "But you can't take the fight out of the soldier."

"I disagree," Benjamin's reply was stoic. "A man is just that - a man. He can be whatever he wants to be, he can leave behind the fight if he chooses. I'm naught more than what you see before you - a family man," he jutted his chin toward his many children, who formed a silent wall behind him and the tall, gravely silent woman at his side. Who Banastre recognised now, as Mrs. Charlotte Selton. He glanced at Hanger with a smirk and saw his Major had recognised the woman also. Hanger was staring at her as avidly as he'd done in Charlestown and Banastre stifled a laugh, knowing that Hanger's chase for her affections would soon begin again. Sure enough, the Major leaped gracefully from the saddle and quickly climbed the steps.

"Mrs. Selton!" Hanger said with evident excitement. He swooped off his hat and bowed, then took hold of her wrist, in order to lay a kiss on the top of her hand. "What a pleasure it is to see you again! I am so very pleased to see you again."

Charlotte's eyes darted momentarily to Benjamin's, she saw his brows rise with surprise. She shifted back to Hanger, pulled her fingers free of his hold, folded her hands before her, and greeted coolly, "Major, my nephews have given me an account of what took place between you in the woods."

Hanger's smile faltered for a moment, before flaring anew.

"A misunderstanding," he said, trying to brush it aside. "We all got along quite well, before we parted."

"Indeed?" She said coolly; she clearly knew otherwise. Banastre stifled a laugh - oh yes, his friend was not going to be perturbed on the chase, even with such discouraging quarry as Mrs. Selton was proving to be.

"Are you planning on a long stay then?" Benjamin asked, pointing to Tarleton's Legion as the many soldiers began to move off the road, turning into the surrounding fields. Nine hundred men and some two hundred women, making their way to their various, designated areas. The carts and wagons were lined along the road for as far as the eye could see. If he was disconcerted by seeing such a large force, he showed no sign of it.

Hanger had climbed the last step and was at Charlotte's side, trying to engage her in conversation. Beth thought he seemed to be trying to explain himself to curb some of the damage he'd done in his dealings with her and her brothers. She could see quite clearly that her aunt was having none of it.

"I am. I shall take over the quarters of the Officers you played host to previously," Banastre said this with an edge to his voice, throwing down the challenge for Martin to try to explain having played a willing host to the rebel, Colonel Burwell. He waited on Benjamin's response, curious to determine if the man would show his rebel roots and protest the Legion's presence, or be sensible and invite Banastre in.

"There were only two of those in the house proper, if you include my son. But with a little shuffling, I can free up several more chambers, and there are several empty cottages over yonder that might prove suitable for your men," Benjamin replied, understanding fully well that he was being put to the test. If he balked - he could lose his home - especially as he had provided succour to Burwell, which Tarleton would view as an act of treason. Banastre lifted his chin, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth. Ignoring the smirk, Benjamin continued, "they are comfortably furnished. Within the house, my son's can share one room, as can my daughters. My sister in law will she will share with the girls, also. This will free up both Beth's room, Mrs. Selton's, Thomas and Nathan's."

Banastre's smile turned a little sickly now and he cast a glance over his shoulder at the still mounted Beth. He would not be able to slip into her room if she was sharing with her sister's and her Aunt! Frustratingly, he had no valid grounds to protest Benjamin's generous offer - not without drawing attention to his and Beth's affair.

"Thank you, that is very kind," he said politely when he turned back to Martin. He carefully stifled all sign of his vast and desperate disappointment.

"Where do you want to pitch your tents for your Dragoons?" Benjamin asked. "There is a particularly bountiful area over yonder - with plentiful grazing for your horses."

Banastre, taken aback by Martin's overt generosity, stifled his snide remark. He was about to bait Benjamin further for hosting Burwell, but in light of the man's co-operation, he decided against it. Both men understood that Tarleton could do as he wished - hell, he could kick Martin out of his sleeping chamber and claim it for himself, then burn the house down to the ground after he was done! But Beth's father was showing no animosity and Banastre decided to treat with him cordially. Besides, Clinton had requested that he proceed with caution, to question Martin about his reason for hosting Burwell, but to recall what the rebel had said in Miss Jutland's hearing - that Martin was trying to stay out of the war, but if riled, could create mayhem for the British.

"Again, I thank you," he inclined his head.

"Sir," Charlotte came forward, her eyes flicking toward Beth and back again as she spoke with a hint of challenge. "With respect - if my niece is no longer a captive, if it was all a misunderstanding, what has upset her? I can see that she has been crying and Major Hanger has been unable to provide me with an explanation." Hanger glanced at Banastre, looking miserable at Charlotte's disapproval.

"Oh, no!" Beth spoke up. She climbed off Shadow Dancer and adjusted her skirts around her legs, then stepped up to the verandah. Now at Banastre's side, she continued. "It's Mrs. Rutledge. Little Eddie, he -" She gasped back a sob, then continued in a soft voice. "He passed away this morning."

"Oh my Lord!" Charlotte cried, tears springing to her eyes. Margaret, standing behind her, placed her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "Oh! What happened!"

"He… Succumbed," Beth replied, feeling useless and wretched. She tried not to think of little Eddie's small body, far too quiet and still, but it was impossible to dispel the horrible image. "He was sick for so long and… It was his time."

"Oh, my Lord," Charlotte repeated. "I must go to her at once. Beth - come upstairs now and have Mila pack a bag. I know you only just arrived home but you'll come with me anyway. You too, Margaret."

She was already turning to the door, oblivious to everyone else standing in the small circle. Therefore, she did not see Hanger's vast disappointment, nor did she see Banastre's sudden frown. The hell would he allow the woman to take off with Beth. Christ, if he had to, he'd use Burwell's previous presence on the farm as a reason to place them all under house arrest, before he allowed her to take Beth away from him! He was on the verge of making this declaration - the words that would stop Charlotte in her tracks were on his tongue, but Beth spoke up first.

"Ah - Aunt," Beth whispered and pressed her hands to her stomach and lowered her eyes in distress as Charlotte turned back to her. "I… I am not welcome… She doesn't want me there. You and Margaret… you should go alone."

"Oh, I see," Charlotte drew a sharp breath. She studied Beth for a long moment, before coming to the conclusion that Henrietta must have rebuffed the girl. As loyal as she was to her family, Beth had bought it upon herself - she couldn't blame Henrietta. Her friend needed her, she would go to her anyway. "Very well then."

It took her a moment to get over her shock but she was soon all business, calling for her maid Polly to assist her and Margaret, and for her driver, Mr. Talene, to begin readying the carriage.

"Will you permit this, Colonel?" Benjamin asked softly, having watched Tarleton intently throughout the entire exchange. He had seen the Colonel's frown, and wondered if the Officer intended for the family to remain close, under his eye. "Is my sister in law allowed to leave or is my family under house arrest?"

Beth gasped, shocked. The thought had not occurred to her and she couldn't understand why her father would think it. But one glance at Tarleton's cold, hard face, and she began to wonder if her father's question was not so far fetched after all.

"That is yet to be decided," Tarleton said, his eyes locked on Benjamin's. "You and I need to talk."

"About Burwell being quartered here?"

"Yes, Captain. We have been informed that you intend to keep neutral, however we can not ignore the fact that you have provided shelter to your former Commandant. Nor can I ignore the fact that someone sent word of warning to Burwell of my approach to Rutledge Plantation yesterday. Your own sons are the likely culprits, Captain Martin. They were aware of our presence and were close enough to Burwell to give that warning. These are acts of treason - how do you explain them?"

He raised his chin with haughtier, daring Benjamin to deny the charges.

"Colonel -" Beth tried to reason but he was having none of it. He whirled on her, his eyes flashing rage. So did Benjamin, for that matter.

"Silence!" Colonel Banastre Tarleton and Captain Benjamin Martin snapped in unison, their voices holding the same, steely ring of command. In this, this one time, they were in complete agreement. Beth quailed beneath the combined weight of their hard stares, she swallowed and lowered her eyes, clutching her skirts in tight fists and resolving to keep her mouth shut from this point forward.

"Thomas," Benjamin turned to his son when he was certain Beth was cowed. "Did you and your brothers warn Colonel Burwell of Colonel Tarleton's intention to visit Rutledge Plantation?"

"No, father. And frankly, he should know that himself," Thomas said, eyes flicking toward Tarleton. "Several of his men escorted us here, how could we possibly have reached Burwell ahead of Tarleton, when Beth was leading them on the most direct route to Rutledge Plantation? I couldn't have backtracked and stayed ahead of them. Father, as soon as we arrived here, we dumped the stag, we changed horses and we went straight to Wakefield to tell you that Beth had been taken."

"Just as I thought," Benjamin said. He turned back to Tarleton. "You have entered a heavily Patriotic area, Sir. Anyone who saw the British this close, who knew Colonel Burwell's whereabouts, would have done their utmost to warn him. Gods, he likely learned the same from five different sources at once, for all we know. I honestly do not believe it so strange, that he got word of your approach. I'd find it more odd, if he hadn't."

"I see," Banastre said. He met Benjamin's eyes and found only calm assurance, self confidence.

"You bought with you a force nine hundred strong," Benjamin continued. "I know from experience, how difficult it is, trying to keep such numbers concealed in hostile territory. Please make no mistake, Sir, you are certainly in enemy territory now. I don't know who saw you, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that it was not my sons."

He said this with such conviction that Banastre was finally inclined to believe him. Nevertheless, he was not finished with Benjamin Martin.

"And the other?" He said now. "You allowed Burwell to quarter here."

"I did, Sir," Benjamin agreed. Beth held her breath, wondering how her father was going to talk his way out of this one. "Colonel Burwell has long been a friend of mine. My son serves under his Command. Perhaps I should not have hosted Burwell, but for me, his stay here was less providing succour to an enemy force, and more assisting a friend."

"This part of South Carolina has not seen much of the war as yet," Hanger said firmly. With Charlotte gone, he had returned to Banastre's side. "Even still - you must be aware that sheltering the enemy is a treasonous act - especially as you yourself are a soldier?"

"What of sheltering you, then?" Beth asked tartly before she could stop herself. Hanger's words had irritated her and she spoke up despite her father and Banastre's command to be silent. "He only had Colonel Burwell here. One Continental. And my brother, but he can hardly be counted as the enemy, not in his own home. One Continental - two if you count Gabriel, yet there will soon be nine hundred of you here - and my father is offering to shelter you without hesitation! When you go, the rebels are going to come along and confront him with your exact same accusations! He could lose his home to them, rather than to you. If my father is anything, he is a pacifist."

Banastre threw back his head and laughed. "A pacifist!" He chortled, unable to turn aside his contempt for that idea even as Beth lifted her chin and folded her arms across her chest. "I agree that your father is being more than co-operative and that in doing so, he could incur the wrath of the rebels. But a pacifist?" That was utter nonsense, but Beth's face was darkening, so Banastre held the words back. Still, he didn't have to decide Martin's guilt immediately - that could be dealt with when it was time for him to leave, unless he chose to forgive the treason altogether. "Very well. As you have invited us into your home, Captain, we shall leave the matter over for now," he said and Benjamin relaxed slightly.

"You didn't have to laugh like that," Beth complained and Banastre's grin broadened. "Don't you ever worry about toll your presence has on homesteads like my father's? Winter will soon be on its way and here you are, about to do war on our larder."

"That's exactly what an army does, daughter," Benjamin said, voice hard. Gods, how he was despising this familiarity that was between these two. As if one Britisher ruining her wasn't enough. He was still very much on edge, for Tarleton had not announced the Martin's to be entirely free of guilt and from Benjamin's experience with the British, he understood that Banastre could very well decide to burn the house down on a whim. "Starving out enemy countryside, using its provisions for themselves is just another tactic used - by both sides of the conflict. I've heard that after Washington and Clinton's armies moved in pursuit of one another, they left nothing but cleared fields and starvation in their wake."

"Good God," Beth breathed, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.

"That will not happen here," Banastre said. "We will not use so much that you will find yourselves wanting come winter." While Benjamin allowed himself to feel a measure of relief, it was short lived. The Colonel continued and his words caused Benjamin to stiffen again. "Fear not for your larder, Miss Martin. There is a granary not far from here, and other public stores of food. We shall take what we need from them while we have need of them, before destroying them when we move on."

"Destroyed!" Beth gasped.

"As your father has admitted, this is a heavily Patriotic area - Mrs. Rutledge has proven that," he ignored the protest that was about to fall from Beth's lips, instead he swept past her and was striding past Martin and into the house.

Benjamin followed more slowly, after sharing 'significant' glances with his sons behind the Colonel's back. In short order, the small group entered the parlor where Banastre stood, studying his surroundings with interest.

"Your family is free to come and go as they wish, Sir," he told Benjamin now. Benjamin inclined his head in thanks, pleased that he did not have to inform Charlotte that she could not tend Henrietta Rutledge.

"That's all well and good," Beth snapped as she followed them into the parlour. "But I'm more interested to know exactly why you would wish to destroy the granary?"

Banastre arched an eyebrow. He quite enjoyed her little flares of temper, they amused him greatly. Such a beautiful creature, when her eyes flashed as they were just now. A fiery thing she was, and he relished it, especially when they were alone together in the privacy of a bed chamber. She had proven herself to be as passionate between the sheets as she was when her anger was roused and he longed to be alone with her now. He wished he could soothe her anger with kisses, to feel her rage drain from her as she melted against him, her passion shifting to an entirely different kind.

He took a certain amount of pleasure in her defiance. Not many stood up to him - but Beth - she charged on in where grown men feared to tread. Still, he recognised that he enjoyed it only because he was in love with her - he would not tolerate such provocation from any other rebel - woman or not. Any other rebel woman would be over his knee - with the flat of his blade striking her bare backside until it was red raw. He would not do that to Beth. But nor could he allow her to speak to him in that tone before their current company. Not in front of his Officers and her father and his cousins. So, despite his amusement, he fixed her with a cool stare, and he waited, suspecting her father would call her down for her rude challenge. He would leave it to Benjamin Martin to chastise her, rather than shaming her by reprimanding her himself.

"Daughter!" Benjamin snapped as if on cue and Beth glanced at her father uncertainly. "You will apologise to the Colonel at once!"

"Apologise..?" She asked weakly, clearly confused.

Banastre could read her thoughts like an open book and he almost laughed aloud. Here she was, his lover, who knew damned well that he - Colonel Tarleton of His Majesties Dragoons - the dreaded Bloody Ban - was besotted with her and would tolerate her challenges because of it. She took advantage of that more often than not, speaking freely and bickering with him when she felt the need. Only now, with their arrival to her home, their circumstances were greatly altered and she was just realising that a certain conduct was expected of her in certain situations. She was, after all, a Colonial woman from a family who could still be accused of treason, and he was a Commandant in His Majesties army. She and her family should be courting his good will, not arguing with him at every turn.

Her father stepped forward, his expression thunderous and Beth cowered from him.

"Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton is an Officer in His Majesties army and as such, is deserving of respect," he ground out, ominous and soft. "You will apologise for your rudeness immediately."

"I…" Beth swallowed hard, her eyes shifting from her father's to Banastre's. "I'm sorry, Sir," she whispered, and even offered him a curtsy. "I should not have spoken out of turn."

Banastre's amusement fled then, to see her so thoroughly daunted.

"No harm done," he said and Beth awarded him with a weak but grateful smile. He turned to Benjamin. "Captain Martin, I'm afraid it's my own fault - I quite admire Miss Martin you see and I've indulged her temper only too often. It is no wonder she feels free to speak up now, when we have enjoyed heated debates in the past."

"I see…" Benjamin murmured, studying the Colonel in a different light, noticing how his concerned filled eyes darted toward Beth.

_Placing her in with Susan was the right move, it seems_, he thought as he gazed at the Officer now, suspicious of his 'admiration' for Beth. He almost wished Charlotte would stay, for Susan was far too young to be a chaperone. He'd be keeping a close eye on the Colonel now. "Well, I thank you for your leniency. If you'll excuse me, I'll see to having your chambers emptied."

He nodded curtly at Banastre, then turned and took a firm hold of Beth's arm, ushering her past the others and out of the parlor - away from Banastre Tarleton.

As much as he was loathe to do so at that moment, Benjamin set out to make the Colonel's stay in his home a comfortable one. He kept Beth at his side while he began making the preparations, marshalling his servants to begin rearranging the rooms, though he understood he could not keep her glued to him forever. Charlotte sought them out at one point to announce she was ready to leave. Hanger made a great show of expressing his disappointment, something Benjamin did not fail to notice. The Major even offered to escort her with a unit of his Dragoons, to keep her safe on the road. Benjamin stepped in there, he would do the escorting, thank you very much. He handed Beth over to Thomas, commanding both Thomas and Nathan to chaperone Beth where ever she went in the manor and the grounds, in case Tarleton tried to separate her from the others, to be alone with her.

* * *

Later, with Benjamin long gone, Banastre tried precisely that. After settling into his new chamber, he went in search for Beth, finding her sitting on the verandah with her siblings. He offered her a bow and invited her to walk with him, asked her to show him around the grounds. She accepted of course, but as soon as she rose, so did her brothers. They trailed along behind, not allowing Banastre and Beth a moments solitude.

"Guards, are they?" He muttered quietly as they passed under a canopy of trees.

"I'm afraid so," she replied. "Lord - that was horrid earlier. I can't believe I had to apologize to you. For being _disrespectful_," she curled her lip and Banastre laughed.

"You were disrespectful! Any other rebel woman would be over my knee, suffering the spanking of her life!"

Beth rolled her eyes.

"I saw how it amused you," she accused softly. "You enjoyed every moment of it.

"No, love. You are mistaken. I didn't enjoy it all - not at the end. I don't like how afraid you are of your father. He doesn't beat you, does he?"

"No of course not!" She gasped. They were under the apple trees now and Beth took a hold of Banastre's sleeve to steer him around and away from a particularly large one, as though the site were hallowed ground. "It was my parent's favourite place," she explained. "They used to wile their days away there and when my mother died, Papa buried her there. It's sacred to us."

As they walked around the tree, the small fenced grave came in to view. He nodded understanding.

"As for your question, no - my father doesn't beat us. He doesn't have to," she hesitated as she thought of the best way to explain. "He just… Has a way about him."

"Most father's do," Banastre agreed.

"And I'm not exactly in his good books just now, which made it even worse," she said sadly. "I should try and be less… Myself, I think. Try to be less 'me'."

"Now that would be a great shame," he resisted the urge to take hold of her hand - not with her two sentries striding along behind to bear witness to such an intimate gesture. "I like you just as you are."

" 'Like'?" She arched an eyebrow. "You were professing your love for me last night."

"Vixen," he smirked. "Love then. I love you just as you are."

"You might very well be the only one who does," she said sadly.

Banastre scowled. Just then, he wanted to take a hold of Benjamin Martin and punch the man's face to pulp.

"I'll find a way for us to be alone, my sweet," he whispered, knowing they both needed it. Both of them were craving the solitude and privacy they'd had the previous night at Rutledge Manor. He had duties to attend to, he needed to begin preparations for his search for Burwell, starting with questioning of the locals and a possible advance into Hell Hole Swamp, which was large enough to hide an army of thousands. He needed to pay a visit to the Howard's soon, also. Rebel merchants and planters had been sending supplies to George Washington and the Continentals for years. They had supplied the army with food stores, clothing, even parchment and ink - much needed necessities. And according to the late Mr. Gillard, his associate Mr. Howard was the mastermind behind it all. Banastre had found the fellow's name in Mr. Gillard's ledgers, there had been quite a few references to Gillard's associate, Mr. Howard - a merchant who owned a mercantile in Pembroke. Always suspicious of any Colonial, Banastre had questioned Gillard about Howard and in doing so, had discovered yet another rebel, another traitor. He would be given the same treatment that Mr. Gillard had known; he would be hung - after being questioned in the same manner that Gillard had been. Mr. Howard was one of his reasons for coming to Pembroke.

As ambitious as he was, as much as he strived for recognition and promotion, his need for Beth was proving stronger. Their affair was so new, he was flesh, blood and male, and his new lover was waiting for him to explore her. He could have all three, he decided. He would start questioning the locals for signs of Burwell today but for now, he needed Beth. If only he could contrive of a way to get her alone in the next hour, before her father returned. By then, it would be too late and he might as well just ride out to begin the search now.

An idea began to take shape and he turned Beth around, steering her toward the house. Her brothers fell in behind her, keeping silent and frustrating vigil over the pair. Not for much longer however.

Not for much longer.

* * *

Beth met Samuel's worried gaze as she walked past him and Nathan down the hall leading to her father's office, where Banastre Tarleton was waiting. She was not frightened, as such. More… apprehensive. So far, Thomas, Samuel, Nathan and Mr. Rollins, who had been presented to Colonel Tarleton as Benjamin's cousin and had been given a new name: Lucas Sydney. Beth had to remember that! They had been questioned by Banastre. One after the other, never two at the same time. Now it was Beth's turn. She was surprised to get a summons, and she could see her brothers were not very well pleased about it, not by a long shot. They had been charged with protecting her, guarding her, her three chaperones. She frowned - where was Thomas, anyway? It was just Nathan and Samuel standing watch as the door opened and one of Banastre's Redcoats gestured for her to enter. Nathan stepped forward as if to follow, but the other Redcoat blocked the way.

"Each person is to be questioned alone," he said and Beth glanced over her shoulder, meeting Nathan's helpless eyes.

"I'll be fine," she mouthed, but his fear did not seem to lessen, not even slightly.

"Guards on the door, Ban?" Beth said somewhat nervously as the door was closed behind her. Banastre, who had been sitting at the large oak desk, rose so quickly the chair almost toppled backward to the floor. He crossed the room in three or four strides and pulled Beth into his arms. Cupping her face, he kissed her deeply with a profoundly satisfied groan.

The kiss went on for some time. Beth, beginning to feel light headed and breathless, clung to Banastre as his lips moved over hers and his tongue explored the cave of her mouth, playfully gliding over hers. Finally, the two came up for air.

"Guards on the door," he confirmed, his voice husky and every bit as breathless as hers. "So no one will feel free to simply walk in and check on us. All of this - interviewing your brothers and your cousin - all of it was so I had a valid excuse to be alone with you." He took her hand and began to guide her to the desk, where he walked her backwards until she was at the edge. And then he lifted her and sat her on the desktop, pushing her legs apart to stand in between them.

"You're such a schemer!" She laughed, draping her arms over his shoulders. "I thought you were going to question me about Burwell, too!"

"You've already told me everything you know," he said as his lips drifted along her neck.

"Sweet Lord - did you really only have… This… in mind?"

"Certainly. I did find out a few useful things from the others, but yes, I absolutely had this on my mind. I won't be able to slip into your room tonight, my darling - not now you're sharing with your sister. And with your brother's standing sentry, we don't have a hope of slipping away during the day. It's making me wild with need for you," he kissed her again, even as he placed the flats of his hands to her thighs and began edging her skirts up. "When he returns, your father will be keeping an eagle watch on you, and so I had to come up with something - some way to be together - before he returned. I've endured each interview, my darling, knowing it would be your turn in here soon enough. And I'd get to be…" he glanced down at her bare thighs, his hands hovering so close to her womanhood that he swallowed thickly. "Here…"

"Hmm," Beth sighed as his thumbs began to caress her folds and she felt her entire body relax. "That does feel… nice…"

"Nice only?" He smirked. He removed his hands in order to unbuckle his belt and push his breeches down enough to free his erection. Taking hold of his rock hard phallus, he positioned himself, then began to move inside her with a hearty sigh. "Tell me - does this feel 'nice', also?" He groaned as he thrust slowly and Beth's breath caught. Lord, it was not only 'nice', it was wondrous. Slightly painful, for they had coupled a few times the previous evening and she was unused to it. But the pain was nothing beside the pleasure - a mere candle flame beside a blaze. She told him so now, whispering the words against his lips.

"You can scheme to be alone with me any day, Banastre," she finished in a murmur as she began to move with him, rocking her hips and meeting his thrusts.

"I will, don't you worry," he whispered. "Lay back, my darling."

He gently guided her to lay flat on the desk, and took a hold of her ankles, placing her heels to the edge of the desk to either side of his body, hard against her backside. His hips began to snap back and forth and he groaned as he drove inside her fluidly. Before long, he lifted her ankles and placed them on his shoulders, then leaned over her to kiss her lips as they writhed together, moaning as quietly as they could.

"Oh, God, Ban," she whispered, clutching at his shoulders as he filled her, impaling her so completely. Feeling wanton, she wiggled, trying to angle herself so his shaft hit her just so. "Oh, yes…"

"God, it feels so good to be inside you!" He groaned, pumping back and forth into her velvet tightness hard now.

"Sweet Lord, I know!" Beth panted, clutching at him, her heart racing as her stomach flipped and her pleasure soared. "God, it's worth the discomfort of after!"

Banastre's laughter was thick, harsh with pleasure. "I declare, you won't be able to walk when I'm through with you!" He punctuated his words with quick, hard thrusts. "God, I'm so close!"

"Mnnnn!" Beth agreed, writhing wildly now as she built steadily toward that apex. "Harder, oh, faster!"

"As you command!" He hissed. He reached past her and gripped the far edge of the desk as he rolled and writhed his hips as fast and as hard as he could. Beth arched, her fingers clawing at his cravat, panting as she came. Sweat popped out on her forehead, her face flushed, her lips swelling as blood rushed to her head. Seeing this, and feeling her clamp around him, her walls massaging and milking him drove him over the edge and his own orgasm exploded through him. He withdrew from her at the last moment and he grunted harshly as his seed burst from him in spurts to coat her dark patch of curls. He collapsed on top of her then, their breathing laboured as the calmed.

"I can never get enough of that," Beth confessed, her guilt over having given herself to him - and not to George, was damped down. He lifted his head from her shoulder to smile down at her.

"Nor can I," he agreed. He reluctantly pushed himself off her and took both of her hands to pull her up. She sat at the edge of the desk, with Banastre between her legs still.

"This little scheme is spent, it won't work a second time, especially not when your father is gets back. I'll devise another way though, I promise," he nuzzled his nose against hers.

"You don't need to," she said. She leaned forward to begin a slow, moist trail of kisses along his cheek and jaw that set his heart to racing. "I was not going to keep to Susan's room tonight. She is a very deep sleeper - she won't miss me. I'll come to you."

"You will?" He gasped, honestly shocked. "What if you're seen?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, an idea occurred to him and he became as excited as a young school boy. "I know - I'll have a guard set on my room - with these rebels living under the same roof, Martin won't find it suspicious. My men can tell you when the way is clear - they can escort you to my chamber and ensure the corridor is clear later, for your return!"

Beth laughed up at him.

"I'm only going to take the risk if you promise to do to me that wonderful thing you did last night, Ban," she teased.

"Why wait?" He smirked and dropped to his knees before her. She gasped and pushed herself up to her elbows to watch him.

"You're beautiful," he sighed, staring at her bared, glistening womanhood. Her dark blonde curls above the lovely pink petals of her flower. He began to press those petals - her folds - aside and to gaze at the bud within. "Just relax, my darling." He said and, heedless of his own seed pooling in her curls, he began to kiss her folds, tracing his tongue along the flesh there, torturing her and making her ache. Beth sighed and dropped back to the table. His tongue was soon flicking over her quim, that hard bundle were the pleasure was most concentrated. Banastre placed her ankles over his shoulders and continued torturing her, until she writhed and moaned beneath him.

"Ban, Ban - oh God!" She gasped and Tarleton smiled. It was music to his ears - her moans, her whispering his name. She soon strained beneath him, her legs stiffening, her pelvis lifting, she held her breath and he felt her shudder and gasp. And then she was still, melting into the desk. He stopped then, aware that she had climaxed and would be too sensitive to be touched. He rose to his feet and leaned over her, propped on his hands, he stared down at her beautiful flushed faced, smiled to see her glazed brown eyes. She smiled back and held her arms out to him and the two began to kiss - canoodling right there on her father's desk.

"Hmm, as much as I am enjoying this, I have duties to be about."

"To burn the granary?" She asked weakly. After the pleasure they'd just given one another, she was too tired and sated to be too fired up about Banastre's plans.

"No my love. While that is important, Burwell is far higher on my list than the public granary."

"You're going after him now," she whispered. "Lord, I knew you would but… I'd thought my brother would be safe. I won't be there to point him out to you or anything!"

"I am sorry, Beth. I have my duty as does your brother. What must be, must be."

"And the granary?" She asked. "Must you really destroy it?"

"My love, I can not allow for that grain to fall into Burwell's hands."

"Oh, so that's what it's all about," she said, finally understanding. He helped her off the desk and held her - her legs were still unsteady after her climax.

"Of course. I don't do anything just for the sake of being cruel, Beth," he replied, then continued firmly. "But I won't stop just because you feel poorly about it, either."

"I'm not arguing with you," she said quickly, in case he lost his temper with her. Banastre was still the only person in the world who truly cared for her, or so she felt. She did not want to lose his good will as well.

"I love you," she whispered unbidden, and his breath caught, his firm expression shifting to a joyful smile.

"I love you, too," he kissed her with a groan, a searing kiss, that ended all too soon. "Tonight, then? You'll come to me?"

She nodded.

"Tonight."

* * *

"He's a damned fool," Benjamin commented to Curly, who had accompanied him to Rutledge Plantation. The two men were returning now, in time to sit down with the Martin family - and the British Officers no doubt - for dinner. At the moment, however, they were approaching Fresh Water from the North, along the main road that ran through Benjamin Martin's property. To the far distance they could see signs of the British encampment, on both sides of the road. Most of the units were laid out in clever, strategically defensive, formations. The one who had occasioned comment, however, was one Captain in particular, who had placed the small wedge tents of his unit side by side in a long, single row, along a long dirt road that ran between Benjamin's tobacco and corn fields. It was far from a strategically sound position for along the narrow road - to either side, ran two rail fences - about three yards tall, comprised of horizontal wooden palings. If the unit came under attack, the only way out were the roads exits, at either end. And if those openings were blocked by their aggressors, they would have no hope of escaping at all. They would be sitting ducks. Despite there being at least seventy men in the unit, a small force of ten men - placed at either end of the road, could fire into the tents and decimate the unit completely. Worse yet, the unit bordered the outskirts of the camp, and would be the first to fall in the event of an attack.

"Should we tell him?" Curly laughed, knowing what Benjamin's answer would be.

"Are you mad?" Benjamin muttered. "As if camping between the rail fences is not bad enough - this fool's unit is on the outskirts of camp! Burwell could easily swoop in, fire into the fools and sweep away again before the rest of the Legion rallies."

"So, don't be surprised if we are woken up by gunfire tonight, is that what you're saying?"

"If we could get the information to Burwell in time, yes," Benjamin smirked. "Though I suspect Bloody Ban will be watching us fairly closely. Come - I'm hungry. And I want to see if that Lobsterback bastard has made himself at home."

"I'd say he has," Curly replied as the two spurred their horses forward.

The British presence was visible around the house, but not nearly as much as was camped in the field. There were a few Officers with a handful of rank and file soldiers, but no Dragoons to be seen. Benjamin recalled Banastre Tarleton mention the granaries earlier and he wondered if the damned bastard had gone to burn it down. There'd be no supplies for Burwell from there, and Benjamin himself would be unable to supply the Continentals, not now that Tarleton had taken up residence at Fresh Water. It was a good thing that Pembroke was so heavily Patriotic, Burwell had other Planters he could rely upon to strengthen his stores.

"It's a damned sorry sight, seeing such a young body," Curly said as if haunted.

"A damned shamed," Benjamin agreed. Poor Mrs. Rutledge, Benjamin thought as trotted toward the stables. To lose Little Eddie… It's not as though she was not expecting it, but still, for it to have happened - and with Edward in prison in Charlestown… Yes - poor Henrietta… Benjamin had never lost a child. Eight children Elizabeth had bought into the world and eight children he still had, though the bearing of one had cost his wife her life. Henrietta only had little George now, and with her husband in Provost Dungeon, who knew when they'd be reunited, so they might have more? She had been in such a state of shock when Benjamin arrived with Charlotte. After her trancelike greeting, Henrietta had fallen silent, her eyes wide and haunted. Charlotte had swung into action, taking over from the Plantation mistress' duties and began commanding the servants as if they were her own. She took Henrietta in hand and Benjamin - who had wanted to return home to protect his family as much as he could - had left them to it.

Now he was home, he thought all over again how blessed he was that none of his had passed away in childhood - as so many did. Susan was still young - almost eight years old, but she was strong a hale. With each passing year, his fear that he would lose his children to sickness was dwindling.

No, he would lose them to the war, if anything. And to Goddamned British Officers.

_'Captain Martin, I'm afraid it's my own fault - I quite admire Miss Martin you see and I've indulged her temper only too often. It is no wonder she feels free to speak up now, when we have enjoyed heated debates in the past.'_

Benjamin tried not to scowl as he thought of Banastre Tarleton and his obvious admiration for Beth. Under ordinary circumstances, Benjamin would not have had a problem with a young Gentleman paying court to his daughter. But Beth had gone and ruined herself with a British Officer. And now it seemed his daughter was to be hounded by not one - but two of the Redcoat bastards. Right when she needed to be as far from Lobsterbacks as was possible. In such a heavily Patriot Parish, if their neighbours heard how friendly the two were, she would never be able to claw her way into their good graces!

Benjamin dismounted in the stable and handed the reins over to one of his groomsmen, Curly did likewise. Nathan and Samuel came walking in, both looking over their shoulder as if fearing pursuit.

"Father," Nathan said, his voice sounding high with panic. "Something's happened."

Benjamin's stomach dropped to his ankles, his heart sinking along with it. They were alone except for Curly and the groomsmen, who both stopped their tasks, one taking up a position on the door where he could keep watch, the other coming closer to stand beside the boys. This could not be good. "What?" Benjamin gasped, fearing the worse.

"It's Tarleton. He questioned us, all of us," Nathan said and there was no mistaking the panic in his voice now.

"About?"

"So many things. But Burwell was first and foremost. We all said we didn't know nothing but I think he knows where Burwell is, because after he finished the questioning, he summoned his Dragoons and as they were preparing to ride out, I heard some of them say they're riding for Hell Hole Swamp."

"Damn and blast it," Benjamin muttered. He shared a look with Curly, then he shook his head and shrugged. "There's naught to be done, lad." He said to Nathan. "Burwell is no fool, he'll be expecting this. He'll have sentries posted all through the swamps. Besides, it's a damn large place - you could hide an entire battalion in there. He'll be alright, lad. It'll be alright."

Nathan heaved a sigh of relief. He fell into step with his father, who began questioning him about Tarleton and Beth as they walked to the house.

* * *

Panting for air, Banastre rested his head on Beth's shoulder and relished in the feel of her hands moving over his hair and back. He nuzzled her neck, tasted the slick film of sweat beading her skin. Even at night, it was far too hot for the exertions the new lovers were participating in, as they strove to bring one another pleasure. He could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest and she was panting also, trying to catch her breath.

"Agh God," he whispered, thrusting wildly and groaning as he came, his seed catching in her dark blonde curls. She arched up against him, writhing, and he knew she was in the throes of her own orgasm. He waited until she relaxed, the tension leaving her, then - swallowing hard, he shifted slightly, to half lay alongside her, while still curled around her body. "I do love you, my sweet Beth," he murmured against the shell of her ear.

"I know," she whispered back as she did each time he made this pronouncement, turning her face to his, meeting his lips for more of his kisses. "I love you too."

He smiled against her lips, relishing hearing those words from her. She had said it several times that night, whispering it in his ear until he thought he'd die, simply explode with happiness.

"Will you sleep with me for a short while?" he asked then. "My guard will wake us well before dawn - so you can slip back to your own room."

"Alright."

"Your maid, Mila," he broached. "Do you think she'll help us steal away together tomorrow?"

"I'm not certain I want to tell her about us… Why, what did you have in mind?"

"Well, there's that double bath I told you about," he smiled at her and she laughed. "I could have it bought up from the camp and put it in one of the rooms below. I'll have it filled with water," his lips traced her cheek. "And if you're able to get away somehow, we could bathe together."

"During the day? I don't like our chances of being alone, I think my brothers will be dogging my heels again," she replied.

"Which is why I was hoping your Mila could help us."

"Hmmm. I suppose I could ask for Mila to draw me a bath," she mused.

"And I could come to you, instead?" Banastre asked, becoming excited. "Or will your brothers be told to wait in the corridor?"

"They probably will be," she agreed. "But if you're in the adjoining closet before me or the servants go into the room, hiding as the bath is being filled…"

"I love it," he grinned down at her. "First thing tomorrow morning?"

"First thing," she smiled, though her cheeks began to burn. "I'm getting to be as bad as you with all this scheming."

"Scheme away, my love. Anything that allows us to be together. God, it was hell today being parted from you and tomorrow won't be any better. I'd like to spend some time with you before I ride out again."

"Me too," she sighed. They began kissing gently, they did not become heated with desire, but the kissing was rather pleasurable, and relaxing after their coupling. Both grew weary and Beth drew back, kissing his forehead, then his cheek, then she shifted in his embrace, putting her back to his front. They settled their heads on the pillows, Banastre was still awake when Beth's breathing changed and he knew she was sleeping.

Their affair was so new, he hadn't wanted to go in search of Burwell, he'd been quite tempted to leave it to his underlings. He'd had to force himself to do his duty. In truth, he shouldn't have returned to Fresh Water that night at all, he should be venturing further afield to question as many of the parish as possible. But the pull of Beth's promise lured him, that she would come to him during the night. After only six hours in the saddle and not much accomplished, he'd returned for the sole purpose of laying with his woman. Now, he closed his eyes, his nose nestled in her hair, his hand on her stomach as he wondered what he should do about potentially getting her with child, knowing she still could despite the measures he was taking. He wondered about taking her virginity. About leaving her here, to marry some other man. He pulled her closer to him, feeling suddenly possessive. He loved Beth and could not imagine her laying beside anyone as she was him right now. She loved him. She would not leave with him to become his mistress, but perhaps she would, if she was to become his wife?

He could see himself married to Beth. And surely she would prefer him over this other that her father had chosen for her? She was only marrying him because her father was making her. And her father was only forcing her because he needed her decently married. Banastre could serve in that capacity as well as this other fellow, surely? Of course the Patriots hereabouts would frown on her husband being a British Officer, but at least she would be decently married and to a Gentleman.

She was not without a considerable dowry, and she was - in his opinion - the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid his eyes on. She had a temper, but he could cow her easily when it came to it. He didn't want a milk sop of a wife. Beth pushed the boundaries occasionally, but she surrendered to him when he exerted his will.

He laid his hand over one of her breasts, kneading softly and caressing her nipple. Yes, he could definitely see himself married to her - to lay in her arms thus for the remainder of his life.

He would need Martin's blessing and the Captain would take some convincing, but Banastre could be very charming when he wanted to be. _I'll discuss it with her father tomorrow_, was his last thought as sleep took him.


	50. Chapter 50 - Between the Rail Fences

Chapter 50 - Attack Between the Rail Fences:

Banastre found Beth sitting on the front porch with her little sister. Beth was seated on the swinging chair with a shirt she was sewing while Susan sat with her legs crossed on the floor, working on her letters in the early morning sun. Seeing him approach, Beth gazed up at him under hooded eyes. He bowed, then sat beside her on the swinging chair.

"No sign of your brothers?" He asked as he looked around for them.

"No, Susan is my chaperone now," Beth giggled.

"Any chance she might fall asleep?" He asked and she giggled again. As predicted, Susan had slept like the dead the entire night through, she never knew Beth had spent most of the night in Banastre's bed.

"I'm still a little confused about why you'd want to bathe together," she said, teasing. "There was hardly any water left in the bath by the time we were through," she kept her voice low, though she doubted Susan would understand what she was saying even if she did hear her.

"We were quite energetic, weren't we? I enjoyed soaping your beautiful skin," he whispered, his eyes dropping to the top of her bodice, to what he could see of her breasts. "Especially those." He grinned and Beth laughed.

"I can't believe it worked, no one suspected a thing," she said. "I was so worried someone would see you enter or leave or… well, no one did but… I'm not sure I can keep going along with these schemes, it's not good for my nerves."

"Go along with? That was your scheme, I went along with you," he chuckled. "Besides, I quite enjoy settling your nerves during our little…" he glanced at Susan. "Schemes."

"Yes, that is quite nice."

"There's that word again. Nice. My love, you're going to have to find a stronger word to describe my prowess in bed."

"And in the bath and on the desk," Beth giggled. She wound her fingers though his - Susan was still writing, oblivious to the conversation. "A stronger word than nice… very well… Bedding you is… It leaves me feeling delirious - in rapture. When I'm with you, it's… euphoric."

He gazed at her, his eyes soft, full lips parted. He squeezed her fingers gently. "I…" he breathed deeply, slowly. "I prefer those words very much," he said warmly.

"Oh you do?" She teased and he chuckled.

"I do."

"My father is not here…" She mused. "I can have Mila look after Susan, though I'm certain as soon as I stir from this porch, one of my brothers will fall in with me. So. I thought of the last scheme. Your turn."

"Ah, my lovely Beth, as tempting as that is, I'm afraid our next adventure is going to have to wait for tonight. I came to bid you adieu, I am riding out to Pembroke."

"To burn the granary?" She asked, lifting her eyebrows.

"No, I shall not be drawn into that argument again," he patted her hand. "I'd kiss you, my love, but -" he jutted his chin at Susan. Beth leaned back to peek past Banastre into the parlour.

"It's empty in there," she said. Neither would dare try to couple in the parlour in the middle of the day, in case someone came along. But a quick kiss should be safe enough, surely. She rose, as did Banastre. "Suzie, I'll be back in a minute dear heart. You stay here, alright?"

"Alright," Susan said. As Beth led the way toward the front door, she noticed Thomas peel himself away from the tree he'd been leaning against several rods away.

"We have perhaps half a minute," she said to Banastre, both of them quickening their stride. They went into the house and into the parlour. Leaving the door open, Banastre pressed Beth up against the wall, near the window overlooking the porch. He began kissing her immediately, deeply, all that talk about her euphoria and rapture had made him more than a little bit wild. She tangled her fingers into his hair and slid her tongue along his. He pressed up against her. "Gods I wish we had more time," he groaned into her mouth as he rocked his erection against her crotch. "I'd give you that euphoria. Right here, right now."

"Tonight," she whispered back, kissing him deeply. "Will you be back tonight?"

"I'll sure as hell try to be," he muttered, his hand cupping her jaw as he kissed her neck. They heard the first footfall on the porch outside, Thomas was not hurrying but he would be inside in just a few more moments. Beth sighed, disappointed that their time was up. She kissed him one last time, a chaste and gentle kiss on his lips, before she slipped out from between him and the wall. She turned, now standing at his side, and pointed out the window.

"See? I told you that you can see it from here," she said.

"Oh yes, indeed you did, you were quite right," he replied, nodding. Thomas entered the hall, stopping just outside the parlour doors. "Ah, Mr. Martin," Banastre said jovially. "How do you fare this morning?"

"Ah… the same as I did a half hour ago," Thomas said, frowning. "At breakfast."

"Yes, yes of course," Banastre clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously, he glanced at Beth and saw her amused smile. "Well, Miss Martin, thank you for showing me the… uh… Yes, thank you. I must be away. Until this evening, then?"

"Most certainly," she breathed, her smile widening. His breath caught, his composure slipping for a moment.

"Until then, then," he said warmly, recovering himself. He did not kiss her hand, her brother would take exception to that. Instead, he bowed low. Inclining his head to Thomas, he nodded at Beth just so he could gaze at her one last time, before striding from the parlour.

"Where's he going?" Thomas asked, stepping into the parlour.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "To Pembroke, he said. I asked if it was to burn the granaries, but he didn't answer."

"Eh. Well, you really shouldn't -"

_"Whitty!" _

Thomas cut short at the sound of Hanger's voice, it sounded as though he was trotting down the stairs.

_"Have you the directions to the Howard's?" _

Thomas and Beth stared at one another in horror, then he seized her arm and pulled her away from the open doors, they huddled against the wall as Whitty and Hanger spoke on the other side.

_"I have done better than that, Sir,"_ they heard Whitty reply. _"I have secured a guide to take us there, he'll be here shortly. He told me they live a half a mile away from Pembroke, it won't take us long to get there." _

_"Well done,"_ Hanger said. _"Let us hope our visit is as fruitful as our visit to Gillard's was. Come, let's go find the Colonel."_

Beth and Thomas waited in utter silence for the Officers footsteps to dwindle down the hallway.

"Wasn't Mr. Gillard hung?" Beth whispered up at Thomas, her eyes wide and horrified.

"Yes. And his shop was burned to the ground. He was supplying the army the same as Mr. Howard."

"Colonel Tarleton is going to hang Mr. Howard," she breathed, her heart pounding in her ears. Thomas nodded gravely. "What are we going to do? Papa's not here!"

"I don't know… but someone has to warn them, Beth!"

She paused, tried to ignore the awful feeling spreading across her stomach. She met his eyes. "Take Shadow Dancer," she said and Thomas nodded.

* * *

"He's gone after the Howard's," Rollins told Benjamin as Benjamin dismounted. They were in the barn, which was empty of horses once again. Benjamin stopped dead, staring at Rollins. "And as Howard has been doing the same here in Pembroke as Gillard did up in Amelia, I'd say he's about to be met with the same fate as Gillard. His wife and Miss Howard might get the same as Gillard's wife did." He said with meaning. Benjamin shot a glance at Nathan and Samuel and saw them exchange a confused look, the question ready on their lips. _What did Mrs. Gillard get?_ The British had been doing a lot of harm all up and down the country, some of it he'd revealed to his sons and his daughter. But some of it, a father needed to keep to himself. Death, they knew aplenty. They understood death. But they were simply too young to know or understand about some of the other atrocities, such as Mrs. Gillard's defilement.

"Damn and blast it," Benjamin breathed. He ran a hand through his hair, nudging his tricorn off. He picked it up, dusted it, then looked up at Rollins. "There's nothing I can do. If I go riding off now, Tarleton might figure I warned them and… Damn and blast it." He sat his tricorn back on his head and turned back to the stall his horse had just been put in. Anne would one day be his daughter in law. George his son in law. And even without that, the Howard's were already his dearest friends. He wasn't going to let anyone harm them, if there was something he could do about it. "I'm going to the Howard's, might be I get there before Tarleton." He knew the trails like the backs of his hands, he could get there far more swiftly than Tarleton could, surely.

"You don't even know how long he's been gone for," Rollins said. Benjamin glanced past him and saw Beth was coming into the stable, her face white as a sheet.

"Thomas went," she said, folding her arms and clutching herself as if she were cold. "Before he left to go to Mr. Howard's, I told Colonel Tarleton that I needed to send Thomas on an errand - he thinks Thomas went next door to the Ferguson's to fetch me some hair pins. I told him to take Shadow Dancer."

Benjamin studied her for a long, cold moment. He was so angry with her that he wanted to punch something. He'd felt that way since the truth had come out - for days now, constantly on the verge of doing violence. Not to Beth. He'd never raise a hand to his children. But too _something_. The damned, stupid girl, letting herself be swept away by Tavington.

But not by Tarleton, it seemed.

"That was good thinking, Beth," he said grudgingly and her face lit up as if she was suddenly bathed by the sun. He turned to the others without another word for her. Over the last few days, he'd constantly had to remind himself that she was still his daughter. Still his little girl. That he still loved her. He did, of course. But the anger… Gods, the anger. And the disgust and shame he felt for her was crippling. They rode far more heavily, far more deeply in his soul that his love did. Perhaps that would change overtime, but right now, he didn't even want to look at her. "How long has Thomas been gone for?"

"A good hour now; he should be back soon," Rollins said. Benjamin caught the sidelong glance Rollins threw at Beth, who was shuffling to one side of the stable, keeping herself just outside the group, as if she knew she wasn't entirely welcome, as if she sensed she was an outsider. Benjamin never treated his children like this. Rollins must have been wondering why. Curly too. Gods knew, they'd both know soon enough. They must have heard the rumours by now… Likely the did already know. What were they thinking of his little girl now? Benjamin wondered.

"Hopefully he reached them in time."

"I'm certain he would have done," Rollins said. "When Thomas left, Tarleton was still marching about here giving orders and carrying on like he's seven feet tall. Looked ridiculous, as little as he is. Short little man puffing out his chest," Rollins chuckled.

"He might not cut an imposing figure, but he's got the authority to hang each and every one of us," Benjamin said solemnly. "Peter Howard included. Gods, I hope Thomas got there in time. And got away without being seen. He might have gotten caught up in it, might be him that gets hung."

Silence descended as the fear settled upon them all, none were about to make the assumption that Thomas reached the Howard's in time to warn them, or that he got away in time to tell the tale. At that very moment, Peter and maybe even George, could be hanging from a tree while Alice and Anne could be… Benjamin tried not to think of that. Could be that Thomas was strung up beside Peter and George… Gods, it was all he could do not to mount up and ride for the Howard's, the wait was going to be the death of him.

"We've lingered out here too long," Benjamin said gruffly, thinking of the Redcoats that were still milling around the house. "Let's go inside, I need a rum."

His children and his 'cousins' followed him inside where Benjamin discovered that Banastre had taken over Benjamin's master office. There were two guards standing in the corridor outside the office, guarding the room even in Banastre Tarleton's absence. The damned bastard would be using Benjamin's ink and parchment, sitting in Benjamin's comfortable desk chair as he did his administration work of sorting through missives and messengers and reports from his men. If only he, Benjamin, could get in there. Five minutes alone with Tarleton's correspondence was all he would need. The amount of information sitting on Benjamin's desk at that very moment - Burwell would give his right hand just for half of it. But the guards were there for that very reason, Benjamin would not be allowed in.

They continued on past the office and went to sit in the parlour, on edge and waiting for Thomas to return.

* * *

With a tea cup in his good hand, George stepped from the back of the shop into the mercantile proper and walked toward his sister. A tall, well set up young man, he would have been an excellent addition to the army if not for his mangled hand. He still felt cheated somewhat, certain that he could have served, even though he was not entirely whole. Nevertheless, Burwell had refused him, however gently, leaving the youth to dreams that would never be realised. His brother had been allowed to join, Joshua upheld the Howard name in the Continental ranks, and George tried not to be jealous of him.

As cheated as he sometimes felt, he was not bitter about it. George did not want to join the Cause for personal glory, but to help gain that final dream - Independence. And for the last four years, since the decision to go to war was made in Charlestown, the Howard's had not only given a son to the Cause, but they'd given what other aid they could - by helping to supply the army. They had turned to spying as well, and even more recently, had been helping to conceal Captain Huddy's many militiamen in homes throughout the County, in preparation for the strike against Camden. Those militiamen were supplied by the Howard's own store, with no expectation of renumeration. George had discovered long since that there were many ways to fight the war - one did not have to hold a musket or wield a sabre. They were all soldiers - hell, even the women were too, those who assisted as and when they could.

"Mooning over Gabriel again are we?" George smirked at his sister as he approached where she stood at the long counter. Losing her far away expression and dreamy smile, Anne raised her head, startled, and blushed crimson. Then her blue eyes narrowed as George had known they would and he stifled a laugh as she began to rage at him - as he had known she would.

"You just shut it," she growled. "I'll have you know I was working on the darned ledgers - which are not adding up right, by the way. You keep making mistakes - look here -" she pointed at a discrepancy written on the page in his own hand. "We had ten barrels of rice come in, I saw them! And here you've written only eight in the ledgers. Where are the other two -"

"Silence, Anne!" He admonished harshly, immediately losing his amusement. He glanced over his shoulder to see if any of shoppers currently in the store had heard. Two girls were sighing over the new silks which had just arrived and an older woman, Mrs. Patterson, was perusing the shelves. None of them paid Anne and George any mind. He pinned Anne with a hard stare and saw realisation creep over her face in the form of another blush.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I wasn't thinking."

"You rarely do," George scoffed. The two unaccounted barrels of rice were on their way to Burwell at that moment.

Nevertheless, if Anne had noticed that ten barrels of rice had been unloaded from the cart, but only eight had been bought into the shop, then perhaps others had noticed also. If they were being watched - spied on by Loyalists - those Tory's might start wondering why there were only eight barrels in the store. The most discerning of them might question what had become of those other two barrels and might even put two and two together, drawing to the correct conclusion - that the Howard's were supplying the Continentals. And with Tarleton in the area, George feared what would happen if that were to happen. And so he placed his tea cup down on the counter and took hold of the quill to write a brief explanation in the column.

"Ten barrels received," he amended. "Two destroyed - water damage."

"Very good," Anne murmured approval. "You're good at this, George."

"Father taught me," he shrugged, dropping the quill down and sipping at his tea again. "He's done this lots of times."

"Then father's good at this," Anne taunted. "While you are just a copy cat."

"That's me!" George agreed cheerfully. "I'm copying you now also, in marrying a Martin. At least I'm not mooning about it though."

"I'm not mooning!" Anne grouched. "I was just thinking of how wonderful it will be - Mamma says that Papa and Mr. Martin have been talking about having a house built - bigger than the Martin's home, maybe as big as Mrs. Rutledge's! And we'll live there together, Gabriel and I, you and Beth and we'll raise our children together. I can't think of anything better!"

"I'd have thought you'd want to be mistress of your own house, Anne," George said. "But now you'll be sharing the responsibility with Beth."

"I think there'll be so much to do, and the plantation will be so big, it'll need two mistresses to run it! Don't you think so?"

"Perhaps," he admitted. Perhaps it would be for the best, to have both women managing the domestic duties of the property. "Papa is thinking about purchasing Mrs. Hatsfield farm, for she wishes to sell up and move to Charlestown. It's a thriving plantation, even with Mr. Hatsfield passing."

"Oooh, that would be perfect - it's close to Pembroke and right in the middle of our home and Fresh Water!"

"Yes, I think the purchase will go ahead, they are quibbling over the price at the moment."

"Price! With Beth's inheritance and the extra her father is giving you to marry her, I'm certain you and she could afford it -"

"Nah, nah - there you are, not listening again. Papa is purchasing it for us - as a combined wedding gift to his children. Beth's money will not be involved in the purchase."

"Oh…" Anne's eyes were wide. "Lord, you're going to be a wealthy young man, you realise? Owning a thriving plantation, plus Beth's inheritance and the three hundred acres she will bring… I can imagine the silks she could buy - and the balls we'll attend -"

"There won't be any balls for Beth for a while, I'm afraid," George said sadly. "She will need to keep her head down for a long time, even after we're married."

"Until everyone forgets what she did?" Anne asked softly and George nodded. "Does it upset you? That Beth dallied with that Tavington…"

"Yes," George admitted. "What does it say about her, that she'd do… those things? And with a British Officer. I can't claim to be entirely happy about it. But there's a part of me that feels bad for her, too. She's suffered so much backlash from people who once called themselves her friends. I'm going to be her husband now and I have to do my bit to protect her. Lord, I've wanted to punch some of the bastards for their comments! Hell - I've wanted to punch some of the women!"

"George!" Anne laughed, scandalised, though she knew her brother would never do any such thing.

"It just makes me so angry. If I hear 'Redcoat whore' one more time, I will punch the bastard who utters it, no matter their sex, or how old and infirm! She's to be my bride now, they insult me when they insult her."

"That's true," she said shrewdly.

"I'm a little conflicted, to be honest. I'm outraged that she would behave in such a scandalous manner, but I feel bad for her too. But I'm going to have to reconcile myself with what she did because at the end of the day, I could never have hoped to marry such a beautiful, young woman, and one so wealthy at she is. I could wish she and I were in love like you and Gabriel are but we like each other well enough. Perhaps love will come."

"If it doesn't, then she's a blind fool because you're every bit as handsome as she is beautiful," Anne said loyally. It was quite true, however. Most women disdained him - they could not look past his ruined hand, but George was quite a handsome youth, a larger, masculine version of his little sister, Anne. George smiled at Anne, not truly believing her opinion.

Just then, the rear door of the mercantile crashed open so hard it rebounded off the wall and almost shut again swiftly. George's head snapped up and he glared, ready to give the intruder a blistering dressing down, but his fury filled gaze quickly shifted to concern when Thomas Martin rushed in like the hounds of hell were on his trail.

"Thomas, what is it?"

Thomas shot a glance at Mrs. Patterson and her daughters. Mr. Patterson was in Huddy's militia, it was safe to speak in front of her. "Tarleton is coming for your family," Thomas rasped out between breaths and Mrs. Patterson gasped, looking fearfully at Anne and George. "I just came from your da's, I went there to warn you all but he said you were here and that I had to come and warn you. He's leaving with your mother and he said you're to leave too, in case they come here after your place."

"Tarleton mentioned us by name?" George asked.

"Yes," Thomas said shortly, adding urgently, "remember what they did to the Gillard's in Amelia !"

"Oh, they hung that poor Mr. Gillard and burned his shop!" Anne gasped, her hand over her mouth.

"For doing the very thing your father's been doing," Thomas said gravely, urgently.

"How long do they have to get away?" Mrs. Patterson stepped forward to ask Thomas.

"I don't know," Thomas said helplessly. "Beth and I heard one of Tarleton's Officers say that he'd organised a guide to escort the Dragoons directly to your place. Beth told me to take Shadow Dancer, then she went and told Tarleton some bull story about sending me on an errand to cover my absence. I was gone while he was still at Fresh Water, but how long after I left, did he leave? I don't know. He might have arrived to our place by now, and finding your parents gone, he might already be on his way here."

"Might be better for them to hide rather than flee," Mrs. Patterson said, setting her hand on Anne's arm. "Come quickly Miss Howard, we'll hide you until it's safe."

"I don't know -"

"You might run headlong into them on the road," Mrs. Patterson said, urgency entering her voice. "Come with me now. You too, Mr. Howard," she beckoned George.

"I will," George said as Mrs. Patterson began leading Anne toward the door. "Just got to the strong box - we'll need our money if we're to be on the run! Tarleton mustn't see you here, Thomas - he'll know you warned us. Go now."

He shooed the uncertain lad out and a few moments later he saw a flash of grey pass the window - Thomas riding away on Beth's horse. Anne was ushered by Mrs. Patterson, who was followed by her frightened daughters. George strode toward the back room and pulled open a cabinet door to lift out the strong box.

The door opened again.

"What's happened?" Mr. Frank Higgins called out, striding into the office.

"Thomas Martin came in a few moments ago -"

"I know, I saw him riding off like the devil was on his tail."

"It is. Tarleton is on his way. He'll probably burn the mercantile. Anne's gone into hiding with Mrs. Patterson and I sent Thomas away so Tarleton wouldn't see him here."

"Then what the Devil are you still doing here?" Higgins snapped.

"Getting the strong box - we'll need our money -"

"Don't be a fool, boy! Get gone with you!"

Higgins gripped George about the scruff of his neck and all but dragged him from the mercantile. Once they were at George's horse, Higgins helped the lad to mount, then with a promise that he would keep the strong box safe - it was too heavy and bulky and would only slow George down - he slapped the horse hard on the rump to get it moving. As George disappeared around a corner, the thunderous sound of approaching horses came from the other direction. With the strong box under his arm, Higgins turned to watch as the dust was kicked up from the many horses of Tarleton's Dragoons, drawing closer by the moment as the troop bore down on them.

* * *

Banastre led his detachment of Dragoons up the driveway toward the small manor house. He had split his force and sent several raiding parties out to perform various tasks in Pembroke. Hanger's raiding party had the task of visiting Howard's mercantile, while another unit was sent to destroy the granary and yet another to visit the meeting house to destroy Official records. He did this in every town he visited, it helped to create havoc amongst the populace. People had a hard time of tracking whose land belonged to whom, even marriage certificates where destroyed - creating mayhem.

He and his unit drew rein and were now dismounting in front of the eerily quiet home. Banastre knew before he even entered the house that it would be devoid of life. And there could be only one possible explanation - the family had been warned of his intentions.

He entered the home and began checking the rooms. The furniture was still in place - though in the bed chambers, the draws and cupboards were empty. The family had packed quickly, but had not enough time to take the larger items. He made his way down stairs to check Howard's office - and found it was mostly still in tact. Nothing seemed out of place there, obviously Howard had not had enough time to conceal his ledgers and the like.

Banastre coldly took possession of everything that could be used as evidence. The ledgers, invoices and letters from Burwell of the Continental army, all of which would hopefully contain information that would lead him to more rebels, the same way that Mr. Gillard's accounts had led Banastre to Howard.

Filled with fury over his escaped quarry, Banastre left the house and commanded his men to fire it. He mounted and waited for some long moments as the house was set a blaze, then turned his back and galloped for Pembroke.

The smoke from the burning granary was visible, rising above the tree line. He was stopped before he reached the town, a messenger bearing a missive from Hanger that he had caught a rabbit. Banastre and his unit followed the messenger through the woods until they were met with Major Hanger.

The rabbit, as it turned out, was a young man - not much younger than Banastre's twenty six years.

"Hanger, who is this?" Banastre called. He dismounted near his second in command.

"One George Howard, Sir," Hanger said officiously. "He must have gotten wind that we were coming, but he didn't have enough time to get far, he was floundering here in the woods when we caught him."

"Good job," Banastre nodded. "The house was empty, I assume they received warning of our approach. These damned rebels will be the death of me, news of us always flies ahead of us! Question him, I want to know where his rebel father has gone and I want to know who did the warning." His eyes fell on the young man before him, and he addressed George directly. "Who was it, Sir?"

George tamped down his fear, and clamped his mouth shut, refusing to speak Thomas' name to these men. He tried to keep his fear from showing on his face, but the truth was, his heart was pounding and sweat was pouring down his face. Mr. Gillard had been hung and now George wondered if he was about to face the same fate.

_At least Anne is safe_, he thought. His sister was hiding with Mrs. Patterson and would avoid being tormented and defiled. As would his mother. His father would not be hung, either. He would protect them, no matter what was done to him.

"Sir!" A man was approaching on horseback, galloping through the woods until he was close enough to call out. He dismounted in a flurry of panic and urgency. "Sir - Reverend Oliver at your service," he panted when he stood before Tarleton. "What is the meaning of this - what do you want of this young man?"

"He is accused of treason," Banastre said flatly. "He is guilty of treason. His father, also. Tell me, Sir - do you know where Mr. Howard is to be found?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Oliver replied primly. "These are very strong accusations, Sir. What proof do you have? Young George is one of my own flock. He is naught more than a business owner. He is not a rebel - look at his hand, Sir! He couldn't fight even if he wanted to!"

George managed not to scowl. He hid his mangled hand from view as best he could though it was too late, the Lobsterback Colonel had seen it. George despised the weakness, despised it when others drew attention to it, though he understood why Oliver was doing so now. He had no other weapons with which to defend young George Howard, except to make him look helpless and, therefore, innocent.

"I did not say he was a soldier, Reverend," Banastre said slowly, as though speaking to a child. "There are other ways a man might conduct treason. This one's family has been providing assistance to the rebel army."

"You've no proof of this!" Oliver cried.

"No?" Hanger asked, standing there beneath the trees with a pile of ledgers in his hand. George winced, why had he bought them? Better to have tossed them in the river! What had he been thinking? He'd wanted to carry away the evidence, but here he was, caught with it. Hanger deliberately opened the latest ledger at the most recent entry, showing it to Tarleton. "See here - he has crossed out and corrected how many rice barrels came in. He wrote in ten, then crossed it out to read eight and put some foolishness about the rice being destroyed. Flicking through the pages, there's many such entries - all of them food stores."

Banastre watched George's face while Hanger made this pronouncement. "So, the extra 'ruined' food stores are passed along to Burwell's Continentals, hmm? Or Washington's army? Did you think we'd fall for such, boy?" He asked him. "How long do you think I've been about this business? I wasn't dropped in the Colonies yesterday."

George tightened his lips and said nothing.

"It proves nothing!" The Reverend protested. "He should be tried properly and -"

"I have the authority to meet out justice as I see fit," Tarleton ground out. "And I see fit, right now! If you do not know where his father is, please step out of my way and let me about my duty, or you will be taken into custody for treason also."

Oliver spluttered with outrage. Several Dragoons grabbed the Reverend and tossed him from their midst, causing him to land hard on his rump on the forrest floor.

"I have other evidence, Mr. Howard. Letters from Burwell. Letters from Mark Putman, a known spy. Your family stands accused of treason and I can, and will hang you. Unless…" He paused for dramatic effect, then continued, "you tell me where your father has gone." Banastre asked George, ignoring Oliver's shouts as the Dragoons closed ranks behind him, preventing the Reverend from entering. "Will you tell me where he is hiding?"

"I am a merchant, Sir, and I can tell you, that is hardly an advantageous deal. I tell you where my father is, so that he will be hanged instead of me?" George shook his head. "No, Sir. I will not," the young man announced in defiance.

"On pain of death?" Banastre arched an eyebrow. "Come now - I have questions for you. Who warned you that we were coming? Who are you working with, you must know of other rebels that are working for Burwell. Tell me everything I wish to know, and I won't hang you _or_ your father. Neither of you have to die. We'll take him into custody, and you'll both be given a fair trial as your Reverend has requested."

That was a slightly better bargain than the first. George didn't think he could ever bring himself to accept it, but he decided to at least pretend to think it through. Yes, on the surface, it seemed as though his life could be spared, and, if their lawyer was good enough, his families name cleared. But there was something in Tarleton's eyes that George didn't like, a hint of something sharp, an eagle eyeing its prey. And a lack of sincerity. There was something of his intentions that this Officer was not revealing, George knew it instinctively, and he pondered what it might be.

Ultimately, Tarleton was asking George to betray his father and other Patriots, on the pretence of sparing his and his father's lives. But if George did as Tarleton asked, then the Officer would have both of them in custody for the time it took for him to deliver them to their trial. His father - who had evaded Tarleton - was the greater prize, for Mr. Peter Howard had far more knowledge of Patriot activities than George could claim to. And with a flash of insite, George understood that that was the source of the gleam he had seen in Tarleton's eye - the Commandant wanted Peter Howard.

It would mean that George's father would be in Tarleton's custody, entirely his to interrogate at will. As a Gentleman, he would keep his promise to not hang them, and he would keep his promise of a 'fair trial', but only once he was through with them - once he had gleaned all the information he could. Then he would hand over what was left of them, to a higher authority for the 'fair trial'. From there, he would have no control over their fate - no say in the manner of their punishment if the Howard's could not prove themselves innocent. No - Tarleton would hand them over, accept the accolades for having caught rebels and for the information he'd gleaned, then he'd wash his hands and walk away.

George could not trust that anything the British presided over to be done with fairness. He and his father would get their trial but it would be anything but just. They would still hang - and worse yet, George would have betrayed his father, his father's death would be his own doing.

It would be senseless to take Tarleton up on this offer - senseless and utterly shaming. He'd never do such a thing, in any instance, but discerning Tarleton's true intent helped to harden his own resolve. He made his decision, knowing fully well that he would feel a noose tied around his neck in the next few moments.

"No, Sir. I will not," word for word the same answer as before.

Tarleton's lips tightened, his face flooding red with fury. He'd been so earnest, had offered a damned good bargain! He wanted Peter Howard, Goddamn it! But he could see it in the other man's face, he would not give up his father.

"Well, I guess your mother will be weeping over your cold, dead body this evening," Banastre inclined his head curtly to Hanger. "String him up."

George drew a sharp breath. His knees felt weak as the Dragoons hauled him away toward a large oak. He glanced at Reverend Oliver, caught his horrified expression. Oliver rushed to his feet and tried to push through the Dragoons, bellowing with rage as he did so. He was but one man, however, and he was shoved back and beaten down until George was worried for his Pastor's life. Two Dragoons hauled George toward the tree and he lost sight of the Reverend. It was not as easy as he'd thought, walking to his own death.

_Be brave, George_. He admonished himself. He continued in that vein, repeating it like a mantra, trying his best to steel himself.

To die like a man.

Holding his head high, he walked within the group of Dragoons, with Tarleton and Hanger watching impassively, to the oak tree in which he was about to be hung.

* * *

"I informed Mr. Howard, they are devastated," Oliver was saying. "I am going to hold a ceremony for George this afternoon," Reverend Oliver was saying. Beth blinked slowly, still too stunned to think. Sitting beneath the window, the sun streaming through the glass did little to warm her. She heard what Reverend Oliver was saying but she was unable to comprehend it. George, her fiancé, was dead.

Her lover had killed her fiancé.

These thoughts barely registered. They flittered on the outskirts of her mind, hovered about her awareness, but would not sink in. The rest of her family seemed just as stunned.

"So soon?" Benjamin asked woodenly.

"It's so hot, Mr. Martin," Oliver spread his hands and Benjamin understood. In this heat, it was not a good idea to wait to bury the dead.

"Where is Tarleton now?" Oliver asked Benjamin, looking nervous as he fidgeted his fingers. There was a bruise on his face and by the way he was moving, Benjamin thought there might be more around his body.

"He has not returned," Benjamin replied. His voice was low, solemn. "He's likely still trying to find Burwell. Do you know where he is? Joshua will need to be told his brother is dead."

"Burwell slipped away from the swamps yesterday, he is leaving Pembroke entirely and will position himself closer to Camden."

Benjamin blew out a breath of relief, then shook his head in disbelief as he thought of George. Reverend Oliver understood completely - he was still struggling with the news himself. He had told them all of it - from the moment he found the Dragoons in the woods, he detailed the hanging, the burning of the buildings in the village, and that Mr. Higgins and his sons cut George from the tree.

"The Martin's have ever been the closest to the Howard family," he said to Benjamin Martin gently. "Even before the two engagements between your children. The Howard family have fled. They can not attend their son's funeral. I have come to ask you to -"

"Of course we will come," Benjamin said.

"Tarleton won't try to stop you?" Oliver fretted and Benjamin realised why the reverend had asked where Tarleton was. Not out of fear after being roughed up by the Dragoons again, but because he worried Benjamin would not be able to attend George Howard's funeral.

"We're not under house arrest, supposedly," Benjamin said. "We can come and go as we please. Lord. Has this really happened? I can't… I just don't believe it."

"I know - it is horrendous. It was all happening before me, and I still couldn't believe it," Oliver said in a haunted tone. "Poor George. He never harmed a soul! He spent most of his life trying to hide his ruined hand, trying to rise above people's cruelty! And just when his life is getting better - it's all destroyed! He was looking forward to marrying you," Oliver said to Beth.

"I know," she whispered, her wide eyes brimming with tears. Of grief, shame, guilt.

For her lover had killed her fiancé.

She hadn't been in love with George, but she was stricken all the same. A boy she'd known her whole life, the brother of her dear friend, the man she'd almost spent the rest of her life with… Dead.

Murdered.

"I'd best go…" She said slowly as she tried to rise from the chaise. "I need to dress… for the funeral…" Gods.

"Yes," Benjamin said. "That would be for the best. Boys, you need to wash up and change into your best, now. I want no fussing or foolery - not now. I won't permit it."

"Of course not, father," Thomas rose and helped Beth out of the parlor. The other boys and Susan were herded out by Abigail, who would see to getting them ready. Benjamin was alone with the parlor with Oliver, Curly, Rollins, and the younger men, Bryson and Kevin.

"This can not go unanswered," Benjamin said with conviction, now that his children were gone. He sat forward and dry washed his hands, rubbing them together vigourously. "That boy was to be my son. My daughter's husband. Hell - he was to be Beth's _salvation_! His death _must_ be avenged."

Oliver kept quiet. It went against everything he believed in, being a clergy man. But one of his flock had been murdered and he found himself battling his own thirst for revenge.

"What do you have in mind?" Curly asked gravely and Benjamin knew that he was not alone in his outrage.

Benjamin turned his thoughts to how best to attack Tarleton. It would be no easy feat, with the enemy Colonel residing in Benjamin's own home. There were advantages to that, he knew Tarleton's comings and goings. And, to study the layout of the enemies camp, he need only look out the window.

"You remember what I told you about those rail fences? Tarleton has a whole unit of men, sitting like ducks waiting to be picked off. If I can get fifteen men, about eight at one end and eight at the other, we can make the bastard bleed."

"Well, you have four right here," Rollins said, speaking for himself, his sons and Curly. "Five with you, Ben."

"Reverend Oliver," Benjamin began, "here is what I need you to do -"

"I won't get involved in this!" Oliver declared, fearing Martin was about to recruit him.

"No - no, I just need you to visit a few families on my behalf," Benjamin explained. "I can't risk going near them, not with what I have planned. But if you can get them to the funeral, then I can speak to them afterward, without Tarleton being any the wiser."

"Who do you want me to approach?" Oliver found himself asking. "And what do you want me to say?"

"Dan Scott. Billings, Higgins, Skunk. Colt Layman. Matthew Black. Just get them to the funeral, that's all I ask. Now we just need four more…"

"The old boys, riding together again," Curly said, slapping his thigh with enthusiasm. Benjamin had just named several men from his former unit, the men who served under his Command twenty years previous, during the Cherokee War. Rollins and Curly served with him also. "If only Banksia were here - Trellim too."

"No point lamenting over what can't be," Benjamin said shortly, focused solely on what was. What if's were a waste of time. "Those two boys have their own commitments. I need four more."

"I'd reckon that Billings cousin, Frank Warren will be on board. And Higgins' sons too. When you talk to Billings, tell him to put the word out - get him recruiting on your behalf. That way, Tarleton can't blame you for nothing."

"Yes, you're right," Benjamin nodded. "I'll tell him after the funeral. You just make sure he's there, Oliver, if you please."

"I will," the Reverend inclined his head. "I wish I could do more, but I am a clergy man and -"

"Nah, nah, none of that," Benjamin shook his head and waved his arms before him, placating Oliver. "I'm asking for too much already. But I can't do it myself, not without drawing attention to me. And I can't have them meet me here, without rousing Tarleton's suspicions. Just get the boys there, and we'll do the rest."

"Very well," Oliver agreed. Their meeting ended soon after that, with Oliver leaving the Martin's to begin making their preparations, while he himself visited other families of Pembroke, to gather them to attend the funeral.

* * *

Benjamin sat on the edge of his bed, waiting. It was almost time. Outside in the darkness of night, his men were approaching Tarleton's lines, the vulnerable unit camped between the rail fences. He felt now much as he did before any battle. The only difference was now, he was nearly twenty years older and not quite as spry as he used to be. Still, he could do this. He had to do this. For George Howard. For Peter Howard. For all of them. Banastre Tarleton had fired the first shot. Some one had to fire back. Men would die - hopefully none of his own. He stifled guilt, shoved it down deep for such emotions did not belong. Many of Tarleton's infantry were there because they had no other choice in life but to become a soldier. But they were there and this was war and by God, this had to be done.

Tarleton knew his error, now. Benjamin wondered; if the Colonel had known the name of Beth's fiancé, perhaps he would not have hanged him?

They had returned from the funeral earlier, to discover the Dragoons had returned also. Beth had been avoiding Tarleton ever since, she hadn't come out of her room, Benjamin had had to send a tray of food up to her at dinner time. Tarleton had been so cocky earlier, but with each passing hour, when Beth hadn't shown herself, and when he realised the reason why… He - Tarleton - was as quiet as the grave now. As quiet as George Howard, in his grave. Things would be so much simpler, far swifter, less bloody, if Benjamin could bring himself to enter Tarleton's chamber and slice the damned bastards throat.

But that was murder.

Still, he considered it. He would be saving countless lives, Tarleton's and perhaps a few of his own, would die tonight. But Benjamin was not a murderer. He could shoot a man dead on the field of battle, but he would not kill an unarmed man.

Benjamin's thoughts lingered on his daughter and the funeral as he rose from the bed and began to make his preparations by candlelight. He needed his weapons, his musket and pistols, and his dagger. He left his tomahawk in its chest, for it had his name engraved on the handle and if it went missing - it could easily be found and he would be tied to the attack.

Yes. The funeral. A bloody tragic and dismal affair, without the boy's family to mourn him. The Martin's had turned out in force. Beth had stood by her father, her face stone, tears spilling down her cheeks, black ribbons in her hair and a black cape around her shoulders. After a very short service, George's body had been lowered into the ground. Oliver said a few more words and as the grave was being filled in, those who had attended the funeral began to leave the cemetery. It was then that Benjamin met in secret with the men Oliver had gathered for him. It was then that he placed Billings in charge of the recruiting of the four or five more men Benjamin needed. Billings had been confident that the task would be an easy one - especially when he put the word out that it was Captain Benjamin Martin doing the asking. Benjamin wasn't so certain - not with his family in disgrace as they were. And it was especially worse now that he was hosting Bloody Ban's Bloody Legion.

He had spoken to Dan Scott, who was concealing the Howard family in his home. Benjamin had asked Dan to pass on his condolences, and to tell Peter that he would make "Bloody Ban" bloody bleed, for killing George. Not that it would do much to relieve the families grief, he thought now as he climbed out his window and out onto the verandah roof. He could not stride through the corridors and out the front door, as Banastre Bloody Tarleton had set guards all the way through out the house - letting the Martin's know he did not trust them.

Crouching low, he trotted carefully - and mostly silent despite his heavy boots, to the corner of the roof. He had managed to conceal a ladder there earlier in the day, for this exact purpose. Rollins and Curly were on the ground, waiting for Benjamin to lower the ladder. When he did, they held it in place as he climbed down. When he was on the ground, they concealed the ladder - he would need it in order to climb back up to the verandah roof, so he could get to his room unseen.

Keeping low, they made their way through the grounds, avoiding Tarleton's sentries and the tents. The soldiers were on the look out - and were damned good at their job - but they were looking outward for those trying to get in to the camp - not inward, to anyone trying to get out of it. In short order, Benjamin and his men cleared the last of the tents and were trotting to the agreed upon meeting place.

"I hope Billings was able to get the extra four men," he muttered to Rollins at his left side. "Though if he hasn't, we'll make do. We can do a fair bit of damage with just five or six of us at each end of the road. It would be far better with more, though. Far more effective."

"Agreed," Rollins said. "Don't worry, as long as we kill at least a few of the bastards, I'll be happy."

"Yeh," Curly said. "I want ten Lobsterbacks dead tonight."

"I want more than that dead," Benjamin muttered. "Banastre Tarleton first and foremost."

"You always were a greedy bastard," Rollins quipped, laughing that Benjamin wanted more than ten Lobsters dead. "Besides, I seem to remember a certain person not wanting to join this war."

"That was before they began attacking my family," Benjamin said grimly. "My brother in law, having to flee the city. His wife and my niece, under house arrest. My own daughter, suffering the advances of that British bastard, and ruined now because of it. And not to mention the grief it's done to Burwell. And now this - George Howard's death. Be that as it may - I'll do just do this one thing and then I'm out. I won't risk bringing harm to my children. But this - what was done to George, that needs to be addressed."

"It certainly does," Rollins agreed.

They stopped speaking then, they were running too fast now and were becoming winded. Jumping over logs and skirting bushes in the dead of night - it was a good thing they knew the area so well. They soon came upon the place of meeting, an old shack hidden deep in the thick woods. They were too far from the house for anyone at Fresh Water to spy the fire brands that Billings and his men held aloft as they waited for Martin. As soon as Benjamin entered the clearing, he stopped dead, staring at all the familiar faces with shock.

He had wasted his time fretting that Billings would have trouble convincing four extras. For the clearing was filled to bursting with men - and more were coming out of the shack. Instead of the four he had prayed for, he was faced with at least one hundred.

All he could do was stare, dumbfounded.

"Such is the strength of your Leadership," Rollins muttered and Curly nodded. "You Command, my Captain, and we obey."

"Jesus," Benjamin breathed, overwhelmed. The grim faced men came forward to greet Benjamin, to slap him on the back and thank him for inviting them to the party. Billings, laughing at Benjamin's expression, came forward also.

"And you thought I'd struggle to get four men," he laughed. "As soon as I put the word out - I couldn't turn the bastards away! None of them would listen - their blood is up, that's for certain. And when they heard you were doin' the leadin', well - I didn't have a shit show in hell of turning them aside then! Well? What do you have to say? A thank you would be nice."

"Thank you, John," Benjamin said gravely, "you did well. Far exceeded my expectations, that's for sure."

A general buzz began to sound amongst the men and Benjamin listened closely to hear the words. Lots of 'is this a new militia then?' and 'when do we get to kill the Lobster's?'. One question that was repeated over and over, one that caused Benjamin no end of distress, was, 'has Captain Martin taken over for Marion then? Is he our Captain? Because I'll follow him to the grave, I will!'

This sentiment was repeated all too many times and Benjamin held up his hands, calling for silence.

"Now, now - you all need to listen and listen well," he called out when they hushed. "I have to get a few things clear, here and now. The most important - and I'm sorry if this disappoints you all - but no, I have not come out of retirement."

"More's the pity," Rollins muttered and the others nodded agreement.

"Shut it, Rollins," Benjamin barked. "Listen here. I merely wish to right a wrong - to get vengeance for the death of one of our own - Mr. George Howard. He was a Patriot, through and through. He and his family have helped our Cause too many ways to count - serving their country in the only way the could. And now George is dead because of it. This can not go unchallenged. These bastards can not continue to believe they can do as they wish in our country with no repercussions -"

"Which is exactly why we need you to front the damned militia!" Danvers called out from further back in the crowd. Others voiced their agreement, they sounded angry. Not with Tarleton, or the British, or the atrocities committed.

They were angry with him for not joining them.

"You have Mr. Putman and Colonel Sumter for that," Benjamin snapped.

"Sumter isn't one of our own!" Scott called. "Hell - Putman ain't either."

"There's only one man we want leading us, and that's you, Martin."

Benjamin turned his baleful glare on Rollins, who glared right back. He was the one to voice this statement, and Benjamin was furious. Rollins and Curly had lived with him for some weeks now - they understood his desire to stay out of strife, in order to keep his family safe!

"No!" He said, firmly and crisply, pronouncing the word as clearly and emphatically as he could. Silence reigned amongst the men. "As I said - I am sorry. We have a job to do tonight, and afterward, we will all seek our homes and try our best to conceal what we've done. To live as normally as possible, and not draw suspicion. Now, will you accept these terms? Will you accept that this is a one time raid only?"

"It seems we must," Danvers called, thoroughly unimpressed. "If we are to avenge George Howard and at least do some small damage to the Lobsterbacks."

"Good, because this is what I want you to do," Benjamin began separating the men into five units of twenty. Now that he had so many, he decided to not only hit the one Company who had unwisely camped between the rail fences, but another of Tarleton's units at the other side of camp. This unit was not quite as vulnerable, but now the Patriots had numbers on their side, Benjamin's men should be able to swoop in, with their rifles a-blazing, inflict some damage before the Legion could rally themselves, before swooping out again.

"Get off three shots each - four if you feel it's safe. No more than that. When that is done - I want each and every one of you to get the hell out of here. Slink away into the swamps and the woods, get to your homes as quickly as possible and pretend you never left. They think to raid us, do they? Let's show these 'Raiders' the true meaning of the word!"

Despite being disgruntled that Benjamin was not going to lead them permanently, they still cheered him now. With their units chosen and their battle plans in place, the men began to make their way through the night, toward their targets.

* * *

Three candles still burned on the small table in the far corner of the room, the small flames glowing against the wall. The light provided small comfort, but it was better than the alternative. Laying in bed in a completely dark room, entirely alone with her thoughts. Beth's breath was too fast and her heart was pounding in an unpleasant way. There was an awful, sick feeling in her stomach, like worry only sharper and it left her feeling shaky. She swallowed hard, placed her hand over her chest and wondered if her heart was failing her. Should she go get help? Tell her father that she was worried she was dying? A hot flush spread out from her chest and rose up her neck to her flush across her cheeks. That was enough, she needed to move. She pushed the covers back and flung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat there trembling.

Moving seemed to alter something, her heart was no longer pounding faster than a horse could gallop. It was no longer roaring in her ears. The warm flush began to recede and she felt she could breathe again. Her panic seemed to be abating, she no longer felt as if she were about to die. Still. Perhaps she should tell her father, in case she needed a doctor? She rose on shaky legs and pulled her nightgown on, picked up one of the candles and was at the door when she heard a heavy footstep just outside. A whisper of sound and she looked down as something was slipped beneath the door.

Susan snored quietly in her own bed, her legs and arms akimbo. Sound asleep. Beth picked up the something - a note - and went to the table to read it. It was from Banastre - who else would be sending notes to her in the dead of night? He was pleading with her in his flourishing way, to come to him, to give him the opportunity to explain his actions. Her heart began to pound again, that unpleasant flush rising. That roaring in her ears. Gods, she really was dying.

Should she reply? What would she say? _No, I can not. _Burning the letter and not responding would send that same message. She held the candle to the flame and watched the parchment curl, blacken, then puff into flame.

She did not want to face Banastre. Or anyone. She dropped the flaming note into the fireplace, watched as it burned to ash. She returned to her bed and sat, knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. A small ball, she stared at the burning candles, the flickering flames and the soft glow they cast against the wall.

In the far distance, she heard clapping sounds and recognised them immediately for what they were.

Gunshots.

Far enough away that if one was sleeping, they would not be awoken. Susan continued to snore in her bed but Beth leaped from hers and rushed to the windows, pulling back the drapes, she stared into the blackness of night, trying to see the encampment beyond. More shots were fired, distant but unmistakable. Her breath fogged the glass, making it even more difficult to see. Beth pulled the window up and stuck her head out, searching for the bursts of light that flared around a firing pistol or rifle. She could see nothing. Were they under attack? The gunfire hadn't ceased. She should tell someone. Not Banastre. Her father. But just as the thought entered her head, she saw firebrands moving toward the house. She could not see who carried them, she could only see the fire itself. Finally she began to hear the sounds of movement within the house and outside, when the men carrying the firebrands were closer, she could hear them yelling.

Her door burst open and Banastre entered, still tying his hair back into a queue.

"Get dressed," he commanded grimly. "We are under attack."

"Ho!" Beth whispered fearfully. He said nothing about the note or her lack of reply, his dark eyes were narrowed, focused, his mind on other concerns. Beth went to shake Susan gently. Banastre turned on his heel and strode back out. Beth took her frightened sister's hand and led her into the hallway, where she met Thomas, Nathan, Samuel and William.

"What's happening?" Thomas asked Beth as officers darted down the corridor past them.

"The camp is under attack," she said, glancing down at Susan, who blinked up at Beth fearfully. The older girl gave the younger girl's hand a comforting squeeze.

"Jesus," Thomas breathed. Then, excited, he said, "come, we'll see more from Beth and Susan's room." And he waved at his brother's to follow.

"Stop right there!" Banastre commanded from where he stood with Hanger and another Officer. He pointed at the boys. "You will stay here, in the hallway in the centre of the house and you will not go near any of the windows. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sounds like the fire is far back from the house," Thomas argued. "On either side of their encampment. We could risk a peek, surely?"

"There's nothing to see," Beth said. "I already looked."

"Where is your father?" Banastre asked, looking quite distracted. "I don't have time to look out for you, he will need to take you in hand."

"I'll go wake him," Beth offered, already moving toward the chamber at the end of the hall. Banastre nodded. He, Hanger and his officers strode down the hall and disappeared down the stairs. Beth knocked on her father's door. Nothing. She opened the door and stepped in, her siblings right behind her. The room as empty, and still those claps exploded through the night.

"He never went to bed?" Thomas said uncertainly, looking at the empty, unmade bed.

"Where is he?" Beth asked, looking around the room nervously.

"His guns are gone," Nathan said and Beth looked toward the corner of the room where there was usually at least two stacked against the wall.

"Don't tell me -" Thomas began - his face as white as a corpse - falling silent when the gunshots did. The children exchanged glances. As suddenly as it had began, it all died down. "Is it over?" Thomas whispered.

"I don't know…" Nathan whispered, looking as fearful as Beth felt. Where was their father?

"Tarleton is coming back up the stairs," Samuel whispered from the door.

"Damn and blast it. He'll see papa is not here and he'll think… He'll think what we're all thinking."

That their father was out _there_, attacking Banastre's camp. Beth was already moving toward corridor, she pulled the door closed behind her, leaving her siblings in the empty room, just as Banastre reached the landing.

"What's happened?" She asked, holding her night robe tight around her body.

"Attacked," Banastre confirmed, "on two fronts, the damned rebels are retreating. I came to tell you I'm going to give chase, so I'll be gone for a bit. Are you alright?"

"Of course," she shrugged. "I hope…" What did she hope, that no one was hurt? There'd be plenty hurt. Dead. This was a battle. "Be careful, Ban," she said, wrapping her arms around her as if she were cold.

"I wish… I'm sorry, about… I wish you'd have let me talk to you…"

"I…" she trailed off, then shook her head. "When you get back. We'll talk then. You will be careful?"

"I will. Your father?" He asked, jutting his chin toward the door.

"Ah… Getting dressed," Beth said after a moments hesitation. "I think he drank too much at dinner, he was hard to wake up. Did you want to speak to him before you go?"

"To him? No. Only to you," he leaned toward her, as if he wanted to kiss her, but there were too many people rushing about, his officers and soldiers, there was a cacophony of noise with footsteps and yelling. He stepped back, he would not kiss her in front of all those men. "I love you," he whispered, so softly she could barely hear it. She read his lips, however.

"I…" She paused, suddenly finding herself unable to say the words. Instead, she nodded and smiled weakly. "Just be careful, please?"

"I will," he grabbed her hand, pulled it away from where it was wrapped around her body, and planted a kiss on the back. And then he turned and trotted back down the stairs.

Beth opened the bed chamber door and was a little taken aback when Samuel slammed it shut behind her. It took her only a moment to realise why. She was stunned to see her father standing there, all covered in dirt. Curly and Rollins stood by the window, helping Bryson inside.

"You climbed up onto the verandah roof?" She gasped, the words an incredulous and terrified squeak.

"Yes," her father replied shortly as he placed his rifle where it belonged, in the corner against the wall.

"Do you think they saw us? There are so many of them out there," Bryson asked, staring out the window into the darkness.

"They would be arresting us right now, if they had," Benjamin replied. "Who is in the corridor, Beth?" When she could only gape, he became impatient. "The others need to change into their banyans to look like they're fresh out of bed. We must be seen here, in the house, and not looking as we do now. Who is out there?"

"Dragoons, but they're going. Colonel Tarleton is going to chase them - I mean, you. Gods, he's chasing after you, isn't he?"

"Never mind that," Benjamin turned to the others. "He'll leave a small force here, in the house. Not necessarily in the corridors, though. I'll send Beth out in a moment and she will tell us when the way is clear for you to return to your rooms. Be quick about changing, and then be noisy about leaving your rooms - we'll meet in the parlour and let all his men see us. If God is on our side, if I can make it look like we've been here all along, we might not be suspected." The other men nodded, none of them looked particularly hopeful of that.

"I told Colonel Tarleton that you were sleeping," Beth said and Benjamin gave her a sharp look. "Just now, when he asked after you. I said you drank too much at dinner and were hard to rouse, but that you were getting up now. He thinks you were here."

He nodded slowly, gave her an appraising look. "Go, Beth. See if anyone is still out there."

She did, she opened the door slightly enough that she could slip through without anyone seeing inside the room, but there was no one outside of it. She turned back to the room, her hand still on the bolt. "No one here. I can hear voices downstairs, though."

"Quickly then," Benjamin said to the others and the door was opened to its fullest, the men quickly passed through and went to the rooms they shared. The siblings turned back to their father as he began to throw off his soiled clothes.

"We attacked his Legion," Benjamin said grimly as he pulled off his shirt. The story was told quickly, of how Benjamin had put out the call for men and how many had come to his summons. Of how they had attacked two sections of the camp at once, before fading into the night before Tarleton could so much as rally his troops.

"Papa! You didn't tell me! I could've helped!" Thomas wailed, furious yet exultant and Benjamin barked a mirthless laugh.

They convened in the parlor downstairs, where Benjamin whispered a quick account of the nights events. Susan sat on Beth's knee, both girls listening as avidly as their brothers.

"I led the unit attacking those camped between the rail fences," he kept his voice low, they were there to be seen by the soldiers Banastre had left behind and there were plenty of those, walking back and forth in the hall on whatever errands Banastre had charged them with before he left. How her father and his men had managed to get back up onto the verandah without being seen was beyond Beth. The place was crawling with British. Benjamin had left the parlour doors open so those soldiers could get a good look at who was in the chamber, and he kept his voice low so none of them could hear his account of the battle. "And Billings positioned another unit on the other side of the camp. I had my men position themselves at either end of the road, and when we opened fire, the Lobsterbacks darted out of their tents but because of the fence to either side, they had no where to go. Nor could they form up properly to counter us - they did not have the room. It was open slather - with fifteen men to either opening of the road, we decimated them."

He was not boastful, just speaking the facts. It was clear he took no pleasure in it, he had merely performed a task that needed to be done. Though she felt sick to her stomach at the devastation her father had wrought, her brothers eyes were fevered and bright, relishing every word, with the exception of Samuel, who looked as disturbed as Beth felt.

"It seems Billings' raid was just as effective, though I have heard no word of him yet. He attacked a unit whose position for defence was better than the one we'd taken, but he had more men with him as well. We suffered no casualties, and it is my hope that Billings will report that he suffered none also."

"Papa," Beth whimpered. "What if Tarleton discovers it was you?"

"Then I will hang," Benjamin shrugged. "Just as George hung yesterday. But he won't discover it. Not after you told him you tried to wake me."

"He might think you were here in the house," Beth fretted, "but what if he suspects you orchestrated it?"

"No, he will think this attack came from Burwell, I have made certain of that."

"Oh…" She trailed off, slightly relieved.

"Right then, they've seen us down here altogether, and that's all I wanted. Now, off to bed with you," he rose and clapped his hands at the young children, who jumped to their feet to obey on the instant. Beth put Susan on the floor and rose more slowly.

"How many do you think died tonight, Papa?" She asked solemnly.

"As many as needed to, Beth," her father replied grimly. "George's death could not go unanswered. The British have had their way in the South for long enough. This will make the bastards think twice, as they deserve."

"It's just," she paused, trying to put her thoughts and emotions into words. "I know that - I do. But men died, right out there, Papa. What's worse is, _you_ killed them. You raised your rifle, you took aim, and _you killed them_!"

"I'm a soldier," he shrugged. "As is your brother, as Thomas will be also. We killed other soldiers, Beth. Because we are at war. Do you understand?"

"I think so," she nodded slowly. Though she still felt heartsore for all the death that had occurred outside her very window, she did understand. Her father was not a murderous madman, he was a soldier fighting a war, killing enemy soldiers who would otherwise kill him. He killed the enemy this night - which was one thing she needed to remember. That while she had become Tarleton's lover, his men - even Tarleton himself - were her enemies also. "I do understand. I'm sorry - it's just so… awful."

"I know," he strode forward and pulled her against him, and Beth stiffened with shock as his arms came about her for the first time since Burwell left her. After a moments hesitation, she melted into his embrace, tears burning her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Papa," she murmured and Benjamin tightened his hold, understanding her apology was for her conduct with Tavington.

"I'm sorry, too," he murmured back. "For not showing you more support this past week. I should have been there for you."

"You were angry," she defended him and he shook his head.

"Yes, I was, and it stopped me from supporting you when you needed it most," the truth was, he had barely been able to look at his daughter at all, and a breach had opened up between them because of it. He was only just realising now, how damaging that had been for Beth, who - for the last few days - probably only wanted him to hold her, and to tell her he loved her still. He'd felt her freeze just now, as a startled rabbit freezes before the attack. She'd been starving for the slightest affection, the slightest praise, and he realised now just how much she deserved both. She'd sent Thomas away on Shadow Dancer, to warn the Howard's. Gods, she'd whispered instructions in Thomas's ear, to warn Burwell. Her quick thinking had protected him this evening, she'd covered for him and now Tarleton might never realise Benjamin's involvement in the attack on his forces. And lately, he'd been completely ignoring her, acting as though she didn't exist. He decided he would change that now - for at the core of it, she was still his little girl. The British bastards were trying to steal her away from him, but they hadn't succeeded yet. She'd proved that when she'd lied to Tarleton on Benjamin's behalf, without even knowing whether he was involved in the battle or not.

"I love you, Beth."

An explosive sob tore through her and her knees buckled. He had to hold her, to guide her to the couch where he held her as she cried. Feeling worse than a cad, he apologised again, over and over, for shunning her as he had. Rollins ushered the children out and called for Abigail to put Susan back to bed. Benjamin and Beth stayed where they were, sitting on the couch, rebuilding the broken bridge between them.


	51. Chapter 51 - Do Not Trust the British

Chapter 51 - Do Not Trust the British

Tap, tap, tap…

Beth's heavy lids flickered as she was slowly awoken. Groggily, she lifted her head from her pillow and glanced around the darkened chamber as she tried to discern what the noise was.

Tap, tap, tap…

_Oh, the door,_ she realised. Someone knocking. With a heavy, slumber filled sigh, she kicked the sheets off and rose from the bed. Pulling the door ajar, she was confronted with one of the soldiers who stood guard on the corridor.

"Miss Martin," he whispered while glancing furtively over his shoulder. "Colonel Tarleton would like a word with you."

"Oh…" She swallowed thickly and tried to clear her head of the fuddle caused by sleeping too deeply.

How she could possibly have slept at all, in the wake of the battle outside her window and knowing there were dead and dying men in the tents beyond her walls, was a puzzle even to her. But sleep she had, and blissfully. Her father had forgiven her, the two had finally made amends. Understanding had been reached and he had declared that he still loved her. Beth choked up as she wrapped her night robe around her body and donned her slippers. For a moment, she wondered why she was answering Banastre's summons? She did not feel compelled to see him as she once had. The urgency for his companionship that she had felt previously was gone now, swept away the moment her father had wrapped her in his arms and professed his love. Still, she cared for him and she had promised she would speak with him tomorrow, which was now. And so she slipped out of her chamber and followed the soldier into the empty corridor.

"Has he been back long?" She asked before they reached Tarleton's room.

"A while, Miss. The Colonel has been in and out - it's frantic out there, what with the wounded to care for. And there's still many to find - either dead or alive. The search is difficult though, with it being pitch black out there. But Hanger has taken over so that Tarleton can get some rest," the Green-coat replied as he opened the door for her.

Her joy abated sharply and she stepped into Tarleton's room feeling wretched for the dead. The door was closed behind her. A fully clothed but dishevelled Banastre sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, seemingly oblivious to her presence. She padded closer until she came to stand before him and still he did not stir, not until she began smoothing his messy hair. Even then, he did not raise his head. He reached out blindly, taking a hold of her waist and drawing her to him wordlessly, to press his cheek into her stomach. With an eyebrow arched, she gazed down at the top of his head as she continued to smooth his hair. His fingers were tight on her waist, holding on to her as though she were an anchor.

"Over sixty dead so far," Banastre's words were muffled in her night-robe. Beth stiffened, her hand on his head froze. Sixty dead? It home to her then, the reality of what had occurred beyond the safety of her bed chamber. The thought of so much death left her feeling ill. And her father had orchestrated the attack that killed them! "Sixty," he repeated. "And more are sure to die. As many again are wounded - some mortally so. I lost so many men this evening, in an attack from Burwell that I could not even answer!"

"There, there," she whispered uselessly, making no effort to correct his mistake - that it her was father and not Burwell who had attacked his force. Instead, she continued to sooth him, her fingers moving over his queue, unwinding it and releasing his hair. "There, there."

"So many, Beth," Banastre lamented, tightening his hold on her. "So many…"

"Ban, let's get you out of those clothes, hmm?" She murmured. When he gave no reply she began to undress him, squatting before him to pull his boots off and then helping to draw off his Green-coat and breeches, all of it until he was naked. Then she bade him to lay down and she let her own night clothes drop to the floor before climbing in beside him. He pulled her into his arms, but made no move to kiss her, no move to make love. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes dark and haunted as he held her.

"That fool," Banastre whispered and Beth glanced up at him in concern. "Making his camp between the rail fences. Captain Mallard it was - he was one of the first to perish. An utter fool, for camping there. Burwell's men picked my men off, firing into the road. My men had no where to go, they couldn't jump the fences to either side and their tents proved no protection - they were riddled with holes. Mallard - a Goddamned fool."

Beth frowned. Mallard was a 'Goddamned' fool? It bothered her, hearing Tarleton say this and she lowered her head to his chest to cover her profound disappointment.

'_A great Commander will take the blame under every circumstance_,' she recalled Colonel Burwell words to her, said long, long ago. '_For a certainty, there will be adjutants who are weaker than the Commandant, who make decisions that lead them to disaster. But a Commandant is only as strong as his tools and his tools are his to shape. His to Command. Only a poor Commander indeed will blame those tools when they falter or break. A great Commander must take the blame, for the men are his responsibility - each and every one of them._'

However, Banastre - he seemed to be blaming this Captain Mallard, for camping between the rail fences in the first place. But the resulting devastation was Banastre's fault. He was Commandant of the Company, he should have seen the danger himself and ordered the Captain to move his unit elsewhere! Though she didn't like it one bit, she kept silent on the matter.

"He has paid for his mistake with his life," Banastre said woodenly. "He is gone and now I must answer for it. Lord, how will I explain this to Cornwallis? He will have my hide. And all because of that fool, Mallard."

She shifted uncomfortably beside him. Lord, she could not imagine Colonel Burwell taking such a stance. Or her father for that matter. Her father would be fearful for every man, feel their deaths as keenly as if each were his own son. And he would not blame an adjutant for the failure, either. No, he would take full responsibility, not point the finger at an underling. Just as Colonel Burwell would take full responsibility.

Was it this tendency, she wondered now, which had prevented his promotion to Colonel? He was bitter that Tavington had been raised while he was left to linger as a brevet Lieutenant Colonel, but if what he was saying now was anything to go by, she could well understand why.

Again, she held her silence, feeling that was the wisest course.

"How they managed to get so close…" He was saying and Beth pushed her thoughts aside, focusing her attention on Banastre. He was genuinely grieving his dead; for him, tonight had been an utter disaster. "Past my pickets, my sentries - how could such a force come within such close range, with no alarm raised? Christ, if I discover a single man had been drinking while on sentry duty, I'll have him striped! I've commanded Whitty to begin a full investigation."

Beth swallowed, hard. A full investigation - that could not bode well, especially if Whitty managed to uncover her father's involvement in the battle.

"Beth, my darling, I need you," Banastre whispered, drawing her closer. "Please, my darling, help me to forget…"

"I…" He wanted to couple now, she knew from the intent look in his eye. He leaned in and began to kiss her, one hand winding through her hair. She drew back, her lips inches from his. "We haven't talked about George," she said. She'd come to know Banastre fairly well and she recognised something flare across his face, stifled as quickly as it'd come.

Irritation.

"Beth, so much has happened since then," he said, cajolingly, in a voice filled with warmth and need. "We'll talk of him, I vow. But I need you now," he was kissing her again and rather than feel the rise of arousal, all she could think was that he was dismissing what he'd done. He'd swat away George's death as quickly as he would a fly. "I'm in such agony," his lips were at her neck, wound hand wound through her hair, the other trailing her arm. She felt frozen, uncertain. "Give me something else to think about, than all this death. Please, Beth, help me take it all away."

He wanted to find comfort with her between the sheets.

For his dead and wounded men, there could be no comfort. For George, there could be no comfort. But for Banastre… A quick rut with a woman and he would forget all the pain and anguish of the disastrous attack. Sixty men dead and more wounded. George Howard dead, by Banastre's hand.

And he wanted to couple.

"I'm sorry, I can't stay. Susan is too restless tonight, she's having nightmares after the attack," she lied, drawing back and rising to her feet.

"Beth -"

"It's too risky, if she wakes up and finds me gone, she will try to climb into bed with my father and that will make him question where I am," she said, ignoring his attempt to draw her close again.

"Perhaps when she settles?" He asked her, sitting up as she got dressed.

"Yes, perhaps. If she starts sleeping more soundly," she let him kiss her, she even kissed him back, but she would not let him pull her back into the bed when he tried. Instead, she left him, after he made her promise she would return to him during the night, when Susan settled.

* * *

The following morning, Beth lay in bed, wondering what Banastre was going to say to her, about not keeping her promise. Several times she awoke in her chamber, and each time, she imagined Banastre waiting for her in his. But she had no intention of going to him. When she rose, it was only to pass water, before climbing back into her own bed again. He was bound to be worried, he was bound to be wondering why, and he was bound to ask her. She wondered what she would say, when he did.

Mila entered and helped Beth and Susan to dress for breakfast. Despite the devastation beyond the houses windows, Beth realised as she walked down to the dining hall, that she was feeling better than she had in days. Her father had forgiven her. A load had lifted from her shoulders, she hadn't realised just how heavy it was until it was gone. She felt so much lighter now and while she still felt that awful, bone deep shame for hurting Harry Burwell, she did not feel any where near as heavy as she had.

In contrast, Banastre looked as though he were carrying a mountain. He came to sit at the table beside her as the others filed in. His gaze searched hers but he was unable to ask the question on his lips. Why hadn't she come to him? She made an offhand comment about how terribly Susan had slept, tossing and turning and waking all during the night. Beth met Banastre's eyes and he nodded, understanding and accepting her reason for not returning to him. Susan had cocked her head, clearly surprised to hear this, for she remembered none of it. Because, of course, it never happened, Susan had slept quite soundly.

Servants entered with tureens and platters and when his plate was full, Banastre stabbed at his meat with his fork.

"A Goddamned disaster is what it was," Banastre complained. Hanger and Whitney nodded agreement, all of them looking haggard and ill kept. "I've lost more men, they succumbed to their wounds during the night."

Beth glanced at her father and away again, meeting his eyes only fleetingly. She saw no triumph, no pleasure. Her father had done what needed doing - dealt Banastre Tarleton a blow.

"How many died, Colonel?" Benjamin asked from the head of the table.

"Seventy," came the ground out reply. "Seventy men in one raid. Those camped on the road - they were caught between those damned fences. Captain Mallard could not form up and respond - nor could they get through the fences to escape. They were lined up for the slaughter - and they suffered the most damage. Thirty from their unit - including two Officers."

The family fell quiet, sobered by the Colonel's harshly spoken words. It was a victory for the Patriot militiamen - but not one they revelled in.

"As for the other unit which came under fire, they suffered forty casualties."

Hanger, Whitty and the other Officers were just as furious as Banastre, despite their fatigue. They began discussing the attack, and as Benjamin had predicted, they assumed Burwell was behind it.

"I've never fought him before," Banastre said now. "I had no idea of the full measure of the man. But by gods, the mind behind this attack was a bloody military genius."

Beth glanced at her father again, in time to see her father stifle a smirk. A sudden round of coughing from her brothers and the older men, Beth knew, was to cover their scoffs and laughter. It was subtly done and stifled quickly - Banastre and his Officers were too caught up in their woes to have noticed it.

"Yes, after this, I do not believe we should under estimate Burwell," Hanger nodded as he stabbed a piece of bacon with his fork - as if Hanger was wishing the bacon as Burwell himself. "Colonel, we have to find him -"

"And we shall," Banastre said shortly and from the corner of her eye, Beth saw her father grow still. There were sure to be plenty of tracks leading away from the battle, but none would lead the Dragoons to Burwell. It would be to Benjamin's militiamen, instead. He was suddenly worried for them, she knew. "Christ - Cornwallis," Banastre continued. "He will have my head for this. That damned fool Mallard, camping between the rail fences!" Warmth crept over Beth's face and she shifted uncomfortably as Banastre placed the blame on his Captain again. In front of her _father_, who never would have done such a thing.

"White wash the report. He doesn't have to know every detail," Hanger shrugged and Beth's jaw dropped.

"You'd lie on your report?" Thomas gasped, aghast. All eyes turned to him and he shrunk back into his chair. Having spoken without thought, as usual, he wished he could've had the words back as soon as he said them.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Banastre admitted. He seemed to make a decision, Beth watched a change come over him, a sort of shaking off of his grief as he tried to embrace a sunnier disposition. Even is voice was light, as he said, "so, young Mr. Martin. I've heard you wish to join the army. The Green coat of my unit would look good on you, I think."

Benjamin straightened in his chair, seeming to grow ten feet tall without moving. He set his cup down, his eyes fixed on Banastre Tarleton. From Thomas there was shock, and then pride, that even an enemy Commander would consider him worthy.

"Colonel!" Beth gasped at the Banastre's side. Her eyes narrowed and she said primly, "please, Sir, kindly refrain from recruiting my brother to your Dragoons, if you don't mind!"

"Beth!" Thomas hissed from across the table, concerned she would incur the Redcoat's anger.

"It's not as though he doesn't know we're Whigs," she snapped right back, ignoring Banastre's suddenly flat stare. "No - Blue would suit my brother much more than Green."

"Is that right?" Banastre murmured, gazing at her steadily. "A Continental Blue coat…"

"That is not going to happen," Benjamin spoke up, drawing the Colonel's attention away from his daughter. The damned silly child, speaking of rebellion so openly to a British Officer! Benjamin bristled, glowering at Beth until she blushed crimson. Only then did he shift his gaze back to Banastre, "Thomas is only sixteen and can not join without my permission. Which he certainly will not receive anytime soon," he said firmly, his stern gaze taking in Beth and Thomas both. "One of my son's wearing the Blue is quite enough - I have no desire to lose another. Not to Burwell's force - or to yours, Colonel Tarleton. Thomas will be seventeen in a matter of months, but by then, the British will hopefully have pushed into North Carolina. Your force and the Continentals will be far from here, and my son will have a difficult time of joining either side - I damned well hope."

"You protect your family well," Banastre inclined his head in respect.

"I hope all this talk of us being 'whigs', has not offended you," Benjamin said now, shooting another glare at Beth, who swallowed hard and lowered her eyes. "While we do have sentiments in that direction, I myself had no desire to go to war with England. There are several things I'd like to see changed here in the Colonies, and I believe that if we were allowed a Colonial representative, involved with the decisions in Parliament, these changes could be achieved. There was no need for all this blood shed and war."

"No offence taken," Banastre said graciously. "I've been informed that you voted against the war. What things do you want to see changed?"

This was asked in a conversational tone, with no animosity or judgement. Benjamin chose to answer likewise. They were nothing more than two Gentlemen discussing politics over a fine meal.

"We are the descendants of Englishmen," he began. "And while we have carved out a place in this new world, we still call ourselves Englishmen. Well, many of us do, anyway. Not all. Anyway, we've been at this for over a hundred years now, the Colonies run quite efficiently, I believe. With the occasional assistance from the Crown of course - without England's commerce, without its military might answering our call when we have had the need, we could not have done half so well," he acknowledged and Banastre inclined his head, showing his agreement. "Savages would have taken us over, the French might have as well and let's not forget the Spaniard. The Crown has sent its fleet to protect us many times throughout the decades, I acknowledge this. We are speaking of what I would change, however. Here is one for you - England has its own troubles, one of the largest is its crime. Your prisons are full to bursting and what does His Majesty do? He sends those prisoners here, as indentured servants, to work off their sentence. Many of those people are decent enough - they've fallen on tough times and in coming here, are being offered a better life. But many of them are not decent people at all. Murders, thefts, and other atrocities I will never speak of in front of my daughters, have been increasing steadily in the Colonies since His Majesty began sending us his leavings, and I for one would wish to see this stopped."

"Understandable," Banastre nodded thoughtfully - he himself would not have wanted to see those same convicts thrown amongst the innocent populace of his beloved Liverpool.

"But as I said, I do not feel so strongly that I would wish to go to war for it," Benjamin continued. "I believe my fellow Colonists were rash in their declaration. Rash in their alliance with France. Christ," he shook his head and tightened his lips. "We just fought the French bastards twenty years ago! You keep calling me 'Captain', for you know damned well I fought in that war. Do you know how many scars I have - given to me by Frenchmen? How many friends of mine met their deaths at the end of French swords? And now they are our friends? Bah," he growled. "The damned Frenchies don't care one bit for our Independence. They are only involving themselves with us to force you to split your fleet, to weaken the British presence threatening France. If Cornwallis and Clinton are here stifling a rebellion - they are not helping to subdue the Frenchies, now are they?"

The men - both British born and Colonial, all chuckled quietly - united in this moment by their disdain of the French.

"Here, here," Hanger said, raising his cup of water and drinking it down as though it were the finest wine.

"In that, I can only agree with you, Captain Martin," Banastre nodded. "The French are using the Colonies to divide His Majesties forces. But enough Colonists are willing to over look being manipulated thus, it it will help meet their own ends. I think you're the first Whig I've spoken to, who sees it so clearly. I've only ever heard that sentiment - that the French are using you - from Loyalist Colonialists."

"Well, Whigs have brains too, don't you worry," Benjamin smirked. "Some of us do, anyway. We certainly know we're being manipulated. And we're going to owe those bastards at the end of the war - another thing about this affair that I despise."

"Being in debt to the French?" Banastre laughed.

"Just so." Benjamin muttered darkly.

Their amusement and unity was short lived, with silence descending as both parties remembered that they were enemies also. This fact would not be forgotten - not by Benjamin and his comrades, who had attacked Tarleton's force only the night before. Banastre's mood began to darken, as he brooded over the deaths of his soldiers. Seventy, and the number was still climbing. It was now imperative that he find the enemy Colonel and subdue his force, taking the Colonel himself captive. If only he could bloody find him. Another item that weighed heavily on Banastre, was the inevitable report he must present to Cornwallis, explaining how seventy of his men were killed in a night time raid, when he hadn't captured a single enemy. He didn't even know if any of Burwell's force had been wounded or killed.

Conversation finally started up around the table again - soft and stilted as it was. After a while, Abigail slipped into the dining hall. She glanced about apprehensively, clearly uncertain of who to address, Benjamin Martin - or Colonel Tarleton. For a British soldier had arrived, bearing messengers for Tarleton. She settled on addressing Benjamin - he was the Plantation's master, after all.

"Mr. Martin," she announced as she stepped aside to give room for the newly arrived Officer. "This is Cornet Carter, he has missives for Colonel Tarleton."

Cornet Carter was already approaching Banastre in any case, and the Colonel rose to meet him.

"Missives from Cornwallis, Sir!" The Officer said crisply, handing the bundle to Tarleton.

"Thank you," Banastre took the leather packet and pulled the ties to open it. Picking up the first missive, he began reading at once, right there at the table.

"Cornet," Benjamin invited to the still standing Officer, waving his hand toward the food on the table. "Are you hungry, Sir? Please, help yourself."

"Thank you, Sir," Cornet Carter said gratefully and took a spare seat beside young William. "That's kind of you - I've ridden all night to get here and I am starved."

Despite being half starved, he dined with the manners of a Gentleman born, and answered Hanger's questions between bites of food, as Banastre read through his letters.

Though he tried not to watch Tarleton, Benjamin noticed the slight changes in the Officer. The Colonel's face was darkening as he read, his grip on the parchment was almost crushing. Clearly, the news Tarleton was receiving was not welcome, not by far.

Foreboding twisted Benjamin's stomach as he tried to guess at what the news was, to make the young Officer so clearly inflamed. Benjamin was not a man to take fright easily - but then the Colonel slowly lifted his head. Their eyes locked dead across the table and Benjamin felt a jolt of terror at the fury he saw blazing from Tarleton's flashing eyes.

"Hanger," Tarleton commanded coldly as he slowly rose, never breaking his gaze from Benjamin's, "seize Captain Martin."

* * *

Hanger and Whitty wasted no time in obeying Banastre's command. The Colonel was already striding the length of the table as his subordinates lurched to their feet and bore down on the Captain, who could only watch them, too stunned to rise. His family were equally stunned but rallied fast and began their predictable protests, but Banastre ignored them all as Hanger and Whitty seized Martin and hauled him to his feet.

"Secure him in a chamber for questioning," Banastre stated loudly over the cacophony of noise coming from the Martin children and the older men. The newly arrived Cornet Carter watched with astonishment, his fork poised in the air, as Banastre followed his men into the corridor. A frantic Beth rushed ahead of her family, meeting Banastre in the hallway. She grabbed his arm and tried to turn him. He jerked his arm away and ignored her, his eyes on Benjamin and no one else.

"What are you doing?" She shrieked, trying to catch Banastre's sleeve again. "Banastre - this is outrageous!"

Benjamin, who did not struggle in his captors grip, managed to stop their fast march away from the family.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded, hoping that Hanger and Whitty would allow him to stop for long enough to receive an explanation from Tarleton. They did not even stop. He was marched out of the room and, as Tarleton had commanded, was placed in the small sitting room the children used to learn their numbers and letters. Hanger and Whitty stayed in the room with him, he would have to tackle them both to escape and after that, he could not get far. He took a seat by the window and waited tensely, wondering what the hell was going on.

* * *

"I will speak with you first," Banastre snapped at Beth. "Alone."

Banastre advanced on her, and she continued to shy away until she was backed into Rollins. He barely acknowledged the older men, all of whom watched tensely, as though ready to do violence. By now, the halls were crawling with Banastre's Legion - Officers and soldiers who had taken up position. He did not need to worry about reprisal from the men of the Martin family - there was not a damned thing they could do.

"Please don't hurt my sister," a quiet, trembling voice begged. Banastre spared a quick glance downward at the pretty little girl - Beth's youngest sibling, Susan.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt her," he grated, his harsh voice not reassuring the family at all. Seizing Beth's arm, he pulled her away from her would be protector. "I'm merely going to ask her a few questions, is all."

Beth whimpered as he guided her - she made no protest, did not pull away, nor did she flail at him with her temper. Which was good, for at that moment, Banastre was not in the mood to tolerate any of it. Shoving her into her father's office, he slammed the door behind them, then locked it for good measure. With her arm finally released, Beth stumbled to the settee, where, overwhelmed, she collapsed in a heap, her body wracked as the sobs began.

The Colonel watched her steadily, his arms looped behind his back, the key to the door dangling from his fingers.

"What's happening, Ban?" She asked between sobs. "P-please, you're frightening me!"

"The innocent don't have anything to fear," he told her, dropping the keys onto a side board with a clatter. "The letter I received just now was to inform me that Colonel Burwell has intentions toward Camden and has been raising militia forces and gathering in scattered Continentals to support him in the taking of it. What do you know of it?"

"Me?" She squeaked. "What… what c-could I p-possibly know of it?" She asked, still sobbing.

"You have every reason to know of it," Banastre replied, approaching her with a cool, calm air. Beth huddled into the corner of the settee as he stood over her. He made no threatening moves, he didn't need to. His fury was plain, and was all the threat he needed. "Burwell was here for far too long to have not mentioned his design on Camden, Beth. To you or to your father. The two of you have withheld information, your actions are treasonous."

"But we didn't know!" She said and he studied her, certain she was lying and infuriated by it. "My father, he knew nothing, he is innocent."

"How can I believe that?" Banastre snapped. "Your father - close friend to Burwell - his former Captain! You were engaged to Burwell - the close connection can not be denied! You expect me to believe that in all the time your family spent with him, that Burwell said nothing - NOTHING - of his intention to seize Camden?"

"Please - Ban, you must try to understand!" Beth drew a ragged breath. She tried to force herself to calm and when she could trust that her voice would not break again, she continued, "my father wants nothing to do with this war. It's been a bone of contention between him and Colonel Burwell for years now," she began desperately trying to weave truth and lies together, praying he could not tell that she was doing it. "Ever since my father announced that he would not vote to go to war against Britain! He wanted only to protect his family but the vote went against his wishes - South Carolina joined the war. It was a blow to him - made even worse when my brother up and joined the army, despite my father's disapproval. All of this combined caused tension between Burwell and Papa. They had words back then, their friendship was almost destroyed from it. Over the years, they have found an accord with one another, but if either one mentions the war, they start to bicker! And so they just… don't. While Burwell was here recently, despite the soldiers camping here, the two barely spoke of the war at all. The only exception was at the very beginning of his stay, when Burwell expressed his desire that Papa join him. When he was pressed the issue, Papa lost his temper, refused, and that was that. They spoke of it no further."

"Burwell wants to recruit your father?" Banastre snapped and Beth clamped her mouth shut, fearing she'd said too much. "Answer me, Beth!"

He barked this command and Beth cowered away from him, fearing his fury.

"Yes," she whispered. "As I said, Burwell pressed him but when Papa refused, yet again, he backed down and let it alone. Please, Ban - you must believe me! You must see how perfectly reasonable it was for Burwell not to mention plots to my father while he billeted here! Papa's stance has caused Patriots to be wary of him, suspicious that maybe he can't be trusted. And I do not believe Burwell would have put my father in that situation in any case. He knows my father wants to protect us, so telling him about his plots and plans would only put my father in a situation where he would have had to decide between holding his silence and committing treason, or revealing Burwell's actions to the nearest British soldier. Either way would be dangerous for my father and Colonel Burwell simply would not have put him in that position. When he was here, they spoke of our engagement. They reminisced over battles twenty years old. They spoke of friends long dead - and they spoke of their late wives! They drank whiskey and sang stupid songs out of key. But they did not - at any point that I am aware of - discuss the war."

Banastre was reflective for a moment, as if trying to decide if her argument had merit and Beth wondered if she had gotten through to him.

"Which brings me to you, Beth," he said, his voice thick with suspicion. "Did Burwell tell _you_ of Camden?" Banastre stood over her rigidly as he challenged her and Beth quailed into the back of the chair. She shook her head wordlessly, staring up at him wide eyed. Though she had known of Camden - she was speaking truthfully just then, for she had learned of it from her Uncle Mark, well before her reunion with Colonel Burwell.

"I do not believe he is the type of Commander, who would share such with his wife, much less his fiancé," she whispered up at him, hoping against hope that he believed her. Her fingers shook as she reached out to take hold of his hand. "Ban, please. What you're saying… if you think he's guilty, you'll hang him. You can't. He's didn't know, you must believe me!"

"I can't tell if you're telling me the truth or if you're lying to me to save your father's skin!" Banastre glared down at her, though he did not pull his fingers from her grasp.

"I'm telling the truth _and_ I'm trying to save my father's skin!" Beth said, her hand falling to her lap. Lord, to deal with all this now - from her lover no less! Her father could hang. George had died only two days before. And Banastre had told her that her Uncle had been murdered - by other Patriots! The grief was overwhelming but she could not even deal with it just then, for she was busy trying to keep her father's neck from the noose! It was all too much for Beth and fresh tears spilled over now. She began to cry and Banastre sighed sullenly as he stared down at the top of her head.

In the event of discovering a spy, his duty was clear. He had hardened himself to a woman's tears over the years as he carried out the grizzly duty of meeting out punishment to the guilty. But this was Beth - the woman he loved, and he felt moved by her now. Still, he would hang her father without hesitation, if he proved guilty of treason. But there in lay the problem - for Banastre now had doubts. He had been so certain of Martin's guilt, and of Beth's also. But in the face of Beth's arguments and pleas - he found he was conflicted, undecided, as to Martin's guilt. Beth's reasoning was sound, and he could indeed understand how two friends - who disagreed on a subject as heated as the war, would avoid discussing it at all in an effort to avoid conflict between them. Dare he believe her? What if she was lying to him? Or what if she was speaking in ignorance? What if, in not hanging Benjamin Martin, he was allowing a rebel - guilty of treason - to walk free?

"Very well," he said as he sat down beside her. "I am not entirely convinced of his innocence, but I am not entirely certain of his guilt, either. I must question him, if his story is the same as yours, then I will know, and I not hang him."

"Oh, Ban!" Beth gasped and threw herself into his arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She said over and over again as she wept against his chest.

"I haven't questioned him yet," he muttered darkly even as he snaked his arms around her body and held her close. "If he is guilty… I will do my duty, Beth."

"He isn't," she said, holding him tight. "Gods, you must believe me."

He cupped her face, guiding her to lift her head and with his thumbs, he dried her tears. He started gravely into her eyes and she stared back.

"You are telling me the truth, aren't you Beth?" He asked her, watching her face carefully.

"Oh, Ban, I am," she whispered. "And so will he."

He nodded. Still cupping her face, he bent his head to hers and began to kiss her, tasting the salt from her tears on his tongue.

* * *

Sated and calm after coupling with Beth, Banastre faced Benjamin Martin.

Beth was still seated on the chaise, though her skirts were back around her ankles and her hair was again neat and tidy. No one would guess that only ten minutes earlier, Banastre had finished himself off between her legs, his cock quivering against her body, his breath panting against her ear. Both were again composed, though Beth was quiet as the grave, her hands in her lap, her eyes on the floor.

Benjamin was seated across from Banastre, who began the questioning. He had instructed Beth to not say a word, he did not want her giving any hints to her father, as to the testimony she'd given him before their coupling. If their stories matched, then so be it. But he would not suffer her leading her father to the correct answers. Benjamin Martin was seated in such a way that his back was to his daughter - a deliberate move on Banastre's part. There would be no signals passed between them, none at all.

"The letter I received was to inform me that Colonel Burwell has intentions toward Camden and has been raising militia forces to support him in the taking of it. What do you know of it?" almost word for word what he'd said to Beth.

"I know of no schemes," Benjamin replied. "Burwell and I do not discuss the war."

Which was exactly what Beth had told him, a short while earlier. Banastre stared, conflicted. Had she been telling the truth, then?

"At this very moment, my men are preparing to leave," Banastre said. "My belongings are being packed, we ride to support the fort at Camden. But I vow to you now, Mr. Martin," he said softly. "If I discover you are lying my affection for Miss Martin will not prevent me from hanging you before I go."

"Banastre -"

"I told you to be silent, Beth. If you are unable to obey me, I will send you from the room," he snapped without taking his eyes from Martin. To him, Banastre said, "I will put the noose around your neck myself - and have you hung in that apple tree you're so fond of. Your wife is buried there, is she not? Beneath the tree?"

"She is," Benjamin replied, his voice shaky as he thought the worst - would he use knives to dig for the information? The tip of a piping hot poker?

"You will die - right there - with your feet dangling above her cold grave. Is that clear?" Banastre said, and Benjamin knew it was no threat. It was a warning, the Colonel would follow through with it. He would hang, above Elizabeth's grave.

"It is. I assure you," he swallowed again and drew a much needed breath to steady his nerves. "I knew nothing."

"I find that very difficult to believe. Burwell quartered here for far too long, for his intentions to go unmentioned."

"I understand why you would be suspicious, I would be too, if the tables were reversed," Benjamin threw his hands wide. "But what can I tell you, that will convince you? Yes, Burwell quartered here. But as I said, we stopped discussing the war a long time ago. I refuse to speak about it to him, for it only ever ends in argument."

"Why?"

"Because he wants me to join, that's why," Benjamin said. "Burwell wants to recruit me. He is like a dog with a bone. His continual attempts annoy me, as much as my continual refusals annoy him. It only ever leads to disagreements. He's finally given up on me, thank God Above. It's still a subject of contention between us and therefore, for the sake of our friendship, we began to avoid it altogether. I wanted my daughter to marry him - they were engaged. That's what we spoke about. Our families, and what the future would be like, when they were joined. Look - the truth is, I have committed treason," Benjamin Martin said and Banastre's eyes grew wide. Martin leaned closer, elbows on his knees, voice soft and serious. "You know that I have. I quartered Burwell, I gave him provisions, assistance. You and I both know that that is enough to hang me. But that's all I'm guilty of, Colonel Tarleton. A serious crime in and of itself, to be sure. But the other..? No, I'm not guilty of that."

Banastre watched Benjamin's face carefully, looking for anything that might give the lie away. He found nothing.

"Let me entertain you for a moment," Banastre said. "Let us say you're telling the truth, that you did not know. Now, let us imagine that Burwell did tell you about his intentions toward Camden. Would you have told me?"

Benjamin leaned back, lips tight, chagrined. After a few moments, he finally spoke. "You can't hang a man on a what if, Tarleton. But if I have to answer that then I'd probably say no. I would not have warned the British of rebel intentions." Banastre stared hard at the older man. Benjamin leaned forward again. "Look, Colonel. I'm trying - so damned hard - to stay neutral. But I will be completely honest with you – if it comes down to choosing a side, it won't be yours." He held Tarleton's eyes, even as the Colonel's went cold. "However, at this stage, I have chosen nothing – beyond quartering Colonel Burwell. I have done far more for you, I've quartered all nine hundred of you. I would hope that that would even the score. As I said, I will not discuss the war with Burwell because every time we have in the past, it always comes back to him pressuring me to join and that, I will not do. I get angry with him for trying to recruit me. He gets angry with me for refusing. We end up arguing, so we just don't talk about it. As for him not telling me his plans…" Benjamin shrugged. "It might sound incredible to you - it would be to me, too. I'd be suspicious too. But Burwell… He is not a fool – I'm sure he trusts me, but he isn't going to go telling his plans to someone who is not in his ranks – especially when that someone clearly does not want to know. In telling me about Camden, he would be forcing my hand – forcing me to join. And that, _he_ will not do. He wants me willing. Compliant. Not bitter at having been forced to serve. I don't know what else to say to you, Tarleton. Hang me, if you believe that is the correct course, but know that you'll be hanging me for quartering Burwell and for not revealing his location to the British. Those are crimes here; you won't be hanging me for withholding information I did not have."

Tarleton began drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair as he gazed at Martin, deliberating. His story was almost exactly the same as Beth's, and when it was explained that way, it did sound reasonable. Still, he was struggling.

"He trusted your son," he said, speaking of Lieutenant Gabriel Martin. "And your brother in law."

"Mark Putman?" Benjamin frowned. He was aware of Tarleton's eyes on him, studying is every expression, the nuances in every muscle shift. He tried to keep his face open, innocent, and surprised. That last was not hard to feign at all. "Why would he tell Mr. Putman?"

Banastre cocked his head, his eyes still fixed on Benjamin's face as he tried to read the guilt or innocence there. "Mark Putman - a spy who fled the city - was captured while trying to raise a militia unit to help in the raid. During the questioning, he revealed his intentions toward Camden," Banastre replied bluntly. Benjamin reeled. Beth's head snapped up.

"You didn't tell me that!" She gasped and he gazed at her, face deadpan.

"And Mr. Putman?" Benjamin asked. "What was done to him? I know my brother, he is damned tough. If he was involved as you say and if he was captured, he wouldn't given information of that sort away just for the asking. Was he tortured?"

"Worry for your own neck, Martin," Banastre said. "Besides, what would you do with a captured traitor who you know has information you desperately need? Don't make this personal, Martin."

"How can I not? He's my wife's brother. Uncle to my children," he threw an arm toward Beth. "Is he being given care, at least? Now he's given you what you wanted?"

"I wasn't there, I didn't torture him," Banastre reminded Martin. "However, you should know… on the day of the… questioning… several rebels – with a turn coat British Officer leading them – rescued Mr. Putman and Mr. Rutledge from the prison." Benjamin leaned back, looking vastly relieved. Beth let out a soft gasp, clearly feeling the same. Banastre held up one hand. "However," he continued. "those conducting the rescue turned on Mr. Putman. If I was to hazard a guess, I would say it was for revealing Camden. Mr. John Sumter, cousin to Colonel Sumter, had Putman and Rutledge bought to him at a lumberyard on the wharves. I am informed that Sumter closeted himself with Rutledge, Putman and Watson – once a British Officer, then a turncoat." He glanced at Beth, whose eyes were wide with horror. She had known Watson, they were acquainted in the city. "Rutledge and several of Sumter's rebels were recovered by the British shortly later. Two of those attested that Sumter gave the order to execute both Mr. Putman and the turncoat Watson."

Benjamin's face drained of colour.

"Dear God," Beth breathed, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Your brother in law is dead, Mr. Martin," Banastre said. "Not by our hands, but by your own rebels."

"Jesus," Benjamin rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to wake up from a nightmare. "You're telling me that Sumter killed Mr. Putman. Mark is dead."

"Yes."

"This Watson," Benjamin shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Why was he shot? Was he in on the rescue, or not?"

"It is unclear. The testimonies given by the rebels are that Watson defended your brother in law during Sumter's questioning. Sumter was suspicious of him, being a Redcoat, and I take it he was not going to leave anything to chance. He ordered their executions, his men opened fire. All was confusion, one of the rebels maintained that Putman and Watson were dead, their bodies tossed out the window and into the Cooper."

"Is that the truth?" Benjamin snapped. "Or are these rebels spilling the lies the British told then to spill?"

"Why would they make this up?" Banastre asked.

"To not be accused of murder," Benjamin snapped and Banastre shook his head.

"You find it so hard to believe that Sumter turned on your brother in law, that you think it more likely we would come up with this conspiracy to cover murder?" Banastre scoffed. "Martin, Putman would not have survived long – he was going to be executed for treason. It would have been quite the public and well publicized affair. Why would we deprive ourselves of that, to shoot two traitors – whose guilt was beyond doubt – in a private chamber where no one else could see? We'd want to use Putman and Watson as a deterrent to others, not have them dealt with quietly."

Benjamin quivered with rage, Banastre was talking sense but it doesn't change the fact that Mark was dead and the only story he had was the one where the British claimed it was rebel retaliation. "Why would the British lie about it? To cause a rift in the militia!"

"That, your rebels have done all on their own," Banastre replied. "No, Sir, we were deprived of the chance to send a very public message – which would have been far more hard hitting than some ridiculous ploy to cause a rift within your ranks, a ploy that may or may not have had any chance of success. Believe as you will, Sir, I've told you what I've been told, discussing it further is pointless."

"Very well," Benjamin agreed, though he was tense and angry and distressed over Mark's death. "What is your decision? Am I to be the recipient of a public and well publicized hanging?"

"While I have the authority to do precisely that, I will not – not without evidence, where there is doubt."

"You have a doubt, do you?"

"Yes, and you have Miss Martin to thank for it. She told me almost word for word precisely what you have told me just now. Your stories match. Either you are both incredibly good liars, or you are telling the simple truth," Banastre finished.

Beth still sat on the settee where Banastre had coupled with her, she gripped the edge of the chaise and stared blindly in stark disbelief, having learned her uncle was dead.

"I will not claim I believe you entirely, " Banastre continued in a stern tone and Benjamin said nothing - just held the Colonel's eyes with his implacable gaze. "But as I have said - I will not hang a man when there is reasonable doubt."

Benjamin inclined his head then, acknowledging Tarleton's words - though he did not thank the Colonel for his clemency.

With the questioning done, Tarleton had one more item to address. He rose from his seat and went to sit beside Beth. He gazed at her for a few long moments, then met Martin's gaze again.

"My last order of business before I leave here," Banastre began, "is to discuss Miss Martin with you."

Benjamin arched an eyebrow.

"What is there to discuss?" He asked Banastre coolly. "She is not Burwell's fiancé and can be of no more use to you as a pawn. Nor do you need to rescue her," he spat.

"Indeed. This is not about taking her hostage or using her as a lure to an ambush or any such thing as that. I wish to discuss her future. Captain Martin, I am asking you for your blessing to marry your daughter."

Benjamin reeled with shock. Of all that had happened - with learning of Mark's death and being faced with his own, potential, demise, this was the most startling, unexpected, occurrence to take place that day. He stared at Tarleton wide eyed, then shifted his astonished gaze to Beth, who looked every bit as astounded as Benjamin felt. Clearly, she had not known this was coming, either.

He rose slowly to his feet. "You wish to propose marriage to my daughter," he breathed, his eyes still on Beth, who seemed unable to make any response whatsoever.

"Yes, Sir. I am in love with her, and have been since the moment I met her," Tarleton began, his voice ringing and proud. "I am about to ride out - I do not know when I will see her again. I wish to secure her - now that she has no other ties or commitments. I am not without means - as an Officer in his Majesties army, I -"

"Killed her fiancé!" Benjamin exploded - his voice boomed across the room with such suddenness that Beth jumped, shaken from her stupor. "As an Officer in his Majesties army, _you killed her fiancé!_ She has no ties, _because you killed her fiancé!_"

"In my defence, I did not know she was engaged to Mr. Howard," Banastre argued crisply, with barely a pause, such was his certainty that his actions had been just. "I did not 'kill her fiancé', I executed a traitor, which is thoroughly within my authority! May I remind you that I could have exercised that authority again today, but have decided not to?"

"You think to use the threat of my own execution to sway me?" Benjamin thundered and Banastre shook his head, that was not what he'd meant. The enraged father continued, "do not think to bribe me, Sir! I would not exchange my life for Beth's freedom!"

"I was not trying to bribe you!" Banastre snapped, his patience pushed to his limit. "I am in love with Beth and wish to marry her. It is as simple as that - all that came before has nothing to do with anything! I am asking you for your blessing, naught more!"

Both men seemed to have quite forgotten Beth - nor did they consider her opinion in the matter. Not that she could utter it either way, she was too stunned.

"This is madness!" Benjamin stepped forward and seized Beth's wrist, hauling her up and away from Banastre. She yelped with surprise as she was manhandled to stand beside her father, who kept his strong fingers wound around her slim wrist even as he glowered at the glaring Colonel. Benjamin began counting the British infractions toward his family, citing them as his reasons to not give Banastre his blessing.

"Not three minutes ago, you informed me that her uncle has been killed. You claim it was Sumter who ordered Mr. Putman's death, but even if that is true, which I am inclined to doubt, then Sumter killed him because he betrayed the Cause. And why did he betray the Cause?" Benjamin paused, his eyes flashing fury. "Because he was bloody tortured, that's why! He must have been, for him reveal what he did! And if that is not enough reason for you, I almost faced my own execution today, because of your unfounded suspicions! You threatened to execute me in the apple tree above my wife's grave!" Beth gasped at this - she'd heard the threat when it was made but it still shocked her now, hearing it again. Banastre shot her a quick, guilty glance. But Benjamin ploughed on, and Banastre's eyes narrowed, fury filled once more. "Beth's fiancé was killed - by your order! Beth's reputation stands on the edge of a knife, thanks to that Tavington's conduct! With all of this - do you think I'd give my blessing for her marry a British Officer, when all of this pain has been caused to me and mine?"

"So this is the answer I am to receive?" Banastre's jaw worked with fury as he rose to his feet to challenge Benjamin Martin. "I am to be denied Miss Martin, because of Colonel Tavington's transgressions? And because you have come to the assumption that the 'British' tortured a traitor? And because I executed some local village boy, while fulfilling the course of my duty?"

"No," Benjamin said, Banastre's words pushing him beyond all reason. "Though those factors play a large part in my decision, you are denied my blessing because, at the end of the day, you, Sir, are a British Bastard and a Goddamned Lobsterback!"

Tarleton drew a sharp breath and quivered with rage. He took a step forward, his eyes locked on Benjamin's, who did not back down an inch. Beth stared at them both, wild eyed, barely able to breathe from the tension.

"Beth," Banastre said, his gaze softening slightly as his eyes fell on her. "I want to marry you. How do you answer?"

"It matters not!" Benjamin snapped before Beth could draw breath to reply. He even went so far as to jerk her back, half guiding, half forcing, her to stand mostly behind him. "Her answer will not be taken into consideration. Nor does it matter how much authority you wield in the army, Sir. My authority over my family - in my own house! - is absolute. And you are denied my permission. Without which, you may not marry my daughter."

Breathing heavily, his body stiff with tension, Banastre stared at Benjamin with his fists clenched at his sides. There was nothing he could do, however. For Martin had spoken truly - his authority over Beth was absolute. Cornwallis himself would not dispute it. While Banastre had been instructed to rescue Beth, the reasons for that rescue were no longer. He could not take her - if he did, he'd have to answer for it to Cornwallis and even to Clinton, who'd given him the instruction in the first place. She was no longer Burwell's fiancé, therefore she was no longer in need of rescuing. His Lordship and the Commander and Chief would most likely force him to give Beth up to her raging father, if he tried any such thing. He could not elope with her - for with Benjamin standing sentry before his daughter, Banastre did not have the liberty to suggest it to her. He was well and truly caught - for all the command and authority he wielded - just now, he was utterly helpless.

"This is your final word?" He asked softly, a sibilant hiss of frustration.

"It is, Sir. If you are to leave for Camden, I suggest you be on your way," Benjamin said firmly.

Banastre paused. He realised in that moment that he had one last card to play, one that would in all likelihood end with Benjamin Martin handing Beth over to Banastre and bidding them both a good riddance. For his daughter was no longer a virgin, Banastre himself had claimed that prize. He could inform Martin of this fact, he could tell the father that his daughter could well be carrying Banastre's child by now, no matter the lengths he'd gone to - withdrawing before coming did not always work. But in doing so, he would be destroying Beth's relationship with her father.

_She would have me_, he thought as he met Beth's eyes. She was shaking her head, pleading silently, as though she understood his train of thought.

_'Beth's reputation stands on the edge of a knife, thanks to that Tavington's conduct!'_

The words rang in Banastre's ears. Beth had been distraught when she thought she had lost her father's regard. Over night, the two had seemed to have made amends and Tarleton knew that if was to reveal his affair with Beth now, it would drive a wedge between father and daughter - force a breach so wide they would never bridge it. Beth would never forgive Banastre for that, just one look at her ravaged, fear stricken face and he knew it at once. And a hell of a marriage they'd have, if the woman he loved hated him, despised him for destroying her relationship with her father, merely to secure her for himself.

He pulled himself back from the brink of speaking the words that would destroy them both - for that was not the way. Their happiness did not lie in that direction. There was another way - there had to be. Banastre would find it.

"Might I be allowed a moment alone with Miss Martin - to bid her farewell?" Banastre ground out through gritted teeth.

"You may not," Benjamin snapped. Tarleton drew a sharp breath and lifted his chin to stare down his nose at Martin.

"May I speak my farewell to her now, at least?" He asked harshly. "With you present?"

"No," Martin said. Beth, however, pulled her wrist from his grasp.

"Please be reasonable, Papa," she said breathlessly, holding her father's eyes as she stepped around him to stand before Banastre. "Let me farewell my friend, please."

Benjamin tightened his lips, but he took a step back, watching intently as Banastre gazed at Beth in despair.

Taking a hold of her hand, he pressed the back of her fingers to his lips, closing his eyes in anguish. Then he reached up to cup her cheek with one hand, his thumb caressing her soft skin as he studied her intently.

"Thank you," her lips barely moved, Banastre had only heard the whispered words because he was standing so close to her. No more was needed, he understood that she was thanking him for not revealing their affair.

"I'll find a way," he breathed, for her ears alone. "I love you."

Before she could reply in kind, her father seized her hand and hauled her back again.

"You've said your farewells," he snapped. "It is time you were on your way."

Banastre gave Beth a stricken look, before sketching an ungraceful bow and striding from the room.

* * *

The two in the office stared at one another in silence as they heard Tarleton beyond, his heavy footfalls carrying him from the hall and out onto the porch. His baggage had been packed and was already on its way with the Legion, and so all he needed was his horse and he would be away. They could him hear him calling for it now, and the grief Beth could hear in his voice caused her to wince.

"What the Devil is it with you and British Officers?" Benjamin fumed, crossing the room to glare out the window at the mounting Dragoons. "This Ensign Nicholas Watson. That Colonel Tavington and now Colonel Tarleton. What the bloody hell is it?"

"I don't know, father," Beth said tiredly, walking slowly to stand at his side. She could see Banastre, now mounted, sitting stiffly as he waited for his men to organise themselves. It'd only been a few days since their reunion, three or four days since Banastre had handed back to her the joy and love she'd been so harshly deprived on. He'd become her everything, her only friend, the only person who loved her. And she had responded by giving him her body. Not her heart, but everything else.

Now, she was glad he was leaving. What had begun as a healing of her soul for her, had ended in bloodshed, torture and death for others. Banastre's men, dead and wounded. Her fiancé, dead. She'd hadn't thought she'd bed Banastre again after that, and she was feeling deeply disappointed with herself for doing so just now. While every other coupling with Banastre had been immensely pleasurable and soul restoring, this last time had left her feeling… _dirty_ somehow. He'd just told her he wouldn't hang her father and the relief and gratitude had been so profound, she had made no objection when he began kissing her. When his desire escalated, she'd felt she had to let him continue. He'd been oblivious to her confusion, why should it occur to him that she was suddenly reticent now, where with each encounter previously, she'd been more than willing? But this time she hadn't been and had only continued with him because she'd felt obliged, she was so relieved and grateful that when he began kissing her, she had felt duty bound to give him the pleasure he sought. A favour for a favour. Spreading her legs to accommodate the man who held her father's fate in his hands. With a shudder, she cringed away from such thoughts, it skirted too close to prostitution. Is that what she was, then?

It hadn't been his fault, how she felt was not his doing. All she knew was, she'd had no intention of bedding him, yet there she was, spreading her legs for him. Not his fault, but it was there, a plague in her stomach, the feeling of dirt on her skin. She'd coupled with him because she'd felt required to do so, required to return a favour. Tit for tat. That was not how their affair was meant to be.

"I thought he would take you by force for a moment there," Benjamin admitted, his voice slicing into Beth's confusing and troublesome thoughts. "I imagined having to travel all the way to Charlestown to put a complaint to Cornwallis."

"Would you have done that?" She asked and he glanced at her in astonishment.

"Of course I would have!" He frowned. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her slower to his side. "Damned bloody right, I would have. These bastards aren't going to take my children from me, not while I draw breath."

"Hmm," Beth sighed and nestled closer to her father. "Do you think it was all true, Papa? About Uncle Mark? Is he… Has he been killed? And Watson!" She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Do you think uncle Mark was tortured - and what of all that about Mr. Sumter?"

"I am not certain," Benjamin's glare was riveted on Banastre Tarleton, who was still waiting for his men to gather into a unit. "I've heard nothing from Trellim, I'll need to send to Charlestown to find out. It'll be some time before we know for certain."

Recalling a conversation long ago overheard, Beth stiffened somewhat, then drew back from her father. At her side but no longer touching him, she chewed the inside of her lip, disturbed by the memory. Several years ago, the South Carolina Assembly had convened, to discuss whether or not they should go to war against Britain. As an Assemblyman, Benjamin was summoned to the council, for his words to be heard and his vote taken. Beth had been there for part of the meeting, she had seen Colonel Burwell stand before the Assembly, and speak of the importance of fighting against the British, of claiming the land for America, of taking charge of their own destinies.

It was not this that had Beth gnawing at the inside of her lip and drawing back from her father, however. After the meeting, Beth's brother Gabriel was one of the first to enlist to the Continentals - which had been one of Burwell's purposes in coming to South Carolina. To enlist. Beth had had to witness her father's fury and despair, his terror that he would lose his son, that Gabriel would be killed. She'd only been sixteen years old, then.

"It's not just the battles, Harry. You know what war can do to a man. This could destroy my son." Beth had heard her father saying later to Harry. The two were seated in the parlour and had been in deep discussion. It was the middle of the night, neither of them had known she had come downstairs for a glass of milk. It had been far too hot to sleep, even with the sea breeze coming in through the window. And she had been far too worried for her brother to sleep. Hearing her concerns voiced by her father, she had stopped to listen at the door. "I'm not just speaking of his death on the battlefield. There are other ways to lose yourself, and I am terrified that that will happen to my son."

"You're speaking of the savages, I take it?" Burwell asked. For a long time, the silence stretched. Beth frowned, for the conversation was making no sense.

"I still have nightmares," Benjamin confided so quietly that Beth could only just hear his voice. "And the guilt…"

"We were at war," Burwell said. "We did what we had to do."

"Their screams wake me," Benjamin said and Beth's eyes welled with tears; she shoved her fist into her mouth to keep from weeping at the desolation in her father's voice. "It doesn't matter if it was war. We burned their homes, Harry. With them still inside. Children. Women. We killed them."

"We were following orders," Harry said, though his voice sounded strained with grief also. "General Harper was a madman. Do you honestly think that I'll give such commands, Ben?"

"Washington might," Benjamin shot back. "He isn't innocent, Harry. He has as much blood on his hands as anyone. It was his family that started all that with the French in the first place. They wanted more land and they started a war to get it. His family, Harry. If not for that, we wouldn't have had a war to join. We wouldn't have ended up burning whole families to death in their houses -"

"General Harper -"

"Gave the order but the blood is still on Washington's hands. On our hands. Do you remember that Frenchman, Ferrand Bisset?"

"Oh, Jesus, don't," Harry groaned, Beth could hear the despair in it.

"John Billings and Rollins held him down -"

"Ben, just stop -"

"He couldn't move. He was pinned, he was screaming -"

"The information -"

"And I carved into his flesh with a knife. For that information."

Beth's knees sagged and she slid down the wall, her fist fully in her mouth now, stifling sobs and screams. Her father had done this?

"That's what war does to a man," Benjamin's voice was as hard as rock. "It makes them not a man. Uncaring. No longer human. That I could do that to another man, that I could burn his flesh, that I could beat him until he couldn't even speak to give me the information you and Harper wanted. That's what it does. And now my son has joined. I don't want him to be like me. I don't want him to become me. He is better than me, Harry. A better man than me."

Beth could hear her father sobbing like a child, she'd never heard him so wretched, except when her mother died. She sat there in the hall, on the floor, leaning back against the wall, and wept with him.

"I'm nearly five and forty," her father said, his voice broken, stuttered between sobs. "And I am still carrying it. I will carry it to my grave. I don't want that for Gabriel. Harry, Gods, you've taken my son!"

Beth could stand no more, she leapt to her feet and bolted, weeping, up the stairs and didn't stop until she reached her chamber.

:::::::::::::;;;

"What is it?" Her father said now and Beth was slammed back to the present. She'd never told her father what she'd overheard. She wondered, now, if perhaps she should.

"I just…" She wrapped her arms around her body and gazed out the window, fixing her eyes on the Dragoons instead of her father. "I heard you and Harry talking once, a long time ago."

"Oh?"

"I don't want to hear a lecture on eavesdropping, papa," she said, shifting her gaze back to him.

"Alright," he drew the word out slowly. "What did you hear?" He sounded nervous, almost frightened.

"You were speaking of General Harper and the things he made you do. The Indian women and children that… were killed. And of a French man named Ferrand Bisset."

"Jesus," he hand his fingers over his lips and stared dead ahead. "I wish you hadn't hear that."

"I'm sorry," she said with a shrug. Four years had past since she'd heard the conversation, four years and her father's constant, stoic presence had worn away the horror of it.

"It was war," he said. "War turns good men into monsters."

"Which is why you were speaking of it. You were afraid Gabriel would turn into a monster."

"He hasn't, and for that I'll be eternally grateful. He is a better man than me."

"You're a good man too, papa," she said, winding her arm through his again. "But for a while, you weren't."

"No, I wasn't. Monsieur Bisset was a spy," Benjamin said, his voice wooden, empty of emotion. "We thought he was working for us, he was our guide in the French lands and… well, we thought he was with us. Only, he was a spy. Everything we did and said was reported back to the French. I don't know why we thought we could trust him, him being French and all. But we did and as a consequence, so many of our own died, in ambushes and battles that came from the information he gave his real comrades. When his true allegiance was revealed, I was commanded to…"

"I know," she said quickly, not wanting him to go into detail. Hearing the desolation in his voice - as raw now as it had been when she'd overheard his conversation four years earlier, she slid closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He shifted, put his arm around her waist and pulled her nearer, grateful that she still wanted to _be_ near to him.

"He was a spy," Benjamin said. "He knew what he was getting into the day he signed up for such duty. He knew the risks."

"So did Uncle Mark," she said softly and she felt her father stiffen.

"Yes, he did," he finally conceded. "But volunteering for such work and knowing the risks, it still doesn't stop me from still hearing Monsieur Bisset's screams."

"I'm sorry you had to do such awful things."

"Me too," he said. "But that's what war does to you. It turns you into something you're not. And entirely different thing, one capable of killing, for the sake of winning. Of causing agony to a fellow human being, for the sake of information. During, you just do it." She felt him shrug. "It's your duty and you know that if you baulk, you could be hanged or shot for disobeying orders. You no longer know right from wrong, moral from immoral. Man becomes demon. It's hard enough during, but when the war is over and you come home again, to your wife and children…" He choked off on a sob. "You were only three years old and I hadn't seen you in two years. You didn't even recognise me. Gods, I didn't recognise myself, I don't know how your mother did. For years, I'd wake at night, hearing the cannons roar and the firing of guns. Men screaming. Bisset, screaming…"

"I'm sorry, papa," she whispered. "War really is a horrid thing."

"It is. Why do you think I'm trying to keep out of it?"

"I know," she sighed.

"I wish Gabriel had chosen the same. But he didn't know. Not back then. I think he does now, though," Benjamin nodded sadly. "He knows now. I would have spared him that, if I could have."

"You tried but he is to headstrong."

"Yes, he is that."

She knew such talk was upsetting her father, there was no point lingering on the man he'd become during that time of conflict. He was a completely different man now, or rather, he returned to being the man her mother had fallen in love with. "I'm so worried… and what about Aunt Mage and Cilla? What if it's true, that uncle Mark is dead? What if -"

"We'll know soon enough," Benjamin said softly. "I'm going to send for your Aunt Charlotte, she will need to be informed at once, whether it's true or not. I'll tell you one thing, if Mark has been killed, I can't imagine that Sumter had anything to do with his death."

"Colonel Tarleton seemed so sure… Why would he lie?"

Banastre had finally noticed the two standing at the window by now. He caught Beth's gaze and stared at her, drinking in the sight of her, so it seemed. Hanger, mounted at his side, whispered in his ear and Banastre reluctantly jerked his gaze away. He raised his arm high, giving the signal to ride out. One last glance, and he rode past the window, his men filing behind him.

"Why not?" Benjamin asked, his eyes fixed on Banastre's retreat, half expecting the Colonel to turn back and do something rash. "To rattle us, to try and make us turn, out of resentment toward Sumter? Never trust them Beth. Do not trust the British."

A few moments later, the Dragoons began to leave the property, turning onto the broad highway, picking up speed as they went. Martin watched them the whole time, making sure the Lobsterbacks were well and truly gone, before moving away from Beth to sit at his desk. He had a letter to write, though he wasn't certain if it would reach its recipient in time. Burwell would need to be warned what had happened - Mark's questioning, which had led to him revealing Burwell's intention toward Camden. And to Charlotte, who needed to be told her brother was dead.

* * *

"How is he doing?" Nicholas asked the old widow Lainey as she shut the door behind her. Mark Putman lay beyond that door, on the only bed in the small house.

"He is past the worst of his fever, I'm thinking," came the reply as the elderly woman lowered herself to the bench across from Watson at the table. "His wounds are far from healed, he won't be able to travel any time soon. But he won't die of them now, I'm thinking."

"Thank the sweet Lord," Watson prayed. Neither had been certain if Mark would live, he had been in and out of consciousness for days, fevered from the infection in his wounds.

"He might even start keeping down his food soon, I'm thinking. I'll make a nice chicken broth for dinner tonight and we'll see how he takes it," she continued. "It's time to get some flesh back on his bones, I'm thinking."

"I agree there," Watson said as he scratched at the bristles coating his chin. He had never desired to grow a beard before, but he couldn't think of a better disguise than the thick fur of a man's face. It itched like Hell though, growing in. He hadn't thought of that.

"You ain't going to shave that off, are you?" The widow said in disappointment, tilting her head to one side to study him critically.

"No, I'm going to keep it. Why doesn't it suit me?"

The old woman smirked. "No more than it does him in there," she jutted her chin toward the door, indicating Mark beyond. "You're both handsome fellows, don't know why you're insisting to cover up your good looks."

"Trying to seduce me?" Watson laughed.

"You offerin'?" She grinned a toothless grin. "I fear me I'd wear you out, even as young and hale as you are."

"You'd wear me out?" He chuckled again as he reached for the kettle to pour himself a cup of hot water. There was no tea to go with it, but it was still comforting to have a hot cup, a luxury that he enjoyed. She sprinkled a few cloves and cinnamon into the cup before he began to sip it and he gave her a grateful smile.

"I might be old, laddy, but yeh - I reckon you couldn't keep up with me. If only you were a few years older, I'd try it too. My husband's been dead too many years to count!"

"You're a scandalous old creature," Watson accused. He had made that observation several times since the woman helped the two of them into the house after Watson rowed them away from Charlestown.

"So, what's your plan, laddy?" She asked, slapping the table with her old, gnarled hand. "You can stays here for as long as you need, mind, but I'm thinking you're wanting to not be recognised so you'll want to lay low."

"I was hoping you'd let us continue on here as we have been," Nicholas ventured. "I'll keep chopping firewood and doing chores for you, and when my friend is better, when he is well enough, we'll leave. Then I'll be buying a couple old nags, if there's any to be had -"

"Prices high even for the oldest," she mused. "What with those damned Lobsters scouring the countryside pilfering honest men's horses. It'd be a hard thing, getting a couple old nags and the price - it'd be high."

Watson wondered what the old woman would do if he was to drop his 'South Carolina' lilt. If she discovered he was a Lobsterback bastard himself.

_I'm not anymore_, he thought. _I'll never wear the Redcoat again._

"Well, that will certainly make it difficult for us," Watson mused then. "About the horses - I don't have all that much coin, but we definitely need mounts…"

"You might have a problem there, with Tarleton having either bought or stole every strong horse they could find. If you do find someone who has one, it'll cost you. Prices might not be as high across the river, though," she said. "Getting into the Santee - now that's the problem when you're travelling afoot. But the troubles haven't reached the Santee yet and horses and the like - everything is still plentiful there. Prices haven't been driven up by Lobsterback's thieving the horses… Once you're there, you should be able to get two horses of far better quality than you would here so close to Charlestown."

"So I just have to get to the Santee," Watson said. That was exactly where the two wanted to go. For that was where Burwell was. Though by the time the two were ready to travel, who knew where Burwell would be then? With the knowledge that Camden was under threat, his former countrymen would move fast against the resistance there. Burwell would need to move fast to get back to the Patriots, to throw in his support.

"Might just have to sit back and wait, see which way the wind blows." For if the rebels lost at Camden, it was anyone's guess where Burwell would wind up.

"You've not got much choice there, I'm thinking," the woman said, jutting her chin toward the room where Mark lay sleeping. "He ain't gonna be ready to so much as rise from that bed to do more than piss in a chamber pot for a few more weeks. Now, I've put it about that he in there is my son in law. Not many around here remember my daughter all that well, she moved away thirty odd years ago and didn't return much before she up and died. Not many around here will remember her husband, and they won't see him much in any case - not with him laid up in there. You're his son, my grandson. They's is gonna see you, I can't hide a big strapping lad like you but they'll believe my story. No need for them to doubt me."

"Thank you," Nicholas said, moved all over again by the woman's generosity. "Your foresight is welcome. And your assistance. I don't know what we'd have done, if we'd landed on some else's shore."

"Well we just won't think about that now, will we?" She reached across the table and patted his hand soothingly. "Never you mind on it. You're working hard for your keep, I'm thinking. Those slaves on the rice plantations don't work as hard as you! I think I've got enough wood to see me through a winter all chopped up and waiting, and you've fixed the leaks in the roof. It's a warm winter I'll have when the snows come."

"I'm just grateful is all. If there's anything I can do for you, you name it and it's done."

"Anything?" The light of mischief entered her eyes. "Well now, there's an offer and a half. Looks like I won't need to seduce you after all."

"Scandalous old woman!" Nicholas laughed. "You're too tempting by far - I'd leave you heart broken."

"Heart broken but happy, Nick," she smirked. "Heart broken but damned happy."


	52. Chapter 52 - Camp Life Begins

Chapter 52 - Camp Life Begins:

_End June:_

Tavington was broiling, despite the breeze blowing past him. While he was thankful for it in Winter, the wool of his Redcoat was stifling in Summer. Sweat beaded his brow and he wiped it away absently. With a purposeful stride, he climbed the porch steps quickly and entered the Putman home. It was much quieter now, with its freed slaves distributed to various tasks and posts throughout the city. And with Mrs. And Miss Putman gone.

The house looked very much the same. Mrs. Putman and Miss Cilla been given enough time to pack their clothing and precious items such as jewellery and the like, but everything else was still here - the small and large furnishings, the many ornaments and paintings that adorned tables and walls.

William and his Dragoons were now leaving also, Cornwallis will be allocating the house to another group of Officers to quarter in. With that in mind, he marched into the parlour, heading straight for the glass case at the end of the room which contained the small miniature oil portraits of the entire Putman family. This was his goal. His purpose for being in the parlour was to retrieve the miniature of Beth. He had left it in the case all these weeks, for he had not wanted to be accused of stealing it, though he had spent many a spare moment gazing at her likeness through the glass. He would not leave it behind - not now that the family had evacuated, not when he himself would never return.

But as he drew closer to the case, he saw immediately that Mage had been there first. The case was empty, the small frames depicting the Putman family members were all gone. He tightened his lips in irritation. It should have occurred to him that she'd take them - they were precious heirlooms and small enough for her to carry. He should have realised it earlier, he should have taken his one - the one of Beth.

"Damned bitch," he said softly as he glared at the empty case. It was too late, Mage was long gone.

"There you are," Bordon said from behind him.

Tavington turned from the case, his face thunder. He hesitated, his lips parted, no words emerging. Richard had raped Miss Putman. And he had let Mrs. Putman dupe him, he'd given away information between the sheets, revealing things he never should have. William had been avoiding Richard ever since, the sight of his Major left him seething. Their friendship had taken a blow, William's opinion of Richard was greatly lowered, and he wasn't truly certain how to deal with it.

Avoiding him had seemed the best course of action, but now the Major was standing before him, looking uncertain.

"Is everything alright?" Richard asked and William knew he wasn't only asking about right now. He was asking if everything was alright between them, he must have known exactly why William had been avoiding him.

Now was the moment. Confront Richard for his rape of Cilla Putman, and his extreme stupidity of falling in with a spy for a lover? Just then, he heard Brownlow calling out a question, and Dalton answering. The corridors were crawling with Dragoons, they were about to leave any moment from the city. Now was not the time.

"She took Beth's portrait," he said instead. "Mrs. Putman." He was loathe to say her name to the fool she'd duped. "Damned bitch," he said, for more than just taking the portrait.

"No, she didn't," Bordon replied, pulling a silk wrapped item from his coat pocket and handing it to Tavington. "

"How..?" Tavington trailed off as he unwrapped the parcel and saw Beth's beautiful, smiling face gazing up at him. His heart skipped and he couldn't pull his eyes away. Instead, he soaked in the vision of her, he would have traced his finger over the plains of her face, if Richard hadn't been standing there watching.

"She saw Zeke removing it from the cabinet for you and she had a fit," Richard informed him. "She snatched it from his fingers and she took all the other ones too. Zeke knew you wouldn't care about those, but he knew you'd want Miss Martin's one so he came and got me, seeing that you weren't here. I confronted her and made her give it to me," he said and William could see how eager Richard was to please him, to get back into his good graces. "It was quite amusing actually, with both of us holding it, her trying to rip it from my fingers. I won that particular skirmish, obviously."

The picture Richard had painted was meant to be comical enough to induce William to laughter.

"Well, I thank you," Tavington said instead, finding nothing amusing about Richard fighting with his former lover, the spy who'd gained so much intelligence from him. He averted his gaze as he folded the portrait in the square on silk and pocketed it.

"How did you go with Clinton?" Richard ventured. William could hear the hesitation in Richard's voice, he was lingering and trying to make conversation in the hope of easing the tension between them. William drew a deep breath and decided to engage in conversation. They had a long journey and many conflicts ahead of them, they would be relying on one another to command the troops and to protect each other in the field. The tension was still there, but Tavington decided it needed to be eased, if they were to work together as effectively as they always had.

"Clinton is sympathetic to Beth and I. He knows I wish to marry her and also feels that she Burwell is being forced upon her. As Martin has showed his true allegiance, he will be treated as the traitor he is. Clinton has written out an order that will allow me to remove Beth from her father's plantation for her own safety. Sumter's intentions to take Beth hostage to be used against me must be thwarted, as must her forced marriage to Burwell."

Tavington had learned from a captured Tommy McCormick, in whose home Harmony had been held captive, that John Sumter had resumed his plot to remove Beth from her father's home, as soon as he learned what Tavington had been telling those in Charlestown - that he and Beth were engaged. Sumter felt that Burwell would end his engagement now, that Beth had as good as declared herself a Tory, and would not enjoy the protection of the rebels any longer. The threat to Beth played on Tavington's fears. In part, he wanted to arrest Martin as soon as look at him. But at the same time, he was praying that Martin would be able to keep Sumter away from Beth, to protect her, until Tavington could remove her to safety.

Luckily for William, time was on his side. McCormick had informed him that John Sumter had removed himself from Charlestown to inform his cousin that their intention toward Camden was compromised thanks to Mark Putman, and to join in the attack. If their paths crossed, William could be presented the opportunity to deal with John Sumter in such a way, that he would never pose a risk to Beth or Harmony ever again. And if their paths did not cross, at the very least, William knew that Sumter wasn't heading straight to Fresh Water, which meant William had a good chance of reaching Beth well ahead of Sumter.

"Three score of militiamen have been sighted riding hard in the direction of Camden," Richard said. "One report states specifically that John Sumter is leading them unit. The information McCormick revealed to Wilkins was correct - no matter what he might have planned for Miss Martin, Sumter is going to support the attack against Camden first."

"The race will begin as soon as Camden is settled for," William said.

"Unless we get him at Camden," Richard replied grimly. "You could always send word to her father to inform him of the threat. Mr. Martin will be on the alert then, and he'll put his daughter in hiding to keep her safe from Sumter."

"And from me," Tavington scoffed. "He'll wish to hide her from me also. Are you done packing? Zeke is almost done with mine and Linda is waiting for me upstairs -"

"Ah yes," Richard said. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone and lowered his voice. "About Linda. Harmony tells me that your mistress is not very pleased just now."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Linda has been complaining about your edict, that our mistresses shall not be residing with us in camp. Harmony said she has been putting up quite a fuss."

"And has Miss Jutland been putting up a fuss also? She can't like that she will not be sharing your tent."

"She doesn't like it but she does understand. Are you certain you won't change your mind, William? I'd much prefer Harm live with me. I won't even be able to keep a proper eye on her - if she is to reside in another section of camp."

"How can I have our mistresses living in the Dragoon's quarters, with the Officer's wives? We've already angered our Colonial brethren. Have you made amends with Cornet Ferguson yet?"

"Ah…" Richard's eyes darted, then lowered. "No. It's been rather busy, I haven't had the opportunity. But I shall."

"See that you do," Tavington's voice dripped disapproval. "In the meantime, we have a slight rift to deal with as it is, and I will not widen it by showing further disrespect toward our Loyalist Aristocrat's. Wilkins will have his wife in camp, as will Ferguson. Wilkins sister will be there, as will the Middleton twins. We will not have our mistresses living alongside them. Our women will not reside with us, and that is final."

"Yes, Sir," Richard said sharply. His Commander had spoken, Richard would obey.

"At least you'll have your lady love close by - you can visit her all you wish," Tavington said as he strode toward through the door and into the hallway.

"If we survive the battle," Richard replied ominously.

"Yes, if we survive," Tavington agreed. He left Bordon and mounted the stairs two at a time. Linda was where he had left her, sitting on Beth's bed in Beth's bed chamber. She glanced up with a bright smile when he strode through the door - showing none of the discontent Bordon had described. Tavington had no doubt it was there, Harmony was not one to lie. His lips tight with irritation, he ignored Linda for the moment. She didn't have any right to complain, she did not have to accompany him, she could remain in Charlestown - he wasn't forcing her to come.

Zeke had packed most of William's belongings while Tavington had busied himself with more pressing matters. He saw that Beth's chest was still in her room, however. The same chest Tavington had found on Mrs. Selton's carriage, the day Beth had fled Charlestown, the day she had slipped away from him.

_Soon_, he thought as he lifted the lid to ensure all of her belongings were within the chest. He knew each item intimately, having gone through the chest so many times before. They would be together again soon. He could feel Linda's eyes boring into his back as he ran his fingers along the smooth material. He ignored his mistress, instead imagining the soft strip of silk clinging to Beth's beautiful legs. _She is mine, damn it. I'll have us married an hour after we're reunited._ He had no intention of coddling Beth - the two would marry - immediately. Before anything else could befall them. Calamity seemed to follow the couple, causing them to separate, forcing them apart, and Tavington was utterly sick of it.

He could not predict what their reunion would be like - she might well fall into his arms, crying and clinging to him, begging him never to leave her. Or she might scream and shout, confronting him with his many infidelities and poor treatment of her and his desire for her fortune. Either was a possibility, there was no point dwelling on which it was to be.

Spying a small, ornate wooden box, Tavington reached in and pulled it out of the chest to do yet another inventory. He did this often, to ensure no one had stolen any of Beth's precious jewels. There were not many. This had surprised him; after learning of her families great wealth, he would have expected her to have more. A few gold lockets and rings, an agate encrusted hair net. She always wore brown adornments, to match the brilliance of her dark brown eyes. His grandmother's ruby pendant was in the jewellery case - he had placed it in the box alongside her other jewels as soon as he returned to Charlestown that fateful day, after the battle at the river. As far as he was concerned, the pendant had been given and accepted in good faith - it was hers.

And she was his, regardless of what anyone thought - her father and Burwell be damned. His need for her, his longing and his love had not abated one bit during the weeks of their forced separation. Dread churned his stomach, pierced his being. His need to race to Fresh Water Plantation and rescue her was so strong - he was almost ready to abandon Camden and risk the consequences. For what if Sumter did reach Beth first? What would he do to her? Would she be forced to pleasure him, as Miss Jutland had? Would he rape her, as he had intended to do to Miss Jutland?

He would, Tavington was certain of it. Sumter's whole purpose in taking Beth, was to get at Tavington. Revenge.

Tavington suspected there was more to it than that now, however. Sumter had failed to rescue Edward Rutledge. Furthermore, according to Mr. McCormick, Sumter's authority did not extend to the ordering of executions. Nevertheless, he had commanded his men to open fire on Mark Putman - and he would have to answer for it, to Colonel Burwell himself. It was all falling apart for Mr. John Sumter. He would be forced to answer for the debacle and for his crimes.

He needed a success, and capturing Tavington would be his attempt at achieving that success. He would try to achieve this, by taking Beth. And it would work, too, Tavington thought now. In the event that she was taken, William would give any concession to have her returned to safety, even if it meant handing himself in to the rebels. He would exchange his freedom for Beth's. And in the mean time - Beth would suffer at Sumter's hands.

William tightened his lips, his fingers crushing the fine silk of Beth's skirts. He had been stroking the ball gown idly but now, as he imagined Beth being raped and tormented by Sumter - all to cause Tavington pain. Such a bonfire of torment and fury blazed through him and his fingers curled into fists. He forced himself to relax his hold, then smoothed the crushed silks as best he could, running his fingers along the smooth material.

Drawing a ragged breath, he snapped the lid closed. He could still feel eyes watching him - Linda, sitting atop of Beth's bed, her eyes flashing jealousy over seeing him obsess over the contents of Beth's chest.

Again.

William ignored her, ignored her hurt and jealousy both.

Having Beth fall into Sumter's hands was a fate Tavington was desperate to avoid. He felt such a pull toward the Santee, toward Hell Hole Swamp where he knew Beth's plantation was situated. Ignoring that pull was agony, but ignore it he did. It was to Camden he would go first, to deal with the threat there.

And then he would gather his Legion and make way for Fresh Water Plantation.

Zeke entered the chamber without knocking. He had been in and out, moving Tavington's packed belongings from Beth's bedchamber to the waiting wagons in the yard outside. The room was almost emptied of the Colonel's possessions - there was only a few items to be carted out now. And Beth's chest - she would need that when he rescued her and bought her to camp.

He was well pleased with his plan to marry her quickly, and he dared to hope that she would be also. Although she would miss her family, she would not be friendless in camp - Mrs. Mary Tisdale-Ferguson would be there with her husband, Colin Ferguson, another of Beth's childhood friends. And Mrs. Emily Wilkins, Miss Sarah Wilkins and Miss Rebecca Middleton. Beth would not be alone - she would be with the same group of close knit friends that she had kept company with while living in Charlestown these two years, and despite what William and Beth had done with one another, they would not spurn her, for she would be married to William.

She would be happy. Grateful even, that he had reunited her with her friends. Grateful that he was so willing to protect her, to keep her safe from Sumter. She could spend her days with her friends and their nights… A small smile quirked his lips. Their nights - would be perfection.

The thought entered his head that he could solve the solution of Linda's fussing, simply by not taking her with him. He intended to marry Beth, he wouldn't need Linda then. But then he remembered her betrayal, her warning Burwell of the ambush William had laid, and he hardened his resolve. He loved her and would marry her, but by God, why should he be faithful when she was not? Beth had betrayed him to Burwell and, therefore, William would not give his mistress up.

"I was so looking forward to living here with you here," Linda said carefully. "I suppose it's fortuitous that I started packing already, but I thought it was to be with you here - in this beautiful manor - not in some little tent in the middle of camp."

Tavington rolled his eyes. Her words confirmed that Harmony had been speaking truth, Linda had been complaining. The two ignored Zeke, who moved about the room, packing the remainder of Tavington's belongings.

"Plans change swiftly - you must become accustomed to this if you mean to remain with me. We won't be in Camden for long either - and we'll not be returning to the luxuries of Charlestown," Tavington drawled coolly as Zeke came forward to lift Beth's chest.

"You're not bringing that, are you?" Linda asked nervously when she realised Zeke's intention.

"I am," Tavington said shortly, then he turned to his attendant and demanded, "Zeke, be careful with it. There are some valuables in there that Miss Martin will not want broken."

"Yes, Sir," Zeke said. The former slave squatted by the chest and managed to manhandle it out of the room without assistance. Tavington turned to Linda.

"William," she said apprehensively, her eyes pleading. "You don't need to bring it."

The Colonel turned his back on his mistress. Standing at the window, he watched his Dragoons milled about, inspecting the wagons, and the horses as they were led from the stables. They would be riding out shortly, to begin the advance to protect Camden. Zeke appeared in the courtyard outside, he had help carrying Beth's chest now - it was loaded in the wagon that held William's and Bordon's belongings.

As he stood vigil at the window, he heard the bed creak and a moment later, Linda's arms were wrapped around his waist, her hands crossing at his stomach. He could feel her eyes on him as she stood with her front pressed to his back. He drew a deep, long suffering breath and puffed his cheeks, irritation stirring within him. She would question him now, question why he felt the need to bring Beth's belongings. Question her place in his life, now that he had caused her to feel insecure. When she began, he tried hard to stifle his impatience.

_You could just be rid of her now_, he thought, then he stifled it. He did enjoy Linda's specialised talents, and Beth had betrayed him to Burwell.

"William… Darling…" She began tentatively. She almost stopped as she felt the sudden tightening in his body and judged correctly that he did not appreciate her interrogating him about Miss Martin. But she had been so certain that with the girls engagement to Burwell, she finally had Tavington all to herself. No longer living in Beth's shadow, no longer having to live with the other woman's ghost. Or so she'd thought. "Will you tell me why you're bringing her chest, my darling? She's not going to be…" Linda paused and swallowed hard. "In camp, is she? Is that why you won't let me live in your tent with you - will she be sharing your tent?"

He turned in her embrace, his face a thunderhead. Linda bit back an oath and released him immediately, taking two full steps back from her enraged lover.

"I've warned you not to question me in regard to Miss Martin, Linda," he commanded, his ringing voice crisp and determined.

Linda swallowed and licked her lips as she stared wide eyed up into her lovers face. She nodded finally. Asking Tavington was not the way to get answers in any case - it was Harmony she should seek. No - gaining answers did not lie with Tavington, who would only become angered and possibly violent.

"Do you understand?" Tavington asked crisply, his eyes narrowed and dangerous.

"I understand," Linda said tremulously. A trace of excitement curled her spine and she licked her lips, almost daring herself to ask Tavington further to provoke his anger. Once they left the bed chamber, they would not be alone again for sometime, days perhaps. This could be their last chance… Her eyes became hooded as she gazed up at him.

Seeing this, recognising the signs of her arousal, his anger eased to amusement - and a stirring in his groin.

"You know she's engaged to another," Linda said knowingly, and she shivered with excitement when she saw his eyes flash. "What's wrong, William? I didn't disobey you. I didn't ask you a question about her," she smirked. "I was merely making an observation."

"In the hope that I'll lose my temper and spank you," he drawled coolly.

"Is it working?" Linda taunted. She wished to inflame him, though she was wary not to prod him too far. His eyes narrowed and she pushed her advantage. With a bright laugh, she said, "oh, I see that it is. So, no questions about your precious Miss Martin. Who I thought you didn't think about any more, and yet here you are, carting her belongings around, taking ever such care of them, as though they are precious to you," her tone took on an edge as her own irritation and jealousy asserted itself, despite her efforts to keep them in check. "As though _she_ is still precious to you. No need to glower at me so, you've commanded me not to ask you questions and so I shan't. But will you forbid me from making observations, also?"

"And what observation would this be?" He asked, taking a step closer to her and smiling cruelly when she cowered back from him, the backs of her knees butting up against Beth's bed. "Tell me this observation, Linda."

_If you dare._

The words hung between them, unsaid.

Linda dared.

"That you're a fool, like all men are fools," she derided him. He arched a cool eyebrow. "Yes, you heard me, Colonel. A fool."

"And why am I am to be named so?" He asked her.

"For wanting what you can't have, as all men do. For wanting it even more, because you can't have it," she shrugged. Then she snorted in derision. "You are pining for an untried girl, and all because she wouldn't give herself to you. No matter that you'd be bored of her in moments, right after shooting your seed in her tight virgin cunt, I suspect," she was deliberately coarse but Tavington did not bat an eyelid. This surprised Linda, she had expected to be spanked by now! She continued, "and yet, you ache for this little girl, despite having a grown woman in your bed, who can match your desires. She is a girl, William. She would not be able to keep up with you."

"And you can?" He asked and she scoffed.

"You know I can. Haven't I been doing so? Isn't that why you've made my your mistress? I'm all you need, my darling. Stop acting the fool - forget this girl child, William," moving forward slowly, she laid her soft hand alongside his cheek and craned her head back to gaze up into his eyes, her eyes seductive and dark with need. "And if you're finding it difficult to forget her, then if you'd like, I'll dye my hair blonde and wear those pretty dresses of hers that you insist on carting about." Tavington's lips tightened and Linda smiled. She was hitting his sore spot now, and she ploughed on relentlessly - growing more reckless with each word. "I'll simper and spread my legs. Then like a typical virgin, I'll beg you not to touch me. I'll play the innocent maiden and I'll even cry when you take my 'virginity'. You can pretend I am her, then you can fuck me until she's out of your system. Afterwards, I'll tell you how wonderful it all was, and I'll call you 'dear heart' -"

Tavington's eyes blazed then and with the swiftness of a striking snake he seized her wrists. Linda gasped as her arms were jerked forward and down at the same time, causing her to lurch and fall, landing to her knees with a thud. Pain flared in her knees, the thick carpet did little to soften the fall. The pain was nothing compared to the agony Tavington was inflicting on her wrists, by squeezing tight, his strong fingers curling around her small bones, crushing them in an iron grip.

"William," she breathed as she stared up at him, her eyes imploring. "Please -"

"You go too far," he ground out, his pale gaze smouldering a blue fire.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did, and we shall discuss it at length later," he squeezed her flesh tighter and leaned down to her, almost nose to nose. "For now, I think you should put that mouth of yours to a better use, hmm?"

She nodded frantically, eager to please him in the hope his anger would ease.

"You need to release my wrists," she whimpered. "I can't open your breeches."

Tavington did not release her, instead he bought her arms together and wrapped the fingers of his left hand around both her wrists, holding them securely as he unbuttoned his breeches with his right hand. His cold, burning eyes held her fearful ones. It was slow going, unclasping his belt and working the buttons with only one hand, but it suited his purposes to be slow about it, for Linda's tension was clearly mounting all the while. As was her eagerness to please him. As soon as his erection sprang free of its confines, she leaned forward and her mouth was on him in an instant. Tavington's eyes rolled and he groaned his appreciation.

He released her hands, allowing her the freedom to provide him with as much pleasure as she was able. Her arms slid around his hips to his buttocks, her fingers cupping his cheeks, kneading gently as her tongue flicked along the length of his shaft. Linda suckled his helmet before her taking his full phallus into her mouth, the head of him butting against the back of her throat. This did not perturb her, it never had. Instead of gagging, she began sucking him in earnest and William let his head fall back, loosing a long, quiet moan. Reaching blindly, his hands found the back of head and he pushed gently forward, rocking his hips back and forth, fucking her mouth as he would her quim.

Which was where he wished to be now, for if she continued to suck him, he would explode and it would all be over far too soon. Gripping her hair, he jerked her unceremoniously away. Linda had enough time to glare at him, before he seized her by her arms, to haul her up and around. Linda grunted as she was manhandled and thrown face forward over the side of Beth's bed. Flipping her skirts up, he was presented with the view of her bare rump. It had always titillated him, seeing a woman's nakedness, framed by her skirts and her stockings - which ended at the tops of her thighs with garters. And Linda was particularly appetising, with her firm backside and slim, smooth thighs.

He ran his hands smoothly over her crescents, gently, softly. Linda shivered and held her breath, anticipating the pain to come. One loud 'crack' and her cheek stung, but she loved every moment. She could feel the moisture building between her legs, and when she felt Tavington's fingers dip between her thighs, she spread them apart, allowing him to feel it also. He pushed one thick finger inside her, pumping back and forth gently and she writhed, moaning, clutching at the coverlet with her tight fists. He continued to fuck her with his finger, even as his other hand came crashing down on her backside again. Linda wailed - with pain and pleasure. She pulled away from his slaps as much as possible, even as she tried to bear down on the finger buried so deeply inside her.

Between slaps, William stroked his cock with his own hand - the sight before her was too difficult to resist, he needed relief. Linda's cheeks were red, his hand prints had become one indiscernible glow. His cock needed to be where his finger was, buried deep, feeling the walls of her quim. He stroked himself, then released his phallus and slapped her again, his hand returned to stroke himself, before slapping her again.

"Ah, God, William!" She cried out, bucking furiously now, trying to urge more from his finger than it could give. "Lord! Fuck me now, fuck me!"

"Do you want my cock buried in your cunt?" He taunted crudely, his eyes riveted on her backside as he wiggled his finger up inside her. "Do you want to be rutted here, like a hot little whore?"

"Yes!" She could not form the words for more. After that initial shout, all she could do was nod frantically, she wanted his cock buried as deeply as he could go.

"I'll fuck you from behind like an animal, hmm?" He whispered, angling himself at her entrance. She nodded again, and he noticed her knuckles were white, she held the coverlet so tightly. Drawing forth his finger, he leaned over her and placed teased her lips open. "Clean me." He commanded. She opened her mouth and began sucking her cream from his finger and the sight made Tavington groan, the feel of her lips and tongue working his digit as she had his cock - cleaning off her own juices. His phallus was seeping by now, he could wait no longer and he pulled his finger away from her lips to grip her hips, then thrust forward, burying himself inside her.

"Fuck," he growled, his hips snapping back and forth as he drove into her with a quick, hard cadence. Linda lifted her backside up, meeting him stroke for stroke. Her groans were muffled by the coverlet and he wondered if she was biting the blanket to keep from screaming. It drove him wild, and he shoved her legs apart further, lifted her hips higher, to push up inside her all the more deeply. Suddenly he could feel her walls tightening around him and he grit his teeth, determined not to let her orgasm milk his climax from him too soon. Linda wailed - completely uncaring who outside, beyond the room, might hear her. Howl after howl ripped from her as she thrashed up against him, with Tavington rutting her through her climax.

By an extreme effort of will, he managed to hold back his own, and when he felt hers had subsided, he jerked back, his cock springing free from her. Reaching down, he gripped the base of her neck with one hand, her arm with the other, and hauled her about, back to her knees again. She barely had time to register what he was doing, before he thrust into her mouth again. This time his hips snapped back and forth with as much force as they had when he was buried in her quim. His hands wound around the back of her head, to hold her in place, as he rutted without a care. Linda sucked him and her tongue swirled around his phallus as best it could, but he was in full control and she could only do so much, with him forcing her head in place so securely. His movements grew faster and more frantic, if that were possible and, sensing he was close, she reached up to cup his balls. She massaged gently and this set him off as she had known it would.

With his fingers gripping her hair, he came, his seed exploding into her mouth. She sucked him through it, swallowing, then licking him clean as she did her own finger. With a long sigh, Tavington finally stilled his movements, his hands still holding her down on his length. He wished to calm while inside her - there was no better place to be just then.

Sense returned, and with it, his irritation. Pulling out of her mouth, Tavington stared down into her glazed, sated eyes, at the ribbon of his seed dribbling from her mouth down her chin. He let go of her hair and wiped her chin with the back of his finger, then reached past her to smear it on the coverlet of Beth's bed.

Still enraged by her words from earlier, Tavington glared down at her, waiting for the moment that reason returned to her, so he could continue their discussion. With one hand still curled in her hair, his free hand twitched to slap her to sensibility, to slap that stupid smile from her lips but he forcibly kept his arm at his side. The two frequently stuck each other during their coupling but that was an entirely different thing - it was to heighten their mutual pleasure, he did not strike her out of anger. The strength of that anger radiated from him and Linda finally sobered. Her eyes cleared and focused and she gulped as she stared up at him.

"Have you forgotten the discussion you and I had, the night you became my mistress?" He asked her softly.

Linda bit her lip and shuddered with pain and fear as Tavington did not release his grip on her hair even slightly. His tone was laced with fury but was conversational all at once. When she made no answer - for she could barely whimper let alone form words, he spoke for her.

"I told you then that I will always love her. That I plan to marry her. That if you became my mistress, you would have to share me, when she became my wife. Have you forgotten?"

"No," she whimpered, her eyes wide and imploring. She continued hesitantly, her voice quavering, "You told me you loved her, but that you were fond of me, and trusted me more than her. And I told you I'd take as much of you as I could get, for as long as I could. But I thought it had changed - that you and she were done. You must be done - for she's engaged to another man now. It's binding."

"Burwell himself has likely ended it by now," Tavington said firmly, releasing her hair so abruptly that she fell back onto her heels. _And Beth and I will never be done_, he kept the thought to himself as he turned sharply from her to resume his vigil at the window. He buttoned his breeches as he stared out blindly. "I want no complications from you, Linda. You will continue to be my mistress," he said without turning. "Whether I am able to marry my Beth or not. I've made it clear from the beginning what I desire from you, what I need from you. If what I am prepared to offer you in return is no longer enough for you, perhaps I shouldn't take you to camp with me after all. Perhaps we should end this now."

"No, no, don't say it's over between us, please!" Linda beseeched as she lurched to her feet and threw herself against his back and held his waist tight. She squeezed her eyes shut and promised, "I won't cause complications, I swear!"

"Very well," he said coolly. Though he was still irritated over their argument, he turned to her and wrapped his arms around her, returning her embrace. "I will not discuss Miss Martin again with you, Linda. From this point forward, she is a closed subject between us. If you wish to provoke my anger so that I will spank you, you will choose a wiser topic."

She sighed with relief and nodded. The tension eased from him, she could feel it drain from his body as his anger left him. When she felt his hand begin stroking her back, she knew he was safe again. Safe enough to broach another problem which had been niggling at her.

"Do I really have to live apart from you, William?" She whispered, her words muffled against his chest. "I was looking forward to living here with you, in this house, before we left Charlestown. But now we're leaving so quickly and I don't want to live in some small tent on the other side of camp. I want to live with you - in your tent!"

"You can't," he puffed out a frustrated breath. "Keeping a mistress in my tent in the same section of camp as the Officers wives would certainly be frowned upon, it will be used against me. This is another thing you need to accept or you simply can't come -"

"No, no," she rushed to assure him. "I was just hoping you'd change your mind, is all. Harmony wants you to as well, she was hoping she could live with her Major. You'll come to me each night though, won't you?"

"Certainly," Tavington scoffed. "I am not bringing you there to darn my socks, Linda. I'll spend much of each evening with you, I might even spend the entire night on occasion."

Linda smiled up at him brightly and he dropped his head to brush his lips across hers.

"Oh, there's one more thing," she said as though she just thought of it, though it had been another thing that had been niggling at her.

"What now?" He frowned fiercely but without anger. "Lord, you're proving difficult to please."

"It's only a minor thing," she stroked her finger along his smooth shaved cheek. "This 'working' business - surely I don't have to -"

"All camp followers are required to work to some extent or other, Linda," he rode over her objection, knowing what she would say. "Even the Officer's wives. There are no idle hands in camp, you lazy chit."

He tapped her nose as he said this and smiled at her fondly as she pouted.

"My job as a camp follower begins when you enter my tent," she smiled back as she reached sinuously between them to rub his semi hard member over his breeches. "I'll be too tired to do work during the day…"

"What rot," he scoffed, swatting her hand away. "If I can spend the entire night screwing you, and then spend the next day in the saddle raiding the countryside, then you can work during the day. Besides, to do otherwise will draw attention to yourself and people will begin to question my presence with you as it is. I'd rather they believed you a common doxy, one that I favor, than to have them know you are my mistress."

Linda curled her lip and blew out an angry breath. "My days of being a doxy are over."

"So they are, my darling," he said, charming her now. "But I'd rather others believed different. If it is any consolation, I have no intention of seeking the bed of any other woman in camp."

"You don't?" Linda gasped, shocked. He had already been unfaithful to her, with taking other women to his bed and she had assumed he would stray at least occasionally! Her heart swelled and warmth suffused her, leaving her feeling giddy with happiness. "You'll be all mine?"

"I shall," he confirmed.

At least until Beth was safely ensconced in camp, and then Linda would have to share him again. Though he said none of this just now, for it was time to leave and he did not want to become angered with her over her jealously just now. The thought settled upon him again, as he held Linda in his arms, enjoying the intimate moment, that by keeping Linda as his mistress - he was complicating his life unnecessarily. For Linda's presence in camp could not be kept secret and when Beth discovered he had a mistress, it would infuriate her. And it would shame her - his wife. And Linda - she would be heart broken and jealous as well.

Did he really need to court all this trouble?

Stroking her back, he stared over her head at the far wall blindly, trying to decide if he did need Linda. He thought back to the night he had asked her to become his mistress. He had been rough on her, taking her far beyond her threshold for pain, and all because he had been crazed over Beth's departure. And Linda had been there for him, offering her what comfort she could, in her own special way. She had let him unleash his fury, had helped to calm his demons. A function she had performed well for many weeks now.

_Beth betrayed me to Burwell and then she left me. Why should I care of the shame or pain my having a mistress brings her? _He thought. _I've needed Linda because Beth left me, and Linda's never failed me in all the weeks she's been with me. Beth has failed me, however. She's betrayed me, left me, forced me to deal with this wretched longing. Christ, if only I could do as Linda suggested. Let her dress up as Beth and fuck her until Beth is driven from my mind. If only it would work…_

He knew it would not, however. He was cursed to be in love with the little rebel, and he would have her, regardless of what she wanted. She loved him - he knew it. But she was scared - of leaving her family. She lacked the courage to fight for them as a couple, to fight for their future. Her cowardice had led to her betray him, and eventually to leave him.

And so he now had no choice but to bend her to his will. He would marry her. He would have Beth, and he would have her wealth. He felt she owed him both - they were his already. But he had made promises to Linda, and he would keep them. He owed her that much, for without her, he surely would have gone utterly mad these last weeks.

If Beth was upset over his having a mistress, she would simply have to deal with it herself.

Once again steadfast in his resolve to keep Linda, he drew back to kiss her for some long, pleasing moments, before offering her his arm and escorting her through the corridors, all the way outside to where Linda and Harmony's carriage was waiting, to take the women to Camden.

* * *

With the need upon them to reach Camden quickly, the Dragoons and the Legion had set out from Charlestown before the rest of the baggage train. The women travelled with the baggage train, on wagons and in carriages. They were worked non stop each time the train paused; helping to prepare food was the most important task but there were plenty of other chores that needed tending. At night, the Legion stopped where it could and camp was set up, the tents erected. The women were not able to seek their blankets however, not for hours later. They would climb into their beds - which was little more than a pile of straw covered with blankets - at ten o'clock, and then were roused before dawn.

It was the second day, late in the afternoon. The heavily protected baggage train expected to reach Camden the following day, to be in position to provision the British Legion when they reached there. The battle may or may not have already been fought - Harmony did not know, no news had come either way.

The August heat was stifling. Wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, Harmony took a moment to catch her breath. It was so damned hot, with the sun blazing down on her head. The cap she wore did little to keep her comfortable, but it was better than nothing at all. The oppressive heat her to sweat profusely beneath her layers of cotton and linen petticoat, bodice and skirts. Sweat dripped down her face and between her breasts, a trail glided down her spine. Working so hard in that heat could cause a woman to faint. She had been roused at the crack of dawn by Mrs. Salisbury - who damned near dragged Harmony from the small wedge then that had been allotted to her.

Mrs. Salisbury - the overseer for the women camp followers of the British Legion. A damned bully and tyrant. The woman had wasted no time in taking control of Harmony and Linda, and setting them to scrubbing cooking pots and dishes, helping with the cooking, changing the bedding in the soldiers tents - collecting their soiled washing, the list had been endless.

All of Mrs. Salisbury's commands were given in a sharp and threatening manner and it irritated Harmony to no end. The woman even kept a large, wooden spoon in her apron - which she used to discipline the women as she saw fit, punishing them for transgressions, by wielding the wooden spoon as though it were a school master's paddle. Harmony had not seen the woman use it, but she had seen Mrs. Salisbury's stern stare, her fingers stroking the spoon, and this was more than enough to make the other women jump to attention.

Pain blazed in her feet, her tired muscles squealed in protest, as Harmony continued on down the tent lined street toward her own canvas dwelling. All around her was a blazing sea of white, the glare of it hurting her eyes. For as far as the eye could see, hundreds of white canvas wedge tents had been pitched in precise, rigid rows, with broad avenues between.

As soon as they'd stopped, washing lines had been strung up on poles and women busied themselves pegging clothes to these lines. Other women fussed at long tables, which had been placed before open sided mess tents, complete with stoves and ovens set up over glowing coals. There was singing and laughter, children running about, chasing after a dog. The noise was comforting, for even though Bordon was not there, she was far from alone.

As worried as she was about Richard - who might soon be fighting for his life in the coming battle - she was also worried about reaching the British Legion. For if she could be this busy with just the soldiers of the baggage train, how much busier would she be when reached the full Legion?

Finally she made it to her own tent. It was tall enough that she did not have to duck to enter. Shoving the flap aside, she stumbled in and dropped to her back on the hay that served as her bed. Nothing as luxurious as a cot - not for a simple camp follower. Harmony had been in the Green Dragoon section of camp earlier, she and a few others had been sent there to collect dirty washing. And so she had seen with her own two eyes how the genteel Officer's wives were living - with every possible luxury they could bring from their homes in Charlestown. Mrs. Emily Simms-Wilkins had bought a divan for her tent! When Harmony had entered Wilkins' tent earlier to take away the woman's washing - quietly so as not to disturb her - Emily Wilkins had been hosting a small tea party for her companions.

A tea party - in the middle of camp!

The aristocratic women were behaving as though they were back in Charlestown, in a genteel tea parlour, the likes of which Harmony had only ever viewed through the window while walking along the street. Emily had even placed a teapot, teacups and saucers, tea canisters and silver teaspoons, spoon dishes, sugar bowls, sugar tongs, a cream jug, porcelain plates and a silver cake stand - covered in scones and other delicacies, on the lace covered table. Despite her surroundings, and despite the drink being in short supply, Emily was chatting away happily, pouring for her friends, all of whom wore their finest silk dresses.

Silk dresses - in the middle of camp!

Emily had bought her cook - which was why they had scones and cakes. The other women had even bought their maids to help them to bathe and to dress, and bind their hair as intricately as if the ladies still resided in Charlestown.

The high Society women had ignored Harmony and her new companions utterly when the girls entered to retrieve the dirty washing. They were not acknowledged, none made eye contact, none offered a friendly smile, the ladies did not even cease their chatting. Harmony, Linda and the others were as invisible to the Plantation Gentility, as they would have been if they were still in Charlestown.

"Jesus Christ, Richard," Harmony groaned as she shifted to get comfortable on her blanket covered bed of straw, "you'd better be back soon to make all this worth it!"

She shifted, but still the straw poked right through the sheet in places, which made her itchy and uncomfortable. Her wedge tent was much smaller than the one given to Emily Wilkins. Though it was tall enough to stand upright in, it was only wide enough for Harmony's blankets and chest. Certainly not large enough for a table and chairs and a divan! It was even hotter beneath the canvas but she desperately needed to lay down after working for most of the day and so she did her best to ignore the stifling heat.

"Mrs. Wilkins and her lot will probably bathe every day," Harmony complained aloud as she stared at the roof of her tent. "I'll probably have to bring their bloody water to them, while I'll have to make do with a splash or two from a barrel!"

That she had to attend the genteel women was symbolic of the continuing division between them - the 'us' and 'them' - that Harmony had thought would be banished now that they were all camp followers. She had thought their station in camp would be equal, that their positions would be levelled, causing those from on high to socialise with those of lower standing. Not even a full day in camp and it had become painfully obvious that that would not be the case.

No - those other women, born of the uppermost families of Charlestown Society would not be forced to mingle with the more lowly born of the camp followers, just as they would not have done if they were still in Charlestown. They had enforced this from the outset, by wearing their finest, by surrounding themselves in the luxuries bought from their mansion, by sitting back and relaxing while their maids did their workload, and while the other camp followers laboured in their work-a-day cotton and linen dresses.

"There you are!" Linda lifted the tent flap and strode in, then she collapsed alongside Harmony on the bed of straw. "I'm so tired."

"I am, too," Harmony admitted. "And look at my hands!"

She showed Linda her fingers, which were wrinkled from washing dishes. Linda lifted her hands to show Harmony - hers were as wrinkled - and dirt caked beneath her finger nails.

"If I have to scrub one more cooking pot, I think I'll scream," Linda complained. "I don't think this is what William had in mind for us, Harm. I think there's been a misunderstanding. I know we're meant to work and all, but not like this! I think that if he were here, he'd put a stop to it right away."

"Perhaps…" Harmony closed her eyes and bought her lovers handsome face to her minds eye. "I miss Richard."

"And I miss William," Linda lamented. "I am so scared for him - what if he is wounded… Or…"

"Oh, don't say it!" Harmony admonished, knowing that Linda was worried that William would be killed if there was a battle. Harmony worried the same, for Richard. She knew only too well how easily a man could die in the thick of battle, just one well aimed bullet or sword thrust… She groaned and tried to push the disturbing thoughts away.

"I know, it's too horrible," Linda agreed. "To change the subject, I think we should tell Mrs. Bloody Salisbury who we really are."

"And who are we, really?" Harmony frowned, turning to meet her friends eyes.

"Why, Colonel Tavington's and Major Bordon's mistresses, of course!" Linda replied as though it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Colonel Tavington forbade us, remember? He gave us explicit instructions that we must be discreet. We are not to tell a soul."

"I know he did, but as I said, I don't think he meant for us to work this hard! And we won't be with him to fix this, not for days yet - can you really put up with all this, until we reach William and Major Bordon? I say we reveal it to Salisbury. I'll bet I'll be put into William's tent - and you into Major Bordon's - within the hour. We'll be drinking tea like that horrid Mrs. Wilkins - and we won't have to lift a finger! They won't stare down their noses at us any more - or ignore us like we're servants."

Harmony began to laugh with incredulity.

"Do you truly believe that? Lord, Linda! We are _mistresses_ \- not wives! Do you honestly believe we'll be treated as their equals? No - we'll be treated even worse than we are now! They'll give us the cut direct! Besides, after being in their part of camp today, I've realised that I have no desire to reside there with Richard - not with those uppities living there. I say Tavington did us a favour by keeping us separate from them. Even the women we've been working with today will look down on us, if they knew that. Like they do the others…"

By the 'others', Harmony was speaking of the few women in camp who did bed various soldiers to supplement their wages. Those women were shunned by the more devout women in camp - both high born and low.

"I don't care what those women think of us," Linda snorted in disdain. "Besides, I think you're wrong. We'll be put into the Dragoon camp right away and would never have to see those women ever again! Except when they come to take our washing away…"

"You're mad," Harmony shook her head. "Even if that were the case - and I can assure you now that it would not be - Tavington forbade us! He does not want his - or Richard's - reputations tarnished. It would be frowned upon - and you know it!"

Linda was about to come back with a mutinous reply but her protest was cut short by a woman's voice bellowing outside the tent.

"Miss Jutland!" Came Mrs. Salisbury shout. "Get your rump out here at once!"

Harmony groaned and sat up slowly, sluggishly, every muscle feeling as though it was moving through thick, cold, molasses.

"You're a bastard, Major Richard Bordon," she muttered as she rose to her feet. "A bloody Major Dick! You could have warned me how horrid the bloody woman is! I'll have sharp words for Tavington too, putting a tyrant like that in charge of us! What the Devil was he thinking?"

"Lord, I know!" Linda bemoaned, rising along with Harmony.

Emerging from her small tent into the daylight, she saw immediately that Mrs. Salisbury had rounded up the others that Harmony had worked alongside all day. All of these women wore similar quality woollens and cottons to Harmony and Linda. None of these women were of Society - none of them wore silks or fine jewellery. Just plain old soldier's wives, daughters and widows, this lot. Their unwashed hair was plainly bound, twirled to the back of their heads and covered with simple caps. Their hands were wrinkly from their work - no soft, smooth skin here. And each one of them wore nervous expressions, especially when their eyes fell on Mrs. Salisbury's.

"Planning on napping the afternoon away are we?" Mrs. Salisbury asked tartly, her hands on her hips as she gazed down balefully at Harmony. "Trying to get your beauty sleep, hmm? Didn't get enough rest on the wagons? Nor did Miss Stokes, it seems!"

"I just wanted to close my eyes for a moment," Harmony explained tiredly, while Linda said nothing.

"You're a soft one, aren't you?" Mrs. Salisbury sneered. "You may rest when I say you may rest. That goes for you too, Miss Stokes. There are too many tasks and not enough hands. Now, Miss Cordell and Mrs. Hopkins," she rounded on two of the women. "You will go and help Mrs. Andrews with the baking. Miss Edwards and Mrs. Hughes, you will assist at the laundry troughs. And as for you two layabouts," she turned to Harmony and Linda. "Let me see… I think…" She tapped her lip as though trying to determine the worst jobs for the two women - as punishment for their transgression. "Chamber pots, I think!"

Linda bristled with rage but before she could speak up, Harmony got in first.

"Isn't it at all possible," she began calmly, though she felt as wrathful as Linda. "That we be given some sewing, perhaps? We have been on our feet all day, as you well know. I am more than willing to work, but right now, I need something a little less taxing!"

"Sewing," Salisbury said flatly. The other women - who had not yet moved off to their assigned tasks, watched wide eyed with apprehension. Miss Cordell's eyes darted with horror to the large wooden spoon Salisbury carried through a loop in her apron. The large and commanding woman eyed Harmony up and down. "Sewing," she spat. Then her voice took on a tutoring quality, as a teacher did when speaking to a youth. "Sewing, Miss Jutland, is a task set aside for the gentle ladies, the Officer's wives who wish to make themselves useful without wrinkling their soft skin or having offensive smells assail their delicate high Society noses. Now. Are you a gentle lady? Are you an Officer's wife?"

Harmony tightened her lips. "No," she said through her ground teeth.

"Then let's just leave the Gentle work to the Gentle folk, now, hmm?" She curled her lip at Harmony, daring her to argue further.

Harmony held her silence, but Linda did not. For all the world, she could not!

Pushed beyond her limit by the full days hard work - and now she was to clean chamber pots? This was not what she had come to camp for. Despite being commanded to not speak of being William's lover, she knew she had to draw the line somewhere and she used the only draw card she had. Despite Harmony's opinion to the contrary, she was certain that being William's mistress would place her in a higher ranking amongst the camp followers, and put an end to all this nonsense! She stepped forward, away from the huddled women in an attempt to distinguish herself as 'other' than them, and planted her fists on her hips.

"Now see here! I'm done with you ordering me about!" Linda snapped at Salisbury, who arched an eyebrow and gazed at Linda from her head to her toes. "I've had all I can take and will tow the line no longer! It is about time that you understood that I am Colonel Tavington's mistress, and as such, I should not have to work at all, and certainly not at cleaning chamber pots!"

"Tavington's mistress, hmm?" Mrs. Salisbury took a threatening step forward. "Well, you wouldn't be the first he's kept in camp and I assure you, I doubt you'll be the last." Linda's eyes bulged at Salisbury's statement and they almost popped from their sockets when the woman pulled forth the wooden spoon that Miss Cordell had eyed so fearfully a scant few moments before. Harmony's jaw worked, her lips tight with frustration as she glared at Linda. Salisbury was not done, however. "Let me be clear here and now - my authority _comes_ from Colonel Tavington himself. None of the other women who have opened their legs for him in the past have been exempt from that authority - and if you were to be, he'd have informed me before he departed! No - screwing the Colonel will not give you any special dispensation! Even Officer's wives work when in camp - and you, my lady, are no officers wife!" Waving the wooden spoon under Linda's nose threateningly, she continued ominously, "I've heard the whispers about you, Stokes. You're just another old doxy - one whose managed to sidle her way in to the Colonel's bed for a few weeks! Get it through your head, here and now. You are under my authority and will work where I say, when I say, no matter whose cock you ride on at night!"

The other women quailed and fell back, some of them gasping with shock at Salisbury's use of coarse language. Harmony just watched in incredulity and fury, that Linda would flout Tavington's own command and reveal herself as she just had!

"As for you not cleaning chamber pots," Salisbury continued, her voice loaded with threat and disdain, while Linda spluttered and tried to think of something to say in response. "I can think of no better work for Colonel Tavington's whore! Why should these honest folk" - she pointed at the other women, all of whose virtues were without question - "be forced to the scuzzy work when there's whore's in camp? Screwing Tavington you might be, but you are made the lowest amongst us for it!"

"You dare speak to me like this?!" Linda, finally finding her voice, spluttered with outrage. "I will tell William! Just wait and see! You'll be dismissed from this post at once!"

"Tell Tavington will you?" The woman roared. Pushed into a rage, she snatched out one strong meaty arm and picked up Linda by the scruff of her neck. Linda squealed as she was thrown forward, her arms flailing behind her as Mrs. Salisbury lifted her arm high and with as much strength as she could muster, began to beat Linda on her rump with the rounded flat of the wooden spoon. "Make sure you tell him about this, when you do!" Salisbury bellowed as she struck Linda, over and over. The loud 'thwacks' were accompanied by Linda's pain-filled howling, and she tried to writhe away but she was held fast - clearly Mrs. Salisbury had used this treatment on the camp followers before. She knew exactly how to hold Linda to keep whacking her, even as the slighter woman twisted and turned in her grip. Finally the beating was over and Linda whirled, red faced and flushed, tears coursing her cheeks as she stumbled back a step when the tyrant released her.

"Go ahead and tell him," Salisbury bellowed - pointing the spoon at Linda, who panted and rubbed her backside, choking and coughing back sobs. "We'll see which one of us is sent away! The woman Tavington himself placed in charge, or his current _slut_? I'm fairly certain my place here is secure, can you say the same?"

When Linda held her silence - she raised her chin haughtily but said not another word in protest - Salisbury rounded on Harmony.

"As for you! I haven't heard a single whisper about you - not like this strumpet here," she pointed at Linda with the end of her wooden spoon. "But you're clearly her friend and like calls to like! So tell me now, are you the mistress of some great Commander? Were you a common doxy, when you were in Charlestown? Do you have any objections to make, about cleaning chamber pots?"

The other women held their collective breath as they waited on her answer. Bordon had made it clear from the outset that there was a need to keep their affair as discreet as possible whilst in camp. More importantly, the command came from Tavington himself, the Legion's ultimate authority. Why Linda had gone against the Colonel's direct command and announced her affair for the entire camp to hear, was beyond Harmony. She would not make the same mistake as Linda, however.

"No, I am not some great Commander's mistress," Harmony lied. "I was a barmaid when I lived in Charlestown. And I have no objection to cleaning chamber pots or any other such dirty work." Which was true enough, no matter how distasteful the work was.

Linda curled her lip, staring daggers at Harmony for her denials.

"Good -" Mrs. Salisbury began, her tone thick and intimidating. She was clearly about to deliver a threat, but cut short when Harmony took several purposeful strides forward, bringing herself face to face with the abominable woman.

Standing toe to toe with Salisbury, Harmony ignored the wooden spoon which the woman still held in a tight grip. If Salisbury tried to strike her with it, she'd snatch it from the bitches fingers and beat her with it, instead. "Be that as it may," she began, the words clipped with fury. "Let us be clear, here and now - if you ever so much as _threaten_ to spank me with that spoon of yours, you'll find it wedged so firmly up your arse that the surgeons will have to remove it!"

Gasps came from the other women, even from the outraged Linda. For her use of coarse language and for standing up to Salisbury. Salisbury's eyes were bulging from her head.

"I don't care who your authority stems from - I don't have to stay here, let us be clear on that, too," Harmony continued. "Test my resolve, Mrs. Salisbury - I will shove it up your arse and you'll be shitting splinters, I promise you that." Harmony kept her narrowed glare fixed on Salisbury's. This was the pivotal moment, the moment that would decide exactly how Salisbury would treat with Harmony in future. Standing up for herself now, letting Salisbury know what she would and would not tolerate, Harmony had drawn the line far more effectively than Linda had, who had tried to hide behind Tavington to win her place in the pack. Now all Harmony had to do was wait, and she did so stiffly, her gaze piercing, unblinking, unflinching.

The tyrannical woman gaped like a fish, struck speechless.

"I am a hard worker, as I have already proven, and if I wish to rest my eyes for five bloody minutes, I will bloody well do so," Harmony continued, setting her boundaries before the other woman could draw breath. "I will not question your authority, but nor will I be treated poorly - or be beaten - by you or anyone else in this camp. Do I make myself clear?"

The larger woman studied Harmony for several long moments, weighing and judging. Harmony's stance was still challenging, ready to defend herself physically if any blows came her way. There was steel there, in the girl's spine, and Salisbury decided not to push her, for there were too many witnesses and her rank above the women could be greatly reduced if Harmony managed to win a fisticuffs between the two of them. Salisbury could not allow it to come to that, but clearly Harmony was ready to fight for what she wanted.

"We shall see," she finally said. Placing her wooden spoon in her skirts, she rounded on the frightened women and clapped her hands at them. "What are you still doing here? I've assigned you your tasks! What a bunch of bloody layabouts you all are!" She continued to rant as she strode away, her voice eventually dwindling amongst the other sounds of camp life.

"Not a great Commanders mistress, hmm?" Linda spat furiously, focusing on Harmony as the target for her anger.

"Are you insane?" Harmony spat back. "You stupid fool! What will Colonel Tavington say when he learns you ran off about affair in public? Merely to escape an unpleasant chore! We are to be discreet Linda, our presence here could damage Tavington's career! And Richard's also! You disobeyed Tavington's direct command! And he's the Colonel! As camp followers, we're meant to obey him the same as if we were soldiers!"

Linda lowered her gaze with dismay.

"Do you think he will be sympathetic toward you?" Harmony continued in a milder tone. "He won't be! He'll be furious with you!"

"I know…" Linda whimpered. "But I don't want to clean chamber pots! Cleaning other men's shit! What if we have to do it in the Dragoon camp - cleaning those snooty cow's chamber pots? I doubt very much that they would be using the latrines! Christ, that's not what I came to camp for!"

"No, you came here to be with Tavington as I came here to be with Richard," Harmony said sympathetically. "But you need to learn to fight your own battles, not hide behind the Colonel to protect you!"

"Like you did?" Linda said thoughtfully. "You sure stood up to her."

"Yes, I did," Harmony admitted. "But it was damned hard, Linda. Still, it's the best way to deal with people like her. Let her know from the outset that you won't tolerate her Lording it. But _you_ can't Lord it either - just because you're screwing Tavington. You and I, we have to make our own way, or none of these other women will ever speak to us!"

"As if I care about them," Linda sniffed. She had been a doxy so long, she had become immune to what women of the more 'devout' kind thought of her. She much preferred her own kind - doxies and even barmaids like Harmony, who could drink with the best of them and not care one whit if an unmarried woman took a man to her bed for coin.

"Well, I do!" Harmony cried. "I want to make friends here. And if you want your life to be slightly easier in camp, I'd suggest you do the same because our men won't always be in camp! Stop hiding behind Tavington and start trying to get on with the other women, and most importantly - with Mrs. Bloody Shrew!"

"'Mrs. Bloody Shrew'?" Linda quirked an eyebrow with amusement. She had recovered from her beating quickly enough, now that the fire in her backside had eased. It was no worse than the beatings she'd had from Tavington when the two coupled.

Harmony nodded with a giggle and the two women began making their way to the nearest Officer's tent, an infantry Captain that they were aware was in residence and would most likely have a chamber pot that needed cleaning. There were others also, through out the camp, for the higher Officers did not have to use the latrines.

The disgusting task of cleaning chamber pots would probably need to be done several times a day, Harmony judged, and she shuddered at the certainty that she would be doing it for the Officer's wives in the Dragoon camp eventually. When they got started, she tried not to think of - or smell - what she was cleaning as she took the first of the chamber pots away. She only paid half a mind to the unpleasant task, as she could not set aside her fears and worries over how Richard would fair, and if he would still be alive when the baggage train caught up with the Legion tomorrow. For, with the battle looming like the dark clouds of an unpleasant storm, nothing was certain.


	53. Chapter 53 - Camden and the Dragoons

Chapter 53 - Camden and the Dragoons:

Thanks to the information Tavington and Bordon had gleaned from Mark Putman, the British knew precisely where to strike and they did so before the concealed forces were ready to close in on and attack the township of Camden.

Three Companies of Burwell's Continentals, over three hundred camped within a half mile of each other, concealed on rebel Plantations along Sanders Creek. Putman's militia - which Tavington had thought scattered when he attacked them to capture Putman, had joined with Sumter's force, which lay in concealment near Indian Town. Finally, Burwell and his one hundred, as they tried to move in position from the south. The British forces - some six thousand, had split up into Companies - the infantry marching directly on to Camden to protect it before the American forces could even arrive - and the cavalry forces galloped toward the locations revealed to Tavington by Mark Putman, to seized rebels in their encampments.

The British from the city had arrived in time to stop the British force at Camden from being decimated by the almost two thousand strong American force. Though there was no battle, there were plenty of skirmishes. At the Plantation houses - which had been burned to the ground as Continentals were either caught, captured or killed. At Indian Town, where the same was done to Colonel Sumter's militia and finally, on the road, where Burwell made a brief stand before fleeing the greater force.

The various forces chased the rebels as they fled in all directions, capturing and killing those they ran down. After a day of this sport, they all began making their way back to Camden with their prisoners and rebel wounded.

* * *

Four days passed, four days of being worked from sun-up to sundown, under Mrs. Bloody Shrew Salisbury's militaristic command. Slogging away at cleaning other men's shit and piss, carrying away dirty washing for laundering, slaving over open cook fires. Harmony tried to steer clear of Mrs. Salisbury after their confrontation and so far, it was working. Still, she couldn't help but feel that something was coming from Salisbury - some terrible revenge. Mrs. Bloody Shrew was not the type to forgive and forget easily and Harmony had seen the large woman studying her several times, the cogs working overtime in her mind, no doubt plotting some scheme or other that would make Harmony's life miserable.

She refused to think of it just now though - not today, of all days. For they had reached Camden at long last and soon, she would be reunited with Major Bordon. Most of Legion had made camp already, but the Dragoons were still yet to arrive. Tavington and Bordon were in council with Francis Rawdon in the small township, but Bordon would be along shortly. She knew this for Richard had - very considerately - sent a messenger to her, with a short note penned in his neat hand, informing her that he was well, that they had routed the rebels and sent them fleeing before a battle could even take place. Tonight, he had promised her. He would be with her by early afternoon.

The excitement had her in a state of bliss, despite Mrs. Shrew and whatever plots the woman might have. Harmony groaned to herself as she adjusted the heavy washing basket on one hip. She stepped carefully, walking down the avenue between the Officer's tents in the Dragoon section of camp.

She adjusted the heavy weight again, as she prepared to make her way back to where the clothes would be laundered on the outskirts of camp, at the river. The early morning sun beat down on her head. Even the air seemed hot, causing her to sweat profusely. Her shift and petticoats clung to her - for the air was sticky and humid. She stopped for a moment, sighing heavily as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Just then, two smiling and chatting silk clad women ducked out of Captain Wilkins tent.

Mrs. Emily Wilkins - a pretty woman with dark hair and blue eyes, bearing a slight resemblance to her brother Arthur, stepped around Harmony as though she were not even there. The other woman, however, stopped dead in her tracks when she came face to face with Harmony.

Mary Tisdale-Ferguson gasped in shock and stared at Harmony - whom she recognised immediately as Major Richard Bordon's mistress. The Green Dragoon Officers had billeted in Mary's home for some time; Bordon had frequently bought Miss Jutland back to his chamber at the residence, and had coupled with her there. All the while, Tavington had been coupling with Mary's mother. Seeing Harmony now bought all that humiliation and disgrace crashing down on her. That those Officers could treat with her family with such disrespect - bringing loose women into the Tisdale home as though it were a bawdy house!

And then they had tried to force Harmony on her - at Mary's own wedding! To prevent such a scandal, they'd been left with no choice but to have the wedding sooner, a far smaller affair than they'd planned. The wedding was little more than an elopement in the end. All because of Bordon had demanded his bawdy woman be allowed to attend and that was the only way the family could think of, to prevent it happening.

Harmony was a jarring reminder of how those Officers had abused their power. They had tried to Mary and Colin to comply with their wishes. And worse yet - the greatest humiliation of all, was that Mary's sibling was growing in her mother's womb - sired by Colonel Tavington! Mary's half brother or sister was Colonel Tavington's bastard! Mary had not expected to be confronted with the Dragoon's doxies in camp, but now that she was, now that all the memories and the disgrace came rushing back, it knocked the wind from her chest, leaving her gaping like a fool.

"Mrs. Ferguson," Harmony bobbed a nervous curtsy toward the young woman. She could stand up to the likes of Mrs. Salisbury - who was not born any higher than Harmony herself. But she had always struggled with the disdain higher born women showed her, as though she were naught more than a speck of dust on their cloak, to be brushed aside. Mary seemed a little different to the others - just as Miss Martin had been, and so she tried to speak to the girl as amiably as her nerves would allow. "How are you this morning?"

Mary stared, shocked to be addressed by Miss Jutland, no matter how politely. Nevertheless, despite all that had come before, her manners - instilled in her for decades, were instinctive. Though she did not curtsy or even incline her head to Harmony, she did reply with politeness.

"Quite well, thank you," she said. Then, when Harmony made no move to step aside to let her pass, she asked, "and yourself?"

"I'm well, thank you," Harmony replied. "You must be relieved to hear that there was no battle. Cornet Ferguson will return to you today, safe and sound."

_Oh Lord, she wishes to converse with me! _Mary thought with dread. She darted her eyes toward Emily Wilkins, wondering what the other woman would make of this. Emily was waiting impatiently, with a scowl of distaste on her face as she eyed Miss Jutland up and down. She clearly did not like the idea of her young friend speaking with the likes of Harmony Jutland.

_And rightly so - Lord, I should be giving Miss Jutland the cut direct! _She could not do it, however. It was not in her nature to be so overtly rude - though she knew speaking with the unmarried mistress of an Officer could only reflect poorly on her. Then again, she thought, perhaps she could make use of this moment. Mary was not a deceitful person at heart, but she had a facade of Loyalty to maintain and with Emily Wilkins standing by listening to every word, she realised that she could make use of this unwelcome chat with Miss Jutland, to help her maintain that facade. Mary's husband was risking his life after all, a Whig spying on the British - she had to do her part to protect the illusion he had created, of allegiance to the Crown.

"Yes, I was very relieved," she said, her eyes darting again to Emily to ensure the Tory woman heard her. Though the words were spoken to Harmony, each and every one was meant solely for Emily. "Hopefully this will be the final destruction of the rebel militia, surely they will not gather again, after this. A wonderful day for His Majesty and for the British Army."

Mary - a Whig through and through, did not believe a word of what she had just said. Her little speech made her feel sick inside, but it served to deepen the illusion that she and her husband - Colin Ferguson - were Loyal, which would make Colin's task of spying on the Redcoats that much easier. In actual fact, Mary grieved the major defeat, grieved for her fellow American's who had been killed, captured or chased away. A defeat like this will tear at the heart of Patriot moral.

Harmony was smiling at Mary gratefully - for stopping to converse with her as though the two were equals, Mary suspected as guilt flared up inside her. She would never have chatted so willingly, if not for the opportunity it had presented. Mary found she did not like using people - not at all.

"Yes, I imagine so," Harmony replied. Her grateful smile shifted to a rueful one. "I'll admit that I don't care so much about battles and the like. I was just relieved to get a message from Richard - no matter how short it was - telling me that he is alive and well. That's all I care about - our men will soon be returning to us - safe and sound."

Mary's eyes bulged and Mrs. Wilkins drew in a sharp breath of outrage. Harmony was momentarily confused - she understood that Emily did not like her, did not want to speak to her - or even acknowledge her existence. What confused her was the sudden change that came over Mary Ferguson, who gaped at Harmony, barely seeming to breathe, her eyes wide with shock. She'd taken offence for some reason.

Harmony understood her mistake then and she deflated with a long, chagrined sigh.

_I should not have mentioned Richard_, she fretted, lowering her eyes and wishing she could just disappear. She had reminded Mary that she was speaking with a 'loose' woman of no virtue. And her choice of words made matters worse. By speaking of "our men", she had spoken as if her affair with Richard was somehow equal to Mary's marriage to Colin, as though their relationships with the men held equal weight and standing.

Harmony was Bordon's mistress and she was not equal to the Society wives. She wished she could have the words back at once, but they were said and there was nothing more she could do.

"Come along, Mrs. Ferguson," Emily commanded of her young friend. Mary took a step back from Harmony and began to walk around her as Emily continued. At no point had she deigned to speak directly to Harmony. "We've dallied here long enough. Miss Rebecca and Sarah will be wondering where we've gotten too."

"Yes, you're right of course," Mary replied. As Mary passed her, Harmony bobbed another curtsy and watched sadly as Mary joined Mrs. Wilkins.

Their voices were growing quieter, but Harmony could still hear them. She stared at their retreating backs as they bent their heads together.

"Did you hear that strumpet?" Emily was saying, not even bothering to keep her voice down as they walked away. "I know all about her - she is Bordon's whore. And she worked at a tavern, Mrs. Ferguson. She's a barmaid and a whore!"

"Mrs. Wilkins!" Mary admonished in a furious whisper. "That's very rude."

"I care not!" Emily spat. "Good Lord - what is wrong with you? You should not be seen speaking to her at all! She was bedding Bordon under your father's roof! If that is not the height of rudeness, I don't know what is!"

"There's no need to hurt people's feelings," came the mutinous - if quiet - reply.

"How can you say that? The hussy was bedding Bordon in your own home! And Tavington - he was bedding that other one. If you ask me, it's utterly disgraceful that those Officers have bought those loose women to camp, to work alongside honest women! If you ask me, she deserves to be cleaning our chamber pots still. I don't know why she isn't - I'll have to have a word with Mrs. Salisbury about that! If you ask me…"

Her voice trailed off as they continued walking and Harmony did not hear what else Mrs. Wilkins would declare if she was asked. Her heart as heavy as lead, she began to make her way from the Dragoon camp, her exuberance over Bordon's pending return greatly diminished.

One thing she knew for certain - no matter what Mrs. Wilkins demanded of Mrs. Salisbury, Harmony intended now to never work in the Dragoon section of camp again. If she could not live there with Richard because their affair might offend the Officers wives, then like hell would she be made to bloody _work_ there, tending their needs and cleaning their shit, while those horrid women look down their noses at her.

* * *

The canvas awning above the Lady's table did nothing to lessen the stifling heat. Though these women were South Carolina born and bred, even they suffered at the height of summer - and not just from the sun beating down, though the canvas did stop their fair, smooth skin from burning bright red. No - the heat was everywhere - all around them. The air was hot and thick, heavy and sticky. A bead of sweat traced between Mary's breasts and she could do nothing about it. She did dab at the sweat on her brow and even waved her fan before her face - for all the good it did her. The other girls chatted while pouring tea and eating scones at yet another tea party in Emily's tent. It disgusted Mary - for while she enjoyed the past time back in Charlestown - she found it disgraceful that Emily would encourage her friends to indulge in frivolities, while everyone else in camp laboured around them. All camp followers were expected to work - and that included the highly born Officers wives. But since the first day in camp, Emily had made it clear that it was to be the ladies maids who did the ladies share of the work.

Even now, as Mary watched, she could see the lower born women lugging washing baskets and other heavy loads, bearing so much weight in the heat that the women seemed ready to drop. It did not occur to her companions to even notice the other camp followers - hard at their work.

Mary could not blame her friends, not truly. She had been raised the same - to a gentle life where others waited upon her. It had been Beth who had opened her eyes. Despite being born to the same class as Mary, Emily, Rebecca and Sarah, Beth had had a different upbringing - one where she had worked in the family home on her Plantation. Beth even knew how to _cook_! This had surprised and fascinated Mary, as so many things about Beth had surprised and fascinated her. It had been life changing for her - Beth had been a blast of fresh air and the girls had become fast friends, Beth had even introduced Mary to her now husband - Colin.

Who would be returning to her shortly - in only a few more hours. She was both excited and resigned - for she knew her husband had quite an appetite and would wish to couple. While she usually welcomed the activity with enthusiasm, it was just too damned hot and besides - she had heard others in the camp indulging in the sport, and she worried that with the canvas walls of their tent being so thin and the tents placed so closely together - that those others might hear her. Mary resolved to inform her husband that he must keep his excitement quieter, for she did not want to be a laughing stock.

"Mary - you look ready to faint! I'm certain you haven't heard a word I was saying," Rebecca complained.

"Hmm, what? Yes - it's so hot is all. There's no escaping it, not even under this awning," Mary replied.

"I wish we were home," Sarah sighed and slumped in her chair. "If we were, I'd strip down to my shift and lay flat on my bed and not move until nightfall."

"Me too," Emily sipped her tea. "I'm not certain what possessed me to come to camp as I did. We'd be much happier in Charlestown."

The other girls avoided looking at each other just then - for they all knew exactly why Emily had come to camp. Her husband had a wandering eye, he spent far more time in the beds of other women than he did his wife's and Emily had felt compelled to accompany him when he left Charlestown, both to keep him from straying and in the hopes he would finally sire an heir on her.

Mary had liked Emily once upon a time - back before she had married James Wilkins. After her marriage, when James' wanderings became known to her, Emily had become bitter. James' mistresses were always so far below Emily's station and this caused Emily to become very jealous of her own position in life, and she refused to allow anyone to forget - even for one moment - that she was a high born woman of two very powerful South Carolinian families. As if, if she couldn't be important to her own husband, then she had to prove her importance to everyone else. She exerted every effort toward this end, even to the bringing of luxuries to camp that Mary would never have thought to bring. A Persian rug, for the Lord's sake! Mary shook her head ruefully.

"Perhaps you'll consider returning then?" Sarah asked Emily hopefully. Sarah was James younger sister - and at only nineteen, she was as yet unmarried. She and Rebecca Middleton had agreed to come along to be Emily and Mary's companions, for there were not enough women of their station for them to socialize with in camp. But clearly the girls were regretting that decision.

"Oh, sweet Lord, if you leave, I'll… I'll…" Mary trailed off - it was too hot to think of what vengeance she would reap upon Sarah if she and Rebecca left her in camp with only Emily for company! "I'll do something bad to you…"

Rebecca began to laugh. "Ohh, such threats - I shudder with fear!"

"It's too hot to think of anything daunting right now."

"I know - too hot to think at all! Too hot to hurl threats at one another. Too hot to worry…" Glancing about to ensure that no men were in close proximity, Rebecca opened a few of the buttons of her bodice and began waving her fan over her fleshy globes, heaving a relieved sigh as she did.

"Scandalous!" Mary giggled. "What - or who - are you worried for, Becky?"

"Beth," Rebecca admitted. "It's been so long since any of us have heard from her. How does she fare? Does she miss us? I miss her…"

"So do I," Mary said fervently. "But I'm certain she is well - why shouldn't she be? She's at her father's plantation, what could befall her there? She's safe enough."

"But she's being forced to marry Colonel Burwell," Sarah fretted. "Isn't that just horrible? She never said a word against him, but I _know_ she didn't want to marry him. And besides - she's engaged to Colonel Tavington - everyone says so! I hope he finds her in time to stop Burwell from forcing himself onto her."

"By 'everyone' you actually mean Colonel Tavington himself," Emily snorted. "_He_ spread these rumours that they are engaged - but as near as I can tell - he never even proposed to her. Did he, Mary?"

Put on the spot, Mary paused, suddenly uncertain how to proceed. These women worshipped the ground that Tavington walked on and they did not like it when she spoke against him. They gave her some leeway - for he had behaved shamelessly with Mary's mother, but that leeway did not stretch far.

"No - he did not. But he did intend to marry her," Mary said, skirting around the entire issue of how he was forcing her, and how Mary herself believed that Beth had had a lucky escape. The man was a debaucher, nothing more! His mistress was in camp after all - how could these women be so blind to him?

"So there you are. An intended proposal is not a proposal, therefore there is no engagement," Emily laughed softly. "Even if he did intend to marry her. Anyway, fat lot of good it did her - her reputation was almost destroyed because she'd dallied with him," with an eager, conspiratorial smile, Emily leaned in and asked in a hushed tone, "how much of it do you think is true? Did they just… You know… fool around - or did the good Colonel claim Beth's virtue?"

"Emily! That's our friend you are gossiping about!" Mary admonished and even Rebecca nodded - her Loyalty was stronger to Beth than to Emily, their friendship far stronger. Sarah felt the same, but Emily was her sister in law, so she said nothing.

"Oh, fiddle sticks," Emily waved the comment away. "Tavington is such a handsome man. No - don't glower at me so! I know I'm married, but I have eyes don't I? Tavington is damned handsome and I can't see Beth finding the ware withal to refuse him. I saw with my own two eyes the way she used to stare at him, she was utterly besotted!"

"Yes, but she is no fool," Mary said firmly. "Beth did not couple with Tavington. I can assure you of that."

"Hmm, can you though?" Emily taunted and Mary's spine stiffened. It was too hot to bicker though, and so Emily backed down. Besides, she remembered her mother, Mrs. Simms, telling her the truth of it, as told to her by Tavington. "Well, I believe you are quite correct. I just remembered my mother telling me about it a while ago. Tavington had been is such a rage, because she had said some disparaging things about Beth. Papa had thought the Colonel would strike Mamma! When they all calmed down, Papa asked Tavington outright if the girl was still a virgin and Tavington said she was. So you can rest your soul, Mary. I still think he would have been able to claim her though, if he'd had more time to seduce her. James has spoken of the Colonel's conquests - he's a true Romeo!"

"Which is why I am glad that Beth is far, far away from Colonel Tavington, if you ask me!" Mary could not help herself from saying. To her surprise, Rebecca nodded emphatically. "You agree? I thought you were as bad as Emily and Sarah - that Tavington could do no wrong!"

"No - he can do wrong," Rebecca said slowly, carefully. "He certainly did do wrong to Beth. He hurt her."

"That he did," Mary agreed softly.

"It's Colonel Banastre Tarleton who can do no wrong," Emily said with a shrewd glance at Rebecca, who drew a sharp breath and blushed crimson.

"Em!" Sarah hissed at Emily, while casting an apologetic glance at Rebecca.

"You told!" Rebecca growled. "Sarah - I told you that in confidence!"

"I'm sorry," Sarah said honestly, shooting her sister in law another fury filled glare. To Emily, she threatened, "I should leave you here and go back to Charlestown."

Emily laughed and picked up a scone to nibble on as though she did not have a care in the world.

"Oh no - Tarleton didn't try the same tricks on you, did he?" Mary moaned. "You know all about that horrid wager - they were going to try and seduce Beth, with fifty pounds going to the victor!"

"I know, it was horrid of him," Rebecca said. "But no - he did not do that to me. He did not wager on me - I don't think he even knows I exist."

"You obviously know he does though, judging by those blushes!" Emily teased. "Come now - you're a pretty girl, Becky. Did he not even try to kiss you?"

"No, he didn't," she shook her head, then smiled and whispered fervently, "but if he had tried, I'd have let him!"

The girls giggled, even Mary. They grew quiet - their chatter turning to more inane topics - for Mrs. Salisbury was walking close by with some of the other women.

"Mrs. Wilkins," Salisbury stopped to ask. "May we take away your washing?"

"Please do," Emily waved airily and a young woman - not Miss Jutland thankfully - filed past, entering the tent to retrieve the washing. Mrs. Salisbury hung back, hovering close by.

_I hope she doesn't expect an invitation_, Emily thought. She kept her eyes averted and listened to her friend's conversation - they were complaining of the heat again. She didn't blame them - it was terribly hot - but she knew it was only because of Salisbury's and the other woman's close proximity that made them speak of it again now. They'd still be gossiping, if not for that. She had already heard the latest scandal to race through camp - that Miss Jutland had threatened to shove a wooden spoon up Mrs. Salisbury's 'arse', so deeply that the surgeons would not be able to remove it and she would be 'shitting splinters'.

Emily snorted to herself. What a base creature Miss Jutland was, so vulgar! No finesse - no subtlety! What Bordon saw in that woman, she would never know. Emily had been quite attracted to the Major upon their first meeting and - because James spent so little time in her bed - she had tried to coax the British Officer into a liaison. But Bordon had rebuffed her - kindly, but surely. A refusal was a refusal, no matter how gently it was given! He refused Emily - only to take a bloody barmaid to his bed! He had made the girl his mistress, had bought her to camp! It infuriated her. James had told her all about it, in detail. He did like to gossip, did James.

Yes, it was because of Miss Jutland, she was the reason Bordon refused her, Emily decided as she tapped the side of her tea cup with one long fingernail idly. He - the Major - would not seek out any other woman, not while he had his mistress in camp. But, Emily thought now as she gazed at Salisbury, who still lingered close by with that hopeful air; that could be easily rectified. If Miss Jutland was gone - sent from camp in disgrace, perhaps, then Emily would be free to seduce Bordon - to slip into his tent - into his bed. Perhaps he could sire the child on her that her own husband had so far failed to give her. Emily liked that idea very much - for Bordon was a handsome, well set up man, with his broad shoulders - he reminded her of a blacksmith. That James would be gone long enough for her to initiate and carry on a liaison was a certainty, but Emily knew that to execute her plan, she needed Miss Jutland gone.

Rising from the table, she slipped into her tent. Ignoring her maid, who was hard at work sewing - the task Emily herself was supposed to be doing - she pulled her strong box out from under the bed. Inside was all of her valuables - one particularly beautiful piece, an ornate necklace with a large ruby pendant. It was stored in a small leather wallet lined with silk, clipped in such a way to stop the chain from tangling. Emily took the wallet out and locked the strong box, then left her tent in that gliding, wafting walk that all women of her station had down to a fine art. Passing by her friends, ignoring their curious glances, she approached Mrs. Salisbury with a broad, welcoming smile.

"Walk with me a bit?" She asked the large woman dressed in her work-a-day clothes. Salisbury's eyes bulged, such was her shock. And so they should - Emily would never lower herself to socialize with one such as her! But she had an agenda and it suited her perfectly to indulge the woman, just this once.

* * *

"What the Devil?" Rebecca whispered as Emily strode away with Salisbury. She shared incredulous glances with her companions.

"What is she up too?" Mary frowned. "What is that - she's holding a… A wallet?"

"I don't know," Sarah asked. "Does it matter? Surely it's none of our business?"

"You are only saying that because she's your sister in law and you feel compelled to be Loyal to her," Mary said forthright. "But she would never be seen chatting in such a friendly manner with Salisbury. The fact is, Emily is up to something and I don't like it one bit. We could get caught up in whatever trouble she is plotting."

"Oh, don't be silly!" Sarah said. "Emily is just showing kindness."

"When have you ever known her to show 'kindness' to anyone who is not from a prominent family?" Rebecca asked and Mary quirked an eyebrow - surprised at finding an ally in Rebecca yet again. The two girls were close friends but Mary had always assumed that Rebecca was even closer to Emily. Clearly, she was wrong.

"You think she is plotting something, too?" Mary asked her.

"Almost certainly," Rebecca said fervently. "And as you said, we could get caught up in it. As for what is in that wallet - it contains the necklace Captain Wilkins gave to Emily for their first wedding anniversary, you know the one. I'm as suspicious as you - I say we keep a close eye on Emily."

"Me too," came Mary's reply.

"I say you're both making too much of it," Sarah disagreed. "But if you insist we keep an eye on her, then we shall. Oh, did you hear about what happened in the camp followers quarters? One of the women threatened Mrs. Salisbury with that spoon she carries about in her apron. She threatened to, to…" Sarah blushed furiously - what Harmony threatened to do to Mrs. Salisbury was too terrible and too coarse for the genteel girl to repeat, though she was quite happy to giggle over it.

"Yes, I've heard," Rebecca smirked. "It's all over camp by now and… Oh no!" She cut off with a panic filled squawk, her expression was frantic as she jumped up and darted into the tent.

Mary and Sarah glanced over their shoulders to see what had so alarmed Rebecca. Cornet Simms was waving in greeting. Mary and Sarah shared a smirk - both had been both amused and outraged that Rebecca would open her bodice right there for all to see, but now that a man was approaching, their friend was paying the price. By the time Rebecca emerged from the tent Arthur was seated with the women, with Sarah handing the youth a scone. Rebecca's bosom was decently covered again, the row of buttons on her bodice were closed and she tried to keep her expression smooth despite the teasing smirks her companions threw her way.

* * *

The sun was still high when the men returned and after a brief stop at their tents in the Dragoon section of camp, Bordon and Tavington began making their way toward the far side of camp to find Harmony and Linda. On their journey, the two Officers passed by a large, open sided tent, beneath which tables and chairs had been placed under an awning. Though the soldiers were not supposed to get soused in camp, some enterprising rogue had set up a tavern of sorts, complete with a keg of ale. A group of Officers were already enjoying a mug of the amber liquid.

"Shall we join them for a round or two, afterwards?" Richard suggested - jutting his chin toward the open tent.

"I suppose it won't hurt to have a look, to ensure the soldiers aren't getting too sloshed," William replied.

"Is that Wilkins?" Richard began to laugh, for sure enough, as they drew closer, they recognised the Dragoon Captain. He had his back to them, therefore they did not recognise him at first. But as he was as large as an ox, and not many stood to his height even sitting down, they knew it had to be him. Besides, Arthur was sitting across from him, as were the usual coterie - the Middleton's, Dalton and Brownlow. Even Ferguson was amongst them, which surprised Bordon, for young Colin usually kept to himself.

Seeing the youth now caused him to remember the fight he had had with Colin, and the efforts he had had to go to, to secure a place for Harmony at Colin's wedding, only for the couple to elope, just to avoid having Harmony there. It still chafed him raw just thinking about it.

Arthur sat facing Wilkins. As Tavington and Bordon drew closer, they caught Arthur's eye and the young Officer raised his hand, about to call in greeting. Bordon forestalled him - he placed one finger over his lips, to silence him. Then Bordon darted forward to seize Wilkins by the shoulders and haul the startled Colonial around.

"What are you doing here, Captain!" He raged down at the Captain and Wilkins' mouth dropped open. "Tavington will have you whipped - have you forgotten his command to not get soused in camp?"

"I - ah… Major…" Thwart with panic, Wilkins stuttered, searching for excuses, looking to his companions for help.

Until Bordon - who could hold his stern face no longer - began to laugh.

"Goddamned bastard," Wilkins roared, furious over the trick which had been played on him. He lurched to his feet and shoved the Major's shoulder, forcing Bordon to stumble back several steps.

"Hmm," Richard said. "And now you can add striking a superior officer to your list of crimes. It's just as well I'm in a forgiving mood," he quipped and Wilkins scowled down at him. "What the Devil are you all doing here, anyway? Especially you, Captain. Surely Mrs. Wilkins has missed you?"

"She has," James shrugged. He lifted one long leg over the bench, then the other, to resume his seat at the table. He shuffled along, making room for Bordon and Tavington to sit if they wished. "I did my husbandly duty and spent the afternoon with her, while you were in council. And now - it's time to truly unwind - with cards and ale. Shall we deal you in?"

"What happened during the council?" Arthur called across the table.

Bordon and Tavington shared a quick glance. Both Commanders wished to continue on, to be with their women, but they knew their fellow Officers would have been waiting for hours to learn what had been discussed in the Command Tent following their return from Camden.

"We can spare a few moments," Tavington shrugged. "No - don't deal us in yet, Wilkins, we'll return later if you're still here."

"Oh, we will be," Dalton scoffed. "There's another three kegs out the back of this tent."

"Indeed?" William quirked a cool eyebrow. "Well, perhaps I'll overlook the drinking for tonight - we can celebrate this once. But one keg only - do not open the other barrels."

"Thank you, Sir!" Brownlow hoisted his cup at Tavington in salute, then downed his ale in one gulp. William made no move to sit as he began to relay the most important parts of the council meeting to his Officers. When the British approached, the enemy had begun retreating in every direction, the Green Dragoons had given the militia chase for close to twenty miles, before Tavington had called the halt. Their quarry had escaped them and upon reaching Camden, Tavington had needed to relay this - and other events - to Lord Rawdon.

What his men were not aware of was that during the council meeting, word had come, indicating that Colonel Burwell - newly raised to General Burwell - was again retreating down into the Santee. As they did not know Burwell's exact location, and as Tavington's force was exhausted after the battle, Rawdon had decided that Tavington would begin a pursuit for Burwell at first light. Though time was of the essence, Rawdon reasoned that Burwell would not get far ahead. He would need to make camp for his men to rest and for their wounded to be tended to.

"In short," the Colonel said when he came to a close, "the rebel forces that managed to escape our pursuit are again scattered to the wind. Some of the Companies that came out from the city will return to it after a short rest, Rawdon wishes to keep three thousand here to protect the town until he is certain the rebels are well and truly dispersed and Camden is safe."

"What of us, are we to remain?" Michael Middleton asked.

"No, the South requires our attention," Tavington informed Michael. "Thus far, the rebels from St Mark's to Williamsburg have been largely untouched, with Tarleton having to concentrate his efforts nearer to the border. From here, will shall strike out and concentrate our strength through St. Johns, Pembroke, St. James and Georgetown."

"The Legion is welcome to quarter at Doux Ruisseau whenever it needs," James said, offering his own plantation. "I will send word that any British or Loyalist who asks it, is to be given lodgings there."

"Thank you," Tavington replied. "I anticipate that we will be on the move for the most part, I shall inform the Legion that there is a safe place to retreat to, if they are separated from their units or wounded; I do not think there will be very many safe harbours in such hostile territory."

"There are a few," Wilkins said. "I'll give you a list of names that can be relied upon."

William nodded his thanks. "For now, we shall wait here until morning, in the hopes that we might learn Burwell's location and that of the Sumter's. If we have no word tonight, we shall strike out at first light to begin our campaign on the Santee."

The Dragoons shared very pleased smiles and Wilkins tipped his hat to Tavington, saluting him even as he drank back his ale.

"Be warned, however," Tavington said sternly, sensing their pleasure at what they thought was going to be a night of debauchery before their travels resumed. "If word comes of Burwell or Sumter, the Dragoons will leave immediately, whether you rogues have hangovers or not. And if you're soused, I'll tie you to your damned saddles myself, if you can't sit them!"

The Officers at the table were still sober enough to make a rational decision, to continue drinking and celebrating, knowing they might not get a wink of sleep if Tavington's scouts returned with the news that they had discovered the enemies location.

"Bottoms up," Wilkins smirked, and drank his cup down. He for one would remain - for as long as he was able to.

"Rogue was right," Richard quipped, shaking his head in dismay.

The Commanders bade the Officers farewell, with promises to return after they had reunited with their mistresses. As they made their way through an avenue lined by tents, Richard chatted. William was still quiet around his friend, he still had not warmed to him as yet. The confronting conversation that needed to take place between them, regarding Cilla and Mage Putman, had not yet taken place and it weighed heavily on William. After a few moments of traversing the path, a woman's ear splitting scream stopped the two Officer's in their tracks. Richard grinned - he recognised the cry as Harmony's and when he turned, sure enough, he saw his mistress hurtling toward him over the uneven ground, her skirts hiked up to her ankles. When she reached him, she threw herself into his arms. She managed to lift herself, with both her arms wrapping around his shoulders and her legs wrapping around his waist. The impact of the onslaught made Bordon grunt and take a full step back before he was able to brace himself. He wound his hands beneath her rump to hold her in place, as she reined kisses over his neck, jaw and cheek.

"It's good to see you too," Bordon laughed up at her.

"Miss Jutland," Tavington offered her a dignified bow, before he was assailed in a similar manner by Linda, who had come running from another direction. She did not quite throw herself up into William's arms, but she certainly hurtled into him, her arms thrown around his shoulders. "And Miss Stokes!" Tavington laughed, returning his mistresses embrace.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, I was so worried!" Linda was on the verge of crying. She ran her hands over William's chest and sides as though checking for wounds. "Are you well? Were you hurt?"

"No, I was not hurt," Tavington said. Glancing past Linda's shoulder, he saw that a very red faced Harmony had climbed down, she was casting embarrassed glances over her shoulder for she was aware she was supposed to be discreet. Smoothing her skirts, she smiled shyly up at Bordon, who offered her his arm. She wound her hand through his and began to lead the way toward her tent.

Tavington was pleased at her decorum, no matter how belated. He offered Linda his arm in the same manner.

"Shall we, my darling?" He asked her and she smiled brightly, winding her arm through his to lead him to her tent.

* * *

"God, I missed you," Harmony whispered. She stood deep at the back of the tent, watching and waiting as Bordon worked the laces on the tent flap to close it tight.

"And I missed you," he replied. He was almost finished the task - he was just checking over his handiwork for he wanted no one to enter and see them in a compromising position. "It's been too many days."

Satisfied that every lace was tied - from the ceiling to the ground, he finally turned to her. She walked toward him slowly and cupped his face with her hands, pulling him down to her for a much needed kiss. He obliged her, kissing her slowly, deeply, the way lovers do. Placing his large hands on her small waist, he pulled her torso against his, and walked her backward toward the blankets on the floor. Laying her down there, he covered her body with his.

There was plenty of time - no need to rush their reunion, and so he shuffled to lay alongside her, and propped his head on his hand. The two gazed at one another, happy for the moment to drink in the sight of each other. Harmony reached up one hand to stroke his face lazily, while his fingers caressed her stomach.

"I love you," she whispered. By unspoken agreement, they kept their voices soft and low - not only to try and keep his presence in her tent unknown to others, but also because their time together was sacred, and private and not to be shared with anyone else.

"I love you, too," he smiled down at her as he soaked in the sight of her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She ventured. He knew she was speaking of the battle.

"There isn't much to say," he shrugged. "Burwell, we're told, was on his way from the Santee to Camden, but we got to his forces first. Not that Burwell could have done much if he had arrived in time, he only had one hundred in his personal retinue. Putman told us exactly where the enemy forces were located and our separate companies were able to fall upon each force before they even knew what was happening. Many of them died, others were taken captive. We spent the rest of the time chasing them down."

"I'm so very thankful for that," she said, for want of anything better to say. "That you've come back to me. It terrifies me, that one day you might not."

"Another thing about being a soldier that I can't stand," he said, a hint of anger entering his voice. "Why the Devil couldn't I have met you after the war? Why now? I love you - and it grieves me, knowing how grieved you'd be if I died. And I could die - I can't promise you otherwise. I have to live with this - each time I go into battle now - the knowledge that you'd be heartbroken and alone."

"I have to live with it too," she forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood between them. It didn't work, they gazed at one another gravely until Harmony leaned forward to brush her lips over his. "Let's not discuss it any more," she suggested and he nodded agreement.

As she kissed him, Bordon began unbinding Harmony's hair. It was lank from lack of washing but he didn't care. He ran his fingers through those golden locks anyway. There was celebrating throughout the camp, even just outside their tent; singing and laughing, music and dancing. Beyond allowing it to lift his mood, Bordon ignored it all, choosing to focus his entire attention on Harmony and Harmony alone.

She sighed into his mouth as they kissed slowly. Harmony parted her lips and Bordon suckled her top lip, before sliding his tongue into her mouth. She joined the caress, her tongue languidly toying with his. They had all night, there was no need to rush. He caressed her shoulders and arms, his fingers raking over her sleeves. She pressed her bosom into his chest and he reached between them, placing his hand directly between her breasts to feel her heart racing against his fingers. He smiled into the kiss then, satisfied that his lover was as bothered as he was. He moved his hand from her breasts to her waist, and began bundling her skirts up in one fist, drawing them up her legs.

Harmony drew back slightly and smiled down at him, causing her hair to fall to either side of her face, the ends of it tickling his cheeks. Lifting her pelvis up and then back, she lowered herself, aligning her womanhood to his clothed bulge. Even this was done with a slowness, as the two began to move languidly against one another. Bordon rolled his pelvis up lazily and she rocked back and forth leisurely. Planting one hand to either side of his face, Harmony braced herself above him and leaned down again, to two resuming their unhurried kissing.

This could only last so long before their ardour began to rise to tortuous heights. Even then, they did not rush. Harmony merely reached between them and began to unbutton his breeches, while he took care of removing his Redcoat. He lay before her with his coat thrown carelessly on the floor of the tent. Taking a hold of his shaft, she positioned herself above him and began a slow descent, impaling herself on his phallus. As his erection began to fill her, she sighed with contentment. He twitched within her - she could feel his cock pulsing against the moist walls of her cavern, she could feel his crown butting up against her cervix. The two were joined again and she smiled down at her lover in pure joy.

Not content to just lay back while buried inside her, Bordon reached up and began unbuttoning her bodice. Harmony did not move her hips an inch while he worked - and it was slow going, which just made their ardour rise all the more. So many layers to be removed - her bodice was tossed aside and then there was her bodice. When Bordon sat up to reach around her, Harmony swallowed hard, for his movement had caused his cock to move inside her, and the angle was now pure bliss.

"I love being buried in you," he whispered, his eyes holding hers as he put his arms around her and began searching blindly for the laces. He was an expert at the task and was untying her stays in no time.

"It is quite pleasant," she breathed and he chuckled low in his throat. He tossed her stays across the tent.

"I know what else you find 'quite pleasant'," he teased her as he stroked her cheek with his finger.

"Oh? Do tell."

"This," he said. Pulling the drawstring of her shift, he pulled the front open to reveal her ample bosom. He gazed at her breasts for some moments before dipping his head down and taking one dusky pink nipple into her mouth. Harmony arched and gasped, nodding her agreement.

"Yes - I do, that is… Oh…"

He caught her eyes and his lips formed a smile around her nipple.

"Let's even it up," he quipped as he moved on to her other breast.

"Hmm, perfect," she sighed as little charges shot through her from her nipples, spreading to her stomach. "I think I need to move now."

"Yes, I think I need you too, also," he said thickly, his voice laced with lust.

She lifted herself up his shaft until only his crown was inside her, and then she lowered herself slowly, impaling to the hilt. He rolled his pelvis in time with her as he continued suckling her nipples. Harmony draped her arms over his shoulders and dropped her head back, enjoying the burgeoning pleasure as it began to build.

It was becoming more charged between them - more hot - and the two were unable to maintain that slow, languid pace. In one swift move, Bordon grabbed Harmony's waist and rolled her, covering her with his body - somehow managing to remain inside her. He was much more active now, throwing that leisurely pace to the wind.

"Oh, god," Harmony whispered as quietly as she could. Bordon was being equally silent, puffing his breath harshly in her ear as he surged above her. His cock almost slipped out when he pulled his backside up, then he thrust down into her with force. Harmony whimpered, she lifted her head and buried her lips to his neck to help muffle her moans.

_"Oh, William! Fuck me, fuck me!"_

Linda's screech was more effective at ruining their moment than if they'd been doused with freezing cold water. Though she was in the tent right next door, Harmony felt certain Linda could be heard from five tents away! Tavington's mistress was completely uncaring that the thin canvas walls of her tent were not sufficient to the task of holding back her screams. The couple were screwing one another only a yard away from where Bordon and Harmony writhed quietly, and they could hear all of it. Hell, those outside the tent could hear it - the music and the laughter beyond stopped momentarily - a hushed silence descending as the revellers tried to locate the source of the pleasure filled scream.

_"Harder - oh, God, harder!"_

A flare of raucous laughter sounded outside the tent. Men guffawing. The music started up again and the sounds outside returned to normal but Harmony knew that the crowd outside would be laughing and gossiping about what was happening in Linda's tent.

"So much for discretion," Bordon frowned. Harmony could just make out his face in the failing dark, and she realised belatedly that he would not have heard of Linda's declaration, her announcement to Mrs. Salisbury that she was Tavington's mistress.

_"Agh, agh, agh," came the Colonel's grunts._

"At least he isn't shouting," she sniffed primly.

"Not that it matters - everyone outside will know."

She nodded agreement. Linda was a little quieter now, those revellers outside would not be able to hear her, anyway. Harmony and Bordon however, could hear every damned sound. The heavy breathing - they could even hear the squelchy noises and the sound of the writhing couple's skin slapping together, as Tavington hammered away in Linda's wet canal. They could hear their breathy moans, their sighs and grunts, and it made Harmony all the more determined to stay quiet with Bordon.

They did not normally rut so quietly as this, but Harmony - and Richard also - did not want to make exhibitions of themselves.

_"Ah, yes - squeeze tighter! Tighter! Clasp your cunt around my cock!" _Tavington commanded harshly, this was followed by an explosive breath as he was clearly exerting himself, striving toward orgasm.

Bordon understood why Tavington would make this particular command. Many men had taken Linda - Bordon himself was one of them, he had paid for her services the very first time he'd visited the Kings Arms, before meeting Harmony the very first time. As Linda was a fairly well used doxy, she was nowhere near as tight as his beautiful Harmony.

Bordon scoffed in Harmony's ear, even as he continued his cadence, his thrusting inside her.

"Brings a whole new meaning to the term 'loose woman," he quipped and Harmony shoved her fist into her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"I remember how big he is," she whispered, speaking of the one and only time she had seen Tavington in all his glory, when she and Bordon had stumbled into the room while he was coupling with Linda. "Just how loose is she?"

"Very," Bordon confided. "Not like you, my sweet, tight, glorious empress."

It grew quiet in the tent next to theirs, and Harmony sighed with relief.

"Thank God, now we can continue," she said. She rolled her pelvis experimentally, trying to catch that wonderful spot that would bring her back to the height she'd been at before. Bordon lowered his lips to hers and began kissing her, they were just getting their rhythm and the spirit back when -

_Slap!_

_"Agh!"_ Linda groaned.

_Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!_

_"Oh, William!"_ Linda was sobbing but her voice was laced with such pleasure that Harmony knew the other woman still liked it.

Harmony, who had been bucking up against Bordon, meeting his thrusts, collapsed to the blankets beneath her and began to laugh. Bordon likewise collapsed, with his head on her shoulder, though he was still buried inside her.

"We're not going to get anywhere until they stop, are we?" He chuckled. Linda was sobbing unabashedly by then and Harmony shook her head, her eyes bright with amusement as she stared up at Bordon.

_"Oh, William, stick your cock in me!"_ She screamed. The music and laughter outside fell silent again. _"Fuck me!"_

"Oh, God, this will spread like wildfire throughout the entire camp…" Harmony sighed. Bordon pulled out of her and lay beside her on his back.

"Yes, it will," Bordon scowled. "I should have known he wouldn't be able to control himself. He loves it when others know he is pleasing a woman. It strokes his ego."

"Don't I know it?" She snorted. "He and Tarleton were doing that the night we stumbled into the room they were sharing. Lord - do you remember all the times we'd take a room at the Kings Arms - we'd hear him from three rooms away - with both our doors shut!"

"I remember. I thought he'd have more decorum this time - he was the one who wanted discretion. It's too late now."

"It was already too late," she confided. Before she delved into the story of Linda and Mrs. Salisbury, she said, "I didn't realise he was still striking her during their bedding, I thought he'd stopped."

"She doesn't seem too upset by it." Richard chortled.

_"Wait for me now, Linda,"_ William said harshly, commanding her to hold back her climax. Then he grunted and Harmony knew that he had entered her again.

_"More, more, more, more!"_ Linda cried and the sound of their skin slapping together seemed impossibly fast.

"God, maybe I'll leave you for him after all - he's quite energetic, isn't he?" Harmony said. "I don't think I could clap my hands together so quick as that!"

"You want me to fuck you that fast, I'll fuck you that fast," Bordon boasted crudely and Harmony giggled.

_"Come for me now!" _Tavington insisted, then groaned low in his throat, while Linda wailed frantically, sounding as though she were heaving and striving through her climax. A few more grunts and the two fell quiet, aside for their harsh breathing.

"Finally!" Harmony whispered fervently. The two were quiet for some time, just laying back on the blankets to see what would happen in the other tent next. After a few more moments, they clearly heard Tavington begin to snore. This brightened the couple considerably and Harmony sat up, all excitement once more.

"I think it's safe now," she said as she began to shed the rest of her clothes - her shift and skirts and petticoats. Bordon was just as eager, he shucked off his boots and breeches, then pulled his shirt over his broad shoulders. It was dark in the tent now - he liked to watch Harmony while they coupled and so he felt for the flint and lit the single candle in its holder. Bordon had pilfered the proper wax candles from the Putman's home, he had packed them in Harmony's saddle bags, for he knew that the camp followers would have to make do with tallow.

He lay back on the blankets and Harmony knelt beside him close to his head, gazing down at his powerful, naked body, illuminated by the candlelight.

"Hmm," she sighed as she reached out to stroke his semi erect penis to life. "Let's see if we can wake you up again, shall we?"

"Good idea," he said thickly. Harmony leaned forward and began brushing her lips along his ever hardening length. "Ah, yes… Definitely a good idea…" He whispered as her lips worked his crown, her tongue tracing the sharp ridge of his helmet. He draped one arm around her, his fingers cupped her bottom, then worked beneath her to stroke her quim. Harmony shifted her lower half closer to him and lifted slight to allow more room for his hand to move. The tip of his finger glided along her smooth, moist skin from her entrance to her hardening pearl - that sensitive gnarl of flesh. This caused Harmony to hum against his cock, her hot breath wafted over him, heightening his pleasure.

"Suck me, Harm," he begged, lifting his pelvis up, trying to push his length into her mouth.

"My pleasure," she murmured. His phallus was engulfed in her mouth, her lips forming a tight wet seal that felt perfect as she glided over the ridges and veins. He showed his appreciation by dipping his thick, middle finger inside her moist canal and he felt at once - upon feeling her ever increasing moisture - that she had not lied - it certainly was her pleasure to take him into her mouth. While he pumped his finger inside her, she rolled her hips and bore down on his digit, trying to drive him deeper. After only a moment, he turned his palm outward, pushed another finger inside her and began working her clitorus with his thumb.

Harmony shuddered with pleasure and her lower half began writhing against his hand. With his head turned to the side, he watched her movements as she fucked his fingers and rolled her hips in order to grind against his thumb. She was gasping around his shaft now, and her head bobbed up and down faster, causing him to bucked up into her mouth without restraint. The crown of his cock butted the back of her throat and still they continued, with Harmony trying to devour him with a rapturous expression.

"Fuck, that's good," he groaned. For a moment he placed his right palm to the back of her bobbing head, his hand moving up and down with her movements. Only for a moment, for her breasts were dangling enticingly and he wished to touch them. He reached his right hand beneath her breast to roll her nipple between thumb and forefinger, while the fingers and thumb of his left hand continued to fuck and finger her, with Harmony writhing and grinding on his hand.

Harmony shuddered and arched her back, her breath caught in her throat. She was close and he needed to be inside her, wanted to feel the ripples of her orgasm around his phallus.

"Enough," he commanded. He pulled his fingers out of her and, understanding that he needed more now, she pulled off him slowly - his cock making a soft wet 'popping' sound. His phallus felt too cold now that it was not in the hot confines of her mouth and he quickly shuffled around behind her, eager to feel her warmth again. Harmony - still kneeling - leaned forward and braced herself on her elbows.

He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her as he moved in to position. She was presenting herself to him and he reached out with both hands to caress her and mould the shapely half crescents of her backside, then up higher to caress her smooth back, and then down her sensitive sides, causing her entire body to shiver.

"Let me show you that I can be as energetic as Tavington," his voice was low and husky. "I'll fuck you faster than you can clap your hands."

"Oh, yes," Harmony whispered, pushing back against him eagerly. Bordon took hold of his cock in one hand, and guided himself inside her. Both of them were at the height of their pleasure already - after all the teasing, neither could take it any more. He began the quick cadence at once. Kneeling tall behind her, he gripped her hips and pulled her toward him as he shunted his hips forward, his cock impaling her in one swoop.

_Just how fast can a person clap?_ He had no idea. Fast, he supposed. Still, he gave it his best and Harmony was certainly well pleased by his efforts. Their skin slapped loudly in the tent. There was only one way they could lessen the noise, and that was to go slower, but neither of them were capable of that just then. Gasping for breath, Harmony curled her fingers in her blankets and pushed back quickly to meet Bordon's incredibly fast thrusts. The crown of his cock slid in and out of her, massaging her walls and butting against the roof of her, causing large bolts of sensation within her. With his quick thrusting, these bolts were almost occurring one on top of the other in quick succession and before long, they felt like one continual stream - one long charge that began to spread through her, from her womanhood and out, spreading throughout her entire body. Harmony pulled the blanket close enough to her mouth so she could sink her teeth into the wool, stifling her moans as her orgasm swelled to an incredible height and then flooded through her. Her entire body convulsed - outside, and in. Bordon felt it and he bit back a stream of curses as her clutching walls began to milk his seed from him, causing his climax to explode from his balls and along the length of his phallus. Long moments the sensation lasted - at its height - it was the most glorious feeling he'd known. And he felt it each and every time he coupled with Harmony.

Spent, he collapsed on top of her back, then slowly he withdrew and dropped back onto the blankets.

"Happy now?" He managed to say between breaths. Harmony nodded lazily and curled up alongside him.

"Very," she assured him.

"I was as energetic as Tavington?" He asked her, his voice thick and sated from their recent coupling.

"I'm certain you were," she smiled. "Lord - that was wonderful - I love it when you hit that spot - and doing it at such a fast pace, it was magnificent!"

"Don't expect it too often," he said, his voice returning to normal now. "I don't think I have it in me - to do it every night."

"The staying power of you," she quipped. "In all honesty, I doubt I could handle it too often myself. I'd say after such a ramming, I'll be quite tender tomorrow morning!"

"You won't leave me for Tavington, then?" He asked and she giggled.

"No," she promised. "But - oh, Richard, I'm going to move my tent tomorrow - to the other end of the lane!"

"To get away from their caterwauling? You might need to go across to the other side of camp!" He chortled. "Christ! If people didn't know she was his mistress before this, they certainly do now!"

"They did know," she told him. "The silly chit announced it on our second day here."

"She what?" Bordon frowned, his expression becoming deadly cold and intent, setting aside the memory of his pleasure of a few moments ago. "You were both told to say nothing!"

"I didn't say a word!" Harmony protested. "But she did - and she got the wooden spoon over her backside despite of it. Or maybe in spite of it, I'm not certain.

"I think you have a tale to tell," he said, all business like.

Harmony sighed heavily.

"As I said, it was on our second day, and…"

She told him all of it - from start to finish, of Linda's belief that they would not have to work so hard if they announced who they were. Of Harmony trying to dissuade her and Linda finally losing her temper and shouting the knowledge for all the camp. She told Bordon of the beating Mrs. Salisbury gave Linda.

"I can laugh about it now," she confided. "It really was quite a sight. She picked Linda up by the scruff of her neck and said," - she made her voice deep but shrill at the same time as she quoted the other woman, - "_make sure you tell him about this, when you do!_"

Despite his irritation, tears of mirth sprang to his eyes and Bordon shoved his fist into his mouth to stifle his laughter.

"Agh I haven't laughed that hard in days!" He chortled. "What happened then?"

"She turned on me, asking if I was some great commander's mistress. I am of course - the greatest of commanders," she said fondly, "but I denied it. I knew I had to stand up for myself then though, to make sure she didn't think she could get away with paddling me - ever - so I told her that if she struck me with that wooden spoon, I'd shove it so firmly up her arse and that she'd be shitting splinters."

Bordon fell onto his back, laughing even harder then. "Oh, my Harm," he chortled. "That's my girl!"

Harmony smiled as she watched him in the throes of mirth. When he sobered somewhat, he said intently, "if she ever does - strike you with that spoon, I'll have the bitch whipped. I'll let her know it too, in case she decides to ignore your threat."

"That's my boy!" Harmony kissed the tip of his nose. "Linda and I have been calling her Mrs. Bloody Shrew - behind her back of course." - Bordon laughed again at this. - "Do you think Tavington will be angry that Salisbury struck Linda?"

"I doubt it," Richard shook his head. "No - he will be more angry with Linda, for revealing their affair on the first day. Not that it matters now - everyone will know after their caterwauling! But he won't openly admit it. He will ignore it and pretend Linda is not his mistress, and the others will pretend it also - to his face, anyway. He certainly will not defend her to Mrs. Bloody Shrew. No - Linda is on her own. You, however, are not. I'll have her over a barrel, I vow it, if she touches you."

"Hmm, my hero," Harmony snuggled into him.


	54. Chapter 54 - A Miserable Past

Chapter 54 - A Miserable Past:

_"Miss Jutland! If you've gone to sleep in there, I'll drag you out by your hair! Five minutes shut eye is one thing but it's been over an hour!"_

Richard jerked awake, woken by the woman's bellow outside the tent. Harmony sat up, seizing a blanket and covering herself in case Mrs. Salisbury made good on her promise. Richard's face slowly became thunder and he began to rise.

"You can't fight every battle for me, my love," Harmony said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back down. "I'll deal with her." His lips were tight but he nodded curt agreement.

_"I am going count to ten and -"_

"And I'll count to bloody three and if you don't stop screaming, I'll make good on my threat, Mrs. Salisbury!" Harmony shouted back, rising to her feet. She glanced down at Richard to see his face shift from fury to delight, he lay back on the blankets, laughing at the image of Harmony shoving Mrs. Salisbury's wooden spoon up the woman's arse.

_"Do you have a man in there?" _Mrs. Salisbury barked. _"I knew it! You're nothing but a hussy and -"_

"If you finish that sentence, I'll see you delivered from this camp, by God!" Richard snapped. There was silence outside the tent and Harmony lifted the flap to confront Mrs. Salisbury wrapped in nothing but her blanket. The woman had a clear view of Richard now, he was seated upright again and glowering up at her. The tyrants' face paled.

_"If there's any more bloody shouting, I'll deliver the whole lot of you from this damned camp!"_ Tavington shouted from Linda's tent.

"Yes, Colonel Tavington, because _you're_ one to talk," Harmony said loudly enough for the Colonel to hear. Richard started laughing again. A crowd had begun to form and more than a few of them chortled. Meeting Mrs. Salisbury's eyes, Harmony lifted her chin. "Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Salisbury?" The woman was clutching that wooden spoon in her hand, she breathing hard, her eyes wide and wild, darting from Harmony to the Major and back again. "I thought I made myself clear the other day, Mrs. Salisbury," Harmony began, her eyes glaring at the wooden spoon as if she were ready to snatch it. She folded her bare arms across her chest over the blanket that covered her from her armpits to her ankles. "I will not be beaten, not by you, nor by anyone else. That includes - what was it you said? - being dragged from my tent by my hair. Or do we need to have that particular discussion all over again?"

Mrs. Salisbury drew herself up to her full height, she too was aware of the soldiers and camp followers gathering behind her to watch the spectacle. "All camp followers work, Miss Jutland. From the Officers wives to the…" she glanced at Richard, then back to Harmony. "All of you."

"And haven't I been? It's the Officer's wives you should be berating, not I. Their maids are doing their mistresses share of work, while the ladies sit around having tea parties," Harmony saw a few of the women nod agreement. "If anyone needs to be reminded that 'all camp followers work', it is they. Well? Go along and tell them." She lifted her voice. "Or perhaps _you_ should tell them, Colonel Tavington. Frankly, I'm tired of having this discussion."

Linda's tent flap opened and Tavington - fully clothed and pristinely dressed, ducked out. Harmony confronted him.

"I am taking myself off certain duties, Sir," she said, bypassing Mrs. Salisbury now that the one who gave the woman her authority was standing right there. "I have decided that I shall not clean another chamber pot until Emily Wilkins has done her fair share of them."

He quirked an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. "Then I doubt you'll ever be cleaning another chamber pot, Miss Jutland," he said and she smiled back at him.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Richard snapped from his seat in Harmony's bed. "You're cleaning _chamber pots_?"

"I asked for more gentle work, like sewing, just so I'd get a rest from the more arduous work I'd been doing, but not only was this refused, Mrs. Salisbury - in a fit of spite, no doubt, set me to cleaning other mens - and womens - _shit and piss_. I don't particularly like it, to be honest," Harmony said, shifting her now angry gaze from William to Richard and back to William again. "I am here, Sir, because I am in love with your Major. I am his mistress." She felt Mrs. Salisbury shift beside her restlessly, for Harmony had previously told her she wasn't any great Commanders mistress. "Now, I have kept that a secret as you asked me to - for all the good it's done, I think everyone knows by now. And I have accepted that I am going to work here - and work here I have and shall. But if I am to be continually degraded, I shall leave. Because, even though I am a camp follower now, I am not a_ piece of shit_!" She spat, only realising then just how angry she was. She fair quivered with it from head to toe. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm. She opened her eyes, met William's. "I am so sorry, Sir, I should not have spoken to you like that." He inclined his head but said nothing. "You have placed this woman above all other camp followers, and while I believe she is a very poor choice, it is absolutely something I can accept," she continued. "But while I love Richard and have no desire to leave him, I am not so desperate to be here that I can not set my own terms."

"That is more than fair, Miss Jutland," the Colonel said. "What are your terms?"

From the corner of her eyes, Harmony saw Mrs. Salisbury turn to the Colonel with a look of stunned amazement. She also saw Richard dragging a blanket around his lower half and rising to his feet.

"Nothing too onerous, Colonel," Harmony said. "There's really only one thing I'd like your support with."

"And that is?"

"You said I can not reside with Richard in the Dragoon section of camp. I do understand the need for this, Sir, and I offer no argument. However, if I can't live there because my presence will_ offend the Officers wives_, well I'm not going to work there either, because quite frankly, _they offend me_."

"How have they offended you?" Richard asked, voice sharp.

"Oh, it's nothing I wasn't expecting, if I'm completely honest. They are who they are and I am who I am. The genteel sort mix with my type like oil and water."

"Your type," Richard shook his head and placed his hand on her arm.

"I don't need my nose constantly rubbed in the reminder of our differing stations," Harmony continued. "I will _not_ cook for them. I will _not_ do their washing. I will _not_ clean for them. I will _not_ enter the Dragoon section of camp at all, not for _any_ reason," this was for Tavington, who nodded agreement. "There is plenty of work that needs doing elsewhere, and so I shall concentrate my efforts _elsewhere_."

"You are correct, Miss Jutland, that is not an onerous request," he said.

"Thank you. Further, I will not clean another chamber pot and not because I feel I am above the task," Harmony said, adding with a laugh, "but because I believe I've more than done my quota of those. In fact, I have been doing more than my share of the general workload - the other camp followers can attest to this, I think." She gestured toward the crowd and saw more than a few firm nods of agreement. Miss Amity Cordell went so far as to open her mouth in support of Harmony but she glanced at Salisbury's back and snapped her mouth shut again, still terrified of the woman.

"It is true," Mrs. Andrews said. An older woman, the same age as Salisbury, she was not as intimidated. When Salisbury rounded on her, Mrs. Andrews folded her arms across her chest and arched her eyebrows, as if daring her. "Will you deny it, Mrs. Salisbury?" Mrs. Andrews asked. "Will you deny that Miss Jutland has been working her rump off?"

Mrs. Salisbury's lips tightened.

Into the silence that followed, Harmony said, "thank you, Mrs. Andrews. And I shall continue to work my rump off. However," she turned to Mrs. Salisbury and her voice became granite. "When this is closed," she pointed at the tent flap, "you are - _UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES_ \- to disturb me again," she took an aggressive step toward the shorter woman. "I mean it, Salisbury." She held the other woman's eyes. "I will do my fair share, but in this, I will not be denied."

Mrs. Salisbury looked to Richard, who stood slightly behind Harmony, looking as powerful as her very own vanguard. She knew, now, that if she did disturb Miss Jutland, then she would also be disturbing the Major, and that would not be wise.

"Well. As long as you continue to do your fair share," Mrs. Salisbury's voice trembled slightly.

"Which is far more than you're making those uppity bitch wives do," Harmony snapped. "Now. If you'll excuse me." She inclined her head to Tavington, silently thanking him, before she turned back to Richard and their tent. She closed the flap and began knotting the ties for good measure.

_"I was not aware that Miss Jutland was the Major's lover."_ She heard Mrs. Salisbury say to the Colonel.

_"Then Miss Jutland has done as I requested of her. I have agreed to her terms, Mrs. Salisbury, and every single one applies to Miss Stokes, also. Neither will work in the Dragoon section of camp, neither will wait on the Officer's wives, neither is to be disturbed when the tent flap is closed. If you come to feel that either of them has begun shirking their duties, you will discuss it with me and I shall deal with the matter."_

"Shirking?" Harmony mouthed at Richard, outraged.

"He's just smoothing the waters," Richard shrugged. He cupped her face with his strong hands. "You handled that beautifully," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if Colonel Tavington decides to give you command of the camp followers."

Harmony laughed. "Now that, I'd like. Mrs. Wilkins would be washing chamber pots quick enough then, or I'll beat her with my spoon."

He grinned at her. He let his blanket fall and then peeled hers away, and drew her body to his.

* * *

The revellers continued their celebration all throughout the camp. They were celebrating the lack of battle, the easy victory over the rebels, that they still had their lives, and because they could. Despite the noise, Bordon began to doze off. He was exhausted and sated, with his lover in his arms and he found it easy to drift off to sleep, despite the early hour.

Shortly later, he began to rouse - he lifted his head from the pillow and glanced groggily at the candle, using how far it had melted down to judge how much time had past. An hour perhaps, which meant it was only six or six-thirty.

"Are you awake?" He whispered to Harmony, who lay curled around him with her head on his broad chest.

"Yes," she murmured. "I am." She lifted her head from his chest and gazed down at him. "What now?"

"Another round?" He smirked up at her and she laughed.

"Hell no - I'm too sore. I meant what happens now? Camden is secure, the rebels have been dispersed again - but Tavington has said we won't be going back to Charlestown. So - where?"

"South down the Santee," Bordon replied. He cocked his head, wondering. "Where are you from, Harm? Did you grow up on the Santee?"

Harmony was awfully closed about her past. He knew instinctively that she had suffered something terrible, but she refused to speak of it. She would not even speak of her family or where they came from, though he got the feeling from the little she had said, that she'd had a happy enough childhood. He was curious and wondered if she would finally open up to him this time.

"No," Harmony shook her head.

"Are you going to make me guess then?" He smiled as he reached up to brush her long, loose hair back from her face. "Come on, Harm. Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell," she said, her eyes becoming wary.

"I think there's plenty to tell," he disagreed. "Is it really so hard to tell me where you grew up?"

"No, I suppose not," she sighed. "Very well. Have you heard of a place called Grindal Shoals?"

"I might have… I'm not sure."

"You go all the way up the Broad," she traced her finger along his chest, as if following the route to her home. "Past the Enoree, past the Tyger," her finger traced higher, "all the way up to the Pacolet and then, just before the Pacolet splits off onto Lawson's Fork and South Pacolet, just down here, is Grindal Shoals," she tapped his skin. "Up near the border of North Carolina."

"So far," he frowned.

"Yes, my parents own a small Plantation there. It isn't very prosperous," she said. "It's been so long since I have written to them, I don't even know if they are alive or…"

"Why haven't you written to them?" he asked her.

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about it," she snuggled in to him and he held her tight, for the discussion had made her melancholy.

"Alright. Well, what of this Plantation? Who looks after it - just your father and brothers? Lord, I don't even know if you have siblings."

"I have a brother and a sister," she said, suddenly guarded. "Really, Richard, can't we talk about something else? I asked you a question first - what happens when we get to the Santee?"

"No, I don't think we can talk about something else," he said. Gently, he lifted her off him and turned over to face her. "I've told you much about my life, but you've told me little to nothing of yours. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you!" Harmony frowned. "It's just painful to talk about."

"Then take it slow - we've got all night," he caressed her cheek and kissed her gently.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" She asked him, resigned now.

"No, I'm not. So. Start at the beginning."

With a sullen sigh, she began. Her story was a simple one, for she came from a simple family. Bordon had been correct to think that she had had a happy enough childhood, growing up on the small Plantation. She had loving parents, and had been close to her brother Hamish and her sister Amberley. A nice tale, a nice childhood spent learning doctoring from her father and cooking from her mother. What surprised him was what occurred in her later years. It was another typical story, she was betrothed to the boy whose parents owned the Plantation beside her father's, the parents of both families were as close as could be and they settled in the area so they could live together. When both wives had fallen pregnant at the same time, they began immediately planning the wedding, hoping that the babies would be of opposite sexes. And they were - a girl for the Jutland's and a boy for the Farshaw's. It had been their hope that the joining of the two families would help the Plantations to prosper.

"And so we married in 1775 and -"

"What?" Stunned, Bordon gaped at her. "You _married_ him! You're a married woman!"

"Yes, I am," she admitted. "A widow now, anyway. But yes, I was married."

"But… but…" he spluttered, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "You call yourself Miss Jutland! 'Miss', is the title for unmarried girls, Harmony!"

"I know," she shrugged. "When I learned that Calvin had been wounded in battle and had died -"

"Battle!" Bordon sat up, completely unhinged now. "Your husband was a soldier?"

"It gets worse," she grinned up at him. It had not occurred to her that she would enjoy shocking him so thoroughly. "He was not just any old militiaman - he was a regular, a Continental."

"Jesus!" Bordon exploded - softly, to not wake Tavington, who was still snoring in the next tent over. "A Continental! You're the wife of a rebel! Are you a rebel too, then? Should I be worried that you'll spy and -"

"Don't be absurd," Harmony snorted. "I'll have you know that my family are Loyalists. My father and my brother both served in the Loyalist militia."

"They did?" Richard asked, surprised.

"Yes. Distinguished themselves quite well. I am a Loyalist, for several reasons - not just because my family is. One of them being that I don't think too kindly on my time living in the garrison with the Continental's -"

"You were a camp follower before…" Bordon laid back down. "That's why you already know so much about camp life!"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this? You were married to a Patriot! Didn't it occur to you that I'd question your Loyalty, if I had known?" He frowned at her fiercely. "You're my mistress, Harm and as such, you have access to valuable information. William and I speak freely in front of you and -"

"And you can continue to do so, dear heart, for I am Loyal to you, in every single possible way," she told him so earnestly that his belief was immediate, his fears laid to rest instantly. "Darling, I didn't tell you because what came during my years of marriage was painful and I just… I want to forget it - all of it. But it's always there and it won't go away. You started this, I'm not the one who wanted to discuss it. Shall we stop?"

"No. I want to know everything about you," he said, his tone gentle again. "I'm sorry, I'm just… Shocked…"

"I understand," she kissed him, a brushing caress of her lips along his which caused them both to sigh. "I love you, and I'll never betray you. I am a Loyalist, Richard, and I was long before you ever came into my life."

"Alright, I'm convinced," Bordon threw his arms up in mock surrender. "Tell me more about this husband of yours."

"We were both eighteen when we married," she began. "And had known each other our entire lives. It was strange to be married to him, and I could not have been more nervous on our wedding night. He didn't know any more about what to do than I did - he was a virgin as well. But we fumbled through. Soon after we married, his father began trying to get Calvin to take on more responsibility, he wanted him to begin learning the business side of running the Plantations. But war with Britain was imminent - it would be coming to South Carolina eventually and Calvin wanted adventure - he didn't want to wile away on the plantation. I think it was in March 1776, when we'd been married for a good six months, that he decided to leave, to go to Charlestown and enlist in the Second Regiment - it was all so new then, they'd only just raised the Regiments. He made me go with him. I was willing - because Calvin had filled my head with how wonderful it would be. He couldn't stop talking about the world beyond our parent's plantations, he made it sound so exciting - he made me think we'd be a part of something bigger. _'Who wants to just hear about it second hand'_, he'd say, _'when we can see it for ourselves? And be in the thick of it?'_ And the way he described Charlestown - as though it was bigger and better than any city in the world."

"He'd never been to London, I take it," Bordon scoffed derisively.

"No," Harmony laughed. "But I'll admit I found Charlestown to be everything he said it would be - being the back country hick I am. Calvin enlisted and he started his training. He quickly showed his worth, when Clinton arrived to Charlestown harbour with his naval fleet. Were you there, Richard?"

It had not occurred to her before now, but it suddenly seemed quite likely that Richard, Tavington, Tarleton and all of the other British Officers of her acquaintance would have been aboard the man o' wars attacking Charlestown's newly constructed palmetto log forts. After a vicious, nasty bombardment, the British naval force had retreated and continued on to New York, not to return until five years later.

"Yes, I was," Richard said. "The rebels put up a damned good fight, we couldn't gain a foot hold. I can't believe you were there, too!"

"I'd been there for two months, I think," she stroked his face and gazed at him with such fondness, her expression wistful. "To think, I was stuck in the garrison with my husband while the true love of my life was out in the harbour."

He took a hold of her fingers, which were stroking his face just then, and kissed them.

"Calvin became a hero to the other men in his regiment during that battle. He did not balk at his duties - he ran through the heavy bombardment to bring up fresh supplies of gunpowder to the cannons. He never lacked bravery and he was a likeable boy at first, and a good husband, too. But unfortunately for me, he began to change. The Regiments began taking rogues into their ranks - men and youths caught stealing or raping and even murderers. Calvin had never met men like those before and now he was suddenly surrounded by them. He befriended too many of the wrong sort, who introduced him to drinking and gambling. Oh, and whoring - let's not forget the whoring. Now - because I was only young and didn't know anything more than he did, we'd fumble through our coupling enough for him to be satisfied. When he was introduced to whoring, however, oh - he realised how much he was missing. He spent most of his meagre wage on doxies, and only wanted to couple with me when he couldn't afford more experienced women. After a while, he caught the eye of this young woman, Chastity her name was but Chaste she was not," Harmony sniffed. "She was married to a man who was so old, I doubted they even coupled, it would have killed him. Perhaps she was lonely, I don't know. I find it hard to sympathise with her plight when she made my life a damned misery. She caught Cal's eye too, and he did everything he could to keep her interest. Her husband was wealthy, you see, like James Wilkins' wealthy. So of course Chastity Whitney had very expensive tastes. In order to buy her trinkets and the light, Calvin turned to gambling, which turned to drinking too, as I said. More often than not, he ended up owing money to his comrades -"

"That's usually the way of it," Bordon said darkly.

"Yes. If he lost a round, and if that meant he wasn't able to buy something special for Mrs. Whitney, he would borrow the money instead. And as I said, his comrades were not the nicest sort - they were a mean bunch - they were constantly brawling and were not gentle with Cal when he couldn't pay up. When the British withdrew from the harbour, Charlestown was quiet and the men became bored. The commander of the regiment - Lieutenant Colonel Harper - did not worry too much about keeping discipline amongst his soldiers. I was pleased when Harper retired, I thought his replacement would pull the troops in line and cut out drinking and gambling, but it was not to be. Lieutenant Colonel Josiah Clement came along to replace Harper -"

Harmony cut off mid sentence. As soon as she said the Colonel's name, she grew silent and pensive. Richard frowned, foreboding beginning to stir deep in his bones. He suspected that they were finally drawing closer to the terrible suffering she had experienced, that perhaps the troops conduct became increasingly worse under Clement's command, to Harmony's detriment.

"I think there were twelve Companies under Colonel Clement's command. Each Company had their own Captain," she said quietly, "We had a small tent and lived with Calvin's Company. There were twelve men in his unit and it was commanded by Captain Linus - have you heard of him?"

Bordon shook his head. He understood how regiments were structured - the British Legion was formed in the same manner - she certainly did not have to explain these things to him! But he sensed she was stalling, biding her time as she worked up the bravery to continue. He made no attempt to prod her along, though inside he was writhing with curiosity and anxiety

"Oh. I suppose it doesn't matter. When Calvin couldn't have Mrs. Whitney for whatever reason, he came to my bed and I have to admit he was kind enough to me between the sheets. He bought his new found expertise and I enjoyed it - I'd never had an orgasm before so I was almost grateful to the doxies who'd taught him," she laughed softly. "Eventually I fell pregnant and -"

"Oh, no," Bordon groaned. Harmony did not have any children that he knew of, she'd never alluded to being a mother, and so he knew the next part of her story could not have ended well.

"Yes," she nodded agreement, confirming Richard's fears. "Calvin was happy about it, I think. When I told him he smiled and touched my slightly rounded stomach. He decided we had to celebrate and he had just been paid his wage, and so we visited the shops in Charlestown - and Calvin bought me some ribbons and other sweet things, but he got himself a bottle of whiskey. That was to be his way of celebrating - to get utterly soused. We celebrated with his Company while sitting around a campfire. Captain Linus took me aside and pressed a sovereign in my palm - he told me not to tell Calvin - fearing Cal would spend it on Mrs. Whitney. The entire Regiment knew of the affair, even if her stupid husband did not. After being Cal's Captain for two years, Linus knew what he was like… It wasn't a bad evening, we sat for hours as the men drank toast after toast to the health of our baby. Finally Calvin - who could barely walk - decided it was time to call it a night. Our tent was close by, but before we could reach it, a trooper ran over with orders that Calvin was summoned to Colonel Clement. Cal could barely walk straight, so I went with him, helping to keep him upright. I hung back when we reached the Colonel's little cabin, I'd always felt uncomfortable with the way he'd stare at me and I tried to avoid him when I could. They were standing at the front of Clement's cabin, I could see them talking, but was too far back to hear their conversation. It made my skin crawl though, the way they both kept looking at me - it was clear that I was the topic of their discussion. Calvin was so drunk that he was swaying, he looked ready to fall where he stood. But he listened and then he finally nodded. Colonel Josiah Clement though - he eyed me up and down, looking extremely pleased, which I found frightening."

"Harm…" Bordon drew a sharp breath. He could see exactly where this was going and he pulled her against him. Both lay on their sides, face to face, but Harmony couldn't meet Richard's eyes. She stared at his chin instead, her smile was long since gone from her lips. In a small voice, sounding on the verge of tears, she continued.

"Clement disappeared inside his cabin while Calvin stumbled back to me. He told me what was expected of me - that I was to go in to the Colonel's cabin rather than return with him to the tent we shared. I refused of course, I couldn't believe he would ever consider selling me to anyone! I was his wife, but he was treating me like a common doxy! Or a slave… I… I refused and he became so angry, he struck me. He wanted the money so he could keep Mrs. Whitney's interest, you see, and Clement was offering more than enough even to satisfy her tastes, and Calvin needed me cowed. So he hit me, right there for all to see. And do you think anyone stopped him? No, not a damned one. For he was my husband - he had every right," she said bitterly. "He'd never hit me before and I can't tell you how shocked I was. Calvin told me I had to stop crying and pull myself together, because Clement was waiting. And he said I wasn't to cry during, or he'd be real mad. I didn't know what to do - my mind wouldn't work but instincts set in and I tried to run. I bolted but as drunk as he was, Calvin must have known I would try it and he grabbed me and hauled me back and… he beat me, Richard," Harmony's voice broke then and she began to weep as all the remembered pain and anguish welled up inside her. "He beat be and I lost our babe!"

"Agh, Christ," Richard sighed and held her close as she wept. Harmony clung to him until the last of her convulsions faded.

"It didn't happen right off," she whispered. "I didn't bleed right away, so I didn't know the baby had been harmed until the following day. I was terrified of Calvin, I couldn't say no to bedding Josiah, not after that. He just stood there, holding my arm so tight it hurt, as I cried. The pain of the blows was horrible - I can't tell you… Just horrible. I stopped crying eventually, because he was hissing at me to shut up and pull myself together and I was too scared not to. He led me to a bucket of water to wash my face, and then marched me back to Josiah's cabin. Now Josiah - I don't know if you've ever encountered him in any skirmishes -"

"I haven't," Bordon ground out in a voice that indicated that he'd very much like to. He'd like to face off with Colonel Clement very much.

"Well, he's a big man, Richard. As tall as Wilkins and solid all over. Calvin had already warned me not to try and fight and honestly, there was no possible way I could have. When I was in Josiah's cabin, there was no fight in me anyway. I was so frightened, even nauseas - and to be honest, I felt such shame! I was disgusted with myself as though it were all my fault. I felt like a whore, because that's what Calvin had just turned me in to. As I said, I couldn't fight the Colonel - he was too big, but when he did have me in his bed I struggled a little then. He didn't beat me or anything, he just told me that he'd already paid Calvin and that a wife had to obey her husband. He didn't strike me, but he held me down and did what he wanted."

"Jesus, Harmony," Richard closed his eyes. It was difficult, trying to banish the image of the woman he loved, a much younger and innocent Harmony, being held down and forced by a man. "Is he still alive, this Colonel bloody Clement?"

By the sound of Richard's, voice, Harmony suspected that Clement might not be for much longer.

"Yes, but I've not heard hide nor hair of him for a long time now."

"What happened next?" Richard asked. "You lost the baby, clearly?"

"Yes, that started the following day. Josiah kept me in his cabin for the night, and I returned to my tent in the morning. Calvin was flat on his back, snoring up a storm. He reeked of whiskey and that musky scent - of seed and women - for he'd been with Mrs. Whitney during the night. I just stared at him - wishing I had the guts to take up his knife and plunge it into his heart. I had the opportunity - he was out cold and wouldn't have been able to defend himself. But…" she gave a slow shrug - it was one thing to imagine killing a person while brimming with righteous rage - but quite another to actually perform the evil deed. "I didn't have much time to stew over what had happened, for later that day - I got the most horrible cramps and started to bleed."

Bordon said nothing to this as he stroked her hair. She grieved in his arms, for her lost babe, for her lost innocence.

"It took a few days," she said slowly, as though her entire body was drained from telling him her dreadful tale. Once she started, however, it all poured out of her, she found she could not stop speaking. "But the bleeding stopped and… The babe was gone. A midwife told me I had not been that far along, and so it was all over that much more quickly. It broke my heart - my baby was gone, my husband had turned out to be a brute. He was completely unapologetic - that he had beaten me and forced the baby from me. He said that if I hadn't have tried to disobey him, he wouldn't have done what he did and that we'd still have our baby. He put all of the blame on me.

"Even though I despised him, I was his wife and he made me tumble him when ever he couldn't visit Mrs. Whitney. I despised bedding him and I told him I wanted to go home but he wouldn't let me. Not only because he wanted his own needs seen to, but because he was not willing to give up his new found income. I was the prettiest girl in the garrison. I wasn't quite eighteen. I was fresh faced, my breasts still high, my figure still fine. I looked after myself - kept myself clean and my hair washed when ever I was able. Because of this, I gained the Colonel's interest and even after bedding me, Josiah's attraction to me did not wane even slightly. I had hoped it would, that after he'd had his fill of me that night, he'd move on to the next pretty thing. But he did not. As it turned out Josiah was besotted with me and his pockets were deep. Calvin would not let me go home, because the Colonel asked for me again and my husband was not about to give up his little windfalls. Calvin would escort me to Josiah's cabin sometimes three times a week, and I'd sleep there for the night.

"After a few weeks of this, Josiah started to become jealous when I had to return to Calvin, for he knew Calvin sometimes demanded his husbandly rights. And so he began sending my husband out of the garrison for days on end as often as he could. After a few months, Calvin began to protest - he grew annoyed at being sent from the garrison and away from Mrs. Whitney, to scout in the woods and at all the extra duties he was forced to do - he knew he was being sent away deliberately. On top of that, other soldiers began to mock Calvin constantly - it became a long running joke, that his wife preferred to be in the Colonel's bed. He was already foul over this and when he discovered I was pregnant again, he went mad, for he knew it could not possibly be his child. You see - Calvin returned to the garrison often - but only briefly before Josiah sent him out again. He was never there for long enough for us to have relations."

"_Bordon_," Tavington called from the next tent. "_You coming?_"

"Perhaps later!" Bordon called back shortly.

"Where are you going?" Harmony asked, panicking. "I haven't told you everything! You started this, and I need to get this off my chest now!"

"Shh, I'm not going anywhere," he assured her gently. "We told Wilkins and the boys we'd meet up with them for a few ales but that was before. Tavington and Linda can go without us."

"Oh, good," Harmony sighed with relief. The two were quiet for a bit, listening to the noises in the next tent, Tavington and Linda speaking quietly as they dressed. Finally they left the tent, enabling Bordon and Harmony to continue their discussion uninterrupted.

"If he beat you again, oh sweet Lord," Bordon growled. There was not a thing he could do, for Calvin was dead, but still he had the all consuming urge to seek for the bastard's cold grave, drag his lifeless body out of the earth and kill him all over again.

"That's exactly what happened," Harmony said quietly. She was disinclined to go into the details, for she had been further along in the pregnancy the second time around and the miscarriage resulting from the beating was much worse than the first one. She rolled on to her back and stared blindly at the canvas ceiling. "He beat me deliberately to make me lose the baby, saying he would not rear some other man's bastard - and never mind the fact that it was his fault the baby was there to start with."

"And did fucking Colonel Clements do anything about it?" Bordon ground out, his eyes blazing, fair seething with rage. "Damned bastard! If it'd been my child, I'd have whipped that fucking piece of good for nothing shit _raw_! I'd have strung him by his neck from a Goddamned tree!"

"I know," Harmony said. She placed her finger on Bordon's lips gently, he was clearly about to continue his expletives and had been growing quite loud and passionate about it. "Richard, you would not have paid my husband to get me into your bed in the first place. As for Josiah - well, to his credit - he was furious. As I said, he was in love with me, though I didn't return the sentiment. He wanted to do all of those things - wanted to see Calvin dead, but how could he discipline a man for beating his own wife? It was outside his authority to do so."

"He should have done something!" Bordon hissed, his tone sullen and fury filled.

"He did," Harmony replied. "He might not have been able to punish Calvin for beating me, but he did have political power and he managed to force Calvin into another regiment. Calvin was furious about that, because he'd be forced to leave Mrs. Whitney and the comrades he'd been serving with for years. He told Josiah if he was forced to transfer out, then he would be taking me with him. To stop that happening, Josiah paid Calvin a substantial amount of money and he made certain that the Regiment he chose to transfer Calvin into, was situated nearer to the Whitney's Plantation."

"That sounds more like a reward than a punishment," Richard scowled.

"From Calvin's view point, I suppose it was. Josiah's motive was to ensure Calvin was kept apart from me, as much as was possible. It was reward for Calvin and punishment for me, for now I had to bed Josiah every night, rather than the few he was getting previously. In a way though, I preferred that and there was a part of me that feared what would happen when Calvin's money was all spent on Mrs. Whitney, what he would do then? Would he demand more from Josiah? Were Josiah's pockets deep enough to pay him off again? If not, would Calvin make me go with him, would he put me in someone else's bed? What if he beat me again? And what if he wanted me to bed him? He was my husband, and as such, I was at his mercy. I had no rights - I would be unable to refuse! Josiah was worried about all those things too. He was worried about the money too - even as affluent as he was. How many times a year would he have to pay Calvin off? How quickly would Calvin spend through the money? But then fate stepped in," Harmony sighed heavily, the relief in her voice clear to Bordon. "General Prevost and his British force tried to cross the Ashley to take Charlestown. The attempt failed, as you know, and he slunk away in the dead of night -"

"I wouldn't say 'slunk'," Bordon said primly. He was British, after all. And he felt that Prevost had made the right move, decamping and retreating during the night, so his force would not have to fight a lost cause the following morning.

"Be that as it may - he left and then Rutledge, Lincoln and their French consul decided to unite and attack Prevost's position - to take Savannah."

"And they failed," Bordon curled his lip. "Savannah is still ours."

"So you know how it ended, then? The siege, and then the battle, Prevost's victory and Lincoln's complete defeat?"

Bordon nodded and Harmony continued.

"Calvin had just been transferred to a new regiment, remember? And for the longest time, it suited him perfectly, for he was able to see his precious unchaste Chastity. But then they were summoned to Savannah, it was that regiment which left Charlestown to attack Prevost," she lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. "Lord - I am going to say this aloud for the first time ever," she hesitated, then blurted, "to my shame, Richard, I was relieved when I got word that Calvin had died during that battle. Relieved! And happy! I was happy," she began to cry then, for what sort of person did it make her, that she could be pleased over another's death? The death of her husband, no less! She wept with shame as Bordon soothed her.

"With him gone," she whispered. "I was finally free. Free, Richard! It was time to take my life into my own hands. And so one night, when Josiah was away from the garrison to hide in the city. I feel guilty sometimes, for the way I left him without any warning, without telling him where I was going. He was in love with me and I knew it would hurt him. And I feel guilty because he did protect me. Josiah never beat me, he provided for me, saw to my every need. He paid Calvin off and sent him away, which meant I was not at my husband's mercy. Calvin would have shared me with all and sundry - to earn enough to feed his vices. He would have forced himself on me whenever he wished, and he would have beat me just to prove he could. In the end, I welcomed being in Josiah's bed, I truly did. I'm not ashamed to say it - no matter how despicable it makes me sound."

"I understand completely," Bordon assured her.

"But I didn't want to be with him, Richard. With my husband dead, I had no intention of letting Josiah claim me further. And so I fled. I ran and ran - away from the garrison - and in to Charlestown proper, I lost myself in the busy streets. As luck would have it, I eventually stumbled into The Might George tavern, and Mr. Ingles. Such a kind man… He let me work at the inn, he let me live in one of the chambers until he found me the room above the Cobblers shop. He took care of me. I was waiting for the day he would approach me for payment, if you take my meaning."

"I do," Bordon nodded.

"I was wary for so long but… but he never did. He never asked for anything. I came to realise how kind he was, that he took care of women like me. He does these things without expectations. I wish I could repay him somehow."

"Is this why you climbed out the window to get away from Sumter?" Bordon asked, seeing the motivations behind her wild escape in a whole new light.

"Yes. I couldn't bear to be raped again," Harmony met his gaze. "Now do you see why I haven't spoken about it?" She asked him. She wiped the last of her tears away with the back of her hand. "And why I preferred to go by my maiden name. You see, when I realised I could trust him, I told Mr. Ingles the whole truth. Being an inn keeper, he was in a position to hear gossip. He took me aside one evening and told me that an enquiry had gone out - the Colonel's men had been instructed to find 'Mrs. Farshaw' and was even offering a reward. Josiah had never learned my maiden name, and with Calvin dead, he had no way to discover it. I told Mr. Ingles to start calling me Miss Jutland. Lord, I can't tell you how relieved I was a few months later, when Charlestown was surrendered to the British. The search for me finally stopped."

"That would have been a relief," Bordon mused.

"It was. I have no idea if he'd still be searching - I haven't seen him for a good eight or nine months now, perhaps he's forgotten me. But who knows? He was away from Charlestown at the time of the surrender. I have no idea where he is, but I do know that he escaped capture."

"More's the pity," Bordon ground out. "If he was a prisoner with the captured Continental army, I'd be able to find him easily."

"Oh, he wasn't so bad. Like I said, he protected me from Calvin and he never struck me - "

"No - he only paid your husband handsomely for the privilege of bedding you, and then held you down and forced himself on you," Bordon snapped and Harmony's face fell. She was crestfallen and Bordon's heart gave a lurch - guilt surging inside him. "I'm sorry, Harm," he said, instantly contrite. "I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just - he was no Gentleman, that's for certain. I don't care if he provided for you - nor that he protected you. None of that redeems him, as far as I'm concerned. Christ, he put the idea in your husband's head in the first place! Damned right he should protect you, after what he wrought! I'll kill him - I swear it. If I'm ever faced with him - I'll bloody kill him."

Harmony was quiet then, feeling both confused and miserable.

"Thank you for finally confiding in my, Harm," Bordon said softly, giving her a squeeze. The two were close - they always had been. But now that she had finally opened up and trusted him with the dark mysteries of her past, he felt their connection was even stronger.

"I realise now that I want you to know those things about me," Harmony said gravely. "As much as I despise my past, it's a part of me, it makes me who I am."

"You could have turned out so differently," he frowned. "You could have ended up a doxy. You could have been bitter and angry. But you are who you are - my beautiful happy Harmony. How?"

"Mr. Ingles." Harmony smiled.

"So. We need to find out if Colonel Clement is still trying to find you."

"I really don't think he'd bother now. Surely he has other priorities - with trying to keep South Carolina free from British tyranny and oppression," she giggled at Bordon's expression.

"You said the search stopped when Charlestown was surrendered to us?" Richard asked when Harmony nodded, he began calculating how much time had passed - from the siege of Savannah in October the year before - which was when she had fled from Clements - to when Charlestown was surrendered in May. "Seven months, Harm! He searched for you for seven months! I wouldn't put it past him to still be trying to find you - not if he searched for so long!"

Harmony gnawed her lip, worry setting in as she began to brood over what might happen should she encounter Lieutenant Colonel Josiah Clement again.

"If he is still searching, I don't think he'd hurt me, Richard," she said finally. "If our paths crossed again."

"He forced you to his bed once," the Major said darkly. "He could do it again."

"How? Who would he pay? Me?" She shook her head. "Besides, it's a good thing I have you to protect me then, isn't it?" She smiled weakly and Bordon nodded.

"Yes, it is. I won't let any bastard hurt you, Harmony," he declared. She was his to safeguard now, his beloved. "Not ever again."

Harmony smiled brightly at her lover. She knew instinctively that he would go to any length to keep her from harm - not that she felt she needed to worry any more. She was perfectly safe, traveling with the Green Dragoons, amidst the British battalions. Still, love and pride and satisfaction rose up inside her, warming her, suffusing her very being. The man she loved would protect her - he would never hurt her. Everything was as it should be.

* * *

"Let's just hang back here for a bit," Richard suggested as he pulled Harmony outside the circle of light cast by a nearby fire brand. The two had risen a short time earlier, to join Wilkins as Bordon had promised he would. Harmony was back to her old self - the grief and distress of earlier no longer held her in its grip. She had poured her soul out to Bordon and the experience had lifted a weight off her shoulders, leaving her light of heart and somewhat giddy, as though she had spent the evening drinking wine.

Feeling carefree, she smiled and snuggled in to him in the dark as Bordon - who was not smiling in the slightest, peered into the Officer's tent. The cause of his sudden wariness was the unexpected presence of Colonel Banastre Tarleton, Major George Hanger, and Lieutenant Whitty. The tension coming from the tent now was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Earlier when Richard passed by the tent on the way to Harmony's, all had been jovial in the tent, with Wilkins and the boys drinking ale and planning on playing cards for the rest of the evening. Only now, the crowd from earlier had thinned - clearly having been chased away by the tension caused by the new arrivals. Wilkins, Simms and Colin Ferguson remained, but the Middleton twins, Dalton and Brownlow had fled. Linda was no where to be seen either, which Bordon found curious, he had assumed she would be with William.

The firebrands around the tent and the candles within all burned cheerily, in bright contrast to the dark mood of the Officers. Tavington sat across from Tarleton, both Commandants seemed in a battle of sorts - as they glared at one another with their arms folded across their chests, their backs stiff and shoulders tense. They were both completely silent, though their eyes blazed fury. The old friends must have had words, and Bordon had no doubt that Miss Martin was at the core of it. How the two comrades could let a woman come between them, was completely beyond him.

Hanger and Wilkins tried to keep a cheery appearance, though their laughter was forced and their voices strained. Hanger had a monkey on his shoulder - Bordon had seen the Little Man before - but Harmony never had.

Pulling her gaze away from Richard's handsome but worried face, her eyes fell on the monkey now and she gasped with delight. Striding forward despite Bordon's wariness, she stepped in to the circle of light and smiled down at Hanger.

"Is that a monkey?" She asked incredulously, by way of greeting.

Bordon saw Tarleton's gaze dart momentarily from Tavington's face, glancing quickly at Harmony and Richard. He nodded a silent, curt greeting, before locking eyes with Tavington again. William sipped his ale slowly, as though he did not have a care in the world, but Bordon was not fooled. He knew William well, he could tell the Commandant was strained and agitated. He wondered briefly if his friend was on the verge of violence - he certainly appeared hostile. So did Banastre, for that matter. A moment only it took to take this in, and he grabbed Harmony's hand to lead her away from Hanger and the monkey. Harmony shot him a glare but Richard ignored it. He sat down on William's left side, pulling Harmony down to sit beside him on the bench. He was already planning what he would do, how he would respond - when the fight began. For there was not a doubt in his mind - there would be a fight and it would not be pretty. He was already preparing to shove Harmony out of harms way, and then join William to his left, while Wilkins would automatically take the right.

Hanger answered Harmony's question from earlier.

"Why yes, Miss Jutland. I call him the Little Man."

"I've never seen anything so adorable!" She said, leaning with her elbows on the table to get a closer look. The monkey jumped up and down and made the occasional chittering, chatting bark, but he made no attempt to leave Hanger for Harmony.

"And how is my favourite barmaid?" Hanger asked Harmony, trying to keep his tone light and breezy.

"I'm well. And yourself? It's been quite some time," she paused and glanced uncertainly at Banastre. "And Colonel Tarleton - it's good to see you and Whitty too, of course."

Banastre shot her another quick glance before resuming his battle of wills with William, while William ignored them all, still sipping his ale slowly.

"It has been a while," Whitty agreed, glancing nervously at the Commandants. "You are looking well, Miss Jutland."

"Thank you."

"Well? Only 'well'?" Hanger rolled his eyes at Whitty's foolishness. Flirting now, he said, "Miss Jutland was always the most beautiful belle in the Colonies. I will never understand what possessed her to make off with Richard here..." Then to Harmony, he said, "what the Devil do you see in him?"

Harmony just smiled at Richard and reached for his hand, making no more reply than that.

" 'The Little Man,' " Wilkins' chortle was strained and forced. He continued with his quip, hoping to lighten the mood, though nothing he had said in the last few minutes had accomplished that so far. "'Little' being the operative word. Did you name him after yourself?"

He inclined his head and took on an insinuative expression, making it clear that he was alluding to the size of Major Hanger's manhood.

"If I was naming him after me," Hanger boasted, "I'd have named him 'Mighty Monkey Quim Tickler'."

Laughter burst around the table, only William and Banastre remained silent, their lips not even quirking in the slightest smile. Harmony chortled right along with Bordon.

"A bit of a mouthful," she giggled.

"Yes, I am…" Hanger smirked. "Quite a mouthful, in fact."

"Let me cuddle him, please?" Harmony asked George, holding her hands out to the Little Man.

"He's a little shy," Hanger said shrewdly. "You'll have to come get him."

A small plot had formed in his mind as soon as Harmony asked to hold the monkey. He was as desperate as Wilkins to lighten the mood and he thought he could achieve this now, by having a bit of harmless fun with Miss Jutland. Harmony had always had a sense of humour and a carefree nature. She was always laughing, always smiling, quick with a quip and never minded when a patron at the tavern pulled her into his lap. He planned to do that now and he felt certain that his little trick would - finally - amuse Banastre and William and divert them from their silent, icy duel. They were bound to see the funny side of the joke he was playing on Harmony. His plan began to unfold to perfection as the unsuspecting girl rose from Bordon's side and circled the table.

"Oh, you are a gorgeous, dear wee thing!" She cooed to the monkey when she came to stand at George's side. She held her hand out to The Little Man but before the creature could take her up on her offer of a cuddle, George grabbed Harmony's arm and pulled her into his lap.

"You are the gorgeous, dear wee thing," George announced.

Bordon ground his teeth together, but Wilkins and Whitty laughed. Even Harmony, who was used to such treatment working as a barmaid, giggled at the joke that had been played on her.

"Very funny, Major," she said. "But it's the _Little_ Mans attention I desire - not the _Big's_."

Hanger smirked at her. It was only then that he noticed that the tension had not eased as he had hoped - Banastre barely flickered an eyelid in their direction - and so when Harmony began to rise from his lap, he unwisely decided to drag it out a little further. Hanger wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her in place securely.

"Ah, but I am a big man, which you would discover if you'd leave old Bordy Boy," Hanger said, nodding at Bordon. Unfortunately, he was not sensitive to Richard's growing irritation. Harmony rolled her eyes and made to move off his lap, only to have the Major tighten his hold further.

She glanced down at him, ready to tell him that the joke was done, to let her go, but her words were smothered when he reached up and kissed her full on the lips.

A wordless roar of fury and the table was sent flying to crash on the other side of the tent. Bordon had gripped the edge and lifted it, throwing it as though it weighed nothing. The other Officers cursed as their glasses of ale, their coins, cards, pipes, decanters, tobacco and other items were sent flying. Even Banastre and William were roused from their private duel - they lurched off the benches to avoid the hurtled table. Bordon closed the now empty intervening distance and grabbed Harmony's arm, pulling her ungently from George's lap. He shoved her toward Tavington, the only man in the tent he truly trusted with her, then gripped the front of Hanger's Green-Coat. Before the man could react, Bordon's fist slammed into Hanger's face with a sickening crunch.

The other Major was sent flying backward in his chair, sprawling to the floor, blood bursting from his mouth. The Little Man had leapt from Hanger's shoulder as the Officer fell, he darted across the ground and climbed up Whitty's leg.

Bordon had Hanger pinned, his heavy frame holding the other Major down. His fist found George's face again, another sickening thud.

George's head twisted to the side, he could taste blood in his mouth where his cheek was cut against his teeth. Fury surged through him - it had been a fucking joke for Christ's sake! - and he rallied himself, kicking out, his heavy boots connecting with Bordon's stomach. The air left Richard's lungs and in his moment of recovery, George shoved Richard off from him. Pulling his fist back, he smacked the kneeling Richard across the mouth, sending him sprawling to his side.

Arms flew, fists soared toward flesh. The two Officers grunted with pain, panted with exertion and bloodlust.

The Little Man shrieked from Whitty's shoulder, bobbing up and down like a parrot, adding to the cacophony of noise in the tent.

"Stop them!" Harmony grabbed William's coat and shook him.

"Step back," he said, guiding her out of harms way. "Banastre - you take Hanger."

There was no point in yelling at the two to stop fighting, they were insensible to anything else but their vicious fight. The Major's fists were flying and they were rolling across the floor, each trying his best to pummel the other.

Their own troubles set aside for the moment, Banastre and William moved in as one, each grappling their Adjutants by the shoulders and hauling them up and away from one another. Seeing this, Wilkins moved in to help Tavington with Bordon, who was bellowing with fury and trying to surge out of William's grasp. Hanger was doing likewise, struggling to free himself of Tarleton's grip, until Whitty moved in to assist Banastre. Colin went to stand at Harmony's side, for the girl was quite distraught, wringing her hands and weeping.

Finally the fighting men were separated. With a cry of relief Harmony darted to Richard, running her hands over his chest and kissing his lips, despite the blood and sweat.

"Oh, you stupid, stupid man!" She murmured, then threw her arms around his shoulders. Harmony pressed herself to her lover, kissing his neck now, his jaw, his cheek, his lips again.

Major Hanger swayed and weaved back and forth. His face was a mass of bruises and blood, much like Bordon's own. He glanced over at Bordon, and his eyes fixed on Harmony who was tending Major Bordon to the exclusion of all else.

"I'm fine," Hanger called to her. "No need to worry about me!"

"As if I would!" Harmony shot back. "What is the matter with you? How dare you kiss me! Why would you do that? You know damned well that I'm Richard's!"

"It was just a stupid joke!" He cried. "I didn't mean for it to go so far!"

"Keep your fucking hands off her, you hear?" Bordon bellowed at Hanger.

"Yeh, yeh. Christ, you took it too seriously, it was just a joke!" George muttered as he ran his hand over his aching jaw.

"Go joke with some other man's woman, leave mine to me," Bordon growled. Hanger nodded, careful of Bordon's temper now that he had tested his mettle against the man, and found Bordon to be the stronger.

"I'd say this concludes the evenings entertainment," Tavington said coldly. "Banastre, I think you and your Officers should leave."

"Gladly," Banastre was equally cold. He nodded and offered Tavington a mocking bow. As William was now Banastre's superior, the bow should have been respectful - not derisive. It was a deliberate gesture of insubordination, but Tavington chose to ignore the insult. Banastre waved curtly for his meant to follow him.

"It was meant to be a joke," Hanger muttered again as he passed Bordon, lowering his voice so only Richard and Harmony would hear him. "A joke - to lighten the bloody mood. I thought they would come to blows over that bloody little minx - I never dreamed it would be you and I who fought!"

Richard drew a sharp breath, his face reddening with shame. He had reacted on instinct, his rage over Harmony's past treatment at her husband's hands had found an innocent target - he had unleashed his full fury on Hanger.

"I'm sorry," he said, contrite now. "Harmony has had a hard time lately I've become a little over protective, I'm afraid."

"Ah, Sumter?" George guessed, glancing at Harmony in commiseration. "I heard about what happened and… you're right, I didn't even think of any of that. It is I who should apologise. I am ardently sorry for causing offence, to either of you." He held out his hand to Bordon, who shook it, and then bowed low to Harmony, before hurrying after Banastre and Whitty, who were disappearing into the night.

"What did he say?" William demanded, edging closer. Wilkins, Ferguson and Simms had been fixing the ruined tent - righting the table and picking up glasses, pipes, cards and tobacco that had been scattered all over the ground.

"Nothing," Bordon lied. He did not believe he should repeat Hanger's words about 'that bloody little minx'. "He apologised."

"As well he should," Tavington glowered after the retreating Officers' backs until they were lost to sight.

"Right then, how's about another round?" Wilkins called with forced cheer, ready to resume drinking and carousing.

"Not for me," William rose suddenly. "You'd better wrap this up, Wilkins - if we get word of Burwell's whereabouts, I want the Dragoons ready to ride," he commanded, then strode away from the tent.

"Wilkins, what the Devil is going on here?" Bordon snapped. "Why were William and Banastre staring daggers at one another? Did they have words over Miss Martin?"

"Yes, they did," Wilkins said wearily. "It seems Burwell ended his engagement to Miss Martin, because of the rumours that were being spread about her and Tavington. Banastre was damned near about to rip Tavington's head off, for 'ruining the lass and making her life a misery'. And Tavington was damned near about to rip Tarleton's head off, for having been in Miss Martin's company for almost a week. It's all a big pile of steaming pig shit, if you ask me. And we're the piglets in the middle."

"Yes, it would seem we are," Bordon said tiredly. "Very well, we better do as he says. No more drinking for tonight - go get some sleep while you can, Captain."

Wilkins nodded and Bordon put his arm across Harmony's shoulders and began to steer her back to her tent.


	55. Chapter 55 - Tensions Rising

Chapter 55 - Tensions Rising:

"Bordon!" Tavington pitched his voice loud enough to be heard in the next tent. "You coming?"

_"Perhaps later!" _Came the sharp reply. Tavington arched an eyebrow, then shrugged.

"Clearly, they wish to be alone together for a while longer," William said to Linda as he pulled his shirt over his head. The white cotton slid down his torso, hiding his bare chest. Linda sighed regretfully, she quite enjoyed seeing her lover naked.

"We could stay here too," she ventured.

"And do what?" Tavington frowned, reaching for his breeches. He had to rise from the pile of blankets to pull the pants on.

Linda, who had been laying on her back, rose to her knees and sat back on her heels. For some time now, she had heard the quiet muffled voices coming from the tent next to hers - Bordon and Harmony were in deep conversation. It bothered her, that Harmony and Bordon enjoyed such a close connection. She was envious of their relationship and wished to have the same with William. Not that she would ever admit it to him.

"I don't know," she said, shrugging as if it were not all that important. "We could stay here and talk…"

"About what?" Tavington scoffed and Linda lowered her eyes.

She pulled her hair forward across her face to hide her hurt expression. She was his mistress - she knew what he wanted from her and he had already had it from her during the afternoon and evening. But Harmony was Bordon's mistress, and yet there they were, having an intimate chat after the giving of pleasure. Did William not see the value in chatting with her? In the sharing of intimacy after coupling?

"I don't know," she repeated, her mind a whirl as she tried to think of a subject that would interest him. "The battle, perhaps? We could talk about that -"

"I will be talking about it," he said sharply as he jerked his Redcoat around his shoulders. "With Wilkins and my other Officers, and with an ale in my hand. Are you coming?"

He asked this while pulling on his boots, so again, he did not see her chagrined expression.

_Lord, all he has to do now is toss me a few coins, and it would be like I'm his whore - not his mistress!_

"I suppose I am," she said.

"You don't have to," he informed her. "You could stay here. We'll have a long day tomorrow, you should get some sleep while you can."

Did he say this a little too quickly - a little too enthusiastically? She wondered. Perhaps he didn't want her to tag along, perhaps he had had his fill of her and would be quite happy to be on his way.

"Which would you prefer?" She asked him, trying to keep the hurt from her voice. "I wouldn't mind an ale or two myself, but I could easily get some sleep too."

"Hmm," he pondered. "There will not be any other women there - not now that Bordon has decided to stay with Miss Jutland in their tent. Perhaps this should be a lads only evening."

"Oh," she said, crestfallen. "Will you come back here, after?"

"No, Linda," he said. "I'll sleep in my own tent tonight. I'll spend the night with you tomorrow night."

"Alright," she sighed and lowered her eyes, her shoulders slumping in defeat. He didn't want to spend time talking to her after coupling, not as Bordon did with Harmony. And he didn't want to spend the night with her, either. She could hear him moving about the tent but she didn't raise her head to watch now. Eventually, he came to stand before her, and placed two fingers beneath her chin.

"I will see you tomorrow," he said, leaning down to kiss her. It was a gentle kiss, soft and wonderful and sweet - the kiss of lovers, not the kiss a man gave a doxy. This gave her some measure of reassurance and she leaned in closer, whimpering in desperate pleasure. Love for him blazed in her breast, flaring to the point of pain. She wanted to beg him not to go, not to leave her - ever - but if she did, she suspected she'd find her belongings packed and she'd be left at the next village.

Then again, he had told Mrs. Salisbury that the terms Harmony had stipulated would also apply to her… Then again again, he hadn't said a single word of rebuke to the woman, for beating Linda with the wooden spoon.

"Good night," he said, and then he was gone. Linda collapsed back against the blankets. She stared up at the ceiling as she listened to his boot falls retreating. The revellers outside fell silent when the Colonel emerged from her tent, and they were still silent now. But a few moments later, noise flared again, and they began to hoot with laughter as though someone had told the most amusing joke.

Linda paid them no heed. Instead, she brooded over William. Did he really only see her as a whore? What was different about them now - what made her his mistress? What tied her to him? What was to stop him from giving her up at the slightest whim? He had been furious with her before they began coupling, for he had discovered that she had revealed that she was his mistress. He told her then that if she ever disobeyed him again, she'd be set aside without a by nor leave. How could he? She wondered. How could he give her up so easily? And there was Bordon - who had raised some astonishing amount of money to ransom Harmony back from Sumter. Bordon, who was still with Harmony at that moment - chatting with her as they lay on their blankets. He would not give Harmony up so easily - merely for disobeying him.

Linda could hear that their conversation had begun again, though she could not hear the words. And where was Tavington? Off to drink the night away with his comrades.

So. Where did that leave her?

_I'll take what I can get from you, for as long as I can._

_Yes, she thought now, I made that promise. And I'll keep it - I want him so damned bad. I won't ever be the one to end our affair. But how long will it be before he does?_

How long with the man she loved, before he left her? She wasn't a fool - not Linda. She knew where the British Legion was heading - deep into the Santee, where she knew Miss Martin lived. And he had trudged the girl's belongings all the way from Charlestown - the chest which contained them were safely ensconced in his own tent at that very moment. He had said he would continue on with Linda, even if he married this Beth girl. But would he? She gnawed her lip and stared wide eyed, blindly. Would he keep on with her? Why would he? He'd be newly married, to the woman he loved. What man - newly married to the bride he wanted - bothered to visit his mistress? Men only kept mistresses if they were unhappy in their marriage bed!

_She's not here yet_, Linda tried to reassure herself, but tears still sprang to her eyes. It was such a struggle for her these days - to remain rational and logical. She used to be a whore, for goodness sake. She never used to let anything bother her - not ever! But on her first day in camp, she had grown so furious that she had challenged Mrs. Salisbury, and in the heat of the moment she had foolishly revealed what she should not have. And then, when Bordon sent a missive to Harmony from the battlefield to let her know he was well, and that Tavington was also, Linda had retreated to her tent and howled her eyes out. The reason behind that storm of weeping had been two fold - she had been heartily relieved that Tavington was alive and unwounded, as well as offended and jealous that he had not sent her her own private missive, as Bordon had Harmony. This had rocked her confidence and had caused her to doubt her place in William's life, which begun a downward spiral of misery and anxiety.

Her emotions were raw and ragged, swinging wildly from giddy happiness to extreme foreboding and dread, at the slightest provocation.

_It's the baby_, she thought, as she had several times over the last few days, since she discovered she was carrying. Pregnancies were wretched things, causing a woman to feel such a myriad of emotions all at once. Linda never knew what came after the second or third month of a woman's term, for she always visited Madam Lassell, who would give her an infusion of herbs that bought on her mensies. But the two or three months of pregnancy that she had experienced so many times before, were the same, each and every time. Sore breasts and varied, crazed, thoughts and emotions.

There were two questions at the forefront of Linda's mind just then. The first was - how much longer did she have with William, before he set her aside? And the second - should she drink the potion this time, or should she carry William's child to term?

She was yet to tell him that she was carrying. What would he say, when she did? Would he send her away, that much sooner? He was viscously protective of his career, and getting his mistress pregnant could not bode well for him. She imagined that yes - most certainly - he would send her packing. And how would she support the baby? But how could she rid herself of it this time - when this one was sired by William?

She placed her hands over her still flat stomach. A surge of longing welled up inside her, a craving for the life she knew she'd never have, but she craved it all the same. To be William's wife. For William to raise the baby he had given her. For their baby to have his name.

With a pang of despair, Linda realised that she was yearning for all of the things that William craved to have with Miss Beth fucking Martin. They could never be together - William would never marry Linda. He might acknowledge their child, but he would never marry her.

So. What to do? She forced herself to set her raw and roiling emotions aside, to try and think logically, clinically. Should she keep the baby? It had never bothered her before, drinking the potion to dispel some man's child from her womb but this time…

It was William's child - could she really do it, with his child?

And if she didn't? What sort of future would she have? If she knew she would be his mistress for the rest of her life, then it would not be a question. But she didn't know! How would she provide for the child? Where would she live?

"You're being stupid again, Linda," she whispered out loud. For Tavington had already explained that, as she was his mistress and he was a Gentleman, he would not end their understanding and leave her on the streets to fend for herself. No. He would provide for her during their affair, and then give her a large sum to see her settled, when they parted ways. Enough to entice a husband, he had promised. The amount had not been stipulated, but she guessed it would be over a thousand pounds, an amount that had made her eyes goggle when he had first alluded to it.

A sharp stab pierced her stomach as she realised that theirs was still entirely a business arrangement. Not like Bordon and Harmony, who had both professed their love for one another. It confused her, for she did not have to bed multiple men for coin anymore. No. She only had to bed one, and he would see her well established, when they were done. Did that mean she was still a doxy?

"Fuck me," Linda cursed as she scrubbed at her tears with the back of her hand. "This baby is messing with my head."

She rose from the blankets and began to dress. Clearly, she could not be alone with her thoughts for the moment and she needed to get out, find a camp fire to sit at - one where she would be welcomed. She needed other people around her, needed their talk and chatter and whiskey to help get her mind off her own troubles.

* * *

William let the tent flap fall closed behind him. It was his hope that the revellers would be too distracted to notice - or recognise - the man emerging from Linda's tent, but unfortunately, that was not to be. The first cluster of soldiers, women and children were too close, they saw him immediately and just as immediately, silence fell amongst them. He cursed inwardly and, after inclining his head in curt greeting, he strode past that first cluster, and on in to the night. Great guffaws followed him and again he cursed inwardly. They were laughing because they had heard the his shouting and screaming coming from Linda's tent.

"You were a fool to think you could keep your affair quiet to begin with," he said to himself as he strolled between the tents to the first intersection. "A damned fool."

This small cluster of witnesses would repeat the story to others until, before morning perhaps, the entire camp knew he was bedding Linda Stokes - his mistress. Not a doxy - for she had declared the truth to Mrs. Salisbury. They now knew that she was his mistress, and they would know that the two enjoyed rough play.

He smirked then, for Linda had been quite loud in the showing of her appreciation of his prowess and skill. He knew he could please a woman between the sheets and it amused him that, before the sun rose, his entire Legion would know it also. He had many epithets attached to his name - the rebels called him 'The Butcher' and, more recently, 'William the Villian' - though he was uncertain how he'd earned it. His earlier antics with Linda - and her resulting caterwauling - was sure to bring him a new nickname - one far more to his liking, for it would represent his virility. This suited him perfectly and stroked his ego - which was just as well, for something good had to come of the revelation that William was keeping his mistress in camp. As he strolled along, he pondered what that new name might be.

When 'William the Stallion' popped in his head, he laughed out loud and wished Bordon had accompanied him so he could share his genius quip. He was still chuckling as he drew closer to the make shift tavern tent, but his laughter died on his lips when he saw who had joined Wilkins and the other Officers. Sitting there bold as brass under the canvas awning, was Banastre Tarleton himself. Along with his adjutant Major Hanger and Lieutenant Whitty.

"Damn and blast it," William cursed, standing back in the shadows as he studied Banastre. Several days ago, he had seen his friend for the first time in months, during Cornwallis' council of war. He had thought Banastre had seemed to be brooding, and his suspicions were confirmed as the council progressed. His oldest friend kept his gaze averted from William's and on the few occasions their eyes had locked, Banastre had been glaring, his eyes kindling a banked fury.

William knew instinctively that Beth was the cause of his friends ire, though the two did not discuss it. They kept strictly to the matter at hand - discussing the battle to come. There had been no time for a joyous reunion, and William strongly suspected that with Beth between them, it would not have been joyous in the slightest. What had happened, to have caused his friend to such a Thunder? He would not have appreciated William's promotion to Colonel and he would not have been too impressed to have heard William announcing to all and sundry that Beth was his fiancé. Banastre must have heard that by now… He studied his friend carefully from his place of concealment. Banastre was leaning forward, his head was down and he stared darkly into his ale with a focus that suggested intensity. The Officers in his command jested with William's Officers, but Banastre said not a word. His body was tense and… expectant.

William sauntered into the circle of light and entered the tent. Banastre finally roused from his study of his ale then, he glanced up, saw it was William, and then straightened slowly. Feigning ignorance, behaving as though there was no conflict between them, William smiled and slapped Banastre on his back. He nodded to Hanger and Whitty. As William was their superior, they saluted, but their reply greetings were somewhat wary. Clearly, they understood exactly what was ailing their Commander. Instead of rising and embracing William like a brother as he usually did, Banastre drew a deep gulp of ale and remained seated.

Unperturbed, William ventured, "how are you, Ban? That wasn't much of a fight, was it?" The 'not quite battle' was the safest topic for now, and the most natural, seeing that it had taken place that very morning.

"Not with the rebels turning tail and running," Banastre replied with a dutiful smirk.

William rounded the table and took a seat across from him, beside Wilkins. "I heard you chased some for miles but they high tailed it toward North Carolina."

"We scattered them to the wind," William boasted. "They obviously thought they could take Camden with us none the wiser, they certainly weren't expecting our Battalions falling upon them enforce. I don't think I've ever seen someone ride as fast as they did, as though the hounds of Hell were on their collective arse. Hell, they were going so fast, they're probably all the way to Virginia by now!" William accepted his ale from a laughing Wilkins, drew a large pull from it, then set it on the table with a hearty sigh. With a carelessness he did not feel, he pulled his pipe from his pocket and filled it with tobacco. The conversation began to flow around him, he was content to listen for now. "Is someone going to deal those cards?" William asked, interrupting Wilkins who was regaling his battlefield heroics to an amused audience.

"Yes, I'd say that's a damned fine idea!" Banastre slapped the table like he wanted to hurt it. "A round or ten of Faro."

"I'll do it," Colin offered, reaching for the deck and doling them out to his comrades. He was seated in the thick of the group, in the centre of the table with Officers to either side and across from him, which enabled him to hear the various conversations that were going on at either end of the long table. He kept an ear out for what the Middleton's and Simms had to say to Whitty on his right, but the main focus of his attention was to his left, where the Commandants sat. It was excellent fortune, for - with a little luck and some prodding - he might learn the intentions of both Tavington and Tarleton, in only one evening! Trellim would certainly be pleased - he was the one who had given Colin the task of joining Wilkins and his coterie for a night of drinking, for this exact purpose. Learn all he could, report back to Trellim, so that Trellim could send out his messengers to the Patriot militia and Burwell. While Colin longed to be with Mary - rather than sitting about and drinking with damned Tories - he saw it for the golden opportunity it was, and waited for the right moment when he could begin prodding for information.

"Good lad," Hanger complimented as the cards flew his way. All around the table the Officers began picking up their cards and shuffling them into pairs and threes. Some of the Officers puffing their pipes, the lazy trails of grey smoke wafting to the ceiling and drifting out the open front of the large tent. Others threw coins in the centre of the table, placing their bets. One and all, they drank their ale, and Colin kept a keen eye on them, knowing that the time to begin asking questions would be when the Commanders began to feel soused, when their tongues were at their loosest.

"Whitty!" Wilkins called. "I hope you filled your pockets before heading over here - I look forward to divesting you of all your coin this fine evening."

"The way you play cards?" Whitty asked, leaning forward past Colin to call back. "I hardly think so."

Mirth rose up around them, even Dalton nudged Wilkins in the ribs and chided him on his atrocious playing. Brownlow had first pick up, he selected his card from the top deck on the table and the first round began. The men spoke quietly as they played, ribbing one another and laughing. All except Tavington and Tarleton, who were still quite tense with one another.

"So," William ventured, speaking only to Banastre now, as the others continued chatting about the battle. "Did you achieve your objective in the Santee?"

"Some of it," Banastre said gruffly. "Not all."

"Hmm," William mused. "You were supposed to catch Burwell, were you not?"

"Yes, amongst other things," came the curt reply. "But he slipped away, as you already know."

"He won't again, I assure you," William promised, his brow creased in a frown of determination.

"Ah, yes," Banastre snorted derisively. "Now that, _Colonel William Tavington_ will be on the case, Burwell won't stand a chance then, will he? He doesn't have a hope of escaping _you_."

"You think I couldn't catch him?" William asked coolly after a moments pause. He managed not to glare at Banastre over his cards.

"William, he has the protection of every man, woman and _fucking_ child for miles on the Santee. No - I do not believe you could catch him."

"Come now, Ban," Hanger joined in the discussion. "There are Loyalists out there, you remember that woman who came searching through the forest to find us, to tell us that Burwell's Continental's had left Fresh Water and were quartering at Rutledge Plantation. It's not all doom and gloom."

"Yes, we did have some luck. But if you recall, the closer we got to Pembroke, the more resistance we encountered," Banastre told William stubbornly. William nodded thoughtfully.

"It's true," Wilkins supplied. "Pembroke is a despot for rebels. Only a small handful of Loyalists amongst them, and most of those will be too frightened to help, their numbers are too few and they will fear repercussion."

"It's a good thing I have you to identify who can be trusted and who can not," William's complimented James, who nodded sagely.

"So!" Hanger changed the subject with forced good cheer. "I've heard that the doxy from the Mighty George is here - Linda Stokes."

"Is she really?" Banastre said, allowing the subject to be changed. "Did she bring the lovely Miss Mariah with her? She was always my favourite."

"Yes, she was mine too," Hanger said before William could answer. "Linda was always a little on the loose side. Well used, if you take my meaning."

William stared at both Officers, breathing deeply and striving for calm. He could not tell if he was being mocked or if they were speaking out of genuine ignorance. Ignorance, he decided a few moments later. The men could not possibly know that Linda was his mistress now.

"No, Mariah is not with Linda," he said, feeling oddly hesitant about admitting his more permanent arrangement with Linda who, he realised now, had been bedded by every man at the table. Except Colin Ferguson - who was a virgin when he married.

"Jesus, Linda's here?" Whitty said. "Why didn't you tell me, Colonel Tarleton! You know how much I liked her."

He reached in to the centre of the table and pulled forth a few coins from the pile he just threw down.

"Hey - you can't do that!" Wilkins complained. Whitty had placed his bet, he couldn't take it back!

"The next round hasn't started yet," Whitty replied. "So the hell I can't! This is the last of my money and if I lose, then I won't be able to afford Linda! Sir," he said to Tavington, not noticing the Colonel's tension. "You don't mind if I visit your camp followers tents, do you?"

"Visit away," Tavington ground out. "But I'm afraid Linda is not available."

"Why not?" Whitty frowned. "She's always has been before. Please don't tell me that someone else has paid her to screw them for the whole night?"

"Not that that would stop her," Hanger snorted, then barked a laugh. He slapped Whitty on the back. "Do you remember that night we both had her at the same time? Fuck she was good." He turned to William and his Officers, who were suddenly very silent as he began to boast. With no women present, and with the few ales he'd drunk, Hanger became coarse as he described the event to his fellow Officers.

"She was on all fours and I knelt at the back of her," he rose to his feet to demonstrate. He didn't drop to his knees, but he did lean over slightly and he placed his hands before his body. Though he was grabbing nothing but air, he gave the impression of holding on to something. In this case, the men understood he was holding Linda's hips, as he knelt behind her.

"I was having a lovely old poke from behind, rutting into her old quimitty quim like this," he said as his hips began to buck back and forth. Banastre and Whitty began to laugh, but no one else did. "She was on her knees, with Whitty sitting in front of her, and she sucked him whole. Her head was bobbing up and down and her hips were pushing back and forth. Christ, the noises she made! She loved every second of it, I felt the ripples of her cunt tighten around me three times - that's how many times she came! I'm getting hard just thinking about it. Perhaps I'll join you with her after all, Whitty, even if she can fit three cocks in her cunt at once!"

"I remember!" Whitty chuckled, though it came out thick and heavy with sudden desire. "I finished in her quim that night. I don't think she's that loose - maybe you're not as big as me," he chortled.

Hanger scoffed and punched Whitty's arm.

"What's wrong, William?" Banastre asked. "You look ready to chew rocks."

He did, too. William's face was stone, his eyes blazing fury - and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. On the one hand, he was indignant because this was his mistress these men were talking about! Hence the fury. On the other hand, he had taken a well used doxy to be his mistress! Hence the embarrassment. How foolish was he - for taking a mistress that almost every man at the table had paid to screw? Hell, even Bordon had had her. The list was endless! For she had been a whore - and had been a damned good one too. He was caught halfway between defending her, and halfway hoping that Banastre, Hanger and Whitty never found out that Linda was his mistress.

"If another man has paid for her services, I'll seek her out and pay her double! On the condition that she repeat the events of that night," Hanger collapsed to his seat with a hearty, contented sigh. "Jesus, that was a good night. You were saying why Linda is not available?"

At this probing, William balked. He glanced side long at his men, who were all as silent as the grave, glancing anywhere but at him. Into their ales, at the ceiling of the tent. Hell, Brownlow looked on the verge of jumping from his seat and bolting from the tent!

_Shit. They feel it too. They're embarrassed for me… Damn and blast it!_

Tightening his lips, he ground out his explanation, for he had no choice. Banastre and his comrades would find out sooner or later.

"Linda is not available because," he faltered and Banastre frowned, perplexed over William's flustering. "She is my mistress." He finished. There, it was done. His men were still silent. So were Banastre, Hanger and Whitty. For timeless moments, the only sound in the tent was their breathing, and Hanger's monkey, who was beneath the table, dining on some fruit. Then: laughter exploded from the three outsiders. William worked his jaw as he watched them, sitting across from him, roaring with laughter. He turned to Wilkins and his own men, all of which had the wisdom to continue their silence - not a one of them so much as cracked a smirk.

"Mistress!" Banastre slapped his thigh with one hand, wiped a tear of mirth from his eyes with the other. "Jesus! If that's not scraping the bottom of the barrel! What possessed you to make Linda your mistress! No one takes doxies for mistresses! They take women of quality, like Bordon did with Miss Jutland! You could have bought that girl - what was her name? Helen Shaw? Yes, that's it. Even I've fucked Linda!"

"You fucked Helen Shaw too," William said coolly. Inside, he writhed with fury but outwardly, he was calmness personified.

"Yes, but she'd only had a few lovers. We've all fucked Linda!" He waved his hand around the table, indicating all of the men present just then - even the Middleton twins and Arthur Simms.

"I haven't," Colin held up his hand but was ignored.

"Jesus! Helen would have been the way to go! Or you could've tracked down that other - Mrs. Tisdale!" Banastre said with such incredulity that his voice was raised and almost squeaked as it cracked. "Vera - that was it -"

"You fucked her too!" William frowned.

"Yes, but she didn't know it was me!" Banastre laughed. "You should have found her and bought her to camp, William. A strumpet she might have been, but at least she was of the aristocracy!"

"Ah, that's my mother in law you're speaking of," Colin frowned, feeling the need to defend Mary's mother, if only for Mary's benefit.

"Is she now?" Banastre leaned forward to glance past Hanger and Whitty at Colin further along the bench. "That's right! So she is. You poor thing, I'm heartily sorry for you!" He laughed and turned back to William.

"Your point being?" William grated, concealing his humiliation.

"You know that we'll be attending dances the length of the Santee - the Loyalists in the area will throw them for us, every other week! My point is, that at least you could have taken Vera Tisdale or Helen Shaw with you, if you had bought either along as your mistress. A jewel to be displayed! You can't with Linda - most of the Officers will laugh behind their hands because they've all had a go with her! Hell, they'll all ask you if they can take a turn!"

"Speaking of dances, I think I shall host one at Doux Ruisseau, when we reach there," Wilkins ventured, trying to change the subject.

"Ahhhhh… Tavington…" Hanger shook his head, ignoring Wilkins attempt entirely. William turned his steely eyes on the Major and prepared himself for the worst. "Tavington, Tavington, Tavington," Hanger's sing song tone sounded like a lament, "If you had bought Mrs. Tisdale, you could have held your head high. A pretty woman of Charlestown's elite. It's her husband who would have been shamed, everyone would have been laughing at his expense, while applauding your virility -"

"That's my father in law!" Colin protested, but again he was ignored. Banastre took up Hanger's speech, speaking right over Colin.

"Jesus, you're right, Hanger. Tavington, you try showing Linda off and everyone will start thinking that there's something wrong with _you_, that you can't secure a mistress of quality. Lord, what _is_ the matter with you?" Banastre asked William forthright. "Have you lost your mind? When you take a mistress, you're supposed to conquer a woman who everyone agrees is unconquerable, unattainable, one everyone else can envy you for capturing. One who is out of every man's reach - a virgin, for instance. Or one who is known to be a devout and faithful wife. You conquer her, and then like a jewelled medallion, you show her off!" Hanger laughed at Banastre's depiction of everything that a mistress is supposed to embody. "Otherwise, what is the point? If you take a doxy, if she is a woman who every man you are currently acquainted with has already fucked, how can they be envious?"

"I didn't take Linda to be my mistress for the purpose of making other men envious, Ban," William said through clenched teeth.

"Well that's painfully obvious, Will, for none would be!" Banastre shot back. "Why did you take her then?"

William ground his teeth together. Why indeed? Because Linda had been able to gentle the torrent that had raged inside of him ever since Beth left. But he wasn't going to tell that to Banastre, he would not admit to such weakness before any of these men - friends or not. Especially Banastre who he wasn't even certain he did call friend any longer.

"She suits my needs well," he replied with a shrug. Banastre shook his head and scoffed. Tavington refused to say more.

"Ferguson," Whitty said, turning to Colin"I wonder - are you of the Ferguson's who live next door to Miss Martin? Miss Ferguson said she had a brother in the Dragoons."

"Yes, I am," Colin frowned. "You have met her?"

Tavington shifted his gaze from Banastre to Whitty, his eyes widening in astonishment at the question. As Whitty answered Colin's question, William's eyes bulged.

"Yes, I had the opportunity to her when we were at Fresh Water, she said she and her family had recently returned from the city after her brother's wedding. I should have realised she meant you. A lovely lass she is. You have a look of her in you."

Whitty's words were a bucket of iced water thrown over Tavington's head. He froze, every muscle in his body stilling as his mouth slowly dropped open. His assumption that Banastre had failed to locate Beth was utterly dispelled. Banastre had spoken to Beth, when William himself had not hear a damned whisper from the girl! Visions of Banastre giving the girl flowers and flashing his smile while he flirted and charmed her consumed him and it was several moments before he could voice his question.

"You visited Fresh Water?" Tavington asked Banastre at the same time as Colin replied to Whitty.

"Yes, I am her brother," he said. "My family lives next door to Beth."

"Beth!" Whitty quoted, incredulous that Colin would speak so easily of the woman Whitty considered to belong to Banastre. "You're awfully familiar with the girl!"

"I grew up with her, she's one of my dearest friends," Colin defended himself.

"You mentioned nothing of visiting Fresh Water, Banastre," Tavington ground out, silencing the other Officers conversation.

"I was not aware I had to," Banastre replied stubbornly.

"You saw Beth, then?" William confronted him directly. "Did you speak with her? Goddamn it, you will tell me every bloody word she said to you!"

Banastre drew a sharp breath, his entire body becoming rigid. William was every bit as tense and fury filled, both fellows glared at one another and barely noticed when several of William's Officers began quietly excusing themselves. Arthur, Michael, Marcus, Brownlow and Dalton began to file past the Commandants, their steps quickening with each stride until they were damned near running.

How dare William question him? Banastre fumed. What right did he have? Wasn't it Banastre who met the girl first, wasn't it Banastre who spent weeks pining after her, before William even entered Charlestown? And when they were finally reunited, what had he found? Beth - the vibrant and feisty woman he had fallen in love with, had become a mere shadow of herself!

Hadn't Banastre been the one to comfort her in her time of need? Hadn't he been the won to cheer her, to bring some joy to her life? What claim did William have to her? None! He believed he owned her, but that belief was all in his head! Beth have given herself to Banastre, as a wife would her husband! As far as he was concerned, Beth had become his wife the night she offered him her virginity, and the bond between them could not be broken. He would find a way to make her his wife in truth! In the face of that, William's claim was weak indeed!

"Well?" William snapped. Demanding answers, his fist pounded the table so hard the glasses and bottles rattled. The Little Man was startled by the sudden sound and he bolted out from underneath the table to cower on Hanger's shoulder. William's eyes narrowed on Banastre's and his voice took on a deadly heat. "By God, you better not have touched her. I vow on my honour - our friendship will not stop me from thrashing you to a damned pulp!"

"You can but try," Banastre said with false calm, while inside he was as furious as William. "I'd happily do a round or three with you after what you bloody did to her!"

"What I did to her?" William grated. "What the Devil are you talking about?"

"As if you don't know!" Banastre cried, lurching to his feet. William lurched to his also, both leaned forward with their fists clenched, facing off across the table. Only four Officers were left to stop the Commandants if they decided to brawl, Wilkins and Colin, Hanger and Whitty. They exchanged uncertain glances amongst themselves but by unspoken agreement, remained seated for now. "You destroyed her is what!" Banastre shook an accusing fist under William's nose. "You compromised her virtue the night of the ball - you took her to Simms bed chamber, and everyone knows it!"

"Jealous?" William smirked and Banastre bristled.

"Do you have the slightest idea of how she has suffered for it? The fine folk of Pembroke barely speak to her - they whisper behind their hands and call her Redcoat whore!"

This wiped the smirk of William's face and he straightened from his violent stance, seeming concerned now and almost contrite.

"All except for Ferguson's family - his sister is the only one who will still have a damned thing to do with Beth! Everyone else has deserted her - even Burwell though I can't say I'm disappointed about that!"

"Burwell..?" William's mind whirled as he considered the implications of Banastre's words. "Burwell - he ended their engagement!"

"Yes, he did! But -"

"Then I've bloody well freed her, haven't I?" William cut in. "Freed her from an unwanted marriage!"

"At what cost?" Banastre cried. "You don't bloody get it, do you? William - she cried in my arms for twenty bloody minutes!" - a glower crossed William's face, hearing that Banastre had indeed touched her, but the enraged Lieutenant Colonel ignored it - "She could not stop sobbing, she was a mess! I didn't think I'd ever see her smile again! Beth was broken, William! Despite our preference that she not marry Burwell, she was crushed by his desertion! His renunciation was public and humiliating for her! Not to mention the reaction of the damned fine people of Pembroke - with the exception of Ferguson's family," Banastre threw his arm toward Colin, who was staring in stunned silence, "the entire county has shunned her! Can you comprehend for even one moment what that must have been like for her? To walk along the streets of the village and have every single member of the community turn and walk away, or whisper behind their hands while pointing at her and scowling? The poor thing was scared to leave her bloody house in the end! But then, even within her own home - she was suffering the repercussions! She was shunned by her brother - who would not embrace her farewell! Her own father barely spoke to her unless he had to! It effected Beth deeply - to lose her father's respect and love! Lord - this has gone on for weeks and it was not until my last night in their home that the two finally reconciled! I saw them, Beth was weeping, William - sobbing like a baby, and all because her father had finally told her he still loved her! So I ask you William, was it worth the cost? Was her utter destruction worth the cost of 'freeing' her from Burwell?"

By the end of this tirade, both Commandants were visibly trembling, their eyes blazing and each was ready to go for the others throat.

"I'd pay any cost to have her free of Burwell," William said softly.

"You didn't have to pay any cost!" Banastre bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls of the tent. "She did, she had to pay it - and it's all your doing! It's your damned fault!"

"Perhaps we should all calm down," Hanger said, reaching up to tug the bottom of Banastre's Green-coat. "Perhaps if you Gentlemen would sit, we could discuss this reasonably -"

"You stayed in her home," William said softly, his eyes on Banastre's. "You billeted there."

Banastre glared at William, struggling for an answer. Finally, he had it.

"Jealous?" He smirked and William bristled. A mere moment after the words left Banastre's lips, William snarled with rage and uncoiled like a tightly wound spring. He lurched forward over the table, his fingers reaching for Banastre's throat.

"Grab him!" Hanger commanded but James and Colin were already moving. They grabbed the Commandant and hauled him back, then threw him down to sit heavily on the bench. Banastre's teeth were bared, his breath in short rasps, Hanger and Whitty holding him back also - to stop the inevitable brawl. "Please Gentlemen," Hanger begged as he managed to get his writhing Commandant to the bench. "Please, remember your rank. You can't be caught brawling like common grunts! Christ, Cornwallis will have your bloody heads! He'll flog your hides! Now, please - let's just all calm down!"

"You billeted in her home," William said, his eyes fixed on Banastre. He was still tense, coiled and ready to spring again. Hanger sighed and gestured at James, indicating that the Captain should remain standing behind Tavington, who seemed about to lurch across the table at the slightest provocation. James nodded and remained where he was, while Colin and Whitty resumed their seats.

"I did," Banastre agreed.

"How long?" Came the fury filled question.

"Four days," Banastre answered. Four wonderful, joyous days. The only blight on their time together had been the skirmish outside her house. And the trouble his hanging of George Howard had caused between them. But she still loved him, she was waiting for him to find a way for them to marry.

William leaned forward on his arms and James tensed behind him, ready to haul him back.

"Four days… So three nights. And in those three nights, Banastre, did you visit Beth in her bed chamber?" He studied Banastre intently but the other Commandant's face was a cold mask of stone.

"Like you did, when she spent the night at the Tisdale's?" He challenged. "Another nail in the coffin, another of your actions that has added to her ruin."

"Did you?" William ground out, ignoring Banastre's accusation.

_Oh, how pleasurable it would be_, Banastre mused. How satisfying, to tell William that she had indeed coupled with Beth - for that was what William was asking. At Rutledge Plantation, where she had no need of seduction. In her father's office, where she'd needed no coaxing at all. In his bed chamber, where they had spent wonderful sticky and sweaty hours together, their naked bodies writhing and curling against around one another. In the bath, slopping water all over the floor as they fucked and finally, on the day of his departure, they'd laid together on the chaise in her father's office. How wonderful would it be, to tell Tavington here and now that Beth had needed no coaxing, no seduction? They'd taken turns at scheming their way into their liaisons. How wonderful would it be to inform William of these facts now. The words would drip from his lips like honey and he would lean back, his arms folded across his chest, his lips quirked in smug satisfaction.

Yes. Quite satisfying.

But he could not. Beth was already standing at the very edge of destruction, he would say nothing that would topple her. For if he admitted all tonight, it would be common knowledge throughout both battalions by morning, and that would make him no better than William. He loved her. He would never hurt her - no matter how tempting it was to see the expression on William's face.

"No, I did not visit Beth in her bed chamber," he admitted and he realised when he said the words, that he did not even have to lie, for Beth had come to him. Or they'd met elsewhere, but they never coupled in her bed chamber. "Her father was annoyingly protective of her, he made her sleep with her sister. He had her brothers dogging her every move during the day. I could not get her alone even for a moment."

"But you tried?" William spat the accusation and Banastre scoffed.

"Of course I bloody tried. I'm in love with her William, whatever you might think. You have no claim to her, no matter this rot you've been putting about that you're engaged. You've no right to be jealous. If I wish to court her, I bloody well will and not a damned thing you say or do will stop me."

The Officers tensed as the Commandants did, ready and poised for another attempt at brawling. William scowled fiercely, then struggled to maintain his composure.

"You think so, do you?" He drawled and Banastre almost groaned with frustration. He knew Tavington well and he knew the other man would not back down a hair either. "Well. It appears we have a problem, you and I. For I am in love with her also, my feelings for her have transcended and I do not want her for a single nights dalliance or for a mistress I want to marry her, I want her for my wife. Now that I have declared my intentions, will you not respect them? Will you, as my oldest friend, give way to me?"

"Will you, for me?" Banastre shot back and William's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "For I want to marry her also. I love her, and desire her to be my wife. Will you not back down, William?"

"No. I will not," William ground out.

"Then I agree - I think we have a very serious problem, you and I," Banastre folded his arms across the barrel of his chest. "For I will never give way to you."

"Have either of you thought to ask Beth her opinion? What makes you think she'll choose either of you?" Colin asked and both Commandants shifted their steely gaze to him. Colin continued, "with respect, Sirs, I do not believe either of you deserve her. Not after that despicable wager - fifty pounds for her virtue! Not to mention everything else you've done. She is a sister to me, and the both of you have shown her less respect than you would a common strumpet. Again, with respect, Colonel Tarleton - you were striving to win that bet, you were not treating her any more fairly, or with any more respect, than Colonel Tavington did. You were every bit as bent on seducing her as Tavington was. It could have just as easily been you who ruined her, as Tavington."

Banastre's eyes widened in incredulity, shocked that this low ranking Loyalist militiaman would call him - Colonel Tarleton - to account for his actions. He wasn't certain who Colin was defending, or who he was attacking, for his black look took in both Commandants at the same time. _He is defending Beth and only Beth_, Banastre finally decided.

"Ferguson," Tavington rebuked coldly, "uttering 'with respect', does not give you license to follow with whatever the hell you wish."

"Well, I'm not going to apologise," Colin said, voice hard. "You knew from the first day that I met you, that Beth is like a sister to me. I joined your Dragoons in good faith, believing you to be a good man. You've made me regret that decision, Sir, especially since the scandal at the Simms Ball. Whip me if you will, but I shall not apologise - not to either of you. You've both done great harm to her and I've held my tongue for long enough."

William's jaw was working as he stared hard at Colin, whose insubordination should, indeed, be punished with a flogging. Colin stared right back, showing backbone.

"Touché," Banastre said eventually, agreeing that he had attempted to seduce Beth, knowing that if he had succeeded, it would lead to her ruination. Ignoring Colin, he said, "tell me, William. How did it become general knowledge that she had slipped away with you?"

William lifted his chin. "Someone must have seen us leave the chamber," he said.

"After all the precautions you supposedly made?" Banastre lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. "Beth told me that you promised no one would find out. Frankly, I think you are the one who revealed it. More importantly, so does Beth."

"Beth believes I revealed it?" William asked incredulously. "Is that what she said?"

"Yes. She said she thinks your motive for doing so was to make sure Burwell ended the engagement. Is that not so?"

"It isn't," William strangled out, his fury finding a new target. Unfortunately, Beth was not there for him to focus it on. "She is wrong, I didn't tell a damned soul - only Bordon knew who I was with and I know damned well it wasn't him." It was Arthur Simms who revealed it, but Tavington had already dealt with the youth and he had no intention of telling Banastre any of it. "I do not know how it was revealed," he lied, his eyes flicking to Wilkins and Ferguson, silently commanding them not to contradict him. "As I said, perhaps we were seen. Either way, done is done."

"Hmm," Banastre picked up his ale and took a long pull. "Done is certainly done, and it nearly did Beth in. She has had to bear the brunt of it. She's a strong lass, but she has been pushed to her limit with this. I've never seen her so downtrodden. You did that to her, William and I'll never forgive you for it."

"It's not yours to forgive," William curled his lip in derision. He flashed a condescending smile, "you assume too much upon yourself, old friend. Beth is not yours to worry about."

"We shall see," Banastre worked his jaw, his steely gaze locked on Tavington's.

The two were going around in circles now and both recognised how useless it was. And so they determined to say no more, but neither would break the cold, hostile, fixed stare. After a while, when it became apparent that there was to be no brawl, Major Hanger and Captain Wilkins resumed their seats. They began to chat with forced cheer, each trying lighten the dark mood. Bordon and Harmony's arrival a few minutes later barely caused a flicker of the Commandant's eyelids. They continued their intent study of one another, until later when, in a fit of jealous rage, Bordon began to brawl with Hanger. Only then did the intent study of one another come to an end, as each Commandant remembered their duty and moved in to stop the fist fight.


	56. Chapter 56 - Fleeing Fresh Water

Chapter 56 - Fleeing Fresh Water:

"Are you alright Beth?" Aunt Charlotte lowered herself slowly to sit on Beth's bed. With Tarleton and his Dragoons gone, the girl was back in her own chamber, and just then, she lay on her side, in the foetal position, curled in a ball as she stared blindly at nothing in particular.

"Hmm…" Came the wooden response.

At least she's not weeping anymore, Charlotte sighed heavily. Reaching out, she rubbed her nieces shoulder and arm, trying to comfort her, hoping the physical contact with a person who cared for her would lift her spirits. For the girl certainly needed her spirits lifted, after the harrowing experience she had suffered at the hands of the Pembroke denizens. While Charlotte understood her neighbours, she felt quite wrathful toward them.

"Do you want to talk about what happened today?" She asked gently.

"No," Beth shook her head and curled in to a tighter ball.

Charlotte understood completely. To be so thoroughly reviled - not with words but with actions - would have been absolutely traumatic for the girl. It certainly had been for the rest of the family, but for Beth herself, who was the target of the communities repugnance, it would have been a difficult thing to bear.

Charlotte and Margaret had arrived back from Henrietta Rutledge's Plantation the previous day. The following morning, the family made the short trip in to Pembroke, to attend church as they did every Sunday. Beth had voiced her fears and objections, but her father had insisted she accompany them. Miss church? A ridiculous notion! She begged Charlotte to intervene - she had her menses, she shouldn't be made to leave the house. Still, Benjamin remained firm. He would not allow Beth to hide, she had to face the public head on.

Instead, the public had confronted her, head on.

Beth had been been very nervous as she stood amongst her large family, with her head down, her eyes on the ground as she entered the church. Most members of the Parish glared at her while shooting pitying glances at Benjamin, and the frantic whispers began among the women. Charlotte was to understand later that those outraged whispers had had far more behind them than the usual back stabbing.

Once the congregation took their seats within the small church, as soon as Reverend Oliver climbed into his pulpit and held his hand up for silence, almost ever female present - whether she was a mother, grandmother, wife, or little girl, so many of them rose from the pews and - with their heads held high, they strode from the church. Not the Ferguson's, Nancy and Mrs. Ferguson had looked confused and aghast. A few other women remained, looking baffled and weary. Those who had gone outside had refused to return inside, until Beth agreed to leave.

The husbands and fathers of these women were mortified, for only two nights previous, many of them had fought at Benjamin's side, at Benjamin's command, in the attack at Fresh Water Plantation. If these women had notified the men of their intentions, those men would have put a stop to it, right quick. Not for Beth's benefit - many of those men believed she deserved what she got. But for her father's sake, they would have ensured the plot died before it drew breath. Unfortunately, the men had not been apprised of the women's intentions, and therefore they were as dumbfounded as the family, and as Reverend Oliver, as the female population of Pembroke county rose up and strode outside.

Beth agreed to leave. Charlotte was quite proud of the lass - her niece had shown such bravery, rising from the pew and holding her back and shoulders straight, not a tear in her eye as she strode toward the rear of the church and departed. It was not until she was in the privacy of Oliver's office that she burst in to tears and sobbed pitifully against her father's chest.

Benjamin was furious. He dragged his entire family out the back, bade them to all stay with Beth while he himself went back to the main hall. Charlotte also remained with Beth and so she did not know exactly what transpired. Beth had been transferred from Benjamin's chest to Charlotte's. She wept while her siblings surrounded her in a grave silence. Above this storm of sobs, Charlotte heard the women enter the church from the front door. Their celebratory laughter rang in Charlotte's ears. It was the elated, exulted laughter of the triumphant having banished their foe. It made Charlotte want to scream at every single one of them, the damned harpies who would shun her niece so thoroughly.

Their laughter was cut short, however. A handful of moments after an extremely irate Benjamin left the family in the office, the noise from the congregation was silenced. Though she could not hear all his words, for most were muffled by the walls that separated them, Charlotte did understand that Benjamin was tearing shreds in to the women. And the husbands, fathers and brothers of those women. His speech lasted for a good five minutes and at the end of it, Charlotte heard his bellow across the church: "Don't any of you call on me to defend this damned County again. Do you hear me! Not a single one of you!"

"Captain!" A man had cried - Charlotte did not know who. "We didn't know they were going to do this, we swear!"

Murmured agreement sounded throughout the hall.

"Then it's up to you to get your damned women under control!" Came the fury filled reply. The words had surprised Charlotte, for while everyone understood that wives and daughters gave way to husbands and fathers, Benjamin had never used his authority as a man against a woman. "For I will not tolerate my daughter ever being treated so ill again! After all I've done for this Parish, for this County! None of you would be here, if not for me!"

Charlotte nodded at this, for over the years, Benjamin had been there to support and defend his neighbours tooth and nail.

"I've carried all of you to prosperity! And THIS is the thanks I get?" Came the father's enraged bellow. "She was ill used by the British - she, an innocent young girl was seduced. She was foolish and is not without blame! But she is virtuous still and does not deserve the treatment she just received now! I vow on my honour - if anything like this happens again, it will be with the husbands and fathers of Pembroke that I will call to account! Clean your rifles, Gentleman! Sharpen your tomahawks! Choose your weapon for by Christ, if your wives and daughters and mothers treat with my daughter in this appalling manner again, I will bloody challenge each and every single one of you myself!"

A door slammed and heavy footfalls had thumped along the corridor, getting closer until Benjamin stormed into the room, his face a thunderhead. In utter silence, he gathered Beth in his arms and began to walk her out. When she saw they were heading toward the main hall where everyone was seated - rather than out the back door where no one would see her, she had protested.

"Please, Papa - I can't…" She had wept, her fists striking his chest weakly as he pulled her along.

"They need to see," was all he said. "They need to know."

Charlotte followed and watched with increasing panic as Beth was dragged into the hall. The girl did her best to gather herself but no one could fail to see her distraught state. Benjamin dragged her to stand before the pulpit where he stood at her side, challenging them all. His family crowded in behind him, their eyes wide and staring in shock - and worry - for Beth.

"Do you see what your women have wrought?" Benjamin roared, gesturing to Beth, who had her eyes down. She reached up to pull her hood over her head, but her ravaged face had already been seen. Glancing out across the congregation, Charlotte was satisfied to see many a woman shuffle uncomfortably, some looking quite chagrined, others embarrassed, some guilty and others downright terrified. Only a few had the gall to look justified in their actions, and these Benjamin would target directly.

"You all united - against my child!" Benjamin bellowed. Oliver, still standing in his pulpit, did nothing to silence Benjamin's tirade at the women of Pembroke. "You dare! Mrs. Abernathy, how many times has Beth come to look after your twins, when you were struggling because you were on your own with too many littles?!" He accused, pointing at a middle aged widow. "Did anyone else raise a hand to help you? Did my little girl ask for anything in return?"

"No," Mrs. Abernathy hung her head, her defiance draining from her.

"And you, Mrs. Emery! Your son would have died, if not for my child's quick thinking! Little Isaac would have drowned - while you were sitting back with a glass of wine, gossiping with Miss Carr! It was Beth who saved him!"

Mrs. Emery's cheeks blazed red and her husband leaned in to her, whispering fiercely with a glare on his face, furious with her for having been called out by Benjamin. She cowered away and Charlotte worried that she would be beaten later, for earning Benjamin Martin's ire. Benjamin was not finished - he cited several more examples of how Beth's actions had either saved a life, or helped this person or that, with no thought of reward.

"I built this meeting house!" Benjamin shouted. "So that all of you would have a place to worship! With my money, I funded this! And you!" He whirled on Oliver, pointing an accusing finger at the Reverend, who started in surprise at being challenged. "You will fix this! These are your people! Teach them something of forgiveness, or you will never see me, or my family, enter this church again!"

"Yes, Mr. Martin," Oliver inclined his head. Charlotte felt sorry for the Reverend, for he had done nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

Benjamin then met the eye of every man in the church, a fleeting but mettle glance for each one. And then, in silence born of disgust, he placed his arm around Beth's shoulders and marched her down the aisle and out of the church, with his family coming along behind.

It was a very chastened female population of Pembroke who Benjamin left behind in the church to hear Oliver's sermon on forgiveness.

"Visitors are arriving," Charlotte said to Beth now. "They wish to make amends. Three have already been here, but your father said you weren't to be disturbed. Cook is happy, for each family has bought a cake or pie or dish of some sort - so she won't have to cook tonight. Or for several nights..."

"I don't want to see anyone," Beth mumbled.

"I didn't think you would. It was a harrowing day and I personally do not believe an apple pie could possibly be reparation enough, no matter how old and unique the recipe," Charlotte sniffed in disdain. "But I do hope you bring your appetite to the table tonight, for there will be some lovely things to eat. I know it's difficult, when you're upset, to think about food."

"Dinner isn't for hours," Beth finally sat up. "I'm sure I'll be fine by then. It was just so…" She shrugged. "There are no words to describe it."

"I doubt anything of its like will ever happen again, Beth. Your father's speech settled the entire community back on its heels. I'm sure the men agreed with their women somewhat - but they were mortified, which was made even worse by your father's reactions. He's a powerful man around these parts - probably the most powerful - no one wishes to get on his bad side."

"I want to leave," Beth fidgeted with her hands in her lap. "I want to go away - I don't want to be in Pembroke anymore."

"Dear heart - it won't happen again -"

"To Aunt Prudence, perhaps?" Beth raised her head, her eyes bright with hope. "She is far enough away, no one will know what I did, there -"

"Dear heart," Charlotte lamented, shaking her head slowly. "Your father isn't going to let you go to Rhode Island. You need to stay here and deal with this. As horrible as it was, what occurred today has made the way easier," she said darkly. "Your father dealt with it head on, and already families are coming in with their tails between their legs, after only a few scant hours!"

"Only because they don't want Papa to be upset with them," Beth said stubbornly. "And the women are only doing it because the men are making them. Not a single one of them is doing it because they still like me - because they don't. Not Mrs. Emery, not Miss Emery, not Mrs. Abernathy. None of them. I want to be as far from here as humanly possible. Can you speak to Papa about it? Maybe write to Aunt Prudence about me going to Rhode Island?"

Charlotte sighed heavily.

"I'll speak to your Papa," she said softly, knowing fully well that Benjamin would allow no such thing. She took hold of Beth's hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "But I'll be dreadfully unhappy to see you go. As will Margaret and Susan and your brothers. And your father…"

"I know," Beth heaved a forlorn sigh and lay back down, again curling in to her fetal ball. Charlotte watched her for a few moments then rose from the bed and left her niece in peace and quiet.

* * *

There was no laudanum to be had for love nor money. Other, more gentle remedies were not up to the task of dulling the pain - those concoctions and tinctures made of herbs and flowers barely took the edge off. Amidst the pain filled moans of his comrades, Gabriel lay back on his blanket roll nursing the wound in his side. His head pillowed by his rucksack, the youth gazed intently at the bright stars above his head, counting the clusters and trying to find the constellations that were so familiar to him. It was difficult going, the searing pain in his side caused him to lose count and he would need to start all over again. It was no good - counting stars to try and detract his attention from the agony. He'd received the wound earlier that day, at the disastrous battle that had taken place at Camden. It hadn't even been a battle - it'd been a rout. Gabriel had taken the wound while fleeing, he'd been a mile away from Camden for Christ's sake. They were even further away now, having retreated as quickly as they could toward Santee River. Burwell had finally called the halt at sun down - the need to treat his men outweighed the need to continue on to avoid capture.

They were in a thick woods, close to St. Davids County on Sparrow Swamp. Tomorrow would bring them ever deeper down the Santee, Burwell intended to drive his Company relentlessly until they reached the relative safety of Williamsburg Township, a heavily Whig County, which would no doubt give them shelter and help to conceal their presence until they were strong again. Burwell wished to find a decent location, to strengthen and fortify that location, to build a redoubt right there in the middle of the Santee. And for that - and many other reasons - Burwell wanted Gabriel's father to join the army. Gabriel had his doubts - he did not believe his father's resolve to remain neutral will have wavered by a hair in the last months, but he was looking forward to the trip home, if only to see his family again. And to get some much needed laudanum.

There! The North Star. The bright star had become synonymous with his mother and the youth had been searching for it, hoping that finding the beacon might dull his pain.

It didn't. But it felt good to have finally found the star anyway. He gazed up at it and wondered if his father was staring up at it at that moment, so many miles to the South East of where the youth lay, in an agony of pain on the hard ground. Probably not. It was quite late after all, well past midnight. His father would be in bed by now, as would the entire family.

"Gabriel," a familiar voice called to him and it took the youth a moment to realise someone was standing - no kneeling - at his side.

"General," Gabriel made to rise but was shoved back down - gently - when Burwell laid his hand on the youth's shoulder.

"You stay right there, lad," Harry said gruffly. He studied the young boy for some time, and Gabriel gazed back through eyes dulled with pain. "Lord, you look like your father. Except your eyes are your mother's… You did well today, Lieutenant. You did damned well."

"Thank you, Sir," Gabriel said, trying to focus his attention on the man's face hovering above his.

"How is your wound?"

"Hurts like hell, Sir," Gabriel muttered. "I'd give my right arm for some laudanum just now."

"It's a damned crying shame we've run out so soon," Burwell gazed out at the other wounded, their greyed shapes laying on the ground barely discernible in the darkness of night. "So many wounded. Christ, Camden was a disaster."

"That is was," Gabriel agreed with a hearty sigh. "Have you news of Sumter?"

"No," came the worried reply. "And so we need to continue on as though we are on our own, for we are. In a few hours, we shall move out. I dare not wait for dawn - I have only stopped so we can regroup and get some rest. I mean to be at Fresh Water before mid afternoon."

"You are so certain he will join us, General," Gabriel said. "I have doubts. Who will look after the family? Who will care for them, if he is not there?"

"Wars are not fought by childless men alone, Gabriel," Burwell pointed out. "I've plenty of men who've left their families to fend for themselves, to fight this war. I've given your father time, so much time, to come to this decision on his own. But I'm out of time now, I'm out of options. I need him to be my adjutant, it's as simple as that. He will join, or…"

"Or?" Gabriel frowned, wondering what drawcard Burwell had up his sleeve, that would influence his father's decision either way.

"Never mind," Burwell dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. The sound of hooves drummed the ground, a lone rider was galloping at full tilt into camp. Burwell stood, and waited for the rider to come to him. This took a few moments, for the rider had to pass through the sentries and finally he was striding toward Burwell with an escort at his side. The rider bowed low, then began without preamble.

"Sir! Captain Trellim sent me - thank God I found you!"

Burwell inclined his head - he had taken what pains he could to clear the tracks of his retreat.

"What word from Trellim, Private?" General Burwell asked. Ignoring his pain, Gabriel pushed himself up to sitting position and stared intently at the Private. He recognised the youth - he'd grown up with him, in fact. Simon Howard, cousin to Anne Howard, Gabriel's sweet heart. The two nodded to one another in greeting, but that was all the old friends had time for. Gabriel wondered if Simon knew his cousin, George Howard, had been hung, but decided he couldn't possibly. It would be down to Gabriel to tell him, after Simon had imparted the news he'd travelled so hard and so far to give.

"It's Tavington, Sir," Private Howard said sharply. "Someone has seen your passage and reported it back to him, he has already broken away from the battalions up at Camden - his Dragoons are en-route already and if I could find you - he will too. I'd say he'll be upon you in the next hour at most."

"Jesus," Burwell muttered. He rubbed his chin with his finger - a gesture Gabriel had come to understand was an expression of worry. The General's eyes were fixed on the rows of wounded, laying on their pallets, some unconscious, some staring at Burwell with mounting concern. He had at least seventy wounded, and did not have a hope in Hell of moving them to a place of safety before Tavington thundered down upon them.

"We leave the wounded under a white flag," Burwell stated to his Captain, who had drawn close to hear the news. "The rest of us will leave immediately."

The Captain's nodded decisively and began to carry out Burwell's command.

"What about me!" Gabriel and Simon both said at once. Gabriel was climbing slowly to his feet, with Simon's help.

"You," General Burwell pointed at Simon. "Will hide yourself and when the Dragoons arrive, you will try and slip back into Trellim's unit. You -" he pointed at Gabriel. "Will remain here. You are one of the wounded and as such, you will stay here under the white flag."

"To become a prisoner!" Gabriel protested. Simon was silent, he did not have any problems with the orders he had been given. He was eager to join Trellim again to continue his task of spying, for the Captain did not have many he could trust. Gabriel continued, "with respect, Sir! I am of far more use to you at your side, than in a British prison camp!"

"You are of no use to me dead, Lieutenant Martin," Burwell replied. "And if you try and keep up with us, with that wound, I'm afraid that death can be your only reward."

"Then I'll take it gladly, but I do not believe that will be my fate. Dr. Scott is certain that nothing vital was hit, it's flesh only. And you do need me, Sir. I know every track and trail in the back country. Without me, you'll flounder out there and Tavington will catch you."

Burwell was thoughtful for a moment. He had several lads from the Santee area in his ranks, Gabriel was certainly not the only one with knowledge of the area. Gabriel, however, was the only one he trusted implicitly, unconditionally.

"Very well," he said finally. "But I'm afraid you're going to be in agony, with each movement of your horse."

"I'm in agony anyway, Sir," Gabriel admitted. "Simon - help me with my mount, would you? I have some news of your family, about George."

Burwell spent a moment watching sadly as the two youths made their way to the horse pickets. George Howard's death had been a crying shame, and Burwell worried that the populace of the Santee might think twice about helping him and his force, because of it. A moment only he took, dwelling on his doubt, before turning on his heel to bark commands to his troops and adjutants - he wanted to put as much distance between him and Tavington as was possible.

* * *

The Green Dragoons and light infantry found Burwell's camp, emptied of all but the Continentals wounded at Camden. The wounded were under the White Flag and Tavington honoured this by declaring them prisoners and having his surgeons tend their wounds. He left his captives there, in the make shift camp under a small force of his own men. Shortly, the baggage train with the wagons would come along this route and collect the prisoners. Tavington, however, had a General to catch.

* * *

Beth couldn't sleep. It was too hot, even with the window open.

And her life was in ruins. There was no point trying anymore. Anxiety twisted her belly, causing it to writhe and flip unpleasantly. Uncoiling herself from the sheets, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and there she stayed for several long moments, fighting with herself. Mila had warned her, keep her nose out of that diary, Mila said. Beth stared hard at the drawer, fighting temptation.

And losing pitifully.

The lantern on her desk was still alight, she padded across the room and sat down, pulled open the drawer. She could almost hear Mila's voice screaming at her to stop. Beth ignored it. She placed the diary on the table, flipped through until she found the portrait she'd drawn and then, she sat there gazing down at his face, her heart twisting with equal measures of love and despair. How could his portrait bring such joy and misery at the same time? Her fingers traced the planes of his face as she stared down into his eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. Did he tell everyone about their time in Arthur's chamber? For a moment, tears burned her eyes, blurring the vision of him as his betrayal leapt into her chest. She dashed them away and stared down at him, the question burning. Would he do that to her? Anything to end her engagement to Burwell? He'd told everyone in the city that she was engaged to him, not Burwell. Was she engaged to William then? She bit her lip, utterly confused. Her father would have a conniption, if she asked that to him. And there was the matter of how everyone knew about their time together in Arthur's room. Could she marry him, after yet another betrayal? Against Mila's imagined advice, Beth pulled his letter out of the drawer and read it. She'd told Burwell she'd burned it, but that had been a lie - she read it now, her fingers tracing the words where he had laid ink to the parchment, as if in doing so, it gave her a direct connection to William. He loved her. He wanted to flog her too, she recalled when she got to that part in the letter. But she read his pain again and she found herself weeping at the hurt she'd caused him. He'd caused as much agony for her, as well, but she couldn't stifle her guilt at having hurt him, too. How could she think they were engaged? Her father would never allow it and besides, they'd caused one another far too much harm. It was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Still, she set the letter aside and stared down at his portrait until his face was again emblazoned on her memory, as if she had seen him just that morning. She never wanted to forget what he looked like, she never wanted his face to fade from her memory as her mother's had.

At length, she began to discern a strange sound, a rumble, in the far off distance - far to the north of the house. The sound grew closer, and louder - something was on the approach to the house. Beth put the diary and letter back into the drawer and locked it, then stared at her door as if expecting it to burst open. Eventually Beth heard voices in the hallway - and doors opening and closing. Her brothers and father were roused, as was Aunt Charlotte. Evidently, they had heard the sound also, and were preparing to investigate. Beth glanced over and could just make out Margaret and Susan sitting up sleepily and rubbing their eyes. Their door opened and their father filled the opening, his face lit by the candle in his hand.

"You're awake. Good. Get dressed and get your stockings and boots on."

"What is it?" Beth asked, alerted by his serious manner.

"Horses - some one is approaching. A great many someones, by the sound of it. I want you dressed and ready to leave, in case it's…" He paused, his lips tightening. "In case it's the enemy."

She stared at him wide eyed as he began lighting candles and lanterns around the room. In case it's William. That's what he'd meant. Her heart pounded, the blood roaring in her ears. It might be William; Beth wanted to dig her heels into the floor and wait for him. Aunt Charlotte entered in a flurry of robes and began helping Beth to dress. The younger girl noticed that she was the only one being forced into her stays, petticoats and skirts - Margaret and Susan were instructed to put their night robes on, only. Clearly, her family were not to accompany her, wherever she was being sent.

"You wouldn't send me off alone, would you Papa?" Beth asked. "It's dark out and if it's…" She refrained from mentioning William or Banastre by name, just as her father had, but they both knew those two Officers were at the core of Benjamin's concern. "If it's the enemy, you wouldn't send me away alone?"

"Chicken," Thomas sniffed, entering the bed chamber.

And a chicken she was, she knew it. For she also half hoping that she would be sent off alone. That way, she could choose her own course and if it were William thundering toward the house, she knew she'd make a beeline straight for him. And her father would never forgive her.

And in light of all the pain William had caused, perhaps Beth wouldn't forgive herself.

Thomas was fully clothed, he even wore his leather jerkin and heavy boots and he carried a musket in his hand. Nathan was behind him - likewise dressed.

"We're to come with you," Nathan informed her and she felt equal measures of disappointment and relief and she knew her brothers had just saved her from herself. "We're to get you away to Mr. Scott's. You'll be with the Howard's."

Thomas lay down the weapons in his hand, then marched about the room, fetching a satchel and stuffing some of the items that Beth would need - stockings and a shift, and a few other things, he shoved into the bag unceremoniously.

"Oh, that's good," Beth said, though with each passing moment, she wanted to dig her heels deeper into the floorboards and to scream at all of them that this could be William approaching and by Gods, they could be together again, if only her father would let them. She didn't want to leave! The cacophony caused from so many horses hooves was much louder now. She could be with William again, in only another few minutes! One look at her father, however, and she knew she dared not dawdle. His face was grim, his stance impatient, as he waited for Charlotte to finish dressing Beth.

Her boots were on, her brothers were trying to usher her out of the room. Halting a moment, she pulled her diary and the letter - discreetly - out of the drawer, she was just placing them both in her pocket when a pounding came on the door downstairs. The family - all of which were in Beth's room now, froze, startled.

"I doubt Tavington would send a forward scout to announce his approach," Benjamin said darkly. With that, he strode from the room, his heavy footfalls pounding the floorboards as he ran through the house.

Beth's brothers guided her toward the service stairs, explaining that Shadow Dancer and the other horses were already saddled, ready and waiting to carry them off into the night. Charlotte accompanied them and they just reached the bottom landing when Rollins came darting toward them. "It's alright, it's one of Burwell's men."

"Oh, thank the sweet Lord!" Charlotte cried, her knees buckling; Beth found herself bearing Charlotte's weight. Her aunt was near to tears. "Oh, thank the sweet Lord! I was so frightened!"

"All's well, Mrs. Selton. Come - let's go see what this fellow has to say - it's news we need now."

Rollins took Charlotte's other arm and led the women to the foyer.

"What a relief," Charlotte murmured.

"Is it?" Beth said darkly. Charlotte shot her a look and Beth averted her gaze.

In the hall, a winded Blue-coat Officer stood, gasping out his report, as the drum of the many horses became so loud, it seemed to Beth as though they must be in the yard directly outside the house. She stared past him out the wide open doors and saw that no matter how close they sounded, the firebrands showed that they were still aways yet. Burwell would be present though, in only a few more moments.

"I've still got time to flee," she said softly to no one in particular. She hadn't thought anyone heard her until Thomas scoffed.

"Yeh, and I'll still come with you."

Beth turned to him, astonished. Thomas gave a shrug and glared toward the closing firebrands, leaving Beth with the feeling that Thomas wasn't anymore well disposed toward Burwell than he must be Tavington.

"We've been travelling hard for two nights and two full days," the Officer was saying. "With the Butcher hard on our heels the whole while!"

"Tavington?" Beth breathed, turning wide eyed back toward the Officer. Only Thomas had heard her and he laid a quelling hand on her shoulder.

"Careful Beth. I know you love him but you've only just gotten back into father's good graces. If you want to stay there, I'd suggest you don't look so eager for Tavington," Thomas whispered in her ear.

"You know?" Beth whispered back, her jaw dropping.

"Everyone must think I'm a God kissed fool," Thomas scoffed. The youths fell silent to listen.

"We had to leave some of our wounded under a white flag!" The Officer said. "The enemy's got them as prisoners now, I dare say!"

"Agh, Jesus," Benjamin groaned. "Come, come sit down. Are there any more wounded with you?"

"Your son, Sir -"

"Gabriel!" Benjamin roared, standing stock still at the parlour doors. The rest of the family gasped with shock and worry.

"Yes, Sir," the Officer lowered himself to an arm chair. "He'll live, but he's hurting. But he wouldn't stay behind to be taken by the Redcoats. I don't know how he did it, but he convinced General Burwell to let him come."

"General?" Thomas asked and the Officer nodded.

"He's got a letter from Gates, he's been promoted."

"That would have been one hell of a celebration," Benjamin said. "Losing Camden."

By now, the thunder of noise was close, they could hear the whinny and snorts from the horses. The house was in an uproar. Plantation staff - who were woken by the noise - were already waiting outside to see to the newly arrived remnants of Colonel - General now - Burwell's battalion of the Continental Army. There were far more than had been with him previously, Beth stopped counting the firebrands when she reached one hundred. There were several times more than that. The stragglers who'd been forming up into the three units to take Camden. Burwell must have found them, and now they were here. Before Benjamin could make a move toward the door, they could hear Burwell's voice shouting commands. He was getting closer by the moment. Suddenly he burst into the house and strode into the parlour.

Burwell took the family in at a glance, his eyes lingering on Beth a heart beat longer than on the others, before he met Benjamin's eyes.

"They knew we were coming," he said and Benjamin nodded. He would tell Harry in time, about Mark's capture, what he had revealed - under torture, no doubt - before his death.

"Gabriel?" He asked for now, more concerned about his son than anything else.

"Wounded but fine. He'll be along shortly. I'm leaving him here, regardless of what he wants."

"He doesn't want to stay?" Charlotte asked. "Is he in any condition to ride at all?"

"He is not. But I let him twist my arm into accompanying me this far. No further, however," he said, his voice cold and stern.

"I'll have his room made up for him. Abigail!" Charlotte called as she strode into the hall.

"I need to speak with you, Mrs. Selton," Burwell said before she reached the door. She paused, then nodded. Giving her instructions to Abigail to ready a room for Gabriel, she turned back to Burwell. "What I am about to tell you concerns you both," he said gravely. "It's about your brother."

"We know," Benjamin said, reaching out to take hold of Charlotte's hand. She hung her head, solemn. "Tarleton told me. I was waiting for the right moment to tell you."

"Tarleton!" Burwell gasped.

"He received a missive from the city, warning him of the threat to Camden. Almost immediately, he separated Beth and I from everyone and from each other, he questioned us, believing us both to be guilty of treason, for not telling him about your intentions toward Camden."

"He questioned you both?" Burwell asked, whirling to face Beth. "He didn't hurt you?"

"No," she said.

"She could've been though. She lied for you," Thomas said, folding his arms across his chest. "Again."

"Oh," Burwell appeared taken aback and Beth turned to Thomas, shocked.

"What the devil?" She mouthed up at him while her father began to speak. Thomas curled his lip and stared hard at Burwell's back, for the General had turned back to hear Benjamin.

"We both managed to convince him that we didn't know and God must have been looking down on us because here I am, no noose around my neck," Benjamin said, shooting a fleeting, disapproving glance at Thomas. Burwell shot another fearful look to Beth, and she looked away. "Anyway, when he calmed down, he told me about Mark. I'm sorry, Harry. He betrayed Camden - he betrayed the Cause, but I know he didn't do it lightly. They tortured it out of him, I'm certain of it. And they killed him, I'm certain of that, too. I sent word to you, to warn you that the British were coming - you didn't receive my message?"

"Would that I had," Burwell said tiredly. They were finally seated, he sighed as he took the load off his legs. "I'd have had the entire mission called off. I only found out later. You are right, Ben. Mr. Putman was tortured."

"Oh God," Charlotte's hands flew to her mouth. Maggie put her arm around her Aunt's shoulders. Beth looked to a horrified Thomas, she wound her fingers through his. Benjamin's jaw was working but no sounds would come. Beth studied his face carefully, she thought she saw as much guilt there, as she did grief and Monsieur Ferrand Bisset's name came to her mind. The man her father had tortured. Had he a family, she wondered now? Had anyone mourned him, had there been anyone to feel the same outrage and horror at his torture, as the Martin's were feeling about Mark's?

"If you do not know that," Burwell said. "Then you do not know who did the torturing."

"Who did it?" Benjamin ground out. Beth cocked her head, baffled by the fury in his voice. He looked like a man thirsting for revenge. But he'd said it himself, war turned man into demon, it changed him to the point that a gentleman could inflict agony or shoot another man, in the name of their cause. Why should he be so vengeful? Shouldn't he, above all others, understand? Whoever did it to her uncle had been following orders, just as Benjamin, Rollins and Billings had, when they were commanded to torture Bisset.

Was it because Mark had been family, is that the reason why her father could not be impassive, despite his guilt at having done the same to Bisset?

Burwell's eyes flickered to Beth; his expression was such that thoughts of Bisset and her own father's war crimes flew from her head. Burwell's eyes, sharp and accusing, immediately made her cold all over. She shook her head in denial, it couldn't be. "Tavington and Bordon." He said, just as she'd known he would. Beth's knees buckled.

Thomas seized her arm to support her as every eye in the room turned to Beth. She drew a ragged breath, she pulled her arm from Thomas' and collapsed onto the chaise.

"What they did to him… They were brutal, Ben," Burwell said, and Charlotte gave a small sound of dismay. "From the moment I was told, I knew that Mark would never give that information willingly, that every word had to have been dragged from him. And after speaking with some rebels that saw him after they got him free from the cells, I realised they were. Dragged from him. And as a consequence, the British knew exactly where each of our forces were concealed - Sumter, the three Companies of Continentals. The British fell on all four like an avalanche. I was a half mile away - we were to begin the assault at dawn, but then the British were suddenly chasing us down and I heard they'd moved against all of my forces. They found me and attacked, we fled, though many of my men were wounded before we could withdraw, including Gabriel. We had to leave our dead behind. We were free of them for a day or so and were heading toward Williamsburg, when Simon Howard found me. Trellim sent him with a warning that a Loyalist had sighted us and had reported back to Tavington, our location. He resumed the chase - I had to leave my wounded under a flag so I could keep running. Gods, it went so wrong, so quickly."

"I'm sorry," Benjamin said, wanting to defend Mark and knowing that now wasn't the time. Ben could see his daughter from the corner of his eye - she looked miserable and horrified. Burwell waved his hand as if dismissing Ben's remorse.

"As I said, it wasn't Mr. Putman's fault and it certainly wasn't yours. You should know, however, that Tarleton was speaking truly," he said and Benjamin arched his eyebrows. "It was John Sumter - cousin to Colonel Sumter - who ordered Mark's death - though he had no damned right to do it and when I get hold of him, I'll hang the bastard myself."

"Why did he do that?" Benjamin asked, shocked.

"Mark betrayed him. Not just our intentions toward Camden, but Sumter personally," Burwell glanced at both Benjamin and Charlotte with embarrassment, then sighed. "Mark wanted to protect his men - his spies. He had recruited them, trained with them, felt responsible for them. Trellim. Banksia. Colin Ferguson. All of them. Watson. He didn't want to give them away under torture but I suspect Tavington would have known by then that Mark had other spies and Mark knew he had to give up something. And so… He gave them Sumter's."

"He what..?" Benjamin breathed, stunned.

"That's why Sumter did it. He was angered by Mark's betrayal, that Mark gave Tavington the position of my forces and, to add insult to injury, he gave up Sumter's men instead of his own, to appease Tavington's need for information. Tavington arrested several of Sumter's men, they've all been hanged by now."

"Jesus," Benjamin breathed. He shared a mortified look with Charlotte.

"Brandy?" Rollins asked, feeling they were all in sore need of some. He poured for the men, he even poured a decent measure for Charlotte and for Beth, both of whom looked in sore need also. Burwell took his and downed it in one gulp.

Beth stared into hers. What she'd heard was quite distressing - William had tortured her uncle. She wondered how he did it. With knives? Had the man she loved, used knives on her uncle? Had he sliced cuts into Mark's flesh? She imagined the blood and shuddered. William had done that. Or something just as dreadful, for her uncle to break and reveal the information he did. William had been brutal. Had dragged the words from Mark. Had caused agony, in the doing. She realised she was shaking when the brandy nearly slopped over the sides of the glass. When Harry had revealed who'd tortured Mark, they'd all looked at her, as if it were somehow her fault. Or as if they were even more disgusted with her than they had been, for stupidly falling in love with a man like William. He kept his eyes averted from her, and kept the discussion to the matter at hand - the disaster which had befallen them at Camden.

Burwell was talking about William again, and they all kept their eyes averted from her, as Burwell spoke of feeling like a rabbit being chased by the hound.

"Damned well chased me for miles," Burwell said harshly. His voice was hoarse, his face lined and dirty. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he dry washed his hands. "And we'd just made camp, just got settled in and began tending our wounded, when Simon Howard found us to inform us that Tavington discovered where we were and was coming. Tarleton was going after Colonel Sumter, at the same time. God knows where John Sumter is, but you should know, he's a threat to you."

"Because of Mark?" Benjamin asked. "It's Sumter that should be afraid," he said grimly. "What'd Colonel Sumter say of his cousin's actions?"

"I do not know," Burwell replied. "I haven't had the chance to discuss the matter with him, though I did write to inform him that I consider his cousin to be a murderer and he will be treated as such. But no, it is not because of Mark, it's because of… Because of Beth."

"You might need to explain that one to me, Harry," Benjamin frowned, leaning forward, eyes narrowed.

"I won't go into it too deeply, not with the women here," Burwell said. "But Sumter has… Well, he took Captain Bordon's mistress captive back in the city. He intends to do the same with Beth, to make -" Burwell drew a deep breath, his face darkening. "To make Tavington exchange himself for her freedom."

"Jesus, what the devil?" Benjamin growled. The men began discussing it. Simon Howard, informing Burwell before they parted, of Trellim overhearing Tavington speaking of the plot Sumter had learned about. That Tavington was desperate to reach Fresh Water, as much to question Benjamin and to claim Beth, as to protect her from Sumter. Frozen to the chair with shock, Beth's lungs were on fire and she realised she was holding her breath. The women were horrified and fearful as Burwell repeated as much of Sumter's plan as he knew. When he was finished, Benjamin spoke, his voice was rough with fury. "I want that man found," he said, speaking of John Sumter. "And I want him hanged."

"That is my intention," Burwell said grimly. "He might be on his way here, for all we know. Tavington is coming here, and that's a certainty."

He paused for a moment, not quite looking at Beth. Benjamin was not so subtle, he was staring hard at her and she stared back, writhe with nerves. She had no idea what he was thinking, or what either man was about to say, and she was saved by Gabriel and several more Officer's who chose that moment to enter the house. Burwell and William forgotten, the family rushed to surround Gabriel, to greet him and fuss over his wounds. Eventually he was seated. Charlotte returned, and quiet descended once more. Burwell continued.

"The Butcher's a cold bastard, he's been pushing us hard. We destroyed the boats at the river but he still forded across. For two days he's been on our tail and he's finally closing in. I've managed to lose him for now, thanks to these swamps and woodlands - but even if he thinks he's lost me, he'll still come here. We don't have much time. Benjamin - I need you."

"For?" Benjamin said. He was not one to mince words and wanted Burwell to make his demands quickly, so he could refuse or accept the charge and get on to seeing his son settled.

"You've shown you've still got it," Burwell stated. "Though I never doubted it. It was brilliantly done - the attack you orchestrated on Tarleton's force."

"It was well done," Rollins agreed while Benjamin took a moment to lament his rotten luck.

"Agh, Jesus Christ," Benjamin groaned. He had known all along that it would come back to haunt him. That others would have the expectation that he would take up the Cause - he had heard of little else, since that fateful night.

"It's time to choose a side," Burwell said. "Though it seems to me that you've already chosen."

"Have I? Should I choose the British, after the way they've treated with my daughter? Or should I choose the Patriots, after the way Sumter has treated with my brother?" Benjamin confronted, voice hard. "Which side should I choose, Harry? Neither is looking particularly good right now."

"Ben, Sumter will be dealt with, of that I vow," Harry replied.

"Before or after he comes here and tries to take my daughter?" Benjamin shot back.

"I will not let that happen."

"You won't even be here. What have you got now, three hundred? How many has Tavington got? You can't stay here, you'll be decimated. Therefore, you won't be here to protect my family, should that whoreson Sumter bastard come riding up to cause trouble for me and mine."

"Beth will need to leave here, Ben," Charlotte said, tugging at his sleeve.

"Benjamin might need to as well," Rollins said. "Before Tavington gets here."

"Oh?" Benjamin snapped.

"Yeh, well," Rollins gave an embarrassed cough. "You might act like you haven't chosen a side but you did orchestrate the attack on Tarleton's forces. And I've been hearing some whispers - it seems some of the men who helped us that night have had trouble keeping their mouth shut; they've been talking about the attack to anyone who'll listen. Unfortunately, some of those listening were Tory's, and you can wager Fresh Water that they'll be off to tell Tavington as soon as he gets here, and he'll do you for treason."

"Unless I go work for them instead," Benjamin said snidely.

"As if you would," Rollins snorted.

"Why shouldn't I? You're all pushing and pulling me this way and that when all I want is to stay right here at Fresh Water. You're all a bunch of bastards!"

"Must I remind you," Rollins said gently, "that the attack on Tarleton's force was your idea? _Captain_ Martin."

Benjamin's jaw tightened and he started to grind his teeth.

"Captain Martin?" Burwell asked with an arched eyebrow. "No - he's your Colonel now."

"By whose authority?" Benjamin snapped.

"By General Burwell's authority," Gabriel said.

"So you were promoted," Benjamin had thought the Officer from earlier had merely spoken by mistake, when referring to Burwell as 'General'.

"I was," Burwell returned. "Gates sent word down - it's a field appointment only for now. But it's enough for me to assign rank . And if you're going to enlist, then you'll have the rank of Colonel. You're first assignment is -"

"I haven't agreed to anything!" Benjamin snapped.

"I don't have bloody time for this!" Burwell roared, surging to his feet. He towered over the still seated Benjamin, who snapped his mouth shut and glared up at his old friend. "I have to get my men as far away as possible before Tavington closes in! You were right, I don't have enough men! I don't have enough of anything to turn and fight! Not enough gunpowder! Not enough bullets! His Legion is hot on Tavington's heels and they are carrying bloody canons, Ben! I need to get to a position of safety, before he catches us! I can't make a stand with the amount of men I've got here! And we're damned well exhausted - we've barely had a moments rest since Camden - and that was three days ago! I doubt half my force have enough left in them to raise their swords, let alone fight! But you, you could have four hundred men answer your call in just twenty-four hours! Enough is enough - you sealed your own fate the night you attacked Tarleton's force. You have joined - accept it, Benjamin, or I am done with you!"

Silence reigned.

Not a single occupant in the room moved, not a single one made a sound. Burwell's harsh breathing dominated the parlour, his eyes blazing as he glared down at Benjamin. The man who may or may not be his friend when he rode away from Fresh Water in a few moments time. The two were locked in a battle of wills, Benjamin glaring right back.

"Then you should be done with him and leave," Beth said and every eye returned to her again.

"I beg your pardon?" Harry said, utterly stunned. Her eyes flicked to him, but then past him and to her father.

"We've talked about what war can do to a man, papa," she said. "The day that Colonel Tarleton left here. When I ask you about Monsieur Ferrand Bisset." She held her father's gaze, saw his face turn white. Burwell drew a sharp breath and began to shift from foot to foot, restless.

"Who is Monsieur Bisset?" Charlotte asked, her voice shaking.

Beth didn't answer her. Neither did Benjamin or Harry. Beth held her father's gaze. "War turns man into demon, you said. And it did to you." _And it has to William, oh my God. _She stifled her sobs, tried not to see the image of the man she loved torturing her uncle. "I don't want you to turn into a demon again, papa. What if you don't turn back again?"

Her chest hurt and she buried her face in her hands as she began to weep. Benjamin knelt before her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Please, papa. Listen to her. Don't go," Margaret said and she was weeping too.

Benjamin held his arm out to her and Margaret - and then Susan - came to kneel in the circle of his embrace as he held his three daughters.

"If it means Harry will never speak to you again," Beth said, cupping her father's face as tears slid down hers, "if it means he'll be done with you, then so be it. That's his choice." She lifted eyes to Harry and her voice hardened. "How dare you?" She spat. "You know what it did to him last time. You were there! How dare you give him an ultimatum like that? What will return to us, when he's done? Our father? Or an empty shell of a man wearing his face?"

Burwell lowered his gaze and looked away.

"Our father isn't the only father fighting this war, Beth," Gabriel said, voice harsh.

"You don't know," Beth sobbed. "He never told you. You don't know."

"Know what?" Gabriel asked, throwing his arms wide, perplexed.

"Papa, please don't do this," Beth whispered, returning her gaze to her father, her hands still cupping his face. "You will lose yourself again and you might not be found at the end. You'll wake at night, cannons and gunfire will wake you at night. The screaming of -"

"That's enough," Burwell said, snapping the words. "You take me to task for using my friendship to sway him? What of you, Beth? What are you using right now?"

"I love him, you don't! He is my father! And I don't want to lose him again!"

"None of us do," Gabriel said. "He is my father too. You say he shouldn't join the Cause? I say he should."

Margaret's tear streaked face turned to glare at Gabriel. "He is my father too, and I don't want him to go!"

"He has to, Maggie!" Gabriel snapped. "I say lives will be saved, if he does. Besides, he already has. Tarleton's men, seventy of them. Father joined the night of that attack and there's no going back now! You need to stop this, Beth. The three of you need to stop it, right now!"

"Like I said, your commanding of the attack against Tarleton is public knowledge now, Ben," Rollins said gently. "The British will soon know and they will come for you." He shrugged. "In for a penny, in for a pound, I say."

Benjamin sat back on his heels, his arms around Susan and Margaret. Beth was still seated, her hands fell away from his face as he drew back from her. He gazed at them all, taking in each of his children and Charlotte. They stared back solemnly. His mind whirled through his options, his need to keep his family safe was like an ache - a physical thing, an agony in his soul. But Gabriel and Rollins were right, he had no choice now - the British would soon learn from the local Tory's that he had attacked Tarleton's Legion. They would come after him, then. Tavington was already coming, but armed with the knowledge of Ben's attack on Tarleton, he'd be coming for more than just Beth. Ben could feel the noose tightening. He would either need to flee to avoid it, or join the army. The former was the cowards way out. He'd tried to keep out of it, but that hope was dust. In for a penny, in for a pound. At least this way, he could be useful.

"I won't lose myself this time, Beth," he said and his heart twisted when she buried her face in her hands and wept. "I'm sorry, lass. But I know I won't, not this time. Not with you girls to hold me together." He kissed each one in turn. Susan clung to him, her little arms around his neck. Margaret sat there, staring blindly, tears coursing her cheeks. Beth's face, he could not see. Charlotte came forward, wiping her wet cheeks, to comfort the girls.

Benjamin rose to his feet. He dusted his breeches free of dust at the knees, then turned too Burwell. "What would you have me to do, General Burwell?"

Some of the tension eased from the Commander. He held out his hand, Benjamin shook it.

"I need to provide my men to a place of safety. What's left of those three Companies are trying to reach me, but it'll do them no good if I have no where to shelter them. I need to get them to somewhere they can begin building a stronghold."

"There's the old fort at McDeals - on the Santee River," Benjamin mused. "Get the word to them to follow east along the river, they will be heading straight for it - they can't miss the fort. The ones that are with you now could be there by midday tomorrow - and they can begin strengthening the garrison."

They spoke over the young girls; for the moment, their grief was entirely ignored.

"That sounds perfect," Burwell agreed, relieved, as he settled in to plan their next moves. "You take my men to McDeal's, while I take my Dragoons back to the north. As I said, I don't have much ammunition - my intention is not to fight, but to lead Tavington away, so my men will have a better chance of slipping down the Santee."

Benjamin noticed Beth had finally lifted her face from her hands, she was wiping her eyes, her tears finally stopping. A good, soldiers daughter - she would need to be strong in the coming months. "Where is Tavington now?" he asked, getting down to business.

"We lost him about five miles back." - While Burwell spoke, Benjamin shifted nervously, not quite glancing at Beth. Only five miles. Tavington was too close for comfort. - "I know you won't want him coming here, perhaps I can draw him away toward Taylor and once there, I'll lay false tracks. While Tavington is busy haring off to the west, we shall circle around and down to McDeals."

"It's a sound plan," Benjamin nodded sagely. "But if Tavington is so close on your heels, he could be charging toward us this very moment. None of your plans will work, if he catches you here. We need to get moving - now."

"Agreed," Burwell said.

"Now - do not forget the weapons caches that Pembroke has been stockpiling," Benjamin reminded the General, whose mouth dropped open.

"Jesus, I did forget," Burwell slapped his forehead. "God, I need sleep, is what I need. There's one at Kingstree too, isn't there?"

"Yes. You need to get past Tavington, draw him behind you so your men can get to McDeals, then lose him before you reach Kingstree. Easy," he said and Burwell laughed softly, both knowing damned well it'd be anything but. "Get to Kingstree, rearm your men and do not forget - there are two more, south of here, at Durant and Guillam."

"I won't forget again. I want you to put out the call that you are creating a new militia. Get the word out that you're recruiting, Ben."

"What about us?" Charlotte said. She was sitting with Susan in her lap and Margaret at her feet. They had stopped weeping too, though their misery cut him to the bone. Benjamin noticed Charlotte's glass was empty - she'd drunk her measure of brandy right down. "This is all happening so fast - and neither of you know what to expect. What if you don't manage to lead Tavington off? What if he comes here - what if…" She trailed off worriedly, her eyes on Beth. "We won't have anyone to protect us, when he comes for…"

Again, she trailed off and Beth blushed crimson, lowering her eyes to her lap, fidgeting with her fingers nervously.

"If you wish to protect… Beth…" Burwell faltered and his face grew dark, his thoughts dwelling on Tavington taking Beth and what he would do with her - and her willingness to do those things… His face was stone when he continued. "Your only hope is to leave here tonight. Go to Drakespar."

The parlour grew quiet again as Burwell began to brood. Feeling the need himself, Rollins poured another round of brandies for the Continental officers.

"Do you agree, Ben?" Charlotte asked and Benjamin nodded. They'd already been prepared to spirit Beth away but now, it seemed, they were all going. "We should make preparations then. I have my carriage, it'll fit the smaller children and myself. I'll need to borrow a wagon, for the older children."

Again Benjamin nodded. Feeling that time was slipping through her fingers, Charlotte rose and left the parlour, ushering the younger children ahead of her.

"You'll go with them, Gabriel," Benjamin said firmly. "On the back of the wagon."

"No!" Gabriel protested at once. "My place is with General Burwell!"

"You wanted me to join, boy. Well, I have, and I'm your superior now. You should know here and now, I do not suffer insubordination in my troops," Benjamin snapped. "And I am a much harder Commander than I am a father, I'll tell you that right now!"

Gabriel, on the verge of protesting further, instead snapped his mouth shut.

"Now there's poetic justice for you," Beth said, her voice had returned to normal. "You wanted papa? Well, now you've got him. Don't glower at me, Gabriel; you did this to yourself."

"Beth, enough," Benjamin said and his daughter shrugged and looked away.

Gabriel glared at Beth but said nothing. His wounds were aching, it was all he could do to sit upright as it was. He excused himself, to see if Charlotte had any laudanum for him. He'd need it if he was to be jounced about on the back of the damned wagon.

The parlour emptied slowly - Benjamin, Rollins and Curly to begin packing and to have the horses readied. Nathan and Samuel went to help. Beth and Thomas, who were already dressed - and packed for that matter - remained behind. When she realised Burwell was staying too, Beth almost rose and stalked from the room. She felt too wrung out to move though, so she stayed there, sipping her brandy until an awkward silence descended.

Beth saw Burwell from the corner of her eye, pacing before the empty fireplace and she wondered why the General was hanging back. Surely he should be on his way by now? He was running out of time, if he was to attempt to lure William away. But there he was, lingering, darting her looks - she saw those from the corner of her eye too. He seemed poised and on the verge of speaking, only to stop each time he opened his mouth. At length, he came to sit beside her on the chaise and she finally turned to look at him. Harry searched her face for several long moments as the silence stretched.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "About taking your father away from you."

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure you are."

"You're wroth with me," he said. After a moment, she heaved a sigh and shook her head.

"I'm just… frustrated. I know this isn't what he wanted."

"None of us want this," Harry said. "But I need the best, Beth, and your father is that."

"He could die. Or he could come back and not be our father anymore," she said, tears burning her eyes. She hadn't thought she had any left.

"We all make sacrifices," he said and she shook her head, feeling like he wasn't truly hearing her.

Silence descended again and Thomas, who had been standing by the windows, decided to give them a chance to speak alone. He excused himself and left the room, though he left the parlour doors wide open. The General stared at Beth, his fingers twitching on his lap as though he was resisting the urge to wind his fingers through hers. There was a time when he would not have hesitated, but now… Everything was so vastly altered between them.

"Are you well?" Beth asked finally. "After the skirmish… I mean, with Gabriel wounded and… Did you take wounds, also?"

"No," he shook his head. "I was at the rear of the fighting, issuing commands as my men died before my eyes. It was a slaughter, a Goddamned slaughter." He hung his head then, his eyes staring blindly at the carpet beneath his feet.

"I'm sorry," she said simply, for want of anything else to say. Her uncle had betrayed the Cause. Because the man she loved tortured him.

"Yes, well…" He shrugged.

"Despite the way I spoke to you just now, I am glad you came here," she said softly as she curled her fingers around his gloved hands. Burwell swallowed hard, and worked his jaw as he stared down at their entwined hands. "You look tired," she said.

"The word is old, Beth. I look old."

"No - you just need to sleep. For five days, perhaps," she smiled weakly, then, with a wretched gasp, she blurted, "I'm so terribly sorry, Harry. For… For everything I did. I want you to know - I need you to know. I cared for you - I still care for you. I'm so wretchedly sorry."

This last was a broken sob and, unable to bear the contact - and the closeness of his body to hers - she pulled her fingers away and rose abruptly, ready to run from the room. Burwell reached for her hand and pulled her back down beside him. With a heavy sigh, he put his arms around her and pressed her head to his chest.

"I know you are, Beth," he murmured. "Gods, I'm still so angry with you, but I know you are sorry."

"You don't hate me?" She wailed, lifting her head from his chest to meet his gaze.

"I could never hate you," he said softly. He wiped away her tears with his gloved thumb. "Never."

"Do you…" She paused nervously, then continued hesitantly, "do you… forgive me?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that no, he most certainly did not - nor could he ever - forgive her. But being so close he could smell her scent, her hand held so securely in his, her eyes still filled with tears, the trails of which still coursed her cheeks, he found he could not. He still felt the riot of emotions that he had before entering the house - rage over her dalliance with Tavington, trepidation over seeing her again, jealousy, humiliation. But above all, over riding all of those emotions, was his love for her. Which, he was finding now to his chagrin, had not waned in the slightest. He did not forgive her but perhaps he could. One day. But he loved her now and his face twisted in despair. Beyond the ability to answer her with words, he reached for her, his fingers cupping her face, holding her tightly in place as he crashed his lips to hers.

Beth's eyes widened, shocked to her core, as Burwell's lips began to move over hers. He made small noises of anguish and pleasure, his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his hands held her fast. She did not pull away, did not try to break the kiss despite the confusion it caused her.

"One day," he murmured as he kissed her, his tongue seeking entrance between her lips. She permitted this also, still too confused to do anything else. "I will one day," he groaned. He moved even closer to her, his tongue stroked hers. His expression was odd - Beth felt he looked like a drowning man trying to find an anchor, something to hold on to. "Perhaps…" He whispered, his lips now moving along her jaw to her neck. "We can still be together. We'll lie - we'll tell everyone that he made it all up. It was all propaganda, lies to undermine and humiliate me." With a heartfelt, agonised groan, his lips met hers again. She had no time to respond in the negative, no time to do anything but sit lax in his grip as his tongue began demanding entrance once more. Again - though she did not know why - she allowed it and responded to his kisses. "With the disaster at Camden," he interrupted long enough to say, before claiming her yet again. He continued between kisses, whispering the words hurriedly. "Everyone will focus on that now." More kisses, then: "They will forget all about us." Another pause as his lips moved over hers, then: "And with your father joining, they'll believe it when we tell them that he was lying."

Beth did not need to ask who 'he' was - Burwell refused to speak of Tavington by name, not now that he held Beth in his arms.

"And after what Tarleton did to George Howard - no one will believe them any more. They'll welcome you - as long as you never admit it, Beth. We can work this out - we can be married, if you're still willing."

He paused then, finally moving back from her ever so slightly. He was still close enough that she could feel his breath on her face, and he still held her face cupped in his hands. She had no idea what to say, though he was staring at her intently, awaiting for her answer.

"She is still willing," a man's voice said from the open parlour door. Burwell jumped back guiltily and whirled to face Benjamin, but Beth's father's attention was focused solely on her. "And grateful that you still want her. Aren't you, Beth?" He asked in a tone that left no room for argument.

Beth swallowed. She didn't want to be engaged to Burwell again. She'd never wanted to be engaged to him in the first place. Besides, she truly felt Harry was dreaming for what could never be - no one would accept their union, she was already ruined and if Burwell married her, he would be ruined also.

"I… I don't know that it would work - denying it all, and saying it was lies," she murmured, her mind working furiously. "There was some unpleasantness at church today. The women - they all rose and walked from the church, refusing to come back in until I agreed to leave. Papa roared in to them - he was so mad. But he admitted it all - he stood before the congregation and he told them I was seduced and foolish, and not without blame. He was defending me, but as a consequence, he confirmed it all to be truth. They know it's all true, Harry. Everyone knows."

"Oh," Burwell deflated.

"They've already come around - a little," Beth said. "Papa was so angry with them and he made them ashamed of themselves, I think. Families have been visiting all day, more and more of them, bringing food and trying to make amends."

"You see? All will be well!" Benjamin piped up. "Small steps… it will take time, but… You still love Beth, I know you do. Surely you… Gods, can't you put this behind you?"

"Ben…" Burwell shook his head. "I don't know. I have… misgivings. So many misgivings. After everything that's happened. And if everyone knows… I…" Burwell shook his head.

Benjamin's shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of the world on them bearing him down.

"Are you still willing?" Burwell asked Beth intently.

"If my father wills it," she replied, knowing he would despise an answer like that. He was rejecting her again and even though she didn't want to marry him, still, it stung.

"It was always your willingness I cared about, you know that," Harry said.

"And I was willing," she replied. She'd agreed to it to appease her family but she'd also known it was a good match. Deep down, she had. Before she met William. But now, she couldn't deny how free she felt, now it was over.

"You're speaking in the past tense," he coaxed her warily.

"You abandoned me, and you've just rejected me, yet again," Beth whispered, her eyes brimming tears. "Yet, you still want me to be _willing_?"

"Pardon?" Burwell whispered, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"You abandoned me, Harry!" She cried, finally lifting her eyes to his. "I know I hurt you - I shamed you - I know I did - but _you abandoned me_! You left me to fend for myself, when I needed you to stand by me! You just took off -" she waved her arm to emphasise her words. "Just galloped from Pembroke and didn't look back!" She sniffed and lowered her choked voice, "you abandoned me," she said quietly.

Burwell's jaw dropped. So consumed in his own anger and feelings of betrayal, he had not thought of how his abrupt departure had effected Beth. Benjamin was just as stunned - he stared at Beth as though she'd grown another head.

"Did my actions in Charlestown count for nothing?" She asked in a small voice, meeting his gaze again. "I could still be flogged, if Tavington gets hold of me. He is not a forgiving person - and I betrayed him, lied to him, worked against him and all to protect you. He won't forget that, but it seems you've forgotten quickly enough!"

"I never forgot," Burwell whispered. "I was just so angry with you and -"

"For kissing another man. For doing things I never should have done. For doing them with your enemy, and while I was engaged to you. I know, I deserve your anger! And I deserve you ending our engagement! But that doesn't stop me from feeling betrayed by you, doubly so now that you've rejected me again, because you're afraid of how it will reflect on you! My sacrifice meant nothing. You left me to the mercy of my neighbours, who have been more vicious than a pack of wolves, ousting an unwelcome bitch from their midst! Why couldn't you have stood by me, as I did you? Why couldn't you have protected me, as I did you? Maybe then I wouldn't have been censured by every man, woman and child in the county. Your reaction - fleeing as you did - rejecting me so thoroughly, made them even harder on me. And yet, I would still marry you. I know I'm being unfair, I caused so much trouble, but I've sacrificed so much for you as well, did it all count for nothing?"

"It doesn't count for nothing. I don't know," Harry whispered, staring past her head blindly. "I just don't know…"

"You don't know? So you've forgotten the night I discovered my aunt with my father?" She asked and she felt her father grow very still. Burwell stared at her warily - afraid she was about to throw in his face the things they had done together? And why shouldn't she? "You dallied with me too," she said, steeling her spine - it was not easy to discuss before her father. "You ruined me as much as Colonel Tavington did, the only difference is, no one knows about it. But considering those intimacies we shared, you had no right to end our engagement. My father, if he's forgiven it, would only have done so, because we were going to be married. Yet, you say you don't know? Well, I do. Because of those intimacies we shared, yes, I will still marry you, _if my father wills it of me_," Beth said defiantly, wrapping herself in the shattered remnants of her pride.

"Your willingness stems from your father's desire," Burwell said, feeling shattered. "Not your own. You'd be the dutiful daughter."

"I know this isn't tit for tat, but to be frank, at least I _am_ being dutiful. Which is more than I can say for you," she said, lifting her chin. Gods, what was she doing? Trying to shame him into marrying her? She didn't want to marry him, she should be talking him out of it, not trying to convince him to take her after all.

"She's right," Benjamin confronted. "Those things she did with Tavington - she did with you, too. And yes, I only forgave it, because you were engaged and I understood, for my wife and I had done much the same. But at least I married her, Harry."

"Because your fiancé hadn't done those things with any other man," Harry said, voice strangled. "Would you still have done so, if she had?"

Benjamin snapped his mouth shut, torn. He had loved Elizabeth deeply, but he doubted he would have married her, if he'd discovered she'd betrayed him so.

"Gods," he said. He wasn't ready to let the argument go, though he knew he couldn't rely on his temper or Burwell's honour to see the pair engaged again. Burwell, though he'd been intimate with Beth, was the wronged one. He had every right, to make the choice he was making. Still, Benjamin had to try. "Can't you try to forgive her?" Benjamin asked Burwell. He understood Beth's point of view now that she'd explained it. "Gods, we could all get past this, if you'd just try. I could summon Oliver, the two of you could be married before midnight!"

"I'm sorry," Burwell stated firmly. "I'm a General in the army and the men I have in my command all know that Beth betrayed me, and now you both say all the people here know and I just… I thought I could but… I can and will love you to the end of my days," he said to Beth. "But marriage? I can't. Not now."

"Please, Harry," Benjamin said, begging now.

"I'm sorry." Burwell said, shaking his head. "No."

Beth swallowed and drew a deep breath, trying to compose herself. This was what she wanted - she did not want to be forced to marry him, but still, the rejection was cutting. Pride was a strange thing indeed. Glancing down, she saw that Burwell's fingers were wound through hers, and she could feel his other arm around her back, his fingers stroking her. Meeting his eyes, she saw such concern in his. And regret, love and so many things. But even if he felt all those things, he still was not willing to try again. He was rejecting her, again. She unwound her fingers from his and drew back far enough that he could no longer reach her, his arms - now holding nothing but air, lowered to his lap.

"If that is your stance, if you have no intention of marrying me, if you are to reject me yet again, then I rather think you should stop taking all these liberties, don't you?" She asked, eyebrows lifted. She heard his quick, indrawn breath. Well, damn and blast it, she hadn't asked him to kiss her just now. She'd felt compelled to go along with it, as though she owed him something. The same as she'd felt that last time she'd bedded Banastre. Obligation.

No more.

She could see how offended he looked, she'd insulted him with her not so subtle suggestion that she hadn't welcomed his kissing her. Well, she hadn't, had she? He'd just started doing it like they were a married couple and now he was rejecting her, yet again. She rose and stepped away from him.

"Beth, I -"

"Miss Martin," she corrected and he blanched. "I'm sorry, but you're rejecting me, Harry. Not the other way around. We are no longer engaged, despite the intimacies you and I shared. You had a part to play in my ruination, yet you're not willing to marry me." She turned to her father, gave him an incredulous look. "I'm surprised you're not going to try to force him, considering your reaction to my doing those things with Colonel Tavington."

"Do you want me too?" Benjamin asked, conflicted. She was right, he should be forcing the issue.

"No," she replied finally. "I'm finished with this, if you'll allow me to be."

Benjamin stared hard at Burwell, who was looking quite broken. Finally, he nodded. "I'll allow you to be. I'm finished with it too.

"Good," she reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring Burwell had given her for their engagement. Turning his hand over, she placed the ring in his palm. There was a sense of finality in the gesture, all three of them knew it, even when Burwell opened his mouth to object. She held up her hand, forestalling him, shaking her head, indicating that he shouldn't bother. He snapped his mouth shut.

"Papa, if there's still time, I'm going to pack a few more things," she said.

"There's time - but you better make it quick," Benjamin replied gravely.

Without a backward glance at the now ashen faced Harry, Beth strode from the parlour.

* * *

Though Mila wanted to accompany Beth, she was made to stay behind with Abigail and Old Lucas. Abigail - to run the inner workings of the house while the family was away, and Old Lucas, to oversee the rest of the Plantation. There was much to be done - even with the family absent from the house. The maids and the cook needed Abigail's direction, and the men who worked the fields needed Old Lucas'.

With the carriage full of small children, Aunt Charlotte and her maid, Polly, Beth climbed up into Shadow Dancer's saddle and fell in with her brothers. Before long, they were on their way travelling north up the road, following Burwell's Dragoons at a much slower pace. The Continentals needed to travel fast, and they left the family behind quite early on, disappearing into the dark night well before they reached Pembroke.

"It feels so strange to travel at night," Beth said. She was feeling oddly buoyant, considering the circumstances. Her father had just committed himself to the war and might never be the same again, if he survived at all. And she'd suffered a second rejection from Burwell. That was what had her buoyant, her father had finally given up on her and Burwell, but she hadn't lost him in the doing. Nor had he made any mention of her marrying someone else, either. He'd likely be too busy to worry overly much about her and her reputation, now he'd joined the war effort.

They were passing the many familiar homesteads but it all looked so different now. Peering into the gloom, they could make out the shadowed houses, situated far back on the properties. Nathan was surprised to see so many of the homes had lit windows, even though the hour was late - well after midnight, by now.

"They would have heard the passing Dragoons," Thomas said.

"Oh, of course," Nathan nodded, his curiosity assuaged. Their neighbours would have been awoken by the passage of the Dragoons, just as the Martin's had been. And then, not even an hour later, the Dragoons had passed again.

"They're probably quite worried," Beth said. "They won't know it was the Continentals - they probably think it's the British."

"It will be the British, soon enough," Thomas said darkly. He glowered at the lantern hanging from its hook - the only source of light in the dark. "Damn and blast father for not letting me go with him. I'm old enough and I'm ready - he bloody knows I am!" "

"We need you more, Tom," Beth said. She glanced down at Gabriel, who lay on the wagon bed. He was peaceful enough just then, sleeping the deep sleep of exhaustion - and laudanum. "We don't have enough men folk to protect us, there is only Mr. Talene," she said of Charlotte's driver. "And Nathan. Samuel is too young -"

"I'm not!" The boy protested. "I can shoot as well as you!"

"But you've never shot a man before, have you, Sammie?" Beth said and Samuel stopped short. "I'd reckon it's far harder, shooting at a man than it would be shooting deer and raccoons. Thomas could do it - and Nathan maybe - but you're only twelve."

"He'd do it if he had too," Thomas said, slapping Samuel on the shoulder. "I 'pose you're right, Beth - I know I'm needed here. But it's damned frustrating! All my friends are already gone to war! I feel like I'm the only one left - and it's shaming! I'm no coward - I want to fight too!"

"Well, now's your chance," Beth replied.

"What do you mean?" Thomas frowned.

"To prove to Papa that you're old enough - and mature enough. Think of it as a test - Tom, you're the man of the house now. Even with Gabriel here, he can't do anything useful, laid up as he is. You, however, can. You can make decisions for the rest of us. You can protect us, direct us. This is your chance to prove yourself - prove that you are old enough, mature enough, to join now!"

"By the sweet Lord - that's true!" Thomas cried, a smile splitting his face in two. "You're completely right!"

"Yeah, all you have to do is make sure Aunt Charlotte's house don't burn down around our ears," Nathan quipped. "Can you do that Thomas?"

"He'll probably set it on fire himself, he's so clumsy," Samuel laughed.

"Shut it," Thomas muttered. The four siblings began discussing all the ways that Thomas could prove himself to their father before talk turned toward other things including - to Beth's dismay - questions about Monsieur Ferrand Bisset. She told them what she knew, then went on to explain that that was the reason why she hadn't wanted their father to join the war. Because it might change him, he might never be the same again. They continued to discuss it, and other things, in an attempt to make the long ride in the dark to Drakespar go that much faster.


	57. Chapter 57 - Camp Follower Conflict

Chapter 57 - Camp Follower Conflict:

_Early July 1780_

William, Bordon, Wilkins, Trellim and several other Officers stood or sat around the large council table, studying maps and eating a flavoursome stew. They dipped their stale bread in the gravy, while leaning forward to assess where - on the map - Burwell must be by now.

"Let's see," Wilkins mused around a mouthful of stewed lamb. He swallowed before continuing. "We're here, at Mitchell. Burwell is heading South, and has a good few miles on us."

"You know the area better than anyone," Tavington asked intently. "If you were to hazard a guess, where would you suggest he is heading?"

"I'd imagine his is heading down into Patriot territory where people will be more willing to help provision and hide him," Wilkins pointed at the entire area from St. Stephens and onward. "He'll definitely return to the Pembroke area at some point, to recruit."

"We'll need to find a Loyalist to question," Tavington said. "Find out if anyone has heard of a summons going out from Burwell. Perhaps we can learn of his location and catch him the same way we did Putman," Tavington said.

"That could work," Bordon nodded, agreeing.

"And Fresh Water is here, you say?" Tavington said, tapping the map where Wilkins had drawn a circle between Pembroke village and Hell Hole Swamp. Wilkins was nodding, his mouth was full of stew and bread. "We were heading there when we receive word that Burwell was heading toward Kingstree," William mused. "I'm starting to believe he has been leading us on a merry old dance, while luring us away from Fresh Water."

"Could be," Wilkins said, finally swallowing his mouthful. "And as for recruiting, he'd definitely want to secure Benjamin Martin." Wilkins placed his finished bowl and bread on the table regretfully, for the stew pot was empty - there was no more of that delicious feast.

"Burwell quartered with Martin for some weeks before leaving to attack Camden. He hasn't managed to recruit Martin yet," Bordon said. "And there's nothing to suggest he has succeeded now."

"That doesn't mean he won't try," Tavington said. "I believe Burwell's force heading to Kingstree is a diversion. Wouldn't be the first time a unit went one way and their commander, the other."

"Is that what we should do?" Trellim asked. "Split the Dragoons, send some after this trail Burwell has left, and some to Fresh Water?"

Tavington pondered, conflicted. Every fibre of his being screamed to go straight to Fresh Water, to Beth. But he could not defer his duty for his own personal gain. "Sumter has intentions toward Miss Martin at Fresh Water," he said, still thinking. "And Burwell appears to be riding in the opposite direction. Clinton himself commanded me to protect Miss Martin from Sumter, so yes I believe a detachment should be sent there to keep her safe and, perhaps, to question Martin. It will be made clear to Mr. Martin that this is not an attack on Fresh Water, I have no desire to rouse him to choose a side."

"What of you? Are you not heading that detachment?" Bordon asked, surprised.

"No. I will continue to lead the pursuit of Burwell," Tavington replied. He would not be accused of putting his personal desires before his duty. Besides, going in person to Fresh Water now would do more harm than good, Martin must bear resentment towards Tavington for his conduct toward Beth, which caused such damage to her reputation. He would go there eventually, but he would send a unit in first to extend the olive branch. "Wilkins, you are well acquainted with Martin, are you not?" When Wilkins nodded, Tavington said, "you will lead the detachment. Go to Fresh Water, explain to Martin why your presence is needed. Feel him out while you are there, try to recruit him to our Cause or at least, try to convince him to not join the rebels."

"Is it true, Wilkins?" Bordon asked. "Does Martin truly hold so much sway around Pembroke that he can summon a thousand men to fight with him?"

"Hell yes," Wilkins said. "He could have at least five hundred come to his call in the space of twenty-four hours, should he send out the summons. And more would come afterward, mark my words."

"I demand to see my husband immediately!" Came an outraged cry from outside the tent. "And Colonel Tavington also! A crime has been committed and must be addressed at once!"

Then, hot on the heels came another woman's voice - this one distraught, almost on the verge of sobbing.

"I didn't do it!" Miss Harmony Jutland cried. "You must believe me!"

"That's Harm!" Bordon threw down his bowl - the remnants of stew splattered on the table. He did not wipe it - he was already striding from the tent. Tavington tightened his lips, but followed the others out into the blazing afternoon sun.

"Then explain how it was found in your possession!" The silk gowned Mrs. Emily Wilkins demanded imperiously while shaking a leather wallet under Harmony's nose.

"I don't know, I don't know!" Harmony wrung her hands together. When she saw Bordon she made a small, desperate sound and ran to him, reaching for his hands and holding them tight. "I didn't steal it - I didn't!"

"Steal!" Bordon snapped. "Of course you didn't steal! Good Lord, what is going on!"

He pulled her close to him and she clung to him, neither caring that they were doing so before a gathering crowd. Lastly, there was Emily Wilkins, with Mrs. Salisbury by her side. Tavington ground his teeth together as he strode forward to deal with this, the latest in a long line of drama caused by the female population of the British Legion. He sometimes wished he could rid himself of camp followers entirely, but they were too damned useful.

"Mrs. Salisbury?" He snapped. "Report."

Mrs. Salisbury was accustomed to Tavington's harsh, no nonsense manner. While the other women nearest her - including Emily - drew sharp breaths and took backward steps, Salisbury held her ground. She turned and took hold of Emily's wrist and jerked her back to her side. The damned wench had put an enormous amount of pressure on Mrs. Salisbury to go through with their scheme and now she baulked? Mrs. Salisbury had been of the opinion that they should abandon their little plot, from the moment she discovered that Harmony Jutland was Major Bordon's mistress. But Emily Wilkins was adamant, if Miss Jutland was caught stealing from the Captain's wife, Bordon himself would see the woman kicked out of the Legion without hesitation. Still, this was all Emily's idea and by damn would Mrs. Salisbury stand before Tavington alone.

"Colonel," Mrs. Salisbury began. "This was stolen from Mrs. Wilkins tent several days ago. Mrs. Wilkins reported it missing. Today, it was found in Miss Jutland's tent, sliding out of one of her bags."

"No - it's not true! I didn't take it!" Harmony cried, her eyes searching and darting to everyone, before she finally turned back to Bordon. "It's not true, I swear it!"

"I know, my darling. I know. Shh," Bordon pulled her close and held his quivering mistress tight. He quivered also, with rage.

Wilkins frowned at the leather pocket in his wife's hand - he recognised it - he had given it as a gift to her several years before. Inside, he knew, was a necklace with a ruby pendant. Harmony had stolen it? He glanced at Harmony, wide eyed with incredulity. His face darkened and he shifted his glare upon Bordon, who looked ready to defend her tooth and nail. By God, the evidence was against her, if the necklace - that Wilkins himself had purchased - had been found among her belongings! An internal voice cautioned patience, to assert himself only when he knew which way the cards landed.

Bordon glared over Harmony's head at Mrs. Salisbury and Emily, daring them to continue with their accusations. He met William's eyes and shook his head - silently pleading with the Colonel to not believe a word.

"It's been missing for days, has it?" William gestured curtly and held his hand out for the wallet.

While the Colonel flipped it open, Salisbury shot a darting glance at Harmony and Bordon, a wave of doubt stirring her breast for the second time since Emily had broached her with the masterful plan, which would hopefully see the end to Miss Bloody Jutland. The first of wave of doubt had come the other day, when she discovered Harmony Jutland was mistress to a commander after all. Major Bordon. AND Harmony seems to have the Colonel wrapped around her finger, as well, stipulating her own terms right there for all the women to see and hear. She'd told all this to Emily, stating that they should put the wallet back in Emily's tent and forget the fool plan, but Emily insisted, she was adamant, that the moment Harmony was caught stealing from the wife of a high ranking Officer, she would lose the support of the Major and Colonel, that the Major himself would send her packing.

Well, Harmony Jutland had been accused, and Major Bordon wasn't sending her off from camp. Instead, he was pleading for her, he was supporting her, in the face of the evidence Mrs. Salisbury and Emily Wilkins had presented. _"He'll find another light skirt to fuck,"_ Mrs. Wilkins had said. He was not attached to Miss Jutland - only to her quim, and that, he could find anywhere. That's what Emily had said. And Mrs. Salisbury had believed her, for the second confrontation between herself and Harmony - before the Colonel and Major, burned in her blood. But now, seeing Bordon defend Miss Jutland rather than censure her… Mrs. Salisbury's heart began to pound and sweat popped out on her brow. She had to convince them, somehow. She was in too deep for this to fail, now. She glared at Mrs. Wilkins, willing her to do something.

"Harmony would not steal," Linda called from the back of the clustered camp followers.

"No, she would not!" Bordon ground out.

The crowd was thickening, with more women and soldiers clustering around. Colin and Arthur entered the circle from one side. Mary, Rebecca and Sarah stepped to the inner circle - the other camp followers giving way for the patrician women. Mary gasped when her eyes fell on the wallet - and she exchanged a quick, chagrined glance with Rebecca. As one, the two girls drew sharp breaths and their astonished expressions shifted to outrage. They had _seen_ Emily give the wallet to Mrs. Salisbury.

Putting her lips near Rebecca's ear, Mary hissed, "I knew she was up to no good!" Rebecca nodded.

"I didn't steal it," Harmony's protest was weak now, and broken with tears.

"Then how did it get into your tent?" Emily asked, gathering her courage. She turned to Wilkins, setting her mind to winning her husband to her side. "My darling - you gave that to me - it was our wedding anniversary! It's my most cherished possession and it was taken from me! By her!" She pointed an accusing finger at Harmony. "She had the opportunity - not three days ago! She came to take away our clothes for washing. Husband, she stole from us!"

Wilkins' face was dark with fury as he glared at Harmony's back.

"Colonel," Bordon announced. "I don't know how it got into Harmony's tent, but you can be damned certain it was done by the subterfuge and deceit -"

"Isn't that what theft is?" Emily asked, lifting her chin.

"- of another person!" Bordon finished, shooting Emily a hard stare. "Someone with a vendetta, someone who despises Harmony!" His face cleared of fury, giving way to complete and utter understanding as his gaze fell on Mrs. Salisbury. "You," he said. "You did this. You planted it in Harmony's tent!"

"What?" Mrs. Salisbury spluttered, trying to rally though she was near to panic. This wasn't going to work - it would have already, if it was going to. Instead, Bordon was defending his mistress and the Colonel… He was staring hard at Emily and Mrs. Salisbury with suspicion. He knew. Oh dear Lord, he knew.

"Colonel - that wallet was placed in Harmony's bags. It was meant to be found there, so she could be accused of theft," Bordon said. "Surely you must know that!" Bordon's voice grew louder and stronger with each word. His glare was piercing and he rubbed Harmony's back - she was weeping now. He wanted to grab Emily Wilkins by the scruff of her neck and give her a damned good hiding - for reducing his Harmony to tears! Harmony was a strong lass, but for reasons he did not entirely understand, she always seemed to lose confidence when women of the aristocracy were near.

"I have a very strong inkling that you are completely, and utterly correct," Tavington said, his eyes still on Emily and Mrs. Salisbury.

Wilkins, startled, gave a pause. He glanced at Emily, wondering now if he was seeing what his Commanders were not. Guilt.

"Emily?" He asked her, his voice hard as nails. Emily's face flushed red.

When it came, Emily's voice was stilted, nervous. "I had just been through my baggage, I know the necklace was in there three days ago. When I finished, Mrs. Ferguson stopped by, then she and I went for a walk." She shot the girl a glance, assuming Mary would not reveal her lies. "Mrs. Ferguson and I left my tent, and along the way, we encountered Miss Jutland - Mary - you remember, don't you?"

"I do remember," Mary said.

Bordon growled like an angry wolf, that Mary would take Emily's side. Mary most likely had it in for Harmony, after Bordon's demand that his mistress attend Mary's wedding had forced the young woman to elope instead.

"We stopped, we chatted," Emily said. "And then we went on our way, Mrs. Ferguson and I for our walk and Miss Jutland, to tidy my tent. That was the last I saw of my necklace, until just now."

"Then… Perhaps…" Wilkins was frowning, uncertain.

"Harmony said she didn't bloody take it!" Bordon's deep shout was as loud and rib shaking as a lion's roar.

"Did anyone else enter our tent?" Wilkins asked. "Someone who might have in turn planted the necklace in Miss Jutland's?"

"Well, I… I don't know. Maybe. I… all I know is, it went missing three days ago. And it showed up this morning. Mrs. Salisbury said she found it in Miss Jutland's tent."

Mrs. Salisbury's eyes bulged. Emily's gaze was averted, she would not meet Mrs. Salisbury's eyes. There was something in the way Emily stood, shoulders slumped, fingers trembling, she was going to try to wheedle her way out of this. By shifting the entire blame on to Mrs. Salisbury? If so, she wasn't going to stand for it. She would expose Emily, even if it meant exposing herself. She opened her mouth to reveal the entire plot, but then Mrs. Ferguson spoke up first.

"Oh, Mrs. Wilkins, what a dreadful memory you have," Mary began with an edge to her voice. "After our walk, we retired to your tent. We were having a cup of tea with you; Rebecca, Sarah and I. Wasn't that the exact wallet that we saw you handing over to Mrs. Salisbury?"

Emily's eyes grew wider with each word and Bordon blew out an explosive gasp of relief.

_I will apologise to her_, Bordon promised himself. _For any offence I have given. Lord, I'll kiss her and Colin both for this!_

"Becky?" Mary prompted and the younger girl leaned forward as if to study the wallet, though even Bordon could see her mind was already made up.

"I believe it is," Rebecca stated, crossing her arms over her chest and looking determined. "Yes - it's exactly the same."

_Yes, the more details the better, _Bordon thought. _That's where the devil is, in the details. This is what will trip these bitches up. God, thank you. _He kept his mouth shut now and let the two young women do the detective work for him.

"The day that Mrs. Wilkins is referring to, when she and I encountered Miss Jutland, was the day of the battle," Mary said, voice crisp with evident annoyance. "We spoke to Miss Jutland, she was relieved we would soon be joining our men again. And then we parted, we went out separate ways." She met Emily's eyes, daring her to argue. Emily's face was as white as fresh fallen snow.

"Yes, I remember!" Rebecca said firmly. "I agree with Mary, Em. You have a dreadful memory. You gave the wallet to Mrs. Salisbury. Didn't she, Sarah?"

Sarah - James Wilkins sister, clutched her skirts and glanced this way and that - at her very pale sister in law to her very large brother. It was clear that Emily was lying, they all knew it. Tavington's face was a thunderhead and Bordon looked ready to go for Emily's throat - even with James standing right there. But how could Sarah go against her own family? She lowered her gaze and mumbled something in the negative. That she didn't remember, she didn't know.

"I remember now," Salisbury licked her lips nervously. Perhaps there was still a way out of this. A way to save herself. When she spoke, her voice was stilted with nerves. "I… Yes, I remember. You gave it to me, Mrs. Wilkins, for cleaning."

"Yes, I do remember," Emily said, deciding to side with Mrs. Salisbury again. "You cleaned it for me but before you could return it, it went missing from your tent."

Mrs. Salisbury took it up from there. "Miss Jutland was near my tent yesterday -"

"Oh, ENOUGH!" Bordon roared, his voice bellowing across the clearing, causing the women to cover their ears. "William! -"

"Calm yourself Bordon," William said. Throwing the wallet at James, he said in disgust, "Captain Wilkins, Mrs. Wilkins, follow me. Mrs. Salisbury - you stay right there - do not move a muscle."

"No Sir," Salisbury whispered, visibly trembling now. How had it all gone so wrong?

Emily took leaden step after leaden step after her husband and the Colonel, toward the command tent. She was walking so slowly that Wilkins turned back, closed the distance, grabbed her arm and hauled her forward. She squawked as she was thrown through the flap and into the tent.

"Wilkins," Tavington began without preamble, his piercing gaze locked on James while he ignored Emily entirely. She was not important - only her husband was. "I have called you in here to save you from humiliation by confronting you outside before the others. I would like to believe that Mrs. Wilkins is innocent, that she had nothing to do with the necklace miraculously appearing in Miss Jutland's tent after it went missing from her own, but I do not. Nor would I ever believe that Miss Jutland is a thief, even if the evidence had been strong, and this most certainly is not. I find it far more likely that this is a plot between your wife and Mrs. Salisbury."

"Sir!" Emily began to protest but Wilkins cut her short.

"I believe that also, sir," James ground out. "And I thank you for discussing this in private."

"James!" Emily said, pulling on her husband's arm.

"SILENCE!" James roared and Emily quailed. She fell back a full two steps and cowered against the table. "Not another bloody word, Emily!" When he was satisfied that his wide eyed wife would speak no further, he turned back to Tavington.

"We shall put it about that Mrs. Wilkins was merely being forgetful," Tavington offered. "And Mrs. Salisbury will admit to misplacing the necklace. Hear me, Wilkins. I am only doing this to save you from further humiliation."

"I understand, Sir," Wilkins said, profoundly grateful while shooting a disgusted glance at his wife. Emily lowered her gaze, defeated and fearful now, of what was to come.

"I neither have the time nor the inclination to deal with this nonsense," Tavington continued, his tone sharp. "The women are here to wash, mend and cook, nothing more. If your wife seeks to entertain herself further, I will have her on the first supply train back to Charlestown. Get Mrs. Wilkins under control, Captain, for if she causes such mischief again, she will be flogged before she is sent back to the city in disgrace." It was an extraordinary punishment to threaten a noblewoman with, but William was determined to drive the point home. "I will not suffer a repetition."

"Yes, Sir," Wilkins said. "No Sir. That is, I will. Get her under control."

"Good. Secondly, Mrs. Wilkins will apologise to Miss Jutland, and that is to be done immediately. Now, send Salisbury in her on your way to your tent."

"Yes, Sir," Wilkins voice was bleak. He grabbed Emily's arm and hauled her out of the tent, whispering instructions in her ear all the while. "You stupid little bitch," he growled and Emily drew a chagrined breath. "You will apologise - if you baulk on this, your punishment will be that much worse. Understood?"

"What will you do to me, James?" Emily asked fretfully. "Surely you won't strike me?" This came out a squeak.

"It would be less than you deserve," he growled, giving her a slight shove toward Harmony, who was still huddled against Bordon, with all the crowd looking on. "You -" he pointed at Salisbury. "Tavington wishes to see you immediately."

Salisbury, seeing the wretched state that Emily was in, felt fear trace her spine. Glancing all around her and seeing only disdainful expressions on the women she ruled, she saw immediately that no one would come to her rescue. Why would they? Each one had tasted the flat end of her wooden spoon. She swallowed hard, then shifted her gaze to Tavington's tent.

"Now, Salisbury!" Bordon snapped. His voice lashed like a whip and Salisbury started, gasping, then bobbed a curtsy and ran toward the tent.

"Miss Jutland?" Wilkins asked gently and Harmony raised her head slowly from Bordon's breast. "My wife has something she wishes to say. Emily?" This last was uttered with such command, that Emily came forward to stand before Harmony, with her eyes lowered.

"It seems that after I gave the necklace up into Mrs. Salisbury's keeping, she misplaced it," she began and Bordon began to work his jaw. Harmony was listening, though she didn't believe a word. "I thought it had been stolen," Emily lied, "until Mrs. Ferguson pointed out that I had had it in my possession, that I had given it to Mrs. Salisbury. I had quite forgotten I had, until now. It must be the heat. I am sorry for accusing you. I do hope you'll forgive me."

Harmony quivered, from her head to her toes. She wiped her tears, turned rigidly to face Emily Wilkins. They stood in a circle with James Wilkins, Colin Ferguson, Mary Ferguson, Sarah Wilkins, Rebecca Middleton, several others. All patricians. All of them knew the truth yet none of them were going to contradict Emily now. Emily would get away with it, and it made Harmony burn.

"It is clear to me," Harmony said, her voice pitched very low, to not extend past those immediately surrounding them. "That Colonel Tavington wishes to deal with this discreetly. Therefore, I shall accept this so called apology but you should know, Mrs. Wilkins, that my forgiveness is as false as your remorse. However, I will not go against Colonel Tavington's wishes by calling you a liar to your face, or by scratching your eyes out or pulling your lying tongue from your mouth! You bitch," Harmony hissed, trembling with the need to do violence, her hands twitching with the need to pull great chunks from the astonished aristocrats perfectly dressed hair. She did not even care that Wilkins was standing there, towering over them all. "You complete and utter bitch." She stared hard at Emily, until she couldn't bear to look at the woman any longer and she turned back into Bordon's chest, shunning Emily completely.

"Miss Jutland?" A voice called a few moments later and she felt a hand on her shoulder that was not Richard's. Harmony lifted her head from his shoulder and turned to face Mrs. Ferguson. Miss Middleton had remained also, and a few others, though Mrs. Wilkins was being escorted by her husband to their tent and Miss Wilkins was no where to be seen. "I'm so sorry," Mary said, removing her hand from Harmony's shoulder. "We all saw Emily give the necklace to Mrs. Salisbury and we knew it meant trouble."

"We all said so," Rebecca nodded. Her face was white, the colour drained from it. "We didn't know what she would do though, we didn't know she intended this. If we did -"

"Would you have warned me?" Harmony challenged and Rebecca's eyes widened.

"We would have," Mary replied. "I believe Tavington is covering for Mrs. Wilkins solely for Captain Wilkins, so that the Captain will not be embarrassed. It won't work - every single person in the camp will know the truth - that Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Salisbury tried to cause trouble for you by planting that neckless in your belongings. A woman we call friend did that to you - and it shames us all. Women of our station should hold ourselves to a higher standard of conduct than this, and when one of us falls short of it, it embarrasses us all. Please believe me, for that reason alone I would have stopped this, if I had known her intentions. Also, Miss Middleton and I are not evil people, Miss Jutland. We would never stand by idly and allow someone innocent of wrong doing to be used so ill."

"I think you've proved that, Miss Ferguson," Bordon said, inclining his head. "And you, Miss Middleton. You both spoke up against Mrs. Wilkins when you both could have remained silent. That took a lot of courage and proved your honour, you stood against your own peer, for someone of Harmony's rank. I thank you," he said. "And I apologise."

"For what?" Mary frowned.

"For Charlestown," he said. "For… I am sorry."

"Oh," Mary lowered her eyes and shifted with discomfort. He was apologising for trying to force her and Colin to add Miss Jutland to the guest list and as Miss Jutland was standing right there, it made Mary vastly uncomfortable. She fell silent, not knowing what to say.

"Thank you, Sir," Colin said, coming to her rescue. And then Linda was entering the circle to comfort Harmony and the patrician women recalled their station - Harmony, they might show a measure of kindness too, but Linda? A common doxy, a whore? Without even making excuses, the two women and Colin Ferguson began to walk away.

* * *

Tavington studied Mrs. Salisbury as a scientist would study a bug. The large woman lowered her gaze to the table scattered with maps, her eyes wide and her body trembling under the Colonel's scrutinising stare. Finally, in a voice colder than winter snow, he began.

"Do you know why I gave you the responsibility of co-ordinating the other camp followers, Mrs. Salisbury?" His voice was soft, but powerful all the same. She could hear his fury and disgust and it frightened her more than shouted words ever could.

"Yes, Sir," she whispered, keeping her eyes averted.

"Elaborate, if you will," he commanded.

"It was because you didn't have time to deal with women's squabbles. You did not have time to organise the women, or the myriad of tasks they have to perform."

"Precisely," he said, still in that soft drawl. "Do you know why I chose you to the task of overseeing the others?"

"I… I…" Salisbury almost groaned. It was because, in the early days, she had proven herself to be above the pettiness that had pervaded the camp followers. She had begun to take the other women in hand, to ensure they were performing their tasks, and to ensure they were not bickering constantly. This had been the beginning, and Tavington had seen potential in her. He had long desired to have one woman reigning over the others, so he could focus on more important matters.

"By your flustering, I see that you do know why," he criticised her and she swallowed hard, her face blazing red. "I do not have the time to preside over and judge women's complaints, Mrs. Salisbury. It's partly why I placed you in charge, for you seemed the most logical amongst the others. I certainly do not appreciate you getting yourself involved in the pettiness. From the moment you and Mrs. Wilkins accused Miss Jutland, I knew you were both lying and nothing you said and no evidence you provided would have swayed me otherwise. Would you like to know how I knew?"

She swallowed hard.

"Because I have known Miss Jutland for some time. Twice, she has shared quarters with me, both times in affluent homes," he was speaking of the Putman residence and the Tisdale's. "While she was in these homes, nothing went missing. If she was a thief, she would have stolen items of value from those homes, and I would have learned of it immediately. Further more, I know her, and she is not the type." He closed the distance between them and glared down at her, toe to toe. "Mrs. Salisbury, did you place that necklace in Miss Jutland's bags, at Mrs. Wilkins suggestion?"

Mutely, Salisbury nodded. There was nothing else for it - his eyes compelled her to tell the absolute truth. She nodded and so did he, his strong suspicions confirmed.

"Very well, you are dismissed," he said, turning away from her.

"Dismissed?" She asked weakly.

"Dismissed," he said again, turning back to her now. "I should have you flogged for this - you and Mrs. Wilkins both. But for Captain Wilkins' sake, I have decided to treat with this despicable situation in a less conspicuousness manner. To that end, though both of you deserve the strap, Captain Wilkins will see to his wife's punishment and you, you will be dismissed."

"Do I have to leave camp?" Salisbury felt faint - she had no where else to go! What was she to do, if he sent her away? She had come to camp when her son enlisted to the Loyalist militia back in Philadelphia four years ago. Neither of them had had a sovereign to their name, and with her son dead these last two years, she had no one to look after her. Except Tavington, who was now dismissing her.

"I'm so sorry," she suddenly blurted, on the verge of tears. "I should never have listened to Mrs. Wilkins! But Miss Jutland - she had vowed she would stick -" she cut off sharply, her face blazing hot with shame.

"Your wooden spoon so far up your arse that you'd be shitting splinters?" Tavington finished, coldly amused.

"Yes," Salisbury whispered. "She challenged me in front of everyone, not just once but twice. I… I shouldn't have done what I did though. And I shouldn't have listened to Mrs. Wilkins."

"No, you should not have," he agreed.

"Please Sir, don't send me from camp! I've no where else to go!" She wrung her hands before her body and pleaded with the Colonel, tears spilling to trace her cheeks.

"Very well," he decided. "This is the first time I've had to deal with a folly of your instigation. You may remain, but if you put so much as a toe wrong, you will be sent away."

"Thank you, Sir," she said, gasping in relief. "I swear, I'll be good. I won't do a thing wrong and I'll continue to keep the other camp followers in line -"

She cut off again when Tavington raised his hand for silence.

"You are dismissed from your post, Mrs. Salisbury. You are no long the overseer for the other camp followers. That position will be given to another - you will answer to her in everything."

"Yes, Sir," she clutched her skirts and stared at the ground, but she agreed. She'd agree to anything at this point!

"You may leave," he said. He waited for a full minute after she had shuffled out, before exiting his tent. He'd needed the time alone to calm himself, for he was still quite furious over all that had taken place. Eventually, he followed and immediately came across Bordon, Harmony and Linda. Linda was rubbing Harmony's shoulders in commiseration, and Harmony was still in the circle of Bordon's arms. As he headed over to them, he saw the crowd was still gathered and he frowned, wondering why. A moment later, an incoherent voice bellowed from a few tents away, a man's voice, filled with rage.

"Wilkins?" He asked Bordon, who nodded curtly.

"I believe he is beating her," the Major replied and William shrugged.

"I told him to get her under control," he said simply. "And she is his wife - we shall not interfere."

A woman's gasping cry came from the tent and it was confirmed - Wilkins was beating his wife, possibly with his own belt. William pricked his ears to listen closer, which enabled him to hear the soft 'thwack' of the belt striking Emily's bare flesh. After two more strikes, the strapping stopped.

"I doubt we shall have any more mischief from her," William sniffed. He glanced at Harmony, who seemed quite depressed and wrung out. "How are you, Miss Jutland?"

"I've had better days," she admitted. "I think I need to lay down."

"We'll not be staying here long," he warned her. "But yes, you should lay down for bit, while you can. If you'll excuse me?"

"William, I haven't seen you for days," Linda said, stepping in front of him before he could take a single step. Bordon was already turning Harmony around, to take her some place she could rest.

"I am sorry, Linda," he said. "I'll come to you soon. When we make camp tonight, I promise I will spend the whole night with you."

"Really?" She gasped. "It'll be the first time - for the whole night - you really will?"

"Yes, I will. Now be off with you, I need to speak with Mrs. Ferguson."

"Oh - why?" She asked quickly - and sharply.

Tavington frowned. Was that jealousy he heard in her tone? Her eyes flashed when she glanced at Mary, who was standing with her husband and Rebecca Middleton a few rods away. Jealousy. Again. It irritated William and he tightened his lips, then turned his back on her and strode away.

He closed the distance quickly, and when the Ferguson's saw him coming, they both became wary. As well they might, their history with Tavington had been turbulent - especially Mary's. He had given her an earful back in Charlestown, for revealing things to Beth that she should not have revealed. He bowed sharply at them, and Colin saluted. Rebecca and Mary curtsied.

"Mrs. Ferguson, Miss Middleton, I wish to thank you both for speaking up earlier. That was kindly done," he said without preamble.

"We knew she hadn't stolen it," Rebecca said. "But we couldn't come out and say so without humiliating Emily. I do hope it was enough."

"Yes - no one believes she stole the necklace," Mary said while Colin remained silent at her side. "They're all talking about it - they all know that Emily planted it in Miss Jutland's bags."

"Using Mrs. Salisbury to do so," Tavington agreed. "Which brings me to the second purpose. Mrs. Ferguson, I've dismissed Salisbury from her post."

"That's good," Mary said. "I heard some horrible things about her. She was nice enough to us, but I guess that's because she had to be. I hear she beat women with that spoon of hers and she had them frightened witless. Who will you get to replace her?"

"You," Tavington said and Mary's eyes widened in astonishment.

"Me!" She squeaked.

"You," he agreed. "I can think of no one better. You are the highest ranking married woman in camp - who isn't in disgrace. Only Mrs. Wilkins stands higher but I'd not trust the task to her, she'd likely use the position to her advantage. You, however, have proven that you will not - you did not have to speak up for Miss Jutland and yet you did. If your husband," he inclined his head to Colin, who couldn't have been more shocked, "will allow it, then I would like to offer the position to you. It's a fairly thankless task, your wage would not be much higher than the other camp followers, but I do not believe you need to worry about that."

"No, I don't," Mary mused. "I'd like to implement some changes if I am to to do this."

"What are those?" Tavington asked curiously.

"Well, I noticed that not many of the women attend Reverend Premmon's sermons, and when I asked him about it, he said those hardly ever do. Perhaps they are busy with their workload, but if I'm to oversee the other women, then they are my responsibility, as is their moral education. They will be required to attend at least two services a month, more if we can manage it. And I don't like seeing them wandering about camp on their own, going in and out of soldiers and Officers tents to collect washing and dishes. I will be creating…" Mary searched for the right word - for she wished to place the women in groups of three or four women. "Families, I guess. These families will move about camp together - they will never be alone. I'm sorry Sir, I am aware that your men are Gentlemen but I don't trust them wholly - not where pretty young women venturing in to their tents is concerned."

"Some of the women may not like this idea," he informed her gently. "Many of them welcome the… attentions… of those Officers."

"And that is because they have barely had any moral guidance, whatsoever. That will change, now. I can not prevent them from spending their time as they see fit at night," Mary sniffed primly showing her disapproval. "But they will conduct themselves properly during the day. They'll not stop for a quick tumble when they're supposed to be lugging away washing. I want an older woman in each family, a mature woman to be a caregiver and model for those younger. I want their wages to be paid on time. They will be provided with clothes and the like - ribbons and stockings and other little necessities. Punishment such as what Salisbury inflicted will be a thing of the past. I will be their protector and I expect my concerns for the women to be taken seriously, if I must present any problems to you."

"Lord, you don't ask for much," William said.

"I do not believe she is finished, Colonel," Colin said wryly, for he knew his wife well, and sensed she had other ideas.

"No, I'm not. If I am in charge - then I am in charge and that's that. I'll be Colonel of the women," she paused, then added, almost as an after thought, "answerable only to you and Major Bordon, I suppose…"

"You 'suppose'?" Tavington arched an eyebrow. The girl sounded as though she was giving him and Bordon a concession, in declaring herself 'answerable' to them. Mary didn't catch, or chose to ignore, the Colonel's arched tone.

"If a woman complains that a man has been forcing unwanted attention on her, then when I come to you with the complaint, I do not want it fobbed off," she said. "I'd expect the man to be spoken with quite strongly."

"He shall be," William agreed. He was almost regretting choosing Mary for the role as overseer now, for he was beginning to suspect her demands would be as long as her arm. There was nothing for it, however - the girl was his first choice and it seemed to William that she would take her task quite seriously.

"And another thing," Mary said and Tavington bit back a groan. But Mary had turned to address Rebecca - and her next words proved that in choosing Mary, he had chosen well. "Emily won't like this - nor will you, Becky, I suspect. But it's really quite disgusting that our maids are doing our work load for us. We knew from the outset that there are no idle hands in camp and yet we sit back have tea parties while our maids do tasks that are allocated to us, as well as everything else they have to do. That will stop now."

"Oh, no - no more tea parties!" Rebecca was aghast and Mary giggled.

"Well, maybe we won't stop them entirely - a couple a week, perhaps. Not every day though. And our poor maids - they are over worked as it is - we must do our part."

"I don't have a problem about that - it was Emily who pressured us in to having our maids do our chores."

"Only because she didn't want to be the only one not working," Mary said.

"Mrs. Wilkins will pressure no one," Tavington said. "She is in disgrace, even if it is not acknowledged publicly. The entire camp will know it and I dare say she will keep a low profile from this point forward. Anything else, Mrs. Ferguson?"

"Oh, I have plenty," Mary said, eager now and excited. "I'll write you a list."

"Do that," Tavington bit back a laugh. "Now, as for Mrs. Salisbury - I have decided she can remain in camp. She will be under your authority of course - do you bear her any ill will?"

"She's done nothing to me personally," Mary shrugged. "Besides, I don't like to hold grudges. Perhaps it's a good thing she is staying, because I'm not certain where to begin. I will need her to detail each task that needs doing."

"Excellent," Tavington said. "I suggest you speak with Mrs. Salisbury as a starting point. I look forward to seeing this list of yours. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

He bowed to the women, nodded to Colin, and walked away, leaving an astonished trio behind.

* * *

Gabriel, agitated and restless, ignored his Aunt's pleas to stay in bed. He'd been asleep for so long, he hadn't roused once during the trip from Fresh Water to Drakespar, not even when he was carried by Charlotte's staff from the wagon to a bed chamber upstairs. He recalled waking during the night, but only to drink more laudanum. He never quite made it to full awareness until around midmorning of the second day at Drakespar, just in time to enjoy a late breakfast with his family in the parlour. He refused to remain in bed. Now that he was able, he would not eat from a tray while propped against pillows like a damned invalid.

The Martin children and Charlotte sat around the long table in Charlotte's dining hall, trying to chat cheerfully, though each one of them was harbouring fears and concerns for their father to the south of them, and for Burwell who would be to the north, hopefully leading Tavington far away to the west.

"He's probably lured Tavington all the way to St. Matthew's by now," Thomas mumbled.

"Don't eat with your mouth full," Charlotte said by rote, somewhat distracted as she stared out the window for signs of Benjamin's arrival. She had been glancing out constantly for two days now, in the hope that she would see her lover riding up the long lane that led toward her house.

"Sorry," the boy said. Never one to stay silent for long, he began regaling the others with his plan of action, of how he would convince his father that he was ready to join the army. Charlotte sighed heavily as she listened. It seemed that - no matter where she went - the only topic of conversation was the war and battles and boys joining the army to kill other men and she found it quite depressing. Understandable, considering what the Colonies were going through, but depressing all the same. As little as she cared for the types of gossips women enjoyed over a cup of tea, she found herself longing to gossip, just the same.

She glanced up again and this time - to her joy - she spied Benjamin, with at least twenty or thirty men, riding up the lane.

"He's here!" She cried, jumping from from the table and darting from the dining hall.

* * *

"So we got them ferried across at Witherspoon's," Benjamin was saying. At least he was polite enough to not eat with his mouth full, Charlotte thought, even though he had wasted no time on washing before sitting at her table. She could not accommodate all the militiamen he had bought with him, they were breaking their fast outside on her verandah. Only a small handful of them - the higher ranking of the Gentlemen volunteers - continued breakfast with the Martin family. "And saw them to McDeals. They started on the fortifications immediately, they didn't need me for that so I left them. I've gotten the word out that I'm now a -" he pursed his lips - "Colonel in the Continental army and am forming up my own militia. I've had a fairly good response so far."

As there were four hundred men in her front yard, Charlotte agreed - he had had an excellent response so far.

"Any word from Burwell?" Rollins asked Gabriel, who shook his head.

"No, not a whisper. If he stayed on course, then I'd estimate that he would have led Tavington as far as McKinney by now. He said he would lay more false trails and when it was safe, he'd circle around and back down again. If luck is on his side, he'll be safely to McDeals this evening."

"And he'll finally be able to get some sleep," Beth said softly. "He was terribly exhausted the other night - I don't know how soldiers can keep going, for days on end, without sleep."

"The price for Independence," Curly called from the other end of the table, while holding his tea cup aloft. He nodded, then drank deep, toasting Burwell for his sacrifices.

"Speaking of sleep," Benjamin muttered. "I haven't had much these last few days and I'd sore love some myself. I think I might hit the hay."

The other men agreed wholeheartedly. Some of those who were outside on the verandah and the yard beyond were already laying on their bedrolls, catching a nap while they could. Benjamin and his immediate adjutants, however, had been allocated chambers in the the house. Rollins, Curly, Bryson and Kevin, Higgins, John Billings and a few more, all of them veterans of the attack on Tarleton's force - which they had given the grand name of "The Battle of Fresh Water". They stretched their arms and yawned, each speaking wistfully of sleep to come.

The explosive sound of canons roaring across the fields put an end to such thoughts.

"Jesus!" Benjamin spat, darting from the parlour. He bolted through the house, not stopping until he reached the verandah. "Is that a six pounder? Who is it? Where are they?"

He fired the questions out rapidly and was answered just as quickly.

"Not one six pounder - they've got three of them," came a grave reply.

"Close enough," another gruff voice said. "Just shy of Kingstree, I reckon."

"A mile, perhaps two," Rollins said at Benjamin's side.

"Charlotte…" Benjamin turned to face his lover, who stood fearfully in the doorway with the younger children clustered around her. Beth wore a look of horror - and winced each time a canon sounded.

"I can see the smoke!" Thomas exclaimed, he stood on his toes to see over the heads of the men in front of him. Sure enough, above the forest in the distance, drifted the unmistakable smoke wafting from the canons and muskets.

"Mount up," Benjamin ordered. As one, his militiamen began packing their belongings and hefting their rifles.

"Ben," Charlotte whispered, on the verge of tears now. "Please, don't go."

"I have too," he said. "That has to be Burwell and Tavington out there. Burwell is vastly outnumbered, he has only a fraction of what Tavington has. He'll need me - he'll need us to help secure his retreat. I'm sorry, I have to."

"I'm coming -" Gabriel began.

"You will get your backside upstairs and into bed this moment, Lieutenant!" Benjamin rounded on his son at once. "You are of no use to me wounded! You are a liability! You will stay here!"

"Yes, Colonel," Gabriel said meekly. Thomas opened his mouth to declare his desire to go, but Benjamin rounded on him, silencing him with a glare.

"Charlotte," Benjamin said then, closing the distance between them in two strides. He cupped her face and stared into her eyes intently. "We'll need bandages. Strip the beds of linen to make them. Have your staff heat water - lots of it. Sharpen every knife in the kitchen - anything that can be used for surgery. Gather firewood, as much as they can. Gods… What else…"

"Blankets - we'll need lots of those. Send to your neighbours if you don't have enough, Mrs. Selton," Rollins suggested calmly and Benjamin nodded gratefully.

"And gather food," Curly said. "Corn cobs, apples, tomatoes, - all that you can, food that don't need to be cooked first. Potatoes and game - send your men out to hunt, then get them cooking when they return. Casseroles with salt - don't need to be fancy."

"Christ, why didn't I think of that?" Benjamin muttered. He turned back to Charlotte. "Keep inside the house - do not let the children stray far. I don't know how long we'll be. Just stay here, and stay safe. If I don't return… If it's the British that come here instead of me, give them a different name. Make something up. And hide Beth - for Christ's sake!"

"I will," Charlotte whispered, feeling quite faint under the weight of the responsibility which had been given her.

"You'll be fine," Benjamin assured her. They were running out of time - half his men were already mounted and galloping down the lane. With a last searching glance, he kissed Charlotte hard on the lips, crushing her against him as though they were entirely alone. His younger children gaped - his older children showed no surprise, for they knew of their affair. He ignored them all, kissing his beloved until her knees grew weak. "I love you," he said and she nodded.

"I love you. Come back to me," she began to sob then. He turned her over to Beth, who - though she was the shorter - held Charlotte close. Benjamin quickly kissed his daughters farewell, shook hands with his sons, then he whirled away. Within moments, he was galloping down the lane, to catch his militia and fight his first battle as Colonel Martin.

* * *

Amidst the clamour and dust of two hundred charging horses, Benjamin gestured high to Rollins first, then to Curly, and lastly, to Billings. The first two split away from the main body with two score of men each, one to harass Tavington's left flank, the other to harass his right, while Benjamin and his adjutant, Captain Billings, continued on a dead straight course which took them directly into the thick of the battle. No words were spoken, only shouted commands as they launched forward to General Burwell, who was at that moment, firing in to the advancing British infantry, behind the dubious safety of a long, broken brick wall. Without hesitating, Benjamin leaped from his horse, drew his pistol, sited his aim and fired into the oncoming enemy infantry. He crouched down behind the long wall to reload, choosing his rifle this time.

"Not much of a barrier!" He shouted at Burwell, speaking of the wall. There was no way of knowing what the building used to be - it had been mostly demolished for over twenty years or more. But it was sturdy and long - long enough for thirty men to stand behind abreast. Benjamin was certain the wall had been taller before now, but it barely came up to his chest, standing. In some places, it was low as a man's waist.

"Canons broke it down," Burwell yelled grimly. Grime and sweat coated the General's face, his hair was loose from his queue to hang in loose strands. He pushed it from his eyes then rose for long enough to take a shot. "They're getting closer," he shouted.

"If Tavington has any sense," Benjamin replied loudly - both men were speaking loud enough to be heard over the muskets and pistols, and the screaming of men and horses. "He'll be sending in his Dragoons soon! He'll finish you off good and proper - not sure why he hasn't yet!"

"He likes to play with his food before eating it?" Burwell asked and Billings laughed a maniacal laugh.

"Lions do that!" The merry militiaman tittered. He jumped up, took careful aim on a Redcoat chest, and fired. His target launched backward and did not rise - but the advance continued on. The Redcoats merely stepped inward to fill the gap, and continued that implacable march.

"We need to get you out of here," Benjamin bellowed. "Christ - he has twice our number in infantry alone! As soon as his Dragoons come in, we're done for!"

"Don't I know it? With you, we've got only three hundred men, Ben - he's got seven bloody hundred! How the Devil can I retreat? He'll fire into our backs! I'm open to suggestion, if you have one!"

"Not really..." Benjamin shrugged. "I've sent Rollins and Curly in to take a few shots at his flanks, but with only ten men on each flank, I'd say they'll be getting out of there right quick."

The mason and bricks above his head shattered in to powder and he cursed, ducking lower. All along the wall the Continentals were reloading, aiming over the wall, shooting and ducking out of harms way again. Not all of them made it - it was a grizzly sight, one that Benjamin had hoped never to see again. The sun shone brightly over head, the cloudless sky an idealic sight, but all around him was blood, flesh, severed limbs and gore.

"We need a distraction!" Burwell shouted.

"Will that do?" Billings pointed to his left while hooting with laughter. The General and Colonel, perplexed, shifted their gaze in the direction Billings indicated, and were confronted with the most astonishing - and welcome - sight.

Rollins - against all odds, had seized one of Tavington's canons.

"How the Devil?" Benjamin asked as Rollins and his men ran toward them while wheeling the canon along.

"Don't question it now!" Burwell shouted. "Get that thing loaded - shove anything you can find down the barrel! I don't care what - just get it loaded and firing!"

The searched around them for metal objects the right size, that would fit down the barrel. As the British had been blasting canon balls and other projectiles at the the wall with the very canon now in the Continentals possession, they were not without ammunition. They had only to collect them from the ground. Benjamin thought it was quite poetic - using British arms and munitions against the British.

They began at once and finally - with the first volley from the canon, the British infantry line faltered and broke. Benjamin heard a voice screaming - he risked a glance above the wall to see a mounted Redcoat, far back behind the British lines, waving his sabre aloft while urging his horse back and forth.

"Tavington, I take it?" He asked grimly and Burwell nodded curtly. He couldn't make out much of the man, for the field between the two forces was thick with pistol and musket smoke - and because Tavington was too far back. Benjamin saw enough, though. He sniffed disdainfully. "He doesn't seem like all that much to me."

Burwell began to laugh. He laughed the chortle of a madman. Or an exhausted General who desperately needed sleep.

"He's enough," he said, when his laughter had died down a bit. "He's more than enough. He caught me here good and proper, didn't he?"

"That he did - but now it's time to get you out. He's gathering the charge, Harry. The Green Dragoons are coming."

Benjamin slapped Harry on the back and hunch-walked to his horse, which was cobbled a few yards away. He was careful to keep low, for even now, the infantry was returning fire and bullets were whistling above his head, grapeshot raining down amongst them. Somewhere to his right, a youth began beating furiously on his drum, indicating that General Burwell had ordered the retreat. After one last canon blast, along with one more musket and pistol volley into the British infantry, the Continentals turned and fled in the confusion, running for their horses and mounting. It was a mad dash, they crashed toward the woods, trying to place as much distance between themselves and the deadly fire coming from the British. Some did not make it - Benjamin saw a Bluecoat gasp, grip his side, and topple from his galloping horse. At full trot, there was nothing Benjamin could do for the soldier. There was probably nothing he could have done for him, in any instance.

Before they reached the woods, Benjamin risked a glance back over his shoulder. The sight that met him was that of the Green Dragoons, charging forward, their horses leaping over the wall the Continentals had been huddled behind. He saw the man he thought to be Tavington - racing ahead of his Dragoons with his saber pointed, his face set and hard - the face of a Commandant on the hunt for his quarry. Then the woods closed around Benjamin and Tavington was lost to sight.

The beat the drummer had sounded had not only been to indicate the retreat, but to inform the Continentals it was every man for himself. As soon as they were amidst the trees, they split away from one another, heading in every direction. They would, if their luck held, meet at McDeals, but for now, their primary goal was to avoid being captured by the British.


	58. Chapter 58 - Drakespar Burns

Chapter 58 - Drakespar Burns:

From the high vantage of his saddle, Tavington watched with growing frustration as his infantry continued their assault on the wall. Burwell and his Continentals were using the wall as a shield. Tavington's canons - three of them spaced along its length, were doing a damned good job of decimating it, though not quickly enough for the Colonel's liking.

"Prepare the charge," he said grimly to Bordon, mounted to his right. The Major gaped at him.

"Sir - with respect - if we charge - Burwell's sharp shooters will pick us off - we'll be sitting ducks!"

"I want this ended now, Major," he said firmly. "I'm losing too many of my infantry. Ready - the - charge!"

"Yes, Sir," Bordon slipped away to his right to gather the Green Dragoons. Tavington beckoned Wilkins, Trellim and his senior infantry Captain - Captain Dubose - to him and the three Captains edged their horses closer to hear Tavington's commands.

"When we approach, I have no doubt the Continental's will break and run every which way," the Colonel said crisply. "I want as many of their number caught - or killed - as possible. Wilkins, you will chase those heading toward the East. Trellim you will head West and I will take my unit South down through the forest and then onto the Post Road."

"The rest of the Legion?" Dubose asked. If Tavington intended to ride down American stragglers, he would need to move quickly. Only the cavalry unit would be performing the task, for the infantry was not fast enough. The infantry's task would be to remain behind, to establish a campsite - a stronghold - for the Dragoons to retreat to, and to protect the wounded, the supply wagons and the women.

And to bury the dead.

"Will remain here and make camp," Tavington said, as Dubose had suspected he would. "Establish a hospital - there are wounded to be tended - and bodies to be buried," Tavington said as he tried to peer through the smoke screen to discern what was taking place on the field of battle below. "Captain Dubose, in my absence, you will take what food supplies you need from the surrounding Plantations. And send supply wagons - with a strong force to protect each, after the three Dragoon units."

Another canon blast shook the earth and when the smoke cleared, Tavington frowned in confusion. He could only see two canons - the smoke of his third canon had come from beyond the wall.

"Jesus!" he screamed, his voice filled with raw fury. "They've captured our canon! Charge, charge Goddamn you!"

He drew his sabre and kicked his heels to Thunder's flanks, and was hurtling forward. The drum of hooves directly behind him drowned all other sound. Within moments, Bordon caught up to him, his face was set and grim as they launched like arrows toward the wall. Before them, the infantry answered with another canon volley, and were likewise answered by Burwell with a volley of musket and canon - the smoke was so thick now, Tavington did not have a hope of seeing what was happening beyond the wall. His infantry continued to rain the enemy with a hail of grapeshot, the smoke of the many small explosions added to the confusion. They stopped when they saw the Dragoons, who hurtled through their ranks and raced toward the wall, despite the danger - Burwell could have launched another volley and many of William's Dragoons would have met with their deaths.

However, when they cleared the wall - their horses leaping over the lowered structure with ease - he instantly saw why Burwell hadn't. It was because the Continentals - and the newly arrived militia, had turned and fled. William, seeing they had almost reached the thick forest, screamed for his Dragoons to pick up speed.

Moments later - after passing the littered bodies of the Americans killed, his men dived into the forest. As he had suspected, the fleeing Continentals and militia were heading in every direction. With a glance to his right and then to his left, he saw Trellim's unit angling toward the West and Wilkins' to the East, as discussed. Tavington and Bordon held a Southerly trajectory - as much as was possible in the thick woods.

By now, Dubose would have discerned that the battle had ended, and would be gathering the infantry left behind at the battlefield. The wounded and dead - both British and American - would be gathered and removed from the field and taken - by wagon - back to Kingstree. Having worked in this manner for years with Dubose, he knew that the Captain would send out the supply wagons immediately - with an armed escort - to trail the three split Dragoon units and supply them. The Legion itself - with the rest of the supply wagons and the camp followers, would stay put at Kingstree.

Spurring hard, William snarled as he caught up to his first Continental. The man had been unhorsed and was running afoot, darting through the trees like a rabbit. And as though the man were little more than a rabbit, William chased him, raising his sabre high and sliced it across the man's back. The Bluecoat screamed and dropped to the ground but William - with blood dripping from his sabre - was already racing on. The chase was far from over - Tavington wanted Burwell and he would not stop hunting until he captured the enemy General - dead or alive.

* * *

The family and many of Charlotte's staff who did not have immediate tasks, stood on the verandah gazing out at the trees on the horizon. The smoke was growing thicker and the constant blasts more frequent, a sign that the battle was at its height.

_William is out there... _Beth fretted. _He is fighting. Not a mile from here._

The thought caused such a searing agony in her chest, she was certain it hurt as much as the sword wound in Gabriel's side.

Suddenly, she needed to see more. Needed to watch the battle, as much as was possible. Without a word to her family, she fled the verandah and raced up the stairs back to the chamber she had slept in the night before, where she would hopefully be able to see more - from the second story window. Throwing the window wide, she leaned out and squinted, her heart pounding against her ribs.

With a despairing gasp, she realised she would not be able to see more despite the higher vantage. Even if she stood in the attic - or on the tiled roof, she would not see more. The thick tree line was too far distant, and the trees themselves were too tall.

Another explosion - this one louder than the many claps she could hear in the distance. This one boomed across the sky and she was certain it caused the windows to rattle in their casements. A canon? More smoke rose from the right side of the tree line. This was followed by several more claps - men answering with a volley of muskets from the left side. Then another volley of muskets - and another sounding crash - canons - from the right side. Her heart almost leapt from her chest as she realised that this side - to the right - that was where the British were. Her gaze lingered on the right side of the tree line, trying to gage exactly where they were.

Where William was.

She swallowed hard as she tried to fight the compelling tug, the insistent yanking that was William, pulling her to join him.

Beth's knees buckled, the air was knocked from her chest. She gripped the casement with a white knuckles, gasping against the riot of emotions surging through her. She had tried - so hard! - to shove it all down - her love for William, her anguish at not being with him. She had tried to convince herself that she didn't love him. He didn't love her either and she didn't care. That's what she had been telling herself, ever since she had given her virginity to Banastre Tarleton. But it all came rising up now, and it refused to be shoved back down. The torrent of emotions were too strong for her to control and for the life of her, she had no choice but to let them flood through her. With a sobbing gasp, she understood the agony on that had been on Burwell's face as he'd kissed her the night before. He had surrendered to the strong emotions forging through him, just as she was surrendering now.

On her knees at the window, she stared beyond to the right of the tree line - now made blurry from the flood of tears running down her cheeks.

"Oh, Lord, I love him so," she said. "Oh, sweet Lord, please let William survive. Don't let him die!"

She sat back on her haunches and sobbed so hard she could no longer speak her prayer aloud. Inside though, she repeated it like a mantra, hoping it was enough to keep her beloved from harm.

* * *

"They sound so close," Charlotte fretted from the verandah.

"It's just the way sound travels," Gabriel replied bleakly. With his wound, all he could do was watch helplessly and worry that when his father would be returning on a litter, and that they would be burying his body. "Now I understand why he didn't want us going off to war," he whispered and Charlotte placed her hand on his shoulder.

"He loves his children with a fierce passion," she said. "I don't know what he would do, if he lost any of you."

"If he has worried for me over the last four years half as much I worry for him now, I'm surprised he didn't go mad," Gabriel sighed heavily.

"It's been a rough time, that's for certain," Charlotte agreed.

Another round of blasts shook the windows of the house and the family fell silent, watching beyond in silence.

Eventually it stopped and the shocking silence was almost as bad as the constant blasts had been. Beth emerged from inside the house and seeing her red rimmed eyes, Gabriel frowned at her - she had clearly been weeping. Charlotte held her arms out to her and Beth fell into the embrace.

"It's over," Gabriel said, as Charlotte rocked his sister in the circle of her arms. "I have to go and see what's happened and -"

"No," she said firmly. "You do not. You are wounded and in pain - you said so yourself. And your father…" She stopped short, then continued firmly, "Colonel Martin gave you your orders to stay here. There is nothing you can do for him out there, in any case."

"Except be caught by the Butcher," Thomas predicted. "Depending on who won this skirmish. If he won it, the area will be crawling with Redcoats."

"Oh, Lord, you're right," Charlotte fretted, her horrified gaze falling on Beth, whose silence was somewhat disconcerting. "Your father said to hide you…"

"The Scotts aren't far," Gabriel mused. Dan Scott - a local planter and sometimes militiaman - was currently keeping Anne Howard and her family safe. "Beth could go and stay with them. Mr. Scott and Mr. Howard will care for Beth."

"But then I won't know anything," Beth sniffled. "I won't know if Papa survived." _And I won't know if William did… Oh God _She wasn't certain which was more painful, the stabbing grief over losing her father or losing William. And worse yet - what if they had faced off on the field? What if one had killed the other? Gabriel's words washed over her. In her worry, she barely heard his response.

"Alright, Thomas - get Shadow Dancer saddled, with Beth's panniers, too," Gabriel commanded and Thomas - determined to show he could take commands without complaint - jumped from the porch and ran to the stables. "For now, Beth will stay here, but she needs to be ready to flee."

Voicing no agreement, Beth fixed her haunted eyes fixed on the horizon. A thick pall of smoke still lingered above the tree line but it was dissipating slowly before her eyes. There were no more explosions, all noise had ceased a few moments ago and the silence was oppressive. It did not last long, that silence. Barely twenty minutes passed before they began seeing Bluecoat stragglers appear in the distance, bursting from the trees and thrashing their horses in an effort to get away. They were spread out across the adjacent fields, bolting every which way. However, some of the men were heading directly for Drakespar. These men did not wear the Continental blue - they wore homespun clothing - the ordinary buckskin breeches, leather jerkins and shirts of Colonial men.

"Militia," Gabriel stated. He turned to Thomas, who had returned a few moments earlier, leading Shadow Dancer saddled and ready. "Quick, Tom - my scope!"

Thomas darted into the house and after a brief search in Gabriel's saddle bags, he ran back out on to the verandah, holding Gabriel's small telescope. A moment later, Gabriel had the scope pressed to his eye and he was peering through, trying to sight on the oncoming men. Finding them, their faces jumped into stark relief.

"It's Papa," Gabriel's breath exploded from his chest and he shared a huge grin with his siblings and Aunt. "It's Papa!"

"Oh, thank the Lord," Charlotte gripped her breast and clutched at the rail for support. Beth was holding her up now, rather than the other way around. Before much longer, they could hear the drum of the horses pounding the earth. Twenty or so militiamen charged down the lane toward the house, and finally Benjamin was throwing himself off his horse, bolting up the steps to embrace his daughters and enjoy a warm welcome home from them all.

"We lost," he panted, holding Margaret and Susan close to his chest. He addressed Gabriel and Thomas but his words were for everyone. "Burwell has sounded the retreat - the Continentals are fleeing. They'll try and make it to the McDeals redoubt but Tavington's Dragoons are chasing them down hard. They'll be searching for stragglers. Beth -"

Beth swallowed hard - she knew what was coming and found she did not want to leave! She longed to beg her father to allow her to stay, all the while hoping and praying that William would find her there, at Drakespar. She knew she could not, however. Keeping her desires to herself, she clutched her skirts in a white knuckled grip and waited for her father's instructions.

"You need to leave. Hell, we all do."

"All of us?" Charlotte squeaked.

"No - not you," Benjamin reached for her. Winding his hands through hers, he pulled her close and bent his forehead to hers. "No, my darling. Not you. Not the children. Us - the militia, and Beth. We can not stay here."

He gazed at Beth for several long moments, trying to decide her fate. Then:

"It's off to Mr. Scott's with you. Charlotte, can you spare a man to escort her?" Benjamin asked. He could not take Beth himself, for he would be travelling hard - back down south toward McDeals, gathering in the militiamen along the way. Besides, the men on Charlotte's staff would know the immediate area well enough to get Beth away quickly. While Charlotte was deliberating over who could be Beth's escort, the girl reluctantly trudged back upstairs to change into her breeches for riding, and to check that nothing had been left behind. There was no other option - she could not reveal her desire to stay - she had to leave. As she packed, she prayed fervently that she encountered the British on the road, so she could reveal herself and be taken to William. The idea gave her heart, brightening her considerably.

The family were still discussing what was to happen next, while Beth was upstairs.

"Where will you be?" Charlotte asked when Beth disappeared through the door. Charlotte felt faint with worry, she despised the need to be from Benjamin, now, when she needed him most. "Don't go. Please. You're not wounded, Ben. Just wash up and pretend nothing has happened! If the Redcoats come, they'll not have any reason to believe you were apart of the battle and -"

Benjamin was shaking his head and Charlotte trailed off with a whimper.

"I dare not stay," he said softly. "Tavington might have those with him who know me - and can identify me to him. By now, Tory's 'round these parts may have told him by now that I attacked Tarleton's force and I dare not stay."

"You'll leave us?" Margaret whimpered, sniffing back tears.

"Only for a short while," he knelt slightly to place himself at her height. "Just do everything your Aunt tells you. Charlotte - you are now 'Mrs. Cambridge'. A widow with six children. Thomas is your eldest. Do not use the name 'Martin' or 'Selton'. As for Gabriel -"

"He can't travel!" Charlotte cried. "He can't!"

"There's no hope for it," Gabriel said. "I'll be taken prisoner if I'm caught -"

"You could die if you flee," Charlotte said adamantly.

"We'll put him in an upstairs chamber," Thomas said. "And tell the Redcoats he has pox."

Benjamin began to laugh.

"Yes, that could work nicely - they'll high tail it out of here right quick, if they think there's pox in the house!" He saw that Gabriel was about to argue and he sighed heavily. "Do I have to command you with everything now? To get you to obey because you're too stubborn and stupid to see reason?"

"No, father," Gabriel said sullenly, biting back his protest. His traitorous body had chosen just that moment to prove how serious his wound was. The ache in his side was so sudden and sharp, that he grunted and clutched his waist through his clothes and bandages.

"Sit down," Charlotte urged firmly. "Right now!"

The pain was so intense just then, that Gabriel was inclined to allow himself to be bullied by his Aunt. He allowed Thomas to lead him to a rocking chair on the verandah, where he sat down slowly with a heavy sigh.

"Christ, I feel like an old man," he muttered.

"His room will need to be kept dark," Benjamin advised Charlotte. "Those suffering with pox are always in darkened rooms - and if the Dragoons do choose to check on him, they won't be able to see that his face isn't marked. Jesus, I hope it's not Wilkins who comes here to check - he'll recognise Tom… You lay low, you hear?" He said to Thomas, who nodded gravely.

Beth emerged from the house again, struggling to carry her saddlebags, which Thomas had forgotten to pack. She had completed the task quickly, before lugging the heavy load back down stairs and out on to the verandah. By this time, Benjamin was mounted again, having said his farewells to his family. An escort had been chosen for Beth - Mr. Elisha Miller - he was mounted and waiting for her. Benjamin arched an eyebrow when he saw what Beth was wearing, but he said nothing to dissuade her. Charlotte, however, groaned in frustration.

"I was going to have those darned things burned!" She said, pointing at Beth's breeches as Thomas relieved the girl of the saddle bags and tied them to Shadow Dancer.

"This will be the last time, I vow," Beth said. "You can burn them as soon as I'm back."

_If I come back… _She tried to hold back a flood of tears at the thought - it was such anguish, knowing that if she managed to find William, she might never see her family again. And if she did see them, it was highly likely that she would not be welcome amongst them.

"Don't think I won't," Charlotte embraced Beth. "You stay safe - Mr. Miller will take good care of you. I love you!"

"You too," Beth said, holding on to her Aunt for dear life, fearing it would be their last embrace. "I love you too."

"She's not going forever," seeing the women - both young and old - were all crying again, Thomas rolled his eyes heavenward. "The Lobsters will sweep the area and they'll leave! Beth will be back by tomorrow - if not tonight!"

"Thomas," Margaret snapped, wiping her tears on the back of her hand. "You have as much feeling as a rock."

The lad shrugged as Beth climbed into the saddle. With one last searching look at the faces of her family, she waved, she shook the reins and urged her horse forward. Even though Charlotte's man - Elisha Miller - intended to take her to the Scott's family, Beth felt in her heart that she was on her way to William.

Beth was to travel with her father for a short distance before they parted ways. She galloped at his side at the head of the column for five minutes, before he signalled his men to halt. Their horses whinnied and tossed their heads, stamping their hooves impatiently as father farewelled his eldest daughter.

"Straight on to the Scotts now you hear?" He said gruffly. "Keep on this road until you reach the mills, then turn left. Keep on that trail for another mile or so."

"I know the way, Sir," Elisha spoke up before Benjamin could continue issuing directions. "I'll see Miss Martin safely there."

"Alright," Benjamin tightened his lips as he gazed at Beth, all the while wishing he could keep her with him. It was not safe, however. He was surprised he hadn't encountered one of Tavington's Dragoon units already. He'd seen signs of their passage along the road - the kicked up dirt and there was smoke rising above the tree line that was not caused by muskets. Someone's house was burning - perhaps several someones. It was best for Beth to travel further to the East - to the Scotts, than to remain heading south with him.

"Stay on course - I'll come and get you as soon as it's safe," he promised, pulling her into a rough embrace. She clung to him for a moment as though she'd never let go, and then reluctantly released her hold.

"I love you, Papa. Goodbye," she said gravely, before guiding her horse to turn on to the small, dirt and rock road.

* * *

Burwell thrashed his horse through the trees, trying to put as much distance between himself and the battlefield as was possible. He had long since parted ways with Benjamin, who had been desperate to check on his family. He'd long since parted ways with much of his force - it was every man for himself now but they all had a final destination in mind - the fort at McDeals.

During the mad dash, he managed to bring some of his troop together when they came across them - and he soon had fifty men racing with him, which left his remaining one hundred and fifty heading in every which direction. With each Continental he came across he managed to get news, and so he was able to discern that Tavington was not on his immediately trail.

However, Captain James Wilkins was, and the bastard was pressing Burwell hard. The General understood what a prize he would make - and how celebrated Wilkins would be, if he managed to capture him. Burwell had no intention of allowing that to happen, however. The Loyalist Captain would not catch him, no Sir! And so he chased through the woods, burst out to race through paddocks and rice swamps alike - never stopping, never halting though he knew it could mean the death of the horses. Many of his fleeing Continentals would seek refuge at the homes on the Plantations that Burwell himself was passing, but the General knew it would inevitably lead to their capture. He - and the fifty he had with him - needed to continue on, to try and make it to McDeals, the fort that Burwell had sent his infantry to the previous day, to strengthen.

They reached yet another river, this one was fast flowing and wider than the others.

"To the ferry!" He shouted, waving his arms wide and spurring his horse on. When they reached the jetty, Burwell blew out an explosive breath of relief at his good fortune. There, tied to the dock, were two flat boats. The boats were attached to thick lead ropes, which spanned the river from bank to bank, enabling a person on the far side to pull the boat to them. The ferries were large enough to accommodate half his small force. They would make it across to the far bank in two trips - hopefully before Wilkins arrived.

"We won't make it all the way to McDeals," he said aloud as he stared across at the far jetty.

"What's that?" John Billings - the Captain militiaman who had followed Burwell, urged his horse forward. The two knew each other well, Burwell had been Billings commander in days long gone.

"I said we won't make it all the way to McDeals," Burwell said as his men started riding their horses onto the flat boats. "And so we shall make a stand here. It's all bush on the far side - we'll hide in the thick of it and take shots at Wilkins and his boys when they're on the boats."

The first boat was almost full, the men were about to begin the first crossing.

"Yes, let's make our stand here," Burwell said, half to himself, liking his plan the more he thought it through. "I doubt very much that there is a more likely place. Our horses need to be rested - Hell, we all need rest!"

"Here here," Billings agreed.

"When we have reached the far bank, we shall conceal ourselves in the bushes," Burwell informed Billings and his other Captains. "When Wilkins arrives, he will pull the boats back in so that he can cross over. When the two boats are two thirds of the way across - we will open fire - on the boats and those still waiting to cross. Wilkins might have twenty more than us, but his force will be split, and they will not expect us to still be here."

"No - he'll think we're high tailing it to McDeals," Billings grinned like a madman. "I like it - I like it a lot!"

"Do an inventory for me, Billings," Burwell commanded. "I want to know how much ammunition and powder we have."

"Yes Sir!"

Billings moved amongst the men still waiting to cross, checking each ones personal supply of bullets and gunpowder. A short time later, when he reached the other side, he repeated his inventory with the rest of the troop, while the second half of Burwell's troop crossed in the flat boats. To give the appearance that the Continentals had fled, their horses were taken deep into the woods away from the bank, well out of sight. The fifty Continentals then concealed themselves in the bushes and prepared their weapons.

Not ten minutes later, the seventy strong Green Dragoon unit - led by Captain James Wilkins - approached the jetty warily.

"Please cross first, please cross first," Billings whispered this mantra as he held his musket tight, his eyes avidly on Wilkins, who was calling out commands from the saddle. Burwell smiled. Yes, it would be a fine thing, if Wilkins were to cross first - he'd make a fine captive indeed. If he did not die in the rain of grapeshot soon to come.

"Pull them in!" Wilkins called and several men leapt from their mounts to begin heaving on the thick ropes connected to the flat boats. It was slow work but, inch by slow inch, the ferries began to move to the far bank toward Wilkins. The Loyalist Captain glanced amongst his men and began pointing. Though Burwell could not hear the words, he knew the other fellow was selecting who was to cross first.

"Simms," Billings whispered intently as Ensign Arthur Simms stepped his horse onto the ferry. "Middleton, Middleton…"

Other's began to board the ferries - walking their mounts onto the deck - but Billings did not know them all. When almost fifteen each were jammed on the decks, Wilkins urged his horse to board. Billings turned to Burwell and grinned.

Burwell's men were under instructions not to open fire until the boats were two thirds across. As soon as they were in position, they were to fire upon the far bank, and into those on the boat as well. It would be a bloody, messy business, but war always was.

"Five," Burwell whispered, watching the lead boat intently. "Four, three, two - one."

His men rose up from their place of concealment, levelled their firearms, and fired.

Chaos ensued. Several Dragoons jumped over board, others were sent over by the force of the bullets punching into their chests. Horses screamed and reared, kicking out - wounding and killing where their hooves landed. Answering fire came from the far bank, a man close by to Burwell was hit - the bullet shattering his face, he was dead before he hit the ground. The smoke screen prevented Burwell from seeing the boats but he could hear the yelling - his men knew where to pinpoint their fire. As did the Loyalists on the far side - several more of Burwell's went down in bloody, messy heaps. There was no time to think of his dead just then. He jumped over one and levelled his musket, aimed at the far bank and fired into the smoke screen. Whether the bullet hit a mark was anyone's guess, but it would make the Loyalists think twice and so he reloaded and fired again. Eventually the first boat - and then the second - smashed into the jetty and his men began pouring aboard both to seize the surviving Loyalists and deprive them of their weapons.

Not five minutes later, Wilkins himself was dragged to Burwell, pushed along between two burly Continentals. The Patriot General was far back from the bank by now, in the thick oaks which gave him some protection from those still firing from across the other side.

"Agh, Jesus," James spat as he was dropped at Burwell's feet. He was clutching his leg and his gloved fingers came away sticky - covered with blood.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Burwell said, not unkindly. "We'll get that bullet out, Captain. And if we've got some laudanum, you'll be given a dose."

"I'll thank you, when the bullet's out and the laudanum kicks in. Jesus fucking Christ," James pushed himself up, trying to stand unaided. When he could not, he lurched away from his captors and braced himself against a tree. "How many of mine have you caught, Burwell?"

"One so far," Burwell replied - speaking of Wilkins himself. "Billings?"

Billings raced off to discover how many others were being pulled from the boat.

"That was a fucking Indian caper you just pulled there, Burwell," James complained while wincing in agony. "No warning or anything!"

"Desperate times calls for desperate measures, Captain. Sometimes the niceties can not be observed. I was not going to let you capture me and parade me around."

"So you've caught me instead - you going to parade me around?"

"Not at all," Burwell shook his head - he was a Gentleman and his prisoners would not receive such treatment. "I suggest you call for your men to surrender - those on the far bank still fighting."

Wilkins tightened his lips, wanting nothing more than to be stubborn about the situation but he knew it was folly.

"Tavington has caught many of my Officers, Wilkins," Burwell continued. "You and yours will be exchanged in return for mine soon enough - no need to fret. And you'll receive care as well - I won't let you bleed out to death."

"Mighty kind of you," Wilkins found it hard to be anything but churlish under the circumstances. His frustration grew when Burwell's men began bringing in more prisoners - though he was relieved to see so many were still living. Simms, the Middleton twins - and many others had received wounds but they were alive and would remain so.

"Will you call for the surrender, Sir?" Burwell asked and Wilkins blew out a stubborn, sullen breath. With a nod, he limped and stumbled closer to the bank, cupped his hands and screamed for his men to cease fire, and to lay down their arms.

The surrender and capture took over an hour. Burwell needed to ferry the prisoners across. Litters needed to be made to carry the wounded - both his and Wilkins alike. The dead needed burying. The Continentals had time on their side now, however, for they had captured the force Tavington had sent to chase them down. There would be no more pursuit.

"Let's get the Hell out of here - I want some food and I want some Goddamn sleep," Burwell commanded grimly.

After taking a quick stock of the horses - some of which perished in the crossing, the men mounted - some two to a horse. Spurring forward, they continued on toward McDeals with their captives.

* * *

"So what do we do, Mr. Miller?" Beth asked her escort. The two were staring at the ruined bridge, the very bridge they had intended to use to cross the wide stream. The bridge had been destroyed by fleeing Continentals, in the hope of slowing their pursuers - the Green Dragoons. This act had thrown Beth and Elisha's path into confusion, for they could no longer stay on a direct course straight to Mr. Scott's Plantation.

"I weren't expectin' this, Miss," Elisha admitted, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "There's more bridges that cross this creek but they're far off. And taking them means we risk gettin' lost. We can't go to the Road, 'cause it will be riddled with them Dragoons."

"Yes, it will be," Beth said, feeling a sharp tug in her chest. Warmth flooded through her at the thought of encountering Redcoats and she tried hard not to smile. She said carefully, "perhaps it's worth the risk though. What else for it?"

"I suppose," the man pondered. "There's no reason for them to be threatened by us - two lone riders, one of them a woman. We're not out to harm no one - we ain't no rebels."

"No, and we don't even have pistols," Beth said, helping Elisha along to the decision she wanted him to make. "We aren't a threat to them - they won't mistake us for stragglers from the skirmish."

"True. Mayhap they won't be bothering us, two innocent travellers."

Beth smiled, exultant, as they turned their horses from the ruined bridge and began trotting slowly back up the rough track.

"I'm glad for these oaks," Elisha muttered, tugging at the front his jacket to get some cool air down his chest.

"Yes, the forest is certainly the place to be in summer," she frowned at the man for a moment, staring at him side long, for something he had said was niggling at her. "Mr. Miller - you said 'rebel's…"

"Huh?" he asked, distracted.

"Back there, at the bridge. You said 'we ain't no rebels'…" She left it hanging as she studied his profile carefully. She saw him swallow hard, his eyes darting. He was distinctly uncomfortable with her line of questioning, but still, she asked, "are you a Loyalist, Mr. Miller?"

Loyalists in these parts - so close to Kingstree were not uncommon. In fact, there were far more in that area than down in Pembroke - though they felt the need to conceal themselves, for the Whigs were some times quite heavy handed with their feelings of Patriotism. However, it had not occurred to Beth that there would be Loyalists amongst Charlotte's staff - for every man, woman and child at Fresh Water were Whigs, and fiercely loyal to Benjamin Martin.

"I… Ah…" Elisha looked ready to bolt. Beth couldn't have that - she would be alone entirely in the woods, if he took off from her!

"It's alright," she assured him. "I won't tell. Though I don't know why you'd keep it secret. Aunt Charlotte wouldn't mind, if you're a Tory."

"No?" Elisha finally met her gaze. "Then why did she get rid of Simpson? He and his family - they were Loyalists and when the Missus found out, she sent them packing. She pays well - not many do round these parts, and so many of us in her employ pretend we aren't Loyalists, for fear of being fired. You really won't tell?"

"No, I won't," Beth said slowly, startled that her Aunt was so fervently Patriot, that she would fire those amongst her staff who did not share her allegiance. They rode in silence after that, winding through the trees along the dirt track in search of the intersection that would lead them to the Post Road.

* * *

"The Dragoons are coming!" The young boy declared. "Mamma says that if you're hiding Regulars, you need to get them out or your house will be burned!"

"Sweet Lord," Charlotte breathed. "Thank you, Joseph. Keep going - warn the Cottle's next door!"

"Yes, Mrs. Selton!" The boy kicked his heels to his horses flanks and raced back down the long drive.

Charlotte's hands were shaking as she turned back in to the house.

"Margaret, Susan…" She said to the two girls sitting on the chaise in the parlour. "You should.. Ah… Actually, just keeping doing what your are doing. It's best to keep up appearances."

Her voice was breathless and her stomach rippled with nerves. Margaret nodded and shared a glance with Susan, the older girl was scared and trying not to show it, for she did not want Susan to begin crying.

"I'll read you a book," Margaret offered.

"Yes, yes," Charlotte said, distractedly. "That should do nicely. And remember, your names are Maggie and Sarah."

The girls nodded. Charlotte had tried to choose names close to their true names, to avoid a mistake at the wrong possible moment. She understood why Benjamin had wanted their names changed - for if it was Tavington himself who appeared, he would be familiar with the names of the Martin children. Though if he had those with him that were familiar with Charlotte - their efforts to create a ruse would be for nothing.

She left the parlour in search of Thomas, only to encounter the excitable youth - and his three brothers - in the foyer. She bit back a curse, for she had not expected to see them and it startled her.

"Lord, I'm jumping at shadows!" She moaned.

"It'll be alright. Mother." Thomas said. That was part of the ruse - that Charlotte was their mother. But judging by the kiss their father had given their Aunt earlier that morning, it could very well be truth in the not too distant future. It was a concept that Thomas welcomed. She smiled weakly, but warmly, at being addressed as mother by Thomas.

"Is George -" who was actually Gabriel - "in bed? Are the curtains drawn? Is it dark enough in his room?"

"Yes, to all three," Thomas - who had become Daniel - replied. He paused, all five of them suddenly growing quiet. They heard the rumbling sound now and Nathan - who was now Nick - ran to the door and poked his head out. When he turned back to his brothers, his face was grave. He nodded, confirming that the Green Dragoons were approaching.

"Oh, Sweet mother," Charlotte whispered, pressing her hands to her stomach and feeling terribly faint.

"Come, mamma," Thomas said, barely hesitating over the title now. "All will be well. We'll meet them on the verandah - they'll be expecting it."

"Yes," she said softly, nervously. "You're right…"

"And remember, you are Mrs. Cambridge."

She nodded weakly as Thomas led her out onto the verandah. The Dragoons were closer now, charging up the lane between the marching oaks. Further back on the road followed two supply wagons and Charlotte was dismayed to see Blue-Coat Continentals walking behind, their hands bound and a lead rope connecting them to the rear of each wagon. There were at least five behind each! Tavington had captured ten Continentals already!

She stood stock still on the verandah, staring as they drew close enough for her to see each Dragoon clearly. At the head, she recognised Tavington himself though she had never been introduced to the Officer. Mage had pointed him out to her once, and she had thought then that he was a handsome enough fellow, but she'd felt his beauty was skin deep only. Even now, she gazed upon his cold, hard face as he drew closer, and her feeling of unease spiked within her. She almost vomited in terror - bile rose in her throat and she made a small whimpering noise, causing Thomas to glance at her in concern.

"It's him," she managed. "It's him."

Thomas blanched. For a moment, his face twisted in fear, but he smoothed it quickly and squared his shoulders.

"It's a good thing we sent Beth off then, isn't it?" He asked curtly, his eyes on Tavington. "You've not met him?"

"No," she confirmed, quietly because the Dragoons were now slowing to a trot and some of them were edging their horses forward. And because she felt too weak and faint to speak any stronger. "I only saw him from a distance. He should not recognise me. Lord - if Wilkins or any of the other Loyalists are in this troop, then all our new and fancy names will be for nothing."

"He'll demand Beth be given to him immediately," Thomas agreed grimly, eying the man himself as Tavington stopped a few yards away. Under his breath, Thomas said, "and I'd hate to see what he'll do if we can't produce her."

"Colonel Tavington, Green Dragoons," the Colonel called, introducing himself to the family huddled on the verandah. He arched an eyebrow, his cold eyes taking Charlotte and the boys in from head to toe. "Who might I be addressing?"

"Mrs. Cambridge and my eldest, Daniel," Charlotte, trembling like a caught rabbit, spoke as firmly as she could under the circumstances. She walked unsteadily to the top step of the verandah, to address the Officer. With her on the verandah, and him mounted on his steed, the two were at the same height. "Of Cambridge Plantation."

"Indeed?" Disappointment flared over his face, quickly followed by rage. "Cambridge Plantation. That is not marked on any of my maps."

"Well…" Charlotte's heart pounded in her chest. "Well, not all maps are consistent, Sir. What can I do for you?"

"What can you do for me…" Tavington tightened his lips and his horse danced under him. Bordon, Ensign Dalton and Cornet Brownlow waited a yard or two behind him, all in utter silence. "Firstly, you can tell me where Drakespar Plantation is? I was given to believe it is close by, and thought I had reached it just now." He thought that, if anyone was harbouring Burwell, it would be Beth's Aunt, Mrs. Charlotte Selton. He was greatly disappointed to learn that his information had been incorrect, and this plantation was not Drakespar.

"Drakespar?" Charlotte feigned surprise, though her stomach writhed and churned. She understood now, why it was Tavington himself searching this route. Clearly, he was coming after Beth himself - and he was starting with Charlotte's own plantation.

"Oh, that is.. Ah - let me see. A few miles or so… wouldn't you say, Daniel?" She turned to Thomas. "A few miles - to the south."

"Yes, Mamma," Thomas agreed. "You have it right, a few miles."

"A mile to the south," Tavington lifted his chin and studied the family intently. "I thank you for the information. You are aware that a skirmish has taken place not far from here?"

"Yes, Sir," Charlotte said. "We could hear it from here. I do hope none of your men are wounded?"

"A Loyalist, are you?" Bordon questioned from behind Tavington. "You show concern for our welfare - are you a Loyalist?"

"Yes, Sir," the lie tasted vile on Charlotte's tongue. Calling herself a Loyalist! She wanted to hurl her defiance in the Dragoons faces but she had too much at stake - she had Benjamin's children to care for. "I am. If there is anything I can assist you with, please tell me. Food? You must be hungry..?"

"Have you heard tell of, or seen, any Continentals in this area, Mrs. Cambridge?" Tavington asked, ignoring Charlotte's offer.

"No, Sir," she said as steadily as she could, though she was ready to faint. Her cheeks were pale, her lips bloodless and her hands trembled. Her voice came out halted, thin and high. "No… We've seen… no one."

"She's lying," Bordon stated, having picked up on the signals Charlotte was unconsciously giving. She gasped with fright.

"Yes, I know," Tavington said coldly. Then in an impatient yet off hand manner, he commanded, "search the house."

Bordon and Dalton were off their mounts instantly and Bordon waved his arm for other Dragoons to follow.

"Wait!" Thomas said desperately, rushing forward and waving his arms over his head. "There's sickness in the house - my brother has pox!"

"Jesus," Bordon muttered as he continued to climb the steps despite the warning. "Pox," he spat as he shoved Thomas aside. "I've never heard that one before."

The youth fell back, his eyes darting back and forth at the many Dragoons approaching.

"You will remain here," the Major commanded the family as he strode into the house. A moment passed before Margaret and Susan ran out, their eyes wide with fear. Charlotte frantically gathered the smaller children - little William also - and pulled them to her skirts as many more Dragoons stormed up the steps and into the house. She glanced through the open door but could not see deeper than a yard into the house, for the amount of soldiers suddenly filling the foyer within. She shot Thomas and Nathan a fearful glance and they were all were thinking the same thing. With so many searching, every inch of the house would be pulled apart and bared to the view. The curtains in Gabriel's chamber would be open and it would soon be clear that he did not have the pox.

_Not that they believe us anyway! Oh Lord, I should have hidden Gabriel - in a cupboard - or… Or… In the cellar.. Or… Somewhere!_

She closed her eyes and swayed. She knew it was useless - they could not have hidden Gabriel - not from these men. Charlotte was accustomed to British soldiers - there had always been a British presence in the Colonies, to deter uprises and to keep the peace. But those she had encountered had been inept, and easy to corrupt. They cared about women, gambling, drinking and money - and would gain them however they could. They were, for the most part, a lazy lot and Charlotte was shocked and dismayed to see that the Green Dragoons were a far cry from what she was used to. Belatedly she realised that these were an elitist, disciplined force, and would prove to be thorough, relentless and unforgiving.

Nothing - and no one - could be hidden from Tavington's Dragoons.

And still they came - more pouring past her into her home, their heavy boots thudding the floor boards. The parlor was soon filled to bursting, as was the dining hall, the office, the kitchen and other chambers down stairs. Others were stomping upstairs and Charlotte knew the bedchambers would be filled as well. She felt she would vomit then, as she pictured the Dragoons finding Gabriel - as they were sure to do!

"Mrs. Cambridge," a cold voice called, intruding on her awareness. As unaccustomed to her new name as she was, it took a moment for her to realise the voice was addressing her. She turned and met Tavington's cold, hard gaze. "You seem nervous. Why is that?"

"I… I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she whispered. Tavington's smile made her shudder.

"I shall give you this opportunity to speak truly," he offered softly. "If you are harbouring the enemy, state so now, and you will not lose your home."

She swallowed hard. One glance to her right was all she needed to know his words for true - for rising into the air toward the sky were pillars of smoke, the houses he had burned before reaching hers.

"Tell me where General Burwell is," the cold voice drew her attention.

"I don't know," she whispered. It was true enough, he was somewhere out there, fleeing toward McDeals. But she did not know where.

Mounted on his horse, his back straight, he seemed at ease, holding his reins loosely in one hand, with his other hand resting on his thigh. His horse moved beneath him, and he barely noticed, adjusting and moving with the mount with practiced ease. It was strange, the things one noticed at such time. But it was striking also - how calm and relaxed he seemed, while she was in such a state of distress, she felt her knees would buckle at any moment.

"Do you understand that if you are harbouring a Continental, you will lose your home?" He said calmly.

"Yes, Sir," she whispered finally.

"Excellent," he said, that small smile quirking his lips - he was quite amused, she saw now. "Tell me, where are your men folk? I see no males older than this youth -" he pointed at Thomas. "Except for your slaves. They would not happen to be fleeing after fighting in the skirmish just now, would they?

"No - I have no menfolk," she said softly. "I am a widow."

"I see," he rolled his eyes, clearly disbelieving as he turned to one of his adjutants and rolled his eyes. The Officer smirked and scoffed softly. "So. A widow. Your husband is dead."

"Yes, Sir."

While speaking to Tavington, she and the children cast continual, furtive glances toward the house, worried that at any moment, the Dragoons would find Gabriel upstairs. Margaret winced when they heard a smash - it must have been something large that had been broken, to have caused that ruckus.

"A group of militia joined Burwell during the battle," Tavington was saying, it was clear he did not believe her. "You have no men here and you claim to be a widow…"

"It's true, Sir, my husband is dead," she said. She was being honest now - for John had died shortly before her sister, Elizabeth. "John died some eight years ago. He drowned. I've not remarried."

Tavington raised his chin as he stared at her, then his gaze shifted to Susan - the youngest of the children.

"What is your name, little one?" He asked her gently and Susan swallowed hard. Though it was wrong to lie, she knew she could not answer truthfully and she tried to remember the name Aunt Charlotte had given her.

"Sarah, Sir," she said faintly.

"Do you have any younger brothers or sisters, Miss Sarah?" He asked, trying to discern if any more children had been born to 'Mrs. Cambridge' in the last eight years. If so, then her husband had not died in a drowning accident eight years ago, and could well be one of the rebel militia.

However, the small girl shook her head - there were none younger than her.

"Where is your Papa, Sarah?" Tavington asked outright, while the rest of the family held their breath collectively.

Susan frowned - she wondered why Aunt Charlotte was so afraid of the man on the horse, for he had a kind face and he was being nice to her. And he was in love with Beth - didn't that make him a good person?

"He died, Sir," she said, frowning. Her elders had given her her instructions and despite her misgivings, she followed them to the letter.

"How old are you, Sarah?" He asked finally.

"I'm eight years old, Sir," she replied and William was finally convinced.

"Hmm, perhaps," he shifted his cold gaze back to Charlotte, but it was clear by his expression that he believed her now. In the matter of her husband passing, that was. And if her husband was eight years dead, then he could not possibly be running with the rebels who had attacked his force.

"Very well, I believe you," he said and some of the tension drained from Charlotte. "So. You have heard no word of Burwell's passage?"

"No," she whispered, fearing he would not believe her.

"Hmm. What of known rebels in the area - those who served the militia. Do you know of any? Do you know who it might have been, who joined Burwell in the skirmish just now?"

"I didn't even know that r-rebels had joined the battle, Sir," she lied again, barely stumbling on the word 'rebel'.

Just then, they heard bellowing come from upstairs - Dragoons were whooping and shouting, and then the sound of many boots thudding along the floor as they ran through the house and down the stairs.

"Hmm, I wonder what they've found, pray tell?" Tavington mused mockingly, his eyes fixed on the open portal as he waiting for this Dragoons.

Charlotte sagged against Thomas, who put his arms around her. When she saw two Dragoons on either side of Gabriel, hauling him forward and out of the house, her visioned darkened to pinpoints and she almost fainted dead away. Margaret and Susan began to cry, turning their faces into Charlotte's dresses. Polly - who had come out a short while earlier, knelt beside Susan - who decided that Tavington was not a nice man after all - and took the girl into her arms. The boys were likewise distressed as Gabriel was manhandled and dragged right past them.

Major Bordon strode out of the house and, ignoring the family, began to make his report.

"The pox victim, Sir," he said with an absolutely dead pan expression. "A Continental Officer."

"I see," Tavington drawled, his eyes fixed on Gabriel. "Your name?"

"Lieutenant Gabriel Martin," Gabriel said defiantly, his dark eyes blazing like the sun.

Tavington froze, every inch of him stiffening in shock. Beth's brother - this was Beth's brother! He saw the similarities immediately now - the blonde hair, the same dark brown eyes, he was a masculine version of Beth, the resemblance was striking.

"I see," he breathed, his wide eyes pinned on the Lieutenant. "Well. You have a choice then, Lieutenant Martin, brother of my fiancé -"

"She's not your damned fiancé!" Gabriel roared. "You keep your damned hands off -" He cut off with an oath when Bordon struck him across the back of the head.

"For the love I bear your sister, I will give you this choice," Tavington continued as though there had not been an interruption. The enemy Officer glared up at him. "Renounce the Patriot Cause, return your allegiance to the Crown, and your rebellion will be forgiven. I will take you into my own ranks and promote you - you will be a Captain in the Green Dragoons."

"I doubt the offer will be made twice," Bordon mused, surprised it was being made at all. It was customary for the British to parole militiamen and common soldiers when they were captured, but Officers were almost always taken to the prison camps. Never before had an offer of this nature been made - not by Tavington, anyway.

"I politely decline, Sir," Gabriel curled his lip - he had not fought for five bloody years to help free his Country, only to turn coat now he'd been captured! His wound hurt like hell and he felt like dropping at the Colonel's feet, but he steadied his legs and held himself upright, his eyes blazing his defiance. His family watched on fearfully. He would need to do what he could to protect them, and he thought fiercely for a reasonable excuse that would justify his presence in the home, that would see his family unharmed.

"That is regrettable," Tavington said. "I'm certain Beth will be quite distressed. Well - I gave you the option, she can not hold me to account for your foolishness. Take him," he jerked his head at the Dragoons, signalling that Gabriel was now a captive.

"You only made this offer because of Beth?" Gabriel laughed incredulously. "Are you worried that taking me captive might disrupt your plans to marry her?"

"It was a concern, but not an insurmountable one," William shrugged.

"Do you think torturing my uncle was an insurmountable concern, too?" Gabriel shot back. The Colonel's lips thinned, his cheeks flushed red - anger, Gabriel thought. He struggled to get himself under control, he had his family to protect. As disgusted as Gabriel was by Tavington and his offer, he set his ill feelings aside - for it was time to do what he could to protect his siblings and Aunt Charlotte. As his captors were dragging him past the proud Commandant, he stopped to plea for them.

"Sir, these people are Tory's. They only concealed me because they feared me. I told them they'd be harmed, if they did not."

Bordon laughed, clearly disbelieving.

"They may have feared you enough to hide you," Bordon mused. "That I can believe. But why did they not reveal your presence as soon as we arrived? There are seventy of us, and only one of you. I can't imagine that they feared you still…"

Frustrated, Gabriel snapped his mouth shut and tightened his lips.

Tavington arched an eyebrow.

"Besides, even if that were the case, it's British reprisal they should have feared more," he drawled, then turned to the Officer in charge of the prisoner escort.

"Captain Gordon," Tavington commanded crisply of the newly caught regular, "bind him and put him with the others."

The prisoners had been hidden from view before but Gabriel saw them now. Continental Regulars, and a few men suspected to be rebel militia stood with their hands bound together with a lead rope tied to the back of a supply wagon. It was clear that the captives were being forced to walk to the prison camp, and if they dropped, they would be dragged. Gabriel was dragged to join his fellow Whigs and two Dragoons began the process of binding his wrists behind him.

"Mrs. Cambridge," Tavington announced coldly and Charlotte reluctantly lifted her ravaged face from Thomas' shoulder. "You have harboured the enemy, you are guilty of treason. Your home will be fired. Your livestock destroyed. Your horses will be taken as well as any wagons you own."

"Please, Sir," Charlotte whispered. "Would you leave me with two horses, to hitch to the carriage? We'll need to leave and the children…" She began to cry then, great sobs bursting from her.

Tavington drew a sharp, impatient breath. "Foolish woman, you would not be in this situation if you had been Loyal to the Crown! Bordon, leave her with the oldest of her horses - and remove the woman's carriage before you burn the barn," he commanded. He was a Gentleman, after all. Bordon nodded and strode away to delegate the task. More Dragoons poured from the house past the distraught family.

Thomas was watching them all with mounting frustration and fury. Mostly frustration, at his impotence, his inability to do anything to stop was occurring. He shifted his gaze to Gabriel, whose wrists were being bound together.

_My brother - Lord, he could die in those damn prison camps! Just getting a chill could mean his death!_

More Dragoons approached the house now, with lit fire brands in their hands, which only served to fuel Thomas' fury and frustration.

"I'd remove the children from the verandah, if I were you," Tavington advised curtly as those same Dragoons marched purposefully into the house. Another sob ripped through Charlotte but she gathered the children to her and began ushering them down the steps. Thomas remained where he was, as still as the grave, staring inside the house as he watched it being set alight.

"Come, Thomas," Charlotte called, completely forgetting she had given the lad another name, not five minutes before.

Hearing the slip, Tavington drew a sharp breath - he had not forgotten and the first conclusion he came to, was that the boy - who was almost a man in truth - was a rebel militiaman. What other reason could there be for the subterfuge? He acted immediately.

"Seize him!" He shouted and Thomas whirled, expecting to see that Gabriel had torn free of his captors and was running - only the Dragoons were bearing down on him, on Thomas. He could only stare with shock as he was grabbed and dragged from the verandah to stand before the Colonel. Tavington was glaring down at both him, and at Charlotte.

"You called him 'Daniel' before," he ground out. "So. You are concealing another rebel - this one in plain sight?"

"No!" Charlotte gasped, blushing crimson so obvious a slip.

"No?" Tavington shouted. "'Daniel' is a far cry from 'Thomas', Mrs. Cambridge!"

"It's short for… It's short…" She gasped as she tried to think but the truth was, she just was not as quick on her feet as others in her family, not in tight situations such as this one!

"My grandfather," she floundered.

Tavington leapt from his horse and strode toward her. She quailed when he suddenly stood before her, his fury filled face blazing above hers. Despite her terror, she had to try, she had to convince Tavington!

"My Grandfather was 'Thomas' and sometimes we call Daniel after him." She knew it sounded ridiculous, even to her ears.

Tavington's face twisted with rage and without hesitation, he raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. Charlotte cried out and stumbled back a step. The children began to wail and Gabriel, who had been walking along placidly, began struggling against his ropes in an attempt to get back to his family. Thomas - pushed beyond endurance at seeing his Aunt struck, twisted and managed to free himself from the two Dragoons holding him. With a cry of rage, he ran at Tavington, pulled back his fist and slammed it square on the Colonel's jaw.

Tavington's head snapped back and pain flared in his jaw. Bloodlust surged through him and he curled his lip, turning slowly to face the youth. There was murder in the Colonel's eyes. Thomas was being tackled again by then, this time he was on the ground, with three Dragoons holding him pinned.

"Strike a British Officer, will you?" The Colonel asked, his voice filled with rage as he stared down at the writhing, shouting youth. "For that, you shall hang."

"Oh, no!" Charlotte cried. Pushing past Polly and the weeping children surrounding her, she raced forward and dropped to her knees at Thomas' side, which also placed her in a position of supplication before Tavington. "Please, Sir! Colonel, I beg of you! Don't hang him! He was angered at seeing me struck. Please - Sir! No my boy!"

Tavington frowned down at her. Her frantic grief and ragged emotions were genuine and he wondered if the boy was her son after all. A rebel certainly - but a young boy, having witnessed his mother struck. He tightened his jaw, grinding his teeth as he tried to calm himself enough to make a rational decision, not one born of fury. He glared down at the weeping woman, then nodded curtly.

"Very well," he snapped. "Captain Gordon! Bind him and put him with the others."

"Sir please -" Charlotte reached for Tavington's leg, ready to wrap her hand around his boot in her pleading. "Please -"

"Enough!" Tavington roared. "He is a rebel - and he has struck an Officer! Despite that, I've shown you mercy already, he has escaped a hanging! Be satisfied with that!"

Charlotte's limp arm dropped away from Tavington's boot and she knelt on the ground, still weeping, as Thomas was hauled up and away. He was bound as Gabriel was - with a lead rope attached to the wagon. Gabriel was whispering furiously to Thomas, urging him to calm himself.

Charlotte remained on the ground, too shocked to move as the minutes ticked by. Though she barely noticed, Tavington had departed - he'd mounted and was already riding up the lane toward the Post Road, with many of his Dragoons. Some had remained, to finish the grizzly tasks he had set them. She heard the screaming of the livestock as the Dragoons killed them. And could hear the crackling of her home, burning behind her.

"Madam," Bordon said gently at her side - in her distress, Charlotte had forgotten the Major. His fingers were winding around her arm and he was trying to pull her up. "You need to get up - the house will be ablaze shortly and you are too close. You might be hurt."

"Oh, my boy, what will become of my boy?" She wailed at Bordon as she was lifted to her feet.

"He will be taken to a prison camp, Madam," Bordon informed her. He placed his arm around her waist, turned her, and guided her toward the children, who were clustered in various states of distress around Polly. Charlotte stumbled at Bordon's side, it was only his hold on her that kept her upright. "Come, your other children need you," he soothed. "The carriage is ready for you, I've had the horses hitched to it. Your servants will have to walk, I'm afraid."

"My servants?" Charlotte whispered.

"Those who lived here," he explained. "Their cottages have been destroyed. Now you see - you had far more to fear from us than Continentals. It was pure folly, concealing rebels."

"Oh, God," Charlotte gasped as she glanced around and past Bordon to see that he spoke truly, the cottages were aflame and the workers and wives were milling uncertainly, some were crying and huddling with their distraught children.

"You've not only had your own home destroyed, but that of the families who relied on you to provide for and protect them," Bordon continued. They had reached the children now and Bordon turned Charlotte to face him. "You should be damned grateful. The next time you are tempted to engage in treachery against the Crown, your family might not get off so lightly. I suggest you try for Loyalty to the Crown in future, and I suggest you inform your neighbours thus, also. Furthermore, I suggest you remarry - find yourself a nice Loyalist husband to protect you."

He released her then, and bowed low, before striding away. Charlotte stared blindly, wide eyed and shocked.

"Oh, God," Charlotte whispered.

"Come, Mrs. Selton," Mr. Talene, her driver, said. "The carriage is ready. Let's get you all in it, and get you as far from here as possible. Let's go…"

Charlotte, stunned, took one step, then another and another. Eventually thought and sense began to return, by the time they reached the carriage she had a modicum of strength and resolve. She tiredly ushered the children into the carriage and then went to discuss her next move with her staff. She suggested they accompany her back to Fresh Water - for she had no where else to go, that had large enough grounds to accommodate them all. Some wheel barrows were dragged from the burning barn - and the worker's children placed in them, the fathers would take turns at wheeling them along. With a heavy sigh, Mr. Talene climbed up into the driver seat of the carriage to drive the two horses.

With nothing but the clothes on their backs, they began to make their way from the blazing inferno that once was Drakespar Plantation.


	59. Chapter 59 - Reunion at Pembroke

Chapter 59 - Reunion at Pembroke:

Beth and Elisha were having no luck in their search for a way to cross the river. Every trail they found led to a burned out bridge, forcing them to back track continually. They decided that the time had come to leave the woods and head for the Post Road - which they were both aware would be crawling with Redcoats. Beth kept her excitement to herself. Even though Elisha had turned out to be a Loyalist, he was still in Charlotte's employ and she did not feel she should reveal her inner desire - her hope that the two were discovered by a British detachment, who would take her directly to Tavington.

She was still quite torn, especially each time she thought of her uncle and the torture he'd endured at William's hand. It truly would be for the best to continue on away from any British Companies and to make their way to the Scott's, where she would find the Howard's.

She wasn't certain if she were relieved or disappointed when they reached the Post Road and found it was all but empty of the British. There was plenty evidence of their passage - the two gazed grimly at the burning plantations and those citizens fleeing their destroyed homes. Even those whose harms had not been touched were loading up their wagons and hitching their horses, intending to quietly withdraw from the area. Some could not leave - they had no where else to go.

"I say we head to Pembroke," Elisha said quietly as he they trotted past a slower moving wagon loaded with belongings and children who were evacuating their home. "Go to Pembroke, and then back track to Mr. Scott's plantation that way."

"Alright," Beth eyed the family gravely - the wife, a woman Beth did not know, was weeping into her hanky. The husband's face was stone, and Beth dared not speak to him as she trotted past. "Let's pick up the speed a little, Mr. Miller. I'm feeling a little nervous just now."

"So am I, to be honest," Elisha worried that the people from that area might be quite maddened - unhinged even - and might feel free to attack those who were strangers to them. They had horses, which those on foot might want to steal, so they themselves could flee the area more swiftly. Also, Miss Martin was not from the area and would not be recognised as Mrs. Selton's niece. What if they were questioned, and accused of being Loyalists, by people already on the edge after losing their homes? And Miss Martin only had Elisha for protection.

The two spurred their horses and began galloping along the road, passing yet more wagons. Their pace was too fast for speaking now, but the two exchanged continual, fretful glances each time they glanced over their shoulder to see the pillars of smoke billowing into the sky.

Eventually they slowed, for the closer they drew to Pembroke, the more peaceful it became - no more burning homes and no more panicked people. Some few families were still leaving, and they were being hasty about it too, but their manner was not harassed or grief stricken. They were fleeing what was to come but had not been attacked yet. Many were staying, going about their business as usual, though those tending the fields did watch with wariness as Beth and Elisha rode past.

"I think the British are back there, behind us," Elisha said and Beth sighed heavily in disappointment.

_We could go back_, she felt like saying, but of course she did not. Elisha would let her, she felt it in her bones. But could she truly betray her family so utterly? Betray her uncle, by fleeing to the man who'd caused him such agony? Beth and Elisha eventually approached the too quiet village of Pembroke. Again, the two exchanged a nervous, disconcerted glance, for the small township appeared to be deserted. This was highly unusual for the time of day - it was just after noon. Nevertheless, there was not a soul in sight and it made Beth's skin crawl. They rode their horses slowly, side by side, toward the village. Beth edged Shadow Dancer closer to Elisha, so close that their knees knocked as they rode.

"Where is everyone?" Beth asked in a hushed tone, peering intently at the windows of Mrs. Turnbull's Milliners shop. The heavy drapes - usually only closed for nighttime - were pulled closed. Her eyes fell on the blackened, charred husk of Howard's mercantile. "He was quite thorough, wasn't he?" she said sadly, speaking of Tarleton's firing of the shop. Elisha had no reply - he was busy staring intently to the left side of them, trying to discern if there were occupants in the Apothecary, or was it just his imagination, that he saw a pair of eyes staring back? The deserted town had that sort of haunted feel about it.

"Indoors, locked up tight, maybe," Elisha shuddered, showing his evident discomfort. "Or long gone from here. Why've they abandoned the town, Miss Martin?"

"I don't know…" Beth mused. With a nervous giggle, she said, "I'm a little frightened, I have to admit. It's so quiet - like the calm before the storm. Or do you think I'm being silly?"

"Nah - I feel it too," he replied nervously. "It feels haunted here."

"That's exactly what I was thinking!" Beth exclaimed. "Like I can feel eyes on me… Can you?"

"Yeh," Elisha said shortly, keeping his suspicious eyes averted from the Apothecary until they had passed it.

"I'm sure Mrs. Turnbull was watching us. She's a Loyalist like you, she won't have anything to fear from the British. Why lock herself in?"

"Maybe they're worried that the British won't believe them. Or that it'll be rebels who come through here instead of the British," he replied. "Maybe…" Elisha swallowed so hard, Beth could hear the gulp. "Maybe we should be hidin' too? Maybe."

"Either hide or leave," Beth said. "Let's go to the Coopers shop." The two had been speaking in hushed tones, as though they were afraid to awaken ghosts. "That's Mr. Higgins' shop - he's always been a friend to my Papa. He's off fighting with my father, but maybe we can find a way in and lay low?"

Elisha nodded. They steered their horses further along, and then tied them to a hitching post, before climbing the verandah to the shop. Beth placed her hand above her eyes stared in through the window, but it was quiet and dark within. All she could see was Higgins handiwork - his many casks, all stacked along the walls and in rows in the middle of the floor. She turned the door handle.

"Locked," she said, turning away. She stood against the wooden rail of the verandah and gazed out across the vacant town. "Well. We know that Mrs. Turnbull is home, I just know I saw her curtain move. Maybe we should go and knock on her door, see if she'll let us in."

"She's a Loyalist, you said?" Elisha asked and Beth nodded. "With your da off with the Patriots now, maybe you're better off lettin' her alone. You might not be welcome there."

"You're right," Beth breathed.

"Miss Martin," Elisha came to stand beside her and rested his elbows on the rail. "Do you hear that?"

"What?"

"Horses."

Beth gasped and straightened from the rail, though she still gripped it tight, fearing her knees might buckle as the familiar noise came to them, a rumble in the earth, a thunder carried on the wind.

"Patriots, or British?" She asked softly.

"No way of knowin' either way. If they're rebels though, you're safe. If they're British… What will they do to you, the British? What sort of trouble are you in with them?"

"Nothing bad," Beth said. "At least I think nothing bad."

"You don't know either way? You're da's convinced you'll come to harm with them."

"I might not be that safe, if they're rebels either," she said, suddenly thinking of the warning Harry had carried of John Sumter's intention to take her hostage. "How far away do you think..?" She trailed off.

"Not far," he said gravely, rising to his full height. "Best be gone, Miss Martin. No point hiding like these other fools - if it's the British, they'll be searching every building for Continental stragglers, just as they've been doing with each Plantation. Rebel or British, they'll find you here, so it's best to mount up and slip away."

He began to walk toward the steps, stopping on the first step when he realised she had not followed him.

"What if…" Beth swallowed hard, and pressed her hands to her stomach. "What if… We stayed here?"

Elisha's questioning expression shifted to one of surprise.

"You're trying to get away from Colonel Tavington, aren't you? If it's him, he'll find you, Miss."

"Yes," she nodded. "I think…" Her hands began to shake, her eyes flooded with tears, her cheeks were dangerously pale - Elisha felt certain the girl would faint. Instead, she began to speak, though with her eyes closed, her voice only a hushed whisper, he felt certain she was speaking to herself, not to him. "I think I want him to. No - I know that I want him to. I'm betraying my family, I know I am. But I'm tired of it.. I love him - I can't deny it anymore. I am tired of pretending I'm not. I thought I could shove it all down but I can't… It's all come rushing back and I can't fight it. I don't want to fight it. I don't know why I did!"

"You don't know why?" Elisha asked. The sound was growing louder - the Dragoons coming closer. They would be coming around the bend in the road in only a few short moments, and then Miss Martin would be out of time. If it was the British. If so, her decision would be made for her. But she didn't seem ready to budge, in any case.

"My family," Beth explained, the words wrenching from within her. "I do know why - it was because of my family. I knew I'd be choosing him or them. And I could't let them go. Not knowing that I'd never see them again. I love them so much - but if I choose William, I'll never be forgiven. Especially after what he did to my uncle. I shouldn't even be contemplating this, after what he did to my uncle. But he was a spy and he got caught and he had information they needed - he knew the risks, they all know the risks, on both sides. If my papa catches a Tory spy, will he be any less gentle? I doubt it, I know what he did to Monsieur Bisset. My family won't look at it like that, though. And I shouldn't be either. But I love William. But I'll never be welcomed among them; if I choose William, I'll be dead to my family."

"Who do you choose then, Miss Martin?" Elisha asked. "Because I'd reckon you've got all of one minute to make up your mind. We can mount up, slip behind the Coopers shop, and gallop for the woods before they's get here. But you must choose."

She opened her eyes and Elisha felt a stab of pity for the anguish he saw in those brown depths. She shuddered and gasped, and he reached for her, gripping her right arm to steady her.

"Papa, forgive me," she said softly. Then, more loudly, to Elisha she said, "we shall stay."

"Are you sure we won't be in danger? I'm 'posed to protect you and I've heard them talking - back at Drakespar - they say he'll hurt you."

"Yes, he will hurt me," Beth said, walking forward to the top of the steps to wait for William. "He does nothing but hurt me. But I shall stay, all the same."

"Alright," Elisha said uncertainly.

With her tricorn hat pulled low to shade her eyes from the sun, she leaned sidelong against the post, her gaze fixed on the road as she waited for the Dragoons to appear. He leaned back on the post adjacent, both of them still at the top of the stairs. He seemed at ease, but when Beth glanced at him, she saw he'd pulled a large hunting dagger from its sheath, and was fidgeting with it nervously.

"What's that for?" She frowned.

"I'm 'posed to protect you," he replied.

"I appreciate it, but you will die, if you try to use that against William," she scoffed. "Put it away."

She turned back to study the road, but she heard the sigh of the dagger being slipped back into its sheath.

"Too late now," he said, as the first of the horses began to gallop around the bend. Even if they mounted up now, they would have been seen and they would be run down by the Dragoons. And it was definitely Dragoons, not rebels, she could tell by the sea of green coats rushing toward her.

"No, it's not late," Beth disagreed as she placed her hand on the slanted rail and took a single step down. "Believe me, Mr. Miller, this has been a long time coming."

She fixed her eyes on the figure slightly ahead of the approaching body of Dragoons - the figure she knew, even before she could make out his features, to be Colonel William Tavington.

* * *

A few miles back from Pembroke, the Colonel left Captain Gordon and a guard of forty soldiers to protect the supply wagons and keep watch over the Continental prisoners he had taken from the surrounding plantations. Leaving them behind, he and his seventy Dragoons continued on the Post Road toward the village of Pembroke. Ten minutes later, the village appeared around a bend in the road.

Galloping at the front of the column, he had clear visibility; - no horses or the dust they kicked up blocking his sight. As such - before he reached the first building, he could see the village appeared deserted. There was not a single soul in sight but that did not mean the citizens were not there - they could have locked themselves tight in the shops and houses. Every building would be checked, from the cellars, to the living spaces above the shops. Every outbuilding in all the yards. He would search every nook and cranny, in the hope of finding General bloody Burwell.

He led the way deeper into the village, deciding on a likely place to tie their horses so the search could begin. Finally, he saw his first signs of life in the form of two figures, standing on the top steps of a long verandah. As bold as brass, the young boy and the older man were watching the Dragoons approach.

Good.

He had questions, and these two - father and his son, he assumed - would answer them for him.

"They're in the shops," Bordon called out slightly behind him. The Major had to pitch his voice to be heard above the galloping hooves. "The people," he continued when he saw Tavington had raised his eyebrows in question. "They are hiding - in the shops."

"I assumed as much. Well, they won't be hiding for long," he called back. Then he straightened in the saddle and fixed the two on the steps with a steely gaze. Ignoring the boy, it was the father whose eyes he caught and held. They were a curious pair - these two in their homespun clothing. Why weren't they fleeing? They had two horses tied to a hitching post only a yard from where they stood - surely they had heard the Dragoons approach in time to launch into the saddle and scamper from the town.

Loyalists, perhaps? Perhaps they had information for him. That could be one explanation. Always suspicious, Tavington would reserve judgement on that for now.

The young boy pulled off his tricorn hat, revealing his pulled back blonde hair, as he stepped one step lower, but by now William only had eyes for the magnificent horse that was tied to a hitching rail. Forgetting the pair entirely, he urged closer, excitement flaring. Whether the owner was a Loyalist or not, one thing was certain - he wanted that horse! Even from further back on the road, he'd been able to see that it was a magnificent mount. His knew horse flesh, did William. His own horse - which he had named 'Thunder', was an Arab of excellent quality, but he could easily imagine himself mounted astride this other, as well. His eyes were riveted on the horse to the exclusion of all else.

Beth, who was barely able to speak as her eyes fell on her lover for the first time in nearly six weeks, was on the verge of fainting. Her heart pounding against her chest, she clutched the rail to steady herself as she stared and stared at his handsome but bruised face. However, it was clear he did not recognise her - not in her boys clothes, wearing breeches, all of which were dusty and dirty from the road. Unable to speak to him, she finally found it within herself to move, and she snatched her hat from her head and clutched it to her breast. But by then, William had spied Shadow Dancer and was staring avidly at her. Bordon saw her, however, and was utterly speechless. With a quiet gasp, he stared wide eyed at Beth, whose gaze darted back to William.

"He's mine, Bordon," William stated. He thought that Richard's gasp was for the magnificent Arab. Jumping off Thunder, he strode to the horse and immediately began inspecting the grey lovely with its white dapples. More Dragoons filed in, surrounding them, waiting patiently for Tavington's command. William knew he should be questioning the father and his son, but he was far was too interested in the stallion. With his back to the owner, he lifted the stallion's hind leg to inspect his hoof. It was then that he noticed it was not a stallion, but a mare. No matter, it was a magnificent beast, regardless of its sex.

"Name your price," he said to the father, without turning. Surprisingly, it was not the deep timbre of an older man who answered, but the higher register of a young woman.

"Shadow Dancer is my horse, William, and she is not for sale," the breathless - nervous - voice replied.

William froze - his heart gave a lurch. He knew that voice. He'd not heard it in some time, but he new it just the same. He straightened and, as if he was trying to move through cold molasses, he turned with excruciating slowness, to meet the woman's eyes. He recognised her now, how the Hell could he have mistaken her for a boy?

"Beth," he whispered, his eyes falling upon her beautiful face for the first time in more than a month. He wanted to run to her, to sweep her up into his arms but for the life of him, he could not move. His legs would not work, he was too shocked to do more than take in the sight of her. Her messy blonde locks, tied back into a queue like a boy. Her beautiful face, smudged with dirt as though she'd been out riding. Her eyes, her very wide, dark brown eyes, pooling with unshed tears.

"Hanger tried to take her from me, and I wouldn't let him," she said softly, her voice coming out halted and choked, as though she was trying to hold back sobs. "I won't let you either."

"What…" His mind wasn't working. He wanted to ask what she was doing there, how she'd come to be there, but the words stuck in his throat. Like a dolt, he had stood before her, too stunned to move - too shocked to do anything more than stare. She gasped back a sob and came forward, her hand reaching up to caress his face. Her touch freed something inside of him and suddenly he was moving, reaching for her and then she was in his arms and he was crushing her to his chest, her arms tight around his shoulders, her face buried in his neck as she wept. Her body convulsed in his embrace - Christ it felt so good to be holding her again. It was exactly what he'd been longing for, ever since she'd left him.

"I've missed you, so much!" Her whisper was muffled into his cravat. "God, I love you, William."

"I love you," he whispered back, drawing back slightly to kiss her. With an anguished groan, he kissed her hard - his lips claiming hers. It was exactly the sort of kiss he would have given her had they been completely alone. They were not. They were surrounded by his dragoons. Still, her hands clutched his nape, his circled her waist up under her short jacket.

"I'm so sorry," she said against his lips. Cupping his jaw with her fingers, she held his eyes and stared at him intently. "I'm sorry. For lying, for betraying you. I know I put you in the worst possible position, but I was in the worst possible position also; I had to choose between you and my family and by God, William, that was not easy. I promise though, I won't betray you, ever again. Everything I have is yours, if you still want it."

His eyes softened at her speech, she said this last with such hope, but he could hear the doubt in her voice also. She wasn't completely certain that he did still want her, despite the fact that he cradled her within the circle of his arms, holding her pressed to his body as though he'd never let her go.

"I still want you, Beth," he confirmed and she sagged against him, relief making her knees weak. It was only his hold on her that kept her upright. "I still love you," he whispered, enveloping her, giving her that feeling of security that he sensed she was craving.

"I am sorry," she whispered again.

"So am I," he told her. "I did much to hurt you also. We can't talk about it here."

He shot a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that his milling Dragoons were watching - curious, but not within ear shot. Still, he would not risk speaking of their mutual betrayals or wrong doings before the men, for they would not be sympathetic. Only Bordon knew the truth - the others all believed Beth to be innocent, faithful, a Loyalist like them. Tavington was determined to keep it that way.

"I think all of the buildings are locked," she said, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her gloved hand.

He took hold of her hand and pulled her back up the steps. The man he had thought to be the father of the youth said nothing, though he watched with a grave expression. He could not possibly be Beth's father, for he would not be allowing them an intimate reunion, if he was. Putting the fellow from his thoughts, he crossed the verandah and tried to open the door of the Coopers shop.

"I've already tried that," Beth said, still at his side.

It was locked, but Tavington was not put off so easily as Beth had been. He raised his leg and with one powerful kick of his boot, the door burst inward, shattering around the jam.

"Oh, Mr. Higgins isn't going to like that," Beth fretted but Tavington shrugged.

"Who is this man?" He asked her, indicating Elisha.

Beth met Elisha's eyes. "He is a Loyalist and is in my employ," she said and Elisha inclined his head, accepting her as his new employer.

"See that my Lady's horse is fed and watered," Tavington commanded Elisha. "We'll be moving on soon, I'll want the mare ready for hard travel."

"Yes Sir," Elisha - who had no idea what else to say or do - knuckled his forehead to Tavington.

William was already pulling Beth through the door. He shut it behind them and then glanced around to take stock of his surroundings. Casks of all shapes and sizes, from small ones to hold pepper and larger ones to hold tobacco, were placed all throughout the front chamber. It was not the sort of place to have an intimate chat, but he guessed that there would be a kitchen at the rear, perhaps even a bed chamber upstairs on the next level. That thought caused him to quicken his stride and, with his fingers wound through hers, he strode toward the far door to investigate the chambers beyond.

There were three bedchambers, he discovered when they climbed the rickety stairs and reached the second landing. He pulled her into the first - a simple chamber with a small table, a standing wardrobe and an old bed. He pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed, both turning slightly inward so they could face one another.

"You're quiet," he said as the silence stretched between them.

"I don't know what to say…" She admitted. "It's been so long since we saw one another... All I can think about is how much damage we've done - how much we've hurt each other. I know you had to suffer the repercussion of the failed ambush, the embarrassment and… Well, that was all because of me. And you. All those women, including Mrs. Tisdale, the mother of my dearest friend. I just… After everything we've done to each other, can there really be a future for us?"

"It depends," he said. "Can we forgive each other those betrayals?"

"Can you?" She asked pointedly. "I sent that letter to Burwell. There was so much riding on him coming, and I foiled it before it even began. Can you forgive that?"

He drew a long, deep breath. "If I can't, then it means we can't be together. I don't know that I'll ever forget it, but I want you more than I want to bear a grudge." He stared down at her, watching her face as she processed this. "What of you? Can you forgive me those other women? For Mrs. Tisdale?"

"I think my answer is the same as yours. I've been with you. And I've been parted from you. One brings me joy and the other is pure torture," she said.

William smiled. "I couldn't have said it better myself." He leaned in to kiss her but Beth drew back.

Hearing her own words from her mouth had been like being doused with cold water. 'Pure torture'. She leaned away from him, thinking of her uncle.

"What is it?" He asked, immediately sensing something was wrong. "What are you thinking?"

"I should never have said that word," she said, bowing her head. "Torture. I know what you did to my uncle."

"I see," William said, drawing out the two words slowly. He gazed at her profile, she was staring at her hands, her eyes downcast. "And do you know what your uncle did to Miss Jutland?"

That startled her. She lifted her head, eyebrows down, questioning. "Miss Jutland?"

"You remember her, don't you? Major Bordon's… companion."

"I do. What did my uncle do to her?"

William told her the whole of it, from the tavern brawl to the advice Mark Putman had given John Sumter. Sumter's abducting of Harmony and what he made her do - all sanctioned and suggested by Mark Putman. He spoke of the deaths that could be directly attributed to Mark as a consequence of his spying. The other foiled plans that would have gone smoothly, if not for Mark proving to be a traitor among them. He spoke of Camden, and here, his voice hardened. "They were going to attack a sparsely defended city filled with soldiers sick with the yellow fever. Hundreds of British soldiers would have died, if we had not gained the information in time to thwart their plans. To be frank, it was about time it was their plans be foiled through Putman, rather than our own. If you're looking for an apology, you will not get one, not from me. He was your uncle. I love you fiercely, and I took no joy in harming a man you love. But the things he did… the knowledge he had… I could not stay my hand, not for you. I had to do my duty, and in doing so, hundreds of lives were saved. I took no enjoyment in what I did to him, it was work only. It is war. He chose his side, he chose to serve his country as a spy, he knew the risks. He could hardly cry foul later, and frankly, Beth, nor can you. You knew he was a spy. You knew what he was doing and the risks he was taking, every much as he did. I'm sorry if this brings you pain rather than comfort but I doubt anything I say could give you any sort of comfort, considering. I took no enjoyment from it. I did what I had to do. Just as he did what he felt he had to do. He was no innocent, of that I assure you."

"I know he wasn't," she said softly. "Do you regret it? What you did to him? Do his screams echo in your dreams?"

His face softened. "I regret the necessity. I regret that the man was your blood kin. I regret that I have to do the things I have to do, but as I still have to do them, I do my utmost to keep myself detached from it all. You want me to feel sorrow, remorse, guilt. Perhaps one day, I will. Not now. I can't afford to give in to such, now. As for dreaming… God, Beth, right now, with all I am doing and all I have done, _I try very hard not to dream_."

She pressed her hands to her mouth and held back a sob. She understood what he left unsaid - if he let himself dream, they would be nightmares. "My father said," she began, trying not to cry. "That war makes a man do things he would never do in the normal course of his life. That war can turn a man into a demon."

"Never a truer word was spoken," he said, winding a lock of hair back behind her ear. "My love?" He asked, prompting her.

She knew what he wanted. To tell him all was well between them, despite what he'd done to Mark.

"It's just… my family… they're never going to accept you. Especially now, after…"

"They were never going to accept me anyway," he shrugged.

"And they'll despise me now, too," she said, lifting her chin, her moist eyes fixed on his, her cheeks becoming wet. "They'll hate me now, none of them will speak to me again. Because I am choosing you."

"You're choosing me?" He breathed, understanding the enormity of it. He knew she loved her family, he knew she was devoted to them. Yet in being with him, she would never be welcomed by them again. It was the greatest sacrifice she could give him.

"It wasn't an easy choice. Not with… my uncle. I love you, so much. My family will disown me, as soon as they learn of this," she wound her fingers through his and her next words came out as a choked sob, "you're all I have left in this world now, William. Without you, I'll have nothing."

"I'm all you need, Little Beth," he whispered, pulling her closer to him. "I'm all the family you'll ever need."

"Little Beth," she gasped out a laugh. "Lord, it's been so long since I've heard you call me that."

"And I've missed hearing you call me 'Dear Heart'," he smiled.

"Dear heart," she said. "I love you."

Tavington's breath caught. He held her gaze, and her eyes lost their teasing glint as he leaned up to kiss her again.

"And I love you," he murmured against her lips and she sighed, closing her eyes with contentment. "And I want us to marry," he said. She opened her eyes. "Today," he added.

"Today!" She gasped, her eyes bulging. He laughed at her surprise.

"How?" She gasped, too stunned to do anything but protest. "Perhaps Reverend Oliver will be in his office in the church - but he would not perform the ceremony - not in a million years."

"After I discuss matters with him, I assure you, he will," Tavington said. Beth saw, and recognised, the determined glint in his eye. "I can be very persuasive."

"Oh, I know you can, but I doubt you'll sway him," Beth snorted. "And even if you can - good Lord, we've only been back together for all of five minutes! Besides, I want my family in attendance, when I get married. I want my father to give me away properly and -"

"Your family will never be at our wedding, Beth," his blunt words cut hers off. "You said so yourself, they will never approve this. I'll not wait for acceptance that will never come

"But… The Banns haven't been read and what of our marriage license? We'd need to find a Reverend who will be prepared to marry us without the Banns - and that still doesn't address the matter of the license. Either way - it's not going to happen today, for Reverend Oliver will take no part of it!"

"We don't need him to. As for the banns - I'll not have them posted, only to have your family protest some time between now and the next three weeks. As for the license, I'm certain your Reverend has several in his office just waiting for our names to be added to them."

"I told you, Oliver won't take any part in a wedding between you and I."

"Fine, we don't need a Reverend - Bordon will perform the ceremony."

"Bordon!" Beth gasped, horrified. "He has no authority to do any such thing!"

"You say that because you don't know his history, Beth. You've only known him as a soldier, but initially, he received such education that would allow him to enter the clergy, if he hadn't decided to purchase his commission, instead. He can marry us, Beth. He will marry us."

"Oh," she breathed, shocked.

"Beth, it has to be now. Today. We're barely a mile from your father's home, he could cause us a world of trouble, if we are unwed. I need for us to be married already, so he can make no protest to your being by my side. Your father's interference could prove crippling for us, if the affair isn't already settled."

"Oh," she said said again. "I hadn't thought of that." She gnawed at her bottom lip as she lifted her gaze to his. "There are skirts in my saddlebags," she said. "I'll not wear breeches to my own wedding."

"Very well," he said. "I'll go and get them in a moment."

"We're really getting married?" She asked and he could hear the excitement starting to build in her voice. "Bordon truly has the authority, no one will be able to contest it?"

"Not a soul in the world will be able to contest it," he smiled smiled down at her, his heart swelling to see her face light up with pleasure, to hear the joy in her voice. She stroked his face with gentle fingers and sighed with contentment. In the space of a single moment, William saw two futures laid out before his eyes. A future where they were both faithful; and he and Beth were both content.

And a future with Beth's constant treason, and William's constant infidelity. A future with Linda in it would only lead to misery, for all three of them. In that second, he wondered what they hell he'd been thinking, bringing Linda to camp as his mistress when he'd known in his heart he would be marrying Beth. She was too fiery by far to accept such meekly - she would not tolerate a straying husband. And nor did he want her too.

"What are you thinking, William?" Beth asked, still stroking her fingers along his face. "You've become thoughtful."

"I'm thinking of a clean slate," he replied, taking hold of her fingers and kissing the tips. "You've already promised never to commit treason again -"

"I did?" She asked. "I promised I'd never betray you, not that I wouldn't commit treason." She laughed at the look on his face. "I was joking," she giggled. "Though it is true, I didn't promise I wouldn't commit treason."

"This is no laughing matter," he said, though it was said without anger. "You're a little minx."

"Alright, I surrender. I love you more than anything, and I know that going against the Crown would be going against you, and therefore I shall not. I mean, again. I shall not do it, ever again."

"Thank you," he laid a gentle kiss on her forehead. "And I will be faithful to you," as soon as the words were out, he knew he would hold to this promise - for he had no desire for any other woman. "For I know how much it hurt you, therefore I shall not give attention to any other woman, ever again."

"You better not," she said and he laughed.

"I didn't say 'you better not' when you made your promise to never go against me or the Crown again," he said with equal measures of amusement and incredulity. "I said thank you. It seems to me that I am capable of showing grace, while you are not."

"What do you expect of a rude, mean Colonial like me?"

William laughed. He heaved a breath filled with mirth, then sobered. Gazing down at her, he said, "I vow to make every effort toward making us both as content as possible," his fingers lingered on a stray curl, pushing it from her eyes. "I wish to wipe the slate clean, to start anew."

"I want that, too," she whispered up at him. "And I also vow to make every effort toward making us content. It takes two to make a marriage work."

"That it does," His fingers drifted along her cheek, feeling her soft skin. He'd vowed not to kiss her again until they were married, but that was already dust. He leaned forward and began moving his lips over hers. "I love you, Beth," he whispered, holding her gaze, seeing her eyes glaze slightly at his words. "We'll have a proper wedding some day, but for now, let's just say the words. Alright?"

"Alright," she said.

"You have more appropriate attire in your saddlebags, you said?" When she nodded, he rose. "Wait here, I'll bring them up."

Leaving her back in the room, he took the stairs two at a time, then strode through the store and outside. Shadow Dancer was where Beth had tied her - with Elisha still tending her. Glancing around for Bordon, he saw only Brownlow and Dalton. He beckoned the Officers over.

"I'm getting married today," he said and Dalton's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Where is Bordon? Miss Martin does not believe that her Reverend will perform the ceremony, so Bordon will have to do it."

"Bordon?" Dalton laughed incredulously.

"Not many know this, but before he purchased his commission into the military, Bordon was studying to become a clergyman."

"Bordon?" Dalton asked, laughing again. Brownlow wandered over, his face mirroring Dalton's incredulity. "Did you know this, Patrick?"

"No, I didn't," Brownlow shook his head.

"It's the preferred occupation for a younger son of a gentleman," Tavington shrugged. "That, and purchasing a commission. He chose the Clergy, believing that would offer him a nice, soft life, but a few years into his schooling he finally realised just how dull such a life would be. His father offered him a living at their parsonage but he purchased his commission instead. Still, though abandoned, he did take his orders - "

"Bordon is abandoned," Brownlow interrupted with a titter.

"At times, yes," William agreed. "However, he did take his orders and he would likely be considered a Deacon, at the very least. Enough to satisfy Colonials, at the very least." He sniffed. "If we were in England, I daresay it would be a different thing entirely. But here, Bordon will suffice. Where is he?"

"Searching for strays," Brownlow replied. "Most of the buildings are empty but there are a few families who hunkered down instead of fleeing. We haven't found any Continentals or militia among them yet. Here is Mr. Turnbull," Brownlow said, seeing the man striding toward them. "He's a Loyalist."

"So he says," William curled his lip.

"No, it's true - it was his wife who searched for and found Tarleton, after seeing Burwell at Rutledge Plantation."

Tavington's suspicion sloughed away with that and he was of a far more agreeable disposition when Turnbull was presented to him. They chatted for sometime, though Tavington was impatient to return to Beth upstairs, he stayed to listen to the information Turnbull had. Toward the end of the conversation, it was decided the Turnbull's would attend the wedding, which - William hoped - would serve Beth's desire to have at least one woman present at her wedding.

He retrieved the saddlebags and returned upstairs to his soon to be wife, leaving his Dragoons to continue their search of the village. When he entered the chamber above, it was to find Beth standing at the window. She turned when he closed the door.

"The Dragoons are searching the buildings," she said, looking worried.

"No, truly?" He scoffed, amused. "I didn't realise."

"Droll. Have they found anyone yet? Concealed, wounded Continentals, I mean?"

"No, as it happens."

She looked vastly relieved. "There's something I have to tell you."

"Oh? Sounds ominous." He placed the saddlebags on the bed, then came to stand behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist. She leaned back into him and closed her eyes.

"It's about my father," she began.

"Hmm, I've been meaning to talk to you about him," William said. "I'm told he's quite the presence here on the Santee and in Pembroke, that he could have a thousand men answer his call, if he decided to join the rebels," he nuzzled his lips into her neck. "Has he given any indication, that he might?"

"Oh, William," she heaved a breath. "He already has," she felt him stiffen behind her, heard his sharply indrawn breath. "He finally gave in and joined the Continentals a few nights ago. He is a Colonel now, the same as you."

He was silent for a time, his body as tense as a drawn bow string. "And his intentions?"

"He is to raise and train a militia. And you are right, men are flocking to him. He has at least five hundred already." She looked back over her shoulder at him. "It is my father who relieved Burwell on the battlefield this morning."

"Jesus."

Beth told him as much as she was able, as much as she could recall at that moment. Of Burwell coming in the dead of night, demanding her father join or their friendship would be dust. Of Beth, begging her father to stay out of it, Burwell could remove his friendship, it mattered not. Of Gabriel, interfering, convincing their father to join. Of her father arguing that neither side was 'good', and pointing out about Mr. John Sumter, who had intentions to take Beth captive to make William exchange himself.

"Burwell knew, did he?"

"Yes, someone told him, I don't know who. He told my father. Would you have done it?" She asked, recalling what Miss Jutland had gone through. With a shudder, Beth realised the awful, sordid manner of things she might have suffered at Sumter's hands.

"Yes, Beth, I would have," he admitted. Beth appreciated that he would risk himself to protect her, but she took no comfort in it. She continued speaking about her father, about his finally making the decision.

"It's because he attacked Tarleton's force," she said softly. She wondered if she should tell the full truth, that she had helped to cover for her father by lying to Tarleton, then decided it was best to leave it. She'd vowed never to betray him again or to behave in a treasonous manner - she would not list every single incidence of her committing such treason, any more than he was going to stand there and list every single incidence of his bedding Linda Stokes or Mrs. Tisdale or any other whore. "That was my father. He gathered seventy men, and then attacked Tarleton."

"I see," he breathed.

"Gabriel and Rollins - he is an old friend of my father's - both pointed out that you would learn of his involvement soon enough and that he might hang for it. He might as well join, and if he was to hang, at least he'd hang fighting." She spoke of her father's receiving his new rank and responsibility. When prompted, she told William of Burwell's command that Benjamin lead his soldiers to McDeals, where they were to rebuild the fort there. She spoke of Benjamin returning to Drakespar, that they heard the sound of battle and Benjamin and his five hundred rushed to assist Burwell.

"I was beside myself," she said, "for you. For him. That one of you might die. That one of you might kill the other. I don't know that I'm cut out to be a Commander's wife or daughter. But I'm to be both and the two of you will be set against one another, with me in the middle. Gods, I hate this," she buried her face in her hands, but did not weep. She just needed to close her eyes, to try and get herself together. She felt his fingers on her shoulders, massaging. He asked no more questions, she'd told him what she could for now. All she wanted now, was to change the subject. She lowered her hands, leaned into his touch, and gazed out the window. "I see Mr. Turnbull has made his acquaintance," she said, jutting her chin toward Brownlow and Dalton, and Mr. Turnbull, still below.

"He has indeed," Tavington said, understanding that she needed to drop the topic and allowing it. For now. He would question her regarding her father more later. "He claims to be a loyalist."

"He is," she agreed. "His wife warned Colonel Tarleton that the Continentals were staying at Rutledge Plantation." She turned in the circle of his arms, kissed his cheek, then stepped away from him to search for her clothes in her saddlebags.

"Good," he said, coming to resume his position behind her, his hands again encircling her waist. "For I have invited them to the wedding."

"You have?" She asked, startled.

"It's only right for you to have at least one woman in attendance," he replied and she smiled over her shoulder.

"You're being very thoughtful."

"I'll soon be your husband and when I am, it'll be my legal obligation to be thoughtful," he quipped. "I might as well start now."

"Well then," she grinned up at him. "You can start by leaving this room, so that I can get changed."

He cocked his head, a gleam entering his eye.

"Well?" She lifted her brows.

"What?" He arched his.

"Get out!" She pointed at the door and he laughed again.

"I'm going to see more than your legs tonight, Beth," his voice was filled with promise. "I won't be averting my gaze when I have you in my bed. You might as well get used to it now."

"Lord, you're not going to give me a moment's peace, are you!" She as she left his embraced and leaned up against the wall for support. She lifted one shapely leg and began tugging off one boot, then the other.

"Probably not," he smiled as he watched her, his gaze becoming more intent by the moment. "I have needs and if I'm fated to bed only one woman for the remainder of my life, then no - you shall not have a moments peace."

"You make it sound like a chore. Or a threat, I'm not sure which," she reached up under her jacket and began unbuttoning her breeches.

"No - it's another promise," his voice became thick with desire. "You could do that slower, give me a show."

"You're debauched!" She laughed.

A change was quickly coming over him as his eyes stared at her hands, now pushing the tight fitting breeches down her hips, edging them down her womanly curves. Her jacket was just long enough to cover her sex and seeing her pale, shapely thighs appear beneath her jacket caused his mouth to go dry. Swallowing to work moisture back, he stared at her as a man drowning. Beth was aware of his gaze, and it made her nervous and self conscious. She cast him quick, furtive glances and this only heightened his sudden desire even more. The way she squirmed out of her breeches, keeping her back to the wall to cover her naked rear, the way she huddled over herself to keep her womanhood hidden from view - it all screamed innocence and it was more than he could bear.

The idea of keeping her pure for her wedding night fled from his thoughts. He would take her now. He would claim her as his own - right then and there.

"You appear to be in need of assistance, Madam," he stepped forward and squatted before her to pull her breeches over her feet.

"William…" She gazed down at the top of his head uncertainly as he worked. "You rogue. Pass me my petticoat."

"No." He stood abruptly and pressed his body to hers, backing her against the wall. Cupping her jaw with both hands, he held her still and kissed her insistently, urgently, groaning against her lips as his tongue entered her mouth. It was pure bliss and she melted against him, her hands moving over his Redcoat as she sighed into his mouth.

"Unbutton my breeches."

His words snapped her back to attention. "We can't - not here!" She said, aghast. "In Mr. Higgins room - with your Dragoons scouring the village! They'll know exactly what we're doing in here. Please - we'll wait until tonight, we'll consummate our marriage properly."

"We don't know where we'll be tonight. We could be in a tent," he pointed out. "I'd rather we consummate our marriage in a bed chamber, even one as rude as this."

Pressing his trunk against her, he had her hard against the wall, caged and unable to do more than accept his kisses and attentions. It was exhilarating and her protests soon vanished. His lips moved over hers, causing her to melt in the cage of his arms - her knees were not capable of holding her now but he had her well supported between his body and the wall. She could not fall. His tongue slid between her lips and stroked hers, at the same time as she felt one hand move between their bodies and then the tip of his finger began to stroke her sex. The sudden sensation caused her to moan and she pushed her pelvis hard up against his fingers, her face flushing with warmth.

"Just like that?" He whispered as he quested within her folds and began to circle that sensitive pearl of flesh with one gloved finger. Beth drew a sharp breath and nodded as she gazed up at him with a dreamy expression. "Do you still wish to wait for tonight?"

"No," she lowered her head to his shoulder and grasped his arms with tight fingers. Her pelvis rolled back and forth, circling, working the tip of his finger to heighten her pleasure. With a low growl, he pulled back from her and his hands flew up beneath his Redcoat, to work his belt and buttons open. Beth could only watch in a stunned daze, with her heart pounding as William began pushing his breeches down around his hips.

Once his cock was free, he pressed her against the wall again. Though this time, he gripped her hips and lifted her onto her tip toes, the better to align their bodies. With his breeches around his thighs and her with no breeches at all - he adjusted them both until they were perfectly level from the pelvis, and then the long length of his phallus was pressed against her naked womanhood and Beth's breath caught in her throat.

"Isn't this better than my finger?" His voice was deep and stirring, as the tip of his cock began pushing gently against the knot within her folds.

"Both have their merits," she said and he laughed. Her eyes rolled in her head and her lips parted, her mouth slack and open at the sensations his member was drawing from her core. She was not moist yet - his stimulation of her had ended too quickly but she knew that if he did this for much longer, she would be dripping indeed. "Oh, Lord."

"That's it, my darling," he whispered encouragement. Swallowing hard around the thickness in his throat, he struggled to form the words. "That's it… Yes, move with me…" He closed his eyes and his head dropped back on his shoulders as she joined him, her hips gyrating and rolling as they had against his finger. "No one else will ever do this with you. There's only me now. You'll burn for me and no one else. I'm going to make you crave me, Beth."

"You already do," she whispered breathily and his head snapped forward, his eyes meeting hers.


	60. Chapter 60 - Wedding at Pembroke

Chapter 60: Wedding at Pembroke:

_7 July 1780_

Gripping her hips tight, in one swift movement William laid Beth down against the pillows and covered her with his body. Beyond his ability to think, he worked with quick urgency, parting her thighs with his knee and positioning his phallus at her entrance. "You'll undo me - I can wait no longer!"

He had not checked to ensure she was ready, and when he began to enter her, he knew immediately that she was not. There was some moisture after his short stimulations - but there was nowhere near enough to make the way easy for him. He was beyond his ability to stop now, however. Beth cringed as his crown stretched her and his phallus slid in deeper. As much as she wanted him inside her - it hurt as his cock stretched her and advanced inside.

"Oh, William, please… Please…"

"It will only hurt the once," he assured her, thinking her pleas were those typical to the frightened virgin. He noted her wince, her eyes were squeezed shut, her lip quivering. "My poor darling," he commiserated softly, still misinterpreting the cause of her distress. "The first time is always the hardest. It'll be better next time."

Beth blanched. Guilt curled her spine, making her stomach writhe. He assumed she was a maiden and that it was the loss of her virginity that was causing her pain! Dare she tell him the truth? Dare she tell him where her discomfort truly stemmed from and that her virginity was already gone? Given to Banastre Tarleton - one of his oldest friends…

Raising his hips, William pulled out slightly and the breath hissed between his teeth as he pushed in a deeper, his phallus now half way inside her tight heat, now pushing in further until his pelvis was mashed to hers and he could go no deeper. There, he held himself, in an agony of pleasure. The heat of her quim scorched his phallus, her sheath was tighter than anything he'd known for a long, long time. She surrounded him, pulsed around his twitching cock and the torment of it stopped all rational thought. A great, deep breath rushed from his parted lips, if he'd still been standing, his knees would have buckled.

"So tight - tighter than a fist!" He managed to rasp out. "So hot. By God I love you."

"I love you," she whispered. His eyes held hers, only an inch separating them.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked her. "Should I have been more gentle?"

She stared up at him gravely, then reached up to stroke his cheek. "I love you." That was the only answer she could give, she smiled up at him and stroked her fingertips along his closely shaved cheek. The expression on his face confused her - he looked as though he was in incredible pain - perhaps his advance inside of her had been painful for him as well. "What of you? You look like it hurts…"

"I'm in agony," he said, his thick voice heavy with need. "Agony of the best kind."

"Oh," she understood then - she'd felt it herself, the 'almost' pain that came with need and pleasure.

William began to kiss her - softly, soothing, his tongue stroking hers gently. He reached down and hooked her right thigh up, keeping his hand beneath her leg to support her, then he began to move again, back and forth, edging deeper each time. Eventually they way became easier as her arousal rose and her moisture increased. He assumed her virgin blood was also helping to make her slick inside.

"Agh, yes," he groaned against her lips as his cock glided with ease now. "I've dreamed of doing this with you for so long - and it's everything I imagined. It's more…"

Agreeing wholeheartedly, Beth whimpered - in lust now. With the pain gone, pleasure was mounting and her thoughts and fears began to drift away. He was moving too slowly for her needs - he was being too careful. His solicitousness would have been welcome earlier, but it certainly was not now. She needed him to move! Her lips drifted over his as she gave a few experimental rolls of her hips, causing the Colonel to groan deep in his throat.

"Yes," he whispered. "Just like that. Ah, faster… faster…"

She complied and couldn't hold back a moan of her own. She rolled her hips faster, faster, gasping against his lips and digging her fingers into his Redcoat at the waist. He moved back and forth in a sensual surge, his hot breath puffing on her face.

"Christ this is good," he shuddered as he rocked his hips, driving his yard in and out of her. "Christ. Nothing can match it. Not a damned thing."

Hooking his free hand under her left thigh, he guided her leg to join the first, wrapped around his waist.

"William…" She breathed, enjoying this new angle thoroughly.

"Yes, my darling. Show me how much you love having my inside you…"

"Mmn… mmmmnnn! I do! I do! Lord, how you fill me!" She replied between frantic kisses, her tongue duelling his.

Tavington's eyes rolled, the burning pleasure in his groin so strong. He had taken what was his - finally! - he'd claimed her virginity. The thought sent him wild, his love for her overwhelmed him. It made him want to promise her anything, anything she desired, anything in the world, as long as their magnificent coupling never ended.

"I'll do anything for you," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. He continued to rasp out his promises as he thrust deeply, his corona butting her cervix. "I'll give you everything you desire," his voice, panted between kisses, was low and husky. "I'd do anything to please you," to hear his rasped promises, she groaned against his lips and rolled her pelvis in time with his thrusts. "You say you'll have nothing without me? My darling, I'll be your everything," he swore, acknowledging her sacrifice now, for she had given up her family for him - she had no one but him. He would have to take care of her, and he would have to do it well, to help her forget what she had given up.

"You already are, oh, William!" She moved and writhed beneath him, her cheeks hot and flushed, her hair in utter disarray from the frenzied coupling.

"I'm going to show you so much tonight," he promised, his movements never ceasing. Beth tightened her hold on him and arched her back as she writhed and panted. She seemed close - in only another moment, he'd feel the ripples of her orgasm convulsing around his shaft. Excitement scalded him - excitement that he would feel her come in any moment. He was barely holding on himself - waiting for her to climax around his phallus first before releasing the torrent inside him. "I'll show you everything. You'll take me in your mouth, I'll pleasure you the same. My darling, I'll taste you, I'll lick you 'til you scream!"

"Oh, God!" His erotic words made Beth cry out, and she clung to him as his thrusts shoved her further up the pillows. Their bodies slammed together as her mind feasted on the vision he'd created, of the two pleasuring each other orally. She couldn't think of anything better, she wanted to do it right now! Wanted to feel his tongue on her, wanted to suckle him, to make him lose control. Warmth suddenly suffused her entire being and she was lifted to an amazing height were she exploded, an inferno blazing outward from her womanhood, through her body to her head and her toes. Again it blazed and again, the walls of her canal rippled around his cock with each pulse. It was so much more than anything she'd ever felt before and it made her want to let loose a wild scream. Her head was thrown back and William's hand was pressed to her mouth, holding back her cries. Even still, he pounded into her, making guttural, animalistic noises.

"Christ, I can feel it! Agh, I can't hold back - Christ!"

At the apex of his pleasure now, he clutched her waist as his hips drove his cock into her, setting a brutal, unrelenting rythym. He had not meant for their first coupling to be so rough but feeling her orgasm convulse around his phallus drove him to madness. He reached past her blindly to grip the head board, his fingers finding purchase in the rough wood. Holding his breath, he clenched his jaw as his orgasm exploded, his balls constricting and the heat at the base of his shaft blazing up the long length out, spurts of pleasure spilling deep inside her.

Gasping now, he collapsed atop of her and buried his head into her neck.

* * *

In a daze, he still lay atop Beth on the small bed, was still buried deep inside her. Eventually he became aware of his surroundings - the small bed chamber, the birds singing outside the window, the voices of his Dragoons outside. And Beth's hand stroking his hair as though _she_ were soothing _him_. Surely she was the one who needed soothing after he had taken her so roughly.

"I'm sorry, my darling," he said as he lifted his head to stare down into her beautiful face. "I had wanted to go slow and gentle with you."

"Lord, I feel as weak as a new born lamb," she whispered. "I won't be able to walk - or sit in Shadow Dancer's saddle - after this!"

"Such is my prowess," William chuckled, then continued more seriously, "I'll be more gentle with you tonight, I promise."

"Tonight," she smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed from the glow of after-pleasure. "We'll do those things, like you promised?"

"We will," he laughed down at her. "Lord, you are a lusty little thing."

"I want to do all of it with you, William," she reached up to stroke his face, hovering so close to her own. "I can imagine how wonderful it will be."

"So can I. I've been imagining it since the first time I met you. Tonight will be…" he paused a drew a deeply contented breath. "Rapture. Lord, I've been with many women Beth, but I've never felt so sated as I do now…"

"You look surprised by it," she cocked her head to one side. "You do realise it was so much more because you love me, don't you?"

She was worried that - despite his promise - he would still stray from her. That he would never be completely faithful to her and so she felt the need to ensure he understood exactly why he felt so much more sated with her, than he'd ever felt before. He'd never loved those other women - it was the missing ingredient. Perhaps, if he knew that, he would keep his promise.

He arched an eyebrow in surprise, then nodded slowly, agreeing with her.

"Yes… I do believe you're right," he leaned in to kiss her with a heart felt sigh.

"You won't feel so satisfied by anyone else," she told him. She thought of how much more it had felt for her just now, much more than when she'd been with Banastre. Guilt surged inside her again, for she could not tell the truth of that. She continued, "and neither will I, I suspect."

"No. Nor will you have the opportunity," he said firmly. "You're mine - I won't let another man within ten yards of you."

"That will make dancing at balls interesting," Beth laughed up at him. "Or will you make sure I only dance with your Dragoons again, as you did that night so long ago?"

"Maybe not even my Dragoons - not after I saw them ogling you in those damned breeches."

"They were not!" Beth giggled.

"Well, Miss Martin, is it time to get married now?" He asked her after a moment. He rolled his hips, his still hardened member glided inside her. "Time to become Mrs. Tavington? Or linger we stay here a little longer?"

"I could stay here with you all day," her eyes rolled and her expression became dreamy as she met his slow thrusts. William's lips began to move over hers, a gentle brushing. That would be the way of it this time, he decided - he would keep their coupling gentle all the way throughout, he wouldn't lose control and slam into her the way he had a few moments ago. His lips drifted from hers to her neck, and he tugged at her jacket, trying to open the buttons one handed, with the need to free her breasts.

However, before their coupling had a chance to continue further, they heard heavy footfalls in the corridor, getting closer. Tavington paused, holding himself still inside her, wary that someone might barge in and see them as they were, Beth's bare legs spread akimbo with Tavington between them.

When the doorknob rattled, Tavington cursed.

"Don't come in!" He barked. "I'll be out shortly!"

"I demand to know what you are doing in there with Miss Martin!" Came a man's deep voice, filled with outrage. Hearing this voice made Beth squeak with fright.

"It's Reverend Oliver!" She whispered frantically.

"Damn and blast him!" William spat. Before he could demand the Reverend leave, the door handle jiggled again.

"I'm coming in!" Came the warning.

His eyes on the door, Tavington launched away from Beth, who leaped from the bed and snatched up her petticoats. Without shifting his eyes from the slowly opening door, William began stuffing his sticky slick and hard phallus back into his breeches, buttoning them without looking down. The door swung wide, while Tavington was still buttoning his breeches, and before Beth could do anything with her petticoats. Oliver filled the doorway, his wrath filled face shifting to fury at seeing the couple trying to dress.

Assuming a relaxed stance, Tavington straightened himself to confront the Reverend. Beth, by contrast, was in a frantic state. She began to cry as she stepped into her skirt. With her vision blurred, she could not see properly and her petticoats kept getting in the way - she began to trip and lose balance. Tavington - his eyes locked on the Reverend's - reached out and steadied her with his hand on her arm.

"Stop panicking, Beth," William commanded softly. "We've done nothing wrong."

Beth choked back a gasp. She sat heavily to the edge of the bed, and began stuffing her petticoat into her skirt before pulling it up her legs. This way, she did not hop around or trip. She still sobbed however, to have been caught in bed with a man by her Reverend - it was as bad as being caught by her father! And he was bound to tell her father, as well! That upset her even more and she dropped her face into her hands and wept.

"Judging by her hysteria, Miss Martin obviously agrees with you, Sir," Oliver's voice was bland but Tavington could hear the sarcasm and disgust. "Or perhaps you forced yourself on her? Is that the cause of her tears?"

"I did not force myself on her," William ground out. "She is crying because you have seen what you should not have. How dare you barge in on us?" He wondered where they hell his Dragoons were - how did Oliver march through the building unchecked?

"How dare I? I am this girl's Reverend! That is 'how' I dare! I am responsible for her virtue when her father is not present! The very virtue which came under threat because of you! For you are Colonel Tavington, are you not?"

"I have that honour," William confirmed.

"If I were you, I wouldn't call it an honour at all. First you almost ruin her, and now you've taken her virtue entirely! She is utterly destroyed now!"

"In a few short minutes, Miss Martin will be Mrs. Tavington," William ground out. Glancing toward Beth, his expression softened. She'd pulled her knees to her chest, her skirt was still not on properly but she barely seemed to notice as she cried into her knees. "Darling," he whispered. Ignoring Oliver, he stepped closer and knelt before her to stroke her hair and soothe her. "Calm down, my love."

"And who, do you imagine, will be performing the ceremony?" Oliver asked tartly.

Remaining on his heels before his sobbing beloved, Tavington shifted his gaze to the Reverend, his eyes pinning the other man in the doorway.

"You will," he said softly, testing the man. There was mettle in his voice and Oliver heard the threat there.

"No, I will not," he said, ignoring the risk of violence. "A union between the two of you would be an abomination."

"An abomination!" Tavington bellowed. Furious, he lurched to his feet. "You dare!"

Beth's heart pounded and she wrapped her arms around her head as the two men began to yell at one another.

"I dare!" Oliver cried. "You've done nothing but manipulate and plot your way in to Miss Martin's life and her fortune! You do not have her father's permission - far from it! Mr. Martin has done his level best to keep you from his daughter, I'll not go against his wishes now!"

"You'd let a woman of your own parish, who has just lost her virginity, remain unmarried when the man who took her virginity is willing to marry her?" William cried, incredulous. "If that is so, don't you dare prate about being concerned for her virtue!"

"Argue how you will, Sir, I will not perform this ceremony," Oliver ground out.

Tavington tightened his lips. The Reverend was resolved, Tavington did not think he could be swayed with anything short of physical violence. Perhaps not even then. He glanced down at Beth, who had not calmed in the slightest. The only reason he'd been arguing to have Oliver perform the ceremony, was for Beth's sake. He understood she would prefer it, over Major Bordon.

"It matters not, we'll still be married," William said, kneeling before Beth again. He pulled her arms from where they were curled over her head, then lifted her tear streaked face to meet his gaze. "Darling, it matters not. We don't need him. You need to wash your face, I won't have you crying at your own wedding. Come my love," his tone was soothing, and he pulled her gently to her feet to finish dressing her. He tugged her skirts up the rest of the way, moved behind her to tie them, while whispering assurances to her. Beth kept her gaze averted from Oliver, who watched the two with mounting disgust.

"This will not take place in my church," he said, when the meaning of Tavington's words became clear.

"And how will you stop me from entering?" William shot back.

Oliver worked his jaw. He had only been allowed admittance when he had declared himself as the Reverend for the county and he realised now that it was because those two Dragoons guarding the shop were under the mistaken belief that he discuss the wedding ceremony with Beth and Tavington. There were seventy more Dragoons out there, searching houses and rounding up those they believe might be rebels. Seventy Dragoons were more than enough to stop him from protesting Tavington entering his church.

"By what right does this Bordon fellow have to perform a wedding ceremony?" He asked, having heard Tavington whisper that he would have Major Bordon preside. "Is he a clergyman?"

"He trained as such before purchasing his commission," William squatted before Beth and urged her to put her boots on. She sat heavily to the bed, her face a misery, and William had no choice but to perform the task for her - even down to tying the laces.

"I have never heard of a Major performing duties of a clergyman before," Oliver said, defiant.

"He doesn't. But he is enough to serve my purposes," William continued. "Besides, he is an Officer in His Majesty's army, he is an agent of His Majesty, and that is all that I care about."

"An Officer who abandoned his training for the military, then," Oliver said, aghast. "I doubt very much he has been invested with the authority to perform wedding ceremonies! A Kings man he might be, but a man who abandons his studies can not be considered to be a Clergyman!"

"Enough!" Tavington roared, pushed behind his limit. "If you will not relent, then I will do what I must! Beth and I will be married before we leave Pembroke! Now, will you do it, or not?"

"No," Oliver raised his chin in defiance. "I will not. And if your Major does it - you will not be wed - not legally. Do you hear me, Miss Martin? You will not be legally married in the eyes of God."

"Please, Reverend Oliver?" Beth whispered brokenly, finally meeting his eyes. "You say it's important that I marry, and you and papa both keep betrothing me to men I do not want, but I never complained, I would have married Harry. I would have married George. Why can't you let me marry the man I want?"

"Who the devil is George?" Tavington spat.

"He was to be her saviour, after you destroyed her," Oliver ground out. "But the British hanged him." To Beth, he said, "do you remember that, Miss Martin? Do you remember what the British did to your fiance?"

"That was Colonel Tarleton. Not Colonel Tavington," she said, desperate for Oliver to not judge all the British by one Officers actions. "I have been dutiful. To my father. To his wishes. Even he said no more. He would not push the issue, anymore. I have need of a husband, but he isn't going to make me marry a man of his choosing. So let me choose. I love William, I want to marry him. What we did just now might get me with child!"

"What you did just now will break your father's heart," Oliver replied implacably and Beth blanched. "It will break - his - heart, Beth. He will never forgive it - not this. He will never see you again, he will never speak to you, of that I have no doubt."

"I know," she grieved.

"She doesn't need him," William said firmly. "I will care for Beth - she is my responsibility now. If you are not going to help us, then be gone. I won't have you interfering, you will be contained outside the church until it is done."

Leaving Beth alone for a moment, he grabbed Oliver's arm and hauled him bodily into the corridor, then marched him downstairs and through the Coopers shop. Once outside, he shoved the Reverend away from him and Oliver struggled to keep his balance, he almost tripped down the steps.

"Guard him!" He snapped at a very startled Dalton, before whirling back inside. In the kitchen, he found a large basin which he filled with water. He carried to up to Beth, she was where he'd left her, huddled on the bed.

"Come, little Beth," he called as he placed the basin on the table and sat beside her. "Let's get you washed up."

She made no protest as he wrung out the cloth and began wiping her face, cleaning away the dirt and tears. He then picked up the brush and sat behind her to work the bristles through through the golden tangles.

"There, that feels nice, doesn't it?" He asked gently - soothing her as he worked.

"It does," she whispered. William tightened his lips - Beth sounded forlorn and lost and it made him want to pound that damned Reverend into bloody pulp. He continued brushing her hair until it shone, before pulling the ribbon from his pocket and tying her hair back in a simple plait.

"Everything is going to be fine," he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back into his chest. "I love you and I'm going to take you far from here."

"Do you promise?" She asked woodenly. "Far from here? It's been so horrid here, I don't want to be here anymore..."

"I promise - I told you, I'll do anything to make you happy," he kissed her neck and she leaned into his lips with a relieved sigh. "There, you look like my beautiful little Beth again," he said, trying for cheer to life her spirits. He hated to see her so melancholy. "Are you ready for us to be married now?"

"I am," she rose to her feet and held her hands out to him. He took them and, with his arm around her waist, they left the chamber.

* * *

The Dragoons who were to attend the wedding filed into the church, with Mr. Turnbull and Mrs. Turnbull, who took seats at the front. They were considered her guests, the only people of her families acquaintance in residence. She wished Colin had ridden with William but he was still with the rest of the Legion. The Middleton twins and Arthur Simms were with James Wilkins, who was elsewhere chasing down rebels. The woman, Mary, Rebecca, Sarah, Emily, they were all with the Legion, also.

Standing before the assembled crowd, Beth tugged William's arm.

"We will be reunited with the Legion shortly," she said, gazing up at him. "We could wait until then, couldn't we? Mary would be able to attend then. And Sarah, Rebecca and Emily. It would only be a few more days, wouldn't it?"

"I'm sorry, Beth, but for the reasons I've already given you, we dare not wait," he replied. "Look, we'll say the words, we'll be married, and later on, we'll have a proper wedding - one worthy of you, with all your friends present - with half of Charlestown in attendance. It will be lavish. Your dress will be the finest silk gown. You'll look beautiful - with a jewelled net in your hair and you'll be bedecked in gems - everything will be perfect, I promise."

"You promise?" She stared up at him.

"I promise," he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, uncaring of the assemblage behind them. They were there to be married, displays of affection should not be frowned upon here.

Richard took up position in front of the pulpit, facing the congregation, while Tavington and Beth stood side by side facing him. Beth wasn't certain what to expect from the Major - he might have trained for the Clergy previously but he was a soldier now, who openly kept a mistress. Would he treat her wedding with the seriousness the ceremony occasioned?

Had he even performed a wedding before? Beth thought not. Not with how nervous Bordon appeared. Sweat beaded his brow and he quickly dabbed at it with a handkerchief. Beth stifled a groan. He stared at the bible as if he wasn't even certain which page he should read from. When Bordon began, she breathed a sigh of relief for he spoke seriously, and earnestly, he would do her ceremony justice. He began with a prayer, then led into the beginning of the wedding.

"Matrimony - It was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."

He paused as the strictures required him to, though he highly doubted any would come forward to speak against the wedding. The Reverend was being kept back by the Dragoons outside, and under no circumstances would any of the rebel villagers be allowed admittance to the church. He continued on with the speech, gravely informing the couple that now was the time to lay their souls bare to the other, to disclose the secrets of their hearts to the other, for if there were such secrets that would impede them to be married, then they may not be lawfully joined in Matrimony if they did not confess these secrets now. He said the words with gravity, though he did not expect either to give any form of response - to make any such confessions that would prevent the wedding to continue, and when they did not, he again continued by rote, onto the next stage of the nuptials. Without a thought to the grief it would cause Beth, he asked the gathering, "who gives the bride to this man?"

He wished he could have had the words back as soon as he saw Miss Martin's face twist in despair - for her family was not present - there was no father to 'give her away'. Tavington froze, not quite certain exactly how to redeem the situation as Beth's eyes brimmed with tears. Bordon felt a wretch, a cad, worse than offal.

"She has given herself to me, willingly," William, taking hold of her hand and kissing her fingers, continued softly for her ears alone, "I know it was the hardest thing you've ever done, and I love you all the more for it."

She smiled tremulously. The terrible moment had been saved and with an embarrassed cough, Bordon continued.

"Miss Martin, please place your hand in mine," he said, holding his hand out to her. She complied, placing her gloved hand into Bordon's. "Please face each other," he commanded while holding Beth's hand, finally approaching the most important part of the ceremony - the speaking of the vows. The smiling couple turned to face one another. Beth was in such rapture now, she seemed to have quite forgotten her riot of emotions caused by the quick, forced wedding. By now, her expression could only be described as euphoric as she gazed up at Tavington for all the world as though she was at the alter of the most ornate church while wearing the finest silk wedding gown, rather than in cotton skirts with her heavy boots in the small village church.

"Please repeat after me," he said to Tavington while, with exaggerated slowness, he placed Beth's right hand into Tavington's right. "I, Colonel William Tavington take thee, Miss Elizabeth Martin, to my wedded Wife."

"I, Colonel William Tavington take thee, Miss Elizabeth Martin, to my wedded Wife," William's crisp voice rang out through the church for all to hear as he gazed down into Beth's ecstatic eyes. His lips were curved in a slight smile and Beth's eyes became hooded, her breath caught. He continued, repeating Bordon's words when the Major prompted him. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

"Loosen your hands," Bordon instructed and they did so, only to take hold again for Beth to repeat Bordon's words. Her voice rang through the church as loudly and clearly as Tavington's had.

"I, Miss Elizabeth Martin take thee, Colonel William Tavington, to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

Bordon found he was now faced with another dilemma - for they had arrived to another pivotal moment in the ceremony - the wedding band was now supposed to be placed on Beth's finger. The Major hesitated, thinking furiously through his options. He himself wore a thick band of gold, but it was far too large for a woman to wear. Nevertheless, it was too important to overlook. Just as he began tugging off one glove to remove the ring and hand to Tavington, the Colonel began fishing in one the pockets in his Redcoat. Bordon stared in incredulity as a sparkle of gold caught the sunlight streaming through the windows, glinting off a gold wedding band. The bride was no less shocked - Beth's eyes bulged as she stared at the ring held lightly between the groom's forefinger and thumb.

"Did you think I would not come prepared?" Tavington smiled. "I've planned for us to marry immediately, before I even left Charlestown."

"You did? Oh…" Beth breathed, her eyes on the ring. "It's beautiful…"

"It was my grandmother's, and it's yours now," William said. Then he nodded curtly at Bordon to continue. The Major missed a beat or two as he stared incredulously at the ring, then he cleared his throat.

"Say after me, With this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Beth swallowed and stared down at her hand, barely noticing the dirt under her fingernails as Tavington took hold of her fourth finger and placed the ring at the tip.

"With this Ring I thee wed," he began, as he slowly slipped the ring along her finger to the knuckle. "With my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Beth choked back a gasp as the ring was positioned, her hand still lightly held by William. Her face flushed was exultant now, for it was done - they were married. The Dragoons and Mr. Turnbull watched solemnly, Mrs. Turnbull dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, Tavington and Beth were both holding their breath, expectant and waiting for Bordon to announce the most important part of the ceremony.

"I now pronounce that you be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Beth gasped and threw herself against Tavington, almost bowling the Colonel over as her trunk hit his and her arms were thrown around his neck. He returned her embrace, patting her back gravely as she cried into his cravat.

"There, there," he soothed, rocking her as she sobbed. "See? It was better this way…" he murmured, believing it whole heartedly, that the rushed, forced wedding was better than waiting and courting disaster. Beth's emotional sobs began to subside and she dropped back on her heels to wipe her tears, feeling a little silly for crying before all the hardened Dragoons.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Tavington," Brownlow was the first to call her by her married name.

"Mrs. Tavington," she whispered dreamily, seeming to float where she stood against Tavington, who continued to run his hands along her back. His expression was just as bewildered as Beth's. She raised her head from his chest and looked up at him. "We're married!"

"And you wanted to wait," he scoffed.

"No, I wanted to have a grand wedding," she corrected him. "I didn't want to wait."

"That will come," Tavington stated, then to Bordon, he said, "thank you, you remembered the words remarkably well."

"You're welcome," Bordon replied. "But don't get any ideas. I left the Clergy behind me, William. I am retired as military minister."

Tavington smiled as he wound his arm securely - possessively - around Beth's waist. Mrs. Turnbull came up and embraced Beth, then held her hands as the two chatted, Mrs. Turnbull saying that, while unorthodox, it was a lovely wedding. Many shaking of hands and congratulations later, Tavington turned from his men and Mr. Turnbull to address Beth.

"We shall record our wedding in the ledger, and then be away," Tavington glanced over his shoulder and saw the large, heavy ledger in which all important ceremonies were recorded, and he released Beth only for the time it took to write his and Beth's name on the pages. His men were waiting outside by the time he finished. Winding his arm around her waist again, the two walked back down the aisle, into the bright sunlight outside.

As soon as they emerged into the daylight, the Dragoons and the Turnbull's began throwing rice over them, much to Beth's delight. The rice was likely the Turnbull's doing and she was grateful, it was one more tradition that made her wedding feel that much more authentic. She shared an ecstatic smile with her new husband.

Elisha had bought the horses to the church, he was standing beside them, looking uncertain.

"Can I come with you?" He asked Tavington as Beth gave Mrs. Turnbull her final farewell. "I was in Mrs. Selton's employ but I'd rather be in yours. I can look after Miss Martin's mount for her."

"Mrs. Tavington," William corrected. Beth put her foot in the stirrup but before she could move forward, William had to hoist her up into the saddle.

She laughed down at him and said to Mrs. Turnbull, "he thinks I'm made of spun glass."

"He'll learn better," Mrs. Turnbull replied. "But let him think of it for a while. New husbands are always so attentive. Make the most of it."

"Ooohhh, that sounds ominous," Beth giggled and Mrs. Turnbull grinned back. As Mrs. Turnbull asked Beth where she was going and if she and the Colonel would visit sometime, William turned back to Elisha.

"A Loyalist, are you?" He asked.

"I am, Sir. And I'd rather serve Mrs. Tavington than Mrs. Selton and she did say I was in her employ now. I can be your steward, perhaps."

"We shall find something for you to do," William said. "I believe you would prove quite useful," he nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, come if you wish. Wait here while I organise a small guard to escort my wife from the town."

"What? Where are you going?" Beth asked him as he began to stride away.

"My business here is not yet done," he replied. "I need to complete what I came to do. Wait for me, I will be along shortly. Mr. Turnbull," he gestured and Mr. Turnbull came running.

"My husband did his duty, Mrs. Tavington," Mrs. Turnbull said. "He has let your husband know who can not be trusted in this village. The Colonel will need to question them and… Well, would you like me to come and wait with you?"

"Oh…" Beth watched her husband stride with purpose, Mr. Turnbull rushing to keep up. Other Dragoons fell in with him and she caught side of a man - Mr. Abernathy, she thought - darting away behind one of the buildings. "Yes, please Mrs. Turnbull. If you would be so kind."

"Of course."

Mrs. Turnbull walked beside the horse, she held on to one of straps tied around Shadow Dancer's neck. She chatted, keeping her voice upbeat as she spoke of how wonderful it was that Beth had married the Colonel, that her previous fiance's had never been suitable, no matter what her father thought. She was trying to distract Beth from what William was doing to their neighbours back in the village.

"Doesn't it bother you?" She asked the woman. "We know those people. They are our neighbours."

"They are rebels, Miss Mart - ah, Mrs. Tavington, sorry. They are rebels and no neighbours of ours."

"Oh," Beth shifted her gaze back, shocked by the firmness of the older woman's beliefs. A short while later, Brownlow and three more Dragoons stopped and stood guard over Beth and Mrs. Turnbull outside the village, Beth couldn't help but notice Elisha Miller - astride his horse - staring sternly back the way they'd come. Beth dismounted she was no longer towering over Mrs. Turnbull, who was still chatting in that upbeat way, as if the lives of their neighbours weren't being upheaved. After a while, she could hear screams. She stared wide eyed above the trees as smoke began to rise into the sky.

"What's happening?" She asked tremulously, cutting off Mrs. Turnbull. She mounted again, hoping for a higher vantage but could not see any more than before. She stared at those black, billowing clouds rising high above the village.

"Judging by the smoke, I'd say that Colonel Tavington has unearthed himself some rebels," Brownlow said gravely.

"But… what… what of a trial? How does he know who is a rebel and who is not?"

"My husband is guiding him," Mrs. Turnbull said. "And we've been keeping a very close eye on our neighbours for months now. We know who can be trusted and who is a traitor."

"But… it has to be proven, surely? What if you're wrong?" Beth asked desperately.

"He would not be punishing them if he was not sure," Brownlow replied.

"If I am entirely truthful," Mrs. Turnbull said at Beth's stirrup, "this is distressing for me, too. More distressing than I thought it would be. But lass, they made their choice to betray the Crown. They knew what they were risking."

Brownlow and Elisha, the other Dragoons, they were all nodding. Beth was the only one on the verge of weeping, conflicted as she was.

At length, a very cold faced Tavington appeared at the head of the column of Dragoons. There were no Continental prisoners in their midst, no rebel prisoners at all. Beth swallowed hard, understanding the implications immediately. For there could be no doubting it - the rising smoke and the screams she'd heard - those were indications that rebels had been found. As none were taken prisoner, William must have… Gods, he must have… Beth closed her eyes, then snapped them open, not wanting to see the vision emblazoned across the lids - that of hanged men.

He drew alongside of her.

"Not my Reverend," she said, her voice catching. "Gods, William, not Reverend Oliver -"

"I would not hang a Clergyman," he replied and the weight of his words crashed home. That there had been hangings. He cupped her face and leaned in to kiss her. "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice was filled with concern. "You're not too upset over what they said to you?"

"Of course I am," she whispered. "These are people I knew, people I grew up with!"

"People who have reviled you, these last few weeks," he pointed out and she drew a sharp breath.

"Gods, that's not why you did it, is it?"

"Abuse my power like that?" He snorted. "No, Beth. Only those who were proven to have committed treason were punished. I beg you, don't you think about them, Beth. We were married today, it should be the happiest day of our lives, shouldn't it? Don't let this ruin it."

"New wives must be as indulgent as new husband's," Mrs. Turnbull said, as if to herself, but Beth knew the woman was giving her advice. She glanced down at her. "You married a powerful man, Mrs. Tavington. One who must do his duty, no matter how difficult it might be for us women to bear." Mrs. Turnbull held Beth's gaze, before finally releasing it and turning away. Mr. Turnbull was approaching to lead his wife back, she went to join him.

"Can we just leave now?" Beth asked, not knowing what else to say. William nodded.

"That we can, my darling," he said, taking a hold of her reins to guide her horse. He signalled and his Dragoons fell in behind them, with Elisha riding at the rear.


	61. Chapter 61 - Benjamin Attacks

Chapter 61 - Benjamin Attacks:

Shortly after leaving Drakespar, Benjamin and his militiamen began encountering other American soldiers in the woods - both Regulars and militiamen, fleeing the battle. There was safety in numbers and Benjamin gathered those stragglers to him, swelling his ranks considerably. A few of them had horses, but many did not - and it was necessary for those to run as best they could through the woods, along the trails. Benjamin's numbers swelled from the twenty who had set out from Drakespar, to some thirty five or forty by they time they reached Pembroke.

On a hidden forest trail which skirted the main Post Road, the militiamen stopped to rest the few horses, and to discuss their next move.

"No point in going into the village," Benjamin said to his Captains, while others of their number began retreating into the woods aways to attend the call of nature. "Judging by the plantations we've passed, I'd say the Dragoons are in the area - they could be in the village itself at this very moment."

"Yes, it would be foolish in the extreme to head into Pembroke now," Captain Rollins agreed. "I say we keep to the woods as much as possible, and skirt around the village."

"Agreed," Curly nodded. They discussed their options for a little while longer, and were just about to call the men back in to continue their journey to McDeals Fort, when to Benjamin's astonishment, Samuel and Nathan burst out of the trees into the clearing. They were breathing hard, frantic and panting.

"What the devil?" Benjamin gasped, striding quickly to Nathan and Samuel. "What's happened -"

"They've got… Gabriel… And Thomas…" Nathan panted.

"What the Devil?" Benjamin barked. Rollins and Curly stiffened. Higgins and the other Captains crowded in closer to hear.

"Found… Gabriel." Nathan gasped.

"They… took Thomas…" Samuel said between the breaths he was trying to catch. "And burned… Drakespar!"

"Good God!" Benjamin took a step back from the boys, reeling. "What… Gods, first thing first. Where is your Aunt Charlotte and the children?"

"In a carriage… going to… Fresh Water… They're fine," Nathan said.

"And Thomas and Gabriel, do you know where they're being taken?"

"We passed them," Samuel said. "They're… back there… a half mile… up the road. Coming… this way."

"How many?" Benjamin snapped.

"Prisoners? Gabe and Thomas, and a dozen… Continentals and… militia."

"How many Redcoats?" Benjamin said, seizing Samuel's shoulders.

"Two score," it was Nathan who replied. "Supply wagons… And prisoner escort."

"Agh, Jesus," Benjamin scrubbed his hand over his unshaved cheeks. "Shit. And the Dragoons - where are they?"

"I… don't know."

"We don't have much time," came the Colonel's grim reply. He turned to his militia force and raised his voice high. "Forty Redcoats, back there on the road - not far from the village," he called and his men listened gravely. "Fourteen captives - including two of my sons. We do not know where the Green Dragoons are. We do know that there are seventy of them - with the Butcher himself leading them. We will attack the prison escort and pray like hell that Tavington doesn't come along in time to stop us!"

"Huzzah!" Came the reply shout. Benjamin glanced down at his sons - Nathan was growing so tall, he was almost as tall as Benjamin. "Get on a horse," he said to Nathan. "Sammie, you're with me," he hoisted the boy up into the saddle. "Let's go get your brothers," he said, climbing up behind him.

* * *

On his stomach, Benjamin slithered forward, edging across the forest floor toward the large boulders which would conceal him when the prison escort approached along the road. He had thirty militiamen and Regulars with him - fifteen on his side of the road and fifteen taking up position on the other, amongst the boulders and trees, facing Benjamin on the slight rise on the opposite side of the road.

The plan was simple. Wait until the British escort was deep into the ambush, then open fire on the bastards. Three supply wagons were approaching, and to Benjamin's astonishment, as they passed Benjamin's place of concealment, it became apparent that they were slowing down. The prisoners were tied to long lead ropes, which were in turn tied to one of the wagons. That was coming to a stop just below Benjamin and several more supply wagons were coming up behind. He could see his sons and the other captives, hands bound together and bound again to the guide ropes, almost immediately below him. Lobsters were leaping off the slowed wagons, they were talking and laughing, jovial and at their ease. In short order, they began to cluster into small groups, digging into rucksacks for food rations. They relaxed their guard, with only four standing sentry. While their fellows enjoyed a repast, two soldiers stood at the front of the column, two at the back, each staring intently up and down the road for signs of danger. They stared up into the trees on the ledges to either side of them, also, but Benjamin's men were concealed well and remained unseen. He could not believe it. Their weapons were near to hand but by Gods, none of them seemed ready to use them.

He met Billings' eyes across the road, his Captain was grinning from ear to ear and shaking his head, as though he could not believe it any more than Benjamin. Ben glanced to his left at Samuel, who was far too young to be there. There was nothing for it, though - Samuel and Nathan had bought news of their brothers captures, Benjamin couldn't very well leave them in the woods - he'd had to bring them with him. Samuel was holding a rifle longer than he was tall, he was staring down at the British with a sickly look on his face. Benjamin's instructions had been simple - get a shot off, then run up and down the line and load as many rifles as needed while the men fired on the British, getting as many more shots off as he could safely accomplish. He glanced to his left, Nathan had the same instructions only instead of looking sick, he looked… eager. Ben wasn't quite sure how he felt about that - he thought Nathan was in for a rude awakening - it was far harder to kill a man than it was a deer. Benjamin returned his attention to his other sons, bound and standing amidst the other captives.

There was an air of expectancy, his men were waiting for him to give the order. Already irate that his sons were in danger, Benjamin's fury peaked when he witnessed a particularly malicious Redcoat approach Thomas and - for no damned good reason - slapped the youth across the back of the head. Thomas lurched toward the fellow, ready to pummel the Lobster back, but with his hands tied, there wasn't much he could do. As the laughing soldier walked away, Gabriel hauled Thomas back in line.

It was all Benjamin could do to stop himself from hauling himself down the steep slope and murdering the bastard who had struck his son. He tried to focus, to set his rage aside. This was not about anger, but duty. He was Colonel Benjamin Martin now, and he had a mission to complete. It was impossible however, not when he could see his own boys, trussed up like pigs to the slaughter. The bonfire blazing inside the enraged father roared.

What was he waiting for, he could sense his men wondering. Calm. That was what he was waiting for. But looking at his sons, defenceless and being led to the slaughter, he knew calm would never come. There was only rage, and it was never going to abate. He met Billings eyes again, and nodded.

Billings nodded back. Almost immediately, a bird trilled a complex chorus. The bird - or in this case Captain Billings - was letting Gabriel and the other captives know to take what cover they could. Benjamin glanced down one final time and saw, to his satisfaction, Gabriel glancing up suspiciously at the ridge to either side of him. Wordlessly, he tugged Thomas' collar and edged toward the wagon. Benjamin nodded in approval - Gabriel had heard the trilling whistle and recognised that it had not come from any bird local to South Carolina. He'd recognised that it had not come from any bird at all. Benjamin noticed some of the others - both militia men and Continentals, had heard it also and were surreptitiously trying to sidle toward the wagons, in preparation to throw themselves under when the shooting started.

"Three, two, one," he whispered to himself. He sited his musket, the nozzle poking between the cluster of rocks he was ensconced in. Staring down the long length of metal, he aimed at the chest of the Officer nearest him, his finger on the trigger. Then he squeezed.

A loud clap rent the air, followed immediately by many more, faster than a man could clap. Screams came from below and smoke from the rifles clouded the air and Benjamin was already reaching for his second rifle. He managed to see movement through the smoke and sited his firearm on a flash of red, and squeezed the trigger. This time, even more claps exploded through the air as the British returned fire at the exact same time as Benjamin and his men fired their second volley. He felt a bullet rush past, the force of it damn near ripping his hat from his head. It was a close shot, but not close enough. And he was already moving - as was the plan for the third and fourth volleys. He reached down and grabbed his pistols, then darted out of his hiding spot. More claps sounded through the air, the British firing up into the ridge to either side of them, as the Patriots fired at will down into the enemies midst. The smoke was too thick to penetrate now, Benjamin couldn't see a damned thing. He hoped his boys and the other captives were under the wagons - for if they weren't they could very well be hit. On his feet, a pistol in each hand and his sharp dagger and tomahawk looped through his belt, he ran from tree to tree, trying to find a break in the smoke, trying to see the enemy. There - a flash of Red, Benjamin aimed and fired, and heard a man scream. Many men were screaming - those who were wounded and those who were just panicked and confused. Benjamin ignored their distress, as did his men. He spied Rollins up ahead, doing the same as Benjamin, trying to see through a break in the smoke. Then Rollins fired and a sharp scream was cut off too abruptly. He had hit his mark. Benjamin aimed and fired his last shot, then ran toward an enemy soldier, screaming as he wield his tomahawk. The bastard didn't know what hit him. Benjamin continued on, his pistols and rifles forgotten, he used only his tomahawk now. It became a part of him, he danced among the few British that were still standing, determined to fell the lot. He smashed into several more, when the British surrendered.

"Quarter!" A voice screamed to Benjamin's right - begging for clemency. The British must have been hurt bad, to be pleading surrender. He was about to order his men to lay down their arms, but then more claps came from the other side of the ridge - Curly and his men still shooting into the British on their side.

"Damn you, Quarter I say!" Came a pain filled scream.

"Lower your weapons!" Benjamin bellowed but his voice was drowned out by yet more explosive claps. "LOWER YOUR DAMNED WEAPONS!" He screamed, racing up and down the line of his men. "WEAPONS BLOODY DOWN!"

Finally he managed to get his men under control. And then all was eerily quiet. Except for the moaning of the wounded, men and horses alike. Across this came an apologetic voice from the other ledge.

"Sorry, Ben," Curly called and several of his men began to laugh.

"I should damned well think so!" Benjamin roared. "When I bloody give you a command, I expect it to be bloody obeyed!"

This cut the laughter short, slicing through the hilarity. Benjamin stared through the smoke intently as he walked toward the prisoners. His men followed, they convened on the road to inspect the damage. After a quick count, he realised that three of his own men had been killed, for only twenty-seven joined him on the road.

He had no time to ponder this, for Gabriel called, "father?"

And Benjamin almost sobbed with relief. He raced toward his sons, who were climbing out from beneath the wagon.

"Are you alright?" He grabbed Thomas by the arms and began patting him, all up and down his body, checking for wounds. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Papa," Thomas said, though his voice was edgy and his eyes a little wild.

"The rest of you?" Benjamin ignored the British for the time being, as he turned to Gabriel and then began checking the other Continental captives who had sought the protection of the wagons as he'd hoped they would. None of them were hurt. "Ah, Christ!" Benjamin groaned as relief flooded through him and he pulled Thomas to him in an all encompassing bear hug. He then turned to his own men, who had fought the skirmish - those who had survived.

"Any wounds?" He asked those.

"Damned near took my head off," Danvers muttered, he held a long cloth to his forehead, it was covered in blood. The others sported similar wounds - Higgins had a bullet in his arm which would need to be pulled out later - but it was not life threatening.

"Good work, my friends!" Rollins called as he glanced about at the carnage around him. "Though there's still too many alive for my liking."

The British wounded on the ground heard this, the nearest one gasped a sharp breath, believing he was about to be executed.

"You ignored the call for Quarter, you Goddamned rebel!" This one spat up at Benjamin, sensing he was the leader. Blood dripped down his face from under his helmet and Benjamin remembered giving this fellow a glancing blow with the flat of his tomahawk. The Lobsterback was lucky to be alive. "Who the Devil are you? Answer me!"

"Who am I?I'm the one who gets to decide if you live or die," Benjamin said grimly. "So I suggest you hold you tongue, or I might just cut it out."

"Savage," the man muttered, then fell silent.

"Gather the wounded together and bind them," Benjamin ordered. "Move the dead bodies off the road, we're taking the wagons with us and the damned Lobsters are in the way."

The wagons were heavily laden, most likely with weapons, ammunition and food. They set to work, dumped the dead in an unceremonious heap at the side of the road, before collecting their three dead from atop the ridges, so they could be given a decent burial later. Others of Benjamin's company climbed the ridge to bring in the horses from their concealment back in the trees.

Two of the British wounded were drifting in and out of consciousness. The Whigs did not bother binding these, they just left them on the ground near the other wounded, who had been bound and tied to one another. Twenty two British soldiers still lived - but that would be reduced to four if the two unconscious ones died. Benjamin knelt beside one of them to inspect the wounds. This soldier had been shot in four places and judging by the blood pooling in his hair, a bullet had grazed his head. This was what caused the fellow to lay almost senseless.

"Are you…" the man began - no, a boy, Benjamin realised. He was little older than Thomas. "Are you… A ghost?"

"No, I'm just a man," Benjamin said, feeling pity for the lad now that he'd calmed down, now that his sons were safe. The blow to the head had addled the lads wits, and Benjamin felt certain he wouldn't survive long. "Why would you ask that?"

"Here one moment, gone the next," he licked his lips and was having trouble speaking. "Amongst us, all around us. Here, and then gone. Like a ghost…"

"He's raving," Bryson said. "It would be a kindness to end him."

"He's not a dog, Bryson," Benjamin said as he turned away. "We put animals out of their misery, not men. Not even Englishmen. Englishmen, we leave to die. How many enemy wounded?" He asked, to confirm the numbers.

"I think they're all wounded - though two of them will surely die, I'm thinking," Bryson replied as he glanced at the wounded. The ones he thought would live glared at him from where they sat on the ground, bound to each other, hand and foot.

"Papa," Thomas came rushing over with Nathan at his side, and Benjamin shifted his gaze from the raving, delirious man to his sons. "Papa," Thomas gushed, "I've been in my first skirmish. Please, you have to let me join now. You must! Papa - you -"

"Hush, Thomas! We'll discuss it later," Benjamin growled but Rollins, who was smiling from ear to ear, began to laugh.

"Ah, he's an eager one," he slapped Thomas on the shoulder and then said to Benjamin, "everything is in readiness. Might I suggest, Colonel Martin, that we get the bloody hell out of here?"

"Yes, you might suggest that and I might even agree with you. I think I like that suggestion very much," he glanced about, frowning. "Where is Sammie?"

"Up here, Ben," Dan Scott said. "You better get up here."

Fear lanced Benjamin's soul and he scrambled up the embankment, thinking the worst. He followed Dan Scott's shout and found Samuel. Benjamin dropped at his son's side. "Gods, are you wounded? Lad, talk to me, what happened?"

Samuel was staring, eyes wide but blind, his knees pressed to his chest.

"He's not wounded, Ben," Dan said. "I checked. I think… I think this was too much for him, is all."

Benjamin nodded, feeling wretchedly guilty. "Sammie?" He called softly. "Son. It's time to go. You can walk, can't you?" He put his hand on Samuel's shoulder, only for the boy to snap to his senses.

"Don't touch me!" Samuel spat, leaping up suddenly and making a run for it.

"I'll look after him, don't worry," Dan said, leaping up to give chase through the woods. Benjamin watched them gravely.

"Ben! Your orders!" Rollins shouted and Benjamin turned back and began making his way back down.

"Sammie?" Thomas asked, worried.

"He'll be alright," Benjamin said. He wiped sweat from his brow, only to realise - when he looked at his sleeve, that it was blood - not sweat. British blood and gore, he was covered in it, his jacket, his face, his breeches, it dripped from his tomahawk.

Gods, no wonder Samuel ran.

"We're leaving," Benjamin said, voice hard. He strode toward the wagons. The Green Dragoon unit - and Colonel Tavington - could be along any moment, it was time to be gone - there was not a moment to lose.

"Wait!" The Lobsterback - the one who Benjamin threatened to cut the tongue from, called out to him now. "First you ignore our cry for Quarter, and now you're going to just leave without tending our wounds? We could bleed to death here before help arrives!"

"One can only hope," Benjamin informed him with a shrug. He turned away again, this time ignoring the man's curses and insults. With their wounded and dead on the wagons, and drivers in the driver seats, Benjamin's men began to make their way from the battle carnage. As soon as they reached an intersection, they turned off the Post Road, and headed for one of the trails that led through the woods - one which was wide enough to accommodate the wagons. Others of their number doubled back and erased their trail and then they did their best to conceal the entrance to the trail Benjamin had just taken - filling the opening with trees and branches and other forest debris. Tavington, Benjamin hoped, would have a hell of a time finding them.

* * *

"You don't need to hold my reins," Beth said, feeling the first stirrings of amusement as the unit began to make its way from Pembroke. William, riding at her side Thunder, had Shadow Dancer's reins bunched in his hand and was guiding her horse. And, as though he was worried she would fall from the saddle, he kept the Dragoons trotting at an excruciatingly slow pace. "I've been riding since I was a little girl."

"You shouldn't be riding at all," he maintained. Reaching down, he tugged her skirts in a futile attempt to cover her calves, while shooting furious glances at his men, daring them to stare at his wife. Beth laughed at this - her spirits were still quite low but she couldn't help but be amused now. Her skirts draped down past her ankles perfectly fine while standing, but unfortunately, being in the saddle stretched the garment over the horses back, and the material that fell on either side to her only covered her to her knees. If she'd been wearing breeches…

"If you'd allowed me my breeches, your men wouldn't see my calves now," Beth taunted, knowing it would provoke her new husband.

"No, they'd be ogling your thighs," he ground out. "Lord, a woman, riding in breeches. I had the shock of my life when I saw you!" He twitched the reins again and Beth rolled her eyes, he truly was coddling her.

"Perhaps you should climb up behind me so you can control my horse - and keep my calves concealed better," she suggested tartly.

"Done!" William came to a stop, dismounted, threw Thunder's reins toward Bordon and climbed up into Shadow Dancer's saddle behind Beth.

"I was joking!" She laughed at him over her shoulder as he made himself comfortable, with his chest pressed to her back.

"Too late now," he smirked, reaching around her to take the reins again. "Isn't this better?"

"Hmm," she snuggled back into his hard chest and tucked her head beneath his chin. "I'm not complaining."

"Nor am I," he tilted her chin up and she turned slightly so he could kiss her. Then they were moving again, still at that very slow trot.

"I'm not made of glass, you know," she informed him. "You can go faster."

"You don't know if you've a baby growing inside you now," he said. "Women should not be riding astride at the best of times - it's dangerous, especially for a pregnant woman."

"Perhaps…" She agreed with a shrug. She didn't know herself and so decided it probably was better to err on the side of caution.

"How long before we know, do you think?" He asked, sounding eager as he pressed his hand to her stomach.

"Lord, we were only married today!" She admonished. "I want you all to myself for a while yet."

"It's not as though we have any say over it," he told her. "How long?"

"I don't know," she lowered her voice - uncomfortable of speaking about her courses in front of his men. "My bleeding only finished a day or two ago. So if you have already got me with child, could be a good two or three months before we know it."

"Oh," he said, sounding a little disappointment. Then he brightened and like an excited school boy, he said, "Lord, this horse is magnificent. How did you come by her?"

Beth shifted uncomfortably.

"She was a wedding gift," she said finally.

"Oh," William said shortly. "For your marriage to Burwell, or this other fellow, this George?"

"Sweet Lord, so much has happened since we parted," she said sadly, wondering where she should begin. For his questions about Burwell - and George Howard - would only lead to more questions "Colonel Burwell gave me my beautiful girl -" she stroked Shadow Dancers mane - "for our wedding gift. But the next day, I think, was when he found out about you and I, and he ended our engagement. He didn't take her though. He let me keep her."

"I see," William tightened his lips. Why hadn't he thought to bring her a gift as magnificent as the beast they rode? He'd never have thought of buying her a horse, but she was clearly enamoured of the creature. It bothered him, that Burwell knew his wife better than William did.

"Are you upset?" She asked and he shrugged.

"No. Tell me about this other fiancé - how did he come to be hung?" He'd heard that much during his visit to Pembroke.

"When Burwell renounced our engagement, my father had me betrothed almost immediately to a local boy - George Howard. A lad I'd grown up with. But the Howard's - who own the mercantile in Pembroke - were supplying Burwell and his Continentals, and they were spying for the Patriots, too. When Banastre arrived, he hung George for a traitor."

"Jesus," Tavington breathed. The irony astounded him - that Banastre, who was in love with Beth, had executed her fiancé.

"He didn't know that George was my fiancé," Beth continued. "But he said later that it wouldn't have stopped him. As far as he was concerned, he'd hung a rebel and freed me from an unwanted marriage."

"I see. Was it?" Tavington arched an eyebrow. "Unwanted?"

"Yes and no," she said and Tavington stiffened. "First, I was engaged to Burwell and everyone was happy. Well, I wasn't really, but I would have done as my father wished. But then he ended our engagement and I was ruined and my father despised me and… When he told me I was to marry George, I welcomed it because I thought it would be a way to earn back my father's affection. Also, his sister is a very dear friend - one of the few who didn't turn her back on me these weeks. She is going to marry my brother, Gabriel and we'd been planning to live in a large house, all together, raising our children. And George was a kind boy. Safe… I wanted to be safe…"

Tavington shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her brother, Gabriel, whom he had taken captive earlier that day. He was yet to tell her that…

"Well, you might have denied loving me," he said, for he was not quite ready yet to tell her the bad tidings. "But I never stopped loving you. You've been in my thoughts, driving me mad, for weeks."

A snort to his left reminded them that they were not alone, and Tavington turned to glare over his shoulder at Bordon.

"Well you've driven me mad with it to, for bloody Christ's sake," the Major scoffed.

"A little privacy, please?" William arched an eyebrow and Bordon chuckled. With a pull of his reins, he slowed the two horses and pulled back aways. "I didn't realise he could hear us."

"Hmm… nor did I. Don't get me wrong, William. I tried to deny loving you, but by God, you were always in my thoughts, too. Always." She said earnestly and he smiled down at her. "You've driven him mad because of me?"

"I suppose I have," he admitted.

"That makes me feel better, that you never stopped thinking of me." She sighed as she turned slightly to put her arm around him. It was an awkward position, on the horse as they were, but neither wanted to let the other go. For answer, he kissed the top of her head and wrapped his free arm around her waist.

Beth stifled a yawn - the sleepless night, the warmth of the day, the gentle sway of the horse and leaning against William's chest lulled her. If she closed her eyes, she felt certain she'd fall asleep. She snuggled in to his chest and closed her eyes.

"Sleepy, hmm?" He wound his arm tighter to hold her in place. "Beth, I have questions for you, you can't sleep yet."

"What questions?"

"About your father."

"I know we have to talk about it, but must we right now?"

"Better now than later," he said. "When we're alone. I'll want to do other things with you, later when we're alone," he whispered in her ear and she laughed despite herself. "You said about his attacking Tarleton's Legion. Mr. Turnbull told me about it after you did. Why did he do it? From you said, he was still determined to stay out of it even up to a few days ago."

"He was, but he was also wroth with Tarleton and strongly felt that someone had to deliver a strong message to the British, that some injustices would not be stood for."

"What injustice?" He asked, anxiety building. "Was it because he thought I started the gossip about you? About us?"

"No, though he did believe that. No, my father was furious because Tarleton hung George Howard. My fiancé, remember? He wanted revenge." In that moment, she decided to tell him the full truth after all, of Banastre telling her to rouse her father, only for her to find her father's room empty, then lying to Banastre about it. "He slipped back in to the house and Tarleton never suspected that he was involved, because. He thought it was Burwell. I'm sorry, William - but I didn't tell Colonel Tarleton. I couldn't - he would have hung my father."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one you've lied to then," he sniffed, she heard the disapproval in his voice. "You're telling me the truth now, aren't you? You didn't know _before_ the attack?"

"Good Lord, no!" She said, aghast. "I'd have tried to stop him - so many men ended up dying that night! You must believe me. I didn't know, but nor could I tell Tarleton afterward -"

"You're telling me now," he said and Beth stiffened in his arms. His voice was soothing, "Banastre will need to be told, but you won't be mentioned."

"You'd lie for me?" She whispered.

"I told you, I'd do anything for you. Besides, a small lie like this will hurt no one. It's not as though you could have prevented the attack. And you wouldn't be the first to withhold information for fear of seeing a loved one hung."

"I can't imagine you being so understanding with those others," Beth said.

"Those others aren't my wife," he said. "You're being forthcoming, you're telling me the truths I need to hear. You're keeping to your vow, Beth, and I'm not going to reward that with anger."

"How will you reward it?" She asked, twisting around to meet his gaze. He had given her the opportunity she had needed to secure clemency for her father, should he be captured by William. "My father has only been involved for a short while - he hasn't committed any atrocities, he hasn't done anything that is outside the usual conduct of war - even the attack on Banastre's force. Ban shouldn't have allowed his Captain to camp between rail fences - they couldn't get out when the skirmish began."

"Rail fences!" Tavington frowned. "What are you saying Beth, that it was Banastre's fault he was attacked?"

"Well, wasn't it? He is the Commandant - he is responsible for every man in that command. He saw his Captain make camp in a vulnerable position - between the fences, and then he blamed the Captain when the skirmish was over and seventy of his men were killed. They were sitting ducks, William, waiting to be picked off. And after Banastre hung George, my father obliged them. Mind you, I'm not justifying my father's actions, I'm just saying that he's a Colonel - well, he wasn't at the time, but surely that doesn't matter. It's war, and he shouldn't hang for it."

"Oh, I see where this is heading," his mind was whirling with the information Beth had given him - Banastre's report of the skirmish was a great deal different to the account Beth was giving him now. For instance, there had been no mention of rail fences, no mention of allowing his men to make camp in a vulnerable position, in Banastre's report. "You are asking for clemency for your father."

"Well, isn't that what happens when you catch Officers? You keep them prisoner until they can be exchanged. If you manage to capture my father, I would ask that you don't hang him."

"That decision might not be mine to make, Beth. There are those above me who will judge your father and I may have no say in his fate."

"If you do have a say, though? Will you be merciful?" She was half begging, half demanding and Tavington sighed in frustration.

"When it comes to Officers in the military establishment, we tent to take captives, in order to have our own captured Officers exchanged. If your father falls into my hands, that would be my most probable course of action."

"Oh, good," Beth's great relief was short lived for Tavington continued and his voice was implacable.

"However, if it comes down to a fight, and if it is his life for mine, I will not hesitate to kill him, Beth," he told her firmly and Beth nodded, resigned. She had seen a skirmish herself and understood how much confusion there was, how little visibility, with the gunpowder smoke - Tavington could not promise to keep someone - an enemy - alive under those circumstances. And if the two were fighting sword to sword, he would have to do what he could to protect himself, even if it meant killing the other. It grieved her, but she understood. All she could do was hope and pray that it never came down to that. Her husband had promised what he could - that he would not hang Benjamin outright - should Benjamin fall into Tavington's hands. It had to be enough.

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me?" he asked her.

"There's probably lots that I should tell you, but I'm too sleepy to think," she sighed and closed her eyes snuggling into his chest. "I will though, when my mind isn't so fuzzy."

"Alright. Before you drift off, my sleeping beauty, I need to tell you of something that happened today - something that _you_ won't like."

"Oh?" She raised her head and seeing her red-rimmed, glazed eyes, William almost told her not to worry, he'd tell her later. She needed rest - but it was too important to put off any longer.

"We stopped at a Plantation earlier today - it belonged to one Mrs. Cambridge - do you know her?"

"No, I've never heard of her - where is she from?"

"Devlin," he replied. "I'm pleased you don't know her, because she suffered greatly from our visit. Her son was a rebel - I had him taken prisoner. She'd also concealed a wounded Continental. I ordered her house fired, as punishment for harbouring the enemy."

"Judging by the smoke on the horizon, I'd say you've done that at quite a few Plantations today."

She had tried not to look at the many pillars billowing into the sky, but it was hard, for there were so damned many.

"This prisoner was different," he maintained. "Beth, the enemy we found concealed in Mrs. Cambridge's home was your brother, Corporal Martin."

Beth gasped and twisted around, almost toppling from the saddle.

"William! What did you do - what happened? Where is Gabriel - oh, God!" Her mind was whirling, but she was too tired to think clearly. Gabriel had been at Drakespar when she had left. Did he decide it would be best to hide at this Mrs. Cambridge woman's home, so that Aunt Charlotte would not be caught harbouring a Continental?

"I tried to offer him parole," Tavington said, loudly to be heard over her panic. "As soon as he revealed himself. I told him that if he renounced the rebellion and swore allegiance to the Crown, I wouldn't take him captive. I offered him a place in my own Dragoons - still with the rank of Lieutenant."

"It's quite true, Mrs. Tavington," Bordon had spurred forward and was at their side again. He was no longer burdened with Thunder's reins, having handed the care of the Colonel's horse over to another Dragoon. "I was quite surprised, I must say. I'd never heard the Colonel making an offer of that kind before."

"And I never will again," William said. "I only did it for you, Beth."

"Thank you, dear heart, but you needn't have bothered. He wouldn't change sides, he would never turn. What happened?" She asked, then a dreadful thought seized her. "Oh, please don't tell me you hanged him!"

"No! Sweet Lord, Beth! I told you, I prefer to take Officers prisoner! As you said, he wouldn't turn. He refused and as such, he left me with no choice but to take him captive."

"Oh," she frowned. "Is he well? Was he hurt?"

"No, I did him no harm. I had him tied the same as the other captives. We are on our way to join the patrol now - the prison escort. You'll see him shortly."

"Oh, thank God! He was wounded at Camden, William. You'll give him care, won't you? He'll need his bandages changed and the stitches in his side checked and -"

"He will be cared for, Beth," William promised. "But I won't repeat my offer to take him into my Dragoons."

"He wouldn't take it, anyway," Beth settled against his chest again.

"My wife has been telling me the most interesting things about the attack on Tarleton's Legion," William told Bordon, mostly to change the subject but also because his adjutant needed to know. "First off, it was her father who conducted the attack."

"My word," Bordon breathed, his eyes lingering on Beth.

"Yes," William said, determined to have the smear of Beth's betrayal behind them. Richard knew the truth, that Beth had warned Burwell, which in turn foiled the ambush attempt. William needed his adjutant to know that his wife would be true to the Crown, from now on. "She confirmed to me that it was her father who orchestrated the attack. And, it seems, that Banastre left a few interesting items out of his report - such as an entire unit of infantry camping between rail fences."

"Jesus!" Bordon gasped. "No wonder so many of them died! Even if the rebels were two hundred and fifty in number, the death toll to Banastre's troops was far too high to make sense!"

"Is that what he told you?" Beth frowned. "Two hundred and fifty militia?"

Hearing this, Tavington stiffened and he shared a cool glance with his Major over Beth's head. "How many were there, Beth?"

"No more than one hundred," she replied. "And even that was far more than my father was expecting to answer the call. He thought there would only be twenty."

"One hundred!" Tavington barked.

"Definitely no more than that," Beth confirmed. "I know it for certain. Why would Banastre lie, William?"

"Because, Beth," William ground out. "Having seventy of his own force killed by one hundred men is a humiliation on a grand scale. That's why he lied." Bordon nodded curtly, agreeing with William.

"Oh," Beth lowered her eyes, feeling profoundly disappointed in Banastre all over again. "He blamed his Captain for the attack - and he lied about the numbers… He isn't a very good Commander, is he?"

"He's an excellent Commander," William admitted. "Brilliant, in fact. But he can't admit to being wrong, and he hates being defeated. Hence the lies…"

"Is that why you were made Colonel and not him? I thought that might have been the reason, when he told me you were promoted over him. He was quite bitter about it."

"Was he now?" William sniffed disdainfully. "Yes, that will be partly the reason. You and I are going to have a nice long chat about Banastre, Beth. He was in your home for what, five days?"

Beth sighed, hearing the jealousy in William's voice. He would press her, she knew, for every detail - every word said, he would drag it all out of her until he was satisfied that nothing had happened between her and Banastre. Panic stirred in her chest, but she calmed herself - the only possible way he could discover that she had bedded Banastre was if she herself told him. And that, she knew, she could never do, not in a hundred years.

"Later," she said, snuggling against him to hide her apprehension. "We'll discuss it later."

_As much as I'm willing to tell you, anyway. I'll be honest with you about everything, William, but I'll not tell you the truth about Banastre._

Guilt surged again, rearing its ugly head. It was a terrible situation she now found herself in, with a terrible secret to guard. On the one hand, she despised herself for not telling William the truth but she knew damned well his reaction would be… Impressive in its violence. She could not tell him - it was the one thing she could never be honest about. Besides, it was not as though he would have been celibate himself all these months. Surely he would have had lovers - she doubted very much that he had spent a single night sleeping alone. Her reasoning helped to soothe her guilt - for she knew in her heart that it was true. William had been with other women - a whole host of them no doubt. And, as she was about to wilfully lie about herself and Banastre, she decided she would not quiz him about William's lovers. She was his wife now, he was her husband - they had a clean slate now, all that came before could, and would, be forgotten.

"Yes, we will, little Beth. We'll discuss it at length," Tavington ground out. He glanced at Bordon. "What the Devil are you smirking about?"

"Nothing," Richard scoffed.

"Then wipe that stupid smile off your face," William said curtly.

"You've married the girl and you're still jealous," Richard shook his head at William's folly. The Colonel's gaze darkened and Richard threw his hands up in surrender. "Very well! The subject is closed."

"Jealous," William muttered. "You're one to talk. Which one of us started a brawl with Hanger, because he pulled Miss Jutland into his lap?"

"I hope it was Major Bordon," Beth frowned and Richard laughed. "I'd not want you to start a fight over Miss Jutland, William!"

"Never fear, it was I," Richard replied for William. "He'd pulled her into his lap and wouldn't let her go - and then he forced her to kiss him. I wasn't too happy with him, at that point."

"No - he certainly wasn't," William smirked. "He threw the table across the tent and went for Hanger's throat - they started brawling right then and there. Fists flying, blood spurting. It was very entertaining."

"I'm glad you enjoyed the show," Bordon scowled. Tavington was still laughing when they rounded the bend in the road and came upon what was left of Captain Gordon's unit.

Tavington drew a sharp breath and urged Shadow Dancer forward. Gone were the supply wagons, there was a pile of Redcoat bodies shoved to one side of the road - even from twenty yards away Tavington could see they were dead. Twenty more sat on the other side of the road, bound and tied, with two more laying on the dirt road.

With a curse, William was off the horse and at Captain Gordon's side - leaving Beth to clamber down on her own.

"What happened!" He demanded of Gordon.

Blood dripped down Gordon's head and there was a bullet wound in the Captain's leg and William took hold of the blood encrusted breeches to rip them open at the hole, pulling the leather apart more fully to inspect the wound.

"Who did this to you?" He asked but Gordon's eyes rolled, he could barely focus. The blow to the head maybe? He appeared to be concussed.

"Bandages!" Bordon bellowed, racing off down the line to have all of the bandages from their saddle bags pooled together. With the supply wagons gone, so too was their stockpile of medical supplies. Beth edged closer nervously, and knelt at William's side. She glanced around searching for Gabriel and the other prisoners, but they were gone - no where to be seen.

"Attacked," Gordon whispered as a medic dropped at his side. "By a Goddamned savage!"

"Savage!" Tavington said sharply, taking the man at his word. "Indians did this? Not Cherokee!"

"There hasn't been an Indian attack in these parts for years!" Beth gasped.

"No, no - sorry," Gordon shook his head. His voice came out pained and he struggled to sit. "Sir, he was a rebel - a Colonial. A savage because I begged for quarter but it was ignored!"

"Not Regulars, then," Tavington muttered - even Continentals had more discipline - they would not ignore a call for Quarter. "Militia."

"Yes, militia," Gordon nodded, as if he'd been struggling to find the word until Tavington gave it to him. Definitely concussed. "Militia. They hid up there, and up there," he pointed to the ridge up on either side of the road. "I'm sorry Sir, we shouldn't have come through here. I thought we were safe. I thought the rebels would be fleeing, I never thought they'd turn back and make a stand after that battle. I'd never have imagined that they were up there waiting for us! It's my fault."

"No," William shook his head. "You can't be held to blame. How many?"

"Forty rebels," Gordon said as Bordon handed Tavington a wad of rolled bandages. Beth sat back on her heels to watch, as the Dragoons crowded around her to tend the wounds of their wounded comrades. As William began tending Gordon's, the Captain continued to give his report as best he could. He tried to hold back his grunts of pain, for the bullet wound in his leg was excruciating. The bullet was still lodged in his thigh - it would need a higher skill than what Tavington possessed, to remove it.

"Forty!" William tightened his lips. "You were evenly matched, then."

"Yes, but they were… Something I've never encountered. They were madness. The very first volley took out half of us, before we even knew what was happening," Gordon grunted. "But then the smoke was too thick for them to see us, their aims were off. We returned fire, there was so much smoke I could barely see. Got off another volley, but so did they. And then they were among us, gods, there was one - their leader - laying into us with a tomahawk, he killed three men with that alone. He caught me on the side of the head with it. I can't believe I'm alive. That's why I called him a savage. I could see that we would be slaughtered if I didn't try and surrender. I shouted, begging for quarter, but I was ignored. That's when Private Shields and Private Terrell were hit," he indicated the men laying on the road, semi conscious, one of them was raving softly.

"I can't believe they did that," Beth said softly. "After all their talk of Banastre ignoring the call for Quarter at Waxhaws."

"He didn't ignore it," he ground out. "He was pinned under his horse, he didn't even see it!"

Sweat beaded Captain Gordon's brow, from the pain and from the effort of concentrating on speaking his report. Tavington watched patiently, understanding fully how the Officer felt - he had been wounded too many times to count himself. Gordon drew a large agonised breath, and continued.

"We killed three of theirs, I think," he said. "I saw them hauling the bodies and their wounded onto our supply carts, before they made off with the lot."

William nodded, he'd seen from the first that the supply carts were gone.

"How long ago?" He asked sharply.

"I don't know. I don't know if I've been unconscious or… I just don't know. It feels like three minutes. And it feels like three hours."

William set to work on tying off the bandage around Gordon's leg.

"Your men need care, William," Beth said. "Fresh Water is not far from here. My family is not in residence but there's still plenty of staff and servants to help you. You could take your wounded there. We have some laudanum - if my father didn't take it."

"Ah, laudanum," Gordon breathed out a pain filled sigh. "I'd surely love that."

"Me also," another trooper muttered.

"We have to go there anyway, to collect Mila," she said. "I'll need my maid where ever it is we end up going. And I can pack my belongings, too."

He nodded, heading to Fresh Water Plantation was as sound a plan as any.

"Very well," William agreed. "Fresh Water it is. Brownlow, we'll need litters for the wounded."

"Yes, Sir," the Cornet raced away to speak with several Dragoons, to find branches large and strong enough to be used to make litters to carry the men.

"How did the battle end, if they did not give you Quarter?" William asked Gordon.

"He finally granted it, on the third time of asking."

William arched an eyebrow. "Did you speak to this savage leader, did he provide you with a name?"

Gordon scrubbed the back of his hand across his brow to wipe away the sweat and blood. Seeing this, Beth drew her handkerchief and began to dab his brow.

"I did speak to him - I cursed him for a savage and he threatened to cut my tongue out. He didn't name himself to me, but one of his men called him 'Colonel Martin'."

Without a word, Beth recoiled, falling back on her rump. She stared in horror at Gordon, then she stumbled to her feet and began striding away. Tavington bolted after her, stopping her as they came alongside the pile of dead bodies.

"My father did this," she whispered when he reached her. She stared at the mangled and bloodied bodies with mounting horror. "All these men dead - to free Gabriel. It must have been to free Gabriel!"

"So it would seem," Tavington murmured, his gaze lingering on the sight his wife was now averting her gaze from. She buried her face into his chest, unable to look on the dead men any longer. "Hardly seems fair, does it? That so many of my men should be killed for your brother's freedom."

Beth shook against him and William knew she was crying. Tavington had no tears - he was hardened to skirmishes and death over the years but it did not stop him from feeling fury over the waste. He would have to write to each of the soldier's families, letters of condolences, explaining exactly how their sons had died, and for what? Eighteen very promising, skilled soldiers, dead - twenty, if the other two Privates succumbed to their wounds.

Beth drew a ragged breath and closed her eyes. It was no easy thing, to see the result of her father's Command with her own eyes. Even the attack on Banastre's force had greatly upset her, but she had not seen the bodies of the men killed that night. This time, however, the dead were at the side of the road - it was only Tavington's body keeping her from seeing them. She loved her father dearly but couldn't help but feel sickened by his actions - the killing of so many, for the freedom of a few.

"William…" She closed her eyes, feeling like she might be sick. "Now that I know… that this was my father… " she opened her eyes, met William's and could feel Bordon's on her. "I think… I know where he's gone. He has wounded - one of them is my brother. He'll likely be heading directly for Fresh Water."

"I suspect you are right," William replied. To Bordon, he said, "we go to Fresh Water. If he is there, I want Benjamin Martin taken captive."

The words were for her, letting her no in no uncertain terms, that her husband was going after her father. Feeling resigned, she nodded - she would not protest or argue on her father's behalf - not now that she had seen the devastation he had wrought with her own two eyes.

He led her back to Shadow Dancer where he helped her to mount. And, despite her many years of experience in horse riding, she needed William's. Her whole body was drained, the exhaustion deep in her bones. She stared woodenly as Tavington strode amongst his men, giving orders and helping with the heavy labour until the wounded, and the dead, were on litters and all was in readiness for the ride to Fresh Water. And then he was striding back to her, and although Thunder was ready and waiting, he climbed gracefully up into the saddle behind Beth again. She as grateful, for she felt she needed someone to lean against, and she did exactly that, as soon as he was settled behind her. She nestled in to him, leaving the reins to him, as she settled against his chest and closed her eyes.


	62. Chapter 62 - Meeting the In-Laws

Chapter 62 - Meeting the In-Laws:

Benjamin lost three men. Three men under his command, killed. As he rode through the forest, he glanced over his shoulder at those following him, thirty-seven now, in total. Many of them wore bandages in various places, a few wore them around their heads; others, their arms, their legs. But only three had died, and still Benjamin lamented the loss.

Did the loss of their lives outweigh the gains? Three supply wagons, fully laden with medical items, food stuffs, clothes, fire arms, ammunitions. And fourteen freed Continentals and militiamen - including his two sons. No, the three who had died did not outweigh the gains, but they had known going in that the cost could be their lives, and had joined the attack willingly. Benjamin was fretting - as he always did after a battle - over how he could have done things differently, how those lives could have been saved. It was folly, however. Nothing was ever certain battle. Soldiers fought, soldiers died. It was as simple as that.

The men who followed along - those that were wounded - would live to see another day. They had suffered nothing life threatening, but what they had suffered was certainly enough to make riding damned uncomfortable. Lieutenant Gabriel Martin was the worst wounded, with the deep wound he had taken to his side in Camden several days earlier.

While it was imperative they put as much distance between them and the Post Road where the recent attack had taken place, Benjamin knew it was equally important to have the men's wounds tended properly. He urged the column onward, pushing the horses, the wagons - and his men - to their limit. McDeals was their destination, as prearranged with General Burwell. All of the Continentals and Benjamin Martin's militia would rendezvous there.

He glanced over his shoulder - Gabriel, Thomas and Nathan were all riding stolen British horses and further back, Samuel rode in absolute silence with Dan Scott. Samuel saw him looking and averted his gaze. Benjamin sighed and turned back to the front. The boy would not speak to him, no matter how Benjamin tried.

_Later, _he thought. _If he is given enough time, he'll come around. _

His other sons were riding just behind him - three three of them had their heads bent together and were whispering furiously and Benjamin allowed himself to feel a measure of enjoyment. Of amusement. He had no doubt that they were plotting to twist his arm into allowing Thomas to join the militia - using the boy's first skirmish as a reason.

"Father," Gabriel called, he, Nathan and Thomas urged their horses forward. Benjamin assumed a stone like expression, concealing his amusement. The truth was, while he was still very uncertain about it all, he knew he would permit Thomas to join now.

"Father…" Gabriel began. "Colonel Martin… Where do we go now?"

"I thought I told you. We're going to McDeals," he shot a glance in Thomas and Nathan's direction. "After we drop off the boys to Fresh Water." He was speaking of Nathan and Samuel, but Thomas didn't know that. Thomas's face fell. "I'll continue recruiting to the militia, and all of these fine men will be helping me to train the newcomers. My thinking is that I can get you - and Thomas here - to help with the recruiting. Help to cover more ground."

"What…?" Thomas asked on Gabriel's other side. "Me? You're letting me join!"

"Yes, I'm bloody letting you join, against my better judgement! You are now Corporal Thomas Martin, and I'm certain you think that sounds terribly grand. There now - the three of you, what ever argument you have been working on for the last five minutes with your heads bent together - it was all for nothing, now, wasn't it? You can save your breath."

Thomas' face was exultant, his eyes bright with joy, until these last words were said.

"Ah, father," Gabriel ventured. "That's not what we were discussing…"

"No?" Benjamin arched an eyebrow. "What was it then?"

"Well, as you know, Tavington took me captive. What I did not have the opportunity to tell you, was that Tavington made me an offer, beforehand. Renounce my rebellious ways and swear allegiance to the Crown, and he would take me into his Dragoons and would make me a Captain. And - this is the important part - he stated he was offering me this, _'for the love I bear your sister'_." He quoted.

Benjamin stiffened, his teeth grinding as his jaw worked.

"He is still looking for her, Papa," Thomas said. "He asked Aunt Charlotte where Drakespar was - not realising he was already there. I believe he'll search all of the Santee - I can't imagine she is safe from him at the Scott's, even with the Howard's. He'll find her…"

"Not if I get to her first," Benjamin said grimly. "I'll have to take her to McDeals, keep her there at the fort for her own safety until I know what to do with her." He fell into a grave silence as he brooded over Tavington and his need to get hold of Beth.

"You have not finished the tale," he said finally, prompting Thomas and Gabriel to continue. When the boys hesitated, he said, "look, I can't think of Beth just now. The thought of Tavington getting to her first…" His entire body seemed to tense and a glint entered his eye - Gabriel thought it would be Tavington's death, should that happen. "Tell me what happened at Drakespar, when the two of you were caught."

Understanding that his father needed his mind taken from his woes, Gabriel began relaying the events as he and Thomas knew them, from the time the Dragoons arrived, until the two were rescued by their father.

"Aunt Charlotte slipped up - she was so upset that she forgot to call Thomas by his fake name, after introducing him by it. She had called him Daniel earlier, but then she called him Thomas. He commanded that Thomas be seized immediately, believing that he had found another rebel - a militiaman."

"And at the same time as I was being taken," Thomas took it up now, "Aunt Charlotte was trying to make up a lie to cover her slip but Tavington saw right through it. He got real angry and jumped from his horse - and slapped Aunt Charlotte across the face."

Benjamin stiffened, suddenly rigid, and cold as ice.

"You should have seen Thomas then," Gabriel said proudly. "He went berserk! He shoved his guards off him then he charged Tavington, pulled back his fist and slammed it in the Butcher's face! Tavington's head snapped back - you should've seen his face!"

"Jesus!" Curly roared with laughter.

"Looks like the boy's already had his initiation into the militia," Rollins hooted, "striking a Redcoat Officer!"

"Not just any Redcoat - but the Butcher himself!" Danvers crowed. Samuel - in the saddle behind him - stared at the ground. "He's a Martin, alright! Not doing things by halves!"

Benjamin gazed at his son with open approval and Thomas blushed crimson.

"What did Tavington do then?" He asked steadily.

"Had his men throw me to the ground and sentenced me to be hung then and there," Thomas muttered.

"He's definitely been initiated then!" Rollins cried. "Attacking an Officer - The Butcher himself - and being sentenced to hang!"

"Then and there, you say?" Benjamin frowned. "And yet here you are?"

"Yeh, 'cause Aunt Charlotte dropped to her knees and begged for my life, so Tavington had me ordered bound and taken captive, instead," Thomas explained. "If not for Aunt Charlotte's begging, I'd say I'd be dead now."

"Huh, I didn't think the Butcher was capable of mercy…" Rollins said.

"I don't think he is, not truly," Thomas said. "He even told Aunt Charlotte as much, when she begged for me to be released, that he was already showing her what mercy he was capable of by not having me hung…"

"You were very brave, Thomas," Gabriel said then, having witnessed the entire affair.

"Agh, I was so angry, I don't think I had sense enough to be scared," Thomas waved the compliment away. "When I think back now, I'm surprised I didn't shit in my breeches!"

The men laughed - even Benjamin, despite himself. "That's usually the way of it, Son," he said. "Everything happens so fast, and your blood is up, you just don't have the brains to be frightened. Well, it looks like the other's are right - you're well and truly a soldier. You handled yourself well, by the sound of it."

Pride burned in Thomas, causing him to sit tall in the saddle and adopt a stupid smile.

"And then?" Rollins prompted. "I suppose you were dragged off then… Do you know what became of Mrs. Selton and the children?"

"They were," Nathan said. "Dragged off. And then the Dragoons started to fire the house and Aunt Charlotte begged Tavington to let her have horses and her carriage, so she could ride away with the children. He allowed it. I left with them, Aunt Charlotte said she would take us to Fresh Water. That's when Sammie and me said we need to find you, to warn you that Tavington had prisoners, Gabe and Tom among them. I don't know what happened to Aunt Charlotte after that, but hopefully she's at Fresh Water by now."

"Papa, when we were leaving, Gabriel and I saw that the house was well and truly ablaze…" Thomas said. "In this heat, it went up like a bonfire. I'd say there's nothing left but a blackened shell by now."

_Christ - Charlotte's home._ "That bastard has a lot to answer for," Benjamin grated, clutching his reins in a tight fist. "He tried to take my sons! He struck Charlotte - torched her home! If he does manage to get hold of Beth, and if he does manage to get her to marry him, I swear, I'll make her a widow! I'll kill that bastard, I'll choke the damned life from him!"

"Get in line," Gabriel growled. "If I face him on the field, I'll do my damnedest to kill him myself."

"Let's pick up the speed, aye?" Billings suggested. "I want to make sure the children and your sister in law made it to Fresh Water safely."

"You know, so do I," Benjamin said, agreeing. Not a single man in the column disagreed, they were all tired and some of them were wounded - the idea of visiting a Plantation - knowing that they would mostly get a damned good home cooked meal - was more than enough to secure their enthusiasm.

* * *

As Nathan predicted, Charlotte and the children were already at Fresh Water, though they had not been there long. Many of Charlotte's house staff and field workers were there too, settling into the small cottages of Benjamin's workers, taking them over completely.

Benjamin and his men trotted up the lane toward the house, with the captured British supply wagons following more slowly behind and Charlotte darted out of the small manor house. She stopped dead at the top of the verandah steps, her mouth dropping open when she saw her nephews at their father's side. The children were not far behind her and they all ran down the steps to meet Benjamin as he rode his horse right up to the house. Gabriel, Nathan and Thomas joined him, but Rollins, Billings and the rest of the column hung back to watch, sensing this was to be a profoundly private family moment. Samuel climbed down from Dan Scott's horse and followed more slowly, keeping himself slightly apart from the others.

"Lord, Gabriel - Thomas! Oh, you reached him in time!" Charlotte cried, seizing Nathan and then Samuel and kissing both boys soundly on their cheeks. Staring at her older nephews, she held a trembling hand to her lips and her other hand pressed to her stomach. Margaret and the others laughed with joy and as the men climbed off their horses, the children surrounded them.

"Agh, we just stumbled across them in the woods," Benjamin waved his hand airily as though it were nothing. "They looked to be in a spot of bother and need of a little help, so we decided to rescue them."

"Oh my God!" Charlotte shook her head and stumbled first to Thomas, cupping his face with her soft hands. Then she embraced him. Gabriel was next. "Oh, Ben!"

She turned to Benjamin next, cupping his rough cheeks with her smooth fingers. "Oh, you never cease to astonish me! You utterly wonderful, brilliant, extraordinary man!"

"I am those things, yes," he agreed with a smirk. "From what the boys have told me, you were fairly astonishing, wonderful, brilliant and extraordinary yourself!"

"Oh, no I wasn't," she choked back a sudden sob. "I've made such a mess of things. No doubt they've filled you in. Thomas was taken because I'm too stupid to stick to the story we fabricated and so my house was burned down and -"

"Shh," placing his hands on her waist, he pulled her against him and - for the second time in front of all his children - kissed her soundly. Throwing her arms around his neck, she sobbed unabashedly as he they deepened the kiss.

The children - having seen the sight earlier that day, were not as astonished as the first time. Margaret glanced at Susan and the girls began to giggle. The laughter of the other children intruded on the lovers private moment and they slowly withdrew from the kiss, coming up for air, though they remained in the circle of each other's arms.

"I think we need to see a silver lining," Benjamin said to his children as Charlotte tried to stifle her sobs. She lowered her head to his shoulder and he rubbed her back. "The one that always shines around even the darkest of clouds. If it's alright with all of you, I'd like to make your Aunt my wife. What say you?"

Margaret promptly burst into tears then, and the girls rushed forward to embrace the pair. Benjamin laughed and reached down, wrapping his arm around Margaret's back. Then he glanced up at his sons.

"Two out of eight…" He said, a questioning tone in his voice. Nathan and William were grinning from ear to ear. Four out of eight - though he guessed he'd have Beth's support if she were there. So, five out of eight… "Thomas, Gabriel?"

Charlotte lifted her tear streaked face from Benjamin's shoulder to regard her nephews.

"I think that's a very good idea, father, considering," Thomas said and Charlotte blushed crimson. "So we call you Mamma for real then?" Thomas asked, feeling the need to smooth over the thing he'd just said, for he knew it'd upset his aunt. "It felt right, when I called you that earlier today."

"Oh, Thomas!" Charlotte reached for him and embraced him again.

Gabriel was nodding, in agreement with Thomas, though he made no disparaging or judgemental remarks. He, too, embraced Charlotte.

"Samuel?" Benjamin asked carefully of the boy he knew to be traumatised. Keeping his eyes down and one arm slung across his stomach, he shrugged. Benjamin heaved a sigh. He would deal with the boy later, there was no time now. He turned to Charlotte.

"Then we shall be married -" Benjamin began but, typical woman that she was, Charlotte whirled on him at once.

"You've not even proposed, Benjamin!" She admonished sharply and Benjamin laughed.

Their special moment was shadowed by the recent horrors they'd endured. After the day they'd had, Benjamin felt a little bit of silliness was in order. The occasion certainly called for it. And so he fell to his knees at Charlotte's feet and took hold of one of her long, slim hands in his large, beefy ones and gazed up at her in adoration.

"Oh, my beautiful Lady," he gushed up at her. "You are the love of my life. Would you do this old, unworthy, lonely widower the enormous honor of being my wife, and mother to my spoilt rotten children? Will you, Mrs. Charlotte Selton, marry me?"

Charlotte gaped down at him and placed her free hand over her mouth. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she giggled like a little girl. She nodded then, and placed her hand alongside his cheek.

"I will, dear heart," she said simply. Benjamin jumped to his feet and kissed her again, a long, slow serious kiss while most of the children cheered and whooped.

"A celebration!" Benjamin roared, waving his arm for his men to come forward. Rollins and the others dismounted and began slapping Benjamin on the back, congratulating him. Abigail embraced Benjamin, she wore a small smile. "It's a pity it's so late in the day," Benjamin said. "No time to put on a proper feast before dinner!"

"No matter!" Mrs. Ambrose, his cook, announced, the large woman had appeared on the verandah also, and was dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her apron. "Or have you forgotten your neighbours and their attempts to regain your good graces by use of their wonderful baking? We've still been receiving cakes and pies and what not - we've so much food. Some of it will be turning soon if we don't eat it. If you lay out the tables here - I will heat up what needs to be heated and will start bringing it all out."

"Wonderful!" Benjamin clapped his hands, applauding Mrs. Ambrose for her brilliant plan. "And I say we uncover those carts and see what the British have so thoughtfully provided for us! There could even be some fine champagne!"

With lots of laughter, some of the men went to inspect the wagons, to discover what treasures they had appropriated. Benjamin's sons went too - even the smallest, William. Except for Samuel - Benjamin saw Sam head into the house, he was likely heading for his bed chamber. Benjamin resolved to speak to the boy in a minute. He also needed to see to his wounded, and to have the bodies would need to be returned to their homes for burial.

For now, however, he wanted to savour the moment. Word spread like wildfire and the happy couple were congratulated by the staff of both Fresh Water and Drakespar alike.

"When's the wedding?" Rollins asked, standing at Benjamin's side. As Curly saw to bandaging the wounded.

"We'll have to speak to Oliver," Benjamin replied. "Not certain if we should bother with the banns - I'm sure he'll agree. What do you think, Charlotte? I don't want to rush, but I think it'd be better if we were married before I went off skirmishing, who knows when I'll be back?"

"No, no!" Charlotte gasped, she reached up to grip the edges of his jacket. "That's perfectly fine with me! The sooner the better, I say! And if Oliver doesn't agree - he better have a darned good reason why!"

"Oh, I'm reckoning he will," Rollins said. "I think he'd be itching to have at least one Martin family engagement end in marriage, he'll want to do it quick as possible!"

Benjamin laughed heartily. Rollins was speaking of Beth's catastrophically failed engagements of course - the first being to Burwell, the second to George Howard.

"Yes, I agree - he'll want this one done quickly. He'll breathe a sigh of relief, I dare say!" Benjamin agreed.

"So, when's the wedding!" Rollins asked again, with a hearty laugh.

"Tomorrow," Benjamin smiled at Charlotte, who smiled back, radiant.

"Yes, tomorrow," she agreed. "That will give us time to prepare a proper wedding banquet. Old Lucas told me when we arrived that your Josiah felled a deer - it will be perfect for -"

"Dragoons!" A voice shouted and everyone froze. The children clambering over the uncovered wagons, the militia men and regulars checking the appropriated supplies, Benjamin and Charlotte, Rollins and the others who stood close by. "Dragoons!" The voice shouted again and a youth - Josiah who Charlotte said had killed a deer, came bolting out of the nearby woods. He kept running until he stood face to face with Benjamin. "Green Dragoons, Sir!" He panted.

"Where, how far, how many?" Benjamin snapped.

"Not far - I could see them further back in the forest. They'll be here in less than a few minutes. At least ninety of them, though some are wounded."

"Jesus, we have to get out of here!" Rollins announced.

"Sound the alarm," Benjamin said gravely and Rollins fell to immediate action.

"Flee, flee!" He began to shout and the militiamen and Regulars whirled to face him. "Dragoons! The British are coming! Flee!"

"What of the wounded?" Charlotte asked, her mind whirling and seizing on the one thing that made any sense. The militiamen and Regulars were already for the horses - there were not enough mounts for all of them, and so far the men had been marching while others rode, but now time was of the essence. Every single horse soon had two men mounted in the saddle and they were already beginning to race through the trees to flee across the fields. The Post Road needed to be avoided at all costs now, for the Dragoons would see them immediately.

"Benjamin, we have to go!" Rollins shouted at him, when we saw that Benjamin had not budged an inch.

"I can't go…" He whispered, gazing at Charlotte and the children - Samuel had come back out, he stood on the porch, watching with large eyes. "I have to stay and -"

"Be hanged!" Rollins bellowed. "Don't be a fool, man! Wounded, Josiah said! That might be the lot that was attacked back on the road - which means Tavington must know it was you, that's why he's coming here! And if he doesn't know, he will as soon as he sees the wagons we pilfered! We can't stay and fight - too many of us are wounded! To stay is to die, damn it!"

The children had run from the wagons and were clustered around their father and Aunt as the yard was deserted of Benjamin's soldiers. The children were so frightened, Benjamin could almost smell it.

"I have to go, but -"

"What?" Samuel gasped, shocked. He finally came forward, finally spoke to his father. "You can't leave us! You don't know what Tavington is going to do to us!" He confronted his father, who looked from Samuel to Rollins and back again.

"You understand nothing, Samuel," Gabriel snapped. "You're not in the same danger as us, Tavington isn't going to do anything to you."

"I killed those men too!" Samuel shouted so loudly his voice cracked. "You can't just leave us!"

"It wouldn't even occur to him that you or Nathan were there," Gabriel said. "Father, Rollins is right, we have to go," Gabriel was already mounted with Thomas behind him.

"To stay is to die," Samuel repeated, storming up to his father, furious. "Is that it? You killed his men and now you have to flee. All this time, you were keeping out of it because you feared for our safety. And then you joined because you attacked Tarleton's force and would soon be a wanted man, so it was either join or flee. But here you are, fleeing anyway? You're going to flee from us? You're the only protection we have!"

"Samuel, back down," Gabriel shouted, seeing the conflict and guilt on his father's face. "Do you want papa to hang? Is that it?"

"I don't want him to leave us helpless like this - you've got forty men, you could stay here and defend us! You went on a damned rampage back there and now you're just going to flee? Who knows what's going to happen to us when you're gone?"

Benjamin gave an agonised groan at his son's words.

"Nothing will happen to us," Charlotte's hand came down on Samuel's shoulder, her voice was steel. "He has come here looking for Beth, but he is going to find us, instead. I will tell him who we really are this time. He won't hurt us further, Beth would never forgive him, if he did. As it is, she likely won't forgive him." For burning Charlotte's house down and for slapping her. "Go," she said to Benjamin, seeing his anguish. "If he is coming here for you, I would not have him find you. It is more likely that he is coming here for Beth. I'll tell him the truth right off this time, I'll tell him who I really am," her voice turned grim, her face darkened, "Lord, I can't wait to see the look on his face!"

"Jesus, when you can't produce Beth, he might hurt you!" Benjamin fretted.

"No - he won't. He'll be worried is what, when he realises he slapped _Beth's Aunt._ He won't do anything to further incur her wrath - in fact, he'll probably bend over backwards to please us!"

"Are you forgetting the wagons?" Samuel snapped. "He'll know it was us that attacked him!"

"He will know it was your _father_," Charlotte said, voice firm. To Benjamin, she said, "either way, there is nothing you can do! If you stay, you'll hang!" Her breath caught then, for they could hear the approach now - the hooves of so many horses striking the ground. "Go - go! We'll be fine! If he burns this house down too, we'll go to Henrietta's! But you need to leave, right now!"

She gave him a harsh shove and Benjamin stumbled back. He stared at her and the children with woe, his face lined with misery. He was moving, however and once he started, he did not stop. Turning his back, he flung himself into the saddle.

"If anything happens, come to me. I won't go to the fort, not while Tavington is here. I'll stay close… At… Danvers. Send for me at Danvers, he's the closest to here. You take the old forrest trail, keep on until you reach the mill -"

"I know where Danvers lives! Go, Ben!" Charlotte said, despairing, waving her hands to shoo him away and even then he lingered.

"I love you," he said to Charlotte, then repeated it to his children. "I love you. Be good for your Aunt…"

"I love you too, now go!" Charlotte waved her arms at him again, then strode forward and dealt a stinging slap to his horses rump. The mare skittered and shied, rolling her eyes with uncertainty. Then Benjamin spurred kicked his heels into her flanks and chased after his fleeing men and sons. The column had darted through the trees, which covered their retreat. Charlotte only hoped that they would be out of ear shot quickly, or Tavington would hear them, and the pursuit would being.

"Oh, Aunt Charlotte!" Margaret wailed. Charlotte dropped to her knees before the distraught girl, trying to soothe her and her younger siblings all at once. Nathan seemed a little nervous too, Charlotte could see he was trying to hide it. Samuel was glaring at the dust kicked up by the militia's horses. He was furious with his father for leaving them, and she would need to deal with his anger later, but right now, Margaret needed her more.

"It's alright," Charlotte stroked Margaret's face and pulled her close. "It's alright. I vow it, I'll tell him right off that we're Beth's family. That's all the protection we'll need - you'll see. He won't harm us. You heard him offer Gabriel a place amongst his men, he only did that because he loves Beth. He won't hurt us, not now."

She glanced over Margaret's shoulder as the Dragoons began to emerge. The tree line along the road had concealed their approach at first but the horses soon were visible. She cast a quick glance behind her to ensure Benjamin was out of sight. They were lost to view - nothing could be seen beyond the thick trees lining the lane. While the men would still be fleeing through Benjamin's cornfield, they could not be seen, and she could barely hear them now - they were almost out of ear shot.

Satisfied that Benjamin would not be spied fleeing by the approaching Dragoons, Charlotte turned her gaze toward the road. She could see the tops of their plumed helmets sticking up above the field of corn, bobbing along at a quick pace, drawing closer to the carriageway entrance. A moment later, the first of the Dragoons appeared. The drive was fifty yards long and Tavington was too far yet for her to see his face, but she knew it was him. She frowned, for he seemed to be riding with another person in the saddle before him. More Dragoons turned into the drive - a constant stream of them, it seemed.

It was not until the Colonel was halfway along the drive that Charlotte finally recognised who he was riding with. Charlotte blinked, trying to clear her vision. It was impossible - Beth should have been safely ensconced at Mr. Dan Scott's home, with the Howards protecting her! But no - there she was, sitting before Tavington on the horse, and the sight of them together almost caused Charlotte to faint dead away.

* * *

"Oh!" Beth sat up tall in the saddle, alert and tense. Tavington gazed toward the house, wondering what had alarmed his wife.

"What is it?"

"I thought they were still at Drakespar! Oh, I knew they'd find out about our marriage eventually but I'm not ready yet! They're going to hate me!" She wailed and Tavington frowned over her head, staring toward the house at the many figures assembled in the yard. They were too far away for him to make out their faces for the moment, but he studied as best he could, hoping that one of them would be a large, older male - who would prove to be Benjamin Martin.

Even from that distance, however, he could clearly see they were all women and young children. He dismissed them, his eyes falling on a most familiar and welcome sight. The wagons! His wagons - the one Benjamin Martin had taken.

"Bordon!" He called over the drum of hooves to his adjutant beside him. "He's been here - and he left in a hurry I'd say, for he's abandoned the wagons. He won't be far. Discover which way he went and pursue with fifty Dragoons immediately."

"Yes, Sir!" Bordon agreed.

Beth's gaze was fixed on Charlotte and nerves rippled through her stomach. Lord, how was she going to tell them? That she had chosen William, over them? They were almost at the house now, and she felt Tavington tense against her, for some odd reason. When she glanced at him in askance, she saw he was frowning at Charlotte fiercely.

"What the Devil is Mrs. Cambridge doing here?" He asked.

"Mrs. Cambridge?" Beth frowned. "Dear heart - that's my Aunt Charlotte - perhaps the two look alike?"

Tavington stared at the back of Beth's head in absolute horror. The two women did not look alike - they were one and the same woman! Jesus - he had burned Beth's Aunt's home! He had slapped Beth's Aunt across the face! He had ordered her livestock killed - had taken the woman's son captive!

No - Beth told me she never had children, his thoughts were frantic, whirling. Who then? She called him Thomas… Jesus fucking Christ - Thomas was her nephew, not her bloody son! _I had two of Beth's brothers bloody taken!_

He had been fully within his right to do so, the boy struck him! Even still, sweat popped out on his forehead. He had ordered the boy hung for that crime - what if he had not shown mercy when Mrs. Cambridge - _Mrs. Selton _rather, had begged for it? He'd been furious enough to wrap the noose around the boys' neck himself! The sweat began to pour when he realised just how close he had come to hanging one of Beth's brothers.

"Mrs. Cambridge!" Bordon gasped, shouting over the horses galloping. Tavington glanced at the Major in time to see Bordon's face darken. "Perhaps we were mistaken not to question her!" He shouted. "Well, she's in for it now!"

"What?" Beth cried, whirling back to glance over her shoulder at William.

"It's Mrs. Selton!" Tavington shouted back to Richard. "And yes, she will need to be questioned, but I shall be the one to do it." The latter was for Beth's benefit. He could feel her confusion as she subsided, facing forward with a frown.

There was no time to give explanations or ask questions, for he was suddenly atop the family and two girls were running forward to greet Beth. She was off Shadow Dancer as soon as the horse stopped, hugging her sisters. He could see Bordon draw rein from the corner of his eye as he met Mrs. Selton's. The two locked gazes and Tavington had the disconcerting feeling that the woman could read his mind. And judging by the small smirk that curved her lips, she was very smug indeed.

_She'll use it all against me_, he curled his hands into fists on the reins. _And never mind that it was all her bloody fault! Giving me a false name! Christ, what will Beth make of it?_

Their reunion had been far more fulfilling than he'd ever thought possible. In only a few hours, he had grown closer to Beth than he could have ever anticipated - she had given herself to him utterly, mind, body and soul. She had laid with him, had married him, had told him secrets about her father that she never would have months ago! She was his - for once and for all - and now he was faced with it all being ripped from him - as soon as she heard Mrs. Selton's side of the events that had occurred at her plantation! Beth was fiercely protective of her family - she might never forgive him!

Tavington's suspicions, that Charlotte could read his mind, were quite correct. It was not his mind, however - but his face that she was reading, and judging by his expression, he was on the verge of panicking. She began to feel quite complacent, after everything he had done - it was with satisfaction that she watched him in his obvious discomfort.

"Are we safe then, Aunt?" Nathan whispered. Beth had just climbed off her horse and was hugging Margaret and Susan tight.

"Yes, are we, Aunt?" Samuel asked. Charlotte had not answered Nathan's question as yet. She pulled her gaze from Beth and Margaret, and met Tavington's eyes again. His gaze was shifting from Beth, to Charlotte and back to Beth again - still with that horrified expression. Charlotte nodded - for it was clear that Tavington had realised what his actions earlier that day had wrought. Whose home he'd attacked and burnt to the ground. Whose brothers he'd taken captive. And whose Aunt Tavington himself had slapped.

"Yes, I believe we are," she said, somewhat smugly.

Major Bordon, whose gaze was fixed on Mrs. Cambridge / Selton, heard the exchange, being less distracted and conflicted than Colonel Tavington. Fury flared, he dismounted and stormed toward her, his long legs swallowing the distance.

"Where is Martin?" He snapped.

"Major Bordon!" Beth cried, but he ignored her. He ignored Tavington too, knowing this needed to be done. He saw the smugness slip from Mrs. Selton's face and two of the children shrank back from him. The other boy, who Richard recognised from earlier, held his ground but Richard ignored him. "Where," he repeated, stepping closer to Charlotte until he was toe to toe with her. "Is Benjamin Martin."

"William!" Beth spun on her husband but he said nothing, his eyes darting back and forth between Charlotte and Richard.

"I am following your command, Sir," Richard reminded William. "That you gave it before knowing who this woman is makes no difference. With each passing moment, they are getting away."

"They are," William agreed. "Mrs. Selton, will you kindly tell us where Colonel Martin has gone? We are aware that he was here," he jutted his chin toward the wagons, his wagons. He spoke with politeness usually reserved for friends, never for enemies.

"I will not," Charlotte said, lifting her chin.

"I can tell you," Mila said, coming out of the house. She stepped off the porch and approached warily but did not stop until she was close enough to Beth to clasp her hand in greeting.

"There were forty of them," she said with an uncertain glance at Charlotte. "And they went through there." She pointed toward the cornfield where Benjamin had disappeared ten minutes ago.

"Mila!" Charlotte and Abigail both gasped. Abigail ran forward and grabbed her daughter's arm.

"What are you doing!" She cried, aghast at the girl's betrayal.

"Ah, you are Mila…" Tavington mused as he gazed down at the African girl. "Zeke will be pleased with you."

"Is he here, Sir?" Mila asked, trying to spot him amongst the milling Dragoons.

"No - he is with the Legion, but you'll be reunited with him soon. Do you know where Martin was heading?"

"No, Sir - I'm sorry, I was inside so if they spoke of it, I did not hear it, I only saw them leave."

Tavington inclined his head at Mila. "I thank you for your assistance. Bordon - take fifty."

Charlotte and Abigail glowered at Mila's as she and Beth embraced one another. Bordon whirled his horse and gathered fifty Dragoons, then spurred through the trees in the direction Mila had indicated.

"I can't believe this," Abigail shook her head slowly and wrung her hands before her. "Mrs. Selton, I'm so sorry. She's been harping about this Zeke fellow for months! I never thought she'd betray Mr. Martin's family like this!"

"Nor would I have thought her capable of it," Charlotte stated, her chin raised with haughtier.

"I didn't want to," Mila said, feeling guilty over what she had just done. "But everything's different now - Beth is going to marry Tavington and I'm going to marry Zeke. Zeke is in service to Colonel Tavington and I'm going to be Beth's maid still - I'm sorry Mama, but… I'm a Loyalist and -"

"Loyalist!" Abigail gasped. "That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard you say!"

"Is it? Do you enjoy our people being forced to slavery, then?"

"Mr. Martin does not keep slaves," Abigail snapped.

"No. But he is just one man, isn't he? And he's joined those who _do_ keep slaves, those who want to persist in treating our people like animals, while _his_ people," she pointed at Tavington, "intends to free them."

"Not out of kindness," Charlotte said, exasperated. "They will have a political reason for doing so, mark my words. Otherwise, they would have freed every enslaved African decades ago."

"Political or not, it will mean our people are free. How could I be anything but a Loyalist?"

"No more of this," Abigail said. "No more nonsense. You are are not going haring off and marrying Zeke! No - you will marry old Lucas and that's final!"

"I'm not listening to this," Mila said darkly. "Beth - I'm going to start packing - are we leaving soon?"

"William has wounded that need caring for - there's no hurry."

"Alright - but I need to do something, to keep busy. I'll draw you a bath?"

"That'd be nice," Beth smiled.

"Yes? What do you mean, yes?" Charlotte snapped. Beth glanced at her but said nothing.

"Now you just wait a darned minute Mila!" Abigail rushed after her daughter, who was striding up the steps and in to the house, the two were arguing the entire way.

"I can't believe she gave up father," Nathan whispered.

"Never mind that - Benjamin is too clever to be caught," Charlotte stated, her eyes locked on Tavington's.

"We shall see," he replied grimly.

Beth began to slowly approach. Warily. Charlotte pulled her gaze from Tavington, who was dismounting, and watched her niece. She saw Tavington approaching also him - and she ignored the remaining Dragoons still mounted the yard, her eyes were fixed solely on Beth.

"How have you come to be here?" Charlotte asked sternly. "Mr. Miller was under strict instructions to take you directly to… to safety! Where is he?"

"Mr. Miller? He is back there," she nodded to the Dragoons. "We were on our way to… safety… but the bridges were destroyed and we couldn't get across the river. Mr. Miller didn't know of another way, and neither did I. So we decided to go to Pembroke in order to back track. Only, we reached Pembroke and then William…" she glanced over her shoulder at Tavington, then continued nervously, "well… How did you come to be here? You were at Drakespar when I left this morning."

Charlotte frowned - there was something Beth wasn't telling her, she knew it deep in her bones and it made her profoundly uneasy. She would dig for the full account later, but now…

"Perhaps your '_William_' can explain that one?" Charlotte asked tartly and Tavington raised his chin, his eyes growing cold.

"Right after you explain how you those wagons came to be here, Mrs. _Cambridge_," he snapped in irritation. They both knew fully well how they'd come to be there, but he confronted her still. He understood the undercurrents completely and it annoyed him, the way she was gazing at him with such a smug expression on her face. He felt the need to throw her own guilt into it. Treasonous bloody whore.

"'Mrs. Cambridge'?" Beth shook her head. "Lord - you and this other woman must look alike, Aunt, even Bordon thought you were Mrs. Cambridge. Do you know her? She's from Devlin, so you must,"tThen to the Colonel, she introduced, "I told you, William, this is my Aunt, Mrs. Selton."

"You are not thinking clearly, niece," Charlotte said, causing Beth's frown to deepen. "Perhaps you are too tired - after the commotion and excitement of today."

"I don't understand," Beth admitted. "What do you mean? What am I not thinking clearly about? And why should William be able to explain your presence here?"

"Mrs. Cambridge and Aunt Charlotte are one and the same, Beth," Nathan rolled his eyes. "Lord, you must be exhausted to have not figured that out…"

After staring at her brother for a long moment, Beth shook her head, about to deny his words. But it made sense, it fit - that Charlotte would give a false name to Tavington, in the hope that he would leave her alone and continue on his way. Though that was not what happened - clearly. For Charlotte would not be there, at Fresh Water, if that were the case. And then there was the issue of Gabriel having been taken captive at 'Mrs. Cambridge's' home. That made sense too - for she had wondered why he would leave Drakespar when he was so horribly wounded. Her mind was working sluggishly and her aunt was staring at her intently, waiting impatiently for Beth to come to puzzle it all out and come to the correct conclusion.

She thought back on her conversation with William, and she remembered belatedly what he told her of the woman's fate. Beth gasped then, and whirled on her husband.

"You burned my Aunt's home!" She cried in anguish. "That's why she's had to come here - you burnt her home!"

"No, Beth," Tavington reached for her, wound his fingers around her arms and pulled her hard against him. He continued intently, begging for her to understand but there was mettle in his voice too - cold, hard, iron. "I burnt _Mrs. Cambridge's_ home. That is the name she gave me, why in the world would I think she was lying? She is guilty of treason, Beth. Both then, and now. Both times I have seen her, she has concealed Colonel Martin's whereabouts."

"'Colonel' Martin?" Charlotte whispered, her gaze falling to Beth. Her eyes drilled bores into the girl. "It seems my niece has been far more forthcoming that she should have been. I'm very disappointed in you, Beth."

Beth stiffened at the accusation. Her Aunt assumed that Beth had told Tavington everything - and she was absolutely correct in that assumption.

"Beth told me nothing," Tavington lied. He came to stand behind his wife and gave her arms a light squeeze, letting her know to remain quiet and let him deal with this. "Colonel Martin murdered twenty of my men, Mrs. _Cambridge_," he taunted and Charlotte snapped her mouth shut. "But I was given a full report from the survivors. That is how I know about Colonel Martin."

"Murdered?" Nathan asked, confused. "It was battle! Not murder!"

"It was murder, boy, no matter how your father might have defended it to you," Tavington refused to back down on this point. "Your father is a rebel and had no authority to enter into a skirmish against His Majesties soldiers!"

"He has the right - doesn't he, Aunt?" Nathan glanced up at Charlotte. "Congress granted General Burwell the right to recruit and father is now a Continental. It wasn't murder," he turned back to Tavington. "Besides, you took his sons prisoner!"

"This 'Congress' of yours does not have the authority either boy - they are in rebellion also," Tavington said intently.

"Sons?" Beth asked, hearing Nathan's plural. "Sons?" She lifted her head from William's chest and glanced around with a frown, "where's Thomas?"

"Your '_William_' took him prisoner, Beth!" Charlotte seized on this and hurled it against Tavington with as much accusation as she could muster. "Your 'William' took both your brothers prisoner!"

"Oh, God!" Beth covered her mouth with her hands. Only then did she remember that William had spoken of taking 'Mrs. Cambridge's' rebel son.

"Beth!" William snapped, spinning her around and pulling her against him when she tried to step away. "I knowingly took one of your bloody brothers captive - and he I told you about! The other boy I took, was _Mrs. Cambridge's_ son," he shot Charlotte a glare and continued darkly, "for the crime of assaulting a British Officer! He punched me in the damned face, I could not allow it to go unanswered! I could have hung the little whelp, but I chose to be merciful!"

"Only after I begged you on bended knee!" Charlotte cried. "And he only struck you, because you slapped me across the face!"

"You struck my Aunt?" Beth whispered and Tavington's fingers tightened on her arms.

"I struck _Mrs. Cambridge_!" He yelled. "She lied to me - gave me false names! She said 'Thomas' was Daniel and when I caught her out in the falsehood, I assumed he was another rebel - she'd just been caught harbouring one already - why would I think differently? I struck _Mrs. Cambridge_! And when 'Daniel' punched me, I commanded that he be hanged. When Mrs. Cambridge begged clemency, I bloody gave it, and had the boy taken prisoner instead! Jesus bloody Christ!"

"Maybe…" Margaret ventured slowly, staring around at the adults wide eyed. "Maybe, Aunt Charlotte, maybe we should have told Colonel Tavington from the beginning, who we were? Or at least when Gabriel told who he was - we should have revealed the truth…"

"Yes! Yes, you bloody should have!" Tavington growled and Margaret recoiled, pulling Susan with her.

"Gently, William!" Beth snapped. "She's only fourteen!" William drew a ragged breath and struggled to calm. "_And_ she's agreeing with you!"

"And you?" He shot back, still holding her arms in a tight grip. "Do you agree?" She was the only one he cared about, to hell with the rest of them.

"Yes," she said and Tavington blew out an explosively relieved breath. "Yes, Aunt Charlotte should have revealed herself."

"I can't believe this!" Charlotte cried. "He burned my house to the ground!"

"I'm sorry he did that," Beth said, turning to her Aunt. "I truly am! And I'm sorry you were slapped - I'm sorry for all of it. But it was mistaken identity, he would not have treated you so harshly if you told him the truth." Beth paused, then added, "and I think you knew that - after you saw how he treated Gabriel, you must have known how he'd treat you, if he knew who you really were."

"If I'd told him that, he would have demanded I hand you over to him!" Charlotte pointed out.

"Beth was gone anyway, what difference would it have made if he demanded that?" Samuel asked. He went to stand by Beth's side, then turned to face Charlotte. With Margaret's position near to Beth, Charlotte suddenly felt as though the family were splitting down the middle, some taking Beth's side and only Nathan taking hers. William and Susan were far too young to understand any of this. She shifted her glare to Samuel.

"And why the Devil is that such a bad thing!" Tavington demanded. "Why are you so against me and Beth being together?"

Charlotte paused, struck dumb by the question. She thought furiously for an answer, an answer that would justify her strong dislike for Tavington. Her equally strong aversion to the union between her niece and this Officer. Certainly, he'd fired her house that morning, she'd lost her entire world, with that one act - it was a disaster! But that was merely the culmination of everything that had come before. Her need to see Beth free of Tavington had risen well before this morning. It had begun months ago, back in the time they were all in Charlestown. Why was she so against them? What harm had he done them? What had he done…

Oh, yes - there was the wager… that was quite despicable… For Charlotte, that was the seed, that was were all of her dislike for this man originated from. His ill treatment of Beth, that had hurt the girl so thoroughly. She was a protective Aunt, she loved her sister's children well. And she despised Tavington, for hurting Beth. For trying to use her. For seducing her, for wagering on her virtue, as though the girl was a common strumpet.

There were other reasons, other occurrences that came after that - but for Charlotte, that was where it all began.

Tavington was waiting for an answer, and so was Beth, Charlotte saw.

"You hurt her," Charlotte said, tears springing to her eyes. "Is that not enough reason? You hurt my niece. You wagered on her virtue. Perhaps she has forgiven you that, but I never will." - Tavington clenched his jaw tight. That fucking wager, it always came back to that fucking wager! - "You hurt her. You broke her heart. She'd fallen in love with you but all you wanted was to screw her like she was a doxy, and claim a victory prize of fifty pounds. My niece! How dare you treat her so horribly! How dare you toy with her! How -" She broke off, suddenly overcome.

"I've apologised to Beth for doing that to her," William said. His tone was steel, but oddly gentle. Intent, determined to see their differences resolved. "If you require an apology also, then I give it freely. I was a cad. I would have amused myself with her, and then moved on. Only I discovered how deeply I loved her. The pain I caused her seared me to the bone, and I would have done anything to soothe her. I loved her - I love her still. I was going to propose - back in Charlestown. Does that not prove how deeply I came to feel for her? You spirited her a way before I had the chance."

"No, it does not prove how deeply you came to care for her, it proves how much you wanted her money!" Charlotte argued. "You discovered her inheritance and her land, and you wanted both."

"Who doesn't want to make a fortuitous match?" He asked her, unashamed. "How much did you bring to your marriage, Mrs. Selton? How affluent was your husband? Did you not marry him for wealth? Did you love him any less?"

Charlotte hesitated. What he was saying was quite true - all marriage matches, even those whose families had little means - were based on mutual benefit at the core.

"I didn't love him any less," Charlotte admitted.

"And I love Beth," Tavington said. "I had another option - a woman was waiting for me in England, who had as much wealth as Beth. Did you know about that?"

"Yes, I did," she frowned, feeling miserable and confused. "We knew you were engaged to another woman."

"In ending that engagement, I will have caused a very deep rift between our families," Tavington said. "And for what? To gain a bride of equal wealth? It was not just the money that drew me to Beth, Mrs. Selton. I am in love with her."

"Eleanor had twenty thousand and an apartment in central London, which is every bit as lucrative as Beth's three hundred acres here. When I discovered Beth had wealth, I chose to follow my heart, and marry the woman I love."

"And William will be receiving rewards," Beth said. "When the war is done -"

"If Britain win, Beth," Charlotte said tiredly. "If. Which means _we_ have to lose… Is that what you want?"

"You'll use politics and the war to win your argument now?" William spat in disgust.

"Very well, we'll keep away from politics _and_ the war," Charlotte said. "We shall stick to the personal. We discussed Beth herself, and if I am entirely honest I have to finally concede that I do believe you are in love with her. But that matters not - I have another - very valid - reason to oppose you."

"Your brother," Tavington guessed and Charlotte nodded curtly. "I thought you said we'd keep away from politics and the war?" He arched an eyebrow. "Your brother was a rebel."

"In this instance, the line between politics, the war and the personal has blurred. My brother - rebel though he might have been - was Beth's Uncle. You put him in Provost Dungeon. _You_ did that. And you," she said to Beth. "Did you even bother to ask about your uncle, when you reunited today with _your William_?"

"I did, as a matter of fact," Beth replied, gnawing at her lip worriedly. "We discussed Uncle Mark at length, Aunt Charlotte. He was your brother, you loved him. And yes, he was my uncle. But he made his choice, he knew the risks of spying."

"He was your uncle!" Charlotte's voice was strangled, she wanted very much to shout.

"And I grieve for him. But I will not give up my entire future and the man I love, as some… statement… Uncle Mark made his choice, I shouldn't have to pay for it."

"Your entire future and the man you love? Did you stop to consider that this man you long for is the sort of man who can inflict the sort of agonies that would have grown men quaking? This is the sort of man who would have another man bound, in order to torture him? He did things we couldn't even imagine in our worst nightmares, this man you love and long to be with. And you're thinking about marrying him?"

Beth opened her mouth to say the words her aunt would despise her for - that she was already married to him. Samuel got in first.

"You're marrying the same sort of man, Aunt Charlotte," he said and Beth swung to Samuel, gaping.

"What are you talking about, Samuel?" Charlotte gasped.

"His name was Ferrand Bisset and it happened during the Cherokee War. A French spy. Papa tortured him, while Rollins and Billings held him down."

"Ahhh, that's why you asked me about the nightmares," William said to Beth, the penny dropping. She shot him a glance but said nothing.

Charlotte's face drained of colour.

"Beth's marrying a man who is no better than the man you're marrying," Samuel said. Nathan was strangely quiet.

"If that is true," she finally began but Beth interrupted.

"It is true. I overhead papa and Colonel Burwell talking about it years ago, in the city, when Gabriel first joined. I spoke to papa about it recently and he told me."

"Spies get what they get, I guess," Samuel shrugged.

"How can you say that, he was your uncle!" Charlotte shouted. She fought for calm, though her emotions were rioting. "Whatever your father did to this Bisset fellow, it was done years ago. Twenty years has passed since that war! He is a different man, now."

"After what I saw today, papa ain't no different than he ever was," Samuel said, eyes on the ground, looking like he was about to start weeping. Beth's heart twisted, she put her arms around him and held him.

Charlotte, confused, mind whirling, sought for a way to get the argument back on track and away from Benjamin and the crimes he committed so long ago. Did he truly torture a man? No, not now. Focus on the now. She glared at Tavington and rallied for the skirmish. "All of this is useless. You know that Beth will never choose you without her families approval," Charlotte held Tavington's gaze. "And so you seek to convince me. But too much has come to pass - you tortured my brother, Beth's uncle, who is now dead. No matter what Benjamin did to some stranger fifteen years ago, none of that condones what you have done to our blood kin. Beth's blood kin. And even now, your dogs of war are off to hunt Beth's father! I will never be convinced. You will never receive my sanction. Nor will you have her father's. Even before he joined the war, he considered you to be his enemy. That will be twofold now. Tenfold. He will never give you his blessing or his permission and without those, Beth _will never choose you_."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Charlotte," Beth said quietly. "But you have misjudged me. Or misjudged how deeply I love William."

"What are you saying?" Charlotte asked sharply.

"I…" she glanced at William, who nodded. Her arms fell away from Samuel and she turned back to face her aunt, steeling her spine as she did so. "In Pembroke, I had a chance to flee. Mr. Miller and I, we heard the horses coming, we knew it was the Dragoons, that it was William. I knew that if I stayed, I'd soon be with him, but I'd be giving up my family forever. I also knew that if I fled, I'd have my family forever but I'd be giving up William. I had to make a choice." She paused, then said, "I chose to stay, I waited for William. I chose William."

"Dear God," Charlotte breathed. She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. "Beth - you can't marry him!"

"I have already," Beth whispered. William stepped closer, giving her silent support. "This afternoon, in Pembroke."

"No!" Charlotte covered her mouth with her hands, holding back a gasp. "No… No - Reverend Oliver wouldn't! He wouldn't marry you to him - Beth, what are you saying!"

"We said the words," Beth replied. "In the church, before God. We are married. William is my husband. It is done."

Charlotte was making strangling noises. There was so much she wanted to say - so many accusations. She wanted to remind Beth of every nasty, horrible sin Tavington had committed - throwing her brother into Provost was only one of them. It was the tip of the iceberg - the British Officer had done so much! There was the man's constant infidelities, the long line of women - and bastards he'd likely sired. There was the plot against Burwell - he'd used Beth in that! She wanted to scream at Beth, to rail at her. To shake sense into her.

"He tortured your uncle!" She said, stunned by Beth's betrayal. "Gods, Beth, he tortured _you_!" Beth lowered her eyes, Charlotte closed hers, she drew a ragged breath, trying to calm herself. She opened her eyes, reached out her hand to take hold of Beth's, ready to plead with the girl. "It's not too late," she breathed. "Niece. See sense. It's not too late. It can be annulled, you haven't consummated yet - it's not too late!"

Beth's eyes shifted nervously to Tavington, and her cheeks flushed crimson.

"Oh," Charlotte swayed, ready to faint. "Oh, tell me you didn't."

"This afternoon, after the wedding," Tavington said, telling a slight falsehood. "Beth and I are married. Every formality has been observed."

'Every formality' - a polite way of saying he had coupled with Beth and taken her virginity. Charlotte blanched and jerked her hand from Beth's.

It was done. Despite the many injustices this man had done Beth and her family, it was done. Without another word, Charlotte - her body stiff and ramrod straight, turned her back on her niece and strode into the house.

* * *

The entire house was alive. Maids rushed from room to room at Beth's instructions.

Tavington busied himself with the organising of his Company - choosing a camp site, having his Dragoons begin pitching their tents. The horses were taken to the stable. Pickets were set, security measures were taken, in case of attack. He then appropriated the use of Benjamin Martin's office, to begin writing the condolence letters for his fallen Dragoons.

Beth busied herself with the settling of the Green Dragoon Officers inside the manor. When they returned, Bordon, Brownlow and Dalton would all require rooms. As soon as she had the wounded instilled in a warm chamber on the ground level of the house, Beth turned her attention to the upstairs - and the rearrangements that would be necessary to quarter Tavington's Officers.

Charlotte had taken herself to her room and locked the door, she would not speak to anyone. But Beth requested the House Keys - and as she was the senior Martin in residence, Abigail handed them over to her. In a few short moments, she would need to upset her Aunt's privacy, because there were not enough rooms to accommodate everyone and rearrangements needed to be made.

"Nathan," Beth said as she climbed the stairs. "You, Samuel and William will pack up your belongings and move them to Papa's room. It's large enough to accommodate three beds and your chests, though it'll be a tight squeeze, I'm afraid. I'll help Susan and Margaret pack - they will share with Aunt Charlotte."

"What about you, where will you sleep?" Nathan asked her when they reached the landing.

"With my husband, Nate," Beth sighed. "Where would you think?"

"Your husband," Nathan frowned. "I can't believe you up and married an enemy. Father is going to have a fit, do you know that?"

"I do know," she opened his bed chamber door and stepped inside, glancing around critically. "I'll have Josiah move your bed to Papa's room - I won't have you sleeping on a trundle."

"He'll disown you," Nathan predicted, while Samuel and William hung back - Samuel looking miserable and William perplexed. The young boy was far too young to understand anything more than their Aunt Charlotte was angry with Beth.

"Probably," Beth said.

"He won't provide you with that dowry - the one he was going to give to you for marrying George."

"He had to bribe George to marry me," Beth shrugged. "He doesn't have to bribe William."

"Besides, it's a good thing mamma left Beth all that money then," Samuel snapped. "If papa isn't going to provide for her."

Nathan threw Samuel an incredulous look.

"I know all that, Nate," Beth said. "I knew when I married William, what the repercussions would be. He won't give me the extra that he'd intended to give George and frankly, he'll likely keep back my land, too."

"If he does, I'll share mine with you," Samuel said and Beth shot him a startled glance, then laughed.

"Thank you, Sammie," she said. "Now - pack everything into the chest. When you're finished, come to Sammie and Will's room, you'll need to help them. Josiah - can you have the bed moved?"

"Yes, Mrs. Tavington," Josiah disappeared in search of other men to assist him.

"Mrs. Tavington," Nathan shook his head and heaved a heart felt sigh. He was accustomed to taking orders from his older sister - however, and so he began work on packing his belongings.

"I can't believe he left us," Samuel said softly. "All that talk of protecting us with his last breath, and he abandons us at the first test."

"He didn't abandon us, Samuel," Nathan curled his lip. "And we're not in any danger, just like Aunt Charlotte predicted we wouldn't be. None of us have gotten hurt, Tavington is going to treat us real gentle, because he doesn't want to upset Beth."

"That's not the point. That's Tavington _choosing_ to not hurt us, after papa _chose_ to abandon us. He couldn't have known, not for sure. Papa, I mean. He could have stayed and he could have fought. At least it'd have been a fair fight this time."

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?" Nathan snapped and Samuel tightened his lips.

"You know damned well what I mean."

"It was forty for forty," Nathan said.

"It was forty against forty who didn't know we were there, forty who were ready for action against forty who were eating their bloody lunch!"

Beth stared at Samuel, nerves rising. "What do you mean, 'we'?" She breathed. Samuel huddled in on himself, refusing to look at her. Nathan, after glaring at his younger brother, closed the door, shutting them all in.

"We were there," he told Beth. "As soon as we could, we left Aunt Charlotte and went to find papa, in the hope that he could rescue Tom and Gabe."

"You were there," she collapsed to the bed, sitting on the side. She gazed at Samuel, who still refused to meet her eyes.

"It's because of us that it happened," Samuel said.

"Because of us? Gods, you're mad!" Nathan gasped. "What is wrong with you? They took our brothers! All we did was warn our father. Father took the militia and did what he had to do."

"He smashed in their faces with his tomahawk," Samuel cried. "Did he have to do that?"

Nathan drew a shuddering breath and fell silent. Beth's eyes were as wide as they could go.

"I saw him," Samuel said to Beth, grieving. "I saw all of it. I fired a shot, just like he said. I killed a man, Beth. I…" Samuel began to sob and Beth was on her feet and pulling him close, hugging him tightly. He clutched her and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Gods, I'm so sorry!

"Shhh, it's alright," Beth crooned, she choked up though and started to weep, her head bowed, face buried in the top of Samuel's hair. "Oh, Sammie."

"I… I did it… I'm glad Thomas and Gabriel are free but Gods, I…" Samuel gasped between sobs. "But… what I saw papa doing… the blood, the noise of his blade sinking in that fellow's head, I'll never forget it, the blood, the stench, the screams!"

"Shh," she pulled him down to the bed and held him as they both wept. Nathan sat across from them, lips tight. The weeping ran its course, Samuel began to subside.

"I'm glad we killed them," Nathan said and Samuel shook his head.

"I don't believe you," he said, wiping his eyes. "You saw what papa did. And you saw the wounded. Papa did that to them."

"Yes," Beth replied sadly.

"And he killed all those others."

"Yes," Beth agreed.

"And I killed them too," Samuel said.

"Sweet God," Beth whispered, kissing his head again, as troubled as her brother. It was a sight she'd never forget if she lived to see a hundred years. All those bodies, bent, mangled, bloodied. The sight had been bad enough, but knowing it was her father who had bought them to such a fate made it so much the worse. And now she'd just learned her brothers were involved too? Samuel was only twelve years old, and Nathan was only fifteen!

"It's war, no matter what Tavington said," Nathan admonished. "What do you think happens in battle, Sammie?"

"Do you know which ones you killed, Nate? Have you gone to see them?" Samuel flared up at once. "Have you? No! So don't talk that bullocks to me, not until you do! Two of them are near to death, as if there weren't enough dead. Did you see all those bodies?" William had bought the dead with him. It would have been disrespectful, leaving them back on the road. They - the men her father and his men - and her brothers - had killed - were to be buried at Fresh Water. Was that an insult to them, Beth wondered? Buried on the ground owned by the man who'd killed them?

Nathan did not answer Samuel, though Beth saw he was listening and also seemed quite troubled.

"They're out there - waiting to be buried! All laid out on those litters with the Dragoons digging their grave!" Samuel cried. "They'll only dig one grave Nate - and the entire lot will be tossed in like so much rubbish. And their bodies... Lord, I've never seen such a sight. That's what we did to them. That's what papa did to them. Go look - I dare you!"

"I don't want to," Nathan said sullenly.

"Then don't talk about how it was right, what we did! Gabriel admitted he would not have been harmed as Tavington's prisoner, because of Beth! And yet twenty three men died to free him! Twenty of Tavington's, three of papa's! Where was their protection, huh? They were harmed real good, when Gabriel was never going to be!"

"You can't blame Papa for wanting to free him!" Nathan bristled. "He couldn't've known that Tavington promised Beth no one would be hurt!"

"And yet he abandoned us, anyway!" Samuel cut in and Nathan's face turned an ugly shade of red. "He couldn't've known that Tavington promised Beth her brothers and sisters would not be hurt. So when Gabriel and Thomas are captured, papa assumed Tavington _would_ hurt them, and he kills twenty British to save them! Yet he later assumes Tavington won't hurt us, and feels free to abandon us, just like that!" He clicked his thumb and finger together, making a quick, snapping sound. "You can't have it both ways, Nathan."

"They took two of his sons," Nathan ground out. "Or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten! But twenty men died, Nate! And three of Papa's too! And when they called for quarter, it wasn't given - how could Papa ignore the call for mercy? How!" Samuel fell against Beth and began weeping again. Nathan lowered his eyes - he wanted, so badly, to defend his father but even he was disconcerted that the call for Quarter had been ignored. And he had deliberately avoided looking at the Redcoats - both wounded and dead, because he could not face what his father had done without feeling conflicted and confused.

Couldn't face what _he_ had done. He'd fired at least three shots before everything went quiet.

"Do you really feel like you're in danger?" Beth asked as she rubbed Samuel's back. "He is my husband, he won't hurt you."

"No," Samuel managed between sobs. "I know he won't - unless he finds out that we killed his men!"

"That is something I will never reveal to him," Beth said and Samuel wiped his eyes, still brooding.

"Do or don't, it makes no difference. Papa left us, he didn't know you was married to Tavington. He didn't know for sure what Tavington would do. And it isn't right, what Papa did," he said brokenly. Nathan ignored him, he lurched up from the bed to continue packing, but still the boy spoke, trying to put his thoughts into words. "And he only got involved in this war when… when… _we_ started getting attacked! Don't you think so Beth? He refused to join, all this time, for years and years. But as soon as one of our own was attacked and killed, he got involved right quick then!"

"Do you mean George, dear heart?" Beth asked. That was the beginning, she knew.

"I don't think he's doing this because he believes in the Cause, or he would have joined long since. He's doing it for personal revenge."

"Revenge!" Nathan scoffed angrily.

"Yes, revenge! He killed seventy men, because George was hung. That wasn't battle - he wasn't even part of the army then. He didn't warn them or nothing, he just started shooting into helpless men that couldn't escape, just like he did today!"

"You think they haven't committed atrocities?" Nathan's voice was caustic.

"You don't know if they have or haven't. And if they had, those men who committed atrocities weren't my papa!" Samuel snapped. All three were silent for a while, until Samuel continued, "Papa wasn't part of the army! And it wasn't battle - it was revenge! I saw those bodies, it was a terrible sight! The Bible says 'an eye for an eye'! Papa should'a only taken one life - not seventy! Does that mean he's going to Hell, Beth?"

Nathan snorted and Beth shot him a glare.

"I don't know what it means, Sammie," she said gently. Little William huddled on the other side of her with his knees to his chest, and Beth put her free arm around him.

"It means that Papa is fighting to free our Country!" Nathan said. "Will General Burwell go to hell for killing for the Cause? Of course not - you're being ridiculous. Reverend Oliver has been speaking of it in his sermons, of how our men are fighting for the Cause and that Our Lord in Heaven wants them to! He wants us free - Reverend Oliver says so - and the American soldiers are His instruments to see it happen! The American army has God watching over then, Sammie. None of them will be going to hell for fighting battles to free our Country!"

"What's the wager that the British are saying exactly the same thing in their Parish's?" Samuel shot back. "Yes - the American army is fighting - but what Papa did that night had nothing to do with the Cause - and what he did today didn't neither!" Samuel said stubbornly, wiping at his snotty nose with the back of his hand until Beth passed him a hanky. "He used the Cause as an excuse to reap his own personal revenge and Oliver was warning us against that too!"

"What did Reverend Oliver say about it, Sammie?" Beth asked as she gently pushed Samuel's hair back from his face.

"That we shouldn't go after Tory's. A few months ago, a group of Whigs killed some of Mr. Taylor's horses - you know, Mr. Taylor? He's a Tory. Anyway, when he complained, the Whigs said they had every right to do it because they were militiamen and were fighting for Independence. But Mr. Taylor said they only did it because he wouldn't sell them the horses at the low price they was asking for. Mr. Taylor was livid and he demanded the Whigs pay for the stock that was destroyed but the Whigs wouldn't. But then Papa got involved and even he said that those men were using the Cause as an excuse, that killing the horses had nothing to do with the fight for independence. Papa said it was malicious revenge, and he said they should be made to pay for the horses. Yet, he's allowed to reap his own vengeance and act like it's in the name of the Cause?"

"Oh," Beth said.

"You see it, don't you? Papa wasn't fighting for Freedom - he was getting revenge - for George Howard's hanging. He even said so after, he said he'd only do that one attack, that it didn't mean he was going to join the Cause. If that's not him acting in his own interests, I don't know what is. He only got involved when Burwell twisted his arm but today - that had nothing to do with the Cause either. The killing today to free Tom and Gabriel - he wouldn't've attacked without that. And he wouldn't have attacked Tarleton's men, without George hanging. It was malicious revenge."

"I don't want to listen to any more of this!" Nathan growled and began striding around his bed toward the door.

"Because you know I'm right!" Samuel yelled. "Go look at those bodies, Nate! Go talk to the wounded - I dare you!"

The door slammed, and Samuel deflated, his anger draining from him, leaving only misery in its wake.

"I'm glad Gabriel and Tom are free, and I love Papa, I do. But what he did weren't right, Beth. It just wasn't. And I shouldn't have done it either."

"I know. I'm as confused and sad about all this as you, Sammie…" She sighed heavily.

"And, I think..." Samuel lowered his voice, it came out a hushed whisper. "I think papa is a coward."

"Sammie!" Beth breathed, stunned.

"One hundred militia, attacking soldiers asleep in their blankets, knowing those soldiers had no way out. And today, setting up an ambush and attacking while the enemy was completely unaware! But later, when it comes to defending his own children in a fair fight, Papa's militia against Tavington's men, he chooses to flee. He _fled_, Beth." His blue eyes were wide, unblinking and filled with tears, looking as if his entire world was crashing down around him. "Papa is a coward."

"Don't say that!" William leapt from the bed, balled his fists and glared at Samuel. "Don't you say that!" He shouted, then burst into tears. Beth reached for him, pulled him into her lap and held him while he cried. While Samuel's words rang in her ears.

* * *

A division was forming in her family and this time, Beth was not the only one at the heart of it. She could not dwell on it right now, however for there was too much to be done. She had her brothers and sisters two rooms cleared and her brothers instilled in her father's room. As soon as Margaret and Susan were moved - that would be three rooms freed for Officers. William inspected the chambers and chose which one he desired for himself and Beth. Unfortunately, the chamber was right next door to Charlotte's room. Beth had several maids clear out her own chamber first - her belongings were moved to the new one she would share with William. And then it was time to move Margaret and Susan in to Charlotte's chamber.

In all that time, Charlotte had not so much as poked her head into the hallway - though she must have heard the goings on outside her room. The maids had not been quiet - calling to each other from the rooms. And moving the beds out of the chambers and down the hall had been a loud exercise - Charlotte must have known what was happening, but she stubbornly remained locked in her chamber. Beth wondered if she would stay there until the Green Dragoons - and Beth - departed Fresh Water forever.

With apprehension curling her stomach, Beth approached Charlotte's door and knocked lightly.

"Aunt Charlotte?" She called.

No answer.

"I'm coming in," she said, then turned the key in the lock. Charlotte stood with her back to the room, staring out the large window, at the tents being erected outside. "I need Margaret and Susan's room, for the Officers," Beth explained. "They are going to share with you."

Nothing. Not a word. Not a twitch. Charlotte was ice, standing ramrod straight with her arms folded beneath her breasts. Beth sighed.

"I'm going to have your bed pushed to the far wall," she said as she began clearing a small stand table of ornaments and placing them in a box - the table needed to be moved to make way for the beds coming in to Charlotte's room. "Then Susan and Margaret's beds will be bought in here. Don't lock the door again - if you do, you'll have to get up each time Susan and Margaret want to come in, and you know how Susan is - constantly in and out. It's perfectly safe, no one will come in here, who doesn't belong here."

Still nothing.

"The Dragoons returned - they couldn't find Papa. Bordon was worried papa would join up with his greater force and as Bordon only had fifty Dragoons, he decided to turn back."

When there was still no response, Beth stared at her Aunt's back, then sighed heavily in resignation and strode from the room.


	63. Chapter 63 - Wedding Feast

Chapter 63 - Wedding Feast:

The wind rushed past Benjamin's cheeks as he galloped through the dense woods away from Fresh Water Plantation. His militiamen were ahead of him, winding around trees quickly and jumping fallen logs with practiced ease. Keeping low over his mounts neck, Benjamin avoided low hanging branches whipping past his face. Though it was dangerous, he could not slow the mad dash through the woods, for he needed to put as much distance between himself and the Green Dragoons as possible. Before long his presence at Fresh Water - and his rapid retreat - would be discovered by Tavington and the Dragoons would then give chase.

Up ahead, he could see Gabriel holding on tightly to Thomas. His face pale and wan, it was clear the young man was in immense pain, his wounds had not had a chance to begin healing and all the exertions of the last few days were taking their toll. Though it was killing him, Benjamin decided he had no choice but to trust to Charlotte's ability to handle Tavington, though no matter how much he reasoned with himself, he could not shake the guilt of his abandoning his younger children to the enemy.

Gabriel, Benjamin could help. Gabriel and Beth. He had told Charlotte that he would head directly for Danver's small farmhouse, but out of necessity he changed his plans - his destination was now the Scott's - where the Howard's were. Gabriel had quipped that he would like to be left with his beloved fiancé, Anne, so that she might nurse him back to health and Benjamin decided now that that would be just the thing his son needed. He could kill two birds with one stone by heading straight for the Scott's - he could leave Gabriel in Anne's tender care and retrieve Beth, to take her to the safety of McDeals Fort.

Where General Burwell was. Perhaps that wasn't such a grand idea, considering.

He shot a glance over his shoulder. Being at the rear of the fleeing column, it was his responsibility to keep an eye out for signs of pursuit. Though he could not see Fresh Water, his eyes lingered in that direction with apprehension and longing both.

Shaking himself, he focused on the swamps ahead of him. Protect the children he could for now, then return for the others later. Surely Tavington's business at Fresh Water would be complete as soon as he discovered that he and Beth were not there. As soon as the Butcher learned Benjamin had fled, he would give chase, he would not bother further with Benjamin's younger children, he bloody well hoped. He glanced over again, not for signs of pursuit this time though that was on constantly on his mind. This time, he was looking for the telltale column of smoke that would signify that his house was on fire. There was nothing of that sort yet, but if Fresh Water was to burn, then, it was to burn. He could build other houses - it was his children he could not rebuild.

Onward they galloped, to the East of them they passed by Pembroke. Some of his men wheeled away from the main body, those who had family in the area or shops in Pembroke itself. Higgins for instance, and a few others. They would join with Benjamin either at Dan Scott's home or at Danver's, depending on where Benjamin was when they finished checking on their families.

More and more men peeled away and by the time they reached Dan Scott's, Benjamin's force had diminished to a small band of twelve men. Twelve very weary and hungry men. The small cottage appeared in a break between the trees and it was a very welcome sight indeed.

_Too small for all of us_, Benjamin thought as he slowed his horse to a more leisurely pace. They would definitely only be leaving Gabriel there, while the rest of them back tracked to Danver's farm nearer to Fresh Water. People began to appear on the verandah, men and women, needing to identify the new arrivals. One young woman, upon recognising the wounded Gabriel, cried out in chagrin. Miss Anne Howard hiked her skirts to her ankles and darted forward to meet Thomas and her beloved. Benjamin was only another moment away - he caught up to them quickly and he only had a moment to wonder why Beth had not joined those others on the verandah before Gabriel began to topple from the saddle.

With a curse, Benjamin launched out of his saddle and ran to Gabriel's side to catch him before the younger man could hit the ground.

* * *

"I'm fine, truly," Gabriel insisted, though his eyes were dulled from the pain of his freshly dressed wounds.

"I won't hear another word of you how fine you are, Gabriel Martin, Lieutenant or no Lieutenant!" Anne admonished sternly. "You will not move from that chair to so much as fetch a glass of water, let alone travel with your father to Mr. Danver's house!" She planted her fists on her hips and scowled down at her betrothed, while the others watched on in vast amusement. "Of all the foolish things to suggest! You're no good to your father wounded, and you're certainly no use to him dead! Which is exactly what you'll be if you don't give your body a chance to start knitting those wounds!"

"Remind me never to marry, will you, father?" Thomas chortled. "Until I find a woman with the proper amount of docility."

Anne rounded on Thomas and the boy cowered back from her withering scowl.

"Oh, do sit down, Anne," Peter Howard admonished before the girl could deliver a blistering retort to young Thomas.

"I can't," she replied sullenly. "I'm needed by mother and Mrs. Scott in the kitchen. Why you all had to descend upon us without bringing a crumb of food between you, I will never understand. Now you," she waggled an accusing finger at Gabriel, who gazed up at her, his brown eyes wide - the picture of innocence. "Will sit right there and call out if you need anything, do you hear me?"

"No, you were not screeching loud enough - say again?" Gabriel teased, then he laughed aloud as she glowered at him and huffed from the room.

"Don't let her fool you, boy," Peter said. "She is overjoyed to see you."

"Yeh, I can tell!" Gabriel laughed.

"She is, lad, she is," Peter smiled.

Benjamin studied his old friend closely, he noticed how sad that smile seemed. How many more greys Peter had in his hair and how lined his face had become. Only a few weeks since George's murder and the father had aged ten years. Sensing that the grief was still fresh and raw, Benjamin wisely chose to avoid speaking of George. They chose safer subjects, such as Anne and Gabriel for instance. Besides, Benjamin had his own concerns which were increasing as the time ticked on. For Beth had not arrived to the Scott's small Plantation, even though she had left Drakespar hours ago. She should have been at the Scott's well before Benjamin had arrived there, but here he was, still waiting for her at least an hour after his own arrival.

"Nope, no fiery woman for me," Thomas placed his hands on the back of his head and leaned back into his chair with a complacent smile. "I've had more than enough of that with Beth and Aunt Charlotte."

"I'll be certain to tell the Ferguson's that you expect Miss Lucy to be all servility, when I arrange your marriage match, then," Benjamin quipped in an absent sort of way, a part of his mind was still dwelling on Beth even while he chatted with those around him. Thomas spluttered and jerked up in his seat, his face flaming in embarrassment.

"Ah, so it's young Lucy for you then is it?" Gabriel twitted. "A docile lass if ever I saw one. When's the wedding?"

"She's not docile!" Thomas defended the girl. "And not until after the war."

"That could be years off yet," Peter observed, then he met Gabriel's gaze levelly. "I hope you are not going to make Anne wait so long as that?"

"No," Gabriel hesitated, losing his amusement over Thomas and Lucy and docile women. He continued seriously, "I've been thinking for a while that perhaps it's time for Anne and I to marry. Before any thing befalls me - with your permission, Sir."

"Ah, your wounds have reminded you of your mortality," Peter said wisely. "You no longer imagine yourself to be invincible. You already have my permission, Gabriel, that's why you're engaged. I've been waiting for you to set the date for months now. Reverend Oliver will be pleased to have one of the Martin's married," he sighed heavily and the mood became dark as they were once again reminded of George and the injustice of his death.

"I was saying just that this morning," Benjamin said. To lighten the mood, he paused dramatically and then continued in an offhand manner, "when I proposed to Mrs. Selton."

The announcement had the desired effect, it snapped Peter to attention and stopped his brooding.

"You didn't!" He exclaimed, stunned from his own problems.

"I did," Benjamin grinned. "And we'll be married just as soon as I can arrange it. I plan to bring her and the children away from Fresh Water - I will take them to the safety of McDeals Fort. Beth included - as long as she gets here! What the Devil could be keeping the girl?"

He was becoming restless and he knew he would meet to leave soon to search for her.

"But that means I won't be at your wedding," Gabriel complained. "Father, why don't you bring the children and Aunt Charlotte here. I'm sure Beth will be here soon and if we are all together, then we can have a double wedding before you set out for McDeals! I'll be rested enough for the journey by then - we can all go there; Anne, and Mr. And Mrs. Howard as well."

"Mighty fine idea!" Peter slapped his thigh, relieved and pleased that his daughter could be married in the next day or so. He imagined the expression on her face when he told her and strongly suspected that the girl would be stunned to silence.

For once in her life.

"I'll consider it," Benjamin said. "Though it does sound like a fine idea. I'm getting too worried about Beth to think about anything else just now, I confess."

"Are we going out to search for her, then?" Thomas asked. "Where would we start? We could ride out just as she's arriving."

"I know, boy, but she might also be alone and hurt in the woods. Something must have happened to them, to her and Mr. Miller both, for her to not be here," Benjamin rose to his feet and Thomas rose with him.

"At least grab a bite first!" Peter protested. "The women have almost got the meal ready by now. You must be half starved!"

"I know I am!" Thomas said at once.

"You wanted to join the army boy," Benjamin reminded his son. "Militiamen go hungry more often than not, so you best get used to it, starting now," to Peter, he said, "I'll just grab some bread and cheese to eat in the saddle, but I really do need to set out now."

Resigned, Peter stopped his protests. Each man accompanying Benjamin was given a linen parcel filled with dried meat and other stores that would be easy to eat while in the saddle. The small band set out from Mr. Scott's and continued on all the way to Drakespar before back tracking to search for Beth and Mr. Miller's trail. Scouting carefully, they discovered signs of passage in the woods that could only have been made by two riders travelling abreast. This trail led to a damaged bridge before it back tracked and continued on, only to end at another damaged bridge. It soon became clear that the riders had been searching for a way to cross the fast flowing river. Having no luck in the forrest, the band finally emerged from the woods and headed along the Post Road, risking coming out in the open in order to question those living on farms nearby. They asked each person they encountered if they had seen two riders earlier in the day.

It was difficult to get any clear indication for the countryside was in a state of turmoil and confusion with some families having evacuated their homes. Some few of those homes were charred ruins, still smoking after having been fired by Tavington's Dragoons. Many of the victims had their own woes and hardships to endure and of those who would spare Benjamin a moment, their only real desire was to discuss their own troubles - at length. They mostly railed at the unfairness of it all - the savage injustice of the Green Dragoons, and the devastation those men had wrought. While Benjamin felt sympathy for them, he could not spare them more than a few moments, for time was still slipping through his fingers and he was becoming increasingly fretful over Beth's whereabouts. Though questioning the locals was his only option just then, he was beginning to dread approaching them, for the amount of time each one demanded he give them - when he was getting nothing in return. None of them had news of Beth.

Finally he came across a farmer who had spoken to an odd pair of travellers earlier that day; an almost middle aged man and a young boy riding the strangest horse he'd ever seen. Benjamin exulted - feeling certain that the 'boy' was Beth and the strange horse was Shadow Dancer. The farmer told Benjamin that the pair had been trying to cross the bridges, and had finally given it up as a bad job. He told Benjamin that the pair had indicated their intention to head directly to Pembroke along the Post Road, so that they could circle around from there.

A sharp jab of anguish speared Benjamin upon hearing this - that Beth had entered Pembroke was not welcome news at all. The Green Dragoons had been in Pembroke - burning buildings and hanging people if what he had been told could be believed. And now he was being told that Beth had ridden into Pembroke? What time, exactly? Before Tavington arrived there? Or was she there at the same time as him...? Lord, what if, while Benjamin was busy freeing Gabriel and Thomas, Tavington was busy capturing Beth? Was that why she had not made it Dan Scott's? Did the Butcher already have her in his clutches? And if so, what would become of her when the Butcher discovered Benjamin's involvement in the killing of twenty of his men? Not to mention the attack on Tarleton's force, which Tavington was bound to learn about sooner or later.

What would he do to Beth? Would she bear the brunt of the Butcher's infamous fury? It was with these dark thoughts consuming him that he led his small band - with Thomas at his side - into Pembroke.

"Christ," Thomas muttered, his eyes lingering on the burned buildings. Only a few were destroyed but still, they were a hard hitting sight. Benjamin was pleased to see that the people of Pembroke did not stand idly by, a hardy folk, they were already working hard to establish a semblance of order out of the carnage wrought by the Green Dragoons. The people were busy, walking up the broad avenue with large boxes in their arms while others led their horses and carts filled with wares salvaged from the destroyed buildings - these wares were being taken to the buildings that were still sound. He searched the trees for bodies but found none. Either he had been misinformed, or the people of Pembroke had already removed them.

Up until now he and his companions had received nothing more than cursory glances from the busy villagers, but now - as the people began to recognise the newcomers, they stopped in their tracks to stare with grave expressions.

"No warm welcome here," Rollins stated. Even though the villagers would be feeling quite despondent after their suffering at the hands of the Green Dragoons, Benjamin and his companions were part of their parish and it surprised the men that not a single one of their acquaintances raised a hand or called out in greeting.

"No indeed," Benjamin replied grimly. "Let's find out what I've done to upset them now, shall we?"

Rollins chuckled darkly. The men drew rein outside of Higgins' shop, they dismounted and tied the mounts to a hitching fence. A crowd had begun to assemble but still none of them said a word - they just stared with those same expressions of doom. Benjamin peered at them and saw signs of the 'roughing' up he'd heard about - at least a dozen men - had cut and swollen lips, bruises on their cheeks and black, puffy eyes swollen shut.

"Well met, Mr. Emery," Benjamin said to one of them. In choosing Mr. Emery, he had given the crowd a spokes person. "What news?"

"No happy tidings, as you can see," Emery replied, stepping forward from the grim faced press. "They hanged Abernathy."

"Agh, Christ," Benjamin removed his tricorn and ran a hand over his head. Emery listed four other names of men that were hanged. Benjamin whispered a prayer for the dead.

"I heard tell that you attacked forty Redcoats back on the road this morning," Emery pointed back the way Benjamin's band had come from, just as Higgins emerged from his Coopers shop and came to stand at Benjamin's side. Upon seeing Higgins, it became clear to the Colonel who had imparted this news to the villagers. Their grave reaction puzzled him though, for such an attack should have caused great joy amongst the assemblage - especially after what the Green Dragoons had done to them, but he did not see a single smile on a single face there. Believing his neighbours were angry with him for attacking Redcoats, Benjamin felt the need to defend himself.

"They had captives - Continentals and militia. They took my sons," he pointed to Thomas, who stood quietly at his side. "Thomas and Gabriel. They would have taken them to a prison camp and I thought better about letting them."

"Can't fault that," Emery said with an odd glance at Higgins. "Can't fault that at all."

Benjamin frowned - if his actions could not be faulted, then why were the villagers behaving in such an odd manner?

"Ben," Higgins said, his voice quiet and solemn. He placed a large, meaty hand on Benjamin's shoulder. "Old friend, we need to talk."

Clearly, Higgins had already been apprised of whatever it was that had happened to make the villagers cool toward Benjamin. He shot a glance at Emery and those assembled behind him and was startled to see eyes filled with sympathy gazing back at him. The commiserating and compassionate expressions made his skin crawl. What had occurred to occasion such concern? Was it Beth, had Tavington done something to hurt her? Had she been flogged and taken captive? Or - and this thought knocked the breath for his chest - had she been killed? Was his daughter dead? Benjamin swallowed to work moisture into his mouth and turned his gaze back to Higgins.

"Alright," he said slowly.

"Not here," another voice intruded and Reverend Oliver was winding his way into the centre of the group. "Not here, Ben. And only you - we shall discuss this alone. Thank you, Mr. Higgins, that will be all."

Higgins stepped back, showing deference to Oliver. This surprised Benjamin, who had been half expecting the Captain to protest but Higgins seemed relieved that Oliver had put himself forward to perform an unpleasant duty. Benjamin would never admit it but, despite the August heat, goosebumps pimpled his skin. He felt chilled all over, certain now that he was about to be told his beloved daughter had been killed.

Nodding at Thomas to stay put, he followed Oliver meekly toward the church.

* * *

_"Friday, July 7__th__, 1780._

_Colonel William J. Tavington of Liverpool, England, and Miss Elizabeth M. Martin of Pembroke, South Carolina, were on this day joined in Holy Matrimony, in this place, the Parish of Pembroke, as preceded over by Major Richard Bordon, with the authority of His Majesty King George III and with the Grace and Blessing of our Lord in Heaven."_

Benjamin towered over the ledger, glaring down at Tavington's entry, the words announcing his marriage to Beth that he had written across the page in his neat script. Benjamin curled his fingers around the edges of the pedestal that the ledger lay upon, clutching the sides of the oak plinth with a white knuckle grip. His face was hideous to behold, never had Oliver seen the man so enraged. His fury was such that it had completely taken away the father's ability to speak. His eyes, fixed on the words written by Tavington, were as cold and hard as agates. His face - utter stone. His breath came in furious spurts from flaring nostrils, reminding Oliver of an enraged bull.

Oliver had been shocked that previous Sunday when Benjamin - the enraged father then - had confronted Pembroke Parish in a furious display of temper but this - this was something entirely different. The controlled anger of that day was nothing compared to this - this unrestrained, wild, barely checked rage.

With a suddenness that made Oliver jump out of his skin, Benjamin - with an almost inhuman sound strangling from him, picked up the heavy, wood bound ledger and threw it hard against the far wall. It hit with a heavy thud and with another heavy thud, it dropped to the floor. Benjamin was already moving, he began to pace back and forth, his shoulders set and hard, tension in every line of his body.

"He seeks to take my child, does he?" Benjamin roared. Oliver resisted the urge to cover his ears from the splitting sound. "My little girl?" The wrath filled father bellowed. "Take my child against her will, will he?"

Oliver watched him as he continued to pace and rage. All the while, he wondered exactly how he would break it to Benjamin, that his daughter had been quite willing to marry Tavington. And the rest of what he would soon be forced to impart - that Beth had bedded Tavington before the two were married. While he'd like to keep such tidings to himself to save the father from heart break, he knew he could not, he deserved to know.

"I'll kill him," Benjamin was raving and by his grim tone, Oliver knew it was no idle threat. The man's eyes blazed as he paced restlessly. "I'll sink my tomahawk between his shoulder blades and then I'll scalp the bastard! My daughter!"

Spying the ledger on the ground, laying open with its pages akimbo, he strode forward purposely and seized it. Throwing it back down on the pedestal, he rifled through the pages to the latest entry and - despite there being valuable information of previous marriages written in Oliver's hand on the over side - he scrunched up the top corner of the page to get a good hand hold and then with an almightily pull, he ripped the page free of the ledger. Oliver said not a word, made no move to stop Benjamin from defacing the ledger. He would write in the information of the other ceremonies again later, when he had a quiet moment to do so. Benjamin crumpled the entire page into a tight ball.

"This is what I think of this supposed marriage," he said grimily. He strode over to a candle and held the scrunched parchment to the flames until the entire ball went up in flames and smoke. He dropped it to the floor, where it continued to burn until only a pile of ashes remained.

"Without a marriage licence, this was the only evidence that this absurdity has taken place," Benjamin ground out, his eyes fixed on the ashes. "Beth is not married to Tavington. I do not acknowledge a marriage made in King George's name. Nor do I believe this Bordon fellow has the authority to speak in God's name, or to grant marriage Blessings. This was not a wedding. This was not even an elopement. This was a _farce_ \- the play acting of children, nothing more. They are not married - and if that bastard takes my little girl's virginity, I'll cut off off his balls and shove them up his arse. I'll kill him still, only I will kill him much slower."

"Benjamin," this single word came out partly as a groan, but there was steel in Oliver's voice also. It caused Benjamin to stop in his tracks, caused the man to finally recall that he was not alone, and to see the person he was railing in front of. "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps she went willingly?"

"Willingly?" Benjamin was aghast at the thought. "Never! I know she supposed herself to be in love with this madman, but she would never make off with him - not willingly! She left with Mr. Miller this morning, ready to flee from Tavington - now _that_ she did willingly! No, she'd never do that to us. To me! I don't think I need to consider…"

He trailed off, for Reverend Oliver was shaking his head gravely.

"No!" Benjamin denied Oliver's silent implications at once. "She didn't. Tell me she didn't!"

"I'm sorry, I wish I could," Oliver held his hands before his body, imploring Benjamin, who recoiled, still shaking his head in stark disbelief. Oliver continued, "she asked me to marry her to him, Ben. She begged it of me herself. I refused her of course, which is why this farce has taken place, but you must believe me, she went along with this willingly."

"No, it can't be. You are mistaken," Benjamin's voice took on a frantic urgency. He knew Oliver would not lie; therefore, the only other logical conclusion was that Reverend Oliver must have been wrong. He must have misunderstood, he had to have! "Tell me what she said, tell me all of it!"

"For that, you better sit down Ben," Oliver said softly.

Benjamin sat in a pew and Oliver sat beside him. Once he began he did not falter, no matter how terrible the tidings were, no matter how much he knew they would be cutting Benjamin to the soul. Benjamin stared at Oliver, his eyes wide with horror as the Reverend told of catching the pair in the act of coupling in Higgins bed chamber. He told it all, frankly, beginning with what he saw when he entered the bed chamber. Of the two trying to dress. Of Tavington buttoning his breeches and clasping his belt. Of Beth's stumbling attempts to pull her skirts up over her petticoats. Of her sobbing at being caught, sobbing with shame over her actions. Of Oliver asking outright if it had been rape and of her denial. Of Tavington comforting Beth, assuring her they had done nothing wrong when they clearly had. Of Beth begging Oliver to precide over their wedding, for she could be with child after what she had just done with Tavington. As distasteful as the task was, he was brutally honest in his description, for he needed to ensure that Benjamin understood that Beth had not been raped - that she had lain with Tavington - and later married him - willingly.

By the time he came to a finish, Benjamin was hunched forward with his elbows braced on his knees and his head buried in his hands.

"No one was allowed near the church during the ceremony, especially not me," Oliver said. "While Tavington was alone with Beth in Mr. Higgins shop, his men were searching buildings and questioning everyone they found. Mr. Turnbull decided to be helpful," he twisted his lips, "and identified those he knew to be in rebellion. Those names were seized. After the wedding, Tavington had Beth escorted with a small guard to the outskirts of Pembroke, and then the carnage began. As you saw, several men were roughed up. Buildings were set alight. And five men were hanged. I watched his face as he dispensed his justice and although he stated that he was destroying "sedition houses in the Kings name" and disciplining traitors, I had the distinct feeling he was exacting personal revenge for the insults his 'wife' had endured when stories of her conduct with him became well known."

"She is not his wife," came the muffled reply. Despite this assertion, Benjamin's voice sounded broken, defeated and Oliver feared his prediction had come true - Beth's bedding of Tavington had broken her father's heart.

"I quite agree," Oliver said firmly. "I would not even need to annul it, for there is nothing to annul. There was nothing legal about that ceremony - it was play acting, as you said. It was no more binding than when two children say the words before another child pretending to be Reverend. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Bordon was holding a copy of Gulliver's Travels instead of the Bible while he presided over this 'ceremony'. It was child's tomfoolery, nothing more."

"I'm surprised Emery and the others did not run me out of the village," Benjamin said woodenly as he lifted his head and lowered his hands to his knees. Oliver thought the youthful appearing man was suddenly looking like the middle aged man that he was.

"Perhaps they would have, if not for the news Higgins had bought with him. Instead, you have their commiseration, for at the very moment you were rescuing our captured soldiers from the enemy, the Lobster's were performing an illegal marriage ceremony with your daughter. The irony is not lost on them. Lord, you were only a few hundred yards away, battling Redcoats as their Commandant took your daughter!"

"My little girl," Benjamin's eyes were bleak now, the fury quenched by despair. "What would her mother say? She must be rolling in her grave."

"I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now," Oliver sympathised.

"I hardly know myself - Christ. My Beth."

Benjamin lost himself for a long moment, as he pictured Beth as a little baby - remembered the moment she was born. Elizabeth had laboured for hours and was exhausted. But when the baby was placed into her arms, she'd been so joyful, the pain of giving birth forgotten almost immediately. She'd cried, Benjamin remembered the tears streaking his wife's flushed cheeks as she stared down at their first daughter.

_"Elizabeth," Benjamin said, sitting on the bed beside his wife as they both stared at the pink, wriggling bundle. "We'll call her Elizabeth."_

_"Things might get a little confusing," Elizabeth laughed up at him through her tears._

_"Beth then. We'll call her Beth, though her full name will be Elizabeth. It suits her, don't you think?"_

_"I do think," Elizabeth senior sighed. "Look at all that hair, Ben. I don't think Gabriel had so much, do you? So long, and golden…"_

_"Like yours," he said, gazing at his wife, his eyes filled with all the loved he bore for her. "Just likes yours. And her eyes - what a lovely deep brown. She takes after her Mamma for real and true."_

_"I hope she isn't exactly like me," Elizabeth laughed._

_"I hope she is exactly like you," Benjamin said seriously. "She will be like you in every way."_

_"Oh, I shudder to think!" Elizabeth smirked. "Or do you want her to have my temper?"_

_"Especially your temper," he leaned in to kiss her sweaty brow. Her long blonde hair hung in limp, wet strands and her face was flushed crimson from the exertions of bringing their child into the world - she had never been more beautiful. "Your temper, your strength, your beauty, your ability to forgive, your ability to love. I want her to be exactly like you, for you are the best of women."_

_"You old softy," she whispered, tilting her head back, inviting him to kiss her. His lips moved over hers and he sighed with contentment._

And, as Benjamin recalled now, he had sighed with a relief so strong it was almost painful.

Elizabeth had not struggled so, bringing Gabriel into the world and Benjamin had been frightened stiff, when she began struggling as she laboured to birth Beth. Hours and hours had past and his wife had seemed so weak toward the end. But then, she had dredged up some hidden reserve of strength and when the time came, she pushed as hard as the midwife told her to, screaming loudly in agony as she did so. Benjamin had been at her side, utterly helpless. He could only hold her hand as she clutched his fingers, her grip so strong it was torture. Minutes ticked by and finally the baby's head had cleared of the mother's body and it was over. The worst of it anyway - was over. The midwife had fussed and instructed, and the rest of the baby was pushed free, Benjamin had stared with wonder to witness this, had wept like a child when the midwife declared they now had a daughter. The placenta came next and by then, the umbilical cord had been cut and Beth herself cleaned up, then placed in Elizabeth's arms. Benjamin had gained control of himself by then, his own unmanly tears had stopped, but his joy had not abated.

Nor had it with each child Elizabeth had birthed him thereafter. It was always with the same wonder and joy that he greeted his children into the world. He was a loving father, strict, protective, and loving. Even with Susan, whose birth had bought about Elizabeth's death.

Pain struck Benjamin then, as he sat beside Oliver. He tried to keep his emotions from showing on his face but it was hard, with the struggle and grief writhing inside him. He loved his offspring - as babies, as children, and as the young adults the older ones had become. His need to protect them had never left him, which had caused many conflicts with Gabriel over the years. It had always been his fear that one of them would die, of illness or in battle, or even a fall from a horse… That fear had never left him - even when the children grew older. He never had been able to deal with the idea that a child of his might die - might be taken from him before their time.

And now one of them had left him of her own accord. His oldest daughter, who was his beloved Elizabeth come again. Beth was her mother all over, just as he'd known she would be from the moment of her birth. He'd cherished her all the more for that. Oh, he loved his children equally - loved Margaret and Susan no less than Beth - but there had always been… Something… That bonded him to Beth in a slightly different way. He was certain it was because when he looked at Beth, he saw Elizabeth gazing back at him.

This… This agony, this grief that he felt now… He was certain it was as sharp as if Beth had died. She'd forsaken her family, she'd run off to be with a Redcoat - an enemy.

He blinked several times, willing back tears. He was not ashamed to cry when the occasion warranted it - he would weep like a baby, such as when his own babies were born. And he was in the comforting presence of his own Reverend - wasn't that Oliver's purpose in the community? To help soothe his Parishioners during their hour of need? He turned to Oliver now, met the Reverend's eyes.

"Reverend… Tell me, what am I to do?"

Oliver's eyes widened in surprise. In all the decades that he had administered to the Parish, he could count on one hand the amount of times this man had asked his advice. Just now, he sounded as grief stricken as he had when he lost his wife to child bed eight years before.

"I'm not certain I understand your meaning," Oliver ventured gently, trying to make more sense of the question. Was he asking if he should try and retrieve Beth? "If you do manage to take Beth away from Tavington, what would you do with her? You will not be able to marry her to any man of this Parish - probably none in all of South Carolina, if I am completely honest. Though it pains me to admit it, she has ruined herself beyond repair now. She would be dependant on you for the rest of her life. That's if you managed to extricate her from Tavington's clutches. Chances are, you'll probably never see her again."

"Oh, I'll see her again," Benjamin's expression was as grim as the grave. "I know exactly where she is now - at Fresh Water. The Butcher arrived there shortly after I did, and I realise - now - that Beth must be with him there."

"Tavington is at Fresh Water?" Oliver asked and Benjamin nodded.

"With my other children and Charlotte."

Oliver gaped - he had thought the family was safely ensconced at Mrs. Selton's Plantation - Drakespar! But then Benjamin began to explain in that lost, grave voice, and everything soon became abundantly clear.

"I have no idea how I will get Charlotte, Beth and the other children away from Tavington… In all likelihood, I'll have to lay siege to my own home in order to accomplish their safe deliverance!" Benjamin continued with grim determination. "But I intend to get them back, each one of them. Once Tavington surrenders the children, Beth and I will have a nice long talk."

Surrender? Oliver was stunned. Utterly stunned that Benjamin believed he could make Tavington surrender anything - especially a woman he considered to be his wife. But Benjamin seemed so certain he could achieve this and Oliver found his doubts dwindling in the face of the other man's absolute confidence and grim determination.

"He'll surrender," Benjamin was saying. "I had thought he would search for Beth at Fresh Water and move on, but now that he has her, he has no reason to leave there and every reason to stay. He needs the house for his wounded men and a safe stronghold for his small detachment of Dragoons. He has less than one hundred men, until his other Dragoons join him and who knows how far they are away by now? But I can have triple that number - if not more - by tomorrow evening. I will call in the muster and begin recruiting more tonight and all day tomorrow - and after Tavington's actions here today, men should be rushing to answer the call, if I've judged the mood here correctly. It's time for the Parish of Pembroke to put actions to their words, Reverend. They will join me or never prate about Independence again. And with those who come, I shall lay siege to my own home. No doubt the Butcher will have begun fortifying by now," this barely gave Benjamin pause as he continued to plan. "I will need fire arrows, so I can set the roof alight, and when Tavington's Dragoons try and draw water from the river to put the flames out, we shall be waiting under cover of darkness. We will shoot into the bastards before they can fill their pails! Tavington will be sure to surrender, he will have no choice! And I will demand the return of Charlotte and my children - all of my children, before ceding the house to him."

Shocked to his core, Oliver gaped at Benjamin as though he had sprouted a second head.

"You would fire your own home? The one you built for Elizabeth?" The concept was so thoroughly shocking, he was finding it difficult to process it. He would burn the house he had built for his beloved wife?

"I will do as I must, to protect my children," Benjamin replied grimly. "I will not leave them with Tavington. Not a single one of them. I'll let my house burn to the ground and I'll kill every single one of his men, if he does not comply. But I do not believe it will come to that."

"I doubt he will give you Beth as a part of the negotiations of surrender, Ben," Oliver said when it became clear that Benjamin honestly believed he would be able to take Beth, also.

"Then I will demand he give Beth the choice - where I can see and can hear her make it," Benjamin said grimly. "I need to speak to her - in case he did take her against her will. If she comes with me willingly, then I will take her and look after her myself - I know no man will marry her now and so she shall live with me and Charlotte, help us to raise the children Charlotte will bear me. If she refuses - if she chooses to stay with Tavington, then… Then Beth will be disowned."

"Very well," Oliver said with determination of his own. Though he was surprised to hear Benjamin speak of Mrs. Selton bearing him children, he supposed the two were to be married, but now was not the time to discuss it. "I shall just be a moment, I need to pack my saddle bags and fetch my rifles."

Benjamin gaped now as Oliver rose to his feet, ready to pack quickly in order to join the militia.

"But… You said… You're a clergyman!" Came the astonished reply.

"Yes, and in the coming days I believe you will have need of such. You said it yourself, it's time for the Parish of Pembroke to put actions to our words. This shall begin with me, I've railed at my flock about freedom for long enough, after all. I shall stand at your side as you give those out there," he pointed at the open doors, "the same speech you just gave me."

The gesture was not lost on Benjamin. Oliver's support would lend weight to the Colonel's words and his recruiting efforts. If Reverend Oliver could stand by Benjamin and accept his command despite Beth's actions, then those others would not hesitate to do so as well.

"You are most welcome amongst us, Reverend," Benjamin said solely, rising also and offering his hand to Oliver. The two shook hands. "I will help you pack."

As the two began to stride toward the rear door which led to Oliver's office, Benjamin deliberately stepped on the pile of ashes on the floor, scattering the remnants of Tavington's ledger entry, with his heavy boot. Though he was unsure what he would do with Beth when he had her again, he did intend to stomp on this supposed marriage, just as he had stomped on the burned page from the ledger.


	64. Chapter 64 - Charlotte Eavesdrops

Chapter 64 - Charlotte Eavesdrops:

Sitting on her bed - which had been pushed up beneath a large window, Charlotte had only to glance out to see the revellers at the front of the house, drinking and feasting the night away by the the light of firebrands staked into the ground. To her chagrin, many of her own staff had joined Beth and Tavington's wedding celebration. She saw them dancing and singing, eating and drinking right alongside the Redcoat soldiers.

"That was supposed to be my engagement feast," Charlotte murmured. Margaret came to sit on the bed with her and also gazed outside at the revellers below.

"Beth seems so happy," the young girl said. As they watched the couple sitting on a bench, Beth leaned in to the Colonel, who held a bite of food to her lips for her to take from his fingertips. Before she could take it, he pulled it back at the last second and Beth laughed, then nudged him with her shoulder. Tavington tilted her chin back, kissed her right there for all to see, then popped the morsel into her mouth. It was very intimate and very public. "I don't think I've ever seen her so happy…" Margaret said dreamily.

"Give it time - he'll make her miserable. That man will not be faithful to her, mark my words," Charlotte said darkly. "No matter how devoted and attentive he appears now."

"Oh, I don't know… He seems besotted, if you ask me."

"You're young, Maggie," Charlotte scoffed. "It's a rare man that will keep his wife happy beyond the first few months of marriage. Is Susan sleeping?"

Margaret glanced over her shoulder at the other bed and saw her sister sprawled across the blankets, her legs akimbo.

"Yes, she is. Even with the music outside…" Margaret gazed longingly outside. "Aunt, I'd really like -"

"You're not going down there," Charlotte said darkly.

"But this is my sister's wedding celebration!" Margaret replied in a small voice. "And Beth said it was safe, she said they were Gentlemen and no harm would come to me."

"Gentlemen? You saw what they did today. Gentlemen these men are not," Charlotte replied sharply, quelling further protest from Margaret.

Beth and William were kissing where they sat on a bench, slowly and passionately, while the other celebrators danced and sang. Mila was being turned about by Mr. Miller - a member of Charlotte's staff.

"Does this mean that all those below are Loyalists?" Charlotte mused, taking note of each one of them.

"I think they are just enjoying the celebration," Margaret said.

"I think they should be dismissed," Charlotte disagreed. "I'll certainly be firing those down below who are of my staff. And I'll be telling Ben if any from his staff joined this party."

"Will you be dismissing Sammie, Nate and Will, then?" Margaret asked, spying her brothers winding around the revellers.

"What are they doing down there!" Charlotte gasped. As she watched, Nathan bent to Samuel's ear and whispered something, while pointing at Beth - who was still very much involved in kissing her husband. Nathan began creeping closer to the oblivious newly weds. When he was close enough, he darted forward and slid something down Beth's neck, causing the girl to snap away from her husband and give a shriek.

_"Nathan!"_

Charlotte could hear Beth's yell from her room. Nathan, laughing, darted away and Beth made to chase after him but Tavington grabbed her waist and dragged her back to him, only this time he sat her in his lap. Beth smiled and draped her arms around his neck and the two resumed their slow, deep kissing.

Nathan ran back to his brothers and together, they began winding their way through the revelers again, seeming to chat with British soldier and Plantation servant alike.

"Your father is not going to like this at all," Charlotte ground out. "What is Nathan thinking?"

"It's a wedding, Aunt!" Margaret exclaimed. "The boys have been grumpy all day but none of them would pass up the opportunity go to a wedding! I don't blame them, I wish I could go too!"

"Well, you can not!" Charlotte frowned at down at Nathan. "He is treating Beth like he always has! As though she didn't up and renounce the whole family!"

"She didn't renounce us," Margaret argued. "She just wanted to marry Tavington, and she has… That doesn't mean she doesn't love us. She knew Papa wouldn't approve and fears he will disown her, and she made her choice even knowing that."

"Exactly, she's turned her back on us," Charlotte said stubbornly.

"Beth is treating us the same as she always has," Margaret said with wisdom far beyond her years. "Papa joined the Continentals well after Beth fell in love with Tavington. It seems to me that if anyone is going to turn their backs, it's you and Papa, turning on Beth."

Charlotte watched in consternation as Margaret slipped off the bed and climbed in to her own. Her niece snuggled into her pillow and closed her eyes, and was asleep within moments. Feeling quite disturbed by the young girls words, Charlotte shifted her uncertain gaze to Beth and Tavington below. She watched them, sitting in the fire lit night, kissing and canoodling, both laughing at something the other whispered. They did appear happy with one another and Charlotte would have exulted that her niece was so content in her marriage match - if it was anyone but Tavington.

Charlotte watched below as Bordon approached the pair. The Major knelt, and almost stumbled - causing Beth to laugh at the Officer's expense. Clearly he had had one too many. He stayed there chatting for some time, as Tavington dandled Beth on his knee.

"You have a new family now, Beth," Charlotte whispered aloud. "The Dragoons have all accepted you - they've danced with you and bought you plates of food and goblets of wine. You have seventy new brothers - I can't imagine you'll even miss us when you leave…"

The thought saddened her and she began to close the curtain, it hurt too much to watch Beth in her happiness any longer. Just before the curtain was shut all the way, she caught sight of two Dragoons striding purposely through the throng, with a man Charlotte knew to be a Loyalist between them. She recognised Mr. Taylor and she frowned, wondering what he was doing there. Twitching the curtain wide, she watched as the man bowed to Tavington and kissed Beth's hand. A few words were exchanged and then Tavington was rising. He whispered a few words to Beth before leaving her there, and then he was beckoning Mr. Taylor to accompany him into the house.

With a curse, Charlotte hurled herself off the bed and bolted from the room.

* * *

_That was almost too easy_, Margaret thought as she threw back the covers. Her Aunt had thought the girl was sleeping, but Margaret had merely been waiting for Charlotte to either fall asleep herself. She was not a deceitful child ordinarily, but she was missing her sisters wedding celebration! It was so unfair that Margaret didn't feel the slightest trace of guilt as she stepped into her skirt and pulled it up to her waist. Her bodice was a strange fit without her stays but she had no one to help her with those so she had not choice but to make do. A comb was run through her hair and then it was quickly twisted into a simple coif, before she slipped her feet into her shoes. As respectfully dressed as a fourteen year old who had dressed herself possibly could be, Margaret slipped from the room into the darkened hallway.

It was much riskier doing it this way - it would have been far more preferable to have slipped out when Aunt Charlotte was sleeping, because now she would probably run into Charlotte and be sent back to her room. But at least she would get to see some of Beth's wedding, to share in her sister's joy, if only for a few moments. To avoid too a early capture, Margaret slipped down the back stairwell which exited onto a corridor below near to the door that would take her onto the east porch. She made her way outside from there.

Beth was still where Tavington had left her, she was alone now - sitting on the bench and tapping her foot to the beat of the music while the others twirled about, dancing in front of her. Good - Margaret wanted her sister to herself for a bit, anyway - she'd barely spoken to her all day! They'd all been too busy, with moving the rooms around and then Margaret had helped with the baking. Beth had been given the keys to the house for the first time ever, Abigail had relinquished them to her for Beth was the oldest Martin present in the house and she was married now - it was only proper. Abigail had said she would have given them to Aunt Charlotte - for she would soon be mistress of the house - but she had not left her chamber all day.

"Bonjour," Margaret plonked herself down next to Beth, who laughed at being greeted in French.

"Bonjour to you," she replied. "I'm surprised to see you, I didn't think Aunt Charlotte would let you out!"

"She didn't," Margaret shrugged. "She thought I was sleeping, and when she left, I made my escape!"

"Naughty girl," Beth admonished. She took a sip from her glass - Margaret noticed then that Beth's eyes seemed a little glazed and red.

"You're soused!" She accused, laughing.

"Am not," Beth weaved slightly before correcting herself. "Well, maybe just a little."

The girls giggled.

A splatter hit Margaret's face and she glanced up, expecting to see her brother's at some mischief. Instead she saw dark billowing clouds had begun to form and were covering the stars. Beth scowled up at those clouds.

"Not tonight, damn you," she cursed the clouds. "You can rain 'til your heart's content tomorrow, but not tonight!"

As if the Heavens had obeyed her command, the girls felt no more drops and Beth nodded curtly, satisfied.

"Rain would be most welcome," Margaret said, "as long as it chases away this oppressive heat."

"Not. Tonight." Beth ground out. She raised her glass to her lips and too another pull of wine.

"Can I have some?" Margaret ventured hopefully.

"Absolutely not!" Beth was aghast. She tried to glare sternly but spoiled it when another giggle burst from her lips. "Papa will kill me!"

"No - he'll kill you for marrying Colonel Tavington, not for giving me wine!"

Beth nodded, still laughing at the absurdity of her father being angered over Margaret drinking wine when there was a much larger reason for his fury.

"Maggie," Beth placed a drunken arm across the girl's shoulders. "I'm sorry that William's men frightened you."

"Well, I'm alright. We all are," Margaret said as she snuggled closer to her sister. Gazing at the handsome Dragoons now, who were dancing and laughing and being jovial and thought of how different they were now, to earlier. They'd terrified her earlier but now, she realised they were just people. People who'd slapped Aunt Charlotte and burned her house down. Feeling confused and rebellious, she plucked the glass from Beth's fingers and drank deep, and Beth made no move to stop her. "Hmm, that's nice! I like wine."

"So do I," Beth quipped as she took the glass back. She drank the rest and within a moment a passing Dragoon filled the glass for her. "It's been that way all evening," Beth confided. "I haven't had to budge an inch. They see that my glass is empty and 'voila'! They fill it up!"

"I know - we saw from up there," the girl pointed to the window above and Beth gave a small groan.

"Oh, was Aunt Charlotte watching?"

"Yeh - we saw you kissing Tavington," Margaret took the glass and had another sip of wine. "What does it feel like, Beth? Kissing?"

"Wonderful," Beth said dreamily and she smiled a silly smile. "I can't wait for tonight. He's promised me so many things - I want him to take me to our chamber now and -"

"Beth!" Margaret gave a strangled gasp, reminding her sister just who she was speaking to. Though the girl was curious, she was only fourteen and Beth wisely kept her mouth shut.

"What did Aunt Charlotte say?" She asked instead.

"Lots of things - she isn't happy that the boys are down here. She isn't happy that her staff are out here, she's making note of them all and is going to send them packing. She isn't happy that you're kissing your husband for all to see. She isn't happy -"

"About anything!" Beth finished for her sister.

"She thinks you've turned her back on us," Margaret said. "But I told her that it's Aunt Charlotte turning her back on you."

"Oh, thank you!" Beth cried wrapped her other arm around Margaret, the two girls embraced happily. Being so young and unused to drinking, the wine was making Margaret feel light headed but she liked it - very much - and she was pleased when Beth let her share her glass again.

"Miss, would you honour me with a dance?" A young Dragoon stood before Margaret and held his hand out to her. She stared up at him in stunned amazement, too shocked to do anything but gape, though she knew she must look a fool. Beth unwound her arms from Margaret's shoulders and gave the girl a little nudge.

"You take care of my _sister_, Cornet Brownlow," she said, making certain the youth knew the girl was not to be trifled with.

"Yes, Mrs. Tavington, I know," he bowed to Beth respectfully, then gently pulled Margaret to her feet. The girl took a stumbling step forward, shot an uncertain glance down at her sister who shooed at her with her hands, and then she was amidst the other couples, sharing her first real dance ever with a real boy - one who was not one of her brothers or a cousin. Her cheeks flamed as she gazed up at the handsome Cornet and she floundered through the moves of the dance.

"This is my first time," she whispered hesitantly, causing the Cornet to almost groan - how he loved to hear those words from a lass as beautiful as this!

_She's just a girl, he admonished himself. And she's the Colonel's sister in law. Christ - he'd string me up from my balls!_

"Is it?" He asked her, assuming an innocent expression as he tried to keep filthy thoughts from his mind. He was the type of lad who always spoke in innuendos of the erotic kind but he forced himself to behave now. "I could not even tell. I'm honored that I'm your first."

He almost cringed as soon as the words left his lips - but no one could expect him to simply click his fingers and be completely reformed! He took solace in Margaret's exultant - and innocent - smile, she was far to young to have understood his double meaning.

"Just how old are you, Miss Martin?" He asked her, hopefully she was a little older than he'd first thought - she certainly looked like a young woman, with her curvaceous figure.

_Not that it matters, she's Tavington's sister in law! Get it through your knuckle brained head!_

Margaret hesitated. Usually she told people she was 'almost fifteen' - she tried to claim every one of her years - and every month as well, for she yearned to be thought of as a grown woman. And she would be fifteen in truth in less than a month. But now, she found herself ready to lie - ready to tell the Officer outright that she was older than she was, for he was handsome and she thought that if he thought she was older, then perhaps it would not only be her first real dance he gave her, but her first real kiss, and then she'd know exactly how wondrous it was.

"I'm sixteen," she informed him, then held her breath and waited for him to call her a liar. Instead, his eyes lit up and he smiled exultantly.

"Sixteen..." He whispered slowly as though trying to come to some sort of decision. Surely Tavington would not string him up by his balls if he just kissed the lass. Ordinarily, the Cornet would not stop there - he would whisper and cajole and lead the girl until she gave him far more, but with Tavington's new sister, he would settle for a sweet kiss and leave it at that. "Would you like to go for a walk, Miss Maggie?"

The girl gasped at hearing her pet name drip from this handsome Officer's lips like honey and she nodded mutely as if in a dream. The two glanced over at Beth to ensure they were not being watched too closely, but she was chatting happily with Lucy Ferguson now - that surprised Margaret for she had not seen the Ferguson's arrive. And then Brownlow was tugging her hand and she turned her attention back to him, and allowed him to lead her from the dirt dance floor.

The two tried to walk casually - as though it were perfectly normal for them to be wandering off into the dark by themselves.

"You're very beautiful, Maggie," the Cornet told her and she gaped at up at him like an idiot.

"I... I am?" She stammered, shocked that someone such as he would think so.

"Hmm hmm," he smiled down at her, his eyes lingering on her face. She blazed crimson but smiled hesitantly back - perhaps he truly meant it, perhaps he really did think she was beautiful. As they wandered deeper into the night toward a large oak, the young girl's head began to clear and she started to grow nervous. Brownlow wrapped his arm around her waist to guide her toward the tree. With his hand on her waist, his fingers began to caress her side, sending small jolts through her body - which in turn caused her breath to catch. Such simple and small touches but the sensations they caused left her reeling. Never had she been touched so intimately! It thrilled her, but made her so nervous she felt certain she would faint. Her heart pumped wildly and when he turned her, and pressed her to the tree, she knew he would kiss her soon and she got cold feet - she suddenly blurted,

"I'm sorry - I lied!"

Brownlow paused. With his hands on her waist, he frowned down at her in confusion.

"You lied, my sweet?" He asked teasingly. He leaned down to her and his lips brushed the dip in her shoulder along her collar bone. "About what?"

Margaret whimpered - Lord, it felt better than she could have imagined, to feel his lips on her bare skin! She shuddered and swallowed hard - as enjoyable as it was, she simply was not ready. Tears sprang to her eyes and she spoke in a broken whisper.

"I'm not sixteen. I'm not even fifteen - not yet," she admitted softly.

As though she'd suddenly turned into a werewolf and threatened to gobble him up, Brownlow bounded away from her - he jumped a full step back, his hands snatching back from her waist.

"You're fourteen?" He whispered, aghast. His reaction broke her heart and Margaret began to cry, great fat tears dripping down her cheeks.

"I- I'm sorry!"

"Shh, it's alright," he glanced over his shoulder, worried about being seen alone with her - a young girl after all - and with her crying at that. He felt an imaginary rip in his groin - Tavington stringing him up from his balls. "There, there, don't cry. Why did you lie?"

"B-Because I-I wanted you t-to kiss me!" She whimpered and collapsed back against the tree for support.

"Oh," he said. Then he smiled down at her. "And I wanted to kiss you - very much. You're as beautiful as I said, I wasn't lying, Maggie. But I can't kiss you now - you understand why, don't you?"

"Because you don't like me anymore," she sniffled and he laughed again.

"Lord... It's not that at all. I'd still kiss you, though it'd make me an utter cad. But if Tavington found out - he'd string me up from... Well, let's just say he'd be pretty angry."

"You still want to kiss me?" She asked hopefully.

"Yeh - but I won't."

"But I'll be fifteen soon!" She argued and even she was shocked with herself, at how very much she wanted this fellow to give her her first kiss.

"How soon?" He tilted his head to one side and regarded her carefully.

"Next week."

"Well, perhaps on your birthday, I'll give you a quick kiss on your lips - a quick one only, mind! But for now," he took hold of her hand and planted a kiss above her fingers. Margaret sighed in disappointment. Brownlow straightened and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, then dabbed at her tears gently himself, to give her some of the intimacy she obviously craved.

"I'm so embarrassed," she admitted while he worked.

"Agh, don't be, I was your age once. I remember wanting to kiss - and do much more - with girls when I was fourteen!" He quipped.

"You shouldn't tell me that!" Margaret laughed. Brownlow's handling of the situation put her at ease and she found herself comfortable in his presence, even after embarrassing herself so thoroughly.

"Alright, I take it back, I never said it," he offered her his arm. Margaret's fingers shook as she placed her fingers on his elbow.

"You did, there's no taking it back now," she said in a valiant attempt to keep up her side of the conversation. The two started walking back toward the firebrands and the dancing couples. "Please don't tell my sister. Or anyone else - I couldn't bear the shame. Please, Sir?"

"I won't tell a soul, I promise you. And when you turn sixteen - if I still know you then, I promise I will give you your first real kiss. Not the quick one I'll give you on your birthday - but a real and proper one. And it will be magnificent," he vowed and Margaret smiled shyly, but so widely that her dimples showed. Brownlow gazed down at her, wishing she was that age now, so that he could fulfil his promise then. Not wishing to wait another full year and a month, he said, "or maybe when you're fifteen and a half..."

Margaret laughed brightly. And then the two were on the dance floor again and he was twirling her about as though nothing untoward had happened. A short while later, Brownlow excused himself - the call of nature had gotten the better of him and he escorted her back to her sister, who was now sitting with another pretty young girl. This one was clearly older than Margaret, there was no doubting it this time. Beth introduced her as Miss Lucy Ferguson and he bowed low over her hand, his eyes lingering on her pretty face, as he kissed her fingers. He was careful to not show too much of his interest in the young woman, for Margaret was still there and he did not want to hurt the girl's feelings.

"And so I return your sister to you, Mrs. Tavington," he said gallantly, "Miss Martin, I had a wonderful time dancing with you - would you spare me another when I return?"

She nodded with a shy smile and Brownlow again found himself wishing the girl was older by a year - just one measly year - which would make the girl sixteen. To Lucy, he said, "and you, Miss Ferguson - would you do me the honour of a dance?"

"Yes, Cornet, I will," she said, though she seemed oddly hesitant and her eyes darted to Beth as though for reassurance, that she had answered in the correct way. Brownlow found it curious but the call of nature was growing stronger and so with one last bow toward the ladies, he put the matter out of his head. He strode toward the east side of the house, his legs carrying him quickly between the kitchen and the house, to the back of the kitchen where there was a privy. All the while, his thoughts lingered on the two beauties - Margaret, who was far too young, and Miss Lucy Ferguson, who was not too young at all. Curiously, it was Margaret he dwelled upon, despite her age.

_She'll break many hearts when she grows older, _he thought as he strode along under the breezeway that connected the kitchen to the house proper._ Like mine for instance - my heart is well and truly broken, because I can't bloody kiss the lass!_

_Lucy Ferguson! That's right - she's Colin Ferguson's sister! Damn and blast it - are all the pretty maids to be bloody off limits? _He growled to himself as he suddenly remembered who Lucy was, and who she was connected to. He could not seduce a fellow Dragoon's sister! If he could, he would have had at Miss Rebecca Middleton months ago! Not Miss Sarah Wilkins, though; he knew Arthur Simms had designs on her.

He rounded the back of the kitchen - it was dark and quiet here, he could barely make out the way to the privy behind it. He managed it however, entering the little chamber - some thoughtful person had left a lantern burning within. He positioned himself above one of the buckets and pulled out his member, sighing as his piss drained from his body. Gods, it felt good to have that relief. He stepped back and righted his clothes, then stepped out of the privy. He decided to poke his nose in the kitchen, in the hope of finding something to drink other than ale or rum. He might even find a nice wine. He opened the rear door, stepped inside. The fire was burning which cast off a dim light, but there was no one here - no cooks or helpers. The food had been laid out on the tables already and there'd been so much of it, the kitchen wasn't needed anymore. He poked around in the cupboards, until he found a jug of wine. Taking a swill from the lip, he nodded and sighed - this was more to his liking. Crossing the kitchen, he pulled open the front door, then at the most curious sight he'd ever seen in his young life.

* * *

Mr. Taylor's small plantation was situated next door to Danvers', where Benjamin had told Charlotte he would seek refuge. With her heart pounding wildly in fear, she hiked her silk skirts to her ankles and ran down the hall, then took the stairs two at a time. Once she was in the foyer, she glanced around, trying to think of the most likely place Tavington would bring Mr. Taylor.

Ben's office, Charlotte decided, and she slipped down the dark corridor to the office, sliding into the chamber as the front door opened and Tavington began striding through. Once in the office, Charlotte glanced about for a place to hide. Voices were approaching - just outside the door and Charlotte panicked. Whirling around, she saw that the windows were open to let in the slight breeze. If she was outside on the verandah, surely she would hear everything? She opened the door leading outside, and closed it softly behind her. It was pitch black outside on this side of the house, no torchlight and, thankfully, no guards to see her. She hurried along the verandah to the open window nearest the desk inside, anticipating that Tavington would likely sit at the desk while he interviewed Taylor. Flattening herself against the wall, she peered from the darkness into the lantern lit room. The first thing she heard was the door opening and heavy boot falls as the men entered. Willing herself to breath quietly - and to not cough! - She settled in to eavesdrop.

"Thank you for coming so late at night, Mr. Taylor," Tavington was saying. "Your Loyalty to the Crown is very much appreciated."

"You're welcome, Sir. Thank you for seeing me - I understand it is your wedding feast."

Charlotte watched as Tavington took up position in the seat at the desk as she'd anticipated, she saw him gesture and Taylor sat opposite him. Bordon had accompanied them, he watched him stumble slightly as he seated himself in the chair next to Taylor's. Bordon weaved slightly even sitting - it was evident that he was quite soused. Charlotte exulted, with all three of them just on the other side of the window, she was in the perfect position and could hear every word as clearly as if she were in the chamber with them.

"Yes. Miss Martin and I were married this afternoon."

"I'd heard. The rebels are all up in arms over. And they're none too happy about the people that were roughed up and the buildings that were burned after your wedding." - Charlotte gaped at Mr. Taylor. Buildings burned, after the wedding? - "I'm afraid you may have kicked a hornets nest, if you don't mind my saying. They deserve everything they got, but they're going to retaliate, just as Benjamin Martin did after Mr. Howard's hanging. Have you been informed of that? That Martin attacked Tarleton's force?"

"I have been informed," Tavington replied gravely.

"Well, he is calling in the muster again and I fear you will have an even larger force to face than Tarleton ever did."

"The power to rouse the countryside," Tavington sighed and Taylor cocked his head.

"One hundred answered when he attacked Tarleton, and another hundred answered when he started recruiting to his militia. I have no doubt he'll have triple that number, because they've all got their noses out of join over Pembroke. Martin knows your numbers, seventy Dragoons and what is left of your prison escort, and many of those are wounded, so you might as well say you've got seventy Dragoons and that's it. In a few hours, Martin will likely have four or five hundred. When he's got enough, he's coming here, he intends to strike you before dawn."

"How do you… How do you know all this?" Bordon asked, voice slurred.

"My plantation is next door to Mr. Danvers - where Martin is at this very moment. Danvers slaves are chomping at the bit to be freed, one of them slipped away to tell me what's going on over there. Martin is hiding out there with only a few of his militia. He thinks to strike you while you're vulnerable, but Sir, he's even more vulnerable right now than you are. The calls gone out, but the militiamen haven't shown up yet. They're not going to meet at Danvers - they're going to meet in Hell Hold Swamp, they'll come up at you from there. Martin's command has got them all burning to join - 'it's time to put actions to your words,' is what he's been saying - Reverend Oliver too. He's joined, of all people! And now the men are flocking to join him. I don't know how many are already down at Hell Hole, but that doesn't really matter - even if there's three hundred already, because Martin isn't there yet. He's at Danvers, like I said. He is getting rest before the attack, therefore he's as vulnerable as a three day old kitten."

"Do you know the details of this attack?" Tavington asked in a cold and alert voice.

"Yes - he's gotten hold of fire arrows and he plans to set the roof - and the outhouses - alight. He intends for his men to be already in place in the cornfield, the woods, the bushes, whatever cover they can find around the house. Sharp shooters - to fire into your men, who he predicts will be in a state of confusion and unable to rally against his much larger force. He will keep shooting them dead and will not let up, not until you surrender all of his children and Mrs. Selton."

"Jesus! He'd burn his own house to the ground?" Tavington bellowed. Charlotte was shocked also - she gaped gaped at the men, trying to hold back an astonished gasp.

"Yes, Sir," Taylor replied. "He wants his children and Mrs. Selton, and he wants retribution. Danvers negro said he heard Martin say that houses could be rebuilt, but children couldn't. That nothing is more important than getting his children back, and getting retribution.

"Damn and blast it," Bordon grunted.

"How far is it to this Danvers' place, Mr. Taylor?" Tavington asked.

"I rode real hard to get here and it took me nearly an hour."

"If we give you a fresh horse, would you be prepared to escort a Company of Dragoons there?" Came the next question.

"Of course, I am at your disposal."

"Thank you," the Colonel replied politely. "You're certain that none of those militiamen are going to meet up with him at Mr. Danvers?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but no, I'm not sure of that at all. The negro said he heard they were assembling at Hell Hole Swamp and that Martin only a few men with him at Danvers, but more could join him there before he goes to meet his men down at the swamp."

"And when do you estimate that will be?" Tavington asked.

"Before he came to me, the negro said Martin left instructions with Danvers to wake him at eleven, then he took himself off to bed. He hasn't slept in the last few days, the negro heard Martin complaining, and I'd say that's likely true enough with all he's been up to. He wants to get some shut eye before attacking you tonight."

"And you estimate he'll have close to four hundred by midnight?"

"Yes. I wish you could attack them there, Sir, I truly do. But as they say, cut off the head of the snake…"

"Snakes like that… use… usually grow second heads," Bordon said, still slurring.

"They will have the greater numbers," Tavington said, "but they have lost the element of surprise, thanks to you, Mr. Taylor. Now - how many are with him at this Danvers' place at this moment?"

"When I rode past on the way here, I ducked by for a quick look. I saw five or six, Sir. Another thing you should know - the Continentals are strengthening an old Fort at McDeals. Did you know about that?"

"No, I did not," Tavington said. "Would you mark it on a map? Is Burwell there?"

"Yes, he is there," Taylor replied. Charlotte watched as Tavington shuffled papers about and then Taylor was bending over one with a pencil in his hand. He was marking McDeals Fort, showing Tavington exactly where he would find Burwell, blast the man!

"I thank you for this information, Mr. Taylor. Why don't you go enjoy some food and wine? Join the feast for a bit, you'll be riding out soon with the Dragoons."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," Taylor was bowing his way out of the office. She would have cursed out loud, if the need for silence were not so damned important. Taylor had handed Benjamin to Tavington on a plate! And Burwell! Indeed, as soon as the door clicked shut, Tavington began laying his plans.

"Gather the Dragoons."

"Jesus, William! I'm too soused to ride!" Bordon complained. "Why not just give Martin his brats, if that's all he's after?"

"Because, Bordon," Tavington's voice was thick with condescension, as though he was addressing a child, "Beth is one of his 'brats' and if you think I'll hand my wife back to her father, then you can damned well think again! I have no doubt he meant 'all' of his children - my Beth included!"

"Oh," Bordon said quietly.

"Yes. Oh," Tavington spat. "Besides - this is our opportunity to catch the bastard who attacked our men! And Tarleton's! Are you mad? 'Give him back his children'..!"

The Colonel scoffed in derision.

"Alright, I agree - it's important we take Martin! But Brownlow and Dalton haven't drunk as much as me. Send them!"

"It's not my fault you chose to drink so much -" Tavington began but Bordon cut him off.

"It's not your fault! It's your damned wedding feast! Of course it's your fault! How could I not join in the celebration of one of my closest friend's happiest moments? Christ!"

"You're doing this, Bordon," came the firmly stated reply.

"Yeh, Christ, I know. What do you want me to do?"

"Go to this Danvers - Taylor will show you the way. Surround the house, cut off all escape routes. Then call for surrender."

"That's it? What means do you authorise?"

"I want Martin captured alive," Tavington was saying. "But you can use as much incentive as you think necessary on Martin's companions, and this Danvers' family. But bring Martin in, safe and sound."

"I'll treat him with kid gloves. You intend to keep your promise to Mrs. Tavington?"

"Of course - I'll not harm a bloody hair on her father's head. But he'll spend the rest of this war a captive, he's been in this for less than a week and he's already proven himself to be too formidable to be left to his own devices."

"Agreed. So," came the sullen sigh. "You want me to do this now?"

Charlotte was shocked when she heard the Legion Commandant laugh.

"There's nothing like an early evening jaunt through the woods when you're pissed, Richard," he chuckled. "You'll enjoy it. It'll clear your head."

"The hell it will," the Major muttered. "But I'll get him," Bordon was nodding as the two Commanders rose. "He isn't going to know what hit him. You hear that, Martin? I'm coming for you you damned bastard!"

"If he _could_ hear you, I'm sure he'd be trembling in his boots," Tavington laughed. "As soon as Wilkins and Trellim bring the Dragoon units in, we'll go after Burwell at McDeals. Just think, we catch those two, and the Santee rebels will be settled for."

"Think of the accolades from Cornwallis and O'Hara. Not that we need to catch Burwell or Martin for those. They love me, I'm a God to them!" Bordon boasted drunkenly.

"Yes, Richard, I'm sure you are," Tavington laughed again. The door snicked shut behind them and Charlotte whirled away from the window, leaning against the wall for support. Her mind worked furiously - that she had to get word to Benjamin was not in doubt, but who could she trust?

Josiah?

Yes, he had not been at the celebrations, and he was the one who had warned of the Dragoons approach in the first place. Pushing herself off of the wall, she fixed her thoughts on the task ahead of her. She entered the office for the time it took to pick up one of the lanterns, then she stepped back onto the verandah. It was pitch black and quiet there - most of the revelry was occurring at the front of the house. Holding the lit lantern aloft, she began to make her way across the grounds toward the cabins in search of Josiah who could be trusted - and what more, he knew the area well, having been hunting there for years. Time was slipping through her fingers and she picked up her pace, keeping her silk skirts high with one hand, and the lit lantern up high in the other.

"Shh someone's coming," a woman whispered and Charlotte stopped dead. The voice was vaguely familiar - it sounded like one of her maids, Vickie. If it was, Charlotte would have her sent on her way, also. But there was no time to investigate now.

"Don't worry, they'll pass, no one will see us," came the man's voice. A moment later, there was moaning and Charlotte drew a disgusted - but relieved - breath. The rutting couple would not disturb her. She continued on, reaching the cabins and was soon knocking on Josiah's door. The young man was surprised by who was visiting him, he held the door wide, inviting her into the small room. Charlotte faltered when she saw Old Lucas was sitting at the small table - the two had been dicing. Could the old man be trusted? She found she had no choice - she had to take the risk.

"I need your help," she blurted out to Josiah. "Mr. Taylor - who lives next door to Mr. Danvers - has come to tell Tavington that Mr. Martin is hiding there, with only a handful of men to protect him. Taylor informed Tavington that Mr. Martin intends to strike here tonight, and so Tavington is sending Bordon, with forty Dragoons - to collect Mr. Martin from Mr. Danvers farm, now."

Old Lucas whistled and Josiah worked his jaw.

"I was hoping you would ride to him, to warn him," Charlotte begged Josiah.

"How can I?" He asked her bluntly. "They've a guard on the stables - they ain't gonna let me make off with one of the horses."

"Oh, no!" Charlotte wailed. "What are we to do?"

"The Ferguson's are real close," Josiah mused. "I'll go there, I'll ask for one of their horses."

"But that will take so long!" Charlotte wailed.

"I'll run there," Josiah promised. "There ain't no help for it, there's nothin' more I can do."

"Might not do you no good, going to the Ferguson's," Old Lucas said wisely. "They's is here - I saw the Mister and his Missus earlier. And their slaves ain't gonna hand over a horse to you, Josiah - not without the Master's permission. You'll be wastin' precious time, goin' to the Ferguson's."

"Oh, damn and blast it!" Charlotte groaned, then she slapped her free hand over her gaping mouth, shocked that she had been pushed to use such language.

"So I'll run all the way to Danvers," Josiah promised. "It ain't so far."

"Taylor said it took him over half an hour to reach here, and he was galloping hard!" Charlotte said. "Tavington is going to give him a fresh horse. Believe me, they'll be galloping every bit as hard to get to to Mr. Danvers. Tavington told Bordon to leave immediately. Taylor is going to guide them."

"Well, might be Taylor don't know the trails like I do," Josiah said confidently. "Don't fret it, Mrs. Selton. I'll get there first, before them Dragoons."

"If you don't, men will die this evening," Charlotte said grimly. "And Mr. Martin will be captured. They were boasting of it now - they're going to go after Burwell next."

"I'll tell Mr. Martin that too, when I see him. Don't worry, I'm on my way," Josiah said, throwing on a coat and heading out the door. Charlotte blew out an explosive breath and closed her eyes, ready to begin weeping. How could a man - running on foot - make it to Benjamin quicker than the Green Dragoons could ride? Taylor was bound to know the trails as well as Josiah. The Dragoons could catch up to Josiah and pass him in the woods.

"Don't you worry now - Josiah's a clever boy. He can go places horses can't - he'll warn Mr. Martin or he'll die tryin'."

Charlotte had seen the doubt cross Lucas' face, however, and it made her mouth go dry.

"Please get word to me as soon as he gets back, will you?" She whispered, "or I'll not get a wink of sleep."

"I will, I promise," he said and Charlotte stumbled from the cabin with her lantern still lighting her way.

Four miles, running on foot in the woods at night. It was bound to take Josiah a good forty minutes to an hour. How much more swiftly for Bordon to reach there on horseback? Half that time, surely.

How long before Bordon could round up his men? How long before they begin making their way to the stables? How long to saddle them, how long before they were on their way? The Dragoons were accustomed to readying their horses swiftly for fast pursuit. This was not something new to them. And Taylor would take them by the shortest route possible.

On horse, they could over take Josiah in as little as fifteen minutes!

Charlotte's heart gave a little twist and her stomach curled with worry. Bordon was bound to reach Danvers well before Josiah did. And there was nothing she could do about it. Not a damned thing. Her fiancé would be taken, he'd be placed in a prison camp - soldiers died in those camps! And Danvers family - they would be tormented, to force Benjamin to give himself up! And he would too, Charlotte knew. If faced with those circumstances, Benjamin would give himself up in a heart beat.

Leaning against the outside wall of the house, Charlotte drew several ragged breathes, trying to keep her panic under control.

"Mrs. Selton?" A voice asked behind her and she leapt six feet into the air, or so it seemed to her and when she landed, her heart was in her mouth.

"Major Bordon!" She gasped, her heart pounded furiously, certain was she that Bordon would instantly guess exactly what she had done. She would be punished and Josiah would be stopped! Of all the people for her to encounter now - why did it have to be Bordon? Only Tavington could have been worse!


	65. Chapter 65 - Charlotte's Good Intentions

Chapter 65 - Charlotte's Good Intentions:

_That same night. The British Legion camped in Kingstree:_

"Who do you think it is?" Linda asked slyly as the woman moaned again.

"I don't know," Harmony giggled. "Though I doubt it's any of the women we know. This one went to great lengths to conceal her face before she went into the Lieutenant's tent!"

"Did you see what she was wearing?" Linda hoped that the woman's dress might give away her identity.

"Nah, it's too dark now - and she was wearing a dark cape... We'd have to wait just outside his tent, and wait for her to emerge, in order to discover who it is."

Harmony, who did not care enough about the woman's identity began to move away.

"Alright, let's do that then," Linda laughed softly and grabbed Harmony's arm to pull the younger girl forward again.

"Linda!" Harmony squeaked. "We can't!"

"We can," Linda replied grimly. "I want to know who it is."

"Why is it so important?" Harmony asked softly as the two crept to the Lieutenant's tent. The moaning coming from within was louder now, as the couple were clearly reaching their apex - that delicious orgasm that would take them both to heaven and back. Hearing it made Harmony long for Bordon even more than she already was.

"It just is," Linda whispered as she crouched between the tents, being careful to cover herself fully with her dark wool cape so that none of her clothing reflected the sparse light. As dark as it was, it should prove safe enough, they should not be seen and when the tent flap was lifted, the faces of those within should be thrown into stark relief, for the tent was quite well lit inside. Harmony could not understand why it was so important to Linda that she identify the woman who had entered the Lieutenant's tent in such secrecy - it was not as though Linda could possibly be jealous of the Officer's sweetheart. The former doxy had been as faithful to Tavington as Harmony had been to Bordon. Blackmail, perhaps? The girl frowned, not well pleased by the distasteful suspicion.

"Oh, yes, yes..." Came a breath whisper from within the tent. Then more grunting from the Lieutenant.

"They shouldn't be long now," whispered Linda knowingly. "Did you hear that Mrs. Ferguson is inviting camp followers to join her and the other 'ladies' in their tea parties now?"

What a thing to discuss, and what a time to discuss it! Harmony frowned at the dark shape that was Linda, though she was certain the other woman could not possibly make out her disdain in the dark. Linda sounded quite bitter about it - that the other camp women were being invited to join Mary and her companions. Their lives had changed since Mrs. Ferguson took control of the camp followers, and for the better. This was the latest of Mary's implemented ideas - that three different women join her, Emily Wilkins, Rebecca Middleton and Sarah Wilkins, in order to get to know the others in camp.

Harmony was both dreading and looking forward to her turn, though as it was only the second day the tea party had taken place, and as there were so many women to invite - at only three at a time it could be weeks before it was Harmony's turn. She had no desire to drink tea with Emily Wilkins, but the others seemed far nicer. Harmony wanted to get to know them better, also, but the very idea made her nervous. What would she talk about with those prominent women, when it was her turn? They had nothing in common, nothing what so ever. And what if she had misjudged them, what if they stared down their noses at her? That thought made her stomach churn. Then again, Mary Ferguson and Rebecca Middleton had spoken up for her, and while they hadn't overtly gone against Emily Wilkins, it was clear they did not side with her, nor did they condone Emily's attempt to have Harmony accused of theft. They'd helped her, that meant they must be good people, didn't it?

"It's ridiculous," Linda raged quietly as the couple continued to moan in the throes of passion only a yard away with the thin canvas separating them. "That Mrs. Ferguson, coming down from on high to mingle with the common folk. It wouldn't surprise me if she stuck a peg on her nose so she did not have to smell us!"

"You don't like her?" Harmony ventured carefully. "Don't you think you'll enjoy sitting to tea with them?"

Linda laughed softly - derisively. "Don't be absurd - they won't be inviting the likes of me, you ninny. I'm a whore, remember? Tavington's whore. They'll not invite the Colonel's mistress to 'sit to tea' with them!"

"You don't think so?" Harmony said in a weak voice. What of her then, Bordon's whore? She was the Major's mistress, and as such, perhaps she would not be getting an invitation after all? As nervous as she had been by the idea of sitting with them to tea, the idea of not being invited at all was far worse.

"No - of course I don't!" Linda snorted. "You've been sleeping in Bordon's tent for several nights now - do those women ever speak to you as they would... say... Miss Cordell?"

Miss Amity Cordell was the daughter of one of the soldiers. Having no one else in the world, she had accompanied him when he set out to fight for the Loyalists. Although her family was of meagre means, the girl's reputation had not a single tarnish - she was, in short, a respectable and well liked young woman. Harmony thought back to the last few days and she realised that Linda was quite correct. Mary Ferguson did speak to her - Harmony - but never beyond what was necessary to accomplish their camp duties. Miss Cordell, however, was spoken to in a far more amiable fashion. Emily Wilkins dismissed Amity Cordell as a servant and did not interact with her beyond what was needed, but the other camp women treated Miss Cordell with respect.

The women who laid with the soldiers at night - those who did so to supplement their income - they were spoken to in the same way as Harmony. Politely, perhaps, but never beyond what was necessary. Finally understanding this, Harmony deflated like a balloon.

"I'm not going to be invited to tea, am I?" She asked forlornly.

There was a quiet shuffle at her side, as Linda shifted uncomfortably in the dark.

"I didn't realise you would want to," Linda said just as softly, her tone was commiserating and apologetic - sorry that she had hurt her friend.

"Oh, I don't," Harmony lied with false bravado. "I just like tea, is all, and it's so damned rare, I would've put up with the uppity cows for a cup!"

Linda chuckled quietly.

"I thought you were upset for a moment there - oh, wait - I think they're finished!" The two women fell silent - those within the tent had began to chat quietly as they dressed. Finally, it was time for the unidentified woman to leave and the two outside edged closer to the corner, to the entrance of the tent, to see her clearly as she exited.

When she did, Harmony gasped in shock and the fast thinking Linda clamped a hand to the girl's mouth to stifle the sound. The woman did not hear her, she was busy covering her face with the hood of her cape but Harmony and Linda had seen her face clearly in that brief moment, and both were shocked to their core.

"Again tomorrow night, my sweet beauty?" The Lieutenant asked hopefully.

"If my husband has not returned, most certainly, my handsome Lieutenant," Mrs. Emily Wilkins replied. She leaned in and gave the Officer a lingering kiss, before rushing away.

Only then did Linda lower her hand from Harmony's gaping mouth. The Lieutenant had disappeared inside the tent and Linda was tugging Harmony's sleeve, urging her to come away now.

"Emily Wilkins!" Linda hissed as the two began to walk along the well lit avenue between the tents. "That uppity bitch! For all her silks and her airs and graces, her staring down her nose at us, she's no better! She's every bit as much of a whore as I ever was! Why in the world is she being unfaithful to James?"

"Perhaps he is not a very good lover?" Harmony ventured.

"He is so too!" Linda scoffed. "Not as good as William, but I had no complaints."

Linda had been Tavington's mistress for so long that Harmony sometimes forgot the woman had a previous life as a doxy. It was the reason Linda had spoken of Wilkins by his first name, for she had bedded him several times before.

"Then perhaps she's sore with him for the beating he gave her? This might be her way of getting some sort of revenge," Harmony offered.

"Perhaps... Either way, we know the truth of it now. She can't hide it from us."

"And how do you intend to use this, Linda?" Harmony asked then. "I don't like the idea of blackmailing people, if that's what you're intending."

"It's just nice having useful information such as this, occasionally," Linda said slyly. "For instance, we could use it to get you that cup of tea, seeing that you like it so much."

"No, thank you," Harmony laughed.

She would only want a genuine invitation from Mary and the others, not one bought about by guile or force. If those women did not want to socialise with her willingly, then she would not make them. Linda's words had offered a small measure of reassurance, Harmony was relieved to know that Linda did not have some fiendish plan up her sleeve. She was merely gathering information to be used as contingency, and as Emily had already shown a predilection for conniving, it could prove useful to keep the woman in-line.

"You haven't heard from Bordon, have you?" Linda asked hopefully, her worry evident in her voice.

"No - I would tell you right off, if I had," Harmony replied, with just as much worry. Both women knew from past experience that Colonel Tavington would not contact Linda directly. Although almost everyone in camp knew of their affair, Tavington refused to acknowledge Linda as his mistress publicly and so he did not send letters or messages to her. The only news she received was that which Bordon sent to Harmony, which Harmony shared with Linda. There was never any personal messages from Tavington to Linda in Bordon's missives, but Richard was always careful to mention Tavington's well being, for he knew that Harmony would pass the information on to Linda. Nevertheless, Harmony had not heard from Bordon at all, not since he had ridden out earlier that very morning to chase after General Burwell.

The British Legion were encamped at Kingstree, awaiting the Green Dragoons' return. No word had come from Tavington, Bordon, Wilkins or Trellim. Only Banastre Tarleton had sent a missive, the contents of which had not been divulged to the likes of Harmony. He was chasing after Colonel Thomas Sumter and Harmony could only assume that the missive was an update meant for Tavington, as to how Tarleton was faring. Tavington was not present, however, and no one knew how long it would be before he, and Bordon, returned.

A battle had been fought - that much they knew. Harmony had helped to tend the wounded herself, earlier that day when the soldiers were bought into the camp, to the medical tents. The surgeons had found her quite useful and one of them had told her he would be speaking with Mrs. Ferguson to ensure Harmony was placed in the medical tents to help tend the wounded in future. Harmony herself was not sure she was particularly enthused by the idea, for she had witnessed several young men die under the knife - or afterwards - and it had been quite difficult to bear. She'd been powerless to help those dying men - even the doctors had been powerless to save them. But she had enjoyed nurturing those whose wounds were not so terrible - she had read to them to help relieve the boredom. If Mrs. Ferguson asked her to return to the medical tents, Harmony supposed she would agree - despite the grief over those who had died.

Linda had been spending her days in the mess tents, against all odds she had discovered an enjoyment for cooking and baking and as she learned, she was becoming surprisingly good at it. Their lot had certainly changed under Mary Ferguson's regime - for all of them. For Mrs. Salisbury, too - the woman who had been such a hard task mistress. She kept her head down now, and her nose out of other people's business. The women tolerated her presence because they had no other choice, but hardly any of them spoke to her unless they had to. She was in disgrace - and judging by her now quiet, docile demeanour, she was feeling the effects of it.

As was their custom when their men were not present, Linda and Harmony made their way to a camp fire where the women were lively, the doxys in camp who would mostly likely not receive an invitation to tea from Mrs. Mary Ferguson. Harmony felt at home amongst these women, and now that the soldiers understood she was Bordon's mistress and was therefore off limits, they had begun to treat her as they would a younger sister. Feeling safe in their company, she accepted the flask that was doing the rounds and took a long pull of the whiskey before handing it on. Laughter soon floated around her, as the small group exchanged jokes and tall tales, entertaining one another before it was time to retire for the evening.

* * *

_That same night. Burwell's Continental's at MacDeal's Fort:_

"It's not a particularly well fortified fort," Wilkins sniffed disdainfully as he gazed at the rotten logs that made up the North facing wall. "Forts are supposed to be strongholds to keep the enemy out. Those old rotten logs couldn't keep out an army of little girls with slingshots! The Green Dragoons won't even need the canons, they could just mash the logs in with their boots!"

"They'd have to get close enough first," Burwell said dryly. After having re-armed his men from the Santee's ammunition caches, the Green Dragoons would be faced with a rain of musket shot, should they try.

"Wet parchment would provide better protection than those rotten old piles!" Wilkins said stubbornly.

Burwell heaved a sullen sigh. Even though Wilkins was an enemy, the General dredged deep, trying to find some patience for his fellow Colonial.

"We are working on it, Captain. Never you fear," he said.

"I'm not the one who should be fearing, if those walls are anything to go by," Wilkins scoffed. "Tavington's canon will rip into those in a matter of minutes. It will be short and very easy work, General. Tavington won't even work up a sweat!"

The two were sitting with several other Officers at a camp fire, the flames lighting the dark night around them.

Except for Corporal Rosborough, the rest of Wilkins unit were situated deeper in the fort, and were to sleep under the stars with a strong guard to watch them. None of them were tied or bound, but their chance for escape or for mischief was minimal as they had been relieved of their weapons and they were outnumbered at least four to one. Wilkins had been invited to join Burwell for a night cap, a whiskey in the company of Gentleman - not to exchange information, but because Burwell had - mistakingly - hoped that Wilkins might turn. The conversation so far, with Burwell's many hints that Wilkins might find becoming a Patriot much more to his liking, rather than following a King thousands of miles away, however, had been met with utter disdain. Burwell was, frankly, ready to give up and send the Captain back to his men.

"He has to find us first, Captain," the General replied patiently. "And if you recall, his own force has been split three ways - and one of them has been captured," he inclined his head to Wilkins, who scowled in return. "His Legion is up in Kingstree and judging by the splatters of rain I've felt on my cheeks, I'm fairly certain it will be pouring by morning. This will turn the roads to sludge, making it very difficult for Tavington to reunite with the British Legion. So - what do I have to fear from him? Nothing - we'll have this place secure well before Tavington presents a danger."

"Besides," John Billings smirked. "We have you - and your men. If Tavington shows up with his canons while our walls are still vulnerable, we'll tie you and your boys bodily along the north wall - there won't be need of brand new, robust piles then!"

Those others at the camp fire laughed aloud at the image of seventy Dragoons all lined up along the old, mouldy wall, humans being used in place of new logs.

"We'll see if he fires those canons then, aye?" Billings continued. "We'll find out how fond the Butcher is of you then."

"Tavington is fond enough," Wilkins curled his lip at John. Burwell had already assured James that he and his men would not be harmed - and so far he had kept his word - so James did not believe he'd do as Billings suggested.

Surprisingly, the American army had treated with James and his lot with tender mercy. Their wounds had been tended, painkilling laudanum administered - though in very sparse quantities. Enough to take the edge of the worst of those in pain. It was a kindness that Wilkins appreciated, regardless.

"I wish to thank you, General Burwell," he said now, wishing to acknowledge the American Commander's treatment of his men.

"Oh?" Burwell arched an eyebrow.

"Yes - I appreciate all you'e done. You've fed us, watered us, shared your whiskey," he held up his now empty goblet, which Burwell promptly refilled. "You gave us the medical care you promised," he paused and took a sip from the glass, then his face darkened as he remembered the manner of his capture.

Earlier that day, during the chase, James had been exultant when he realised it was Burwell himself that he and his detachment of Green Dragoons were in pursuit of. It had been with thoughts of glory that James pressed the enemy General hard. With images of the triumph to come, he had commanded his Dragoons to board the flat boats to continue the chase, never thinking of the danger which lurked in the shadows on the far side. He was still quite new to war and it had not occurred to him that anyone would wage a skirmish from under the cover of bushes and trees. Battles took place in open spaces with ranks, battalions and regiments all drawn up, the two enemy forces facing one another, giving their Officers the opportunity to parade back and forth. They were orderly affairs, or so Wilkins had always thought.

Standing on the flat boat beside his horse as they crossed the river, he had been blissfully imagining the expression on Colonel Tavington's face when he - Captain James Wilkins - returned with General Burwell as his prize; blithely fantasising the glory to come, when explosive claps had rang out from the trees and his men began falling around him. It had been quite a shock, and now, sitting with Burwell and drinking the General's whiskey, James began to worry over what Tavington's reaction would be. Despite Burwell's tender care of the Dragoons, quite a few had died and more might not last the night. Colonel Tavington, James suspected, would not be a happy Colonel.

"Having said that, we would never have been caught if not for the outrageous stunt you pulled - hiding in the bushes!" He muttered angrily. "What the Devil was that? I thought I was fighting Gentlemen! I'm certain such a tactic must go against the Rules of War?"

"Hiding in bushes, against the Rules of War? Hardly," Burwell scoffed. "Fighting Gentlemen - what's 'genteel' about poking each other with bayonets? James, you're new to this so I'm going to share some wisdom with you." James curled his lip at this, the older veteran's contempt stinging the younger man's pride. "When you purchased your commission into His Exulted Majesties Most Excellent Royal Forces, all you paid for was that fine Redcoat and an Officer's rank. Captain, you can not purchase knowledge and experience, those two things are earned, I'm afraid." Wilkins eyes narrowed but Burwell ignored the Captain's fury. He shifted to gain a more comfortable position on the over turned log, he took another long draw from the flask and the fiery whiskey made his voice harsh. "A fine Redcoat does not a soldier make. Which, I believe, is something you have learned today, to your detachment's detriment."

Wilkins seethed, but said nothing - for there was not a damned thing he could say. Burwell was, unfortunately, absolutely right.

"You are green, Captain," Burwell stressed the title mockingly causing Wilkins to bristle. "Green as any newly recruited arrogant nobleman commissioned to be an Officer. If you joined us, we'd have that arrogance of yours drummed out of you - we'd make you a true soldier!"

"Agh, give over, will you?" Wilkins growled. "I'll not turncoat! I'm a Royalist, Goddamn it - I'd never become a stinking rebel."

"Stinking?" Captain Billings of the South Carolina militia - ever the jovial fellow - raised his left arm and buried his nose in his arm pit, then drew a long sniff through his nostrils. "I stink of Roses, Sir. I washed three weeks ago!"

"Charming." James said flatly. The others around the camp fire laughed - all except for Corporal Rosborough who was lost in thought. The Officer was one of Wilkins' own men, but just then he was now listening to Burwell carefully, his head cocked to the side thoughtfully. Wilkins was unaware of the British born Officer's interest in Burwell's speech about changing allegiance. Perking up a little, Wilkins asked hopefully, "are there any women in camp? I haven't seen any since I've been here. I have gold."

"And you have a hand," Billings said crudely. "I suggest you use it - for no, there are no women to be had, for love nor money."

"Charming," Wilkins repeated. He curled his lip at the boorish militia Captain.

"You don't like my suggestion?" Billings laughed. "Well, I have another. You could always snuggle real close to one of your men - see what _arises_ between you?"

"If I had my pistol, I'd shoot you through your black heart for that, Billings," Wilkins said coldly, feeling the insults keenly. If the suggestion that he use his hand was not bad enough, the second one, that he lay with one of his men, was enough for James to demand a duel!

"Come now, Wilkins," Burwell continued, getting back on topic as though there'd been no interruption. "Since the disaster up at Camden, we've lost quite a few Officers to death or capture. There are vacancies now, in the upper ranks, also. Why, I could make you a Major in my own unit - that's better than being a Captain, doesn't it? I'd take you under my wing and teach you every thing I know. You'd be a true warrior - you've mettle in you, that's for certain. You could go far, in the Continental Army."

"For what?" Wilkins challenged, "the promises of a hundred acres of land and one hundred dollars at the end of the war? I'll probably never see either, and nor will any of those witless fools who have joined your ranks for the promised grants. No Sir, I already have land and wealth, I will throw neither away for empty words. Besides, I'm a good Kings man and I'd never turn! I'll fight for the King to the end of this damned war and beyond!"

"What makes you think they'll want you?" Billings asked and James stopped short, his incredulous eyes fixed on the militiaman.

"You're meaning?" He frowned at Billings but it was Burwell who answered.

"After your debacle at the creek," he said shrewdly. "I'd say Colonel Tavington is going to be fairly put out with you. Men that he entrusted to your command died today, men that he has served with for a long time - not just your own Tory's from Charlestown. Englishmen - British blood was spilled this day - because of you."

Wilkins swallowed hard and his eyes became haunted. He shifted his gaze from Burwell to stare blindly into the heart of the roaring camp fire.

"Yep, I'd say you're up shit creek, there, Captain!" Billings grinned obscenely, it was clear he was taking great enjoyment from Wilkins' discomfort. James said nothing - no retort came to his lips as he sat woodenly on the stool.

A cough from the Officer sitting on the other side of Wilkins drew Burwell's attention. Rosborough leaned forward to speak to the General around Wilkins.

"A hundred acres, you say?" He asked. "And a hundred dollars?"

Wilkins was finally jerked from his haunted trance to stare at the Officer in horror.

"Just as I said," Burwell replied sagely.

"Don't be a damned fool, Rosborough!" Wilkins snapped. "These bastards haven't been paid in months and when they do get paid, their Continental dollars aren't worth a damn! What's the matter with you - you're British!"

"Yes, I am, Captain," Rosborough replied. "And I signed into the army because there weren't nothing else for me. I know what you're fighting for better than you and I know that ain't worth a damn either! I've been in the Colonies for long enough to know that in living in America, I could write my own destiny - especially if I get a hundred acres for my trouble!"

"But that's just it - you won't!" Wilkins threw his arms up and barked a derisive laugh. "Where's Congress going to get that land from, I ask you? How are they going to pay you your hundred dollars when they can't even pay their soldiers now? God's teeth, wake up man!"

"You could go far, in the American army," Burwell said and Wilkins threw him a disgusted look. "Corporal - you could go far. And you'd be serving under men who know what they're doing - not fools who walk straight into ambushes because they don't know any better." It was clear that Wilkins would not turn coat, so Burwell abandoned his attempts to sway him. Now he switched tacts and even began a full blown attack against Wilkins, to secure the British born Officer's allegiance. "Wasn't your brother one of the wounded, Sir?" He asked pointedly and he saw the flash of grief that crossed the Corporal's face. His brother had died of those wounds, a fact that Burwell already knew.

"He died," Rosborough said quietly and Wilkins - who had been about to blister the Officer - snapped his mouth shut.

"I see," Burwell said in genuine commiseration. "Well, we know who to thank for that. Do you really want to continue serving under such inexperience - when it could be you next? Come over to the Continentals, son. In fighting for America, you will be writing your own destiny. No more bowing to the Nobility or Peerage, who have their prestige thanks to the accident of their birth. No more living with your lot in life, because you weren't born with noble parents. Just think of it - after the war, you'd become a planter on those hundred acres! Plant some indigo or tobacco - and you'll be wealthy beyond your dreams!"

"And who will he trade that bloody indigo and tobacco with, hmm?" James snapped in frustration. "Tell me that? Not with bloody England - they'll not deal with you now! France? You'd trade with France? Bah! Spain! The savages, perhaps? Redskins don't have money! Jesus - don't listen to him, Corporal! Look - I won't tell Tavington that this conversation - as treasonous as it is - has taken place. He'll never know! Just turn aside from this foolishness!"

Rosborbough, however, was no longer listening to Wilkins. With a faraway expression, it was clear he was dreaming of his future, of a vast plantation with healthy crops, of a large Colonial plantation manor house the likes of which he'd been - regretfully - putting to the torch at Tavington's command. He was also dreaming of a pretty American girl with sun touched hair, smiling brightly in the silks he showered her with. A girl he had yet to meet - but his wife, nonetheless.

Raising from his perch on a borrowed stool, he dusted his breeches with his hands, then circled the stool to make his way to Burwell's side.

"Johnny..." Wilkins whispered, watching in horror.

Burwell tilted his head back to gaze up at the Corporal, who gazed back down at the General steadily. Then, Rosborough knelt. He squatted on the cold ground, with his elbows on his knees, and though his hands were empty, he held them out to Burwell in a ceremonial display of handing his over his sabre.

"My swords is yours," he said clearly, implacably. "I'm your man, if you'll have me."

"Welcome to the Continentals, Lieutenant Rosborough," Burwell put gentle emphasis on the Officer's new rank. He smiled and shook the youth's hand.

"Lieutenant," Wilkins muttered in disgust. "A promotion is the reward of your defection. And believe me, you stupid fool, it's the only reward you'll ever see."

Johnny ignored the Captain however - for as far as he was concerned, it was James Wilkins' fault that Johnny's brother had died that day. He was committed now, for better or worse, he was an American soldier.

"I think it's about time to turn in," James muttered, lurching to his good leg.

"Good night, Captain," Burwell said firmly, dismissing Wilkins. He wanted time alone with his new Lieutenant so he could glean as much information about Tavington, his forces and his intentions as he could before turning in. Two Continentals moved in to flank James - who glared balefully down at the still kneeling Rosborough. Finally, with no other choice left him, James turned his back on the Commandant and the newly minted Lieutenant, and limped back to his blankets.

* * *

_That same night. Charlotte and Bordon at Fresh Water Plantation._

"Mrs. Selton?" A voice asked behind Charlotte, and she leapt six feet into the air. She whirled, her heart in her mouth.

"Major Bordon!" She gasped, almost dropping the lantern. Her heart pounded furiously, certain was she that Bordon would immediately guess that she had sent a warning to Benjamin of the Green Dragoon's intentions. She would be punished and Josiah would be stopped! Of all the people for her to encounter now - why did it have to be Bordon? Only Tavington could have been worse!

"I'm sorry for frightening you," he frowned, then glanced along the causeway, peering into the darkness beyond the kitchen and the house suspiciously. "What are doing out here, all alone?"

"I… I…" She thought furiously for a reason, and then it came to her in a blinding flash of brilliance. "Privy," she said breathlessly. "What about you? What are you doing here?"

"Privy, also," he frowned at her. "Funny, I didn't see you on the way…"

"Oh, I went a little while ago," she calmed a little, and even gained confidence as she answered his question. "I just wanted to enjoy the fresh air before going back inside - it's so hot in there, isn't it?" She tried for a friendly tone, tried to keep her nerves from showing. Charlotte could smell the whiskey on the Officer's breath, and she remembered he was quite soused; boasting that he was a God to his superiors. Stupid man. Still, it gave her heart, for drunk men were always far more muddy headed than sober ones.

"It is!" He agreed. Though he tried, he could not quite stand still, weaving slightly and then almost tripping when he tried to correct his balance. He leaned back against the wall of the kitchen, crossing his legs at the ankles and facing her, trying to act nonchalant. She was not fooled, she could tell that he was leaning against the wall so that he'd appear somewhat steadier and to keep him from falling. And he squinted at her the way drunk men do, those men too soused to focus their eyes enough to see an object directly before their face. When he spoke, it was done slowly and deliberately as though he was trying not to slur. "You should go 'round the front and have a drink or two. I'm sure Mrs. Tavington would welcome you at the celebration."

"I'm sure she would, too," Charlotte tried to keep the edge from her voice. "But I'd rather not."

"You've had a rather rough day," he managed said, slurring only a little, mostly on any word containing 'S'. "Surely… you could do with some… dancing… It would make you feel a whole… lot better."

"I... Perhaps you're right. I might do that," she said, thinking how it would be over her dead body.

"That's wonderful. I could escort you… May - maybe you could give me… a dance?" - Charlotte couldn't imagine anything worse in her entire world, than dancing with this man. And having her house burned to the ground. He frowned as if remembering something. - "Oh, well, come to think on it, I… I can't at that. But you should head around. You go 'round the front. You're a beautiful woman, Mrs. Camb - that is, Mrs. Selton. The Officers will be… clamouring to dance with you. Go… enjoy your evening." He peeled himself off the kitchen wall and she did likewise, lurching away from the house.

"Wait!" She gasped, stricken. Bordon had only take a step - but if she let him go, he would take so many more, until he was rousing the rest of the Dragoons - she just knew it! The sweet Lord above had been watching, Devine intervention had thrown Bordon in her path. Providence had presented her with this golden opportunity and her duty was clear - she was to hinder Bordon for as long as possible, so that Josiah had more time to reach Benjamin. She couldn't let Bordon go - she had to stall him - at all costs! "What if I don't want to dance with those others?" She closed the distance until she stood before him. He was unsteady on his feet and took a clumsy step back into the kitchen wall, before righting himself again.

"Dance… with me?" He asked, his eyebrows climbing his forehead.

He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut and then opened them, she knew he was finding it difficult to concentrate, to focus on her, to sense dream from reality. She was still there and now, she wore a small smile. Hopefully it did not look as forced as it was.

"Is that… what you're saying? You want to dance with me?"

"Well, you did offer," she lowered her voice, made it friendlier. Like warm honey. "And you are a gentleman. You are a gentleman, aren't you?"

"Of course," Richard squinted his eyes, trying to think. Yes, he'd made the offer and yes, she would have every right to think him awfully rude, for back tracking now. However... "I would like nothing more," he said truthfully, for she was quite beautiful. Surely Harmony would not take him to task for dancing with her, would she? Not that he could, not now. "But later, perhaps. Now, I have to get the Dragoons and -" He stopped dead, deciding he probably shouldn't reveal that.

How much time had slipped by since Josiah had left? And Bordon was still here. But if he mustered the Dragoons at that very moment, they'd still be on their way before Josiah was a single mile in to his four mile run. Every moment counted.

"...and?" She said playfully. To Bordon's right was the alcove that led to the kitchen door. Using the excuse of setting the lantern on a high hook within the alcove wall, she reached passed him, deliberately pressing her body to his. She set the lantern on the hook. Instead of moving away from him, she stayed pressed against him, arching her neck and smiling up at him, her face bathed in lantern light.

"And... I have a… task to be about. Best… be on my way to gettin' it done," he said, sounding uncertain. He paused far too often between words, indicating his soused - and now confused - state.

"Surely you could spare me a few moments," she said it with laughter in her voice, as if she were exasperated, as if she couldn't think of a single thing he could possibly be doing at that very moment, that could be more important than dancing with her. "You did promise, after all. And a gentleman always keeps his promises," she was standing directly before him, her body so close to his own. He could hear the music drifting from the front of the house, his foot was already tapping to the beat. He wanted to dance, his body was eager to go move through the set with this woman.

"Here?" He asked when she took matters into her own hands by taking hold of his and beginning the steps. She reminded him of Harmony somewhat - she was beautiful in the same way that Harmony was. She was tall, just like Harmony and her eyes were blue, just like Harmony's and her hair was blonde, just like Harmony's. She gave a cheerful, musical laugh that warmed his heart, because it was so similar to Harmony's. In the dim lantern light, he could barely tell any differences between them.

"Why not here?" She asked, thinking it'd best be right there and not back on the dance floor, where Tavington would see them and remind the soused Major to his duty before sending Bordon on his way. They continued through the steps, with her smiling at him until her face began to hurt. They both loosened up a little, even though Richard was proving to not be a very good dancer - he stumbled rather than danced his way through the set. The dance required other couples but there was no one to hand Charlotte off to and there was no one for Richard to receive, he delighted in her laughter as Charlotte fixed this by stepping back into the place of where Richard's new parter would have been. They continued on, with Charlotte wondering just how long she would be able to keep this up for. Josiah needed at least forty minutes. How much had passed since he left? Perhaps ten?

The music came to an end and Richard grinned down at Charlotte, still holding both her hands. He'd enjoyed their dance very much. She was grinning back up at him and when the next set started up again, she gave his fingers a squeeze.

"Again!" She said, feigning eagerness. Richard groaned, wanting nothing more than to oblige her for he loved to dance and she had proved to be quite skillful. He loved Harmony more deeply than anything he'd ever loved in his life, but she was of a more... rudimentary upbringing... Where Charlotte had learned to dance, Harmony had been taught to cook. Harmony did dance well enough, but she did not have Charlotte's ease and grace. Still...

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Selton," he said regretfully. "I enjoyed that immensely and I would dearly love to dance with you again -" not that she would let him after tonight. Another regret - she'd appeared to come around somewhat but when he dragged Martin back to Fresh Water as a captive, all of that would be undone. "But I must be away," he took a step back from her, tipped his hat, and took a step for the house, toward the side door.

"Major, wait!" Charlotte seized his arm and pulled him around. His balance was already affected and with her suddenly grabbing his arms, he stumbled several steps into her, pushing her backward into the alcove. She flailed her arms and seized the inside wall, he did likewise until he had his balance again.

"I'm sorry," he apologised for his clumsiness, he'd nearly sent her falling onto her backside. She was pressed against the alcove wall, beneath the lantern on its hook.

"Not at all," she said breathlessly. "I am the one who should apologise, for dragging you back like that," she gazed at him as he stood before her in the alcove. "It's just that… I… I just… I wanted to thank you," she stammered for a reason that might explain her purpose in pulling him back away from entering the house. Bordon frowned at her.

"Thank me? For what, Mrs. Selton?"

"For the dance," she said, thinking how ridiculous that sounded. "Surely you could spare the time for just one more? I enjoyed it very much."

"As did I," he told her. He had nothing to lean against here and he swayed dangerously, until he braced himself against the wall, a hand to either side of her body. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Mrs. Selton. I do not mean to be so familiar, I seem to… be having trouble standing… for some reason."

She stifled a snort - she knew exactly what had made him unsteady and so did he. An idea formed in her mind, because of his close proximity and the way he had inadvertently caged her, with his arms on either side of her. It would be easy for her to explain her next action - she would apologise, tell him she'd gotten the wrong impression. He would not be suspicious - he was close enough to kiss her. She hooded her eyes, made her smile coy, and reached her arms up to drape them around his shoulders, her fingers at his nape, as if it were a perfectly natural thing to do.

"Mrs. Selton?" He asked softly and even he could hear the rasp of desire in his voice.

Charlotte tried to smile warmly, tried to flirt with her eyes. It was difficult when she felt nothing but repugnance for the man. Oh, he was handsome enough, she conceded - but he was not Benjamin. Besides, he was the enemy! But she had run out of legitimate reasons to stall him and as he would no longer dance with her, she had decided to resort to the only avenue left to her.

Flirting.

_Just toy with him for a bit, keep him here for as long as possible._ She'd bought fifteen minutes for Josiah now, surely?

"You're a wonderful dancer," she said with a warm voice that dripped honey. "And you cut quite the striking figure, on horseback."

"I do, do I?" He smiled down at her, though there was a sudden and serious intensity in his eyes. With that, she knew she had him. For a few minutes more, in any case. To keep him there even longer, she might need to kiss him - if push came to shove, but Benjamin would forgive her, considering the circumstances. She knew her lover well and she almost groaned aloud, for she could see their future laid out before her and she knew that he'd likely tease her for the rest of their lives, for the undoing of his enemy with a kiss!

"You do," she let one hand drift down from his nape, placed it, palm down, on his chest. "You look very powerful." She said, stroking the drunk man's ego.

"I am powerful," he said, and Charlotte stifled a scoff as the drunk Bordon - who thought his superiors considered him to be a God - bought into it. "You think I look fine, do you?"

"And handsome," she laid it on thick. "So very handsome."

"And you are so very beautiful," he said thickly as he gazed at her lovely face - so similar to his Harmony's - bathed by the puddle of light cast by her lantern. "A very beautiful woman. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I found myself unable to look away."

She smiled and lowered her eyes, feigning shyness. It was an act, pure and simple, for she was no simpering virgin, she was not a young girl in the bloom of youth. Nevertheless, men loved the semblance of innocence, even in a widow such as herself. And so she kept her head lowered, but - as though she were peeking - gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. She even began to twirl a loose strawberry blonde curl in her fingers, giving the illusion that she was nervous and did not know what to do with her hand. Bordon stared at her avidly, transfixed, his mission appearing to be completely forgotten.

Bordon's eyes lingered over her face, drifting down to her lips. Surely it did not matter how long it took him to leave for - it was early yet, Taylor had said Benjamin Martin was sleeping and had commanded his men not to wake him until eleven o'clock. It was barely eight and thirty now, he had hours to reach the rebel, who was completely unaware of what was coming for him. Time was not an issue, he could fuck her and be on his way before nine o'clock. His cock was stiff to bursting and had taken over from his brain completely.

"You shouldn't have said such a thing," she whispered huskily. Now for the killing blow - "It was quite naughty of you."

Bordon fell for her ploy, hook, line and sinker.

"I do like to be naughty sometimes," he smiled down at her and edged closer to her. She feigned a frightened gasp, acting as if the power she told him she admired, also made her afraid. Having her caged and up against the wall would be making him feel even more powerful and the Gods knew, men loved to feel that. Dominant, mighty. Potent.

"Oh, my heart is beating a wild drum," she whispered breathlessly. It was true enough, Gods she was nervous. How long now? Must be close to twenty minutes, surely? His eyes glinted with desire, and again, she knew she had him - she almost broke the spell with a derisive laugh. With his palms still flat to the wall, he bought his wrists down to rest on her shoulders. He leaned in to kiss her then, but she turned her face. It was too soon - she was hoping that the kiss, if it must happen, would not come until after they had wasted as much time as possible in the exchange of harmless flirting. The longer Josiah had to get as far away as possible, the better. If the kiss must come, let it be later, for once it was done, she would have no further weapons at her disposal with which to detain him. He would kiss her for a time, and then it was evident that she would go no further, he would recall his duty and he would leave.

"Oh, we mustn't," she whispered in a coy and breathless fashion. This excited Bordon, as she had hoped it would.

"Why? You want to, don't you?" He removed his left hand from the wall and dared to place it on her chest above her breasts. "You weren't lying, your heart is beating a wild drum."

It was true, her heart was racing - but not because of any attraction to Major Bordon - but because she was nervous that she was not giving Josiah enough time! Her worry set of a furious train of uncertain thoughts, what if he fell over during his mad dash? She had no doubt that the fellow would sprint all the way to Danvers', but it was dark and it was beginning to rain - lightly, but enough to make the ground slippery, the footing uncertain, perhaps. The more time she could give him, the better.

"It is, like I said," she whispered, pushing her doubts aside for now. Her doubts made it doubly important to keep Bordon detained - for as long as possible - for her own peace of mind. "You're ever so handsome. But we mustn't -"

"Well then," Bordon interrupted her. As excited as she'd made him, she was now making it clear that she was not willing to go too far and while her coy banter would be amusing at any other time, it was not worth risking Tavington's wrath now. He had a task to be about and so he drew back from her. Although he was disappointed, he began to make his excuses, preparing to leave. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Selton. I have had one too many, I'm afraid, I may have misconstrued your desire. Please forgive me," he began to bow and Charlotte panicked - truly panicked.

Gods, how naive she'd been, thinking that dangling a kiss like promised fruit would be enough to contain him. She almost fell forward, he stepped back so quickly, what she'd thought was his burning desire was suddenly doused. Damn and blast the man! Providence had handed her this opportunity on a silver platter and she was letting it fall through her fingers! If she allowed him leave it would be to summon his Dragoons! And where was Josiah by now? A mile and a half perhaps? The Dragoons would overtake him, her messenger would fall short of reaching Benjamin, and Benjamin would be caught.

"Wait!" She cried, reaching for him again, she clutched at his sleeve. "You didn't misunderstand. It's just that… It's been an awfully long time for me and I… I'm feeling a little nervous. Won't you stay, just for a little longer?"

"Most certainly," he smiled serenely and moved back toward her, hemming her into the corner once more. She realised she'd misjudged him, his desire was still burning. But she needed to give him more than coy pretence. "So. It's been a long time, hmm? Since your husband passed away?"

"Yes, Sir," she lied - under no circumstances would she admit to having had Benjamin as a lover for all these years! Bordon's eyes darkened with lust and she felt offended to the bone, guessing at what had made him so aroused. A widow - who had just told him she had not been with a man for years. He must be thinking she was as tight as the tightest glove and gagging for a man's touch! She wanted to slap the desire from his face. Instead:

_I'll have to kiss him_, she thought. _There's no help for it. Oh! Benjamin is going to hoot with laughter when I tell him this! If he tells anyone, I'll kill him!_

Feeling certain that each moment she detained Bordon was another moment well spent, Charlotte sacrificed herself to the inevitability of a kiss. She made no protest when Bordon began stroking her face gently with the tips of two gloved fingers, his eyes lingered on her cheeks - and her lips. He met her eyes, and was leaning in…

Bordon's eyes rolled in his head when his lips brushed across Charlotte's. Ignoring the guilt that surged in him, in his soused mind, it was Harmony he was kissing - they certainly looked enough like to add to the illusion. Although he felt wretched over being unfaithful - again! - he was also quite tipsy, and a beautiful woman was throwing herself at him. His cock was hard to aching point and he knew he'd have a dispute on his hands if he did not give in to its need. He very rarely argued with his manhood. It was quite useless to argue, for when that unthinking piece of flesh was standing at attention, it almost always won. Besides, Harmony was a long, long way away.

Bordon guided her into the corner of the wall and door, with his body pressed to hers and his lips brushing hers. It wasn't until then that she fully understood just how massive Major Bordon was. She was a tall woman, he stood only slightly higher, but the breadth of his chest and the broadness of his shoulders made him seem that much more immense - and powerful. She'd used that description as a lure, but now she realised how true it was. She was completely surrounded by him - by his sheer size, his warmth, his strength, his scent - and the strong, heady aroma of whiskey.

"You're so strong," she murmured between kisses. She was flirting but the words were true - involuntary even. Bordon groaned into her mouth. "Oh, I do like the taste of whiskey…" She whispered in a playful manner, having tasted the alcohol on his lips. Bordon grinned at her.

"I have a flask, would you like some?" He pulled it from his pocket and her sigh of relief was almost audible.

She'd started to lose herself to the moment, she realised with chagrin. This would pause their kissing now, give Josiah more time to get away, and give her time to regroup, for she found that she had been enjoying entirely too much for her liking. When she retold this story to Benjamin - she would certainly leave that little bit out - she would not admit to liking the kiss! He would not find the story any where near as amusing if he knew that her knees had almost buckled while Bordon's lips were brushing hers - he would only find it amusing if she had found the encounter disagreeable - a gruesome chore done only to aid her beloved. It did not occur to Charlotte to simply lie about the whole sordid affair, to not reveal it at all - she would tell Benjamin, but yes - she would definitely be leaving that part out. Charlotte did not need to stall Bordon with kisses just then, not now that he was willing to take a moment to share the flask with her. He unstoppered the bottle and took a swig, then handed it to her.

"Thank you," she smiled what she hoped was a lusty smile. She drank deeply from the flask, the whiskey burning her tongue and throat as she swallowed. She noticed the avid way he was staring at her, how he was watching the flask against her lips. It gave her an idea how to make the flirting more intense, to keep him interested for longer, to ensure that Bordon would be as obedient to her whim as a puppy. She bought the flask to her lips again but at the last moment, she chickened out and instead of doing the thing she intended, she simply drank more whiskey. Be brave, Charlotte! She berated herself as she handed the flask back to him. He drank deep and all she could think of was that Josiah's head start was stretching by the moment. Twenty-five minutes, perhaps. He only needed a little bit more time. At some point, the Dragoons would not be able to catch up to him no matter how hard they rode. Charlotte just needed to hold out for Josiah to reach that point. Determined that this be the outcome, she forced herself to go through with it. Knowing that this act would drive Bordon wild; she took the flask back, locked her eyes on his, held her lusty smile and when she bought the flask to her lips a third time, she ran the tip of her tongue around the rim of the bottle, then gave a little shiver of delight. She hooded her eyes as her tongue traced the place his own lips had been; and she sighed as though she was deeply satisfied. "Yes," she whispered. "The taste of you and the whiskey are simply delicious."

A change came over him - Charlotte saw it and victory burst in her chest. Major Bordon was past the point of no return, his mission completely driven from his mind. She would be able to hold him here, doing this, for a whole hour. Contentment stole over her, almost thirty she might be, an old widow at that, but she was still beautiful, still desirable, still very much a woman. She knew how to entice a man.

But again, Charlotte's naivety got the better of her, causing her to again misjudge him. She'd been with two gentlemen, and from her experience with John and Benjamin, she thought she knew all men. But Bordon was cut from a different - far more demanding - cloth. When he was lost to his desires, the gentleman disappeared. When she trailed her tongue around the helm of the bottle, his mild amusement of earlier drained from him and in its place was stark desire and arousal the like of which no man could simply ignore. Her action with the flask had flared something inside of him. He waited for her to drain mouthfuls of the whiskey - knowing it was supposed to represent her drinking his come from his cock, and then he ripped the flask from her hand and tossed it aside - it hit the wooden floor of the alcove with a clatter. He was beyond thought, and he grabbed her around the waist, jerked her bodily to him and kissed her deeply while Charlotte was still swallowing down the whiskey. She was left flailing her arms in utter shock.

"God, I can imagine you doing that to my cock," he panted against her lips. "Would you? You'd like the taste of me there too, I promise you."

His words astonished her and it was then that Charlotte realised her mistake. Before now, she'd never flirted with anyone unfamiliar to her. John - her husband, and Benjamin - her lover. Both safe men, who loved her. No one else. And never so outrageously. She understood her error now, for Bordon was a stranger, and very much a man with needs, needs which she had just inflamed to a roaring bonfire of lust that had caused him to utter debauched words one should never say to a Lady of her station. Before she had time to rebuke him, or even to process what he was doing, his hand delved between their bodies, and he was working on pushing his breeches down. Panic set in, good and proper then, and she prayed that someone would come along, NOW! But no one did. His next action stunned her to silence - sweeping away her ability to speak; as soon as his erection popped free, he grabbed her hand, opened her palm, and wrapped her soft fingers around his shaft. She drew a sharp breath of shock, but then he was covering her fingers with his own, strong, broad hand. His hips pumped back and forth in her soft but firm fist and Charlotte could only stare down at his manhood, as the angry, purple mushroom tip of him popped out of the top of her fist, only to disappear into her fingers, and then pop out again.

Charlotte found herself both dismayed and stirred, too shocked to move.

"You're huge," she whispered, finally finding her voice and her words shocked even her. Where was her protest? She should be ripping her hand free! But, with very large, wide eyes, she stared at his phallus, overwhelmed and transfixed over his length and girth. She licked her lips and shuddered, unable to deny the ache in her womanly nethers. This needed to stop - it had to stop now - for she would be powerless to stop it in a few moments - raw desire was getting the better of her as it was! Soon, she would want it as much as he did!

Taking several harsh, deep breaths, she gathered her will and was about to declare that this could go no further.

"I am," he answered in a low whisper, his lips pressed to her ears, his voice came out heavy with need. "I could be inside you. You must be so damn tight - fuck, widows always are. Think of how full you'll be, with this inside you?" As if to emphasise his words, he pumped into her hand harder with a small groan.

No one had ever spoken to her like that before. She should have been outraged but instead... Nothing in all her experience had prepared her for this moment; upon hearing this second lewd speech and because of his desperate actions, her will shattered, her quim became hot, needful, she was seized in a whirlpool of need. The evidence of her arousal was pooling between her thighs and squeezing them together only heightened her need, rather than diminishing it. The ache was like fire now and it was becoming increasingly difficult to think. She wished only to feel - feel his cock stroking inside her with the raw power she knew this man's broad, strong body was bound to possess. Only the feeling of his phallus gliding within her silken walls could allay the agony that had flared between her legs. He placed his free hand to the wall above her head and leaned in, his lips catching hers even as he pumped his cock within the confines of their joined hands, his tongue flicking over her lips, demanding entrance.

"Work me with your mouth, Mrs. Selton." He cajoled, his breath was hot on her lips and she found she wanted to do it. Desperately. She wanted to drop to her knees and suck him, she was in such a daze, stirred and moved by her arousal, which was no longer pooling - but _dripping_ down the insides of her thighs.

"I can't," she whispered with what little resistance was left to her. That would be going too far. What they were doing now was already going too far! She had completely lost control of the situation, she'd lost control of Bordon, she'd lost control of herself, she was trapped in the corner, and even if she shouted - everyone was at the front of the house, no one would hear her.

"Then let me," he pulled his cock from her fist and dropped to his knees, and in one fell swoop, he gripped the hem of her skirts and sent them soaring up and over his head.

"Major!" She squeaked and tried to jerk back but she was pressed to the corner and when his tongue was on her it was if a strong clamp was holding her in place. The jolts of pleasure caused her knees to buckle. "Oh, sweet heaven above!" She cried out, throwing her head back and gasping for air. His tongue was magnificent - she could not deny it - she was powerless to stop it! He knew exactly what to do, exactly how to touch her. He flicked the tip over that delicious pulsing, hardening nubbin of flesh, licking her until she thought she might scream. With a small, lazy smile, Charlotte surrendered. Just like Richard, she forgot entirely about her mission. Moving her spine languidly up and down the wall, she rolled her hips, urging him on.

"Oh, Major," she moaned.

"God, you're dripping down here," came his mumbled words, muffled against her quim and by her skirts. Major Bordon was licking her through whirlpools of delight, all the way to ecstasy. His fingers worked a magic of their own and when his thumb entered her, she gasped, grabbed the back of his head and bore down - on his tongue and his thumb at the same time. This sent shivers and jolts through her entire body - heightening her pleasure and allaying that terrible ache all at once. She could hear him chuckling in amusement but she didn't care.

The back door opened.

This did not phase Bordon in the slightest, hidden as he was beneath her voluminous skirts - he continued his assault on Charlotte's senses. Charlotte gaped at Cornet Brownlow, as he suddenly filled the open doorway stopped dead at seeing her standing there.

"Evening madam," the Officer recovered his senses and bowed slightly. "Are you alright, do you need assistance?"

"I - I'm fine," Charlotte struggled to form the words, panting them out between breaths. "I want to be alone." She gasped out, just to be rid of him. Bordon must have heard the voices but he did not stop, the onslaught continued until she thought she might moan, right there in front of Brownlow. She was trying to stay calm and failing dismally, as Bordon began to tease her clit and quim at the same time in an all out attack.

"Forgive me," Brownlow said. Feeling that the woman might be in need of assistance despite her words, he tried to put her at ease by conversing with her. "I can escort you where you wish to go or if you've been hurt, I can -"

"No, go. Go!" Charlotte pleaded, for her senses were being assailed and it was all she could do to hold back her moans and whimpers. Startled, Brownlow left and she sighed in relief. Closing her eyes, she lifted one leg and draped it over Bordon's shoulder, then shuffled slightly to improve her angle. Then, beyond any ability to stop herself, she began to buck and moan, her palms digging into the wall for purchase, her whole body in fluid motion as her hips rolled and writhed. Then she was gasping as the jolts and shivers bloomed and began spreading through her, from her quim and clit to her stomach. In the throes of climax, she felt light headed - her entire body felt light, floating, and still he licked her, all the way to that incredible height, which broke over and through and all around her. Her blood pulsed throughout her body, her heart thundered in her ears. Her orgasm had taken on a life of its own, no longer needing stimulation and as it continued to pulse through her body, Major Bordon rose up like a behemoth before her, she was bereft of thought, barely registering it was he wrapped her legs around his waist. He entered her with ease, her body was beyond ready for him, her eyes rolled in her head from the pleasure of it. Deep inside her sheath, his phallus was jerking and twitching. He held still a moment as if afraid he would spill his seed too soon, then he began gliding in and out of her and she snapped her hips forward, meeting each thrust with indelicate, unladylike grunts.

"Fuck, you are tight," he grunted in her ear. "I love widows. So accommodating, so desperate to be fucked. Do you like me fucking you, Mrs. Selton? Shall I fuck you harder?"

She was powerless to answer him. Only two men she had bedded before and Benjamin had been so much larger than John - she didn't think anyone could be larger! But Bordon filled her in a way she'd never known before and her body responded with a strength she had not thought possible. Her quim - clutching so tightly around Bordon's phallus, his battering ram invading heaven.

"Oh, oh god!" She gasped out and this pleased Bordon immensely. He wanted to see - and to hear - this poised woman lose her grace at the end of his shaft.

"Yes… that's it, lose yourself," he placed his hands beneath her buttocks and hoisted her up the wall. "Fuck, your cunt feels good!"

"Oh, you… shouldn't speak… Like that…" She panted her protest though in truth, her pleasure had spiked because he'd spoken like that. It was an indication that he, a gentleman, had lost control - because of her. Her pretty face was flushed crimson and sweat broke out on her forward. Her fingers clutched his shoulders, held on for dear life as she moaned from the pleasure of being pounded so thoroughly. His cock glided out of her cave until the corona was poised at her entrance and then it was shoved back inside, the top of him hitting her cervix, causing her to shudder and plead inarticulately for more. His body had promised strength and now, it was proving it.

"I told you… I like being… Naughty sometimes," he grunted the words with each thrust. His fingers gripped her smooth, fleshy half crescents and as he massaged them, he guided her to roll her hips faster, then slower, then faster again as was his need with every changing moment.

The feel of him inside her had sent her soaring, she yearned for more release, strove for it and she gripped him to her - her quim would not let him go. Now that she was so close, she would not be denied - she needed to feel it wash through her again. Her fingers gripped the side of his face and she began whispering demands, words begging him to never stop, words that made her desperate for another sweet orgasm. Encouraged, he thrust harder than before, stroking inside her as quickly as he could. His legs were beginning to shake from the strain of holding her and from his continual thrusts, he shuffled slightly to gain better footing. This improved the angle and it was all he could do to hold his climax back.

He was thrusting so hard now, and so fast, it seemed impossible for someone to move as quickly - as as powerfully - as that. He dropped his head to her shoulder and hunched in on himself, his thigh muscles screaming from the strain but still he kept going, that hard pounding pace, his phallus bringing them both to that height.

Charlotte cried out all at once. In utter abandon now, she threw her head back and arched her back, then let loose a wild wail. Bordon thrust and grunted, then held himself stock still - there was no need to move for he could feel her ripples around his shaft, stimulating him even though he was as still as a statue. He threw his head back as the second wave took him, then the third, his body shuddered with each twitch of his cock. The last of his seed was drained from him and he gasped, then collapsed hid head to her shoulder, feeling utterly sated.

"Damn, that was good," he whispered. He drew several ragged breaths as he tried to calm himself. Charlotte was in much the same state, drained from her climaxes.

Still buried inside of her, sense slowly began to return and he thought of Harmony, who'd he'd vowed to be faithful too. He'd done it again, he'd bedded another woman and he was stricken with his betrayal. "I hope," he began softly, his voice coming in breathy spurts. He lifted his head from her shoulders and met her gaze. "I hope that we can be… discreet about this, Mrs. Selton? There is someone dear to me who would be… Quite devastated… Should she learn of this."

"I'd very much rather we be discreet," she whispered back, the enormity of what she'd done swelling up until she thought she might drown. "There will be no repetition - I hope you understand?"

She needed to make that completely clear - in case he thought to pursue her after their dalliance.

Her mind was only just beginning to clear and she was struggling to understand how everything had spiralled so utterly out of control. From some harmless flirting and maybe a kiss - to this! Bordon was still buried to the hilt inside her, her trembling legs were still wrapped around his waist. She cringed, disgusted - not only from the lewdness of their stance, but also from how debauched she had become.

And she was disgusted at how utterly she had betrayed her fiancé.

She'd wanted to win time for Josiah, but she'd never thought herself capable of stooping to such evil. She'd won time for her messenger, but at what cost? Betrothed to Benjamin, she'd bedded another man on the very night of their engagement, she'd gained pleasure from a man who intended to make hers a captive. And she was now helpless against the rising flood of humiliation, shame and guilt which welled inside her. The manner in which she'd accomplished her mission left her feeling sick to her stomach. How was she going to tell Benjamin? Her heart broke, he was going to leave her, there was no way he would forgive her for this.

"I do," Bordon answered her question with a chagrined expression of his own. He'd behaved as an animal would - rutting without a care - Harmony would be devastated if she learned of this! The thought of hurting her was more than he could bear, but he'd done it, he could not take it back. Perhaps - if Mrs. Selton was willing to keep what they'd done private, perhaps Harmony need never know, she would be saved from the heart ache of his straying. He said hurriedly, "I quite understand. No repetition and complete discretion. I couldn't agree more."

"Thank you," she said, seeming on the verge of tears. He was about to withdraw his phallus from her body when the side door of the house was jerked open and people began to spill out directly across from them. This time, there was no hiding what the two had been up too. Charlotte's skirts were hiked up to her waist. Her stocking covered legs were hitched around Bordon's thighs. His member was still deep inside her - their compromising position was glaring and blatant.

Mrs. Tavington and her sister stopped dead, their smiles and laughter turning to horror. Tavington came out behind them, all three gaped as Bordon and Charlotte jerked away from each other.

Beth cried out in shock - to see her Aunt jump away from Bordon, pushing her skirts down. Beth could not help but see Bordon's long thick phallus - slick and wet - in sudden stark relief for the full moment that it took for the soused Major to clumsily shove himself back in to his breeches.

It took all of a second for understanding to swamp over them. Margaret whirled around and pushed herself into Beth's arms, great choking sobs racking her small frame. Tavington pushed past her and Beth, opening his mouth to give Bordon the blistering of his life.


	66. Chapter 66 - Family Complications

Chapter 66 - Family Complications:

_Early July 1780_

Mrs. Ambrose - who the children had always called Cook - had been in charge of the families kitchen for two decades. She had been a deep-seated member of the household staff for most of her life, having been indentured to the family as a young girl. Even when she served out her indenture, she remained with the family, eventually breaking away to join Benjamin Martin when he married Elizabeth Putman. She had served the couple for fourteen years before Mrs. Martin died in childbed, and had grieved the woman's passing deeply.

When her grief had begun to fade, she began to think that it was time for Mr. Martin to marry again, and it had been her opinion that Mrs. Selton would be the perfect choice for a second wife for Mr. Martin. The refined Mrs. Selton was every bit as noble as her late sister, and she loved her nieces and nephews with the ferocity of a mother. After the announcement earlier that day - that the couple had become engaged, Mrs. Ambrose had retreated to her kitchen and while she busied herself with assembling the engagement lunch, she had voiced her opinion to the other kitchen maids, that Benjamin Martin and Charlotte Selton's engagement was six years over due.

But now she stood there, in the shadows, clutching the trays she'd meant to return to the kitchen, watching as Mrs. Selton and Major Bordon finished rutting right there in the corner of the alcove.

Brownlow, who'd been intrigued by Mrs. Selton's countenance earlier to have stayed in the shadows and watch, had been highly amused at seeing Major Bordon come up out from beneath the woman's skirts. He'd wanted to hoot with laughter, until Miss Margaret came out of the kitchen and caught the pair at it. He had lost his amusement and had become grave and grim - sobered by Margaret's distress. The fourteen year old girl had witnessed her aunt and father's fiancé having relations with a man. Feeling pity for her, all amusement fled and he walked over to see if she was alright. As he reached them, he saw Tavington stride forward, ready to start shouting. But the silence was broken by Beth, who found her voice first. Drawing a titanic breath, all of Beth's shock and disgust rushed from her.

"Aunt Charlotte, how could you!" There was so much anger and disgust in the explosion, Beth crossed the distance beneath the breezeway in four strides and jabbed an accusing finger at her Aunt. Margaret hung back, looking miserable, and Brownlow placed his hand on her shoulder. She lifted her ravaged face, he gestured and she came to him, burying her face against his chest and squeezing her eyes shut tight, though it was too late - the girl had already seen far too much. Charlotte, equally distressed, pleaded with her eyes. She raised her hand in supplication toward Beth, but the younger girl jerked back in disgust. "How could you do this? What of papa? I thought you loved him! You said you loved him!"

"What..?" Bordon asked, glancing at Charlotte, but was ignored.

"I do, Beth please -"

"No you don't," Beth hissed. "You don't love him or you wouldn't be here… rutting… with Major Bordon! Gods, I can't believe you. Straight from my father's bed to Bordon's, on the day my father proposed! Will you life your skirts for anyone then?"

"No - that's not true! Please, Beth! I didn't mean for it to go so far! I do love your father, you must believe me!" Charlotte wrung her hands helplessly. She wished the girl would give her the chance to explain. She wished even more that she could have the last half hour of her life to do again.

The women were oblivious to everyone else - to William who glared at Richard, his reprimand still poised and ready to be delivered. To Major Richard Bordon, who was now frowning at Charlotte. For Charlotte had allowed him to believe she had not had been with a man since her husband died, but Mrs. Tavington seemed to be suggesting differently. Straight from Martin's bed to his… Had Charlotte been having an affair with Benjamin Martin? His eyes fixed on Charlotte, his frown deepened as he tried to think through the drunken haze, to unravel the question burning in his mind.

Why _would_ Charlotte couple with him?

"Believe you!" Beth crowed, interrupting Bordon's muddled thoughts, and cutting Charlotte's protest off short. "If you are capable of rutting with a man you only just met, on the same day that my father proposes marriage to you - why should I believe it when you claim to love my father?" -This wound it's way through Bordon's muddled thoughts. Mrs. Selton was in love with and engaged to Benjamin Martin! What the devil was going on? Why bed Bordon then, and what had she meant, she hadn't meant it to go so far? - "Good Lord - what is he going to say? This will break his heart! I thought you loved him - Papa certainly loves you! He won't marry you now! You know that, don't you? How could you do this to him!"

"Please, Beth, just listen - I'm begging you," Charlotte took a step closer, past Bordon, closing the distance between herself and her niece. Again she held her hands out in supplication and again the gesture was rejected as Beth snapped her hands away, leaving Charlotte clutching at air. She dropped her empty hands uselessly to her sides. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone! If I could just speak with you alone, I need to explain why I did this -"

"Yes, please do explain yourself, Mrs. Selton," Richard suggested in a voice colder than ice. Charlotte drew a sharp breath and whirled to meet this new challenge. "For there was clearly more to it than the heat of the moment, wasn't there?"

"What the Devil do you think you're doing, Bordon!" Tavington snapped before Charlotte could reply and before Beth could further chastise her. William would hold his reprimand back no longer. Bordon had entered the argument, acting like the aggrieved party and it caused William's fury to spike. "I told you to gather the Dragoons a half hour ago! But it seems you were too busy screwing a bloody rebel bawd, to perform your duty!"

Bordon's eyes widened and he stood to attention, chagrined over the admonishment.

"William!" Beth cried out, glaring at her husband. She was both offended - and confused at being offended. Tavington took no notice, his cold gaze was for Bordon alone.

"You have disobeyed my command!" The Colonel snapped. "You were to gather the Dragoons as soon as you were finished in the privy!"

"It's not entirely my fault, Sir," Richard said darkly, glaring at Charlotte. Even soused, the Major had a keen mind - it just worked at a slightly more sluggish pace when he was inebriated. It was a little clearer, now that it wasn't thick with lust. Three facts he now knew. That she loved Martin. That she had become engaged to him that very day. That she _hadn't meant for it to go so far_.

What had she been about then, stopping him in the first place? Their dance, the flirting afterward, the kissing? She had never intended to couple with him, he suspected now, but she'd had an agenda, and he was at the heart of it.

Upon seeing the Major's fixed and calculating gaze, Charlotte shrank back against the wall, gripped with terror that he would figure it all out - that she had sent a messenger to Benjamin and then purposefully distracted Bordon in order to give time for the messenger to deliver the warning. Her knees buckled and, unable to bear her weight, she slid down the wall and huddled in the corner with her knees clutched to her chest. Beth's eyes darted from Tavington, Bordon and Charlotte, confused by the undercurrents. Margaret lifted her head from Brownlow's chest, but the Officer coaxed her to look away again.

Richard's whiskey soaked mind could not determine the entire picture for the moment, but he knew one thing for certain. "She's another Mage Putman," he stated with conviction, fury burning in his soul. "Another whore. She seduced me."

"Seduced!" Tavington bellowed. "That's a poor excuse if it is true!"

"It is true!" Bordon cried, pointing an accusing finger at Charlotte, who cowered against the wall. "She seduced me! She worked her arts on me, the damned slut!"

"What if she did?" William scowled at his adjutant, his disgusted glare seeming to suggest that Bordon was merely trying to deflect blame from himself to Charlotte. The Colonel, however, was having none of it. "What if she is another Mage Putman? Another honey pot, gaining information from a stupid Major! What did you tell this one, Richard?"

"Nothing, I swear," Richard defended himself.

"A damned good thing for you! She's not a spy, Richard. She simply wanted a quick rut and you gave it to her, disobeying my direct command to do so. There is nothing you can say that will save you Bordon - I should have you whipped for this! You should have left a half hour ago!"

"No you're not listening, William! Punish me as you will, but I'm telling you - she did this on purpose - she had an agenda!" Richard defended himself even as his mind grasped for Charlotte's purpose in doing so. "She kept pulling me back, wouldn't let me leave! She used every art the _fair sex_," he spat this scathingly, "has to offer! She flirted from the moment I encountered her! Engaged with me in a dance and then begged for another despite my telling her I needed to leave. Why? If she's engaged to Colonel Martin?" His mind worked furiously and he continued the train of his thoughts aloud as the pieces began to fall into place. "She's in love with Martin. She never meant for it to go so far, she said… She wanted to explain herself to Mrs. Tavington alone, which means she had a reason, which means she had an agenda!" Richard was speaking through his suspicions. "Mr. Taylor arrived to tells us where Martin is. You tell me to gather the Dragoons and go capture him, and suddenly Mrs. Selton is all over me, damned well throwing herself at me! She was trying to stop me. Gods, don't you see? She got wind of our intentions somehow, she must have done! She did not want me to leave, for she knew where I was heading. She wanted to stall me and -" he cut short then and his eyes bulged with horror. He snapped his hand out and grabbed Charlotte's chin, snapping her head back. "You sent Martin a warning, didn't you?"

The blood drained from Charlotte's face. All the confirmation he needed. As fast as a striking snake, he seized her arms and hauled her to her feet, then shoved her hard against the wall. The back of her head struck hard and she yelped in agony. He heard a soft cry of protest, behind him, heard Brownlow trying to calm the younger girl.

"Who did you send to warn him!" Bordon screamed, his face twisted with fury. He shook her again, uncaring that she was almost dazed from the first. "Who!"

"Josiah!" Charlotte cried out, too terrified to even consider denying it. "I sent Josiah!"

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" Bordon roared, he raised his arm and slapped her with all the force he could muster. Charlotte's head twisted to the side and she howled as stinging pain flared across her cheek.

"Stop it - stop it!" Beth screamed but Bordon, in his rage, ignored her utterly. He saw from his peripheral, William hauling Beth back.

"How! The stables would be closed to any but Dragoons!" He bellowed at Charlotte, who hung limp and weeping in his grip.

"He did not ride!" She gasped out, hoping he wouldn't strike her again if she was honest. "He ran!"

Instead of being even remotely mollified, her declaration only served to enrage him further. He raised his arm and struck again. His fury was blind, it needed release - he would hit her again and again, he'd make the rebel bitch bleed!

"William, stop him!" Beth shrieked and Margaret bawled even more loudly.

Before the third strike could land, Bordon's wrist was snagged hard. His sleeve must have caught a nail - he glared over his shoulder to see what it was and to pull himself free to keep slapping Charlotte - only it was not a nail - it was Tavington who held him in the powerful grip.

"That will be all," the Colonel said softly, pinning Richard with his pale, cold eyes. "You are as much to blame. You have fallen for this before, and I covered for you. And now you've fallen for it again. I vow it, Bordon, if this Josiah gets there first - if he gives warning and our quarry escapes, your back will feel the sting! I'll wield the whip myself. Get the Dragoons assembled - now - _AND GET YOUR ARSE IN THE DAMNED SADDLE!_"

"Yes Sir," Bordon released Charlotte and she collapsed against the wall like a rag doll. After her beating, she huddled in on herself on the alcove floor, her entire body convulsing. Without so much as a second glance, Bordon turned and stalked away. He had an enemy Colonel to catch and because of Charlotte and Josiah, time was no longer on his side. He strode toward the stables - he'd capture Martin now at all costs, anything else would be a humiliating failure. He feared the shame of it far more than the whip.

"Dalton!" He snapped, seeing who was on guard duty at the stables. "Gather the Dragoons - I want fifty of them, ready to ride - drunk or not - or I'll have their damned hides!"

Seeing his dark mood, Dalton ran, bolting down the causeway to the front of the house to stop the celebrations, while Bordon ducked into the stable to saddle his horse.

* * *

"It's our wedding night," Beth said to William, voice soft and heartbroken. "And you're sending your men to capture my father."

"After what he has done, I would send men to capture him no matter what the night. The only reason I have not gone after him in person, because it is our wedding night," William said, voice firm. "Otherwise I would be riding at the head of that damned column."

Beth drew in a short, sharp breath. She was torn between challenging her husband and confronting Charlotte who sat on the floor of the alcove, sobbing pitifully. Margaret stayed in Brownlow's embrace.

"Is that true?" Beth asked Charlotte. "You thought coupling with Bordon was the best way to delay him so your messenger would have more time to reach papa? It doesn't excuse you, you were unfaithful to my father!" Beth said when she got no response from the prone woman at her feet.

"Is that what happened, Beth?" a newly arrived Nathan asked gravely - he stepped forward until he stood at Beth's side.

"I saw them with my own two eyes, Nate!" Beth gasped out. She glanced down at Charlotte again. "How could you do that to Papa!"

"I was trying to protect him!" Charlotte wailed. She tried to climb to her feet but her legs were still not working, she huddled back in the corner while the others loomed over her. "Tavington was going after him - he was sending Bordon!"

"Yes, I realise that," Beth said softly, shifting her gaze to her husband. His turn, now. "How could you? You didn't even have the decency to warn me."

"I did not want to upset you," he said firmly. "I have to do my duty, Beth."

"I was right to try to warn him! You will throw him in a prison camp, men die in those camps!" Charlotte cried.

"So you opened your legs for another man? Do you think papa would want you to whore yourself, to protect him?" Nathan demanded sharply and Charlotte recoiled. "Do explain exactly how that has helped to save Papa, Aunt Charlotte."

"I sent Josiah to warn Ben," she admitted softly to Nathan, who'd only just joined them. "He was on foot and so when the opportunity arose, I knew I had to stall for time. I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand! I meant only to flirt a little - and give him a kiss if I had to - your father would not have minded that. He would have had a good laugh! But then Bordon… He… Oh God!"

"If you are suggesting he forced himself on you, Mrs. Selton," Brownlow began. "Please be aware that I saw much of your encounter, as you well know. You saw me come out of that door," he pointed from where Beth, Margaret and Tavington had come from and Charlotte blanched. "For Miss Martin's sake, I will not go into the finer details, but you should know that I heard, and saw, much of it. Do you dare to infer that Bordon ravished you?" Charlotte hung her head, casting her eyes down to the floor. Margaret stiffened in his arms. She was finally ready to turn and face her aunt, but Brownlow kept her close, guiding her to put her arm through his, to give her support, lest her legs failed her.

"What details?" Beth asked.

"Not in front of Miss Martin," Brownlow shook his head stubbornly. "Suffice it to say, Mrs. Selton's enjoyment of the encounter was rather evident."

"To me, also," Mrs. Ambrose finally came forward. "It wasn't my place to stop them, no matter how despicable the sight."

By now, the Dragoons had mustered - they could be seen rushing back and forth, some carrying firebrands, racing in and out of the stables.

"I understand you trying to send word to Papa, but is that true, aunt?" Nathan asked roughly. "Did you enjoy it?"

Charlotte hung her head and wept. Beth stared down at her, shocked to her core. She glanced up at Nathan, wondering how much the youth understood. By the expression on his face, he understood enough.

"Beth," Charlotte whispered, reaching her hand out to her nieces. "Maggie - I'm so sorry. I was trying to protect your father. I didn't mean to -"

"To enjoy it?" Nathan snapped and Charlotte recoiled as though he'd struck her. "You say you didn't mean to let it get that far, but it did get that far_ and you enjoyed it_! How could you, Aunt?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Tell that to father!" Nathan said.

"Beth?" Charlotte pleaded, hoping to find some support from someone - from anyone in her family, but it was Tavington who answered.

"You've not been willing to speak to my wife all day," he ground out. "And now, when you need someone to take your side, you call to her? No - I will not allow it. Mrs. Ambrose!" He commanded of the cook. "Take Mrs. Tavington inside."

"I'm not finished with you!" Beth protested before the older woman could move. She confronted William through tears. "What was all that about my Aunt Mage?"

He blew out a vexed breath. "Your uncle was a spy," he spat, furious. "His wife was in collusion with him. They agreed on what sacrifice they were willing to make in the securing of information. Bordon - stupid, bloody Bordon - became your aunt's target. She bedded him, Beth. And thinking her to be a Loyalist, he was in no way careful with his tongue afterward."

Beth's face drained of colour, her mouth falling slowly open. Nathan began to curse beneath his breath.

"My uncle knew?" Nathan spat. "He knew!"

"And approved. His daughter was spying on Dalton and Brownlow, although," Tavington paused, looking suddenly wary now he was speaking about Cilla. "Her spying was procured with far more chaste means. He was using you, too," William said to Beth and she nodded.

"Beth didn't know," Charlotte said between sobs.

"I know," Tavington curled his lip at her and she turned away, burying her face in her skirts. "Mrs. Ambrose - take my wife and her sister away from here - now!"

"If you think I'll go so meekly, think again!" Beth declared, outraged over William's actions. She'd rallied from her shock over learning about Mage and Bordon and her thoughts were again on her father - who her husband was trying to capture. Nathan moved to stand beside her, reassured that she was willing to fight her new husband for their father. Beth glared at William, who drew a long, sharp breath. "What of my father! What if Bordon catches him? You did not even tell me you were going after him!"

"I've already answered those accusations, Beth," Tavington glared down at her. "I will not do so again!"

"Very well. Please send for me as soon as Bordon returns - if he returns with my father. You will find me in Maggie's room, I'll sleep with her and Susan tonight. Come, Nate."

She made to turn from Tavington but he grabbed her arm and hauled her around to face him.

"Are you mad?" He hissed. "If you think I'll allow you to sleep anywhere else but with me, think again! And tonight of all nights - it's our wedding night!"

"Exactly!" Beth cried. "You weren't thinking of that when you sent Bordon after my father, were you? It's our wedding night! Please, William - it's not too late, don't do this!"

"I will do what I must," he ground out. "How many British have already died at your father's hands? He must be held accountable for his actions. I know my duty and I will not allow you to get in the way of it!"

As though to emphasise his words, the Dragoons burst from all corners of the yard and from the stable, and they began to gallop away - with Bordon and Mr. Taylor at the head of the column.

"Then you will be sleeping alone tonight," Beth said, holding her head high.

"If you think that, you are a little fool," he said softly, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

"Come Beth, Maggie's upset, let's get her inside," Abigail had arrived and she was pulling on Beth's arm. She did not think either Tavington or Beth would back down from the other - and the truth was, Abigail was more than a little fearful of the Green Dragoon Colonel. She wanted the children as far from him as possible, even if Beth was the Officer's wife. She feared that Tavington would strike Beth for defying him - for not showing the proper meekness a husband was due from his wife. At first, tugging on Beth's sleeve had no effect, it was like trying to drag a large oak by it's branch, but eventually Beth - after holding her gaze locked on Tavington's in a battle of wills that lasted for several long moments - finally allowed herself to be turned aside. Mrs. Ambrose did the same to Margaret, drawing her away from the Redcoat Officer, Brownlow.

"Nathan?" Abigail called over her shoulder as the two women began to lead the girls toward the house. Nathan obeyed sullenly. Tavington watched them until the door was shut behind them, then he shifted his stern gaze back to Charlotte. Seeing his expression, she understood she was in trouble. She withered under the weight of that stare. Placing the flats of her palms to either side of her, she began to inch up the wall, slowly rising to her feet. And still Tavington stared at her, she could not read his expression, could not guess her fate.

She was Beth's Aunt - surely he would not hurt her? Charlotte understood that, from Tavington's view point, she had committed treason. Treason was punishable by execution. Charlotte could not believe the Colonel could bring himself to hang his wife's aunt. Mage had done the same thing, he'd said. She'd bedded Bordon - to gain information, in her case, and she hadn't been executed.

There was no need, in any case. Benjamin would break their engagement - no matter how admirable her intentions had been when she had initiated her flirting. Benjamin would refuse to marry her now. He would end their affair completely - she would be left with nothing. No fiancé, no lover, no home, no family.

Her life was as good as over. Surely that would be punishment enough, even for the cold hearted Butcher?

"What will you do to me?" She asked when the silence became too oppressive, the suspense too much.

"You learned a great deal of my intentions this evening, Mrs. Selton. I wish to know how," he said coldly, without deigning to answer her question or reassure her. Knowing her fate rested on the edge of a very sharp dagger, Charlotte felt the only course of action was to be completely honest.

"I saw Taylor from my chamber window," she spoke woodenly now. "I know the man is a Loyalist, and that he lives alongside Danvers, where I knew Ben to be staying. I feared he had come with information about Ben and so I decided to listen in on your conversation. There was only one place you would take him - Ben's office. I was there first. The windows were open, I went outside to listen from the porch, at the window nearest the desk you all sat around."

"I see…" he drew a sharp breath, his eyes blazed fury and in that moment, Charlotte knew terror.

"What are you going to do to me?" She squeaked again. He at her, his eyes piercing and intent.

"You committed two acts of rebellion against the Crown this evening, Mrs. Selton," Tavington announced in a ringing voice. "The first was espionage - you deliberately placed yourself in a position to eavesdrop on my conversation. The second was sabotage, you deliberately used the knowledge you gleaned from that conversation to send word of warning - you knowingly tried to subvert my commands. For this, you will receive a flogging."

Charlotte's eyes bulged.

"I'm Beth's Aunt!" She gasped out. She was about to say more, but that was as much as Tavington would allow her to utter. Uncoiling like a snake, and with as much speed, his hand snapped out and his fingers closed hard around her jaw. His face blazed above hers and Charlotte's breath seized in her throat. His fingers dug into either side of her face, and Charlotte whimpered in agony, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, but his grip was iron and would not be budged until he chose to release her.

"I said a flogging. Would you have preferred I said a _hanging_? Let us be clear, here and now," he whispered, his lips so close to hers she could feel the warm puffs of his breath on her face. "You have committed treason. You will receive chastisement. Being my wife's blood kin will not alter that - I will do my duty. I would give that same chastisement to Beth herself, should she prove false to me. Your connection to her will not soften me, do I make myself clear?"

She nodded frantically, as much as his hold on her would allow. With a disgusted twist of his lips, he released her so abruptly that she fell back against the wall. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, he spied Captain Gordon, who had come upon them. Tavington smiled. The Captain had led the escort which Benjamin Martin had attacked and had been most vocal in in his fury. Captain Gordon would be perfect for the unpleasant task.

His next words were for Gordon.

"Use your belt," he commanded, and the Captain gave a start of surprise, realising that he was to be the one to administer the punishment. "Thirty lashes. With the leather only - be careful of your buckle. You are not to tear her skin, but nor are you to soften the blows. Cornet Brownlow, you will assist."

As horrified as Brownlow was, he nodded, accepting the command.

"Where, Sir?" Gordon asked.

Tavington paused. Usually such punishments were administered publicly to deter others from committing the same crime. However, he felt such shame and embarrassment for Bordon, he decided to at least attempt to keep what had happened as quiet as possible. The punishment would be done in private, instead.

"Take her to the stables out of ear shot - I do not want her screams to distress my wife," Tavington replied.

"No - Sir, I meant… Where?" The Lieutenant waved his arm vaguely toward Charlotte, who stared at them both in terror.

"Oh - I see. Her backside. Ensure she can not sit comfortably for a week, Captain," with a curt nod to the young Officer, he turned his back on Charlotte, then strode through the backdoor into the house to search for Beth. Putting Charlotte from his mind, he began to focus his irritation on Beth - who had declared for all to hear that she would not be sharing his bed that night. He would find her quickly and disabuse her of that fool notion.

* * *

"Bend her over that barrel," Captain Gordon said as he began unbuckling his belt.

Charlotte began to scream even before Gordon's belt was open.

Despite Brownlow's shock, he made no protest. He manhandled the struggling widow across the hay strewn floor of the stable and threw her stomach first over an overturned barrel. He circled the barrel to stand in front of Charlotte, then he knelt before her and seized her arms before she could push herself back up. Brownlow held her arms together at the wrists in an iron grip, preventing her from rising, despite how hard she tried. Gordon - standing behind her, kicked her legs apart, and pinned her to the barrel with his boot.

"I wonder if Tavington would mind me having a turn with her?" Gordon asked lewdly.

"Sir," Brownlow ventured - the Captain was higher in rank and the Cornet needed to be careful with how he voiced his protest - but under no circumstances would he allow Mrs. Selton to be raped. That had not been any part of Tavington's command, he knew he'd have Tavington on his side if it came down to a complaint, and so he continued, "with respect, Sir, I believe Tavington's command was quite clear. He did not insinuate anything else be done to Mrs. Selton - the flogging was all he authorised."

Before the Lieutenant could respond, Charlotte began to wail.

"Please no - don't - please!" She begged. "Please!"

"You liked it when Major Bordon did it," Gordon smirked.

"No - no, please, don't defile me, please!"

"Oh, _now_ it's defilement? You stupid woman," he said. He flipped Charlotte's skirts up, revealing her half crescents and her sticky thighs, slick with Bordon's seed and her own wetness. "I could slide in there easily," he taunted. "Warm my cock in a nice, buttered bun."

"You will not," Brownlow's voice was iron.

Gordon's belt buckle was open, the ends hung loose, and he pulled the strip of leather free of the loops on his breeches. Folding it in half, he glanced down and met Brownlow's eyes. "You really thought I was going to rape her?"

"I did," Brownlow admitted, frowning.

"And why shouldn't I? She fucked Bordon willing enough. Why shouldn't I have a go with her - it'd be damned satisfying, fucking that Martin bastard's fiance."

"You have your orders!" Brownlow snapped. "And if you think I'll allow you to abuse them, you are very much mistaken! Do I need to summon him?"

Gordon curled his lip. "I was just toying with the little bawd," he said. "This strumpet is not worth the risk, I'll probably get some disease. I don't mercury poured all over my cock because I slipped it into her cunt," he paused then and took a moment to gaze down at Charlotte's bear backside, which was angled upward toward him, due to her position over the barrel. "Christ you should see the view back here, though," the Captain taunted - everything he said was designed to humiliate Charlotte. "Bordon filled her up good and proper - there's big fat ropes of British milt dripping down the whore's legs."

"Shut up, shut up!" She screamed wildly, wishing she could cover her ears. But her hands were held fast by Brownlow - and though he gazed at her with pity, he did not loosen his grip by a hair. She no longer feared a rape - Brownlow had said he wouldn't allow it to happen and she understood now that Gordon was merely trying to shame her anyway. And it was working. As if feeling terror over what was to come was not enough to satisfy the Officer! It was going to hurt, she sensed that the Captain would follow Tavington's command to the letter, and she doubted he would soften the blows.

"If only I was a painter, Brownlow," Gordon crowed. "I could capture this moment in all its gory detail - her lovely bare backside, her pale, slender thighs," he described the view in a dreamy, deeply satisfied voice. "With thick drops of come sliding down the insides. She's a slippery slut."

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and groaned in shame.

"I wonder if all that seed will give her a British bastard?" He continued, ignoring her distress. "A British bastard for _the Ghost_ to raise."

He spat this last viciously, he had heard the epithet 'Ghost' used several times that day, amongst the survivors of Martin's attack. It was all Private Shields fault - the Officer who was still fighting for his life had been whispering all sorts of rubbish about the 'Ghost', every time he was alert and roused enough to speak. The appellation had started to spread.

"Can we get this over with, Sir?" Brownlow asked in barely disguised disgust. He was not trying to rush to Charlotte's beating for enjoyment, but to have it finished quickly. And he certainly did not want to listen to another foul word from Gordon.

When the first blow landed, Charlotte discovered she had been absolutely correct - the Captain had no intention of softening the strikes. A sharp thwack and then searing, stinging agony flared on her back side. She began to sob and beg for it to stop.

"Thirty, Tavington said," Gordon said grimly. "You should be thankful for his mercy. You should be hung!"

Another thwack, and another. He kept quick count, as did Brownlow. Ten, thirteen, fifteen, and Charlotte was screaming. The pain was terrible, a hot searing deep within her body. Her breasts were crushed against the barrel but the pain of that was nothing in comparison.

"Please stop!" She cried. But Brownlow had been counting and there were still ten more to go.

"Easy, Sir. Tavington said not to break her skin," Brownlow said to remind the Officer, who scowled, but nodded acceptance.

"If you ask me, he's giving too much damned mercy to Martin's slut," Gordon panted as he lifted the belt high for the twenty-first strike. She yelped again when it landed and continued her pleading though her whispers fell on deaf ears. "He attacked our men!" Another whack. "Fourteen died!" Another whack.

Brownlow said nothing - Mrs. Selton was not being punished for the crime Benjamin Martin had committed, but for her own treason; though it was clear that Gordon had blurred the two. Still holding her wrists down, he glanced up at Gordon, saw that the Captain's face was twisted with hatred, as though he was unable to distinguish between Martin and Martin's betrothed. The Cornet resolved to continue the count carefully for, judging by the Captain's malicious scowl, Brownlow feared the Officer might try and give Charlotte more than was her due.

Sure enough, when the Cornet counted thirty, the Lieutenant raised his arm again, ready for another strike.

"That was thirty, Sir!" Brownlow released Charlotte's hands finally, and he jumped up, ready to intervene. He was certain Tavington would take his side, should Gordon complain of insubordination.

"Are you certain of that, Brownlow?" Gordon asked compellingly. "I'm sure I counted fifteen. The bitch is only half way there."

Brownlow drew a sharp breath. Gordon was demanding complicity now. And as he was the superior, Brownlow should be giving way. Rape was one thing, Gordon could not have complained if Brownlow had gone to Tavington with that. But to tattle over a few extra spanks? The line had been drawn, and he knew that if he stepped the wrong way, he might well earn himself an enemy for life. Let the Captain have his extra fifteen lashes, to avoid future unpleasantness between them? Or earn himself an enemy by doing the right thing and stopping him now?

_Stuff it,_ Brownlow thought. Why should a Green Dragoon fear the enmity of an infantry Captain? His ambitions for the future lay with Tavington, not with this crazed Officer before him.

"I am certain, Sir," Brownlow ground out, his decision made. "If another blow lands, Tavington will be informed."

The two locked gazes, both towering over the weeping woman on the floor. Charlotte managed to push her skirts down to cover her nudity but she could not move beyond that.

"Well aren't you just a Goddamned snitch?" Gordon grated. Brownlow did not care about the insult - the other man had lowered his arm and that was all that mattered. As Gordon began to wind his thread his belt through the loops on his breeches, he continued to rage, "she's the Ghost's bloody whore! You're a damned turncoat for protecting her, after what he did to me and my men!"

"Turncoat? I doubt Tavington will entertain that for an instant," Brownlow scoffed. "A turncoat, for obeying Tavington's command to the letter? Christ. Mrs. Selton has been punished for her crime, I will not allow you to punish her for Martin's, also. Besides, he'll be here soon enough. You can take your anger out on him."

"If Bordon gets there in time!" Gordon fumed, his fingers worked furiously at his belt clasp, "you heard her - she sent a messenger! Martin'll probably slip away before Bordon gets there!"

"Be that as it may," Brownlow said, outwardly calm though inside he fumed over Charlotte's treachery just as much as Gordon. "She has been punished as our Commandant has directed. Any more than that is just you hurting a hapless woman and that I will not allow."

Gordon glared at the Cornet, then he whirled and as he strode from the barn, he threw over his shoulder, "turncoat."

Brownlow ignored him, focusing on Charlotte instead as the stables doors shut again. Kneeling at her side, he took hold of her arm gently.

"Do you think you can walk?" He asked the sobbing woman.

"No," she whispered between sniffles. The stable doors opened again and an African male Brownlow had seen several times throughout the day slipped in - it took him a moment to remember the man's name, but it came to him eventually. Old Lucas, the overseer of the Plantation. He crept forward, his concern filled eyes on Charlotte.

"She'll need help getting back to the house," Brownlow told the man. "Will you?" He jutted his chin, indicating Old Lucas take Charlotte's other arm to help her up. The old overseer nodded and together, the men helped Charlotte up and held her between them for the walk back to the house.

* * *

Mr. Taylor struggled to keep up with the galloping Dragoons. Bordon set an unforgiving, unrelenting pace, thrashing through the dark woods as fast as he would an open road in broad daylight. Visibility was poor and Taylor worried that his horse would break a leg, or that a low hanging branch would sweep him from the saddle. But - judging by what he could see of Bordon's face - he thought it best not to protest. Even if the wild ride could result in his breaking his neck.

As soon as they neared Mr. Danver's house, Taylor took the lead. He trotted alongside the Major, with the Dragoons fanning out to surround the house. They raced through the scrub and bushes, jumped over rail fences, galloped through fields until, a very shorty time later, they came to a small farm house. Bordon signalled the halt, and held his hand up for silence. He gestured furiously and his men began dismount, to approach the peaceful seeming house on foot. Though he could no longer see them, he knew the Dragoons would be dismounting and closing in on the house, also on foot.

There was a guard on the verandah - a young boy, barely seventeen. The sight of Thomas Martin soothed him like balm to his soul, for Bordon could not imagine that Thomas would have been left behind, if Josiah had reached Martin first and given warning. No, Martin was inside the house, the Major was certain of it.

"Dalton, Dixon, Hawthorn, with me," Bordon muttered. Running toward the house at a steady pace, he stopped short at the verandah and ducked low, using the wooden rail to keep out of sight. It was pitch black - the only light came from the lantern above Thomas' head, and the candle glow spilling from the windows. Dalton, with the two other Dragoons, joined him silently. Thomas stood rigid, alert for the slightest anomaly - he took his task seriously - staring out into the darkness, rather than sitting back on a chair with his feet up and closing his eyes to catch some sleep. He held his rifle in a tight grip - he was ready for trouble, this youth.

When a lone person came into view, running up the drive, the boy tensed immediately. Bordon feared he would dart into the house to warn those inside and so he braced himself, preparing to leap the rail and jump onto the verandah to stop him. It would be noisy work, though, and would alert those within.

The man was closer, he ran with a flagging gait, it was clear he was exhausted. When he drew close enough, Thomas relaxed, for he recognised him. Instead of darting inside to warn his father, he jumped off the steps in one leap in order to lend Josiah assistance.

"And now his inexperience shows," Bordon muttered to Dalton as he straightened quietly. The Dragoons followed silently, keeping well back from the circle of light.

"Josiah!" Thomas gasped as the negroes legs buckled and he dropped to the ground. Thomas threw his arm around Josiah's waist to help the fellow back up.

"Mrs. Selton sent me to warn you," Josiah panted. "The Dragoons… are coming… here for… your father!"

"Damn and blast it! You stay here, I'll go wake papa!" Thomas lurched up, ready to return to the house. He whirled from Josiah, only to come face to face with Major Bordon. With a curse of shock, he recoiled, but before he could draw breath to scream a warning, Bordon slapped his meaty hand over the youth's mouth. Josiah was silenced in the same manner. Thomas fought like a wild thing but he was still manhandled by Bordon and his companions. Josiah and Thomas were both forced to the ground, where they lay flat on their stomachs with Dragoon cravats shoved in their mouths, and their arms pulled back behind their bodies. They were bound at the wrists and could not move to save themselves. Still Thomas thrashed, grunting and groaning with growing panic. Dalton pinned the youth to the ground with his boot.

"Lift the boy to his feet, but keep him bound. Hold the firebrand close to his face," Bordon commanded Dalton. "I want his father to see him, so that he comes along nice and quiet. Do not harm the boy - in anyway."

"Yes, Sir." Dalton jerked the struggling boy up and kept him secure in a strong grip.

Thomas glared at Bordon over the cravat shoved in his mouth. His heart pounded and he was scared stiff, but he was indignant also, and worried for his father. Hawthorn held Josiah's firebrand aloft, the glow throwing Thomas' face in stark relief. Bordon stepped away from the circle of light, retreating to the safety of the shadows, then raised his firearm high in the air and fired a single shot. He began reloading immediately. The clap from that first shot was loud in the dark night, echoing off the house and surrounding trees - and it had the exact desired effect. Curtains were thrown wide, windows smashed open with the butt end of rifles. Bordon saw more than five faces peer out, and then he heard the command come from the house, "hold your fire - they've got my son!"

Richard smiled, exultant. As he'd suspected, Benjamin Martin was in the house, he was as good as captured. And Bordon's hide was saved. You whored yourself for nothing, you fucking bitch, he thought, his face darkening with fury despite his exultation.

Slowly, the front door cracked open and a tall figure stepped out, holding his hands high to show he held no weapons. Bordon heard movement to his left and in a moment, Taylor joined him in the darkness.

"Who are you?" The man on the porch called. "Release my son!"

"That's Mr. Brody," Taylor whispered. "That is not Martin."

"Shoot him," Bordon commanded and one of his men aimed his firearm, and fired. The bullet exploded from the pistol. However, the shot was not accurate and the bullet landed squarely in the tall man's thigh - instead of his chest, where the Dragoon had been aiming. It was enough, however. The man dropped to a heavy heap on the verandah, and he laid there groaning in sheer agony.

"The next man who comes out that isn't Benjamin Martin will suffer the same as Mr. Brody!" Bordon called cheerfully, pitching his voice high enough to be heard over Brody's groaning.

Slowly, another figure emerged.

"Now _that's_ Benjamin Martin," Taylor whispered.

"Good. Thank you for your service to the Crown, Sir. Go home - there are too many rebels in this area and you might find yourself a target for their anger. Your name will not be mentioned in this capture."

"Thank you, Sir," Taylor murmured, then slunk away toward his home.

"Come forward slowly, Sir," Bordon called to Martin, who held his hands as high, showing that they were empty of weapons. He glanced down at his fallen comrade and his mouth twisted in fury. "Never mind him, Sir," Bordon continued. He moved away from where he was standing in case the men in the house decided to take a shot in the direction they heard his voice coming from. "You killed twenty of ours - and seventy of Tarleton's. We still owe you ninety deaths, before we're even. Will your son be the first?"

He was bluffing - Tavington would have his hide if he killed Thomas - but Benjamin Martin did not know that.

"That won't be necessary - I'm handing myself in, nice and easy," Martin replied as he stepped off the porch.

"Tell your men that if a single shot comes from that house, we'll unleash all hell upon them. Your son will die - as will you," Bordon informed him. Martin's lips tightened. He began walking slowly toward Dalton and his son.

"Are you going to reveal yourself, Sir?" Benjamin called. "I'd like to see the face of the man whose taking me."

"So that your men can take a crack at me, regardless of my warning?" Bordon scoffed, again changing his position in the dark. He noticed that the pistols and musket poking from the window were shifting blindly as though the bearers were indeed searching for him. "I'll be revealed to you soon enough. Martin - be warned now - the house is surrounded by Dragoons. There is no way out for you - or your men. I suggest they lay their weapons down and surrender - one at a time."

"Did you hear that Danvers?" Martin called over his shoulder. "Weapons down! Come out one at a time - we don't want to make our new friend nervous."

"Damned Lobsterbacks!" Came the frustrated curse.

"We'll be searching the house thoroughly, so do not try and hide anyone," Bordon called.

"What of my wife?" Danvers called from the porch as he stepped out - nice and slow with his arms raised. "And my children. You'll not harm them?"

"On my honour," Bordon replied, finally entering the circle of light now that the weapons had been withdrawn from the smashed windows. "Your wife and children will come to no harm."

Benjamin reached him by then and the two men came face to face.

"So." Martin said, eyeing Bordon up and down. "Major Bordon, I take it?"

"Indeed," Bordon replied, squaring his shoulders.

"I heard you'd taken up a clergyman's life," Martin taunted and Bordon lifted a lazy brow. "Now that I look upon you, I do not believe 'Reverend' Bordon suits you at all. You have too much the look of a soldier about you."

"I quite agree, and it is without the slightest regret that I have retired as camp minister," Bordon replied. "So. You are aware that your daughter has married Colonel Tavington?"

"I'm aware that he thinks that she has," Martin scoffed softly. "He will soon discover he is very much mistaken. You are escorting me to him now, I take it?"

Bordon was shocked at how cool Martin was behaving. Judging by the expression on the man's face, Martin was eager to meet the Colonel, where others would be quaking in their boots. Bordon understood the reason - Martin wished to have his say over his daughter's wedding. It stunned Richard that the fellow was looking forward to confronting Tavington.

"Yes, I am," Bordon shrugged his astonishment off - it was none of his concern. His only task was to have Martin taken to Tavington - what happened next was for the Colonel to decide.

"Good - we have a few things to discuss," Martin glanced over his shoulder at his son. "You alright, boy?" He asked Thomas. Dalton's cravat had been removed from the boys mouth and he was able to speak again.

"I'm sorry, Papa. I should've called out to you when I saw Josiah…"

Josiah was on his feet also, he huddled next to Martin and looked miserable.

"Wouldn't have made a difference," Bordon informed Thomas, who glared right back. "Your father would have had a warning, but nothing would have changed. The house is surrounded, he had no where to go. If you'd have been able to warn them, there would have been a shooting and there would have been more than one wounded man."

"You'll pay for that one man," Martin threatened.

"Yes?" Bordon quirked an eyebrow. "And you'll pay for the twenty you killed today. And Tarleton's seventy, as well. Or will you justify their deaths somehow, while seething over your own minuscule blood loss?"

Martin snapped his mouth shut. Bordon glanced past him to the house, and saw a line of rebels walking toward him, with a gap of three or four yards between each one.

"So - there's five of you," Bordon counted the men - he included Thomas in the total. "Any more in the house?"

"Only Mrs. Danvers," Benjamin said. "And the children."

"Dixon!" Bordon commanded. "Search the house. Go slowly and carefully, just in case."

"Please, don't hurt my family," Danvers begged as Dixon began to head toward the house.

"He won't," Benjamin said, locking eyes with Bordon, who saw the challenge clearly. "He's a _Gentleman_."

"And as such, I won't go back on my word," Bordon agreed. Danvers was not convinced - he did not breathe a sigh of relief until the Dragoons came filing back out of his home, and he saw his wife and three children hovering uncertainly in the doorway near the still moaning Brody - they were scared stiff for Mr. Danvers, but they were safe and unharmed.

"Only the woman and the children in the house, Sir," Dixon reported, when he drew abreast of Bordon.

"Very well, call the Dragoons in. Locate the rebels horses - we've no time to make them walk," Bordon said. Dixon raced off again, and while he was gone, Bordon ordered the rebel's hands bound and tied - in front of their bodies, so they could managed the horses and stay in the saddle. In all that time, Benjamin Martin said not a word - none of the rebels did.

Saddling the horses in the stable did not take long - soon the rebels were mounted and the Dragoons milled about Bordon, waiting for his next instruction.

"Move out!" He commanded and they began to form two lines - with the rebels spaced along those lines, away from each other.

"Do you remember the way back?" Dalton asked Bordon.

"I do," he confirmed as he kicked his heels to his horses flanks, spurring forward to the front of the line. The Major had his prize, but still, he had every single Dragoon on the alert - he would not risk losing Martin now that he had him.


	67. Chapter 67 - Awaiting Bordon

Chapter 67 - Awaiting Bordon:

When Tavington went to Margaret's room in search of Beth, he found the door was locked securely and the tones of several different women's voices sounded from within the room. With his ear pressed to the door, he could discern the sound of a woman crying - and when he recognised that it was his own wife who was weeping, it was all he could do not to pound on the door and demand admittance. As he continued to listen, he was able to discern that both Abigail and Mrs. Ambrose were in the chamber with Beth and Margaret, and he knew that the older two women were having a heart felt discussion with the Martin family daughters. Though he was both angry with and concerned for Beth, he wisely decided that she was exactly where she needed to be just then. Now was not the time to demand she retire with him to their room. He had not abandoned that campaign, she would share his bed come hell or high water, he merely deemed it prudent to have that particular discussion later.

William, deciding it would be prudent to secure one of the outhouses nearest the main house, for use as a prison cell. He chose one of the storage houses nearest the kitchen - he could have surrounded entirely, day and night. He directed his men to nail boards to the windows and to fashion a lock on the door that could only be opened from the outside. There was one, small concession he wold make, one little thing that might cool his wife's temper - he set about to making the cell comfortable for Martin. He had a cot carried into the room, along with blankets and a pillow. A jug of water, a heel of bread and some cheese.

_Bloody coddling the bastard_, Tavington scowled as he watched Brownlow place a chamber pot under the cot. As if he'd spoken aloud, Brownlow glanced up at Tavington uncertainly, though he did not voice his curiosity. Tavington knew what the youth was thinking - he was wondering if William had gone soft. Or mad. He had never gone to such lengths to have a prisoner kept in comfort before.

"How's that about Bordon, huh?" Brownlow shook his head as he tossed the fluffy feather pillow on the cot. "How does he do it? Mage Putman, Mrs. Selton, Miss Jutland… How does he get all the beauties? I don't think he's all that good looking."

"He's as ugly as an ox," Tavington agreed. He wasn't about to compliment the fellow, when he was so foully angry with him. "And he hardly 'got' Mrs. Selton, any more than he 'got' Mrs. Putman," this came out as a growl and he folded his arms across his chest. "Like Mrs. Putman, she crooked her little finger and he dropped his breeches. It has nothing to do with Bordon being handsome or charming - he was a means to an end, for both of them. Mrs. Selton would have done it to you, if it had been you I'd commanded go after Martin. Don't think for one moment that Bordon has some secret way with the beauties; some prowess that none of the rest of us possess."

"You say that, but you didn't see her face while he was screwing her," Brownlow said. "She may have had an agenda, but she loved every second of it."

"All good whores know how to fake their performance, Cornet," Tavington snorted in derision.

"Believe me, Sir, she weren't faking." Brownlow insisted.

William's face darkened. "She may have enjoyed it then, but I doubt she is feeling the after glow of pleasure now."

"No, Sir," the Cornet admitted. He circled the bed and came to stand at William's side, both of them staring down at the cot with all its luxuries. Still Brownlow said nothing about it, there was no need. Though the gesture had startled him, he'd understood William was only going to these lengths for his wife's sake, not for Martin's. "I'd say she's in a right amount of pain just now. Gordon belted her good and proper - she won't be sitting for days."

William nodded. It had been what he'd ordered, and he'd known Gordon would carry out his commands to the letter. Brownlow seemed on the verge of saying more, however, but the younger officer held his silence.

"What is it?" He asked, knowing there was more and also knowing that Brownlow was reluctant to speak of it.

"Well, I'm no snitch…" He ventured. "But I think you should know, about Gordon and those others. They're fairly mad at Benjamin Martin - I mean real mad."

"As am I," William said grimly. "I lost twenty men today. I had to write letters of condolences to their families. I had to bury them in an unmarked grave. On an enemies plantation - the very man who killed them, at that!"

"Yes, Sir, I understand that. And I'm not well pleased about it either - nor am I particularly well disposed toward Mrs. Selton, but I think you should know what happened while Gordon was beating her."

Tavington listened to the Officer as the youth explained that Gordon had wanted to give Charlotte fifteen more strikes with his belt, and that he had seemed to be taking his fury over the attack out on Charlotte herself. He also spoke of Gordon's taunting, telling Colonel Tavington that he didn't think Gordon taunting at all. "I think, if I hadn't objected, he'd have done it, Sir. With respect, if you don't mind my saying, I don't think you should have Gordon or any of the others from his unit stand guard on Martin when he arrives. Nor should they be allowed access to Mrs. Selton or the children. That's all."

"I might wake up to find Martin dead?" Tavington nodded. And Mrs. Selton and the children tormented. "It won't do any harm to take those precautions. Thank you, Brownlow. And no, I do not believe you are a snitch or 'telling tales'," he scowled at the youth, who blushed. "These things must not be kept from me, under any circumstances."

"That's what I thought too, to be honest," Brownlow was relieved, for he had worried that in telling Tavington what had taken place in the stable, Tavington might believe Brownlow was a tattle tale. And no one had respect for tattle tales. He continued, changing the subject slightly. "What will you do to Bordon if that messenger reached Martin first?"

"Nothing good," Tavington said softly, causing Brownlow to shiver. There was ice in the Colonel's eyes now, and his face was stern and rock hard. As much as Brownlow would have liked to have been in Bordon's boots earlier - when the Major was rutting Mrs. Selton up against the wall - he was certainly grateful he was not in Bordon's boots now.

They heard a noise behind him and when they glanced over their shoulders they saw that the young boy, Samuel, had come into the room. They boy stood uncertainly, looking about the small room.

"Thank you," he said softly and Tavington arched a brow. "For this," the boy indicated the lengths the Colonel was going to to make Samuel's father comfortable, should Bordon return with him. "I know that prisoners don't usually get cots and soft mattresses with blankets and pillows. And the food too. Thank you for doing this."

Tavington inclined his head, accepting the thanks.

"Is it true, Sir?" Samuel asked. "A-about Aunt Charlotte," he stuttered out. "Nathan said… He said… But I can't believe him - Aunt Charlotte loves Papa."

"I'm sure she does, boy," Tavington said, feeling pity for the youth who could not possibly understand. "But it's true, nevertheless."

"Oh," Samuel's eyes filled with tears and he blinked them back, not willing to cry like a child in front of the two Dragoon Officers. "Whose going to tell Papa? Beth?"

"No - your brother, perhaps. Or Mrs. Ambrose, who saw it with her own two eyes. But not Beth. I'll not allow her anywhere near your father," with that Tavington stepped outside, leaving Brownlow to finish with the last decorating touches. He could hear Samuel's voice behind right behind him, protesting as he followed.

"But Beth will want to see Papa!" Samuel cried. "You can't keep them apart - please, Sir! You have to -"

"Protect my wife, boy!" Tavington snapped, whirling on the youth. Samuel took a full step back from the Colonel's blistering glare. "What do you imagine will happen, when your father and Beth meet again?" He asked crisply. "Do you think it'll be a happy reunion? She ran off to be with me. She married me. All in defiance of her father. I will not allow your father to upset my wife!"

"He wouldn't hurt her," Samuel said quietly, though he understood the Colonel's reluctance.

"Samuel," Tavington shook his head in frustration at the boy's innocence. "Beth believes he will disown her. He can not hold back her inheritance, she does not need him for financial reasons. Nor does she need him, for she has me. But the process of disowning someone is not a pleasant one - discussions that involve repudiating ones own child are never agreeable and for Beth, it will be heart breaking. Your father is sure to be severe and harsh with her, he will say things that will be difficult for Beth to bear. And so I will - not - allow - it."

He held Samuel's eyes for long moment, until he saw that his words had sunk into the boy's head. Then, he turned on his heel and began to head through the side door, into the house and down the corridor. Believing he'd shed himself of the lad, he almost growled in frustration when the boy piped up again, still behind him.

"She has me too, you know," Samuel said at Tavington's heels. "She doesn't just have you, she has me, too. I'll always be her brother, even if Papa disowns her."

"Wonderful," William said flatly, not bothering to turn or even stop. Samuel did not notice that Tavington's voice was dripping sarcasm.

"And she has Margaret and Susan, and William," the boy continued. They were almost at the broad stairs now, with Samuel bobbing along behind Tavington. "And Nathan now too, I think. Though I'm not sure why Nate has warmed to Beth. Maybe it's because of Aunt Charlotte," this was said in a broken voice and Tavington scowled impatiently, thinking the boy would start blubbering right there in the hall.

How frustrating it was - he had been saddled with Beth's entire family. Well, almost her entire family.

She was meant to be his - completely and utterly. They'd both thought she'd never see her family again. He had assumed he would be her only anchor, her provider, her everything, and the idea had pleased him greatly. He'd imagined that Beth would cling tightly to him for she would have no one else in the world, as he'd thought her siblings would agree with their father, that they would side with him and shun her.

However, it certainly was not shaping up to be that way at all. Her sisters and her brothers, even Nathan, seemed to love her and accept her as one of them, even after marrying a British Officer.

It galled.

The sooner they left Fresh Water Plantation, the better. Only, wasn't the house his now? The entire Plantation. Clinton had said that if Martin proved to be a traitor, the property would be seized, and given to Beth's husband. William was Beth's husband. The realisation stunned him, he'd almost forgotten until now. He glanced around the hall, shocked. This was his now, the entire lot.

Perhaps it would be better to stay, for now. He needed a stronghold and Fresh Water was situated to perfection, it was close to Pembroke and to the other outlying villages. Burwell had already begun the fortifications, it would be simplicity itself to build on them. Besides, he had wounded soldiers to tend and a few of them would surely die if he tried to move them. Also, there was a storm on the horizon, the air was charged with the feel of it. Ominous dark clouds fill the sky, blocking the moon and stars, causing the night to become pitch black. When it hit, it was sure to be to be with force. Even if it passed quickly, with the rain fall he was expecting, the ground would become a muddy mire, the swamplands dangerous and the rivers too high to cross. For all of those reasons, he thought, this was the place to stay.

Still, he'd be a fool to leave. There was time to decide yet, it's not as though he was going to leave before morning. Unless Bordon failed and Benjamin Martin hadn't been caught - unless the attack was still to take place… That would be reason to leave.

He would know soon.

Tavington's face darkened again. Bloody Bordon… Rutting that damned whore… That one act may well have lost him his quarry! He strove to calm himself - he would know soon enough. Hopefully Bordon would return before the rain began. In the mean time, Tavington brooded over what to do with Beth's siblings. If he stayed at Fresh Water - which was his now to claim, if he wished it - what would he do with his wife's brothers and sisters?

Send them to…

Where?

Who did they have left?

What other family did they have, that Tavington could off load them on to? All they had was Beth.

Like a hammer blow between the eyes, realisation stuck him hard, the dreadful thought stopping him in his tracks, with one foot on the first carpeted step leading to the second landing. He stopped so suddenly that Samuel - who was still dogging his heels - smacked into him from behind.

Beth was all they had left. His wife, was all they had in the world. Even after Clinton confirmed the place to be William's, he doubted he would be able kick the children out. Oh, of course he _could_, it would be his and he could do as he wished. But he loved Beth, he wanted them both to be happy, and he knew damned well that if he tried, she would give him utter fits over it, especially after he'd promised to do his utmost to make her happy. Damned promises, still coming back to haunt him!

Damn and blast it.

Would that mean that he now be responsible for them? He was Beth's husband, after all.

Shit.

Beth would not allow him to abandon her siblings - especially the younger ones. With Martin in a prison camp, and their two aunts homeless - there was only Beth to care for them - Beth, and Tavington.

Damn and blast it.

The thought infuriated him so keenly that he almost wished - for the briefest moment - that Bordon failed in his task of capturing Benjamin Martin, so that the children would still have a custodian that he could ship them off to. He was so aggrieved by the notion of suddenly having to care for five bloody children, that it took a moment to realise he was not alone on the stairs. Abigail was just coming down, she was holding a candle aloft in one hand, she was descending as he was climbing.

"Colonel," she greeted him politely. "Mrs. Tavington is in your chamber, Mila has helped her out of her day dress and she is ready for bed."

"How did you manage that?" William asked, he was so astonished that all his other woes were momentarily forgotten. He'd thought Beth would hold to her word, and had been steeling himself for the dreadful task of dragging her, kicking and screaming if he had to, from her sister's chamber.

"I spoke with her, Sir," Abigail replied quietly. "I explained that as she is your wife, her place is with with you, whether she is angry with you or not."

"I see," he gazed at Abigail with new found respect. Beth was certainly not the easiest woman to reason with and if Abigail could do it then she was deserving of his admiration.

"Why's Beth angry with you?" Samuel asked, stepping around Tavington's body to climb the stairs and draw level with him. William saw the worry in the boy's expression.

"Why do you think, boy?" Tavington ground out. "I told you, I have to do something to appease her - hence the damned cot and warm blankets for your father."

"Oh, she's angry because you're going after my Papa," he said, looking quite dejected.

"Yes, she is."

"But you had to do it," Samuel said, startling William.

"You see that, do you?"

"Yes. My father… He attacked Tarleton's men when they were asleep in their blankets. And he attacked yours when they had no idea he was there. And yet, when he found out you were coming here, he fled even though he had lots of men and you didn't have much more. It would have been a fairer fight than the other two, but he ran from it and he abandoned us. Is he…" Samuel looked down, unable to meet Tavington's eyes as he whispered, "is papa a coward?

William was stock still, stunned by the question. His eyes flickered to Abigail, who stared wide eyed back at them both. "I do not believe your father is a coward, Samuel," Tavington said finally. "He came to Burwell's aid earlier this morning, throwing himself into the thick of a battle. That takes courage. He knows when to choose his battles; I would imagine that when he left here, he did so to protect you. You're right, we would have been evenly matched, therefore there likely would have been a battle right here in your front yard. He would not have wanted his children to be hurt, or for you to see him shot dead right before your eyes. He fled to protect his children, and his men, and to fight another day. He probably thought I wouldn't stay long, that he would be able to circle around and come back and get you, when he had more time on his side."

"You're being nice about him," Samuel looked even more confused now. "Even though he attacked when those men didn't know it was coming and were eating their food. They couldn't defend themselves."

"He exploited a weakness."

"Would you have done that?"

"I prefer to fight in the field, battle lines drawn, enemy forces facing one another. A gentleman's battle. However, I am not above the other sort. Ambushes. Attacking unsuspecting forces in the dead of night. Bordon is on his way to do precisely that. I serve the Crown, Samuel. I am sworn to the King and I will do what is necessary, use any tactic, to do my duty."

Samuel stared at him, as if considering his words, weighing them, trying to understand them. "For the Crown," he repeated. "Because you are sworn to the King. You do it because you are loyal, because you believe in your country and you believe that us trying to separate from it is wrong. But papa… Papa only started doing it because George Howard was hung, and his sons were taken. He only did it for revenge."

"Revenge…" William breathed.

"Because his loved ones were getting hurt. Captured. Killed. But people have been getting hurt and killed all over, yet he only joins now, when his own family is targeted. Maybe he's not a coward," Samuel said, looking crestfallen. "But he is a hypocrite."

"Samuel -"

"And a monster," Samuel said, eyes brimming tears.

"Samuel!" Abigail gasped, but William held up one hand, quieting her.

"You name your father a monster?" He asked, shocked.

"I was there," Samuel admitted. "It was… me. After we left Drakespar, I found my papa and I warned him that Gabe and Tommy had been taken. I didn't know that papa would do those things, or that he'd make me… I didn't know, I swear. I just thought he needed to know, because they're his sons. And then suddenly we were galloping off to find your men and the ambush was set and… I saw your men, they were just eating. Laughing. One of them hit Thomas and he shouldn't have, but he didn't deserve for his head to be caved in! That's what my papa did. With his tomahawk, he was running around them, he ran through them and I saw it - the flat of his blade sinking into this one man's skull, and then another and another," Samuel shuddered. "I heard Gordon shout for Quarter but it was ignored and then papa finally stopped, the gunfire finally stopped and the smoke cleared and there was papa, covered in blood. There was so much blood, all over his face and his clothes and dripping from his tomahawk. None of it was his. Not a single drop!" Samuel drew a gasping breath, Tavington felt like doing the same. "There's so many dead. And the ones that are fighting for their lives, they might not make it," Samuel said in a hushed voice.

"Samuel…" Tavington stared down at him in horror. _Dear Lord, this is the man I'm up against. Better he is captured, he needs to be in chains._ "Samuel," he said softly. "Go upstairs to bed, lad. Go get some sleep."

"But… aren't you going to arrest me?" the boy asked, looking up at Tavington though tear filled eyes. "I… I committed treason. Are you going to capture me?"

Tavington placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Not tonight, lad," he shook his head. "Likely not at all. Here, go with Abigail," he said, handing the distraught lad over to his former nurse. To her, he said softly, "a bit of brandy, I think."

"I'll look after him," Abigail said, wrapping her arm around Samuel's shoulder.

* * *

Still reeling from what he'd been told, William stepped into his bed chamber. All though flew from his head as his eyes landed on Beth. She had her back to the door, standing a silent vigil at the window. She had not heard him enter and he took the quiet moment to gaze at her. Her hair had been combed until it shone, it hung freely in sleek golden waves that spilled well past her shoulders, the tips reaching just past the swell of her bottom. His heart began to pound when he saw what she was wearing - a sheer white robe made of silk. The gown covered her completely, from her shoulders to her feet, but it was so sheer and it clung to her in such away that her every curve was accentuated. Abigail, it seemed, had gone to some efforts for Beth's wedding night, but where she had managed to get a negligee the quality of this one, he had no idea.

Oblivious to her husband's presence, Beth stared intently into the darkness, waiting for the first signs of the Green Dragoons return - with or without her father. Tavington saw that her arms were folded over her chest, her body was rigid beneath the sheer gown. Despite the 'talk' Abigail had had with Beth, it was clear his wife was still furious. The quarrel that had begun earlier in the alcove outside the kitchen would continue now. Bordon would be returning soon, which would be yet another interruption. The newly married couple were not to have the usual bed chamber activities.

This was proving to be a fairly poor wedding night.

With a sullen sigh, he clicked the door shut and stepped deeper into the room. Hearing the door close alerted Beth to his presence and she whirled, her hair whipping about her small frame. She was about to challenge him - he could see it in her stance, in the set of her jaw, in her dark brown eyes flashing in the candlelight. Even though she was clearly furious, Tavington could not help but to admire her. His eyes almost popped from their sockets when she lowered her arms to her sides, the frontal view of her in that negligee was revealed to him. He only had a moment to admire the drape of the silk robe over her bosom before she started in on him.

"Making plans on where to secure my father, hmm?" She snapped and he arched an eyebrow, wondering how she had known. "In an outhouse, like a… A…" she fumed as she searched for the correct word.

"Like a prisoner?" He supplied helpfully in a lazy tone.

"Like a rat!" She fired back, indignant. "He is to be treated like vermin - in his own house!"

_It's my house now. Our house. _He was not stupid enough to say this out loud though.

"I've gone to every effort to make his stay comfortable," he argued.

"Oh, have you?" She said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "How wonderful - I suppose I should thank you? What efforts did you go to, pray tell?"

"He has a cot, a comfortable mattress, a feather pillow and blankets and other luxuries," William explained in a bland, unchallenging voice. That soft, smooth tone made his next words all the more terrible and cutting, "which is far more considerate than I should be toward man who has just murdered twenty of my men in a display of brutality I've never before witnessed."

His flatly spoken words stopped Beth in her tracks more effectively than if he'd shouted them. He saw her falter, saw her uncertainty.

"Or do you think that I should have let the murderer walk away unchallenged?" William asked with an arched brow. "Just let him go on his merry way, after smashing in their heads with his tomahawk - because he is your father? And I suppose I should have allowed him his freedom, even though he planned to attack me here, tonight?"

As though to emphasise his words, thunder struck from above, the force of it shaking the house and a moment later, lightening flashed, bathing them both in a flare of brilliant white light. The Heaven's opened, and the torrential rain that had been threatening finally fell, slashing across the windows.

"He was coming here to attack?" Beth asked softly in a small voice.

"That was the information I was given, yes," William explained. "Understanding that I have a limited number to protect my position without a hope of reinforcements for God knows how long, Colonel Martin called in the muster. Taylor reported that Colonel Martin expected to have more than four hundred answer his call - they were to be here by midnight, with fire arrows to set the house alight. I suppose he was not anticipating this rain. And who is to say they will not still come, whether or not Bordon captures your father?"

Beth was stunned and she sat heavily to the edge of the bed. William remained where he was, towering over her with his back ramrod straight and one arm hooked behind him, his head held high.

"He would not burn his own home, William," Beth shook her head, clearly disbelieving.

"It seems that, in a time of war, your father will do what he feels he must," William countered. "Much like myself. His intention was to wait until my men were asleep, the same as the night he attacked Tarleton's force, or have you forgotten that he killed seventy of Banastre's men also, while you were having your tantrum this evening?"

"I wasn't having a tantrum," Beth muttered.

"You could have fooled me," William snapped, allowing some of his irritation to show. He drew a ragged breath, trying to keep his fury at bay as he continued to divulge Beth of her father's plans.

"Perhaps if you'd told me this earlier, I might have been more understanding," she shot back.

"Very well, perhaps I should have. I will tell you now. Colonel Martin intended to set fire to the roof shingles of the house and outhouses and cabins. When we began pouring out, at that time, Colonel Martin and his force of four or five hundred would begin to fire into my men, killing as many as they could, until I shouted for surrender."

Beth stared at William in horror, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

"Just so," William nodded sharply, pleased with her reaction. "Colonel Martin intended to let his house burn to route me from it - knowing I needed it as a safe haven for my wounded - the very men he butchered today. He anticipated that with my numbers so greatly reduced, I would have entered negotiations for my surrender. Forced diplomacy…" William stepped forward and caressed Beth's cheek with the tips of his fingers. "How many more of my men do you think he would have killed tonight, do you think?" He asked her, causing her to recoil from his touch. "How many more of my men have to die at Colonel Martin's hands before I take action against him? Do you still believe I should allow him to go his way, because he is your father?"

"I hardly know what to think now," she whispered. Taking pity on her, he lowered himself to the bed, perching beside her.

"His terms were simple - my complete surrender and the return of Mrs. Selton and all of his children - including you," he held her eyes until she lowered hers. "Now, it is standard practice to take Officers captive. Can you honestly imagine your father letting me go free, if he'd caught me? The Commandant of the British Legion..?"

"No, he wouldn't have," Beth admitted.

"So. More of men would have died, my Officers - and myself - taken prisoner. You managed to wrangle a promise from me, securing your father's safety if he should fall into my hands. Did you secure such a promise from your father for my safety, should I fall into his?"

"You know I have not," she answered sharply.

"I will not allow my men to continue to die by that man's hands Beth, just because he is your father," Tavington said in a voice which would made it clear he would brook no further nonsense. "The promise you wrangled from me protects him, but he has proven he is a dangerous Commander, a rallying force who can rouse the countryside and turn farmers into a pack of wolves. He is a deadly foe, one I can not allow to roam free. As such, he will be escorted to the city, to spend the remainder of this war in custody. I will write to Cornwallis, asking that he uphold my promise and I am certain that your father will be treated gently, which is far more than he deserves."

"Will he uphold that promise, Sir?" Came a voice from the doorway and Tavington lurched up from the bed to confront Nathan who had opened the door silently and had listened to the entire conversation.

"What the Devil are you doing in here!" William bellowed and Samuel cowered back, and in doing so, he revealed that he was not alone. Samuel stood behind Nathan and he cowered back from the Colonel's outrage also.

"We wanted to make sure you weren't going to hit our sister," Nathan challenged, despite his fear.

"What I do with my wife is no business of yours," William fired back, furious at the intrusion.

"How much did you hear?" Beth asked calmly as though she were not surprised at all to see her brothers spying on them.

"From Colonel Tavington's claim that he's made Papa nice and comfortable in a room outside," Nathan replied in a disbelieving tone that made William blister with fury.

"It's true," Samuel said to Nathan. "I saw it - there's blankets and food and water and a chamber pot. He's not going to be sleeping on the hard floor like a rat…"

Nathan shrugged as though Samuel's words meant nothing to him.

"Will Cornwallis uphold that promise, Sir?" He asked Tavington, repeating Samuel's question.

"The two of you will get out of this room, right now, and if either of you even think of eavesdropping on my wife and I again, I'll tan your hides with the flat of my sword!" He raged and the two beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door behind them in their haste to be away from the enraged Colonel.

"Was that really necessary?" Beth asked with an arched eyebrow. "You scared them half to death!"

"Is this what I am to expect?" He ignored her accusation as he railed at Beth, who still sat calmly on the bed. "Your bloody brothers and sisters bursting into our room every five minutes? Dogging my heels, following me about like lost puppys!"

"Who followed you?" She frowned.

"That one - Samuel! Every time I turn around he's right behind me - I'll trample over the little bas-"

"If you finish that sentence, Colonel William Tavington - I'll kick you!" Beth flared as she jumped to her feet. William wisely snapped his mouth shut. "These are uncertain times for all of us, William. I know you are frustrated with my family but I will not suffer you insulting my brothers. Now. If you are willing - we shall discuss this like reasonable adults!"

"What shall we discuss first - their intrusion?" He ground out. "Is this what we can expect - that they'll barge in on us whenever we are alone? What about the times when we need our privacy most?"

Beth's face flamed crimson in embarrassment, imagining her siblings barging in when she and William were making love in their chamber.

"So - we'll lock the door," she shrugged with more nonchalance than she felt. Tavington blew out a very sullen breath. "Lord, William - you have brothers and sisters too - surely you know what they're like?"

"My brothers and sisters would never dare burst into the bed chamber I share with my wife!" He was outraged by the very idea. "Good Lord - your siblings are like untamed beasts!"

"Are you quite finished?" She folded her arms across her chest again and glared up at him. Tavington turned his back on her and strode toward the window, standing vigil where she herself had stood earlier. She continued, "I won't suffer you insulting my family, William. And certainly not at such a difficult time as this. A little understanding from you would go a long way, you know."

He scoffed as he stared out into the night.

"Your brother told me he was there," he said, not turning to look at her.

"There, where?" She asked.

"At the ambush - Samuel. He described it in horrifying details. I hope you're not going to continue to plead for your father, Beth. It's about time you opened your eyes to him - the man is a Goddamned monster." Suddenly, he tensed, for from his vantage, even through the sheet of rain he could see flashes of yellow moving in the woods beyond the fields. The many flares of light were getting closer - Martin's men would not announce themselves so openly, if it was them. Which could only mean one thing - the Green Dragoons had returned.

"What is it?" Beth had seen his tension and came to stand beside him. Seeing the glow from many lanterns, her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes were fixed on the approaching column and she gripped the window sill hard as though she needed the support, in case her legs gave way. Bordon was returning - but it was as yet unclear if her father would be with him. Beth fervently hoped he was not, while Tavington hoped the opposite. He did not want to punish Bordon for his failure but if the Major returned empty handed, he would do exactly that. Screwing Charlotte Selton when he was supposed to be on his way to collect a rebel - what had the man been thinking? With these thoughts weighing heavily on him, he turned from the window and strode for the door.

With his hand on the door knob, he turned back in time to see Beth settling her night robe around her shoulders tying the belt to hold the robe in place.

"You're not coming," he said shortly. Before she could respond, he threw open the door. "Jesus Christ!" He snapped as Samuel and Nathan fell away from the door, landing in a heap on the carpeted floor. The two boys stared up at him in chagrin at having been caught eavesdropping. Again. They cowered back from his obvious rage.

"I'm coming," Beth stated with steel behind him. He turned his glare on her but she did not back down as her brothers had.

"The hell you are," he snapped back. "You'll stay right here - all of you will."

"He said he doesn't want you to speak to Papa," Samuel was rising and dusting himself off. By now the commotion had been heard in the room next door and Margaret and Susan opened the door a crack to peer into the hallway.

"Is that right?" Beth tapped her foot and folded her arms across her chest - the question was for Samuel but she fixed Tavington with an eagle eye.

"He said he is worried because Papa is going to disown you and he knows he knows papa will only say hurtful words that will make you sad," Samuel continued. Beth's lips parted in surprise and her face softened, she lowered her arms to her sides.

"It is true," William said softly, cupping her face with his large hands. "And it is why you, and your siblings, will wait here for my return. I am trying to protect you, Beth. I am commanding you to remain here, and you will obey me in this. Am I clear?"

She did not know whether to bristle in outrage at being commanded, or to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him for his concern.

"You can't protect me from this, William," she told him softly, watching his face carefully. "I have been preparing myself for this ever since you and I married. I will face him, whether it is done now or some distant time in the future. You can't stop this."

"The hell I can't," he said just as softly, but with mettle. "You will stay here."

He held her eyes, his pale blue orbs piercing her, demanding subservience. She said nothing and he took her silence for assent. The heavy sound of the Dragoons approaching came to them from outside, growing louder by the moment. With one last glare, silently demanding her obedience, he pulled his hands back from her and strode away down the hall.

Margaret and Susan slowly emerged from the room, to join the others in the hallway.

"What if father's been caught?" Margaret asked worriedly.

"Then he's been caught," Beth sighed heavily. "I hope not, but if he has, then he has."

"Tavington said he'll send papa to the city and he'll write to Cornwallis requesting papa not be harmed," Samuel told Margaret quietly. "If Papa's been caught, I'd say he'll be out of this war until the end now."

"But who knows if Cornwallis will uphold that promise?" Nathan asked fretfully.

"Aunt Charlotte said men die in those prison camps…" Margaret ventured, looking and sounding quite afraid.

"As if Aunt Charlotte cares," Nathan curled his lip, then he conceded, "but she's right. Men die in those camps."

"At least he'll be safe for now," Samuel said, then his expression darkened. "And so will Tavington's men."

Beth threw Samuel a concerned look, but her brother would not meet her eyes.

"We don't even know if they've caught him, yet," Beth pointed out. "William's efforts to make the storage house made comfortable will hopefully have been for nothing."

"Do you think they have?" Nathan asked. "Or do you think Papa got away?"

"There's only one way to find out," Beth said in grim determination, and she began to stride down the hallway.

"Beth!" Nathan hissed. "Colonel Tavington will be furious if you go down there."

"It's about time for Colonel Tavington to discover that I will not obey his every whim," Beth said in that same determined tone. And then she admitted sheepishly, "even if I did vow to do exactly that when I married him."

This earned a quiet chuckle from Samuel, but Nathan, Margaret and Susan were still wide eyed with worry as they turned to follow Beth. Each and every one of them stopped dead when they saw Charlotte was standing in the half open door way. She had been listening to their conversation. She looked hagged - tired, exhausted, grief stricken. And in agony. Beth could see that her Aunt was in pain as the older woman moved back and closed the door, slowly, as if every movement caused her pain. The siblings exchanged glances but none made a move to go to her, to comfort or reassure her.

"She was strapped," Margaret said quietly as she took hold of Susan's hand. The group began to walk to the stair well. Further down the hallway, their father's door opened a crack and little William peered through. When he saw his brothers and sisters, he slipped out to join them. In bare feet, all of them continued toward the stairs along the carpeted floor .

"Oh, Jesus," Beth moaned as she took William's hand. "Was she really? Did William command it?"

"Yes," Margaret admitted. "For treason. Cornet Brownlow told me - I saw him just a little while ago. He apologised to me, because he was the one who had to hold her down. He said that Captain Gordon, who was in charge of the escort Papa attacked today, is real sore at Papa -"

"Why is he sore at Papa?" Nathan frowned.

"Because he attacked Gordon's escort," Margaret replied. "And because many of the men under his command died. And he wanted to take it out on Aunt Charlotte, but Brownlow wouldn't let him."

They began to climb down the stairs.

"Oh, that was good of Brownlow," Beth said, feeling conflicted and torn. "I don't know how to feel about it," she confessed quietly to her siblings. "Abigail says that now that I am William's wife, not only am I meant to obey him as I've sworn to do, but I am supposed to adopt his belief's and support his actions. But how the Devil am I meant to do that? When he is imprisoning Papa and having Aunt Charlotte strapped?"

"You chose to marry him," Nathan said. Beth had made her bed and she just had to deal with it. "If it's any consolation, as far as I'm concerned, Aunt Charlotte deserved it. Even if she was trying to buy time for Josiah to get away, she enjoyed herself far too much - "

"Please, Nathan, not in front of Susan and William," Beth said, not wishing to discuss such things with her younger siblings present.

They were now striding through the foyer toward the front door of the house, but there were too many Dragoons milling about and Beth grew concerned that they would be told to go away, and so she guided the group to the dining hall - intending to leave through one of its doors, though it would mean seeing the place they had witnessed Charlotte engaging in her infidelity with Bordon. None of them spoke a word of this as they entered the dining hall. Abigail was waiting there with Old Lucas, and neither of them seemed to know what to do with themselves. Beth had no more notion than they.

"Where are they?" She asked Old Lucas without preamble. "Is father with them?"

"They are just outside," he said and then Beth realised she could hear the commotion they were making just outside the door. "I don't know if your father is with them as yet."

"We'll wait here and find out," Beth said, glancing at her siblings for their opinion. They all nodded and in silent agreement, they went to stand with their staff at the far wall, in the hope that they would not be seen and sent away before learning their father's fate.

Beth kept her eyes fixed on the hallway door, waiting anxiously. Even over the torrential rain she could hear the Dragoons outside, she could hear the horses and much talking but none were coming inside the house. Their delay - the not knowing if her father had been captured - was hell on her nerves.

Samuel - though he loved his father - had been quite unnerved to learn just what he was capable of. The sight of his father moving among the Redcoats, laying waste all around him with his tomahawk, the sickening sounds as they died, the dead soldiers faces, it made him feel sick to his stomach. Samuel was reluctant to face his father, although he did remain in the huddle with his siblings.

"He'll disown me," Beth whispered. She was only vaguely aware of Samuel's woes, so caught up in her own troubles. "He'll be so mad. Maybe William was right - I don't think I'm ready to face Papa."

"Then you never will be," Nathan replied wisely. "Best to get it over and done, Beth."

"Besides, he might not be here - " the front door was shoved open so hard that it crashed against the wall and rebounded, the noise cut Samuel off mid sentence. The children held their breath, Beth felt a wave of nausea flood through her and she had to gulp back the bile in her throat. When Tavington marched along the corridor and into the dining hall, Beth's heart sunk, for she knew right away that he had caught her father. It was clear he was exultant. There was no other way to describe the Colonel's face - the broad smile and delight in his eyes. He was exultant - until he saw Beth standing at the other end of the room, surrounded by her brothers and sisters. His exultation fled, shifting to fury.

"I told you to stay upstairs, Goddamn it!" He snapped at her, just as Bordon and Dalton lugged Benjamin Martin into the room, all of them dripping water onto the hard wood floor and rugs. All of them were soaking wet, the deluge of rain was now a deluge dripping from their heavy coats to puddle on the floor around the boots. Though impressive, Tavington's fury became a distant thing to Beth, as her eyes met her father's across the heavy table. Benjamin stared right back at her, not saying a damned word and she swallowed hard, waiting for his explosion.

Before her father could confront her, Susan broke the tableau.

"Papa!" The little girl screamed. Dropping Margaret's hand, she raced across the floor, skirted around the large oak table and threw herself up into her father's arms. Bordon and Dalton released his arms, but remained at his side in case of mischief. Tavington was approaching Beth, his face dark and thunderous. Beth held her father's gaze, even as he fussed over and greeted Susan. Benjamin was drenched through - and the little girl's night robe was quickly soaked from being in his embrace but she did not seem to care a bit. Samuel and Beth hung back, while Nathan, William and Margaret approached Benjamin a little more slowly - more careful of Tavington's temper than Susan had been. They cast him uncertain glances across the table as they edged toward Benjamin, but the Colonel's glare was solely for Beth.

"Barely twelve hours we've been married for! And already you disobey me? Have you already forgotten the vows we took today?" He ground out and Beth spared him a quick glance. "You will obey me - as you have sworn to do! The oaths you gave me were not empty words, Beth! "

"I just needed -" She began, but her father cut her off.

"They were just empty words, Butcher," he said. Tavington slowly shifted his baleful glare toward his father in law. Setting Susan on her feet, Benjamin ushered Nathan and William out of the way to get a better view of Tavington. He had never seen the Officer before now but he already despised him deeply. Squaring his shoulders, he confronted the Colonel, "this supposed wedding of yours. It held no more weight than two children playing at weddings and the oaths you spoke were every bit as empty. Having your Major preside over the ceremony was a farce. Beth has ruined herself with you, and I will never find her a husband now. But I will be clear, here and now - she is not your wife and nor will she ever be."

Tavington stiffened. Of all the reactions he'd been expecting from an angered father, this was not one of them. To have their marriage denied so utterly was a complete shock. Before he could frame a reply, Beth spoke up in a trembling voice.

"You know?" She whispered brokenly, pressing her hands to her stomach as though she might vomit. Benjamin shifted his disgusted gaze to her.

"That you laid with him in a bed chamber above Higgins' shop, before you played out that farce in the church? Yes, Beth, I certainly do," Benjamin said cruelly, then he continued and his voice dripped sarcasm, "when Reverend Oliver told me, I could not have been more proud of you."

His derision seared her and beyond her ability to control it, Beth's vision closed to dark pinpoints and her knees buckled.

"Jesus!" Tavington raced forward, closing the distance quickly to grab Beth before she hit the floor. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he guided her carefully until she was laying across his lap. With Beth against his chest, he sat right there on the floor, trying to rouse her by tapping her cheek gently with his fingers. Margaret dashed forward to help, as did Abigail - both knelt at Beth's side, both fussing in an attempt to rouse her.

"Was that really necessary?" Tavington rounded on Benjamin. For the briefest moment, shame flared across Benjamin's face, shame and chagrin, but it was stifled quickly. Tavington had seen it, however, and he sensed the father regretted saying those awful words to Beth. Pressing that advantage, Tavington continued scathingly, "it's gratifying to know just how much you cherish your children, when you can cause your own daughter to faint! Your reputation _does not_ proceed you," he scoffed, before glancing down at Beth again, who was still out cold.

"My reputation?" Benjamin asked, taking the bait Tavington had just laid.

"I'm told you're an excellent father," William explained. "But after this, I find that very difficult to believe."

"After what my daughter did today, even the most indulgent and loving father would find himself hard pressed," Benjamin shot back. Thomas was being ushered in, he was lugged in between Brownlow and Dixon. Though the dining hall was large, it was becoming quite crowded with so many Dragoons entering to fill the space. Thomas was shoved forward to stand near his father.

"God, Beth!" He took a step forward but Brownlow seized his arm and held him back. Thomas stared down at his sister. "What is wrong with Beth?" He frowned at his older sister who was laying across the Butcher's lap.

"Papa was horrible to her and he made her faint," Samuel said and Benjamin arched an eyebrow, startled by his son. Clearly, Samuel had not recovered from his upset from earlier. The boy still would not look at him, he crouched down beside Tavington instead, his concern entirely for Beth. "Why isn't she waking?"

"Give her time, boy," William replied, resuming his attempt to rouse Beth by tapping her face again.

Benjamin frowned at the scene before him. Samuel, unlike the other younger children, had not come forward to greet him. And now he was kneeling beside Tavington and hovering over Beth with concern. The latter was understandable, the girl was his sister and the children had always been closely knit, but Samuel had barely looked at Benjamin, had kept his eyes cast to the floor and not acknowledged his presence at all. Except to accuse him of being horrible to Beth, and even that he been done indirectly. He knew the boy was disturbed over the events that had happened earlier in the day, but he'd expected Samuel to come around somewhat by now. Whatever the case, Benjamin could not deal with it right now. He had too much on his plate as it was - worry over Gabriel, worry over Charlotte - why hadn't she come to meet him with the children? Then there was the confrontation he was about to have with Tavington and the decision he still, as yet, had to make. Gazing down at his daughter, he wondered if he could bring himself to do it - to disown her. Was it possible? She lay prone, fainted dead away because of his chastisement and he wanted to rush to her, to take her into his arms - she had fainted, for Christ's sake! And she was not rousing! Why wasn't she rousing?

"Abigail," he commanded abruptly. "Would you please get some smelling salts? Or something else - to help her wake?"

"Ahhh, _now_ he plays the concerned father," William snapped as Abigail rushed away. "Better late than never."

"Plays?" Benjamin bristled. "I am her father, Butcher. It is you who is playing. Let us be clear - you are not married. Not in the eyes of God, and not in the eyes of this woman's father," he pointed at Beth. "This marriage? - it was not lawfully done and I shall be seeking legal redress. I will work to have you separated. Until then, every night you spend in Beth's bed I declare it to be rape and I promise you, you will pay for each time you take her."

"Rape!" This snapped Tavington's attention. "She is my wife, Martin!"

"By whose authority?" Benjamin asked crisply. He shot Bordon a disgusted glance. "Major Bordon's? Is he this girl's father? Is he a Revered? No. No legal or religious entity has invested him with the authority to bind people in Holy matrimony."

Tavington appeared to be grinding his teeth. Then:

"Major Bordon does indeed have the authority, he trained to become a clergyman before deciding to purchase his commission into the army, instead. He is qualified to perform marriage ceremonies, and he did so with the authority of God and of His Majesty King George!" He growled. It was a damned good thing Beth was still out cold, William did not want her to hear this. Benjamin laughed, more amused than he thought he could possibly be, considering the circumstances.

"Our Lord Above will smite Bordon down, for claiming such a thing," Benjamin spat. "A Clergyman, who is flaunts his mistress all over the city? He's no Clergyman, even if he did study it for a bit. What'd you give it up for, aye? You got bored?" Benjamin asked Bordon, who blushed. "My arse does he have the authority of a Clergyman. And King George's authority? Told Bordon himself, did he? That he could perform wedding ceremonies. I highly doubt it. Ridiculous notion. But let us entertain it, for just a moment. The good King George!" Benjamin gave a derisive chortle. "As you are aware I no longer acknowledge the _Crown's_ rule. Therefore, even if Your King did invest Bordon thus - which we both know he did not - I would still not recognise your marriage ceremony as legally done. Your wedding was a farce and you know it. You are not my daughter's husband."

"This is madness, father," Margaret shot over her shoulder impatiently. "I know you're angry. I know Beth should not have married without your permission. But she said her vows, she… consummated… the union… She is not the first woman to elope. Whether you like it or not, she is married!"

Benjamin's mouth fell open in utter shock, to have his daughter speak to him like this. His Maggie, who'd never spoken out of turn in her entire life. And Samuel, also speaking against him. Had the world gone utterly mad?

Abigail returned with a small bottle and William snatched it from her fingers, then shoved the tip into his mouth to bite off the cap. He began waving it under Beth's nose and all the while, Benjamin stared at Margaret in complete astonishment. Margaret began to shift uncomfortably under her father's stare, wishing all the while she'd kept her mouth closed. But she could not - her sister had been unable to defend herself and she had felt compelled to speak for her. "She loves him, Papa," Margaret said then, softly, with less challenge. "The question is not whether or not she is married to Colonel Tavington, because she is. They said the words, before witnesses, and that's all that matters. The question is, do you love her enough to forgive her? Or will you really disown her for falling in love with a man you disapprove of?"

"It's not that simple," Benjamin ground out.

"It is that simple," Margaret shot back. "Do you love her, or don't you?"

Benjamin tightened his lips, wanting nothing more than to bellow at Margaret for being so damned ridiculous. But Beth was beginning to rouse, her eyelids fluttering. He stared down at her, trying to decide. Ridiculous or not, Margaret's words rang in his ears. He took in the scene again, staring at each of his children in turn. He noted how tense they were as they waited for his answer. For the first time, he realised that the decision would not depend solely on whether or not she renounced her marriage to Tavington. It was whether or not he wished to alienate the rest of his children.

_Will they let me disown her? _He wondered, as he met the grave and solemn gaze of each one of them.

As the head of the house, he could command what he wished but he had always been careful to consider them when making decisions, he always took their feelings into consideration. If he tried to disown her - would the youngsters protest? Clearly they would, given Margaret's outburst. Margaret, seeing that her father would not answer her, shifted her gaze back to Beth.

"What happened?" Beth whispered softly, staring up at William in confusion. He held her across his legs on the floor, his concerned face hovering over hers. Abigail fussed nearby as did Margaret and Samuel and it took her a few moments to realise what had happened. Embarrassment flooded through her, making her face blaze crimson - she'd never fainted before! She was not certain how long she'd been out for. Long enough for Thomas to have been dragged into the dining hall by the Dragoons.

Tavington tapped her cheeks with his fingers, trying to rouse her more fully from her daze.

"Are you all right?" He asked gently and she gave him a slow nod. Her body felt limp in his hold - it would take a while before the lethargy caused from her fainting spell left her. "You stupid girl," he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "I tried to spare you this." She nodded again, acknowledging that perhaps he'd been correct after all.

"Well?" Benjamin demanded finally. The children had moved in front of her in such away that Beth was hidden from his view. He had no idea how she fared. "How is my daughter?"

"_My wife_ is perfectly fine," Tavington snapped, glaring past Margaret at Benjamin. Holding the father's stare, he continued, "clearly Beth will be unable to discuss this with you without it distressing her, and I will not allow you to upset her further. If you wish to discuss this, you will do so with me, not with her," his stare was unrelenting and Benjamin understood that if Tavington willed it, Benjamin would be allowed no further contact with Beth.

"William…" Beth admonished softly and tried to push herself up but he held her in place securely.

"Take them both to the out house," the Colonel commanded Bordon, speaking of both Benjamin and Thomas. "And have an extra cot bought in for the boy."

The other prisoners had already been escorted to one of the other small cottages, which had been emptied upon their arrival. Only Thomas had been allowed to accompany his father

"Wait!" Nathan cried out as his father and brother were shoved toward the door "We haven't talked about Aunt Charlotte. Papa needs to be told!"

He glanced at his brothers and sisters for support, but they all dropped their gazes to the floor and became deadly silent - even Beth averted her gaze, unwilling to speak of it. Benjamin stopped dead. When Dalton took hold of his arm to pull him along, he jerked back, releasing himself from the Ensign's grip.

"What about Charlotte?" He asked his too silent children. "Well?" He snapped, his fear for Charlotte fraying his nerves. "What's happened to your Aunt Charlotte? Where is she?! Jesus, Tavington, if you've hurt a hair on her head, a thousand Dragoons will not stop me killing you!"


	68. Chapter 68 - Charlotte's Ending

**7 July: **

Chapter 68 - Charlotte Ending:

"It's not Tavington's fault, what she did," Samuel said.

"What do you mean? What the Devil has happened?" Benjamin asked when none of his children would meet his gaze. "Where is she?"

"Nathan?" Margaret called softly, prompting her brother to tell the story.

"I'm not telling him!" Nathan whispered furiously.

"You bought it up, you do it!" Samuel was outraged that Nathan would back down now.

"Do what?" Benjamin snapped. "Would someone please tell me what has happened to your Aunt! Is she alright? Has she been harmed?" That was his greatest fear and he glared at Tavington, still assuming that whatever had befallen Charlotte was sure to be the Colonel's fault. Tavington stared back, his eyes icy cold and with a small sneer curling his lips. Benjamin wanted to go for the Officer's throat.

"Abigail?" Margaret beseeched but the nursemaid clutched her skirts in tight fists and shook her head - she could not do it either.

"Someone better start speaking, right now, or there'll be hell to pay," Benjamin threatened. He had no idea how he could rain hell upon his children to make them talk, being the prisoner he was, but his unease was growing by the moment and he found he wanted to shake sense into all of them - and hopefully shake their tongues loose at the same time.

"Abigail?" Beth repeated Margaret's plea and this time the nursemaid not only shook her head, but she took a full step back to flatten herself against the wall.

"I think it should be you, Beth," Benjamin snapped. Beth turned to face him and she swallowed hard, seeing the fury on her father's face. "You're the one who bought that bastard here and if he's done anything to hurt Charlotte, I swear, it'll take a lot more than his seventy bloody Dragoons to keep me from throttling him!"

"Easy, Martin," Tavington growled - not for the threat to his person, but because of the tone Benjamin was using with Beth. "Or I'll have you removed from the house now. You are still here only by my sufferance."

"Well, then, perhaps you should start talking, Butcher," Benjamin took a step forward but Dalton seized his arm hard, preventing him from advancing on the Colonel.

"It'd be my profound pleasure," Tavington barked a laugh. Oh, dear Christ, wouldn't it? He'd love to be the one to do it, but Beth threw him such a glare over her shoulder and he snapped his mouth shut and tried to stifle his amusement.

"Will you clear the room?" She asked him and her voice was almost back to its usual tartness. As weak as she was, her eyes flashed and, again, he decided it would be prudent to appease her for now. With a nod at the other Dragoons, they all began to file out. They needed to take up defensive positions around the plantation to look out for signs of Benjamin Martin's militia, if they decided to come here without him. They were not needed here - there would be guard enough on Martin. Only Brownlow remained - Dalton closed the door and took up position in the hallway. Benjamin held himself rigid, breathing deep slow breath after deep slow breath, striving to remain calm.

"What happened was not William's doing, father," Beth began.

"Then what was it?" Benjamin ground out. He lost his patience when Beth paused to draw a fortifying breath. "Tell me, Goddamn you! I swear, if Tavington has laid a hand on her -" He began to threaten, causing Brownlow to tense, ready to haul him back.

"Oh, for the Lord's sake - she was unfaithful!" Beth cried, stopping her father his tracks. "She was unfaithful to you with another man!"

Benjamin gaped at her, his mouth falling open in shock. Thomas did also, every bit as astonished as his father.

"That's not possible," the youth said. "She loves Papa. She wouldn't be unfaithful!"

"No, she wouldn't," Benjamin said, finally finding his voice. "She would not be unfaithful."

"I'm sorry, Papa, I know this is painful to hear. If it helps, she did not mean for it to happen," Beth said and Benjamin's face darkened.

"Where is she?" He tossed his head to show he was tired of speaking of it with Beth. "I want to hear of this from her!"

"Abigail - would you go and ask Aunt Charlotte to come down?" Beth asked. "And please take Susan and William with you - I don't think the little ones should hear this."

Abigail nodded - relieved to have an excuse to leave. She gathered up the two youths and, after shooting a sympathetic glance at Benjamin, she left the chamber.

"Do you want me to continue, or do you want to wait for Aunt Charlotte?" Beth asked her father.

"I'll wait," he said curtly and silence descended. "I will take only her word, spoken from her own lips."

Benjamin was staring implacably at the door, willing it to open, willing for Charlotte to appear and explain everything. To set it all to rights. She could not have been unfaithful - it was not something she would ever do. It was rumours, all of it - rumours, lies, and it was Tavington's doing - Benjamin knew that too, despite Beth's denials. The girl was an innocent, and far more stupid than he'd ever imagined her to be. Perhaps he did not know his daughter at all? Perhaps she was not as much like her mother as he'd thought, for he'd certainly imagined her to have more brains than she had shown that day! Marrying the Butcher. Believing his lies. How could she possibly believe such filth about her Aunt?

The door opened and Charlotte, clutching her robe around her body, stepped into the dining hall. Her face was drawn, her cheeks blotchy and red, she'd been weeping - her eyes were still red and moist as though she'd only just stopped. She moved slowly and winced as if her body pained her. Her lips quivered when her eyes fell on his. Instead of rushing to embrace him, she stood at the door, breathing heavily as she stared at him across the table.

As soon as he met her eyes, he knew. There was pain those blue depths, and fear, but above all else, there was guilt. Regret. What Beth had told him was not a rumour of Tavington's creation - it was true - all of it was true.

"Why?" He whispered this question but she heard him despite the pounding rain almost drowning him out. Her face blanched at the raw pain she heard in his voice. No one else existed for him, just her. "Why?" He asked her again in that same wretched voice. "I don't understand… Did you not want to marry me? Was I asking too much, too soon? Charlotte - Jesus..!"

"Oh, Ben!" Charlotte cried out, her tears spilling again. She stumbled around the table to stand before him, then she dropped to her knees and grabbed his hands. For several moments she could not speak, she could only sob convulsively as she knelt in supplication. Benjamin stared down at her, wide eyed and numb.

"Why?" He asked again.

"I - I…" She stuttered. "I-I was t-trying to p-protect you." The words spilled from her in a broken torrent. She started from the beginning, while he listened in a stupefied daze. The others were gravely silent throughout though Nathan was listening with a sharpness that made it clear that if the full truth was not revealed, he would tell it. By the time she was finished, Benjamin had a good understanding of what had happened - that she had eavesdropped on Tavington, sent Josiah to warn Benjamin, then delayed Bordon as much as she could, and it was this that had gotten severely out of control.

"Ben," she whispered, drawing his attention to her. So far he had been staring blindly out the darkened window at the rain lashing the glass pane. Now he stared down at her where she still knelt on her knees before him. "Ben, I love you. I do want us to marry. I only did what I did to protect you - to win time for Josiah. I never meant for it to go so far. I swear I didn't! I thought I'd have to kiss him perhaps - that you would see the necessity and perhaps even find it amusing. I thought that you would forgive me that!"

"I would have forgiven you that," he released one of her hands which were still clutching his, and reached out to gently stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She leaned into his touch. "I could have forgiven you that. But the rest?" He shook his head.

Her face was twisted with anguish and grief, guilt and loss, and fear that she was about to lose him.

"I'm so sorry," she rasped out. "So, so sorry. I wish I could take it back. I wish -"

"I would rather have been captured. I'd rather have been hanged, than have you whore yourself to prevent either," he told her honestly and her face blanched. But it was true, he'd rather be hung, than for her to have screwed another man. "You should have known that," he said, his own voice imploring her to understand. "Surely you know me well enough to have known that? To kiss him - yes, I could forgive it. And yes, I would have seen the funny side. But to continue when he pressed you for more?"

"Ben, please forgive me!" She wailed, shuffling closer and pressing her cheek hard against his stomach. He held her there, with one hand pressed to her back and the other wound through her strawberry blonde hair. Could he forgive her? She had only done it to protect him. She should have known better, but done was done. There was no taking it back. Could he forgive her, could he view what she had done as her sacrificing herself for him? Benjamin shook his head, he did not know what to think, how to feel, or if he could forgive or not.

"He did not force you, you allowed him to take his enjoyment with you! Lord - you should have refused him and taken your chances that Josiah had had enough time by then. But to continue on, to do more than kiss him just to protect me… " Unable to finish, Benjamin closed his eyes as the pain of it shot through him. What had she been thinking, going to those lengths? To actually bed another man?

"Beth!" Nathan hissed and Benjamin glanced up to see his son scowling at Beth, jutting his chin toward Charlotte and Benjamin as though coaxing Beth to step in and say more. Beth shook her head, refusing Nathan's request.

"Nate?" Benjamin prompted while stroking Charlotte's hair. "Do you have something to add?"

"Yes, Sir!" His son steeled his spine, so outraged that his earlier reticence was forgotten. "Aunt Charlotte was very selective with what she just told you! She's led you to think that she bedded Bordon only to protect you!"

Charlotte stiffened, going rigid beneath his fingers.

"Was there another reason, son?" He asked Nathan softly.

"Yes! It's because she enjoyed it too much to stop it!" Nathan accused hotly.

"I find that very difficult to believe, boy," Benjamin frowned at the youth. "And it's unworthy of you, to suggest it. I do not know how to feel about this but I know one thing is for certain, your Aunt sacrificed yourself for me and -"

"Sacrificed herself!" Nathan spat, glaring at the back of Charlotte's head. "That might have been how it started out, but it's not how it ended up! Hell, ask Mrs. Ambrose she saw everything! She tells you nothing of her standing there while Bordon was on his knees underneath her skirts! Did she push him away? No, she stood there and let him pleasure her! Was she merely buying time for Josiah? No father, Josiah was far from her thoughts by then. _You_ were far from her thoughts. Mrs. Ambrose saw it. When Bordon got to his feet, to couple with her, she wrapped her legs around his waist and moaned like a bitch in heat!"

Benjamin opened his mouth sharply, ready to blister the boy where he stood. The things he was saying! Lord, Nathan would be lucky not to come away with nothing but a raw backside! Only, Benjamin's eyes fell to Charlotte, who was not denying a single god forsaken word. With two fingers beneath her chin, he tilted her face upward to meet his gaze.

"Charlotte?" He asked her in an iron voice.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Benjamin recoiled. He released her abruptly and took several sharp steps back from her. His movement away from her was so sudden that she toppled forward and had to place her hand to the floor to steady herself. And there she stayed, staring at the floor while Benjamin stared at her, aghast at what he'd been told.

"Is that true?" Thomas whispered, addressing the room at large. "Is it?"

"Is she denying it?" Beth asked softly. Thomas face was ashen. "We saw the end of it, Margaret and I. It happened just out there there, in the alcove outside the kitchen." She pointed - if it was daylight, they would be able to see the spot from there.

"Jesus - they did it right there!" Benjamin exploded, fury firing through him.

"Yes," Beth murmured, glancing down at Charlotte with pity, for the woman was now huddled in on herself, on the floor, rocking back and forth with her knees clutched to her breast.

"Jesus Christ," Benjamin had to grip the table to support himself. His knuckles were white on the hard oak, the tips of his fingers digging into the wood. "I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"She may not have expected to do those things with him, but she certainly was not in any distress when Beth and I saw her!" Maggie wailed, overcome as the vision of seeing Bordon and her Aunt seared her. "That only came when we caught her at it."

Benjamin stared stricken at Margaret, who was far too young to have witnessed such a thing.

Maggie hung her head, tears tracing her cheeks. "I'll never forget it, it was awful," she whispered and Benjamin's heart gave a lurch. He held his hands out to her and she ran to him, threw herself against his sodden chest. "She was pressed up against the corner Papa - and her legs were wrapped around his waist!"

"Agh, Christ, my sweet thing," he whispered, his heart aching with as much pain that his fourteen year old daughter had seen the sight, as from the betrayal itself. Benjamin was staring at Charlotte over Margaret's shoulder, his face filled with horror and fury. Clearly she'd enjoyed her jaunt with the British Officer very much if she was not denying it.

"I do not know what you will decide about Aunt Charlotte," Beth said gently. "But I believe her when she says she did not mean for it to happen. I believe her that it got out of control."

Charlotte was listening quietly, but she had her face buried in her knees, unwilling to lift her head even now that Beth had spoken for her. Holding Margaret in one arm, with his free arm, Benjamin curled his fist and punched the table top, wishing it was Bordon's face he was pummelling.

"She fucked Bordon - and enjoyed every moment! I'd definitely say that was out of fucking control!"

The children gasped - they rarely heard their father curse. Thomas, over come, slumped against a wall and slid down to his rump, then buried his head in his arms. Releasing Margaret, Benjamin strode to Charlotte, he loomed over her, his body thwart with tension. Charlotte looked up finally and was chagrined to see blood on his knuckles, scraped from punching the table. He barely seemed to notice the pain, such was his fury.

"So. He licked you, did he? And to show your appreciation, you let him fuck you good and proper?" He confronted her.

Charlotte recoiled, her eyes wide with shock. Margaret wished she could cover her ears, disturbed as she was by his coarse speech.

"If I'd known you would not be able to comport yourself better than this, I would have had Abigail take Maggie away also!" Beth snapped.

The rebuke cut him to the bone, causing him to take a good long look at his conduct. He never lost control like this - he felt anger, certainly, but he always strove for calm, he never let his fury dominate him. He felt ashamed that he had surrendered to it now. Taking Margaret in his arms again, he wrapped her close.

"Your sister is right. I'm sorry. There'll be no more cursing," he promised her.

"I'm not angry, Papa," she assured him, though it was clear that she was relieved the angry speech had stopped.

"You might not be, but I certainly am," Beth said, voice hot as she pulled away from Tavington. "You laughed! I heard you, William. None of this is even remotely amusing. My family is not a circus, we are not here for your entertainment. I won't have it, William!"

"Darling," he leaned in to whisper something in Beth's ear, trying to cajole her and soothe her temper but Beth shrugged him off again.

Benjamin did not have it in him to join their argument, though he could think of at least ten ways that he could prod Beth, he knew he could provoke her into a further fury which could very well cause her to storm away from Tavington, hopefully ending them altogether. It was tempting but... He shifted his gaze down to Charlotte, who stared back imploringly.

"Please Ben," she whispered and his world narrowed until only she and he existed. Everyone else faded away as he held her gaze, knowing she wanted forgiveness, knowing he could not give it. Not for this. If she had not enjoyed it, perhaps. But not now. It was shaming, it was heart breaking. He felt his anger drain from him as he stared down at her - she had lost so much in the space of one day, he did feel sorry for her.

Only one other woman he had ever loved as he loved Charlotte. Her late sister, Elizabeth, who was eight years gone from him. Charlotte had filled that void, had given him what no other woman could, had made him fall in love again when he had thought he never would. And now he'd lost her. It was his choice to end their engagement, he knew that. Charlotte was not gone, she was not dead. She was on her knees again, kneeling before him, awaiting his judgement. She was very much alive - and they could be together still, all he had to do was forgive her. It was all down to him, it was his choice. He understood how Burwell had felt, when Reverend Oliver revealed Beth's indiscretion. He understood fully why Burwell had left Beth, why he'd renounced their engagement and fled the village. Benjamin was faced with the exact same scenario, and like Burwell, he knew what he must do.

He approached her slowly, cupped her face with his hands as gently as he would a kitten. Her eyes widened, he saw the hope in those depths, hope he knew he was about to dash. He did not like to be cruel, but it must be done. He loved her but… No, it must be done.

"I am sorry," he told her gently and his heart wrenched when her face fell. "But I can't. Perhaps if you had not gained pleasure from it. You enjoyed it - all of it." She squeezed her eyes shut but still tears leaked from the corners.

"I am sorry, Ben," she said.

"I know you are," he admitted. "But being sorry changes nothing. I'd appreciate it if you left this house. Return to Charlestown. Perhaps Tavington can use his influence to ensure your home there is accessible to you -"

Tavington scoffed and Benjamin threw him a look. Tavington arched an eyebrow. "You won't acknowledge our marriage yet here you are, asking favours?" He said with scorn.

"William!" Beth hissed and Tavington's lips twisted.

Benjamin forced the irritation from his face, he would not allow Tavington to get to him right now. He was speaking to Charlotte, not Tavington. Gently, he said, "you must leave here. I would rather you be as far from my children as possible. You've hurt them as much as you have me."

He lifted his gaze to meet Margaret's eyes. She, Nathan and Samuel all stood beside Beth, all watching gravely. Nathan's eyes burning with anger and disgust, Samuel's eyes filled with sadness. And then there was Beth - the splitting image of her mother. He held her gaze for several long moments and she stared back, her argument with Tavington forgotten. Finally, he straightened.

"Come Thomas," he said, edging around Charlotte and heading for the door. He strode with dignity, with pride, as if it was his own idea to go to his cell - not Tavington's order - and the Dragoons that would fall in behind him in the corridor - they were his escort, not his captors. He came abreast of his children and he held his hand out to Nathan, who clasped it in return, giving it a firm shake. He released Nathan's hand, then offered the same to Samuel. The boy stared down at his father's hand, looking conflicted. Benjamin said nothing, even as Samuel took a step backward, keeping his hands firmly at his sides. And then Margaret was throwing herself into his arms. He held her tight and kissed her brow. By the time he released her, Samuel was even further away and his back was turned. Beth was still standing before him, however, drawing deep breaths, staring at him with unblinking eyes. He stared back until she lowered her eyes to the floor. Her jaw was working and her eyes were moist. Disturbingly, she moved closer to Tavington, unconsciously seeking reassurance from the man she loved, the man she herself had chosen to call husband. She was nervous, because several weeks earlier, when Benjamin had first learned of her dalliance with Tavington, he had turned his back on her and completely cut her out. He'd given her no attention, no affection, no respect. No love.

And she was terrified that he was about to do it, all over again. And she was instinctively seeking Tavington's comfort. That, Benjamin decided, would not do. Not at all.

She was his daughter, she always would be. He knew the comfort had to come from him, Tavington be damned.

"Gods, Beth," he sighed. "You'll be the death of me." He cupped her face with with gentle fingers and she glanced up at him in astonishment. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tavington reach out, his hand poised in the air, on the verge of curling his fingers around Beth's arm to jerk her back. Possessive sort. Gods, she really could have chosen better than Tavington. The Colonel must have thought better of it, for he stepped back and held himself ramrod straight with an air of tense disapproval. Benjamin ignored the Butcher - Beth was all that mattered now. Her brown eyes - her mother's eyes - met his and he smiled back. It was actually a relief. Shunning her, disowning her, cutting her out of his life entirely, it would have broken his heart as much as it would hers.

"I've already lost one love today," he said, not looking back at Charlotte, who was weeping softly behind him. "I'm not up to losing two."

"Papa," she whispered and he could feel a world of agony and relief in that single word.

"That's what I am," he said, looking past her at Tavington, eyes piercing. "And I always will be." Ignoring her shock, he leaned forward and kissed her brow. This caused Tavington to shift restlessly, and Benjamin could almost feel the enemy Officer's fury. "We'll discuss it tomorrow, when I am more able," Benjamin told her gently, ignoring Tavington's scowl. Benjamin knew damned well that he would see none of his children unless Tavington allowed it, but he sensed that Beth would fight for it. It seemed that she had a way of getting what she wanted from the Butcher.

"Yes, Papa," she whispered back and he released her. Beckoning Thomas, the two walked out of the dining hall.

Tavington nodded at Brownlow and Dalton, indicating that they were to take the first shift.

Beth's hands were shaking - she could barely believe it. He still loved her. They would discuss it tomorrow, but she no longer had to fear it. Joy bloomed in her chest, she shared a tremulous smile with Margaret, who looked as relieved as Beth felt.

Then her eyes fell on Charlotte, who was still on her knees, unmoving. Her father had lost one loved one today. So had Charlotte. Knowing how awful that felt, Beth approached her Aunt and took hold of her arm. Margaret joined her, and the two women pulled the third to her feet then helped her from the dining hall.

* * *

A sudden and massive explosion shook the entire house and Tavington jerked awake. His heart pounding, he made to sit up but hesitated, for Beth lay on her side, her head on his chest, soft snores indicating she was still fast asleep. When the bolt of lightening flashed brilliant white light around the room, he finally relaxed. The soldier in him had been concerned that the blast had not come from thunder but from a cannon - Martin's men were still out there, the militia forming and he feared the would still attack, even without their leader. However, the house was not under attack, it was just the storm. Another peel blasted overhead and this time, the ear splitting noise was so close, it caused Beth to jerk awake. Taking fright as he had, she turned in the circle of his arms to share a concerned gaze.

"Just thunder," he said. "Loud. Close. But thunder all the same."

"Oh. It was awfully close," she said in a voice thick with sleep. The two candles that William had left burning on the bedside table were not enough to do more than cast his wife in very dim relief. Another explosion peeled above them and the entire house shuddered again, the windows shaking in their casements.

"Jesus, it'd take a sturdy house to withstand this storm. I hope it's strong enough," he said, only half joking. Surely the force of the storm was not enough to bring the shingles down on their heads.

"Of course it is, my father built it," Beth said. Completely unconcerned by the storm outside, she turned over and pushed her rump into his front, wiggling to get comfortable, with her head pillowed on his arm. William twisted his lips - he'd never built so much as a foot stool, let alone an entire house! And Beth sounded so proud of her father for having done so. He wondered if perhaps he should turn his hand to wood making…

"A barracks," he said as he settled down beside her again. "The Legion will need a barracks when it gets here if we're going to suffer these storms."

"You're going to turn this entire property into a fort, aren't you?" She accused over her shoulder.

"Just as soon as the rest of the Legion arrives," he agreed. He'd get his men - and both Charlotte Selton's and Benjamin Martin's field workers - started on the project immediately. After the rains stopped, anyway. "I need a stronghold and your property is situated to perfection."

"Just how long do you think we'll stay here?" She frowned.

"As long as there is an uprising - and an accompanying army - here in South Carolina, that is how long I will be here also."

"Good Lord, that could be months!" Beth cringed as she imagined what such a long stay - of such a large force - would do to the Plantation's resources.

"Hence the barracks," William relied, amused.

"And whose to feed your men? I truly don't think we've enough stores to support all of them!"

"If your Plantation does not yield what we need, then we'll forage from nearby farms and the woods," he explained to reassure her.

"Oh," she could no find any argument there, and so she closed her eyes, ready to sleep again. Only, William's free hand was on her hip and his fingers began to caress lazy circles along her skin over her silk shift, raising goosebumps. She could feel his erection pressed against her backside, and it was growing harder by the moment. The caresses were a prelude to coupling, she understood.

"Hmm," Tavington kissed the top of her head and rocked her in his arms. "The sun will rise soon, but this is still our wedding night."

"As if you need a reason," she smiled and his heart gave an odd lurch. He loved this woman deeply, it astounded him sometimes, just how much. At times like these, it swelled up inside him, leaving him breathless. He tightened his hold on her, crushing her back against his chest.

"God, I love you," he whispered into her hair. "I can't tell you how much…"

Beth smiled and melted against him. "There's no need. When you say it like that, I know exactly how much," she replied happily.

Tavington ran his hands up and down her arms over the sheer silk sleeves, as he gazed down at her in the sparse light. She rolled onto her back for him and he leaned in to kiss her gently, a slow, deep kiss, the same as he'd been giving her all evening during their wedding feast. It was a special kiss - one he'd only just discovered now that he was married - a kiss reserved only for the woman he loved - his wife. Beth sighed and wrapped her arms over his shoulders.

"It occurs to me," he murmured. "That I've never seen you naked, my little wife. I think this must be rectified immediately." She hadn't been entirely naked when they coupled in that room back in Pembroke. And this evening, after securing Martin and his son in the outhouse, Tavington and the Dragoons had worked on securing the property in case of attack from Martin's men. By the time he'd gone to bed, Beth had already been asleep, stirring only slightly when he pulled her in to his arms, setting in beside her. They hadn't bedded one another, had not had a proper wedding night.

Beth laughed. "I suppose that's true."

"I hope you're not going to be modest?" He arched an eyebrow, for her laugh had sounded nervous to his ears. A slow blush bloomed across her cheeks and Tavington rolled his eyes, though he was vastly amused. "I see that you are…"

Despite her nerves, he ran his hands down from her arms to her hips, and began bunching the sleek garment in his fingers, drawing it up her legs slowly. She helped him by lifting her hips and sitting up slightly as the shift climbed ever higher along her body.

"A massage, I think," he said as the hem cleared her waist. By now, he was kneeling beside her, while she remained reclined before him.

"A massage?" She asked.

"Hmm, hmm. It's been quite a stressful time for you, I'm sure you could use a nice, long massage," the shift was now revealing her beautiful breasts and William's breath caught to see them. While the garment was blinding her as it was pulled over her shoulders, he sat back to take a nice, long look at his wife's body. What he saw made his mouth go dry. His wife was beautiful - in every possible way. Her youthful breasts were firm and high, and in his opinion, they were the perfect size. Her nipples - a lovely dusky pink, he longed to take them in his mouth and suckle them. Just below, her curves began, her waist was slim and her stomach rounded to perfection. He even loved the button there, the dip in the centre of her belly. Her skin was smooth and pale there, not a blemish to be seen, except for a few endearing freckles. Her curves arced outward from her waist, her hips forming her womanly shape. Her thighs - strong, but feminine in every way, and at the top of them, the dark patch of blonde curls that he longed to run his fingers through.

Her shift cleared her head he pulled it higher and then away from her arms. He stopped his perusal of her then, knowing it would likely make her squirm with discomfit. As it was, as soon as her arms were lowered, she bought them inward to cover her body somewhat, folding them across her chest.

"Uh, uh," he shook his head. "No hiding from me, my love. Turn over, onto your stomach."

"You're really going to give me a massage?" She asked as she turned. Her hair draped to either side of her body, pooling on the bed and revealing her firm half crescents. He would be running his hands over those globes soon, a prospect he anticipated very much.

"I am," he said. Face down, she shuffled slightly to get comfortable, with her head resting on the plump pillows.

"I've never had a massage before," she admitted.

"And I've never given one before," he confided. "But I'm certain I know what to do."

"You haven't?" She lifted up on her arms to glance over her shoulder at him. William was climbing over her by then, he climbed off the bed to light more candles from the flickering flame of another candle. The room brightened a little more with each additional candle. As he worked, she continued, "you're lying. You've been with so many women - you've probably lost count! Not that I'm complaining about that now, I think I'm going to benefit from your experiences."

"That you will, Beth," he said. "But I assure you, I've never given a single one of those women a massage - though I've been on the receiving end of enough of them."

"But… You've been with so many…" She trailed off and he sensed her confusion. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stroked her hair from her face.

"Beth," he said gently. "There's bedding - or screwing, would be a better word. I've screwed many women. And I've learned the art of giving pleasure, but so far it's been with women I've cared nothing for." He reached up to caress her face and his voice softened further, became more earnest. "And then there's the act of making love to one's own wife - the one woman I do love. I assure you, I've never made love to a woman before. You and I will share an intimacy the like of which not even I have known before. You and I will do things that I've never done with any other woman."

A slow, shy smile curved Beth's lips and she lay down to the pillows.

He finished undressing as Beth waited patiently. Then, as naked as the day he was born, he climbed up on to the bed and knelt beside her. Gathering up her wealth of hair, he twisted it gently, then laid the twist on the pillow. This bared her back and shoulders to him.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked her as he began running his hands on her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh gently.

"Hmm," she smiled in contentment. "I am. What if I fall asleep?" She already felt heavy lidded, she hadn't had a full night sleep and it had been a very strenuous day. She feared she would not be able to keep her eyes open, but she knew he wanted to couple.

"Then you'll have a lovely sleep, won't you?" he said, unconcerned. His cock stood straight up from his body - seeing her full nudity had caused him to stand to attention, but he knew she was exhausted and they had the rest of their lives to couple. He would not be demanding.

His fingers continued to knead her shoulders, his thumb moving in circles, drawing the tension from her muscles. He went slowly and took great enjoyment from her contented sighs and deep breathing. As he worked her shoulders, he allowed his gaze to linger on her naked body, the dips and planes of her back, the curves of her waist, the rise of her buttocks, and the dip between her thighs. With the tips of his fingers, he drifted down with a feather light caress, across her shoulder blades and down her spine, causing goosebumps along her skin. He decided that would be the way of it, he would alternate between kneading her muscles and caressing her skin softly, for she clearly enjoyed both.

She moved her arms beneath her pillow to hug it loosely and when he glanced at her, he saw her lips were quirked in a small smile. Drifting back up, he caressed the tops of her arms, leaning over her body in order to reach her far arm. He'd told her he would be intimate with her, and for him, this could not have been more so. Beth was mellow beneath his fingers, enjoying every moment of her massage and William was more than happy to continue on. He felt he could do this for the rest of the night, where as in every other instance - when he had a naked woman beneath him - his only thought was to be buried to the hilt inside of her, trusting away - in her mouth or quim, he didn't care which. But now, while he was aroused to aching point, he felt no real urgency, no need to rush toward that end. He was making love to his wife - and he began to realise that this was what it was all about.

His fingers moved inward along her arms, meeting at her shoulder blades. They caressed outward again, to her sides, stroking the sides of her breasts, the part of her flesh that was not trapped beneath her. Inward again he moved, down her spine, to squeeze the half crescents of her buttocks gently.

"Hmm," came the satisfied moan from his wife, causing him to smile down at the top of her head. Dipping further down, he slipped his fingers between her thighs, guiding her to shift her leg up along the bed. With her thighs parted, he continued caressing her skin, down her legs, over the underside of her knees, down her calves to her feet. Beth sighed and shot him a smile over his shoulder.

"Oh, you like your feet tickled do you?" he smirked as his fingers drifted over the pads of her toes and her heels.

"Who doesn't?" She sighed. His fingers drifted up her legs again, higher, to her thighs. He brushed the sensitive skin at the tops of her thighs, the flesh that curved inward toward her quim. Beth sighed again, a far more deeply and satisfied than before. He lingered there for a short while, caressing her flesh and not quite touching her quim. Eventually, he did - he decided she needed a little more sensation and so he gently slid one finger inside of her, while the fingers of his other hand moulded and kneaded her buttocks.

"Mnnmmn," Beth moaned. He glanced down at her and saw her eyes were squeezed shut, her smile was gone, her lips parted as she writhed slowly in time with his finger. After a while of this sweet torture, he pulled his finger out of her moist cave and continued his massage.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, with his hands exploring her body, sometimes dipping inside her, other times caressing her back and legs, or massaging her shoulders and the fleshy globes of her backside. Ten minutes, perhaps? Fifteen?

"Turn over, my little wife," he whispered against her ear. Beth slowly turned, her body languid and relaxed as she'd never known it to be before. When she was comfortably relined against the pillows, he kissed her lips, and then continued his massage. Over her front, he kneaded her breasts, his fingers lingering on her dusky nipples. Those peaks became stiff and hard. With one palm resting on the flat of her stomach, he leaned down again, this time to take one peak into his mouth and suckle. His tongue twirled around it, teasing it, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. Beth lay back, her eyes closed, her arms up beneath her pillow.

Straightening above her, he let his hand wander her breasts, kneading and caressing, while the fingers of his other circled her belly button. Beth's breath was quickening, short bursts puffing from between parted lips. Her chest rose high and fell, her hips writhed slowly. The pleasure he was drawing from her caused her full body to be in motion - she could not lay still to save herself. Tweaking her nipple gently, he allowed his other hand to slide lower, down the concave of her belly and up over her pelvis, lower until he was gently caressing through the rough dark blonde curls. Beth did not open her eyes even then, though he saw her gnawing at her lip as she writhed beneath his hand.

"William…" she whispered. A plea? He wondered. Or merely a whisper to join the intimate moment? His fingers dipped lower, the pads of four fingers a mere whisper over her folds. Such a light caress but still, Beth caught and held her breath, she spread her legs wider for him. His palm caressed her folds while one finger slipped inside her. She was far wetter than before and the knowledge made him groan out loud. Hearing him, Beth opened her eyes and watched him staring at her vulva. His finger was slick with her cream when he slid it out. He slipped in again, this time with two fingers and Beth arched her back, crying out softly. He pumped slowly, two times, three, then pulled out again to glide his now moist fingers up her lips, inside them, to the hard nub of flesh hidden within her folds.

He was kneeling beside her, well within her reach. Moving one arm out from beneath the pillows, she slid her hand in the gap beneath his arm and above his thigh, to wrap her fingers around his long phallus. She began stroking him, and he smiled down at her, before returning his attention to his fingers on her clitorus. His left hand still kneaded her breasts gently, tweaking the nipple of one breast before rubbing across her chest to need her other. But his attention was on his finger stroking her clitorus. He parted her lips, stroked inside, stroked along the edges, outward to her thighs, back in - stroking, stroking until she thought she might scream. She was no longer writhing slowly - now her entire body was in movement, her pelvis rolling up against his fingers then down and up again, her back arching, pushing her chest up in his hand, and all the while, she stroked his cock, his fingers tracing him lightly from the base, up the shaft, the ridge to circle his corona.

It was then that Tavington, who had been staring at her privates avidly, leaned in to taste her. For the first time ever, his placed his mouth on her sex. With a wild gasp, Beth sat up to watch him for a few long moments, before dropping against the pillows to enjoy it. His tongue explored her, tasted her, caused more cream to drip from her entrance. Stiffing his tongue to a point, he circled her clit as he had done with his fingers and Beth began to buck and writhe wildly. Her fingers around his cock tightened and he edged his body around to her, shortening her reach and making it easier for her. Seed was leaking from the purpled, engorged head and she spread it around his shaft without shame. All the while he was bucking in her hand, he licked and suckled her, revelling in her sweet taste and smell. He slid two fingers inside her, as deeply as he could, to his knuckles. Pumping them in and out of her, he twitched the tips of his fingers when was buried deep.

She was panting small noises. Moans, whispers, breathy sounds that stirred him deep inside. Her body writhed, languid and slow, then bucking fast as the pleasure heightened.

"William..." She gripped his cock hard and he knew she was close. "Oh, dear heart!" this was said with her back arched off the mattress - her breasts pushed high into the air, her head tipped back, baring her throat as she wailed. He felt it, her body convulsing - her stomach twitching, her velvety walls rippling around his fingers, her clit became so engorged, he continued to feast and lick her wildly. She collapsed to the mattress only to rise up again, her back arched, her body twitching again, her legs moving restlessly across the sheets. One more time she did this and it astounded William - he'd never experienced it's like before. He had caused her to climax not once, but three times in only a few minutes.

Finally Beth collapsed in a languid heap to the bed. William slipped his finger out of her and as he kissed his way up her stomach, his fingers moved from inside her, along her moist lips, back up to her clit. He massaged her gently as she calmed from her intense experience. His palm was still cupping her when he straightened to gaze down at his beautiful wife. The smile she gave him then was one he'd never seen before - not on her, nor on any other woman. But he was one he desperate to see it on her again. It was a smile of satiation, a languid, warm, relaxed, loving, trusting smile, of pure, unadulterated contentment.

"Wow," she whispered and this one little interjection summed up everything they were both feeling, to perfection. William laughed at her, even as he moved her thighs apart and settled between her legs.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," he smirked.

"That was…" She searched for a better word but simply could not. "Wow."

"Indeed," he propped himself up above her, one palm on either side of her head, and leaned down to kiss her.

"Don't you want me to do all that to you, dear heart?" She asked as he began to slide his phallus inside her.

"I couldn't hold on that long," he admitted breathily. "Not after that. I've never known anything more intimate, my darling wife. Nor more erotic. Pleasuring you that way has bought me to the edge. Christ," he grunted as he slid between her lips, the shivers shooting along the ridges of his corona as her velvet cave closed around him. He took her slowly, for their earlier coupling that day had been rough and hard. But eventually he was buried to the hilt, his pelvis mashed to hers, his helmet butting her cervix. And there he held himself, for his cock was twitching, and his balls constricting, and he was already on the verge of climax. He grit his teeth and held it back, his eyes squeezed tight as he strained to hold back the torrent.

Her fingers stroked his brow and face, and still he held on, fighting his orgasm back. Finally, when he felt he could move without spilling his seed so soon, he opened his eyes and leaned down to kiss her. Only then did he begin to move, a slow, languid glide, his slick phallus pulling all the way out of her before diving slowly back in.

Being so close to the edge, he could not maintain that torture for long. Eventually, he was kissing her harshly, clumsily, as he pumped his hips wildly, his cock plunging deep. Beth's hands wound around his hips and her fingers clutched his tight backside as she writhed with him, meeting his thrusts, panting in his mouth.

_Christ - she'll come again. Christ! _It amazed him how lusty his wife was, this woman who had been a virgin earlier that afternoon. And yet she met him stroke for stroke, welcomed him with ever fibre of her being. It overwhelmed him and with a grunt, he reached blindly above them to grip the headboard so tight his knuckles turned white. The headboard hit the wall, drumming a loud beat, but he didn't care - he didn't even notice. Beth arched her back, she rolled her hips, she gasped and clutched at him, their sweat slick bodies slipping against one another.

She drew in a sharp breath and held it, and her walls rippled around his phallus - her stomach twitched and writhed as her orgasm shook her.

"Agh, Beth, yes! God, I love you!" The words ripped from him, he gasped them loudly as his cock constricted and he came - great spurts shooting deep inside her. She continued to writhe and gasp, the two thrusting through their climax. And then he collapsed on top of her, his sweat slick body covering hers, both breathing heavily as the ecstasy ebbed away.

"Wow," he whispering in her ear, teasing her, and Beth began to laugh. William collapsed beside her and pulled her into his arms. "Now this is how we should be spending our nights together," he said as she rested her head on his chest. "Making love before falling back to sleep."

"Hmm, sleep. That's just what I need now after that wonderful massage - I can barely keep my eyes open," she snuggled closer despite the mugginess in the room. The Summer heat and the storm made the room almost unbearably hot and Tavington's body radiated even more heat. Beth thought he would be wonderful to lay with in Winter - but not in the middle of summer. Still, she would not pull away - being in the circle of his arms was worth the discomfort of being too hot. As his fingers began stroking through her sweat slicked hair, Beth closed her eyes and within moments, she began to drift.

William - as sated as Beth, and every bit as exhausted - also began to slide back into a deep sleep, no longer perturbed by the thunderous crashes above.


	69. Chapter 69 - Languishing in the Outhouse

Chapter 69 - Languishing in the Outhouse:

_8th July 1780_

With his arms folded across his chest, Benjamin stood vigil at one of the windows. Boards had been nailed to the outside, to ensure he couldn't escape, but while the gaps were not large enough for him to stick his head between, they were certainly large enough to see through. Having built the house himself, he knew that - from his vantage - there should have been a tall oak in view only a few yards from where he stood, but the rain was so heavy he could not see it. He could barely see a yard into that torrent. He could see one of the many guards who stood sentry on the outside of the outhouse. If he had been able to open the window, he could reach out and grab the Dragoon by the the neck, but to what purpose? He'd likely have his hand sliced off at the wrist by the Dragoons sabre.

"He's not leaving anything to chance, is he Papa?" Thomas asked. The boy was sitting on the extra cot. A short time earlier, he had stood vigil at the same spot his father now occupied, but having seen that there was a Dragoon placed at each window, he knew that escape was hopeless and - seeing that the view gave him no more than the Dragoon and a heavy curtain of rain - he gave up his vigil and flopped onto the mattress on his belly.

"No," Benjamin barked a bitter laugh. He continued scornfully, "it seems my 'son in law' doesn't trust me very far."

"And so he shouldn't," Thomas snorted. "I dare say he would be expecting you to try and slip away, even in this torrent."

"And he would have been quite correct, if it weren't for the children. Christ, how could this happen? I turn my back for a moment and my entire family falls into the Butcher's hands. All except Gabriel. We are at Tavington's mercy. If he knew me even one bit, he would know that he needn't have bothered manning each window - I'd not try to leave without the children."

"At least they have Beth," Thomas said, trying for a bright, confident tone. "She won't let anything happen to them."

Benjamin gave a non-committal grunt for answer.

Though he did not say so aloud, he did agree with his son on that score. Benjamin had spent a sleepless night brooding over Charlotte's dalliance until he thought he might go mad. Added to his troubles was that his children were now in the hands of his enemy, a man reputed to be ruthless, ambitious and quite mad. A murderer, Benjamin had been told that Colonel William Tavington was a murderer and now Benjamin's own children were entirely within that murderer's possession. And the only person who could possibly help them, the only person who had one jot of influence over the Butcher that Benjamin knew of, was Ben's own daughter, Beth. At least he didn't have to worry so much about them, not with Beth there to speak for them.

Unfortunately, without that worry to distract him, he was hard pressed to keep Charlotte from crashing through his mind. An image of her rose - of Charlotte's long legs wrapped around Bordon's waist as she bounced up and down on his yard and cried out that the fellow was a stallion with the largest phallus she'd ever seen. She'd enjoyed it and it cut Benjamin to the bone. He hadn't been there but he could picture it in minute, excruciating detail. Bordon under her skirts and her doing nothing to shove him away. He pictured her gripping Bordon's head and pushing his face forward as she bore her quim down on the man's tongue. He needed to stop thinking about it, needed to push the images from assaulting his mind, but he could not.

Standing at the window, Benjamin closed his eyes as a fresh surge of pain washed over him, the heartbreak still raw and bleeding. He doubted it would ever be healed. He'd never have wanted her to whore herself for him, he would have preferred to be caught and thrown into the worst of dungeons. As if her giving herself to Bordon was not bad enough, her feeling pleasure from it was a crushing blow. He wondered if Elizabeth would have enjoyed herself more with another man, a better man than Benjamin. He snapped his eyes open, his heart pounding as he imagined Elizabeth - his beloved late wife - riding Bordon's dick in the alcove outside the kitchen.

_I can't think of her right now. I've asked her to leave, and that is for the best. The children do not trust her. They do, however, trust Beth..._

He would never acknowledge Beth's marriage, he still felt she was foolish in the extreme. But when it came to the welfare of his other children, he trusted Beth absolutely and completely. She was the only one on the Plantation who would risk her life for theirs. He could rely on Charlotte no longer, Beth was all Benjamin had.

"This family is falling apart," Benjamin's voice was grim.

"Everything will be alright, Papa," Thomas said though his voice was less confident now.

"How? Nate says Sammie won't come and see me, because of what we did to those lobsters yesterday," Benjamin finally turned from the window and he fixed Thomas with a steely eye. He understood what was troubling Samuel - the boy was too young to have been through such an ordeal. At twelve years old, he's killed his first man. And he'd seen his father murder a lot more, saw his father covered in the blood of those kills. It had been traumatising for the boy. "He's been sitting at their bedside and listening to the poison they're spewing."

The boy reasoned, "it was his first taste of war. He loves you, and he'll come around. Blood is thicker than water."

"And it was their blood that he saw me covered in, from head to toe," Benjamin said, haunted. "Their mangled bodies. Damned Tavington, bringing the dead here for burial. Another injury that can be laid at the Butcher's feet. He might have cost me my son!"

"Papa, Samuel is twelve years old. He's trying to make sense of it all... He just needs time," Thomas said.

"How much time?" He asked. Then he let out a long sigh, dropped to the side of his cot, and buried his head in his hands.

Nathan had visited earlier, as had Margaret, William and Susan. Beth had not been along yet but Margaret assured Benjamin that the older girl was working on 'her husband', so that she could come and visit also. Benjamin had barely stopped himself from berating Margaret, he despised how easily the children seemed to accept this so called marriage. Every time any of them called that Butcher 'Beth's husband', it set Benjamin's teeth on edge. Next, they'll be calling him 'William'. Or worse, 'brother'.

He hoped that Tavington surrendered to Beth soon and allowed her to visit, Benjamin needed to speak to her quite desperately, to give her instructions regarding the children and the running of the Plantation. As the eldest child in the house, all of it would fall to her.

"What time do you make it?" He asked his son. Who shrugged in reply.

"I'm hungry, so it must be close to lunch time."

"That's no good way to tell what time it is," Benjamin muttered. "You're always bloody hungry."

"If we could see the sun, we'd know better," Thomas replied. At almost midday, it was as dark in the cabin as it would have been coming on to dusk. The storm raged outside and lighting split the sky and thunder shook the house. The rain lashed the window, leaving steady streams running down outside across the pane. Every candle in the outhouse was ablaze, making the chamber seem a little less dreary. At least it wasn't cold - even with the storm, it was high Summer and not even the rain could dampen that.

He heard the side door to the main house open and Benjamin lifted his head, hoping the cabin door would open too and he would see his daughter end. When it did, when she entered, a wave of relief washed over him - finally, he would be able to broach her on the topic of her brothers and sisters and see that their safety was secured. That relief was dashed when a second person began to enter.

Benjamin's expression darkened as Tavington appeared behind her.

_Couldn't let me time alone with her, could he?_ He seethed. _Damned possessive bastard. _The cabin was not large enough for Tavington's personal guards to enter, so the door was left open and Benjamin saw Dalton and Brownlow take up position to either side. If he attacked Tavington, they would enter immediately and stop him. If he tried to run, they would stop him.

Beth had been watching her father all the while, and was now smoothing her skirts nervously with sweaty palms. Benjamin wondered at the cause - hadn't he let her known last night that he was not going to disown her? Tavington stood at her side with his head held high, staring down his nose. That was probably why - Beth would have been less nervous if she'd been allowed to come alone. But with Tavington accompanying her, she was caught between them both. Benjamin did not like the way Tavington was staring down at him - it made him feel like an insect. To even the odds a little, he rose to his feet, which is when he realised that he and the Butcher were of a height. It made him wonder how much else they had in common. He was athletically built, was Tavington, and Benjamin wondered how well he fought with the sabre he carried on his hip. As good as Benjamin, perhaps? The older man hoped so. When it came time to thrash the bastard, Benjamin didn't want it to be easy.

"You wanted to see me Papa?" Beth said, breaking the silence. Her eyes darted between Tavington and Benjamin, as if fearing that no matter what she said, one or the other of them could flare up against her. Benjamin resolved to not be the one to make a fuss - he would be calm, no matter what.

"I did," he replied smoothly, he even smiled down at her. And from the corner of his eye, he saw Tavington stiffen. If the Colonel was going to be nettled over a simple smile, this conversation might actually be fun. Except what he needed to discuss with her was anything but. "Samuel," he said, his smile slipping. "I need you to tell me what's going on."

"Didn't Nate already tell you?" She asked gently, as if she didn't want to repeat words she knew would cause him injury.

"He is visiting the wounded," Benjamin said. "He is confused, Nate said. Upset over the dead Redcoats. But that does not explain why he hasn't come to see me, when the rest of you have."

Beth took a tentative step forward, while Tavington hung back, watching Beth as sharply as a bear with a cub.

"Nate is right, Sammie is confused," Beth explained. "He is trying to make sense of what happened yesterday. Trying to understand how it fits in with everything that you and Reverend Oliver have taught him. Seeing the… carnage… It effected him deeply and... He needs time."

"That's what I said," Thomas said at the exact same time as Benjamin snapped "Goddamn it!"

"Of all the fool things... I won't be here for long enough to see this thing settled between us! How long, Butcher?" He shifted his gaze to Tavington. "How long before I'm sent from here?"

"I will not divulge my plans to you, Mr. Martin," came the soft drawl that Benjamin already despised. The title that Tavington deliberately omitted was not lost on Benjamin - who was every much a Colonel in the Continental Army as Tavington was in the British. He was not merely a 'Mister'. Not anymore. Having his rank deliberately denied him now nettled him far more than he'd thought it might. Taking it as a clumsy attempt to prick him, Benjamin chose to ignore it. He would not be the one who flare up.

"A week, at most," Benjamin said, doing the calculations in his head. Tavington would not have the men to spare as escort until the Legion arrived. And it would be days before they reached here, with this rain. That was why Benjamin had intended to attack Tavington last night, while he was vulnerable, while his Green Dragoons were split three ways.

Trellim! Benjamin thought, exultant. His own man, in charge of one of the Dragoon units. If he was the one to escort Benjamin to the prison camp, Benjamin knew he'd never reach it. Half the men in Trellim's unit were spies - Banksia - hell, even Colin Ferguson and Scott Howard - nephew to Peter Howard! They were all Patriots! Christ, why hadn't he thought of them before? He almost laughed in delight. He tried to keep the exultation from showing, a difficult thing for he was certain that he'd found his way out of this mess. Trellim - if he could arrange it so he was the one to escort Benjamin, would instead help him to escape. It would likely mean an end to their activities in Tavington's Legion, they'd likely have to leave with Benjamin and never return. But it was a small price to pay - there would be other spies the Patriots could rely on. Now, if only he could arrange it so his children were included in his plans. As galvanised as these thoughts made him, he managed to keep his face smooth only with great effort.

"A thought has occurred to you, Martin, and I would know what it is," Tavington said in a low, threatening voice. He'd seen the flare of excitement cross the enemy Colonel's face and he felt a deep seated foreboding.

"Only that there is no one to care for my children," Benjamin lied, thinking fast. He was grateful that he'd already come to his decision concerning Beth and the children, for it gave him the opportunity to divert Tavington's suspicions. Speaking as though the thought had only come to him in some flash of brilliance that very moment, he continued, "but Beth - she is their sister and she would never let them be neglected."

He met Beth's gaze and she came forward until the two stood toe to toe, with her head craned back to meet his eyes.

"I am charging you with their welfare, Beth," Benjamin declared, pinning her with his gaze to ensure she understood he was deadly serious. Trellim might be able to help him and the children win free, but then again, he might not. And it was at least a week between now and then, in any case. An entire week, when any disaster might befall them. "You are their oldest sibling present and not confined. You are their sister. You are their blood."

"You say that as if you think you need to convince me," Beth held up a hand to forestall him. "Papa, I already am looking after them."

"In every possible way, Beth," Benjamin's gaze become piercing. "I want your word that you will care for your family and protect them, with every inch of your being."

"You have my word, Papa," Beth replied softly, earnestly. Finally Benjamin nodded and a breath of relief expelled from him in a rush.

"Did you really think I wouldn't?" Beth frowned, seeing the tension melt from his body.

"No - I knew you would. I didn't think he," he jerked his chin at Tavington. "Would allow it."

Tavington's lip curled slightly, his eyes flashed blue fire. And Benjamin understood then, that the two must have already had words about it. As the Colonel was saying nothing to contradict Beth, it was clear that Beth had conquered her 'husband', in this particular battle.

"And your Aunt?" Benjamin said. "Has she left yet?"

"You can't really have expected her to," Beth arched an eyebrow. "I would not send a dog out in this torrent."

"She has a carriage," Benjamin countered.

"And no where to go," Beth shot back. "Besides, a carriage would be mired down in the mud within two yards, it is of no use to her until the rain stops and the roads dry. She has no where else to go if she leaves. And so I am not forcing her to."

"This is my house -"

"Have you not given me the charge of it? Right now, this very moment, did you not _just put me in charge_?" Beth argued.

"Of the children, yes."

"Of our family," Beth corrected and Benjamin's eyes bulged.

"Damn and blast it," he muttered. Was that a flare of triumph in Tavington's eyes? Benjamin caught a small, smug smile, quickly erased, and he tried to fathom what it meant.

"Besides," Tavington added, directing the words at Beth as if he was discussing the matter with only her. "Who comes and goes from this place is not for you or anyone else to decide. Mrs. Selton has committed treason once, she may do so again. I will not release her to go running to the nearest rebel with information concerning my position."

"You don't want the militia to know how few men you have here, hmm?" Benjamin asked. "How vulnerable your position. Too late, Lobster. They already know."

"Yes, I am aware. However, if your rebels do come, Martin, I am ready," Tavington countered and his expression grew very pleased. "The ammunitions cache at Sacritie Plantation was quite full and not so far away that we could not bring it all back here even in this deluge."

All expression melted from Benjamin's face as he assumed a mask of stone. One of his men - one of those Bordon caught the previous night - had betrayed them. They must have done! For how else could Tavington have learned of the weapons and gunpowder cache not half a mile from Fresh Water?

"With all those guns and powder secured, what, I wonder, will your rebels fight me with? Sticks?" Tavington's expression barely altered but Benjamin felt as though the man were laughing in his face.

_None of them would have betrayed me willingly. _Benjamin's mind raced, he ignored Tavington's triumph. He must have done torture to gain that information! Christ, if the Butcher has raided Sacritie, then he'd have the -

"My sixteen pounder," Tavington said with a small smile quirking his lips. "I was quite pleased to have it back. You truly must be wary of such firepower, Mr. Martin. The inexperienced could lose an arm or a leg. Cannons are not toys..."

Benjamin wanted to smash that horrible smile from the man's lips. He curled his fingers into fists, but he held himself still, relaxed - outwardly at least. Inside, however, he railed and vented. It was a deliberate insult - he'd been working cannons since he was seventeen years old, back when this toffee bastard had been shitting in swaddling clothes and clinging to his mother's apron strings!

"Was it you who captured my canon from the field?" Tavington asked. "You could hang on that alone, you understand?"

"It was battle, and we all seek the advantage during a battle," Benjamin lifted his chin. "If you leave these things lying around like toys, you can expect to be relieved of them. Finders keepers."

"Hardly that," Tavington scoffed softly.

"You might not think so. Then again, you're the one that lost it and as you said, cannons are not toys. Now whose showing his inexperience? I think His Majesty would be rather embarrassed for you."

The amusement slid from Tavington's face like custard from a spoon.

"Can we stop this please?" Beth asked and Benjamin recognised the irritation in her bright red cheeks. "You're both excellent Commandants and yet you each try to belittle the other. Like boys playing with toys," she said, looking from Benjamin to William, using their own word play against them. To William, she snapped, "and could you please stop threatening to hang my father?"

Tavington tightened his lips, but otherwise remained silent. Beth seemed reassured that the Officer would not follow through with such threats, but Benjamin was not so certain. He decided not to provoke the man. Beth was not the most solid of walls to stand behind - her influence over the Colonel must have limits, it could stretch only so far. He could leave nothing to chance.

"He isn't going to keep me here, Beth. I will be removed as soon as he can arrange it and there are things that need to be settled before I am. The Plantation - I am leaving you in charge of it. Do not hesitate to get advice from Old Lucas, he knows the running of this place as well as I do. And Abigail as well - for the handling of the servants, though I think you'll do just fine there. I'm trusting you to keep the children safe - fed, clothed, keep them at their lessons. Where you all always looked to Aunt Charlotte, your brothers and sisters will now look to you. Are you ready to take on such responsibility?"

"Of course I am. But papa, if you're placing me in charge of them, you'd better make sure they know it. Especially Nathan. He's almost sixteen, he'll want to become the man of the house if he thinks he can get away with it."

"And I'd be willing to let him try, if there wasn't so much at stake. I won't be here to fix his mistakes, however, and therefore I can not afford to let him. When the roads are clear, I want Charlotte gone -"

"She's got no where -"

"To go? She should have thought of that before she..." He trailed off, fury spiking. His chest ached until he thought he might be having an attack.

"I'm sorry, Papa, but you said it yourself. You won't be here, so I will make that decision when the time comes."

"Damned stubborn little..." Benjamin heaved a sigh. He met Beth's eyes and held them. Now that they'd finally come to it, he saw her nerves spike again and her fists clutched great swathes of her skirt, crushing the silk.

"You said we'd discuss it today. My marriage -" she began.

"Is a farce. I am not going to change my mind about that," he said and she drew a shuddering breath and a full step back. Recoiling. "I won't ever accept this, Beth. You are my daughter, and," he put emphasis into his next words, "I never gave you leave to get married. Not to this man, never to this man."

"Then what?" She spread her hands wide. "We said the words. We made our vows. We've lain together as man and wife. I will eventually bare William a child. _Your_ grandchild. Will you deny your grandchildren, as well?"

"I will not," he said. "Family is everything to me, Beth, you know that. Any grandchildren given me will be blessings. I will love all of them, one and the same. As I love all my children, one and the same. That I will not acknowledge this marriage has confused things," he admitted. His voice grew hard - he wasn't going to disown or shun her, but that didn't mean he wasn't still angry with her. "I need to be very clear now, Beth. You need to know that I utterly I despise what you've done." Tears welled in Beth's eyes and Tavington stepped closer to her, placing his hand on her back, giving her silent support.

"And I need to be very clear, father," she said, the tears not spilling, her voice as strong as it would be if she hadn't been on the verge of weeping. "I love William, and I will never renounce my marriage or my vows."

"Then we are at an impasse," Benjamin lifted his chin.

"But I love you, also. So much," her voice broke, for a split second, it did. "And I need to know where I stand with you now. Am I still your daughter?"

"You will always be my daughter," Benjamin said gently. "I love you, Beth." Her face lit up with such joy, her tears finally spilled as she fell into his arms. He held her close as she wept. Trying for levity, he said, "besides, I need you, don't I? I'd be stupid to disown you now, who would the children have left to turn too?"

"Nathan," he heard her voice, muffled against his chest, heard her sobbing laugh. "He'd be perfect."

"I doubt that," he snorted. "I wouldn't even leave this to Thomas, if he were free."

"Papa!" Thomas protested. "I could look after the children."

"Oh, yes, of course you could," Benjamin rolled his eyes. He glanced down at Beth, who was looking up at him, face streaked with tears but her eyes dancing. He stroked her cheeks gently, drying tears with his thumb. Seriously, he said, "With what Charlotte has done... I need you, dear heart. Like I've never needed you before. I won't be here for them, you have to be there for them, their custodian, their caregiver, call it what you will. The boys will obey you as though you were their mother. I will ensure they understand this before I leave."

"I promise you, they will be well," Beth said, smiling up at him. Tavington, however, scowled at Benjamin.

"Because you have need of a keeper for your children?" He jeered. "That's the only reason you've not disowned her! You need her - you are using her for your own ends!"

"No, Tavington. I am not renouncing my daughter, because she is my daughter. Disown her? It'd be easier to sever off my own arm, that it would be to sever ties to one of my children."

"Sentimental, aren't you?" Tavington tossed his head in disdain.

"Ignorant, aren't you?" Benjamin shot back. "Just wait until you are holding your own newborn babe in your arms, Butcher. If there is an ounce of humanity in you, you will understand then. To answer your accusation - no, my need of her is not the reason I have not disowned her, though my need is great. The reason I did not disavow her, Tavington, is because I love her, far more and for far longer than you could ever imagine. I loved her when she was still in her mother's stomach, when all I could have of her were those precious kicks. I loved her when she screamed the house down at night for want of nursing, I've loved her for every moment that she has been alive, while you've loved her for what, five minutes? Christ. That's why I am not disowning her, Tavington. Just as I know that Beth will look after her siblings not for some promise I've extracted from her, but because she loves me, and them. That's what family is, Butcher, if you could even begin to understand such a concept."

"William has family," Beth said softly, defending him. "His papa died but his mother is alive. And he has brothers and sisters he loves as much as I do mine."

_Does he now? _Benjamin didn't want to think of that, didn't want to imagine the Butcher as some civilised being with a life outside this war. He was an untamed, brute. He was the Butcher.

"I know I didn't really need to extract that vow from you, Beth. With or without all the troubles between us, I know without a shadow of a doubt, that you would take full responsibility for your brothers and sisters, in every imaginable way possible."

"Wonderful," Tavington scowled and like a candle flaring to life, Benjamin discerned the source of the Officer's ire.

"Oh, I see. You don't want the responsibility of the children but as you claim to be her husband, you know damned well that you're stuck with them," he accused and Tavington's eyes flashed. "I can fix that for you, you know. Here and now, I can make all of your woes disappear. The way I see it, Butcher, you have two options left to you. Set me free so that I can take my children away so you don't need to bother with them, or set Beth free and she can care for them without it bothering you. You can choose either way, and you'll free of the responsibility."

"Beth is my wife, not my prisoner," Tavington ground out. "She does not need - nor does she want - to be free of me. And you will not be released, for any reason. Certainly not to save me the inconvenience of caring for her siblings. I give her leave to do as she wishes with them."

"How generous of you," Benjamin, becoming irritated, curled his lip. Tavington had spoken with a husband's authority, giving his wife his 'permission' to attend to a task he had no interest in. In a lamenting tone, he told his daughter, "Beth, I'll never find you a decent husband, not now that you've ruined yourself with him. But you do not need to fear; when you come to your senses you'll always have somewhere to go, you can live here with us. You'll help raise your siblings and when they are grown, you will care for me in my old age. It will be nice, I think, to have at least one of my brood remain with me while the others move away."

"Papa," Beth groaned, but William spoke over her.

"What makes you think you'll get to old age?" Tavington scowled, infuriated by Benjamin's speech.

"I know one thing, Butcher," Benjamin promised darkly. "You certainly won't."

As one, the two Dragoon guards filled the doorway, they had pulled their pistols and readied their aim, both centering on Benjamin's chest. Panicking, Thomas leapt to his feet.

"No!" Beth cried. "William, tell them to lower their weapons!"

William said nothing - his men would not shoot without his direct command, and he had not yet given it. Nor would he. With a signalling nod from him, the Dragoons lowered their side arms. They both returned to their positions outside the door, where they could hear everything.

"I already have a decent husband, Papa," she gazed up at Benjamin seriously. "We might be at odds more often than not but I love him and will stay with him. Will you truly not acknowledge my marriage to William?"

"I will not," Benjamin stated firmly and Beth's face fell.

Infuriated, Tavington strode forward to Beth's side. He curled the fingers of his right hand around her left forearm and jerked her away from Benjamin, forcing her back, to stand at his side, all to stake his claim before the father.

"She is yours no longer," he ground out between clenched teeth.

Benjamin watched with growing fury - that the Butcher would dare manhandle her! Holding his temper by a hair, struggling for calm, he answered Tavington's comment, that Beth was his no longer.

"Were you not listening? I sired Beth. I am her father. No words or vows that either of you have spoken without my sanction could ever change that. Furthermore, Reverend Oliver forbade the union, therefore - as far as I am concerned - God has forbidden the union," Beth's face twisted in anguish but he ploughed on, relentless. "You, Sir, are not my daughter's husband," he barked a laugh of disgust and finished with, "and you most definitely are not my son in law."

"I'll not bother arguing the finer points with you," Tavington replied. "Beth is my wife. You can forget this fool plan of yours - she will not be caring for you into your dotage. I will allow her to care for her siblings for the moment, but I am permitting that for her sake - not for yours. When you are released - and believe me, that will not be for many years - when you are free to grow old, you'll have to rely on Miss Margaret to wipe your arse for you. Beth will be at my side, raising our own children - the first of which, I remind you, might already be growing within her," he wound his arm around her waist, and his fingers splayed across the flat of her stomach.

"Then that child will be a bastard," Benjamin said callously, for no other reason than to nettle Tavington.

Tavington hissed in fury and shoved past Beth, ready to pummel Benjamin then and there. Benjamin steeled himself, ready for the fight. Beth's screech stopped them both in their tracks. She threw herself between them, panting, her palms on Tavington's chest to push him back.

"Enough! You will not fight!" She glared at them both but they paid her no heed - their cold gazes locked on one another over her head, each measuring the other up.

"If you harm my daughter in the slightest way," Benjamin stated calmly. "I swear before God, I'll kill you."

"My wife is perfectly safe with me, Sir," Tavington asserted. "I would do nothing to harm her."

"I don't believe you," Benjamin said frankly. "I don't trust you to keep your word. If she upsets you - and believe me, Beth can upset a bloody rock - I know that you are the type who would strike her."

Tavington raised his chin, offended by the accusation but before he could defend himself or his honour, Benjamin continued.

"But think before you do, Butcher. Because I will kill you - of that I vow."

"You mistake him, Papa," Beth said and William felt a thrill of pleasure that she would take his side and defend him to her father. "He is a better man than you believe. If this war had not made you enemies, you would measure him differently. You would admire William and accept him as your son."

"I doubt that," Benjamin said. His eyes softened as they lingered on his daughter. "Beth, I mean it. I love you. When you come to your senses, come and find me - I'll take you in. I will provide for you - and any children you might have - you are not without family, I don't want you to ever think that you are not without family."

"Are you quite finished?" Tavington ground out, his eyes blazing fury.

"I already have a husband, Papa," Beth repeated. "But I thank you - for not disowning me and… For everything…"

"I love you," Benjamin said, ignoring Tavington's presence entirely now. "I despise what you've done - you've willingly ruined yourself for him and I'm so angry I want to put you over my knee and tan your hide. But I do love you, you silly, silly girl. I love you and will be there for you, if you ever need me."

He held his arms out to her and with a choking sob, Beth closed the distance and threw herself into her father's embrace again.

"Enough!" Tavington growled, incensed. She was his, damn it. He seized her arm again, and tried to pull them apart.

"William," she admonished softly with a shake of her head. He puffed a frustrated breath, but he released her, allowing her the freedom to make amends with her father. With an eagle eye, he watched her every move. It was everything he had been fearing since the previous day, when it had been clear her siblings had not rejected her. And now she still had her father, also. With all of them taking up so much of her, would there be anything left for him? With them sharing her love, would she still love him, too?

"I'm sorry about Aunt Charlotte," Beth whispered. "I believe her, Papa - she was trying to help you."

"Well, she went the wrong way about it. What she did was unforgivable."

"I'll say," Thomas said grimly. "I don't think I could even stand to look at her now."

"I certainly have no desire to see her again any time soon either, that's for certain," Benjamin ground out. "Beth, keep that Bordon away from me - I'll go for his Goddamned throat, guard or no guard," he promised grimly. "When you see Samuel, tell him I need to speak with him. Remind him that it was not a one sided battle, I lost men also."

"Well, those battles were sort of one sided," she reminded him. "Two of them were."

"Is that what he said? Is that what Samuel takes exception to?"

"You attacked defenceless men, asleep in their blankets, knowing their defence was weak," she said gently. "You ambushed William's men from a position of strength, ensuring you had the upper hand."

"But they had Gabriel, and Thomas!" Benjamin said. "And those others, they hung George Howard."

"No, papa, _Banastre Tarleton_ hanged George Howard," she said. "Look, I'm just telling you what Sammie is feeling. He doesn't think you're leading your men for your convictions, or you would have joined the army long ago. He thinks you did it for revenge."

"Revenge," he said flatly.

"You only got involved when our family started hurting. Before that, you were keeping well out of it. Now you're Colonel Martin and you're waving that Patriot flag for all it's worth and demanding all Patriots do the same or stop calling themselves Patriot. But you yourself weren't doing anything for the Cause a month ago. Samuel has seen the change in you, bought about solely because of the attacks on us."

"Gabriel and I are free, because of father," Thomas ground out.

"But twenty men are dead because of it," Beth said.

"That's Colonel Tavington's look out. It shouldn't be ours, and it most certainly shouldn't be Samuel's! He should be on our side in this."

"He was there! He saw it all with his own _very young_ eyes. Saw papa fighting hand to hand, heard the screams, could smell the stench of blood, saw the bodies afterward," Beth said, spreading her hands wide. "Mangled, broken, bloodied, brained, their organs spilled out across the dirt, vacant eyes staring into nothingness, skulls crushed with the flat of a tomahawk. He saw that. He sees papa, standing there covered in blood and gore. And then," she jutted a finger into Thomas's chest. "He sees you! Standing there looking perfectly fine and safe and healthy and so I ask you Thomas, at what cost would you wish to be freed, when your own life was never in any danger? William was never going to hang you, not when your only crime was to punch him. Not when you're _my_ brother."

"He didn't know that when he took me," Thomas muttered, his face flushed and looking uncertain.

"You would have told him, or Gabriel would have. What I'm trying to say is, you would have been safe. Those men didn't need to die, for you to be safe."

"Yes," Benjamin barked a bitter laugh. "Because prison camps are pleasant places and nobody ever dies in them. It wasn't just Gabriel and Thomas on those wagons, did any of them have this blanket of protection you think Gabriel and Thomas had?"

"Likely not, but would you have done what you did, would you have taken such risks to save them, had Gabriel and Thomas not been with them?"

Benjamin gaped, momentarily struck. He hadn't thought to rescue them, not until he learned his sons were prisoners also. He snapped his mouth shut, eyes narrowed and not looking at Tavington.

"Papa, I'm not taking side against you. I'm not trying to shame you. Nor am I siding _with_ you. I saw those bodies too..." She trailed off, haunted. "Samuel... He's only twelve. This entire affair has affected him deeply. Not just the deaths or seeing you perform them, though that was a big part of it. But the complete turn around you've done, with you suddenly rising up as if from the dead to do the things you swore you'd never do, for a Cause you were never really committed to, or you would have joined it long since. I'm sorry, but, you wanted to know. And now you do. He thinks you're..."

"What?" He asked, filling with dread when she trailed off. "He thinks I'm what?"

"That you're a hypocrite," she said reluctantly.

"A hypocrite," he said flatly.

"And... And he didn't like that you fled when William came here yesterday. You left them. You protected your men, getting them to safety, but you left your children."

"I knew they'd be safe, I knew Tavington wouldn't hurt them!"

"And yet, Thomas and Gabriel," she said, alluding to the attack on Tavington's men, when Tavington wouldn't have hurt Thomas and Gabriel, either.

"That was different," he said. "They could have died - you've no idea what conditions are like in those camps, Beth."

"I'm not the one you need to convince -"

"Is that right?" Tavington drawled behind her and Beth shot him a quick glance.

"Don't, this is confusing enough. I didn't mean I condone it. I'm just saying that -" Beth turned back to Benjamin. - "That I don't despise you for it."

"But Samuel does?" It cut Benjamin to the bone. "So. He despises me. And he thinks I'm a murderer, a hypocrite, and a coward."

"Well, to be fair, you think William is a murderer when he's just doing the same as you - fighting battles."

"Yes, that's entirely the same," Thomas scoffed.

"Isn't it?" Beth shot back.

"Samuel understands that your actions were not necessary, Mr. Martin," Tavington said, voice hard. "I made it clear from the start that his brother would be treated with utmost care, as your son here would have been as soon as he was revealed to me. Samuel knows this and he knows there was no need for yesterdays bloodshed, for the lives of your sons were not in danger," Tavington said and the colour drained from Benjamin's face.

"It's you," Benjamin accused, desperate for someone else to blame. "You! You're turning him against me!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Tavington scoffed. "To what end? I have more than enough to occupy my attention - I have neither the time nor the inclination to work on turning your sons against you. If he has turned against you, it is entirely your own doing."

"He hasn't!" Beth glared fiercely at William. "He hasn't turned against anyone. He is just confused. It was not a pretty sight, seeing the state of those men, the dead and the wounded."

"Why did you look at them? What possessed you?" Benjamin said, grieved that his innocent girl had seen such things.

"I didn't have a choice, we were the first to come upon them on the road after you left."

Benjamin closed his eyes, devastated. It was one thing to see bodies all laid out, ready for burial. Quite another to walk the field of battle, where every step was slick with blood, the stench and the flies, the dead sprawled where they were massacred. That was what his daughter had seen, the carnage he'd wrought to free his sons.

"Lord," he groaned like a man broken. "Will the disasters never cease? My daughter, taken by a Goddamned Lobster. My fiancé, screwing a Goddamned Lobster and my son, grieving over Lobster dead and wounded. You!" He barked, raising his voice as he confronted Tavington again. "This is your damned fault."

"If you need someone to blame, I'll shoulder it," Tavington shrugged. "Perhaps that is what sons in law are for," he said and Benjamin knew it for the jab that it was. "Beth, come away now," Tavington commanded. He did not reach for her, rather he forced her to come to him by the authority in his voice alone. She had sworn to obey him and after a moments hesitation, she drew away from her father and went to stand beside her husband. "Say your farewells, Beth. You'll not be coming back down here."

"You won't let her visit?" Benjamin said incredulously.

"Not if you are going to sprout that rot about her not being my wife," Tavington ground out. His expression becoming shrewd then, and he continued, "acknowledge that I am her husband, and I shall let her spend as much time down here as she wants before you are sent away."

"Never," Benjamin spat, though he stared longingly at Beth, knowing it'd be a while before he saw her again. "We've made our peace," Benjamin snapped, "I'll not trade my convictions for more minutes of my daughter's time."

"Then our business has been concluded," Tavington stated. He drew Beth further away, putting an end to the families reunion. All she could do was wave to her father and Thomas before she was prodded out the door. The breezeway roof kept her dry for the short walk from the storage shed that had become her father's quarters, to the main house.

* * *

Before entering the main house, Bordon stopped to wash the gore off his hands. His Redcoat was splattered with blood but he could not change that just now. Not when he had more work yet to do, and only one change of uniform in his chamber. It made far more sense to complete his work and then change, but he understood the gore on his jacket would disturb the fairer sex within the house, and so he did his best to avoid them when he entered. Slipping past the parlor, he saw that Mrs. Tavington and her younger sister Margaret were entertaining the young woman who had been visiting from next door. She seemed to be crying - at least Bordon thought she was. Dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief while her mother sat close by and patted her shoulder.

Though he had vital information to pass on to the Colonel, Bordon decided he could linger for a few moments, to discern what had bothered the girl. They - the British Legion - were deep in enemy territory and the slightest piece of gossip could aid them and save lives. Standing close to the open door, he listened in.

"But I'm just so worried," the girl whimpered. "When I heard he was here, I can straight away! And now you tell me we're not allowed to see him?"

"I'm sorry, Lucy, I truly am," Beth said earnestly. "William won't allow visitors. I can tell you that Thomas is fine - he is in good health. He is warm -"

"He's in an outhouse, in the middle of a storm!"

"Lucy, he's fine! Boredom, I imagination, is his only affliction just now."

Bordon understood now, what had caused the girl from the next plantation to be so distressed. She had feelings for the youth Richard had caught the previous night.

"I'm glad for that," Lucy dabbed at her eyes. "And I'm glad he has you to speak for him. Are you certain no harm will come to him, Beth?"

"I'm certain," Beth said with determination. "I'm sorry that I can't sway William to allow you to see Tom, but I can take a letter down to him if you'd like."

"Oh, would you? And will you bring me letters when he writes back?" Lucy asked and Beth quickly agreed.

"Of course I will!"

_No, Mrs. Tavington, you most certainly will not. _Bordon thought. He understood that her intentions were innocent enough - she was just trying to help her friend. She probably even thought it romantic, to help two lovers exchange letters while one is in confinement. But Bordon also understood just how easy it would be for young Thomas to use the opportunity to send messages to the other rebels and that, Bordon could not allow. Nor would Tavington. He would put a stop to any correspondence between the pair.

Feeling he had gleaned all he could from his eavesdropping, he left the women to their visit and continued on down the hall toward the office. Two guards stood on the door, signalling that Tavington was still within. Bordon did not need to knock, he did not need to wait for permission to enter. Still, he stopped at the threshold and drew a long, steadying breath which the two Dragoons pretended not to see. For Bordon was in disgrace - every single Dragoon knew it. And he was working hard to put himself back into the Colonel's good graces.

Hence the gore on his Redcoat.

Turning the knob, he opened the door and strode inside.

William sat behind the large oak desk. He barely lifted his eyes to greet Bordon. The glance he gave the Major was fleeting, and very cold. He resumed his perusal of the various reports.

"I have news," Bordon ventured. It was dire, the news he'd extracted from the rebel he'd just questioned. Dire indeed. And the discovery of it could very well save his honor and set him on the road to healing the rift he'd caused between himself and the Colonel.

"Do tell," William said shortly. He did not deign to meet Bordon's gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the report in his hands.

Bordon decided an abrupt announcement was needed - to get the Colonel's attention and hopefully distract him from his displeasure.

"Trellim and Banksia were Mark Putman's creatures - they are traitors both."

Tavington's head snapped up, his jaw dropped almost to the desk and his eyes bulged from their sockets. It was the perfect reaction, exactly what Bordon was hoping for.

"Is it true?" William snapped, recovering himself immediately.

"I believe so," Bordon replied.

"Get me Beth," William commanded. Bordon gave a start of surprise, taking a moment to follow the Colonel's train of thought. He opened the door and whispered the order, and one of the men darted away to fetch Mrs. Tavington. Of course, Richard thought as he resumed his place before the desk. Beth had lived with Mark Putman, she had been privy to many of his plans. It was quite possible that she would know who the spies were in the Dragoon ranks and would be able to confirm what the rebel had told Richard under questioning. Men would say anything to make the torture stop. Bordon believed it thought.

"You think she knew?" Bordon asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"I have not had the opportunity to question her fully," William said defensively. "There will be much that Beth knows that she's not even aware she should tell me."

"Like Trellim and Banksia being traitors?" Richard murmured. "That's not a small thing, William."

"No, it is not. However, we've only been together again since yesterday and I'm certain even you agree that much has happened since. Beth would not deliberately keep such information from me, not anymore. It simply would not have occurred to her to divulge this earlier, with all else she's had to contend with."

"I dare say," Richard agreed.

"Her Aunt's home was burnt," William continued, as if he felt the need justify himself and defend Beth. "Her family split apart. Her father captured. And last night was our wedding night."

"No one could fault you for not questioning her in the bed chamber," Richard agreed. "Nor earlier during your wedding celebration or earlier again during your wedding. I could not agree more. It was not the time."

Bordon saw the grateful look that passed over William's face. Then the Colonel nodded curtly and threw the latest report to the desk. "It is the time now, however," he said grimly.

Bordon agreed with that too. A moment later, Beth slipped into the office. She frowned at Richard, curious as to why she had been summoned with the Major present. William sat back in the chair and studied her carefully.

"Beth," he said. "Major Bordon has come across a piece of information. It is my hope that you can help confirm how accurate it is."

Beth, gazing at Bordon's Redcoat and noticing that a large section of it glistened with a darker red, paled considerably. She swallowed hard and edged away from Richard to put space between them. Bordon quite understood her reaction, he understood that the sight and smell of the blood - and the worry over how it might have gotten there - was quite a disturbing and repulsive thing.

"What is this information?" She asked softly. She had circled the desk to get away from Richard and came to a stop before her husband. She kept her eyes on him, keeping them deliberately averted from Bordon and the sickening sight of his jacket.

"Trellim and Banksia," William began, but when her breath caught and her face drained of colour, he saw there was no need to question. "So. It's true. They were Putman's creatures all along."

Beth's hands shook, her brown eyes seemed far darker because of her now alabaster face. She was afraid he would be angry with her for not revealing what she knew earlier.

"Don't fret," he said gently, pulling her closer and drawing her into his lap. "Bordon?"

Understanding that he was being dismissed so that Tavington could speak in private with his wife, Richard nodded and withdrew from the office.


	70. Chapter 70 - To Catch a Spy

Chapter 70 - To Catch a Spy:

Their plan to capture Trellim and Banksia was simple - all Tavington and Bordon needed to do, was wait. All unawares, Putman's spies would come to him. Upon reaching Fresh Water yesterday, Tavington had sent riders out to find Wilkins Company, and Trellim's. Both would be approaching by now, working their way toward him, slowed down by the storm.

Beth, William, Richard, Brownlow and Dalton all sat in Martin's office, waiting tensely for word that Trellim had answered his summons, that he had arrived. He would have no idea that he had been discovered, only the four of them and Beth knew they had discovered the truth about him and Banksia. William had allowed Beth to farewell Miss Ferguson's family, before escorting her back to the office, where he kept up his questions until he was certain he had drilled her for every bit of information she knew. Now, she sat in a window seat, her legs curled to her chest, staring outward into the driving rain, because he would not allow her to leave. It wasn't because he did not trust her, but he knew her Loyalties were conflicted. Trellim was a friend to her family and William wasn't going to take any chances.

"No wonder Burwell managed to escape us," Cornet Brownlow said.

"Yes," Bordon agreed grimly. "It would not surprise me in the least to learn that Trellim sent a scout to warn Burwell that we'd found his location and we're coming for him."

"How many other plans has he foiled?" Dalton asked scathingly. "Gods, that ambush we set for him at the Simms never stood a chance."'

"No, it didn't," Tavington said, eyes flicking toward Beth, who shifted with discomfort.

"He was there that night," Dalton continued. "He and Banksia both. They probably sent word to Burwell the moment you told them we were going to try to capture him."

_That was Beth, _Tavington thought, glancing at her again. _But yes, if she hadn't, Trellim would have. Even without Beth, that ambush hadn't stood a chance._

"No more," he said out loud. "I will suffer no more spies in my ranks. I will make an example out of Trellim and Banksia and whomever they reveal to us. I doubt any others will linger, after that."

"I'll keep an eye on the list for deserters," Bordon said. "Any who flee the Dragoons or the Legion after Trellim hangs will be suspect."

Tavington nodded agreement. "Lord, we haven't even heard from Wilkins. I can't bring myself to suspect him, though."

"I'd have never have suspected Trellim, either," Dalton muttered. "But we can't be wary all of the Colonials, just because of Trellim and Banksia. I could never believe that James would be a spy."

"Besides - his wife is in camp," Brownlow pointed out, being practical. "He would not have bought her, if he was a spy."

"Beth?" Tavington turned to her and she shook her head.

"I don't think I know of anyone more loyal than James Wilkins," she said, running a hand over her weary brow.

"But it does raise an issue," Richard said. "We don't know who we can be certain of anymore. As soon as the Legion has convened at Fresh Water, we will need to begin a full investigation. Who knows how many spies Putman managed to seed into our ranks?"

"I can't believe that he's come back to haunt us," Brownlow lamented. "He's dead, for Christ's sake. He should just stay dead."

"Agreed. We have his replacement to deal with yet, though," Bordon's face darkened as he remembered the man who had seized Harmony and made her pleasure him. Harmony had narrowly escaped a full blown rape from the man. "Sumter. I want that bastard - perhaps Trellim will be able to tell me where he is."

"Isn't Colonel Tarleton chasing him down?" Brownlow asked.

"He is, but he doesn't know where Sumter is," Bordon said. "Besides, I'd very much like to find him first."

"Do you think…" Brownlow began drumming his fingers on the desk, he was sitting close enough to lean against it and he gazed at the oak, his mind deep in thought. "What if Trellim knew that Martin intended to attack us here last night? He is a traitor but the men he commands are Loyalists and their presence here could have made our position more secure. Has he delayed returning to us, to ensure we had less men to meet that attack?"

Tavington, who had been leaning forward, his elbows on the desk and his fingers steepled, lifted his head, startled. "Jesus, you could be right."

"I agree," Richard said, also becoming alarmed. "If Trellim learned about Martin's plans, it would most certainly be in his best interests to keep the detached Dragoons away, to make certain of our vulnerability!"

"Trellim has kept your Dragoons back," Dalton added. "Leaving us vulnerable to attack here. I don't think he's coming, though I'm sure he'll come up with some excuse to explain why later. We should take a score of men out to find his unit, take over command and have Trellim and Banksia arrested."

"Four or five hundred men were going to meet in Hells Hole Swamp last night," Beth said. "As they did not, I would say that without my father to lead them, they are holding back, for now. The leaders among them might decide to lead them here, to rescue my father. You should not reduce your force here, if anything you should be recruiting among the Loyalists as soon as you possibly can."

"I intend too," William said, cocking her head as he studied her. His men looked equally startled. Not by the suggestion that they should recruit, that was one of their prime duties. But because the suggestion had come from her, a woman.

"I think you should sit back and wait," she said, returning her gaze to the window, frowning in thought.

"Wait?" Tavington prodded.

"You sent a summons to Trellim, calling him here to reinforce your position," she said. "You are likely correct, he has ignored the summons, to give my father and his men a greater chance of success. Ensign Dalton is right - after the attack, Trellim would have provided some excuse or other for his inability to reinforce you but by then, it would have been too late. You would be captured, or you would be dead." She lifted her chin, he saw the worry in her eyes. "Instead, Bordon has captured my father. That has changed everything. Trellim isn't going to ignore the summons now. He will come." She paused, then added softly, "he can hardly rescue my father if he is not here."

"You think he'll try to rescue him," William took hold of her hand and drew her closer.

"It would be simplicity itself," Dalton breathed. "All he'd need to do is make sure that he and he knows he can rely upon, take a rotation guarding Martin."

"He would have gotten away with it too, if Mrs. Tavington hadn't told us he was a rebel," Brownlow added, looking chagrined.

"Well, I didn't tell you - Bordon… ah… figured it out," Beth said, feeling uncomfortable at taking praise for doing something she still felt was very wrong, and for the manner that Bordon extracted the information. With a shudder, she wondered if the fellow whose blood was on Bordon's jacket was still alive.

"Yes, he will come, he will want to try…" Tavington trailed off. "Therefore, we shall let him."

"Yes, this is how we'll catch them," Richard said, suddenly intent. "We'll give Trellim the responsibility of guarding Martin. Any men he chooses for the task will be rebels, and under his instruction, they will likely try to flee with Martin during the night, even if Trellim - and Banksia - remain to continue their mischief in our ranks."

"We'll surround the outhouse with a secondary guard," Brownlow said, excited. "We'll catch Trellim and his men red handed!"

Tavington was nodding. "We don't need further proof of Trellim or Banksia - I know they are guilty," he said. "But yes, this is far less time consuming than putting them to the question. We will use them to discover more of their number."

"Major Bordon," Dalton broached. "Have you considered that Trellim may have had a hand in Miss Jutland's capture, that night she was taken from the The Mighty George? Now that we know he is a rebel, it makes me wonder if Trellim knew where she was all along."

Bordon's jaw dropped and he sat up so fast, he slopped his drink over the rim of his glass, it splashed on his breeches. Richard had not considered it, not until now.

"By God, if you're right…" Bordon ground out, his face thunder.

While Sumter had held Harmony captive, he had made her do things that still shamed her to think about. If what Dalton was saying was correct, then Trellim had known where Harmony was being held all along. He would have known what was being done to her, he would have known what else Sumter planned to do. All of it would have been entirely within Trellim's ability to stop. If he knew and never said a word…

"I'll kill him," Richard whispered.

"He's going to hang, either way," Tavington replied. "When Miss Jutland escaped the house, she said she hid behind that tree - do you remember? She was almost caught by Sumter and his companions, coming in through the gate. She overheard their entire conversation. There was that one fellow, the one she heard tell Sumter that Martin could rouse the entire countryside - when Sumter was talking of abducting Beth." Beth stiffened at this reminder and he squeezed her hand, reassuring her. "Two of the men, she identified as Sumter and MacCormick. The last, she didn't know. But she said he was foul mouthed," Tavington met Richard's gaze. "Which is what Banksia is. She also knew, from what the fellow was saying, that he was a close friend of Martin's. Which, my wife has just told us, Banksia is." Trellim was too, according to Beth. But if his suspicions were correct and the foul speaking fellow Miss Jutland heard was Banksia, that that meant Banksia - and Trellim - had indeed known all along where Harmony was being kept.

"Dear God," the colour drained from Richard's face. "They knew. They knew he had her, they knew where she was, they knew what he was doing to her and they did nothing!"

"Oh God, that can't be true," Beth said softly, her dark eyes wide in a face gone dangerously pale.

"Beth, I know you're confused, none of this is easy for you," William pulled her closer until she was sitting on his knee. "This is what I'm trying to make you see. None of them are innocent - the men you knew growing up. Their friendship with your father doesn't immediately make them honourable, good people. You should not feel guilt, at telling me about them."

"They knew he was making her -" Richard cut short, breathing raggedly. "That he was forcing her too… to share intimacies," he was trying to be polite and clear at the same time. "He was going to force himself on her and they knew that too! Yet, they did nothing! They made no attempt to help her!"

"How do you know they knew?" Beth asked desperately. "I can't imagine that they would condone such an awful thing. Perhaps they didn't know -"

"Miss Jutland repeated the entire conversation to us," William said to her. "It was clear from what she heard being said, that the men Sumter was addressing knew precisely what use he was putting her too. And that was Banksia Miss Jutland overheard - I'm almost certain of it. He knew what was being done to her and although it was in his - and therefore Trellim's - power to help her, neither lifted a finger."

"That's awful," she whispered. "I'm so sorry," she said too Richard. "That's awful. My father, if he'd known, would never have condoned such a thing."

"Your father wasn't involved then," William said, understanding that Beth didn't want her father to be tarred with the same brush as Sumter, or Trellim and Banksia.

"Do you think… If Sumter had taken me as you said he intended… Do you think he would have… made me…"

Tavington cupped her face. "I would never let him hurt you."

"Nor would my father have allowed him to take me. But that's what he intended," she insisted. "Isn't it?"

"I _know_ he would have, Miss Jutland heard him say that he would," he said. She was trembling, looking sick to her stomach. With two fingers under her chin, he lifted her face to meet his eyes. "What have I told you, Beth?"

"What..?"

"That I'd protect you, no matter what," he reminded her. "I'd never let anything happen to you." She sighed and leaned into him.

"What is wrong with him, to do such horrid things? He did those awful things to Miss Jutland. He would have done them to me!"

"Though they never touched Harmony, Trellim and Banksia are no less guilty," Richard said.

"Why would Sumter use women so? He is despicable."

"That he is," Tavington agreed. "As to why, well, that is, in part, my fault. When I read about your engagement to Burwell in the broadsheets, I went a little… mad," he admitted. "I needed to blow off some steam, as it were. We went to a tavern we knew to be heavily Patriot. Because of us, there was a brawl, a fierce one. The tavern was burned to the ground. Sumter was there, I fought him myself. Nearly killed him -"

"I wish I hadn't stopped you," Richard ground out and Tavington nodded.

"The tavern was burned to the ground - turned out, it was owned by Sumter's cousin. By now, your uncle had fled the city and Sumter, unbeknownst to us, had taken over the spy network in the city. He was in communication with your uncle and he asked Mr. Putman how best to get back at Bordon and I. Your uncle told Sumter that Major Bordon had a mistress he was deeply fond of. Take the mistress, and you'll have your revenge."

"I still can not believe my uncle did that," Beth shook her head and Tavington began to stroke her back. "Why would he do that?"

"Yes, Major. Why?" William asked, a little tartness in his voice. Richard's face flushed red with embarrassment. "He wanted to cause distress for Major Bordon, who was bedding Mrs. Putman."

"But… my uncle knew they were," she said, averting her gaze from Bordon. "He allowed it to happen on purpose, you said."

"It didn't stop him from being jealous and vengeful, it seems," William replied. "Miss Jutland overheard them saying that Putman would have bedded her himself, he was able to. Again, to get back at Major Bordon. Sumter seized the suggestion, did all Putman suggested, then began nursing the idea of taking you, to secure me. I doubt that was ever your uncle's intention," William added. "Be that as it may, it's time you realised your family and their friends are not the innocents you think them to be. In telling Sumter to abduct Harmony, Putman knew what he was condemning Miss Jutland to do. And then when it did happen, Trellim and Banksia also knew and they did nothing."

"I… I need to lay down," Beth said, rising. "Can I go to our room now?"

"In a moment," he pulled her back down. "I know it's hard hearing these things, but you need to know."

"The truth is supposed to be good," she said, feeling miserable. "None of this is good."

"No, Beth, none of this is even remotely good," he agreed, fingers still whispering over her hair.

"Perhaps it would have been better not to tell her," Richard said.

"While Mrs. Tavington sees my deficiencies all too readily," William began wryly. "She suffers from an acute and unfailing confidence in her family and is, therefore, blind to theirs," he said even as he continued to stroke her hair. "Yes, we tortured her uncle. But before we ever got to him, he condemned a young woman to a misery she will never in her life forget. Hot pincers might not have been involved but Miss Jutland was tortured every bit as much as Putman later was. But where Putman was a traitor, Miss Jutland was a complete innocent. And then there was what her father did to my men. None of it is excusable, just because they're family. Or friends of family. It's about her eyes were open."

"Can you not speak as though I'm not in the room?" She asked, glaring down at him. He arched his eyebrows and shrugged. "You needn't worry, my eyes are opening just fine." She couldn't get Miss Jutland out of her head, how terrified she must have been to be abducted. And then when she was made to… Gods, what had Sumter forced her to? Beth was no longer an innocent maid, she understood much of what men and women did in the bed chamber, she had great enjoyment from doing both. But being forced to do those things – by a stranger, after being taken against your will… Beth felt like weeping for Miss Jutland.

* * *

William and Beth were speaking to Bordon in a corridor, when a Private approached to inform Tavington that Trellim's Dragoons were approaching. There was an air of relief among the Officers. Beth hung her head as Tavington dismissed the Private.

"I understand your anger, Bordon. But you must do and say nothing to alert Trellim or Banksia. This is the perfect opportunity to easily identify other spies among his unit, men loyal to him. Therefore, we must greet them as normal. If you think you are unable to treat with them cordially, I suggest you take to your chamber and feign illness."

"Better tell them I'm sick, then," Bordon said, voice dripping fury. "Besides, I can see the storage shed from there, I'll keep lookout from my window when Trellim and his men take up position to guard it."

"I have reconsidered that plan, Richard, and I do not believe we dare let it get to that."

"Oh?" Richard asked.

"I do not believe we will wait for them to remove Martin, before arresting them. I have had Trellim added to the rotation, he will think he is to have full guard of the prisoners from ten o'clock tonight, which I am certain he will consider to be a fortuitous turn of events for him – it's a very tempting time to flee with prisoners. I will instruct him to choose his men and whoever he chooses will be suspect," Tavington said. "And those will be arrested on the spot."

"Why?" Beth asked, frowning. "Shouldn't you catch them in the act, first? How do you know they're truly guilty, otherwise?"

"This way has far less risk and is far more expedient. Whoever Trellim chooses _will be guilty,_ Beth," William said. "If your father was removed with Trellim's men, he might actually have gotten away. Instead of having a ring of Dragoons watching for Trellim's attempt to remove your father from the outhouse, we need to be looking outward instead, in case your father's men try to create a distraction, to help Trellim flee with your father."

Beth was frowning, he could see she was trying to understand.

"Nearly five hundred men were to gather in Hell Hole Swamp to attack us here, under Martin's command," he reminded her. "Instead, your father was captured. Now, they might very well attack in an attempt to free him. I believe that the only reason they haven't already done so, is that they are putting their hopes in Trellim's men slipping away with Martin in the dead of night. However, with Trellim's return, our numbers have risen from seventy to one hundred and forty. Our position has already strengthened with the newly returned Dragoons. When your father's men come - if they come - I want my men looking outward for them, not inward for Trellim and his rebels."

"Oh," Beth said, understanding.

"You're right," Richard was nodding. "Gods, you're absolutely right. Where the devil is Wilkins, Tavington? We need the full force of the Dragoons! We need the Legion!"

"It will be some days before the Legion can reach us, travel will be slow going until the roads clear. As for Wilkins, well, let us pray that he arrives before tonight. But we shall plan to hold with what we have. I want Trellim and his spies questioned, but I want it quickly done. Get what you can from them, they are to be strung up while there's still daylight, I want their bodies on display, to deter the rebels."

"I don't want to see any of this," Beth said, hands pressed to her stomach.

"You're looking quite pale, Beth. Do you need to lie down?" William asked. Beth shook her head - she didn't want to see any of it, but she couldn't even imagine locking herself away in her chamber and pretending as if nothing was happening.

* * *

Benjamin stood at the window, watching as the Dragoons galloped down the carriage lane toward the house. Thomas stood by his side, both said nothing as seventy more cavalry soldiers came to reinforce Tavington's seventy. One hundred and forty men. The militia could still attack, though their advantage of having far greater numbers was now lessening. If the third Dragoon force arrived, Tavington would have two hundred and ten men, would be defending a position of strength, and the militia would have almost no chance of taking the Plantation back, not without heavy losses. If he were out there to command them, he'd be calling off the attack. He hoped against hoped that they weren't considering trying anything stupid.

For it would all be for nothing anyway, Benjamin was not going to leave his confinement, not without his children.

"Our hope rests with Trellim," Benjamin said softly and Thomas nodded. They'd discussed it at length, until Benjamin's voice was parched and there was nothing left to discuss. Still, they discussed it, for there was little else to talk about. Gods, he'd never known such boredom in his entire life. His children came to see him frequently – all except Samuel. And Beth – she hadn't been down to see him today and Benjamin was a little worried about what was going on there.

The Dragoons had been fortifying their position, building earthworks and pickets, despite the driving rain. Clearly, Tavington as anticipating an attack every bit as much as Benjamin did. Further to that, Tavington had put the word out , hoping to enlist Loyalists. Disturbingly, he'd received quite a few right there at Fresh Water, among Charlotte's staff. More were arriving from outlying Plantations – there were now at least thirty men, ready to help defend Tavington's Dragoons against attack. Nathan told Benjamin all of this with worry in his voice, uncertain what it would portend for Benjamin and Thomas. Benjamin had no reassurance to give.

"If this is Trellim, will he come and speak to you?" Thomas asked, glancing at the horsemen. They were as yet unsure if this was Trellim arriving, or if it was Wilkins.

"Nothing so obvious as that. He will have someone else come visit, someone he trusts. They will need to remove the children somehow also, for when the time comes to rescue me, I won't be budging, not without them."

"All except Beth?"

"Nothing I can do about Beth now," Benjamin shrugged. He kept his eyes peeled, staring hard at the riders until he could finally make out individual features. At length, he smiled, his eyes landing on Trellim. "I give it a day or two," he said to Thomas. "A couple more days and we'll be free. If that."

"Gods, I hope so," Thomas said, daring to feel relief. They stepped back from the window – there was nothing left now but to wait for Trellim to send someone in, to discuss what can be done to free Thomas and Benjamin and the children. Ben hoped his old friend didn't rely on Nathan for the task – he didn't want his sons in any more trouble than they were now.

"Let's try to get some sleep," Benjamin said. "if Tavington decides to send us away tonight, we won't get much of a chance later."

Thomas nodded. It was hot in the cabin, stifling. Even dressed down to their open shirts gave no relief. The men lay out on their cots – Benjamin, a soldier at heart, found it quite easy to slip into a doze. Thomas tossed and turned for an age, before slumber finally came upon him.

He woke later to the noise of a crowd forming and Thomas shoving on his shoulder. Benjamin sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"What is it?" He asked, voice thick with sleep.

"Something's happening. I don't know what. There's about three hundred people out there," Thomas said.

"Jesus, what?" Benjamin rose and returned to the window to stand beside his son. The boards nailed across were spaced so he could not climb out, but he still had a very clear view. A guard was standing against the outside wall. And out across the Plantation was, as Thomas said, at good three hundred people milling twenty yards or so away. His children were nowhere to be seen – nor was Charlotte. The sun was brilliant now that the storm had passed. "How long was I asleep for?"

"A few hours," Thomas replied. "I make it about three o'clock."

"I'd say you're right," Benjamin agreed. "what are they all doing out there?" There were Tavington's Dragoons, but the rest of the crowd could not all be Tavington's new recruits – half the people out there were women. And half of those were negroes – Charlotte and Benjamin's plantation staff.

Tavington and Bordon appeared – the sight of the Major twisted Benjamin's guts, he curled his fingers, tense with the need to smash his fists into Bordon's face. The two Commanders were trailed by Dragoons following behind. Were they – the Dragoons – to parade? Was this an inspection, was Tavington searching for contraband? It was one of the duties of a Commandant, to ensure his men were obeying the rules – their baggage would be searched also.

It became very clear that this was not a routine inspection however. The Dragoons stopped before a stand of trees and to Benjamin's horror, he saw – right before his eyes – coils of rope being thrown over and around the branches, a noose dropping from each end. And from the Dragoons midst, Trellim, Banksia and several others Benjamin recognised to be Patriots planted by Mark Putman, were shoved to the front.

"They've been beaten," Benjamin said, voice strangled as he now saw the bruising and blood covering the Patriots faces and clothes. Thomas groaned. "Agh, Christ, Tavington knows and he put them all to the question. He's going to hang them now," Benjamin's eyes fixed on Trellim, one of his oldest friends, and he grieved what about to happen.

"Jesus, they've got Simon as well!" Thomas peered through the window at his father's side. He saw Simon Howard being manhandled toward the trees.

"Christ. Poor Simon, he's too young for any of this. Peter will be devastated. First George and now Simon…" Benjamin was no less devastated.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Thomas fretted. "Why isn't anyone doing anything?"

"Too scared, perhaps. Or perhaps these are here willingly – perhaps they support this. What do you expect them to do against over a hundred armed Dragoons, anyway?" Benjamin asked and Thomas heaved a sigh.

"Spread the word!" Trellim's shout carried to Benjamin and Thomas watching from the outhouse. "Tell them all I died for my country. I'd die a thousand deaths for our Country!"

"You damned honourable fool, defiant to the end," Benjamin whispered, approving. Trellim was not going to die quietly, nor was he going to weep or plead. Not as Simon Howard clearly was doing, at that moment. The lad was almost on his knees in the mud, sobbing and begging. Benjamin couldn't hear the words but it was clear he was begging for his life.

"Get up and die like a fucking man!" Banksia, his face covered in blood, shouted down at the youth. Benjamin worked the window open in the hopes of hearing better. The guard just outside glanced in with a glare, but as Benjamin was still securely confined, he let it pass. Benjamin and Thomas could hear every word, carried to them on the light breeze..

"What I have done," Trellim was saying to the crowd and to Tavington. "I have done for my country. I do not believe my actions have been treasonous, they have been Patriotic!" Banksia was nodding agreement. "If I must be hung, then so be it. I would make a request of you, however, if you will hear it, Colonel Tavington."

The Colonel tightened his lips and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Trellim.

"And what would that be?" He drawled.

"I would speak on behalf of Simon Howard," Trellim said, jutting his chin toward the weeping youth. "He is too young for this – what he has done, he has done at my command, out of a misguided loyalty to me. He was caught up in events out of his control and it is my hope that you will allow him to live."

"You will not speak for Sergeant Banksia or these others?" William arched an eyebrow and flashed a mocking smile.

"As if it would do any fucking good," Banksia answered for himself. "And I wouldn't let him anyway. I was born a Patriot, I'll die a Patriot. My only regret is that you caught us so fucking soon."

"Soon?" Bordon glared. "You've been polluting our ranks for months!"

"Yeh, and as you are the so called Master for Dragoon Intelligence, that must fuckin' rankle," Banksia taunted Bordon.

"I'll satisfy myself by watching you swing, _Sergeant_," Richard said the title mockingly.

"How's the head?" Banksia smiled and Benjamin looked to Bordon, finally seeing the massive bruise on the Major's cheek. Banksia must have put up a fight.

"Clearly, you hit like a lass," Ensign Dalton said in support for Bordon.

"Enough," the Colonel snapped. Benjamin would have put a stop to it also - if these meaningless insults escalated, then Tavington's Dragoons would be rolling around on the ground with the prisoners pulling their damned hair like a bunch of girls. There was no need for it – the Dragoons had the upper hand, they would only reduce themselves before the crowd if they let themselves be lured into a fight. Tavington was glaring at Bordon and Dalton, who reddened with embarrassment and snapped to attention. Benjamin – holding his breath - watched as Tavington turned back to Trellim. "I deny your request," he stated and inside the cabin, Benjamin keened. "You desire mercy for one of your men, yet you showed none to Miss Jutland."

Benjamin frowned, he shared a perplexed look with Thomas, who shook his head. He didn't understand, either.

"You knew she'd been taken captive, you knew what was being done to her -"

"I told you, I didn't condone any of that!" Trellim strangled out.

"Yes, Trellim, you did," Tavington replied. "You held your silence when you could have let us know where she was being kept. You are a rebel and a spy, loyal to Patriots. Yet you could have done that much. Paid off a slave to come with anonymous information. Anything. You knew we wanted her found. You knew how distressed Bordon was. You knew what was being done to her. Yet you let her remain, you let Sumter force his attention on her. Every hour that she endured at his hands, _you condoned_. You showed her - an innocent woman - no clemency. I shall not show clemency either."

"So you'll get revenge by hanging an innocent?" Trellim shot back.

"An innocent?" Tavington laughed. "Simon Howard has committed treason. It is he that you sent ahead of your Dragoons, to warn Burwell of our approach. And he is guilty of other acts of treason, also. His entire family is in rebellion. This is not revenge, this is justice. Let his death be a deterrent to others. All of these men have committed treason, they are all grown men who have made their own choices. They sided with you, they will die with you."

"I curse the day you were fucking born, Butcher!" Trellim shouted. "You merciless dog! When you die, the gates of Heaven will be barred to you! You will be sent straight to hell!"

"Save a place for me, won't you?" The Dragoon Commander smiled. "For that is where I am sending you now. Sergeant Cooper, proceed."

* * *

The prisoners were seized and dragged toward the trees. Banksia and the others went quiet, except for Simon Howard. And for Trellim, who continued to spit venom and hurl insults and curses upon Tavington, upon his family, his descendants for generations to come. He struggled against his guards - not to avoid the hanging, Benjamin knew, but in an attempt to reach the Colonel, who stood watching it all with a very bored expression. Benjamin spied movement in the crowd, a small someone winding their way through and to his chagrin, he saw Samuel Martin come to stand at Tavington's side.

"Dear God, don't watch," Benjamin whispered at the boy, who was watching with eyes wide, clearly trying to appear brave.

"What's he doing?" Thomas asked in a strangled voice.

"I don't know. Gods, I just don't know…"

"In the name of His Majesty, King George the Third!" Major Bordon yelled out. "Let it be known that those found guilty of treason, will be hung."

By now, the prisoners were being forced to stand on boxes, which had been placed beneath the heavy oak branches. Simon continued to cry, until Banksia shouted at him.

"For Christ's sake, die like a man!" He bellowed, just as a muslin cloth was shoved over his head. The sobbing only grew louder and when the cloth sack was shoved over Simon's head, he was in near hysterics.

"Why doesn't he let him alone?" Thomas asked, disgusted with Banksia. "Can't he see Simon is scared?"

"Men deal with death in their own ways, Tom," Benjamin said, his eyes fixed on Samuel. He saw the boy tug at Tavington's sleeve. Tavington leaned down and Samuel whispered something while pointing gravely toward Simon Howard. Tavington glanced at the men also. Then he turned back to Samuel and, shaking his head, he began to speak quietly - answering Samuel's question. When he finished, he straightened and Benjamin saw Samuel's shoulder's slump, and then the boy nodded.

Though he hadn't been able to hear the words, the look on Samuel's face wrung his heart. The grief - and worse - the acceptance, that these men deserved to be hanged.

The nooses were placed over the heads of the condemned men, the coils pushed down to their necks. Most of the Dragoons stood back, standing at attention for Tavington's final word. He turned to shout to those assembled - a short, simple warning, "'Behold the price of rebellion!"

Eight Dragoons kicked the crates out from under each man and without that support, their bodies dropped and began to twitch, their boots kicking futilely a foot above the ground.

* * *

Choking back a sob, Samuel averted his gaze.

"Are you alright, boy?" William asked. Embarrassed, Samuel shrugged. He struggled to keep from weeping openly in front of the hardened Dragoons.

"Come, we'll go inside," the Colonel placed his hand on Samuel's arm and began to guide him away from the still twitching bodies; his wife's brother needed consoling. Not that he had any idea what to say to the youth. After a moment, he realised that he truly did not know what to say - for he was hardly equipped to offer guidance, he made his mind up to rid himself of the lad. "I'll take you to your sister."

"I don't need a woman to comfort me!" Samuel said petulantly, offended that the Commander would think he needed to be tied to a woman's apron strings. "I'm a man, just like you!"

William gazed down at the youth.

"Of course you are," the Colonel said, realising his mistake. He had bruised the boys pride. "But Beth might need you. She'll need a strong shoulder to cry on. This was very difficult for her; the hanging of men she knew. You are her brother, it is your responsibility to offer comfort and..." He paused, searching for something to add that would soothe the offended boy. "Counsel," he continued. "She will need you to counsel her."

Samuel frowned - it was usually Beth who did the counselling when the children required it, but perhaps the Colonel was right. Perhaps Beth really did need him.

"Yes," he said, feeling better now that he believed he was needed. "I think you're right. I'll go to Beth at once."

"I'd appreciate it," William kept his expression dead pan and serious.

"Now that was something," Captain Gordon said when the pair caught up to him. There was a bandage around his head and a vivid bruise across half his forehead, where the bandage did not reach. He fell in with them, and they slowed their pace to allow for his limp. "That will show them. They'll think twice now, the damned rebels. And my wounded - it'll boost their spirits when I tell them."

"How are Shields and Terrell fairing?" William asked. Samuel, now the that Officers were discussing the men his father had attacked, shifted uncomfortably and began to wish he were elsewhere - somewhere far, far away. He'd admitted to Tavington that he'd been there, but hadn't admitted to killing one of Tavington's men. Tavington had just hung Simon Howard, who was not a day above fifteen. Would he hang Samuel, too, if he knew? The boy shuddered, tried to keep his fear from showing.

"Terrell is better, but Shields is still ranting. That blow he got to the head was far worse than mine. The doctor thinks he'll live now that he's survived a few days, but who knows if he'll have his full faculties?" Gordon asked.

"With all that talk of the 'Ghost'," William muttered. "I'd wager he won't."

"It's a damned waste," Gordon muttered.

Feeling eyes on him, Gordon glanced toward the house, then when he could not see anyone who might have been watching them, he looked to the left, toward the outhouse and kitchen. There, staring through the window, was Benjamin Martin's ugly, god damned face staring back at him. He wished he had the courage to defy Tavington, for if did, he'd go up to that window and shoot the bastard rebel through his black heart. Their eyes met and Gordon frowned, puzzled as to why Martin was staring with such blatant hatred. Could it be that he knew the men who had been executed? Yes, quite possibly. But, more likely, the cause of his fury would be that his son, was, at that moment, walking between the two Officers, as though he were a comrade, a brother in arms. Holding Benjamin's gaze, he smiled, then very deliberately, he placed his hand on Samuel's shoulder.

"Lad, how would you like to learn the sword?" He offered.

"Yes, I would! I mean, I'd like that very much!" Samuel smiled, excited at the prospect of learning how to wield a sword from someone who actually could. No more banging at Nathan with wooden sticks!

"Then let's get started," Gordon replied, shooting a taunting glance at Martin, whose eyes narrowed as he watched from his place of confinement. "Right here, I think."

"What, now? What about your leg?"

"Eh, it's not so bad. I'll be alright."

Samuel shot an uncertain glance at Tavington. "What about Beth though? I'm her brother, I should -"

"She's my wife, I'll see to her," William assured Samuel. He was well pleased with Gordon for offering to train the youth, it would get the deaths of the rebels off Samuel's mind, and it would get Samuel himself off William's hands. "Go easy on him," he joked to Samuel, pointing at Gordon. "He's wounded, remember?"

"Yes, Sir!" Samuel smiled brightly. Gordon bade him to wait, only to return a few moments with two very long, thick branches. Seeing this, his smile slipped, his heart fell. "Wooden sticks? I train with Nathan all the time with sticks. I thought this was for real."

"It is for real," Gordon scoffed. "Did you want to start with a real blade on your first try? You'll likely slice off a limb - and it'll likely be your own, not mine!"

"I suppose," Samuel frowned as he processed this. "But this is proper training - for real and true?"

"For real and true," the Lieutenant agreed. "You'll soon see the difference between training with me as opposed to your brother, even if we are using sticks."

Gleefully aware of the eyes watching intently from the out house, Gordon began to instruct Samuel in the ways of the sword. Beyond the ability to strike at Martin directly, he decided this method would be quite satisfying. He would teach at least one of Martin's pups about Loyalty, and do his level best to turn the youth from his father, as well.


	71. Chapter 71 - Heart to Heart

Chapter 71 - Heart to Heart:

Before the spies were hanged, they were questioned. And from that questioning, Bordon was informed of John Sumter's location.

When the night passed with no attack from the rebels, Bordon rode out from Fresh Water Plantation at dawn, with a unit of Dragoons.

Back at Fresh Water, Dragoons and the increasing number of new Loyalist recruits were working side by side to secure the property. Many of them were green lads who had shot dear, raccoons, rabbits and nothing else, but there were seasoned fighters in the mix as well, former militiamen. Mr. Turner and Mr. Taylor - both of whom had returned to offer assistance - reassured the Colonel that these were men who were true to the Crown.

_Martin isn't the only one that can rouse the countryside_, Bordon thought as he galloped away from Fresh Water.

The men in his escort rode without complaint, though the two day torrent of rain and the resulting humidity must have chafed them as much as it did Bordon. Yet another storm had passed over, the clouds cleared hours ago. Richard almost wished the sun hadn't come out, the heat had barely been tolerable when it was raining but now it was oppressive. The mosquitoes and other insects were a damned curse sent from hell to try them. The trees were still heavy with water, passing through the canopy soaked them as though they were riding in the pouring rain. The ground was a mucky mire and with each step, their horses legs sunk into the mud up to their forelocks.

With the appearance of the blistering sun, steam rose from the road, from rocks and trees, and even from the mens clothes. Curling wisps trailed upwards from Bordon's helmet and from his Redcoat. The heat was such that sweat popped out from every pour, to run down his neck, his face, his back. There was no way around it, the men were to travel in the blistering heat, with the added discomfort of sweat drenched clothes.

All of this combined was enough to make the Major quite surly and he had told Cornet Brownlow and Ensign Dalton, multiple times, that if Sumter escapes him, he'll track him down and hang the bastard despite Tavington's command to bring him back to Fresh Water alive and whole.

The sun was just now beginning it last descent on the horizon and in another half hour, it would be full dark.

* * *

By the time they reached the Plantation house Sumter was reported to be quartered in, full night had fallen and Bordon had worked himself up into a cold, calculated rage. Sensing his brooding, Dalton and Brownlow kept silent. They approached the house, many of the windows were alight, and lanterns lined the carriage lane.

"Expecting someone, are they?" Richard said. The Dragoons had stop far back from the house, they lingered in the woods, doing reconnaissance. Richard turned to Brownlow. "You know what to do."

Brownlow nodded. He was no longer wearing his Green Dragoon uniform, he was wearing the clothing of a militiaman - buckskin breeches and fringed hunting shirt beneath a great cloak. His hair was still pulled back in a queue but he wore a tricorn instead of the Green Dragoon hat. And he carried a rifle, instead of his British issued musket. Trotting forward away from the detachment, he felt suddenly naked with out them, as he thundered toward the carriage lane all on his own.

The objective now, was to determine if Sumter was in the house. All of this was for nothing, if Sumter was gone. Bordon watched as Brownlow was almost immediately challenged by a sentry who stepped onto the narrow lane in front of Brownlow's approaching horse. Though Bordon could not hear the words, Brownlow was speaking quickly throwing his arms around for emphasis. Bordon could not hear, but he knew what Brownlow was telling the rebel sentry. That Trellim and the other spies in Tavington's ranks had been caught. That this spy - as Brownlow was pretending to be - had barely gotten away, that Trellim, Banksia and all the others had been hanged. Bordon watched the man's face - he could see the horror even from this distance. The man began speaking, just as quickly, just as furiously, with Brownlow nodding as if in agreement. And then, to Bordon's chagrin, Brownlow whirled his horse about and began galloping back up the carriage lane.

"Dear God, no," Dalton breathed. "Sumter isn't here."

Bordon clenched his teeth, his jaw tight. Brownlow stayed on the lane for as long as there were torches lighting it, to give the illusion that he was leaving. When he was wrapped again in the darkness of night, he peeled away to find Bordon.

"He isn't here," Brownlow reported. "But he will return very shortly - with Martin's militia, who are frothing at the bit to free their Commander. He's bringing them here."

"He is, is he? Is he returning here?" Bordon asked and Brownlow nodded, Bordon could barely see the Cornet's face in the darkness.

"The guard already knew about Trellim," Brownlow continued. "He said Sumter will arrive back here with the militia, and then they will head back up this way, to take Fresh Water sometime tonight."

"Damn and blast it." Bordon snapped. His mind whirled through the possibilities. He asked Brownlow, "the guard specifically said they are returning here to this house, before continuing on to Fresh Water?"

"Yes, Sir."

After a moments hesitation, Bordon said, "take the house - do not let a single rebel escape."

* * *

The Dragoons took the house with ease. Being so scarcely manned, no rebels had been able to slip away to warn Sumter. Bordon inspected every nook and cranny for strong positions to make a stand, before having several of his Dragoons change into Colonial clothing and take up guard positions where Sumter had left them. It would not fool the other man for long, he would know when he was up close that the men were not his. But as long as he came up close, that was all that mattered. As long as he was in reach of Bordon who wanted desperately to capture him. How they were then to escape the superior numbers Sumter was bringing with him…

One problem at a time, Richard.

For now, he watched from a window as the firebrands drew closer. It was impossible to calculate how many men were out there - all he did know was that they would not all be entering the house. Sumter would bring in a handful, but certainly not all.

_Perhaps we'll catch him without raising the alarm_, Richard thought. Then he laughed softly. Perhaps pigs would sprout wings and fly, too. Still, he'd do what he could, toward that end. Sumter was a cocky bastard, filled with his own self importance. When he drew closer, Richard could see how he galloped past the sentries, not stopping to speak to any one of them. Because of this, he had no idea that the men standing there guarding the property were not his own. Richard had a moment misgiving - his men were pretending to be Sumter's, and soon, the truth would be realised. And they were out there, among the rebel militia. They'd been instructed to leave their posts and come to the house - in such a way as to not draw suspicion, Bordon wanted them retreating them to the safety of the house so they would not be captured out there with Sumter's men or Martin's militia, when the rebels realised that not all was as it seemed.

Sumter, Richard saw, threw his reins to one of Richard's men, then he stopped dead, finally seeing that he did not recognise the fellow. Richard's felt his insides twist. It'd been going so damned well! Sumter was right there, in the yard, he'd been about to march up onto the porch! But now, he was seizing the front of the Dragoon's shirt and hauling him in close. Richard did not have to be near to know the question that burst from Sumter's lips. "Who the hell are you?"

"Charge!" Bordon screamed, for want of a better command. Glass shattered from every front facing window as Dragoons began firing through the panes onto the men outside. Their horses were to either side and the rear of the house, easily accessible in case of this scenario. The rebels were in utter disarray, Richard exulted as many of them turned tail and fled. His men reloaded and fired again. "To horse!" Richard screamed and the men raced through the house from their positions to where their horse was tied. They were in the saddle in moments, sabres drawn, as they came around both sides of the house like a flood, falling up on the fleeing rebels. The Dragoons closed the distance quickly, from two sides With deadly, deliberate precision, the two groups of horse bore down on the confused Yankees. Bordon had no idea where Sumter was - he'd lost him in the melee. But he had no time to consider his enemy right now. The rebels had begun to scatter and bolt every which way, but the Dragoon horses cut off their escape, the deadly Dragoons sliced down into them with the sabres.

Bordon shouted a command and a single line of Dragoons split away from each group to deal with those Continentals trying to slip past. He shouted another command and several shots rang out, firing into those Continentals trying to form together. And then the Dragoons crashed into the camp, their very horses weapons in themselves. Men were stampeded under hooves. Others were kicked by the enraged horses. The Redcoats slashed down with their keen edged sabres and the Continentals began to die. Bordon continued to slash down as he roared into the enemy ranks, jerking his reins this way and that, forcing his horse to turn quickly as he spied another likely victim. He exulted, feeling certain that the battle was already won.

"To me! To me!" A man screamed.

With his boot on a man's chest, Bordon shoved the body off his sword, pushing the dead man into the mud. Then he lifted his head, trying to see who was attempting to rally the militia. Bathed by torchlight, a rebel was waving his arm and shouting. Bordon slashed down at a militiaman who rushed by him, in an attempt to obey that command. Even with many of the rebels in retreat, there was still far too many willing to fight. Bordon and his Dragoons could not stop them all from forming up, no matter how they twisted their horses to block off those charging toward the fellow trying to rally them, no matter how they slashed with their sabres. Within moments, the militia who hadn't fled regrouped and were charging toward the Dragoons.

"Fire!" Bordon screamed and short rang through the night - both his Dragoons and the militia, as if both answered his command at once. Too many of the militia had remained, they were rushing toward the Dragoons, who were outnumbered two to one.

More explosions clapped through the air behind Bordon and he had the sudden sick fear that at least some of the fleeing militia hadn't fled at all, but had circled behind him to cut off his rear.

"Retreat!" He screamed, his heart pounded furiously as he twisted his mount and waved frantically at his men to escape the trap the militia were trying to form around them. If they did not, then Sumter's militiamen would make short work of what was left of Bordon's Dragoons.

"Retreat!" He screamed again, frantic for his men to flee.

"Charge!" Came a scream from his rear, from what he assumed was the militia closing in. The man shouted loudly to be heard over the thundering horses. "Charge Bordon, you damned fool!"

Where he had been expecting militia, Richard's breath seized in his chest as Banastre Tarleton burst from the darkness with three hundred Dragoons at his back. Recognising Banastre's Dragoons, Bordon's Green Dragoons whooped in joy. They heeded Banastre's command and turned back to the fight with renewed vigour.

"Circle them, my boys!" Banastre shouted, taking full command of the assault. "Break their back!"

Bordon took up the cry, to circle around, to herd the militia, to break them. He, Dalton, Brownlow and a full score thundered in toward the fight. The militia broke completely and began fleeing, those that could get away. Those that couldn't tried to through down their arms.

"Quarter!" Came the cry from the rebel militia.

"Granted!" Tarleton called cheerfully. "Just lay down those arms! If a single one is fired, I'll kill every one of you."

Bordon grinned. The delivery of such a deadly statement with such a sunny voice was Tarleton all over.

"Sir!" Brownlow shouted, pointing to his left, toward the far end of the torch lit lane, where several militia were fleeing. Bordon recognised John Sumter immediately.

"To me!" Bordon shouted. He split away from Tarleton's Dragoons and galloped down the lane toward the fleeing group.

Seeing the Dragoons bear down on them, the rebels threw down their weapons and raised their hands, begging quarter. Standing frozen in the centre of this group was an astonished and terrified Sumter. Hot, blind fury surged through Bordon and his sabre was back in his hand without him being aware of it.

"They've been given quarter!" Dalton screamed as Bordon, his face a mask of stone, thundered into the small circle of unarmed militia. He ignored the others - his eyes were fixed on Sumter alone. He was almost atop the man now, and without warning, his sabre came slashing down to slice the head from the man's shoulders.

Sumter had not been expecting such an attack. He screamed and bolted backward a step. Providence was on his side and the man tripped and fell, splattering into the mud. Laid flat on his back, he held his arms up as Bordon's horse reared above him.

"Please, quarter!" Sumter shouted up at Bordon. "I beg you, mercy!"

Sumter would not have given Harmony mercy. He would have raped her, if she had not saved herself. Though the man was now sprawled helplessly on his back at Bordon's feet, Bordon could not help imagining Sumter as he held Harmony down and spread her legs, she would be very much in the same position Sumter was in now. Richard imagined Sumter fucking her as she cried and begged for him to stop. Sumter would not have paid heed to such a plea from Harmony.

In a chilling voice, Bordon replied grimly, "for you?" He paused, pinning Sumter to the ground with his cold gaze. "Never."

His sabre slashed down again. Sumter held up his arms to no avail. His scream was silenced - cut off suddenly as the tip of Bordon's blade skewered him in the centre of his chest.

"We had surrendered!" One of the militia screamed in protest.

"Which you then broke, by trying to escape," Bordon argued.

"You're a damned murderer!"

"Be silent you damned Yankee," Dalton said grimly, drawing his sabre. With deadly ease, the Green Dragoons pulled pistols or drew their sabres. The militiamen glared up at the mounted men, though they kept their mouths wisely shut.

"They had yielded, Major," a new voice said. Banastre Tarleton edged his horse into the circle of Green Dragoons, followed by his own coterie - Major Hanger and a few Dragoons. Tarleton stared down at Sumter's body, stared at the blood flowing from the gash in his chest and spreading out to coat the mud. "I accepted their surrender."

Bordon met the Commandant's eyes. This time, there was not a single trace of amusement or cheerfulness in Tarleton's deadly cold voice.

* * *

It was two o'clock in the morning, and still Charlotte could not sleep. She lay on her stomach on the soft mattress with only her shift covering her nudity. Though it was the second night after that terrible Captain Gordon had strapped her, her backside was still ablaze with pain and she could not bare to lay on her back, her preferred position for sleeping. She had been unable to sit during the entire day, it simply hurt too much. Added to that, the shame of being strapped cut her to the bone. All of this combined made it impossible for Charlotte to sleep.

To add insult to injury, her movements were being monitored. She could not leave her bed chamber without two guards trailing her every step. No conversation was private, not even when discussing the days business with her maid, Polly.

Tavington did not trust her. He probably feared that she would attempt to send another servant out, perhaps with word to Burwell this time, of how precarious Tavington's position was at Fresh Water. And precarious it was. Tavington had come up with the clever plan of putting every single male staff member - of both Benjamin's employ and of hers - into tents to make it appear as though his own Dragoon numbers were higher than they were. Many of Benjamin and Charlotte's workers were white men, and it was they who were given the task of making the camping in the tents. They were to look, and act, like soldiers as much as possible, so that anyone scouting for the Patriot militia would be fooled into reporting that there was a strong British presence there.

To a casual observer, it would appear as though there were somewhere up to four hundred soldiers in residence but the truth was, there was no more than two hundred, especially with Bordon's departure earlier that morning.

Another piece of information she longed to pass along to Burwell was that Loyalists in the outlying region were coming forward to join Tavington's militia. They - and the Dragoons and Charlotte and Benjamin's workers, had begun building barracks, to house soldiers. Clearly Tavington's stay was to be an extended one.

Oh, how she so desperately wanted to get word of this to Burwell. To tell the General that Tavington's camp was no where near as strong as the Butcher was trying to make it appear. To tell Burwell that he should strike NOW, before the the British Legion and the two Green Dragoon units could arrive to bolster the Butcher's ranks. The desire to inform Burwell was so strong that she burned with it. But Tavington did not trust her. He would not let her have a single minute to herself, except for the times she sequestered herself in the chamber she shared with Margaret and Susan. There was not a single person on the Plantation who Tavington was not certain of, who were not being watched. Even the worker's children on the grounds were watched, in case their parents had given messengers for the little ones to pass along. Charlotte had thought of doing that. She'd also considered sending Polly away to deliver information to someone nearby, but Polly was unable to get away from the Plantation without a pass. No one was able to leave the grounds without express permission from Tavington or one of his adjutants.

She dearly wished she could leave. As much as she loved her nieces and nephews, as much as she wanted to be there for them during their time of need, she wanted nothing more than to be gone from Fresh Water. It was Benjamin's desire also - he was the one who had demanded she go. Tavington would not allow it, however. For she knew too much. He did not care one iota that being in the house caused her such heart ache. She was so close to Benjamin and yet so far. He would not let her near him - even confined as he was. And he would never forgive her. It was done between them, and yet she could not leave. Being in the house was so painful, with all its memories of her time making love to Benjamin. She'd always been welcome there before, but now, she was anything but. Her nieces were kind to her, in a wary sort of way but the closeness they'd shared before had been shattered. And the boys! Lord, not a single one of them looked at her with anything but disgust. They were all furious with her and there was not a thing she could do about it.

As if her thoughts and heart ache were not enough to keep her awake, the two in the chamber next door made such a racket, that sleep was damned impossible. She punched her pillow, wondering when they would stop going at each other. The continual thumping of the bed against the wall was enough to wake the dead. And knowing that it was her niece in there with a man made her stomach churn with revulsion. The occasional moan that drifted to her ears made her cringe in disgust. Her niece was coupling with the Butcher - only yards from where Charlotte lay - with only the damned wall between them!

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

He was going slowly now, but it wouldn't be long until he picked up pace again. Charlotte hoped it would be over soon, preferably before she lost her mind.

"Aunt Charlotte?" A sleepy voice whispered from the bed next to hers. "What's that noise?"

"Someone is banging a drum," she said quickly. "Go back to sleep, Susan."

"A drum? Why would they bang a drum?" The little girl asked. "Can I sleep with you, Aunt Charlotte?"

Charlotte almost burst into tears. At least someone wanted to be with her and she sore needed a warm body to cling to herself.

"Of course you can," she lifted the blankets and the little girl climbed in beside her and snuggled in close. Charlotte wrapped herself around her beloved niece and for a moment, she was in heaven. Until -

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

"I don't think that's drums…"

"Go to sleep Margaret," Charlotte said in a determined tone.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

"Is that… Are they…" In the darkness, Margaret's voice sounded profoundly embarrassed and Charlotte clenched her jaw tight, frustrated over the writhing couples lack of thoughtfulness regarding the other occupants in the house.

"Go to sleep."

_Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump._

_Dear Lord above, let them finish soon! _Charlotte cringed.

Then all was quiet and she whispered a fervent prayer of thanks. She closed her eyes and was about to try and get some sleep, when:

_Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump!Thump!_

She grabbed her pillow and threw it over her face, but it was not enough to drown out the:

_"Agh, Beth, yes! God, I love you!"_

"Oh, my God - they are!" Margaret whispered into the dark, aghast.

Three more determined thumps, these were the worst for Charlotte because she knew the couple where in the throes of their orgasms. She could hear Beth whimpering and Tavington's harsh groans.

Finally! All grew silent in the room next door and Charlotte drew a sharp breath and held it, almost fearing the two would start again, that they weren't really finished yet. She wondered if she could swap rooms with someone else. But the Officers were all settled and so were the boys - they could not be expected to change with her, for their father's room was the largest and, being boys, they needed the space. She was stuck there, in that room, with her nieces. And with her other niece, coupling her husband, in the room next over. This instance was the third time that night - and it was still several hours until dawn!

It was a damned nightmare, is what it was.

Fury and helplessness writhed in her stomach. Tavington was taking his husbandly right far too often. Did he not care that until only the day before, Beth had been a virgin? She was unused to coupling! He was not giving her body a chance to become accustomed to him! The way he was having at her, he could cause her serious damage inside, making her hurt more each time they laid together! Oh, how Charlotte wished she could give him a piece of her mind! She fair quivered with the desire to march up to their door and pound on it, and to scream at Tavington to give the poor girl some space, to give her body time to heal and adjust!

But she doubted very much that Tavington would listen to her. More likely than not, he'd command that damned Captain to strap her again, and this time, she would not have Cornet Brownlow to curb the Captain's enthusiasm.

* * *

A small fire burned on the brazier, warding away the early morning cold. Despite it being high Summer, the recent storm had left left a chill on the air which would not entirely leave until mid morning.

With his hands beneath his head, William lay back against the plush pillows. His long brown hair hung loosely over his shoulders and across the pillow. The white sheet covered him artfully, it draped across his hips, covering his now flaccid member but his chest with its smattering of black hair was bared. His white ruffled shirt was, at that moment, being picked up by his wife. He watched her with a small smile quirking his lips as she held up the shirt and examined it critically, looking for specs of dirt. He did not think the shirt would be dirty, himself, for it was almost always covered by his woollen Redcoat. She pressed the material to her face and then wrinkled her nose. The shirt was then unceremoniously thrown across the room, just missing the washing basket. It fell on the floor with the rest of the washing that she had thrown over to the basket and missed.

"That's a clean shirt," he protested.

"It stinks," she said bluntly. "When was the last time you had a bath, William?"

He arched an eyebrow at her. Beth wore only her long cotton shift - unfortunately it was not the clingy negligee that she'd worn the night before, but as he watched her move about the room, he decided he liked seeing her in this looser one just as well. It left more to the imagination. She was a wealthy young woman and yet she was currently dressed like a peasant girl. The fact that she was completely naked beneath caused his flaccid member to stir beneath the sheet. Her long golden locks hung loose about her shoulders and down her back, it was messy and tangled now after their lovemaking during the night.

"When was the last time I bathed?" He shrugged. "I couldn't tell you."

"By the stink of you, it's been months. I'll have one drawn for you."

"I have far more pressing matters to deal with than bathing," he scowled. "But if you promise to join me, I'll spare the time."

Beth laughed. "I don't think we've got a tub big enough for both of us."

"You'll have to sit on top of me then," he smirked. "Shouldn't your maid be doing that?" He asked her as she folded a shirt - one of the few which met her approval, and set it atop the others she'd folded. Those would be placed in the drawers she'd had bought into the room for him.

"Mila is busy enough," Beth said. "She and Abigail are still arguing over Zeke. But Abigail has finally relented, she's given Mila permission to marry, and so they are making preparations now."

"The poor fellow isn't even here! Legion will not be here for another day at least."

"He is in service to you, is he not? Judging by the state of these clothes, Zeke was not doing a particularly good job…"

"I don't smell that bad," he turned his nose into his under arm and sniffed. Then - because Beth was watching him - he made a show of wrinkling his nose as though he smelled something unpleasant. She laughed again and returned to the work of tidying their messy chamber.

"See, even you agree. It's a bath you need, with lots and lots of soap."

"And my beautiful wife to wash me. Go ahead and have that bath drawn, my darling. I think we'll skip breakfast for it."

"You're eager! Weren't you moaning about being hungry a few minutes ago?" She opened their door and spoke quietly to someone outside, and then closed it again.

"I'm hungry," he agreed. "For you. Come here."

"No - this room is a mess and I'm determined to clean it. We can play later."

"Here you go, disobeying your husband again," he complained. "If I didn't love you so much, I'd spank you for such insolence."

She answered by poking her tongue out at him. "God, your saddle bags are heavy," she moaned as she picked them up and dropped them to the bed. "What are you keeping in here, a blacksmiths anvil?" She began to pull out more clothes, and she scowled with disgust when she found they were all dirty.

"What?" He asked defensively. "I haven't had time to have them washed and the rest of my clothes are with the baggage train."

The British Legion would have hunkered down to wait out the storm, and now the roads would be too muddy and the rivers too high, for them to travel very far. They would have started the journey, but it would be slow, as they inched their way down from Kingstree. At least another day, before the Legion reached him. Probably two or three, before the baggage train arrived.

He chafed at the delay for Fresh Water - his new stronghold - was not as protected as he'd like it to be. At the same time, he wished they'd never arrive - the baggage train, anyway - for despite his desire for his clean clothes, he knew he had a very unpleasant task ahead of him. Ending his affair with Linda - knowing it would break the woman's heart, was not something he looked forward to.

"But these have been in your bag for days - you could have dragged them out sooner so I could have them washed! I mean, look at this one! Lord, William - I was wondering what that horrible smell was and now I know!"

"I think you should call for a servant to do that, Beth," he scoffed. "I'd prefer that this sort of task be done in silence."

"With less insults to your person?" She smiled down at him as she reached in to pull out another item. This one was folded in a scrap of silk and she looked at him in askance. "Is it valuable? I can have it put into the safe if it is."

"It's valuable to me," he said warmly, his pale blue eyes fixed on her intently. Beth frowned. When no further explanation was forthcoming, she unwrapped the silk parcel. Seeing her own brown eyes staring back up at her, she drew a sharp breath of surprise.

"You… You've been carrying this?" She whispered. William sat up straight, the sheet pooled in his lap.

"It was in a cabinet at Mr. Putman's house. On our last day there, I decided to take it with me."

"Thief," she accused without much conviction. Her cheeks flushed red as she gazed down at him.

"You're surprised I'd want to bring it with me?" He asked. He took hold of her hand and drew her down to the bed to sit beside him. His strong fingers stroked her smooth cheek. "It was all I had of you," he said. "That and the ribbon you gave me the first night I called on you."

She leaned into his touch with a contented sigh. Shuffling closer, she pressed her face to his bare shoulder. His corded arms wound around her and he cradled her close. She loved these moments between them - there had been plenty in the last few days. If she was walking past him in the corridor he would pull her into an embrace, kissing her lovingly before releasing her to go about his duties. At night before and after lovemaking, he always held her close, his breath a sigh as his lips whispered across her skin. Though the encounters were plentiful now, she knew she'd never tire of them.

"I kept the rose you picked for me," she confessed, meeting his gaze. "Do you remember?"

"I do - I cut my finger on a thorn to pick it."

"Hmm. Well, I dried and pressed it, and kept it. And the note you sent me, I kept that too."

He smiled at her warmly, his eyes hooded as he gazed at her.

"Did you think of me often while we were apart?" He asked her.

"I tried not too," she hung her head. "It hurt too much. But I couldn't help it - my head was filled with you. And I would lay awake and stare at your portrait all night."

"You've got a portrait of me?" He frowned. "From where?"

"I drew it," she said. "As soon as I reached home. I remembered how, after only a few months after my mother died, I began to forget what she looked like. I couldn't bear for that to happen and so I drew your portrait while I could still recall you clearly."

"Show me," he prodded.

"You better not laugh," she disentangled herself from his embrace and fetched her diary. She resumed her seat beside him and leaned into his chest again. The book fell open straight on the page she had drawn his portrait - evidence of how often she'd opened the book at that page. He stared at the charcoal image of himself, astounded by her skill. There were watery smudges in some places but apart from that, it was a perfect likeness of him.

"You cried over it," he said, touching the watermarks.

"Every night," she admitted, her voice choking up a little.

"You silly thing," he turned her and cupped her cheeks gently, gazing into her brown eyes, now bright with unshed tears. "You should not have left me," he admonished her. Leaning in, he kissed her tenderly. "Don't ever leave me again, Beth."

"I won't," she promised. She dropped the book to the floor, and then wound her arms around his neck. "I couldn't bear to go through that again."

"Me neither," his lips moved over hers, and then he pulled away slightly. He revelled in these quiet, loving moments himself, but he had a question to ask her, one that might ruin the spell their devotion for each other had cast. He'd been meaning to ask it for days but the time had never been right. "Darling. I need to know about Banastre's time here." He said, the warmth leaving his now piercing blue eyes.

Colour flushed Beth's face and her heart began to pound. Gods, this was it. Her opening - should she tell him the truth? She didn't want to lie, not about something as important as this. Lord Above, she'd bedded another man before marrying her husband! He deserved to know. But the words clogged in her throat. The truth, should she reveal it now, would be devastating for them. Their future would be over when it had only just begun.

There was no way on God's green earth that she could tell him. Perhaps if she'd been completely honest to start with - but then he never would have married her. So now? If she told him now? Good Lord. She didn't like to imagine what he'd do.

_We gave each other a clean slate, _she reasoned through her guilt and worry._ I'm certain I didn't see everything on his, before he wiped it. Does he need to see everything on mine?_

Fear of his reaction made her omit certain, damning truths.

"He was here for several days, as you know," she said, trying to keep her voice light, nonchalant.

"Yes, I do know. And we came to blows over it."

"Oh, you didn't!" Beth covered her mouth with her hand, completely astounded.

"We did," he said grimly. "He told me - quite smugly - that he stayed here for several days. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I went for his throat."

"Oh, God," Beth closed her eyes in horror and trembled. "I can't believe it - have you forgotten you are friends?"

"He accused me of ruining you," he continued, ignoring her question. "He said that you cried on his shoulder."

A muscle twitched above his eye, giving away his rising anger. Lord, if this much could upset him, how would learning she'd bedded Banastre, that she'd lost her virginity to him, what sort of fury would William be sent into then? A chill traced her spine and she shuddered.

"It was a terrible time, William," she said, trying to make him understand. "Everyone was angry with me, no one wanted to talk to me. Until Hanger took me to Banastre. Ban's was the first friendly face I'd seen in so long."

William tightened his lips. He glanced past her blindly, struggling to keep control of his temper. "Very well. I will have to accept that. He told me that you thought I was the one to boast about our time in Arthur Simms bed chamber."

"Well, you told me you didn't and I believe you," she paused, then asked, "how did it get spread about, then?"

"It was an accident," he sighed. "It was Arthur Simms. He was drunk at the time and didn't mean harm to you. He's sorry for it, and I wish to leave it at that."

"Arthur…" Beth shook her head. "I can't believe he would be so foolish."

"Nor could I. I damned near booted him from the Dragoons. But as I said, while it was stupidly done, there was no vindictiveness in his actions. He felt especially guilty about it, for he knew you were the one to write that letter, warning him about Burwell's intentions toward the Simms family."

"You all knew it was me?" She asked softly.

"I recognised your hand," he nodded. He was smiling again, this time with approval. "That was well done, my sweet Beth."

"It was necessary," she said, though her cheeks flushed and she felt a giddy warmth from his approving gaze. "I could not have his family harmed - his poor sisters are innocents! And his mother is too."

"I agree. Now, back to Banastre," he said and she stifled a groan. "So, he was here for several days. It's what he did during those days that I wish to know about. Did he try to seduce you, Beth?"

She knew that if she denied this, the lie would immediately be given away. Banastre could not have been in her home for so many days without at least trying - a fact that William knew well.

"He wanted to," she said. "But my father never allowed for him to come close. My brothers dogged my heels constantly, for papa suspected Banastre's interest in me."

"Hmm. He couldn't get close to you then?" He asked, pressing her for more. "During the day at least. And at night? Did he come to you at night?"

"No, William," she answered truthfully, carefully leaving out that he had summoned her to his chamber. "I shared my room with Susan. Perhaps he would have tried, if not for that."

William nodded slowly. What she said corroborated with what Banastre had told him that night in camp, after the rout at Camden. Beth, feeling as though she were an insect under the examination of a scientist, gnawed at her bottom lip. He seemed to be wanting more from her, and as the silence was stretching until it was awkward, she said, "he asked papa for his permission to marry me."

"What!" He exploded. "He did what!"

"He was denied - as you would have been," she rushed to explain.

"Of course he was bloody denied! It's the fact that he asked at all that has me riled! He dared! That damned bastard! And he didn't say a word of this when I saw him!"

"Well if this was the reaction he'd get, I'm not surprised! You said you'd already gone for his throat. He probably thought you'd throttle him to death."

"Banastre can give as good as he can get," William said darkly. By his tone, Beth suspected that the next time the two saw one another, this sentiment would be put to the test. William continued to rage. "I asked him - from one friend to another - to step aside for me. To allow me to have you without further argument. And you know what the damned bastard said?" Beth shook her head, her eyes wide. "He told me he intended to marry you, Beth. He insisted _I_ step aside for _him_!"

"Lord," she reeled. She'd known how deeply he cared for her, but as she did not return the sentiment as fully, she had convinced herself that he would forget her easily. She was just now realising her mistake and it pained her, knowing how heart broken Banastre was certain to be when he learned she'd married William instead of waiting for him.

"He's going to be so hurt…" she whispered. His eyes flashed, furious that she would show Banastre such concern. Beth withered under his piercing gaze.

"Yes, I suppose he will be," William said eventually, blowing out a sullen breath.

"Perhaps I should write to him," she said, though what she would write in such a letter was completely beyond her. "I should be the one to explain. I don't want him to hear about our marriage from someone else. It should come from me."

"No, I'll do it," William replied. "He was my friend. I've married the woman he's in love with - it should come from me."

"No - let me do this William," she protested. "You're the last person he'd want to speak to about it. He'd probably want to punch you as soon as he sees you."

William thought about it for a long moment. Beth was right, but she did not understand why William wished to be the one to write and tell Banastre. William was no coward, to hide behind his wife.

"We'll both write to him," he offered. "Mine to tell him it's done - that you are my wife. And yours will, perhaps, be the balm that soothes him."

"I doubt that," she said, thoroughly miserable. "But I agree. It would be for the best."

"But first, my darling," he said, placing one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath her rump. He shucked off the sheet and rose to his feet with her lifted in his arms. "That bath must be ready by now!"

He started walking toward the door, with her cradled against him. She threw her arms around his neck to keep better balance.

"William!" She giggled when they reached the door. "Get your breeches on first!"

* * *

"The Master wishes to speak with you, Mrs. Putman. This way, if you please."

With an aggrieved sigh, Mage rose to follow. Though it was almost ten o'clock, all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed. Mark was dead. Cilla was still angry with her because of her affair with Bordon. The lass barely spoke two words a day to her. She barely stirred from her chamber at all. Which left Mage to deal with her grief alone. It grieved her even more, that Cilla was keeping herself confined so, where Mage could not give her the support Cilla must desperately need.

Mage was in sore need of it herself. They'd always said that if one of them should pass, the other would not survive them long. Mage felt a desperate need to end her pain for once and for all. But now that the choice was laid before her, how could she possibly leave this world, when it meant leaving Cilla? Who desperately needed her mother, even if she was too distressed by Mage's affair with Bordon to reach out to her.

To make matters worse, Mage's brother was trying to convince her to re-marry. Widows and widowers did so quickly in the Colonies, their morning periods were far shorter than in Britain, where life wasn't so unsure and fraught as it was in the Colonies. Still, most family had the decency to wait a few months before making the suggestion, and slightly longer before putting on the pressure. Mage's brother Christopher hadn't even waited a week. Not only had the suggestion been made, but potential candidates were being considered.

Because Mark had been declared a traitor, his properties and his money had all been seized by the British. Mage could not access a penny from their estate, it was all gone. She had what she'd been able to bring away with her, little over five hundred pounds. That was not going to last her long. Christopher was faced with the supporting of two dependents, one of which barely stirred from her chamber. Mage wished she could do the same. Just stay in her chamber, never stirring, never leaving. To return to bed, with a strong infusion of valerian or a few drops of laudanum. To numb her pain and grief. To sleep the days away for she had little energy for anything else. To hide from the world, most especially from her brother.

But it wasn't her bed. Or her bed chamber. Or her house. She was cast adrift, entirely reliant on her brother and his wife that despised her. It was her doing, Mage suspected. Celeste wanted to see the back of Mage and Cilla as quickly as possible. Not all of the potential suitors Christopher suggested were for Mage - many of them were for Cilla. Who no longer had a dowry, who had no hope of marrying so high as Mage and Mark had once hoped.

Mage was destitute now, and entirely at the mercy of Christopher and Celeste's good will. She had been summoned by the Master of the House and all those in his dominion must obey. He must not be kept waiting on the whim of a dependent. With her holdings and money seized by the British, Mage could not so much as buy a ribbon without asking her brother to pay for it. But as he was providing her with so much more than ribbons, she was determined to remain in his good graces in every way she could. Cilla needed a roof over her head and she needed the protection of the Middleton name. For that, Mage would answer her brother's call with alacrity.

"I know the way," she said, dismissing the slave. The African curtsied and Mage strolled purposefully through the house, silently cursing the need to reside there, where her sister in law's reign over the manor and over her husband was complete. Mage had never gotten along particularly well with Mrs. Celeste Middleton. They had history, the two of them. Celeste had been in love with Mark and had always felt that Mage had stolen him from her. And never mind the fact that it was Celeste's parents who had arranged for her to marry Christopher. It had not been Mage's design, not at all. Besides, Christopher had proven to be an excellent match for Celeste - the prosperous Planter was able to provide the type of privileged life for his wife that she had always been accustomed to.

Perhaps if Mark had not been so clearly content in his marriage to Mage, just perhaps, Celeste could have forgiven Mage and could have found it within her to be more amiable. If Mage and Mark had had a miserable marriage, then Celeste and Mage might have gotten along quite well. But Mage and Mark had fallen in love with one another very quickly, and by the time their wedding day came around, all their previous beaus and loves had been forgotten. Mrs. Celeste Middleton had watched her former beau announce his vows to his bride with such a look on her face! As though she'd bitten into a lemon. And never mind that she had been married to a decent man for at least six months by then.

To add insult to injury, upon hearing of Mark's death, Celeste had begun wearing mourning clothes. She still loved him, even after all these years. Mage hated her for that, hated the woman for wearing the black of mourning when it was Mage's husband who had died. She hated the way Celeste treated her and Cilla, with a detached indifference and the superior air of one who was forced to assist the needy. Never overtly rude - she simply ignored her guests as much as she could, deliberately making the pair feel like the beggars they were.

Mage came to a stop in the corridor outside Christopher's office. She paused a moment to drag her fingers over her eyes, drying them. She could not face Christopher with tears in her eyes or wet on her cheeks, he was already doing so much for her and Cilla, she did not want him to think - even for one moment - that she was trying to make him pity her. Hoping she looked composed enough, she knocked. A moment later, after hearing her brother calling 'come' from within, she opened the door and, to her chagrin, saw he was not alone. Celeste sat in one of the chairs near her husband, her grin positively vicious.

"Take a seat Mage, there is something I would ask you," Christopher said, indicating the seat opposite her. She obeyed, sitting across from him.

"What is it, brother?" Mage asked.

"Sister, were you having relations with Major Bordon?"

"What?" Mage breathed, her eyes darting from Christopher to Celeste and back again, her heart immediately lurched and began to pound, sweat popped out on her forehead.

"I suggest you be truthful with me, Mage," Christopher said, voice hard as granite. He stared hard at her, eyes fixed and narrowed.

"She was having relations with him, she is an adulteress!" Celeste, who hated her, spat with fury.

"I know," Christopher said, lip curled with distaste.

"It's not what… It's not what you think," Mage stumbled over her words, blood roared in her ears, she could barely concentrate.

"Then, do, please tell me what I should think," Christopher snapped.

"I wasn't… I wasn't…" Gods, it was so hard to breathe, so hard to form the words.

"Having an affair?" Celeste asked nastily. "We have all the confirmation we need, Mage. You might as well tell the truth. You might as well admit it!"

"It wasn't an affair," Mage swallowed hard, she licked her lips to wet them. "I did it for Mark!"

Celeste gaped for all of a moment, then she threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, I was expecting lies and evasion, I was even expecting you to beg forgiveness. But this? You screwed another man, and you did it for your husband?"

"Gods, you must believe me," Mage said, desperate now. She reached out to seize Christopher's fingers, ready to implore him, but as her fingers alighted on his, he snapped his away. Her hands trembled as she pulled them back. "You know what Mark was doing," she said desperately, her voice high and thin. "Why he had to flee. He was spying on the British! I… told him I could help him. We decided… that I would… befriend an Officer of rank… to get information from him -"

"Befriend! Is that what we'll call this? You befriended Bordon, for the sole purpose of gaining information from him. To give to your husband," Celeste sniffed, clearly disbelieving.

"Mark knew. The Officers, so long travelling… They would fall prey to a pretty face. Cilla and I… we went to Mrs. Tisdale -"

"Who, if gossip can be believed, was bedding Tavington," Celeste said to Christopher, who nodded.

"You and Mrs. Tisdale were in on it together, then," Christopher said, his face becoming disgusted. "And you had your daughter be a pretty face for the British too!"

"No, it wasn't like that! Mrs. Tisdale had no idea. I had no idea she was bedding Tavington until much later. And what Celeste is suggesting… she is wrong, oh so wrong. We instructed Cilla to listen closely to their conversations and to try to remember everything she was told. She was only to befriend them -"

"The way you _befriended_ Bordon," Celeste's voice rose. "You admit your own daughter was in on it. The apple never falls far from the tree, did she lift her skirts for these men, too?"

"No, oh my God, she'd never do such a thing!"

"But you would," Christopher ground out.

"For Mark, I'd do anything!" Mage cried. "We decided this together, that I would flirt with them, and if needed, I'd…" She trailed off, unable to bring herself to finish the sentence.

"You would spread your legs and offer up your quim," Christopher spat, disgusted.

"I don't believe any of this," Celeste said. "It's all well and good for Mage to claim that her husband was in on this plot, but he is dead, he can't say either way! And how can we possibly be certain of Cilla's virtue, when Mage's is so clearly ruined?"

"I'll never find a husband for you now," Christopher said to Mage, as if agreeing with his wife, "and nor will I continue to house a woman who as ruined herself so utterly, sister or not."

"Please don't send Cilla and I away," Mage begged. She spilled from the chaise to the floor, and on her knees, she gripped her brother's hand despite his attempt to pull them away. "At least allow Cilla to stay. Please? Please, Chrissie. She is innocent, I vow on my life! You must believe me. Please, I can't look after her, I need you to care for her. I'm _begging_ you!" Tears coursed down her flushed cheeks and her words were broken. "Please, we've no where else to go. But I'll leave willingly, if you fear that my being here will damage you by association -"

"I don't fear it, Mage. I know it," Christopher said. However, he did not withdraw his hand from hers, and he still stared down at her as though he were listening to her pleas.

"You must send them _both_ away!" Celeste demanded when it became clear that Christopher was leaning toward sympathy for Cilla, at least. "Cilla was flirting with those Officers, she's likely as damned as her mother!"

"Silence," Christopher said softly. He had come to his decision - Cilla would stay in his care, but Mage had to leave.

"My darling," Celeste came forward, her dark brown eyes were feverish and demanding. "Send them away. Both of them. Why should we bear the financial burden of Mage's daughter? I do not believe she is as innocent as Mage claims! How can we believe Mage, who herself is disgraced?"

"SILENCE!" Christopher roared, raising his free hand as though ready to slap Celeste. She cowered back from him, her dark eyes huge and shocked. "I have asked for silence from you and I will have it, Celeste!"

She nodded mutely and clutched her skirts with tight fists as she backed away from Christopher step by step.

"You think I don't know why you are wearing black?" He bellowed. "You want Cilla gone not because you doubt her, but because you can not stand that Mage gave a child to the man never stopped loving! You have shamed me from the start, there was not a single person who saw you at Mage and Mark's wedding, who did not know you were pining for him! And now you wear the black of mourning for his death! Do you think I'm such a fool?"

Mage was absolutely stunned. She had always thought that Christopher was oblivious to where his wife's heart truly lay.

"You will get yourself upstairs, now," he was saying to Celeste. "And you will wear bright and cheery colours. Blue and yellow, I think. They suit you best." His narrowed eyes and pinched lips gave away his fury. He was not giving his wife a compliment - rather he was bending her to his will, ensuring that she wear colours that he found agreeable, all for his own pleasure. "In usurping the black of mourning as if you are Mark's wife, you insult me!"

"I'm sorry. I never meant -"

"No, you just didn't think I knew!" Christopher curled his lip. "And that in itself is insulting. Get out of those colours now - save them for when I am dead! I am your husband, after all!"

"Yes, Christopher," Celeste curtsied him again and again, as she backed out of the room. Then the two heard her footfalls retreating quickly down the corridor, she was running to obey her husband's command with alacrity.

To Mage, Christopher said, "you were bedding the man who put your husband in the Provost and tortured him."

"No… yes, but… No, that all came later. Bordon was furious to learn that my sole purpose in bedding him was for the pillow talk after. Please, Christopher, you must believe me. I loved Mark," she broke and began to weep, grieving for her husband.

"I'm finding it very difficult to believe that Mark knew, Mage."

He waited for Mage's weeping to subside. She stayed on the floor, sitting before him, not trusting her legs to support her. "Ask Cilla. She knows the truth and she hates me for it. It's why she never comes out of her chamber, she can't stand to look at me," Mage said brokenly. "But it is true. We agreed I would flirt - deliberately - with a high ranking Officer. I chose Bordon, he was malleable and oh, so stupid. I asked Mark what I should do, if it got out of hand, if I appeared to be promising more than I was ready to deliver. We both agreed that if I backed down then I might become suspect. That's what we told each other, it's how we justified it. The truth is, we both knew that I'd get so much more information from a lover, than a courtier. He told me if it happened, I had to be honest. I told him I would not be able to do it if it meant he would start hating me. We both promised - that I would be honest and he would always love me. And then it happened. He didn't… like it… not one bit. But he knew, Christopher, and he did not stop me. We both said it was our sacrifice, for the Cause. He used the information I gained to good effect, it was worth it for that! But it was only ever to be between Mark and I - Bordon was to only ever think we were lover for pleasure sake, we meant for him to think that even when the affair was over. Mark and I never meant for anyone else to know, we both knew no one else would understand. Bordon wasn't even supposed to know why I was bedding him, and no one else was to learn of it. But Bordon was keeping a mistress and she found out and they quarrelled, loud enough for the whole house to hear and before I knew it, everyone knew! And Mark was already gone, he had fled days earlier, and now I had to face all of it alone! We always thought that if it took a turn for the worst, we'd face it headlong, together!"

"He fled?" Christopher asked. He'd been watching her carefully as her story unfolded, she did not appear to be lying. Which meant that Mark allowed for his wife - Christopher's sister - to whore herself. And then when push came to shove, he abandoned her? And his own daughter. Christopher shook her head, it astonished him how his own wife could be so deeply in love with such a man as that.

"He had no choice, I believe," Mage said, hearing the accusation in her brother's voice. She wiped her eyes, drying tears. She shuffled back on her bottom until she was leaning back against the chair. "He went to the Exchange to lay a complaint before Clinton about Tavington. He never came home. The Dragoons returned to the house, you see, to arrest him. I was told later by one of Mark's spies, that Mark realised that the British were searching for him, so he fled the city." She said, feeling exhausted, drained of all vitality. "He had no choice, it was leave and live, or stay and be killed."

"This is all true, Mage - you and Mark agreed on this together?"

"I swear it on my life," she said. "We didn't consider it to be me having an affair. We considered it to be us both doing what we must, a means to an end."

"He whored my sister."

"Please don't say it like that, it wasn't like that and I'm not a whore. Please, Christopher -"

"What you've done…" He shook his head, utterly astounded and furious. "With your husband's leave or not, you had relations with another man! Bordon, an enemy Officer!"

"To get information -"

"I know why, but Gods, Mage! Do you know how poorly this reflects upon me? I'm a gentleman, and a Patriot, and my own sister has not only strayed from her marriage bed, but she has bedded a British Officer. I am doubly damned, if I let you stay!"

"Please don't send Cilla -"

"Does Bordon know you crossed him?" Christopher asked, cutting her off.

"Yes," she said, voice soft. She hoped he would let her sleep one more night there before sending her away. She'd have laudanum before bed, Gods knew she needed it. Perhaps she'd give herself far more than was needed, so she would never wake up. "He worked it out eventually, though I didn't think he would. He confronted me…" Mage went quiet as she remembered Bordon's rage.

"What happened?"

"He yelled at me, accused me of destroying his career. I thought he'd strike me. He realised Cilla had been spying on Brownlow and Dalton but I swear she never did anything more than talk to them. He locked me in the room, I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone, or see anyone. I was terrified he'd berate Cilla, I was terrified of what he intended to do to Mark, for he'd been caught by then and was at the Provost, and there was nothing I could do for either. I thought that when Bordon returned from wherever he went, that Cilla and I would be hanged. Instead, he stood at Tavington's side while the Butcher informed me of my husband's death," she hung her head, tears spilling over. "Looking back, I realise that Bordon was too embarrassed to tell his superiors, they would have lost all respect for and confidence in him, if he had. Therefore, instead of being hanged, Cilla and I were escorted out of the city and I wasn't even able to attend my husband's funeral. If they even gave him one!" She began to sob.

Christopher rose, he poured himself a whiskey and handed her one also. She drank it down, tears mingling with whiskey on her tongue.

"You can stay the night," he said to her. "But tomorrow, you will leave."

"Cilla?" She choked out. She'd heard the finality in his voice, there was no point in trying to convince him.

"She may stay, I will look after her."

"Thank you, Christopher. Oh, Gods, thank you," she whispered.


	72. Chapter 72 - Bordon Returns

Chapter 72 - Bordon Returns:

"Home sweet home," Patrick Brownlow called to Bordon at the head of the column of Dragoons. The unit thundered along the post road, the horses churching up mud behind them. Up ahead, Brownlow could see the large oaks which lined the driveway. After being in the saddle for almost the whole night, Fresh Water Plantation was a welcome sight indeed.

"You look dead on your feet, Cornet," Bordon observed, twisting slightly in the saddle to glance over at the junior officer. Though Patrick was sitting astride his horse, the saying was still apt. The Cornet looked exhausted. Richard's own eyes were baggy and bloodshot. The first thing he wanted to do when he reached the manor house, was to strip out of his filthy uniform and climb into bed, and never mind that dawn was breaking over the Plantation - he'd been up all night, he deserved the rest to come. He wished he could stay in bed for a week. But what he wanted and what he would get were sure to be two different things - the first thing he would be required to do, would be to report to Colonel Tavington, he would have to explain about Sumter, who Tavington had commanded be captured.

The Dragoons sailed on through the first barricade. The soldiers guarding the barricade recognised the Green Dragoons at once and quickly pulled back the wooden gates which cordoned the area. He did not stop at the second barrier either but when he reached the driveway opening and saw the erected tents, he pulled his horse to a sharp halt, forcing the detachment to come to a stop behind him.

"Has the Legion arrived already?" He asked a sentry. "What of the baggage train?" It would be the most magnificent thing in the world, for if the baggage train had arrived, for the camp followers travelled with the baggage and Harmony would be among them. His greatest desire - to strip off and climb into bed to sleep for a week - would be complete if Harmony were here join him. If they were here, he would need to discover where the camp followers had pitched their tents at once, so that he could take Harmony up to the main house.

Where Charlotte Selton was living with her nieces in one of the rooms.

Fuck.

"No, Major," the sentry replied and Bordon, although he wanted Harmony at his side, closed his eyes and whispered a fervent prayer of relief. "The numbers of Loyalists joining us has increased, those are their tents. However, Colonel Tavington is expecting the Legion to arrive today sometime, but the baggage train will be longer, I suspect. Perhaps even longer, judging by those clouds. Looks like more rain on the way."

"Very good," Bordon barely heard the sentries explanation, he was now dwelling on the problem of Harmony and Charlotte Selton. His dalliance with the widow had flown from his head completely, as he had had far weightier matters to occupy him. He had murdered a man in cold blood and Tavington might well be furious over it. If that was not enough cause to be alarmed, he had suddenly remembered that his reunion with Harmony was not going to be a happy one. How in the world was he to convince her that the quick coupling with Charlotte Selton was nothing, that he might as well have used his hand for all it meant to him?

How in the world was he to keep Harmony from leaving him?

* * *

"So. Sumter." Colonel Tavington said, eyes fixed on Richard. He and the Major Bordon, who had been reporting last nights' battle, were seated in Benjamin Martin's office with the desk between them.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I truly am," he began, then he frowned. "Well, no, I'm not."

"Well which one is it?" Tavington asked.

"I'm not sorry for killing him. I'm sorry for disobeying your order. I killed him in cold blood, no matter what Banastre intends to put in his report. Sumter tried to flee, I killed him. That's what Banastre will say. But we all know his fleeing had nothing to do with it. Sumter was sprawled in the mud begging mercy. Which by rights, I should have granted him. But all I could think about was Harmony laying on her back as he climbed on top of her, of her begging mercy he never would have granted," Bordon's voice was tight, his teeth bared. "He would have raped her that night, he was going to rape her! For that, I ran that piece of filth through with my sword, as he bloody well deserved."

"I see," Tavington murmured, sitting back in the chair, his gaze fixed on Richard. Who blinked, startled, then began to frown. _He thought I'd agree completely, _William thought. "Let me see if I understand you clearly," he began. "You murdered Sumter, for intending to rape Miss Jutland."

Richard nodded, blue eyes filled with wrath.

"What, then, is waiting for you, Richard? You _did_ rape Miss Putman."

Richard's jaw dropped, his mouth falling open. He gaped for a moment, then snapped his mouth shut.

"Miss Putman was no innocent," he eventually said, shaking with the stirrings of rage. "She should have hanged for her treason."

"Yet, in order to protect you from shame and humiliation, she did not," William said. He was silent then, letting that thought settle for a few moments. He watched Richard's face carefully, saw the Major's lips tighten, for indeed, he understood precisely why Cilla - and Mage - hadn't been bought to trial. For if they had, Richard's embarrassing situation would have been revealed to his Superiors. "Are you suggesting that you gave her just punishment for her tricking information out of Brownlow and Dalton?" William asked then. "For if you are, allow me to remind you that it was not for you to determine punishment for her treason. That was mine to decide. She had no trial and if she had, and if she was found guilty, rape is not a punishment we give for treason. You were the one wronged by her and her mother, to be sure, but you are not her judge or her executioner."

"I know that," Richard said, belligerent.

William paused, wondering how far he should take this. Neither of them had discussed what had been done in the dungeon that day, William had shied away from doing so, for weeks now. He'd been reluctant to broach it, and he still was now. But however disagreeable the discussion would be, he knew it needed to be had. Richard had been spiralling out of control for months now. Added to that, Richard's need to reap revenge on Sumter would surely cause a hue and cry among the rebels and add to an already deteriorating reputation for the British, with the rebels already up in arms over Tarleton's supposed refusal to surrender up at Waxhaws a couple months ago. It had become the rebels catch cry 'Tarleton's Quarter', they said, before spitting in disgust. None seemed to believe that Banastre had been stuck under his horse and unable to answer their cry, though he did grant them quarter as soon as he was able. It was being used against him, constantly, and this would be used against him too. And the person whose fault it was, was sitting before him, defending himself and telling William it was justified. Both were wary, cautious, reluctant to address the topic of Cilla Putman, but William steeled his spine, for it had to be done. But first, Tarleton.

"Because of you, the call of Quarter was ignored under Tarleton's watch, yet again," Tavington said. "How is this going to reflect upon him?"

"You care about Tarleton now, do you?" Richard asked, reminding William of the tension between the pair.

"I care for the reputations of all British Officers," William replied. "Including yours. I don't want the next cry to be 'Bordon's Quarter'. You put your own reputation on the line, for the sake of revenge. And now you have put Tarleton's on the line also. They had surrendered. They had laid down their arms. Your duty was clear, you should have captured them."

"They broke their own terms of surrender, by running when quarter was granted," Richard said.

"Yes, that is the explanation that Cornwallis will accept. But if you think the rebels won't use this against us, you're very much mistaken," William said. "Even when they tried to flee, the ordinary course of action for you would have been to capture them. _As I commanded you to._ But you killed instead – and not because they had broken their own terms of surrender. But because - as you just admitted to me - Sumter did those things to Miss Jutland and intended to do worse. Things you did do to Miss Putman. And not because she had committed treason, but because it was her father's doing, what Sumter did to Miss Jutland."

"Her treason played a large part in it," Richard muttered.

"And I reiterate, her treason was not yours to punish. That punishment is not one we would ever use," William said softly and Richard drew himself up, his breath quickening. The silence stretched until Richard began to feel sweat sliding down his neck. He dabbed it from his forehead, as well. William began to tick his points off his fingers. "When we goaded Sumter and his men to fight, none of us were killed. Yet now, Sumter is dead. None of us lost our properties, yet that inn was burned to the ground. Miss Jutland was not ravished -"

"Only because she escaped -"

"Silence, Richard," William said softly and Richard snapped his mouth shut. "Miss Jutland was not ravished, whatever the reason. Yet Miss Putman was raped. _You_ raped her because - at her father's suggestion - Sumter had planned to rape Miss Jutland." Richard swallowed hard, his spine stiffening. "And you've let yourself be lured in not once, but twice, by women who would use you to help the Patriot Cause. You bedded Mage Putman and gave to her a wealth of information," William tightened his lips. "Then you bedded Mrs. Selton, when you should have been assembling the Dragoons, almost losing us Benjamin Martin."

"I -" Richard's jaw worked, he didn't know what to say.

"Because of what was done to Miss Jutland, you did even worse to Miss Putman," William said, his gaze locked on Richard's. "You say it was justified, that justice was served, when you ran Sumter through with his sword. So again I ask you, Richard. What is waiting for you, when you have done so much worse?"

Richard lowered his eyes, he had no answer.

"You've had nothing more than chastisement from me, for revealing information to Mage Putman while between the sheets. And again, when you bedded Mrs. Selton when you should have been gathering the Dragoons to capture Martin. And then there is the raping of a young maiden, of which I have, until now, said nothing. The reason I have said nothing, was because it led to our learning of their intentions toward Camden in time for us to stop it. We had a victory, many lives were saved, on our side. I took no joy in what I did to Putman to make him talk. And I take even less joy, in what was done to his daughter."

"You have said repeatedly, the means justifies the end," Richard said weakly.

"Yes, I have," William agreed. He could see that Richard was waiting, waiting for William to change his mind, to come to the conclusion that the end justified Cilla's rape. William did not. Instead, he held Richard's gaze in stony silence until the Major began to shift with discomfort. Softly, he said, "you need to take a good hard look at your actions, and the motives behind them. You need to rein in your anger. You need to stop being driven by your passions, Richard. For as certain as the ocean is wet, if something does not change, your past actions will catch up to you."

"May I be dismissed?" Richard asked, stricken.

"Yes," William granted, but as Richard reached the door, he added softly, "you say you punished her for her treason? Frankly, Richard, I am more than certain that Miss Putman would have preferred to be hanged."

Richard stopped in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at William, his face hagged. Unable to hold the Colonel's gaze, he fled, throwing the door closed quickly behind him.

* * *

"I really wish he would cut down their bodies," Beth said to Mila and Mrs. Ambrose as they crossed from the house to the kitchen. Beth kept her gaze averted, but Mila glanced over, having a good look.

"They are a deterrent to anyone who thinks to attack," Mila said.

"They were people, Mila, with friends and family and loved ones, just like us. They had their whole lives ahead of them," Beth argued. She was still troubled with Trellim and Banksia, who had left Miss Jutland to her torment with Sumter, but Simon Howard hadn't been a part of any of that. At least, she hoped he hadn't. "Mr. Howard as so young. Samuel tried to speak for him, asked William not to hang him, I wish William had shown Mr. Howard mercy, at least."

"He knew what he was doing, and so did the others," Mila said as they entered the kitchen. She had been carrying a basket of vegetables fresh from the garden she deposited the basket onto the large table. "They are traitors - rebels! Colonel Tavington is right to hang them!"

"Listen to you, Little Miss Tory," Mrs. Ambrose folded her arms across her chest and glared at the African servant. "It isn't so cut and dried as that."

"It is too," Mila argued hotly. She placed her fists on her hips. "They were rebels, Cook! It's as cut and dried as that."

"And if you had a brother, and he had been caught in rebellion and was now facing the gibbet?" Mrs. Ambrose arched an eyebrow as she began pulled a cabbage and potatoes from the basket.

"Then he'd be no brother of mine!" Mila retorted. "The British would see slaves freed. If I had a brother who would fight for the Patriots, he'd be ignoring the plight of his own people!"

"You are not a slave," the older woman scoffed. "You're free to come and go whenever you wish."

"Oh, God, I do not need you two arguing," Beth moaned, rubbing at her temples as the two continued to bicker.

"I know that I'm free," Mila said. "It's not me I'm thinking of but of all the poor souls who are not! How many of them have Patriot Masters who are forcing them to fight in the army? How many of them are losing their lives for a Cause they don't believe in, that is actually detrimental to them? Too many! And look how many the British are freeing! Thousands of men, women and children, whose lives are made better from not having to serve disgusting Masters!"

"I had no idea you felt so strongly about this, Mila," Beth said softly.

Mila began sorting through other packages on the table briskly, she was greatly agitated. "Charlestown opened my eyes," she said finally. "Too many girls are forced to bed the men who own them. The male slaves are worked to death, and the women are not treated any gentler. The British have declared slavery to be wrong and now they are here to change everything! Your people have something worth fighting for," she said to Cook, speaking of the Patriot's bid for freedom. "And so do mine. Is their freedom any less important than yours?"

Mrs. Ambrose gaped, and when she realised it, she snapped her mouth shut. When she finally recovered herself, she said, "while some of what you've said has some merit, not all of 'your people' think the way you do. Joshua is being held a prisoner right now for warning Mr. Martin that the Dragoons were coming. And he is no slave - he was born free, just like you."

"He is deluded," Mila snapped. "He has never been to Charlestown. He believes the entire world is exactly like it is here at Fresh Water. Send him off the Plantation and see if he still wants to serve Patriots."

"We were discussing what I should be making for lunch," Mrs. Ambrose rounded on Beth, turning her back on Mila to indicate that she had no further desire to discuss the freeing of slaves and who would or should be fighting for the Cause. "How many extra people will be here tonight?"

"I'm sorry, Cook, I know it's a lot to ask, but Colonel Tarleton's Officers may well be coming and they will require a decent meal after all their hard travelling," Beth said carefully. Mrs. Ambrose had been with the family for years but Beth understood the woman was having a difficult time with all the changes at Fresh Water - especially considering the Master of the Plantation was in an outhouse just outside the kitchen, in his own little prison. It had been a time of emotional upheaval and the stress was showing already. Lines were appearing on her ageing face and Beth was certain she could see more grey in the woman's hair than had been there before Tavington arrived. If Cook was over worked on top of everything else, she may declare she'd had enough, and up and leave them. That would be a true disaster - not only because she had exceptional skills, but because she was an ingrained member of the family and the children - including Beth - adored her.

"I'll start asking amongst Aunt Charlotte's staff," Beth rushed on. "To see which of the women are skilled in the kitchen. You will have more helpers then. Perhaps we can even set up a second kitchen?"

"That could work," Mrs. Ambrose nodded. "But I'd be head Cook, wouldn't I? I don't want Mrs. Selton's cook to think she'll have the run of my kitchen!"

"No, of course not!" Beth declared. "You will be in charge - the overseer of both kitchens. I'll go and speak to Old Lucas about the building of a few ovens and a lean-to to shelter them. As for lunch - it doesn't have to be anything too fancy - a simple casserole perhaps? And a few loaves of bread."

Mrs. Ambrose nodded agreement, but she was frowning uncertainly. "And if they complain that they deserve grander fare?"

"Then I will deal with them myself," Beth said firmly. "This is still my house, you are a member of my staff, I will not allow anyone to complain at you."

"Alright," though Cook was still uncertain, Beth had appeased her somewhat. When Beth left Mrs. Ambrose to find kitchen hands to help Mrs. Ambrose, Mila fell in step beside her.

"You were very passionate back there," Beth observed as the two strolled outside. Dark clouds billowed above them, looking heavy and ominous.

"I know, but I'm not sorry for it."

Now they were alone, Beth slowed Mila, put her hand on Mila's arm and glanced around to ensure no one was close enough to hear.

"Mila," she said, broaching the other subject which had her stomach in a tight coil. "Banastre is coming."

"I know," Mila glanced behind her to make sure no one was in ear shot. "Do you think he'll tell?"

"God, I hope not," Beth moaned. "William… I can not imagine how he'd react. Even if Banastre doesn't reveal it, oh, Mila - how will I face him? He's going to be so hurt. He loved me before but now I fear he'll hate me. I feel so wretchedly guilty - he was there for me when I needed him and I go off and marry some other man."

"Hardly 'some other man'," Mila corrected. "You married the one you loved. You would've chosen Colonel Tavington, even if Colonel Tarleton had been standing right there beside him. You haven't betrayed him, Beth."

"Then why do I feel like I have? I knew he loved me. I knew he was trying to find a way for us to be together. Lord, I -" she cut short and glanced around furtively, then lowered her voice to a whisper. "I told him I loved him!"

"Because you thought you did," Mila said, recalling those days not so long ago. "You were confused."

"You're too loyal to me," Beth's eyes filled with tears. The two girls faced one another. "I bedded him," Beth whispered. "Lord, I should not have done that."

"No, you shouldn't have," Mila agreed.

"I was using him all along. I'm a wretched, horrible -"

She cut short, for Mila had begun to laugh.

"You're wretched and horrible? You were using him?" She shook her head. "And he got no enjoyment from it at all, I suppose. Beth," Mila continued in exasperation, "weren't you drunk that first time?"

Beth's eyes grew wide and she nodded slowly.

"You were drunk. You were hurting. You were confused. No one wanted to speak to you or have anything to do with you. You were being forced into yet another unwanted marriage. And then Banastre Tarleton rides in and fills you with wine and swells your heart with warmth and love and affection. Sweet Lord - after being so lonely, of course you'd give yourself to him! I would've too!"

"What are you saying, Mila?" Beth frowned, confused.

"That he is hardly a victim, and that you didn't use him!" Mila said softly but passionately. "He knew you were drunk - he was the one who kept your glass full in the first place! You said he kept filling it. And then he escorts you to your room and doesn't decline when you invite him in?"

"I shouldn't have invited him in," Beth said plaintively.

"No. But you did. And at that point - he shouldn't have stayed! He should've known better than to take such an invitation seriously, with you being soused! And later - all those things that happened between you… Do you really think he is blameless? He should have walked away, Beth. He shouldn't have stayed and he most certainly should not have taken," another furtive glance, and Mila dropped her voice to a mere whisper. "Your virginity - not when you were so drunk."

"He was drunk too," Beth defended Banastre's actions. "He was not intentionally dishonourable, if that is what you're suggesting."

Mila let out a sullen breath. "Say what you will about the man, about how much he loves you and how hurt he'll be. As far as I'm concerned, he got you drunk and seduced you when you were at your lowest. He should not have done that. You have nothing to feel guilty for."

"It wasn't really like that," Beth murmured. "Perhaps you are partly right though. Perhaps he is to blame just as much as I am."

"He is _entirely_ to blame," Mila scowled, defending her mistress to the bitter end. She continued to walk on. Beth opened her mouth to continue defending Banastre, who she knew was sure to be terribly heart broken, but she cut short when she saw Samuel and Captain Gordon, facing off with their mock swords.

"I really don't like that," she said, voice low. "And nor does papa."

"He's getting proper instruction that will serve him well in the future," Mila said with a shrug.

"Perhaps," Beth said, watching the pair warily. "I just wish it was William doing the training, and not a man who my father attacked and almost killed."

Mila nodded, seeing how that could be a cause of some concern.

* * *

The light drizzle from earlier that morning gave way to a heavier deluge by lunchtime. It was not the thunder storm of the previous day but it was more than enough soak through Banastre's uniform jacket of heavy wool. It was more than enough to slow his Dragoons down to a crawl.

Hanger rode at one side to him, Whitty to the other, but neither attempted to speak to the Commandant, whose face dark and furious as he searched for the familiar landmarks that would announce his approached to Fresh Water. The two letters he'd received earlier that morning were a heavy weight inside his jacket - he could feel them as he rode, like searing flames against his chest.

When he was handed the bundle by Tavington's messenger earlier that day, Beth's had been the first he'd read - as was only natural. He'd longed to receive word from her for entirely too long, and he commanded his men to halt while he went off into the woods aways to read the much coveted letter. The decision to seek privacy away from the rest of the force proved prudent. Upon reading Beth's shocking news, he had sat heavily onto a fallen log and bowed his head, his stomach churning until he feared he would unman himself and vomit his breakfast.

Quickly dashing his eyes with the back of his hands, he forced himself to calm, forced steel into his back bone. He could not have any of his men - not even Hanger - discover him crying in the woods. It would be too shaming, to degrading. Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, he'd opened William's letter - though by now he understood that it would not be a routine report contained within, as he'd previously assumed. This suspicion proved correct. Worse yet, where Beth's letter had been filled with emotion - remorse and despair for causing him the slightest hurt, William's was blunt, and had offered no apology at all. His was little more than an announcement that the two had married, and very unwanted advice as to how Banastre should conduct himself upon the learning of the information.

"Damn him, I'll make as much of a scene as I wish," he muttered darkly as he thundered through the first check point. By now, his eyes were fixed on the dark shape of the manor house ahead and he picked up his pace though the road was muddy and it was dangerous for his mount, especially in the black of night. Hanger shot him a look of concern, but Banastre barely noticed it. On through the second and third check points and he was racing up along the driveway toward the house, his horses hooves kicking up great clumps of mud. He ignored the rain. Ignored the bodies hanging from the trees as he passed them by. Ignored all of it. The house - with its windows glowing with candlelight, was his only objective.

"Colonel Tarleton!" He was greeted by Ensign Dalton, who was at that moment trotting down the porch steps. "How do you fare? It's been a rotten night for riding!"

Banastre drew in sharply and Dalton, startled, took a step backward.

"Where is Tavington?" Banastre bit out each word as he gazed down at the Ensign with narrowed eyes.

"Ah… Inside Sir," Dalton waved toward the house. "In his office. I will lead you -"

"I know the way," the Dragoon leader announced. He threw one leg over his mounts neck and dropped to the ground gracefully, threw his reins to the Ensign and without another word, he marched up the steps and in to the house. Hanger and Whitty, and the rest of the Dragoons, caught up to Dalton by then, and the Ensign was caught up in explaining where the men were to be accommodated for the night.

Banastre threw open the front door, then let it slam shut behind him. He stopped dead in the foyer, ignoring the servants and soldiers who gaped at him as he searched amongst them for Beth. So. William was in the office, hmm? Where, then, was Beth? Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the second landing quickly.

"Mrs. Selton," he stopped short in front of the startled woman, and offered her a quick, distracted bow. The courtesy was done by rote, and his eyes were already searching up and down the hall way.

"Colonel Tarleton," she breathed, her eyes wide with shock. Banastre had no time to field any questions the woman might have and he spoke in quickly.

"Where is Beth? I need to speak with her at once," he commanded, his crisp voice demanding instant subservience. He needed to see Beth, now, before Tavington realised that Banastre was not outside with the rest of the Dragoons.

"Ah… In her chamber," she pointed down the hallway - not to the chamber Banastre remembered Beth sharing with her younger sister, Susan, when he had stayed in the house a few weeks back.

"Which one have they taken?" He ground out. As soon as the words were out, he clenched his jaw. William had married Beth days ago - there was no doubt in his mind that William would have made Beth couple with him in that time. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "I do not have all evening, Mrs. Selton!" He barked when she balked.

"The far end to the left," she whispered and Banastre froze, the blood draining from his face.

"My chamber..?" He whispered. She nodded but he did not see, for he had already whirled from her and was striding toward the room. He did not bother to knock. Curling his fingers around the door knob, he slung it open and marched inside. Beth was kneeling on the floor, placing a clean chamber pot beneath the bed. At the intrusion, she glanced up, expecting to see William. When Banastre stalked in, she was so shocked that all she could do was gape at him, frozen in place, unable to move. He stared down at her, and as he did so, he reached behind his body and felt for the key, and turned it in the lock.

He moved forward slowly, stopping only when he was directly in front of her, with her still on her knees as though in obeisance. Her head craned back to stare up at him and she when he reached out slowly to brush her hair back from her face, she burst into tears. He was on his knees on the instant, pulling her into his strong arms. His hands ran up her back to tangle in her loose hair.

"I'm so sorry," she wept into his cravat. Wrapping her arms around his trunk, she clung desperately. "I never meant to hurt you, you must believe me!"

"Oh, I believe you, my love," he stared past her blindly and worked his jaw, his teeth clenching as he willed back tears. "I believe you."

Beth clung tighter, tears coursing her cheeks to soak into his already wet cravat. "I'm so sorry. I knew you were trying to find a way for us to be together, but…" Her voice hitched and she was unable to continue. Their bodies pressed hard together, and Beth's shift was quickly soaked from Banastre's wet jacket.

"But he found you first," Banastre filled in grimly, believing he'd already drawn to the correct conclusion. "I know what he did, my love. After telling everyone back in the city that you and he were engaged, and after his ruinous conduct with you in Simms bedchamber, I do not doubt he left you with any choice."

He misinterpreted Beth's sharp intake of breath as confirmation of his suspicions. Banastre concluded that William had made his demands, leaving Beth no choice but to marry him. He tightened his hold on her, one arm around her back pulling her into a crushing grip as the fingers of his free hand wound through her long, unbound hair.

"Does he know about us?" He asked her and she shook her head.

"No. And I feel so guilty because I know I should have told him, but I was too scared," that was quite true enough. "Every time I think I should confess it, I discover just what a coward I am."

"Don't tell him, Beth," Banastre said, holding her tight. "Unfortunately you are his wife now, he has full dominion over you. He can never know that you and I bedded one another, for he might beat you and there won't be anything I can do to stop him! I am not going to tell him, Beth," he vowed. "Not out of guilt or fear, for I feel neither. My only regret is that I did not take you with me, when I left. But I strongly advise you to take it to your grave, our love for one another. I'm sorry my darling," he whispered. "I should have taken you away, regardless of your father. It was within my power to do so. You would not be in this bind now, if I had done so!"

"You blame yourself?" His words confused her, she pulled back slightly and met his eyes. He released her for a moment in order to pull a handkerchief from a pocket within his jacket, it was surprisingly dry.

"Of course. I should have taken you with me, I should have married you myself, before he found you!" He pulled her close again as she dabbed at her eyes. It took her a moment to muddle through her confused thoughts but she finally understood. Banastre thought that William had forced her to marry him.

"Ban, you have it all wrong," she whispered. Knowing what she must do now would be harder than anything she'd done before. To admit to this man, who loved her desperately, that she was in love with another man. To admit that she had married William willingly, not because of some threat uttered in the heat of the moment months ago. She could not allow Banastre to believe she loved him, that she had ever loved him. Nor could she allow him to believe that she regretted marrying William, or that William was at fault in any way, for he was not. She opened her mouth to make these confessions, but then William was at the door. He tried the handle first, but the door was locked and would not give way.

"Goddamn it Banastre," he bellowed, his fist pounding on the door. "Open this door at once!"

"Oh, God, he knows you're in here!" Beth rasped out, and as Banastre drew away, her hands flew to her throat.

"Leave this to me," he said grimly. She watched him wide eyed as he rose to his feet. Once he'd risen, he stroked her flushed cheek.

"He didn't force me," she said and he shook his head gravely.

"He forced you," he said. "Everything he did in the city, your ruination here on the Santee combined, you were left with no choice." William struck the wood with his fist again, pounding hard enough to rattle the windows in the casements. He continued to shout and Banastre drew a deep, determined breath, steeling his resolve. "Believe me, my darling, this has been a long time coming."

"Ban, you don't understand," she whispered. She was unable to tell him the full truth for the door flew open with a crash - William ran at the door, shoulder first. The lock could not withstand such an onslaught and it finally snapped. With William suddenly in the chamber, the two officers came face to face, both going deathly still as they stared at one another down. Kicking behind him, William's boot caught the edge of the door and he shoved it shut with a clatter.

Which was precisely when Banastre uncoiled like a snake, his livid face bright red, he pulled his fist back and smashed it into William's jaw. William's head snapped back, the force of the blow pushing him backward two steps. Beth screamed but both men were oblivious. After one startled moment, William - tasting blood in his mouth - straightened and glared murder at Banastre.

"Please, don't!" Beth bawled from the floor but her helpless plea was ignored.

"You damned bastard! You forced her to marry you!" Banastre roared, his fist striking at William's arms. He wanted to pummel the man to the ground, wanted his knuckles to taste William's face again but the other man was too fast and blocked every blow.

"You are bloody deluded!" William's fist snapped out and caught Banastre on the side of the head. Banastre was pushed backward but despite the flaring pain he recovered quickly. He threw his arms around William's neck, trying to lock the taller man in his hold and pushing downward at the same time to bring William to his knees. William lashed out, his fist smashing into Banastre's stomach, knocking the wind from the shorter man. Banastre loosened his grip and William pulled free. His face flushed with fury, he gripped Banastre's arm, trying to haul him around to face him but Banastre twisted and he gripped William's jacket, and kicked out with his boot, trying to trip William. The two lost balance and smashed into the bed, pulling the sheer curtains from their hooks. Banastre grunted when William's fist caught his jaw. Dazed for just a moment, he managed to bring his arm up to block the next blow, and then he grabbed William's shoulders and heaved, shoving William off the bed. William crashed into a chest of drawers, which were shunted back, a vase on top toppled and smashed on the floor. Banastre leapt from the bed and stood over William, his fist flying for William's face, but the taller man twisted, avoiding the blow, then booted Banastre in the leg. Bellowing in pain, Banastre danced backward as William gained his feet.

"Stop it!" Beth shrieked for what seemed to be the hundredth time. She had risen and huddled in a far corner, trying to make herself small in order to avoid the fighting men. She wrung her hands, her long hair hung in a messy tangle around her as she watched the men with ever increasing horror. They would kill each other - they would! Everywhere she looked there was blood, coating their faces, dripping from William's nose, pouring from a cut above Banastre's right eye. The noise was terrible, the screaming, the obscenities, their faces twisted with hatred - that in itself was unbearable for her. That it should come to this, for two men who had been as brothers.

Finally, William shoved Banastre so hard, the shorter man was sent sailing onto the far wall. He was only a yard of so from where Beth huddled and she crawled over to him, her face flushed with grief as she ran her hands over his hair.

"Lord, are you alright?" She asked - it had been one hell of a hard shove against the wall. He nodded.

"Get away from him Beth," William, standing on the far side of the bed, commanded.

"I'm just checking to make sure he's alright!" She cried, whirling to meet his piercing gaze. "You might have broken his skull!"

"One can only hope," William drawled, curling his split lip. His right eye was starting to puff up and was purpling. Blood dripped from the corner of his lip, he wiped it absently with the back of his hand.

"Are you alright?" Beth asked him. William - who had been about to blister her for showing more concern for Banastre than for him - her husband, bit back his complaint and nodded sharply. Banastre, his gaze fixed on the bed, began to rise.

"Here, let me help you, Ban," Beth begged, turning her attention back to him. Gripping his arm, she rose with him. The two stood side by side, with Beth holding tight to his arm. Despite William's fury, she was determined to give Banastre aid until she was certain he did not need it. He seemed hale enough, though she wondered if he was dazed, judging by the way he was staring at the bed. Blood dripped from a cut above his eye down the side of his face and she used the handkerchief he'd handed her earlier to dab at the cut. "Are you alright?" She asked softly, growing more concerned by the moment. He shifted his blooded gaze to her as William paced back and forth like an angry wolf.

"In this bed. In our bed," Banastre whispered back, his raw voice pitched for her ears alone. Finally she understood. He was not dazed from the blow, he was horrified that she had been with her husband in the very bed she had once shared with him.

"Oh, Ban," she groaned with grief and guilt as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He buried his face into her neck, slid his arm around her waist and held her tight.

"Get the hell away from her! Don't you bloody touch her!" William screamed blue fury. Rounding the bed in five quick strides, he gripped them both by their shoulders and hauled them apart. With a glare for Beth, he shoved her - gently - back into the corner, before meeting Banastre's blazing eyes. "She's my wife, goddamn it!"

"Yes, your actions left her with no choice but to become so, she was honour bound to bed the man who ruined her! You have condemned her to a life spent with her ruiner and I am so very sorry for her," Banastre curled his lip. Offended, William tensed, ready to start the fight anew.

"Please, don't," Beth whimpered. The chamber was already a disaster, it looked as though ten wild bulls had thundered through. Not a single ornament had escaped unscathed, everything was smashed to the floor. The drawers had toppled, the curtains surrounding the four post bed had been ripped off, the mirror on the night stand was smashed. "No more, please, no more."

Breathing heavily, both men fixed their eyes on her. "I was willing, Ban," she said, knowing the words would cause him great pain. Instead, he glanced at her with sympathy and shook his head.

"It's called _succumbing_, Beth. You _succumbed_. It's what you do when you have no good choices left. He forced you to surrender."

"Damned fool," William curled his lip. Beth gaped, stunned by Banastre's declaration. By unspoken agreement, the two men backed away from each other - William to sit on the edge of the rumpled bed, Banastre to lean back wearily against the wall. She opened her mouth to try again, but William spoke up first.

"I told you I intended to marry her," he drawled, his composure returning. "I asked you to step aside. You would not. But whether you like it or not, we are married now. She is mine and if you ever go near her again, I'll kill you."

The simply, honestly spoken words held the ring of truth and Banastre did not doubt William's resolve for one moment.

"William," Beth groaned.

"Kill me, will you?" Banastre smirked. With the back of his hand, he swiped absently at the blood dripping down the side of his face.

"It's a necessary warning, I believe," William ground out. "Given your past history.

"If that's not the pot calling the kettle black!" Banastre growled. "I take it you've forgotten Vera Tisdale? You've bedded as many _married_ women as I have. And you've sired two bastards. Does Beth know about those?"

"What?" She breathed, her gaze shifting to William.

"Gods, he's talking about women I bedded years ago, Beth!" William snapped. "A clean slate, remember?"

So. There were things he'd kept from her. She stared at him, stunned.

"I will not suffer it, Tarleton," William said. "You will show some respect for the sanctity of marriage! You will accept that Beth is my wife and you will leave her be!"

This speech infuriated Banastre, who believed that William had forced the girl to marry him through guile and almost ruining her. Before stopping to consider Beth's feelings, he delivered his retort.

"I put as much store on the sanctity of marriage as you do," he said softly as he began to slowly advance on William. In a soft, taunting voice, he asked, "tell me, William, when will the camp followers arrive?"

William drew a sharp breath. His eyes flicked to Beth, who stared at them both, fearing they would go for one another's throats this time. She had no clue as to what Banastre was alluding to, but if he continued to speak, she would be only too aware. He pinned Banastre with his gaze - or tried too. The shorter man loomed over him, so William rose to his feet to tower over his former friend.

"Banastre, I warn you -"

"The sanctity of marriage," Banastre snorted recklessly. "You believe in the sacred vows now, do you? And yet your mistress is en-route here as we speak. Tell me, William, when does Linda arrive?"

"Shut your damned mouth, Banastre!" William bellowed, but it was too late - the words were spoken and Beth's heart dropped to her stomach.

All thought of previously sired bastards flew from Beth's head. "Linda?" She whispered, her dark eyes bulging in a too pale face. "Linda..? Coming here?" She closed her eyes and swayed, her stomach churning bile.

Banastre turned to her and, seeing her distress, was instantly contrite. Willing or not, no new bride wanted to hear that her husband was having an affair. He had meant the jibe to nettle William, not to hurt Beth.

"Beth, I'm sorry," his eyes softened in commiseration. "You should have held fast and waited for me, rather than surrendering to him when he pressed the point. For he will only ever bring shame to you. He will never be faithful."

"I did not force her to marry me!" William shouted, then shoved Banastre back against the wall.

"The hell you didn't!" Banastre pulled himself from the wall and shouted his defiance. "I know the damned truth!"

"You know nothing!" William hissed, but Banastre continued to shout over him.

"I love Beth, and I'll never stop! You don't deserve her, William! You're already proving that you don't know how to treat her! You have a goddamned whore for a mistress! Every single man in the cavalry has fucked Linda and you bring her with you on campaign! It's an insult to Beth is what it is - she is worth a hundred Linda's! A thousand!"

"Oh, my God," Beth slid down the wall to squat on her heels, her head buried in her arms. She rocked back and forth and as the men shouted and shoved at each other, she barely heard them. Linda was coming to Fresh Water. William was bringing her to Fresh Water. Reaching for the chamber pot, she pulled it out from under the bed and finally the contents of her roiling stomach were purged noisily into the porcelain bowl.

The two men grappled with one another, until William managed to grip Banastre around the back of his neck. He hauled him into the corridor and the Martin children - who'd been drawn by the noise - scattered like the wind. Others had been drawn to the shouting in the bed chamber - Bordon and Hanger standing side by side, sharing a questioning glance. Neither knew if they should intervene this time. William outranked them all, and neither fancied spending the night in the recently constructed stockade. Banastre did his best to trip William, who barely loosened his grip on the smaller man. They made it down the hall and halfway down the stairs without breaking their own necks.

Once they reached the bottom landing, they jerked apart and stood back from each other.

"She had to know," Banastre growled as he tugged his wet jacket to straighten it. "The sanctity of marriage! Christ you make me laugh. What the hell did you force her to marry you for?"

"Give over would you?" William glared. "That's what hurts the most, isn't it? She chose me, not you."

"You're a fool if you believe that," Banastre curled his lip.

William's eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Banastre immediately regretted his words. He had no intention of revealing the truth, that Beth had chosen him that night not so long ago. He would not ruin her for all to hear - in front of servants and Officers and soldiers alike. Besides, he knew William only too well. And Banastre would not be there to protect Beth from her husband's wrath forever. She was married for good or ill - there was nothing he could do about it and revealing it would only cause William to torment her, possibly even beat her until the end of her days.

"Nothing," he waved his hand in dismissal. "Only that she would not have chosen you, if not for your ruining her in the city and then telling everyone you were engaged! She had no choice, William!"

"She knows I love her and she loves me," William drawled, in control once more. "We are married, and there is not a damned thing you can do about it."

"More's the pity," Banastre scowled. "It is out side my power to change."

"You didn't have to tell her about me having bastards, or about Linda!" William griped. "I was going to end it with her as soon as she arrived here - with Beth none the wiser!"

Banastre began to laugh, a derisive belly deep laugh of disbelief. "Of course you were," he chortled.

"Your skepticism is of no concern to me," William folded his arms across his chest and tried to ignore the pain in his nose. Banastre might well have broken it during the fight. "All you have done is cause Beth pain - the woman _you_ claim to love."

Unnoticed by the two Commanders, Hanger and Bordon made their slow way down the stairs, gesturing at servants, Officers and soldiers to depart, to give the the Dragoon leaders privacy. They themselves did not depart - they hung back and watched gravely as the hall emptied of onlookers.

"Claim?" Banastre was immediately incensed. "Claim! I love her and you've tricked her away from me! It may be outside my power to change," he took a menacing step forward and his brown eyes blazed fury as he glared up at William, who lifted his chin and stared down his nose. "But know this, William. When she comes to me - and believe me, she will! - I'll not refuse her."

A hot breath filled with rage burst from William's lips. Before he could wrap his fingers around Banastre's throat, strong fingers wrapped around his arm.

"You've said your piece, Sir," Bordon informed Banastre. "Both of you have. It's time to let your tempers cool. Colonel Tarleton, I will show you to your chamber -"

"I'll not quarter under this roof," Banastre huffed. "Never again."

He marched outside and Hanger shot a quick, concerned glance at Bordon and Tavington, before darting out after him.

"Let him go," William snapped, jerking his arm from Richard's grip. "I'd rather not have him in this house, panting after Beth!"

"So. He told Mrs. Tavington about Linda, did he?"

"Yes, the Goddamned bastard. I could kill him for that alone!" Tavington spat as they began to climb the stairs. "And all that rot about forcing her to marry me. He told her about those children I sired, too." William scowled and Bordon shook his head, incredulous at the damaged Tarleton had wrought. "Are Beth and I not to get five bloody minutes peace? I don't expect to have a honeymoon given that we're at war, but it's been nothing but strife since the day we were married! I'm heartily sick of it, Richard!"

"No doubt," Bordon murmured. The two reached the top landing and there, waiting for them, was Samuel.

"Sir," he raced forward, only to be rebuffed.

"Not now, Samuel!" William thundered, then stormed past the youth, leaving everyone behind as he strode toward his room. He tightened his lips grimly, this was going to be a very unpleasant conversation. But he felt certain that as soon as Beth understood that he had intended to send Linda on her way, she would be reasonable. He shoved the door open and stopped dead under the lintel.

For the room was empty, Beth was no where to be seen.

"I was going to tell you," Samuel said. "She packed her bag, she is leaving."

"The hell she is," William said grimly.


	73. Chapter 73 - The Mistress & the Bastards

Chapter 73 - The Mistress and the Bastards:

The bed chamber door slammed shut and Beth strode down the corridor toward the service stair well, stuffing her hastily gathered clothes into the opening of her saddle bag as she walked. She'd spared enough time to pull on her breeches, her boots, a shirt and jacket and over it all was a leather great coat. Her hair hung loose - she would have to tie it back, but did not want to spare the time to do this until she was well on her way. William and Banastre's yelling could be heard from the other side of the house and Beth judged that the two had made it downstairs and were arguing in the foyer. Good. For she intended to slip away by way of the service stairs and she did not want William stopping her. Her family were gathered at the top landing, all of them stared down over the balustrade apprehensively. None of them saw her - they had their backs to her. She stifled a pang of guilt at abandoning them - but they would be fine with Aunt Charlotte to watch over them, she assured herself, then she turned her back on them. Holding her saddlebags on one arm, she took the steps two at a time.

And then she was outside, her boots slipping in the mud as she made her way toward the stables with the hood pulled up against the rain. At the stables, she stopped before the guards there.

"I need to check on my horse," she snapped. "Please step aside."

"Ah, Mrs. Tavington..?" One of them ventured, recognising the girl even in her disheveled state with her unbound hair peeking out from beneath the hood. Wet strands were plastered to her cheeks. "What is your business here?"

"I just told you! I wish to see my horse."

"And the saddle bags..?" He ventured, his eyes flickered to the bags held in one hand.

"I have bought her some apples," she ground out through clenched teeth. "Step. Aside!"

Reluctantly, the Private did so, all the while sharing a worried glance with his colleague behind Beth's back as she disappeared into the stable. "I think we should send for Tavington," he whispered.

"So do I," the other agreed. "Don't let her leave."

"Of course not. But you be bloody quick - I'll not have the Colonel haul me over the coals for interfering with his wife," the first one frowned as the other darted toward the house.

Inside the stable, Beth stalked down the length of stalls until she reached Shadow Dancer's stall, where she dumped her saddlebags on the hay strewn floor. The horse snorted and pawed the ground with her hoof in greeting, and Beth patted the dapple's coat distractedly. It was going to take a long time to saddle the mare, the minutes were slipping by and William was certain to notice her absence soon. She was determined however, and, working quickly, she unfolded a blanket and threw it over the horses back. Pulling a bridle from the a hook on the wall, she slipped it over the horses head. The saddle was placed on her back and Beth reached beneath the mare's stomach to clasp the harness.

As she worked to saddle her mare, she seethed with blind hot fury. Linda Stokes. Beth remembered the name well - she was one of the doxies William had been bedding back in Charlestown. And then there had been a barmaid, Helen Shaw and of course, Mary's mother, Mrs. Vera Tisdale, who had been the one to reveal it all. Beth had known damned well that after her abrupt departure from the city, he would have continued to take women to his bed, there had not been a doubt in her mind. But it was worse than that, for the liaisons had not ended when he left Charlestown. Oh no - he'd bought the doxy with him, even though he had harboured intentions to marry Beth!

The nerve, the gall! Even knowing he would marry, Beth, he had bought Linda Stokes with him! In a jealous fit, Beth had realised that William had never intended to be even remotely faithful to her. If he had, he would not have bought Linda bloody Stokes along for the ride! And worst of all, he was bringing the filthy doxy to Fresh Water - to her beloved home! Beth threw her saddle bags onto Shadow Dancers back and tied them quickly.

"Going somewhere?" A calm, drawling voice asked her. Beth stopped dead, for only a moment, she did not turn to him as William took a step into the stall. Recovering herself, she continued her work.

"As far away from you as humanly possible," she snapped. All that was left now was to pull her hair back into a queue so that it would not whip across her face while she was riding Shadow Dancer.

"Hmm. I see," he leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his boots at the ankles. With his arms folded across his chest, he watched Beth finish with her hair. "It's raining, my love. Wouldn't you prefer it if we went for a ride tomorrow instead?"

She snorted in disgust and did not deign to reply. Her fingers raked her hair back and she pulled a length of string from her pocket, ready to tie it back.

"Beth, honestly," he shook his head at her foolishness. "How, pray tell, did you plan to leave the plantation?"

The string slipped from nerveless fingers. Beth stopped short and snapped her gaze to William's.

"How..?" Her jaw slowly began to drop.

"For that matter, how did you plan on removing your horse from the stable, without a written pass? I would never write you one and neither would Bordon. And we are the only two who can. Well, Banastre could also but despite how distressed he is about our marriage, not even he would allow you to go off riding alone during a storm. You did not think my men would simply allow you to leave, did you?"

With her brow drawn down and her lips tight, she jabbed her finger in his direction. "How did you plan to continue playing happy families, William, with your bloody mistress on the way here?" She spat, her flushed face in all its fury. "What will she do when she arrives? Do you intend for her to sleep in the loft with the other '_servants_'? You could ring a bell when ever you had need of her special charms!"

"Beth," he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "If you would just let me explain -"

"Or perhaps she is to sleep in our chamber, on a cot next to our bed?" Beth hissed. "She would be nice and handy then, wouldn't she? Oh, and we can send for your bastards, too. We can raise them right here in my home. Are they boys? They can be your heirs!"

"I understand you are angry -"

"Angry!" She shouted. "Oh, angry does not cover it, William! You dallied with her in Charlestown, but I thought it was over! And now I find out she's been travelling with the Legion all this time! You were bringing her here, even though you intended to find and marry me!"

Tilting his head back to see outside of the stall, Tavington saw that a crowd was building just outside the stable doors.

"We can not discuss this here," he decided. "Beth, you will come back to the house with me immediately. I will explain everything to your satisfaction when we reach our chamber."

"I do not believe I shall be following any more orders from you, Colonel Tavington," Beth scoffed, insinuating that their marriage was at an end. Lifting her leg, she shoved one boot into the stirrup and, gripping the pommel, she swung her other leg up ready to mount. While she was in mid air, strong hands seized her waist and with a screech, she was hauled back downward. A moment later, both her boots planted securely to the ground, her husband loomed over her, his face thunderous.

"We will retire to the house. Now." He commanded quietly.

"You're bringing her here!" She screeched, planting her hands on his chest and pushing him with all her might. "To my home! _Your_ doxy!"

"We'll not discuss this here!" He snapped, aware of the soldiers just outside the barn listening to every word.

"We'll not discuss it at all! To hell with your stupid pass - if I can't leave with Shadow Dancer, well, my legs are not painted on, I'll walk if I have to! I'm leaving! I should never have married you! You sicken me! How dare you bring that bawd here? Honestly what did you expect? That I would be meek and sweet while you dally with another woman in my own home! Would you have had us in the same bed - your doxy on one side of you and your wife on the other? Or was I to be shoved off onto a trundle while you rut with the whore!"

Each and every shrieked question was punctuated with a hard shove, though William was far too strong to do more than grunt, despite the force she was putting into the pushes.

"You are bringing her here! To my home! You intended to be unfaithful to me, before we were even married!" Breathing heavily, she stopped her attempt to shove him backward and in a moment of clarity, she immediately ceased feeling guilty for losing her virginity to Banastre. William stared down at her, his pale gaze piercing as he struggled to discern a way to calm her. "I'm leaving," she announced. Whirling from him, she left her saddlebags on Shadow Dancer's back and stalked from the stall.

"You won't be allowed to walk off the plantation either. Not without a pass, Beth," William sighed heavily as he followed her. Before she could get far, he took hold of her arm and pulled her around. "If you would just listen -"

"To more lies?" She challenged. "To whatever excuse you dreamed up on your way down here that could possibly, somehow, justify that whore's presence in your Legion and in my home?"

"It's the truth you want, is it?" He drawled, the fingers of his other hand curling around her other arm, so that he held her securely. Though his grip seemed light, it was as strong as a vice and she could not budge him no matter how she writhed and pulled against it. "I was angry. No - I was furious with you," he began and her brown eyes bulged at his temerity. "Back in Charlestown," he said, his sharp eyes flickering toward the crowd outside. He continued carefully, "when you betrayed me and left me!"

Beth tightened her lips. She understood exactly what he was referring to and why he was being cautious. Her treason, the knowledge of which he had decided to help keep secret.

"On the day we married, we gave one another a clean slate! We forgave one another everything!"

"Exactly! -"

"Or so I thought! Yet now I discover that every day since, you've been filling yours back up again!"

"I haven't been filling it back up!" He tightened his hold on her, his expression becoming impassioned. "On the day we were reunited - we both promised to forgive and forget all that had come before! I haven't been unfaithful, and I won't be! Yes, I bought Linda, intending to continue with her, but on the day we wed, I knew I could not! I am going to tell her that it is over! But I need to explain why I bought her at all. And that, Beth, is because back then, I was furious! I bedded Linda the night you left -"

Upon hearing this, Beth began making strangling noises and she pulled against his grip again, but he held her fast and continued implacably.

"And I was so utterly distressed, I took my rage out on her, she became the only relief, the outlet I needed for the rage that you caused me!"

"You said you forgave me!"

"And I do, I'm just trying to make you understand! That night, I asked her to become my mistress -"

"Is this supposed to appease me?" She screamed, increasing her attempt to pull from his hold.

"No, it is an attempt to explain!" He shook her, not too hard, but enough to gain her attention. Her hair whipped about her face as she jerked against his grasp. There was no hope but to continue on, to explain it all in the hope that she would eventually calm down. "Yes, I intended to marry you - I love you, you little fool! But I was -" He cut short and again glanced at the door, then lowered his voice slightly to admit the rest. His face was hagged. "But I was hurting, Beth! Gods, I was in agony. I loved you and you were gone!" This got her attention finally and she stopped struggling for the moment. Sensing she was merely poised and ready to begin her attempt to free herself, he rushed on, "how could I not be? I'd lost the woman I loved! I admit - I took solace in Linda's arms. And, if I am entirely honest, when I look back at my motives now, I think part of my reason in taking her as my mistress was to strike back at you. To hurt you."

"Well it bloody worked!" She started struggling again, panting from her exertions as she twisted against him.

"I asked Linda to come when we left Charlestown as part of our new arrangement," he raised his voice again to ensure she would hear him. "And yes, I had intended to keep her after you and I were married."

"Yes! I bloody know!" She screeched. Then suddenly she stopped struggling again, but her face was blazing fury and William sensed it was not over yet. She gathered herself and he knew the blow was coming before she even raised her hand. When her open palm was swinging toward his face, he seized her wrist mid air.

"But I knew," he glared down at her, fixing her with his eyes, "as soon as I was with you again, that I could never do it. I want you, no one else. I told you. On the day we married, I resolved to end it with Linda."

Beth hissed with fury.

"You expect me to believe that?" She snapped. "Christ, I was not born yesterday, William!"

"It's true!" He frowned, offended that she did not believe him, but understanding why as well. "I was going to end it, Beth, I swear it on my honour. It was not a discussion I was looking forward to having, but I was going to do it. I WILL do it."

"She can not come here, I'll not suffer her presence!" Beth ground out. "If what you are saying is true - she can not come here!"

"It is true," sensing that she would not fight him, he loosened his hold on her arms, his fingers now caressing her rather than gripping tightly. "It is true - I have no desire to be with anyone but you."

"So you say," she glared up at him.

"I have not been unfaithful to you, Beth," he pointed out. "We've only been married a few short days, and during this time, yours is the only bed I've shared. This will not change with Linda's arrival."

"Agh!" Beth growled. "I can't even stand you saying her name!"

"Then I won't speak it in your presence ever again," he promised immediately. Beth held his gaze, her eyes searching his. Though she came to the conclusion that he was being honest, it did not smooth her fury in the slightest.

"Well then. If you intend to end it, then end it!"

"It's not so simple as that, I'm afraid," he said ruefully and her brown eyes blazed. "Beth, when a Gentleman takes a mistress, certain... ah... Promises are made."

"Promises?" She repeated, folding her arms across her chest. "And what promises would these be?"

"You won't like it, I'm afraid."

"There is very little about this entire affair that I do like! Tell me!"

"I promised her a... settlement, if you will. She is to receive a sum from me upon the ending of our affair."

"For services rendered?" She bit out cruelly. "To show how satisfied you were with her work? Are you to give her references, as well? To recommend her to her next employer?" Beth shot the questions at him snidely. Then, firmly, she asked, "how much?"

William paused. By Beth's expression, she was expecting the amount to be no more than twenty pounds, perhaps fifty. What he had offered Linda would likely send Beth into apoplexy.

"One thousand pounds," he admitted.

"One thousand pounds!" Beth screamed with utter fury. Her face twisted with rage and her hand lashed out again, but again, he caught it mid swing. She barely seemed to notice that the blow did not land, nor that her hand was being held high above her as she screeched. "One thousand bloody pounds of _my money_! You're not paying her settlement, I am! You don't have money! My mother's inheritance, going to that _filthy doxy_!"

"We still have a large amount of money," William said reasonably. "And I'll make that money back in no time. This has to be done, Beth. I've promised it - unwisely, to be sure, but I won't renege. If you wish to be rid of her, then I must do this."

"Then do it," she hissed. "And send that _fucking_ whore on her Goddamned way!"

He arched a cool eyebrow, surprised at her venom.

"It will take time to arrange," he warned her. He would need to send to Charlestown and by the time it was organised, two, or even three weeks might have passed.

"So? Send her on her way and deliver the amount when it comes through," she said this in a strangled voice, still very upset with parting with the amount. "No - have Major Bordon deliver it to her! Send her back to the city to await her _settlement_," she loaded the word with scorn, "and when she has it, she can go to fucking hell!"

"Beth... Lord, if only it were that easy. My darling, she has been my mistress for long enough that others know of her -"

"Wonderful." She curled her lip.

"Which makes it dangerous for her, as being Major Bordon's mistress was dangerous for Miss Jutland. I told you of what happened there."

Beth raised her chin and gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she struggled to maintain her composure. "So how, then, do you plan to resolve this?" She asked archly.

"I had not intended to make your home my stronghold, Beth," he said quietly by way of apology. "I would not sully it by bringing a former mistress here, but I have no choice."

"Your meaning?" She asked dangerously.

"That Lin -" he began, but Beth's eyes flashed and he changed his words swiftly. "I mean that she could be taken by the enemy to be used against me."

"Have you such deep sentiment for her that she _could_ be used against you?" Beth snarled and William paused. "And do others know of your feelings for her?"

"Gossip spreads... As for affection, I liked her well enough," he said, again cautiously. "I told you, she was what I needed, when I needed it. But I do not hold her with such high affection that I have the slightest difficulty in letting her go. When it comes down to you and her, there isn't even a choice. Despite my willingness to throw her over so easily, I would not wish her to be harmed because of her connection to me."

"So how, William, how do you plan to resolve this?" She repeated in a voice clipped with fury, for she felt certain she knew what was coming next.

"It will only be for a short time, until I have the money -"

"No!" Beth screamed, again trying to push him with all her might. With a sigh, William caught her wrists and pulled her close. Like a hellion, she fought his grip with such wildness he was hard pressed to keep her contained. "I'll not have her near you!" She shouted up at him. "You can give her all of my money! Every single pound that you promised her and then the rest! But she'll not have you while she's waiting. You and she are done, and by Christ, I mean it," she stopped fighting him and her tone became low and deadly, her stare intent and he knew she meant every word. "If I hear one whisper of you screwing her now that we are married - nothing you do or say will stop me from leaving you!"

"I told you, I won't take her to my bed again," he sighed heavily, for it was clear that she did not believe him. Thanks to Banastre's revelation, her trust for him had taken a devastating blow.

"Be warned, William. If you do stray from me, I'll know it," she leaned in toward him and pinned him with her gaze. He stared back gravely, waiting for her to deliver her ultimatum. "I have friends in your Legion - you needn't think I don't! Half of them are boys I grew up with. And then there's Mary. Rebecca. Sarah. Emily. They know how to route out the slightest gossip. I assure you, William, if you are unfaithful with that _fucking_ slut, I will know it within an hour and there is not a force on earth that will make me stay with you!"

"I'll organise for her to stay in elsewhere, not at Fresh Water," he relented tiredly, for he knew now that Beth would not be fit to live with, if Linda was on even the remotest part of the plantation. "And I will not go near her, I vow it. Will that appease you?"

"That the little whore is not coming here?" Beth nodded fiercely. "Yes, it appeases me. It's the only bloody thing about the entire affair that does!"

"I am pleased I could accommodate you in some small way," he smiled ruefully but she snarled at him. He doubted very much that her temper would cool any time soon. "Is there anything else I can do to soothe you?" He touched her cheek but she shoved his hand away and took two full steps back. She did not want him touching her. As far as she was concerned, he was standing too close to her as it was.

"First thing tomorrow morning," she grated. "You will saddle Thunder and you will ride to that whore, before the baggage train reaches here. And you will tell her you are done. You will send her somewhere safe to satisfy your _conscience_," she spat. "To some Tory family, perhaps -"

"Careful, Beth," he said, narrowing her eyes. She flashed a vicious smile, pleased she had said something to ruffle him.

"Very well - some Loyalist family, if you prefer," again, that scornful voice. "You will return to me here, you will not linger with her or escort her yourself. She must not harbour any hope that you intend to return to her. If you do this, William, it might go some way toward soothing me!"

"Very well," he agreed. "I will place... her... Into the care of an escort, and then I shall return here immediately."

"And when the money comes through," again that curled lip, for she was utterly furious that they had to pay Linda a single penny, "you will have one of your men carry it to her. You will not go to her, William. After your little chat tomorrow, you will not see her again. Ever. And she is to be left in no doubt of that. You are to tell her -"

"Do you wish to accompany me?" He arched an eyebrow and continued indignantly, "perhaps you can dictate what I am to say to her. Whisper it in my ear and I shall repeat it?"

She took a step closer to him and jabbed his chest with her finger hard enough to raise bruises.

"You did this, not I. You want me to calm down - I know you do. But that is not going to happen, William. Not until she is completely gone. See her on her way, and perhaps I'll even welcome you when you return to me afterward."

With that, Beth stormed away from him, marching out of the stable into the midst of the gathered crowd and disappeared into the house.

* * *

Hanger removed his hat from his head and smoothed back his hair with a comb, before knocking on Charlotte Selton's door. When there was no answer, he opened the door slowly, carefully, peering in around the edge of the door in an effort to be careful of Charlotte's modesty. In truth, he was half hoping to see her in a state of undress titillating to a man of his adventurous tastes.

Unfortunately, Charlotte was dressed as properly and primly as always, she stood before a window and glanced over her shoulder toward him. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as he entered with a grin that reached his ears. He closed the door but did not close the distance just yet, for modesty sake. He bowed low.

"Major Hanger!" She said incredulously. "What in the world..?"

"Forgive me for visiting you in your chamber," Hanger said, bowing again. He approached slowly, nervously. "I was told you are keeping to yourself up here and aren't receiving visitors, so there was no other option left for me."

"That's what you were told, is it?" Charlotte said, frowning. She supposed she should be grateful; she didn't want anyone to know what she'd done with Bordon and she felt quite strongly that if Hanger learned of it, the tale would travel as far as the Officer himself would. "And so you ignored my wishes entirely and came up here anyway? To my bed chamber."

"Ah, yes," Hanger paused. "I know you are one for proprietary, again, I apologise for breaking it now. However, I very much -"

"What was all that shouting?" She cut in.

"The… shouting? Oh, that was Tavington and Tarleton. Tarleton is angry that Tavington married your niece - you know how strongly he feels for her."

Charlotte grunted and turned away.

"Speaking of strong sentiment," Hanger began, resuming his approach toward her. "I hope you know how ardently I admire you, Mrs. Selton. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I was utterly smitten. Mrs. Selton, I have come to declare myself -"

"No," she said, folding her arms across her chest, her back ramrod straight. Hanger spluttered.

"Ah… No?"

"You have come to propose marriage," she said, turning back to face him. "My answer is no."

"Mrs. Selton!" Hanger based, her rejection cutting him deeply. "My dear Lady," he took hold of her wrist and pulled it away from her body, placing his fingers in hers. "Speak not so rashly, I beg of you! I am come to profess my love for you - I do not know when I will see you again, Tarleton is determined to never return to this roof again and now might be my only opportunity for God knows how long! Won't you at least hear me?"

"You would try to convince me to marry you," she said flatly.

"To be my bride," he agreed. "To come away with me this very moment. We shall marry this evening, when we are returned to the Legion. Our Reverend will perform the ceremony. All you need to do, my love, is say yes, and this evening, you will be Charlotte Hanger, the Baroness Coleraine."

"Baroness?" Charlotte gaped despite herself.

"You did not know?" Hanger replied, smug. He knew she hadn't known, and he thought this would be just the thing, to reel her in. "I have the honour to be George Hanger, 4th Baron Coleraine, a peer of Ireland," he swept her a lavish bow, extending his arm out with a flourish, his hat dangling from the tips of his fingers. "As my wife, you will be elevated to the nobility. My beautiful Mrs. Selton," he reached for her hand again, pressed her fingers to his lips. "If you just say yes, I vow, I will give you all you could ever desire. I am not a man of simple means," he laughed softly at that. "My fortune, I vow, is quite extensive. And I know you are not lacking there, either. Together, we will make such a pair as this world has ever known. With you by my side, you'll be my shining jewel, the envy of Helen."

"You think I'm more beautiful than Helen," she asked, shaking her head slightly.

"Well, who can say - no one from our generation has seen her, and not for a hundred generations before us, either. But if I was to imagine what she looked like, I need only think of you. Mrs. Selton," Hanger went down on one knee, he was looking so earnest. "Please, my beautiful lady, accept my proposal. Become my wife. I vow, to the end of my days, to worship you and only you."

Charlotte's breath caught, tears burned her eyes. Hanger spoke so eloquently, he was filled with such romance and ardour, such passion. She would never know those again, not from the man she wanted them from. Benjamin, who could put Hanger to shame for romance and eloquence, would never show her that side of him again. He would never love her, never hold her.

Never forgive her.

Charlotte broke down, weeping.

Hanger rose, he stared at her with grave concern.

"Mrs. Selton?" He said, cocking his head.

"You need to leave," she said between sobs. "I'm sorry. You have… your merits… there are… good things about you, qualities I can… admire. But I do not… love you. My heart is… taken. It is broken. I will never… ever… marry again. I am sorry." She turned away from him, back to the window, and sobbed bitterly into her hands.

Hanger tried to speak to her. Tried to persuade her, to hold her, to cajole her. But his attempts were for naught. When she continued to sob, when she kept her back to him rather than let him hold her, when she shook her head, again refusing him, her arm up, blocking him away from her, he was forced to accept it. She would not marry him, she did not love him.

Shoulders slumped, he returned his hat to his head. He stared gravely for several long moments, wishing for… for anything other than this. But it was done, he had proposed, and she had refused him. His heart heavier than an anchor, he crossed the room to the door. There, he turned back, hoping, but she kept her back to him, offering him nothing.

* * *

The British Legion arrived to Fresh Water miles ahead of the baggage train. The camp followers were travelling with the baggage, with the exception of Mary, who Colin had bought ahead with him. His family broke the news to him about Trellim and Banksia's executions, and he saw the evidence of this now as he passed by the bodies that were still swinging in the trees. They'd been left strung up to deter the Patriot Militia from attacking. Colin hoped that now the Legion was here and Tavington's numbers were bolstered to nearly seven hundred, he would removed the grizzly sight, for surely it was no longer needed it. He was glad he'd left Mary at his parents, he would not have wanted her to see the dead men dangling from the trees.

He dismounted by the kitchen and rather than approaching the house proper, he went instead to the small outhouse where Benjamin Martin and Thomas were being held. Ten soldiers surrounded the storage shed, all of them alert and waiting for trouble. They recognised Colin as a Green Dragoon Officer. He did not ask permission, rather he walked toward the door, thinking that if they tried to stop him, he would deal with it. When it was clear he meant to enter, one of the Privates did indeed challenge him, though he looked perplexed more than anything.

"I have some questions for the prisoner," Colin said to the rank and file soldier, who was not quite barring his way, but was letting Colin know his intentions needed to be made clear. "I have some suspicions that I would like clarity on, before I place them before Colonel Tavington."

"Yes Sir," the Private said, before stepping away from the door. The way was clear and Colin opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. Benjamin was laying on his bed, Thomas sitting perched on his, both looking exceedingly bored. They lurched up to greet Colin, embracing him and pounding on his back like the old friend he was.

Benjamin pulled over a chair, indicated Colin should sit.

"How are you being treated, Sir?" Colin asked and Benjamin shrugged.

"I've had worse days. The hardest part is the boredom. And that," he pointed toward the window at the dead bodies.

"I know," Colin shuddered. Benjamin handed him a flask and Colin drank deeply. "Tavington supplies you with whiskey?" He asked incredulously.

"Nathan brings it in," Benjamin explained.

"Do you see much of the children?"

"Yes. They're in and out of here like it's their own chamber. It's Beth's doing, that the Butcher doesn't stop them. He has them watched though, in case I've been whispering little messages to pass along to rebels."

"And have you?"

"Hell no. I'll not involve the children in anything like that," Benjamin frowned, his face darkening. "Never again," he said, haunted. Thomas gazed at him with concern.

"Again?"

"Never mind," Benjamin waved it away as he took back the flask. "I believe congratulations are in order." He inclined his head. "So _congratulations_. Mary is a fine lass and will make a fine wife."

"She already does," Colin smiled. "And she wants to continue to do so, which is partly why I'm here."

"Oh? How can I help to make Mary continue to be a fine wife?"

"By not allowing her to become a widow," Colin replied and Benjamin's humour faded. "Mary has wanted me to quit my more… covert work… for some time now. And since Trellim and Banksia… She has been even more vehement. Now, she has my parents on side. Sir, I have come to request permission to quit work as a spy."

"Granted. Though you don't need to request my permission for that," Benjamin said.

"You're my Commander. To be honest, I don't want to be a part of any of this anymore. I'm married to Mary and I'm terrified for her and my family."

"I can well understand that," Benjamin said, having tried for so long to stay out of the conflict for that very same reason. Family. He glanced at Thomas and guessed the young man was thinking of Lucy Ferguson for Thomas was nodding gravely.

"My family isn't my only reason, either," Colin said. "Frankly, I'm done with both sides. John Sumter… There are no words bad enough to describe a man who takes a woman captive, who then forces her to do unspeakable things to him, to avenge himself on someone else entirely."

"You're speaking of this Miss Jutland?" Benjamin asked, troubled. "Beth told me."

"Did she tell you that Miss Jutland was taken at Mr. Putman's suggestion?"

"Yes," Benjamin replied shortly.

"That's the other thing that got me, the straw that broke the camel's back," Colin said. "It made it that much worse for me, that Mr. Putman would do that. He never laid a hand on her, but he's every bit as guilty Sumter. Was, I should say. You know that Sumter shot him?"

"I know."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Colin said. "He was a good man. Well, except for that, he was."

"Mr. Putman had faults aplenty," Benjamin said.

Colin cocked his head, but Benjamin said nothing more. "There's something I need to tell you, Sir. It's about Mrs. Mage Putman and you're not going to like it."

Benjamin suspected he already knew what Colin was about to divulge, but he gestured for the lad to continue anyway.

"A few weeks back, when Tavington took up occupation of Mr. Putman's house, I happened in on a conversation between Tavington and Bordon," Colin began. "It seems… Going by what they said to one another… Bordon was having an affair with Mrs. Putman." Colin waited tensely for the explosion, but Benjamin and Thomas merely exchanged glances. Unsurprised glances, at that. "Did you… did you already know?" He asked, frowning.

"It was revealed to Beth and Margaret recently," Benjamin said, voice hard. "And they told me. As I said, Mark had faults aplenty. One of them was using his own wife as a honey pot."

"A what pot?" Colin frowned.

"Oh, you didn't know that part? Yes, a honey pot. Mage was the honey, Bordon the fly she drew in. Mark knew she was bedding Bordon, the soul purpose of her being in his bed was to gain information."

"Jesus!" Colin gasped, outraged.

"He told me once that he sees his wife and daughter as soldiers of a different kind," Benjamin said when Colin spluttered, speechless. "Willing and able to fight this war using any weapon they have at their disposal."

"Not… Not that… Bedding - bedding was Mrs. Putman's weapon to be used for the Cause? That's… despicable. And he said the same about his own daughter? Cilla? Not Cilla… Surely not."

"I don't know," Benjamin spread his hands wide. "I'd like to think not, but after everything I've learned of Mark lately… I just don't know."

"That's…" Colin couldn't think of words strong enough.

"I know," Benjamin said.

"How can they fight the war like this?" Colin asked, despairing. "Sumter. Putman. And then there's Burwell, who would have taken one the Simms women captive to force an exchange for Major Bryant's son." Colin tossed his head like an angry horse. "The soldiers and Officers - the men, they joined willingly. The Simms women never did - they've got nothing to do with it." Colin shook his head. "I thought Putman suggesting to Sumter to take Miss Jutland captive was the straw. But this is. All of this, it's the straw. I can't do this anymore, I don't want to serve under commanders that behave this way - on either side. I'd serve you but as you're a prisoner…" Colin trailed off. He drank deeply from the flask, hoping the whiskey would take the edge of his shock, and his despondency.

"I'm not feeling too grand about the tactics my countrymen are employing, either," Benjamin agreed. "And you can rest assured, I'd never be tempted to use the like."

"I know you wouldn't, which is why I'd stay and serve, if you were free to command. If Tavington releases me, we're going up north to my uncle's place - I'd best be gone from here in case Tavington discovers I was a spy too."

"That's wise, the militia is likely done for now anyway. There's no way I can escape now, not with Trellim gone."

"Lucy is beside herself with fear over Thomas," Colin looked to the younger man. "Is there something between you?"

Thomas's face reddened with embarrassment. "There is," he admitted. "When I'm older, I'll be asking Mr. Ferguson's permission to court her."

"My father was hoping that is the case. He asked me to discuss the future with you now, to have things settled, for I doubt we'll have another opportunity for quite some time yet."

"Things… settled?" Thomas asked. "What things?"

"Your marriage," Benjamin said, amused. Thomas baulked.

"Look, I… I care for Lucy," Thomas swallowed hard. "I… I love her. But I'm not even seventeen and I'm a soldier now and I don't know if I can even think about a wife right now."

Colin snorted. "Listen to him. All grown up and a soldier now, doesn't want to be tied down," he laughed and Benjamin grinned. "You're both a bit young to have it all planned out," he said to Thomas. "My father suggests that, if you're both agreeable, that you and Lucy be loosely promised. Not properly engaged, either of you can end the understanding without repercussions. But there'll be an understanding between you, if we're all in agreement."

"That's perfectly fine with me," Benjamin said. "I'm happy to have Thomas promised, no matter how loosely - might not get another chance to tie this wild stallion down."

Thomas flushed red and threw a mock punch at his father.

"It's good to have this settled," Benjamin said. "Please thank your father for me, I appreciate him standing by my family."

"Well, to be fair, Thomas' three hundred acres has played some small part in it," Colin smiled. "Though I would like to believe that my father would ally our family to yours even if Thomas had no land to bring to the marriage. My father has set aside a dowry for Lucy, she will have ten thousand."

"Well then, they shall be quite well set up, won't they?" Benjamin asked. "I might need to ask them for a loan in years to come."

"You won't be a captive forever, Sir. One day, this will all be over and we'll be able to return to our lives. You might suffer the loss of a few seasons crops, but you'll recover. We all will."

"One can only hope," Benjamin replied.

* * *

After bidding farewell to Benjamin and Thomas, Colin went straight to Tavington. It took sometime before he received what he requested - a private audience. He was finally admitted into Benjamin Martin's office, entering as other Officers filed out. Tavington, sitting behind the large oak desk, gestured for Colin to sit across from him. Colin did so. Feeling it prudent to admit where he'd just come from, he said, "I paid a visit to Mr. Martin just now. May I ask what is to be his fate?" Tavington would discover Colin had gone to see the enemy Colonel, Colin felt it was better to be upfront, rather than have Tavington discover it from another source and begin to suspect him.

"He'll be taken to Charlestown now that the Legion has begun to arrive - I shall be able to spare the escort, now. Tell me, Mr. Ferguson, why did you feel the need to seek out Mr. Martin?"

"Because my family isn't allowed to see him," Colin replied. "And as an officer, I was let in without question." He saw Tavington's face darken.

"You should tread more carefully, Cornet. I have recently discovered spies in my ranks," he said, voice hard. _Do not give me cause to suspect you, too,_ he was saying.

"Which is why I felt it better to just do it and ask forgiveness later, than ask to ask your permission and be denied."

"And what was so important that you'd want to risk my anger?" Tavington asked.

"My father wanted to secure a promise from Mr. Martin and Thomas for his daughter before they are sent away," Colin said truthfully.

Tavington, who had already been told by Bordon that Miss Lucy Ferguson was in love with Thomas Martin, was mollified. "And did you achieve this?"

"I did. They are not formally engaged as such, but they are loosely promised - that was enough to satisfy both Mr. Martin and my father, I am sure."

"Well, congratulations. I see I am not the only Dragoon tying myself to this rebel's family."

"No, I am now tied to. However, Sir, that is another thing I wish to speak to you about," Colin began and Tavington lifted his eyebrows in question. "I wish to be released from my duties, Sir. My grandfather is gravely ill and I need to escort my father to North Carolina, for he believes this to be the end. My mother and my sister will be going also."

William studied Colin carefully. "How long would you be gone for?" When Colin paused, William frowned. "You are asking furlough, are you not?"

Colin remained still, resisting the urge to shift with discomfort. "You have the Legion, now. And Wilkins will return soon, I'm sure. Bordon scattered the rebels, your position here is secure." He drew a deep breath, hoping William Tavington would agreed with his next words. "You do not need me."

"On the contrary, I need every man. You are a sharp shooter and a fine fighter. If I had to draw up a list of men I was loathe to release, you would be at the top of it."

"I… my thanks, Sir," Colin said, a bit conflicted. "Sir, the truth is, I've come under pressure from my entire family to leave. You see, I'm the last Ferguson son and the line dies with me. If I die, so will the Ferguson's. And then there's Mary - she has seen battles now, has seen the dead and she's almost beside herself with fear for me. I understand how cowardly that makes me sound, but… She's my wife - our marriage is so new. I'm inclined to give her anything she asks for, anything within my power to give."

"I quite understand that," William said, thinking of his own new marriage. He cocked his head, noting that Colin hadn't said anything of William and Beth's marriage since entering the room - no congratulations, nothing. _'With respect, Sirs, I do not believe either of you deserve her.'_ Colin's words, the night he confronted William and Banastre over the wager, for treating Beth with less respect than they would a common strumpet. Colin loved Beth as a sister, yet he did not so much as acknowledge her marriage to her husband. He did not approve. "You told me once, that you regret your decision to join the Dragoons," William said softly. "That doesn't have anything to do with your wish to leave now, does it?"

Colin's jaw tightened.

"Because," William continued, voice soft as he prepared to defend himself. "Beth is being treated well now. You took me to task for my treatment of her, and perhaps you were right to do so. But I've done the right thing by her. Things are not as they were before."

"I'll admit that's part of it," Colin said, not bothering to hide his anger. "You say you're doing the right thing by her? I don't see how you can claim that, when your mistress is with the Legion."

"That shall be rectified. I plan to inform Miss Stokes that our affair is at an end, as I promised my wife I would. She shall not set foot on the Plantation, I will not see her again. And that, Cornet, is more of an explanation as I am obliged to give to you."

"I do not suggest I should be in your confidence," Colin said. "It is your wife that I am friends with." William tightened his lips. Colin ploughed on before the Colonel could speak. "For her sake, I am glad you will be giving Miss Stokes up. However, the past is still against you. You say you've done right by Beth? I say you've made an honest woman out of one you ruined." Tavington leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowed and lips tight. Undaunted, Colin continued, "I'm pleased you've made an effort to restore her reputation, and I hope that she will be content in her marriage. But it is not just how you've treated Beth before marriage. It's also the treatment of my wife." Now he'd begun, he had the bit between his teeth and could not stop. "You swore her to secrecy at the time, but that does not hold with her husband. You threatened her and you made her send a letter to Beth, concealing one from you so it would not be discovered." He confronted Tavington, who began to grind his jaw. "You frightened her, intimidated her, for being loyal to her dearest friend. Because you didn't want Beth to know you about that wager and that you were bedding other women." Tavington lifted his chin but said nothing, Colin knew the Colonel had no defence. Not for this. "You insulted and threatened my wife. I was not married to Mary at the time, but I will not simply brush it aside. And then there is the matter of our wedding and Miss Jutland. The British don't see the Colonials as equals, you consider our gentry to be a poor imitation of yours, which is why I almost had to accept being forced to invite a woman of low virtue to my own wedding, to appease my superior, only to have Bordon admit he would not have allowed a woman like Miss Jutland to his sister's wedding."

"Yes he did. And I recall that I agreed with you at the time," William said, at least able to answer to this, though he could answer to little else. "I said then that Major Bordon shouldn't have thought for a moment that Miss Jutland should go."

"Yes, you did. But that doesn't mean you don't think you're better than us. Because I distinctly recall you siding with Bordon at the end, you were going to force me to appease him," Colin pointed out.

"Cornet Ferguson, Major Bordon did apologise to you," William said, still focusing on the subject of the discord between them.

"Only after Mary supported his mistress when Mrs. Wilkins tried to cause trouble for Miss Jutland," Colin paused, then shrugged. "He made no attempt to smooth the waters between us, until then. And by then, it was too little, too late. His apology does not alter the fact that - in order to have a wedding we could look back on with even the slightest amount of joy - my wife and I had to _elope_, Sir." Colin looked away, then added softly, "besides. An officer should be able to respect his commanders."

"And you don't?" William asked.

Colin looked Tavington in the eye. "Not in the slightest."

William's eyes widened, his lips pursed as if he had bitten a lemon. "Very well. You are released from service, you are no longer a Green Dragoon." He said it as if it were something quite undesirable, like a death sentence.

"Thank you, Sir," Colin said, as if he was being handed the greatest gift imaginable. He rose. "I'll return home and change, I'll send my uniform over to you later." William inclined his head. Colin paused at the door and glanced back at the insulted Colonel. "Another thing you should be aware of, Sir," he began and Tavington lifted his chin, his face as hard as stone. "Mrs. Tisdale is with child," he said and Tavington's jaw dropped.

"That… That doesn't mean… there is no certainty that…" Tavington spluttered, before snapping his mouth shut and pursing his lips.

"There is no certainty that it's not, either," Colin said. "The child could be yours. I wish…" He paused, searching for the right words. "You saved my life once, and for that, I thank you. I wish I could admire you, I truly do. But your actions… The things you've done… I just, I don't think I ever could."

Colin observed how utterly still Tavington was, he barely seemed to be drawing breath at all. Like a statue - an astounded, ashamed, insulted statue. Colin shrugged, then left the chamber.

* * *

Colin had one more person to visit before he left - after asking about, he found Beth was in the parlour. She was sitting by a window, stiff with fury. He could see her stiffness as she glared from the window seat to the yard beyond, her eyes narrowed and her face hard. He knocked on the open door and she shifted that glare to him, only for it to slide off her face as soon as she saw him. She jumped to her feet and rushed over.

"Colin!" the two embraced and while she still had her arms around his shoulders, she quickly whispered, "you need to leave the Dragoons, it won't be safe for you much longer."

"I know about Trellim and the others," he whispered back. How could he not know? They were still strung up from the trees, anyone entering the property could see them. He'd known before that, however; his father had told him.

"It's my fault," she said, stepping back from him. His eyes widened. "Well, in part, it was. Bordon questioned one of papa's men and they gave him Trellim and Banksia, which led to William questioning me. I had to be honest with him, I told him all I knew, but I'm sure that most of that was of old plots, I hope that I revealed nothing that is still in action today. The only thing I kept back was you. I did not tell him about you, Colin, I could never. But it's only a matter of time before he discovers the truth, I just know it."

"Yes, Lucy passed your warning onto my father, thank you for telling her," Colin said. "I've handed in my resignation just now."

"And did he accept? By Gods, if he didn't, I'll have a few words to say to him -"

"He accepted. Do you want to tell me what's wrong, Beth?"

"Colonel Tarleton told me that Linda Stokes has travelled with the Legion," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. She strode swiftly to return to the window seat where she dropped down with a grunt.

"Oh, yes. That. I was going to tell you now, I wasn't sure if you knew or not. How did you handle the news?"

"I tried to leave," she said. He came to sit in front of her on the same seat. "He would not let me."

"You're married," Colin shrugged.

"Yes. Lucky girl that I am," she spat.

"You're not happy?"

"I was," she said crisply. "Until Tarleton revealed that. William said he'd intended to keep her his mistress even after marrying me, but he changed his mind when we did say our vows. I think he thought that would appease me."

Colin nodded, agreeing. "It's been a trying time, that much is for certain. Mary and I have been beyond disgusted - I've wanted to smash my fist into his face so many times."

"Oh, of course, you were travelling with them… you would have seen them together," Beth's anger eased to something worse. Self doubt. "Is she beautiful, Colin?"

"Beth, she's a bawd. There is absolutely no comparison between her and you. She's the sort of pretty flower a weed might produce. You and Mary - you two are the most beautiful flowers from the most tenderly cultivated bush."

"I can see why Mary married you," Beth smiled.

"Do not compare yourself to Miss Stokes, Beth. There is only one thing men could be interested in a woman like her, and that's her -" He cut short, face reddening. _Her quim_, he was about to say. "And if he is going to end it with her, then I'd say even that had lost its appeal."

"I'm still dreadfully furious with him," Beth said, her anger returning.

"As well you should be," he said primly. "I can't bring myself to congratulate you, Beth. You could have done so much better."

"I doubt that, not after everything that's happened, and I'm to blame for much of it. I could have been married to Burwell, I might not have been in love with him but I wouldn't feel like I'm on a calm ocean one moment, then a furious storm with raging waves the next."

"My faith isn't as strong in Burwell as it previously was, so I'm not as sure about that as I was."

"Truly?"

"He was keeping a mistress too, in camp," he replied. "Though I am told he shed himself of her the moment he received your letter, confirming your engagement."

"He did?" Beth frowned, startled. "He had a mistress?"

"A camp follower he was bedding."

"Are they good for anything else, these camp followers?" She snapped, frustrated.

"Yes, they are - there are some virtuous ones. Mary particularly likes Miss Cordell and Mrs. Andrews, and a few others." Beth heaved a breath, she was not reassured overly much. "Listen, Beth," he cast his gaze to the door as a Dragoon walked past. The fellow didn't enter, but Colin lowered his voice anyway. "I'm not leaving to join Burwell. I asked your papa permission to be released entirely and he granted it. I would have served under him, but he's a captive and who knows for how long? I can't serve under Burwell. I think he's got more honour than Tavington, but he was still going to take one of the Simms women captive to exchange for Bryant's son. And then there were Trellim and Banksia who knew what was happening to Miss Jutland and they just let it happen. And your uncle - it was all his suggestion."

"I know," she replied sadly.

Colin, realising Beth likely did not know much of what had taken place after she left Charlestown, told her about Bordon's insistence that Harmony Jutland be added to the guest list and how the only way Colin and Mary could have the sort of wedding they could be proud of, had been forced to have a small ceremony immediately, with family and the few friends they could gather on such short notice only.

"Your mother and Lucy never told me any of this!" Beth gasped. "You and Mary had planned such a large wedding."

"In the end, we as good as eloped," he said, frowning. "Still, I despise what Sumter did when he held Miss Jutland captive. While I don't think overly high of Miss Jutland, nor do I wish that sort of harm to come to her."

"Did you know?" She asked and he averted his gaze, ashamed.

"I knew she'd been taken, but I didn't know what was being done to her," Colin said. "I'd like to think that, if I'd known, I'd have gotten word of her whereabouts to Bordon somehow. I just… I can't keep doing this. My principals are under fire, I'm at war with myself, and the only way I can see to end my personal battle is to leave this one entirely. Which is why I asked your father to release me."

"You're not going to fight either side?"

"No. And I still fear that Tavington will learn I was spying -"

"He won't learn it from me," she promised.

"I know. There are still two others who could reveal it -"

"Don't tell me!" She covered her ears for he was about to speak their names.

"I'm sorry. They're not with Tavington's Legion anymore," he lied.

"Good," she sighed. "So we're leaving - I told Tavington that my grandfather is sick and we're going to North Carolina."

"Is he?"

"No."

"Alright. When are you going? I'd like to see Mary, before you do."

"I'm sorry, Beth, she's still with the baggage train - I came on ahead of her. And I intend to leave as soon as possible, my parents are already packing so we can leave today."

"Oh."

"I do have some good news. I spoke to your father about Lucy and Thomas. They're promised to one another now."

"They are?" Beth gasped.

"Not engaged, either can break it without repercussions. But there is an understanding between them now."

"That's wonderful!" Beth grinned.

"I'd say we'll discuss it again when they're older, closer to twenty. But it's grand, isn't it? Our families will be connected at last."

"It's wonderful," she said again.

"Well, I'd best be on my way. Do you think you can twist that old bastard's arm into letting Lucy see Thomas before we go, if I bring her by? It could be the last time they see one another in God knows how long, and they were promised today. They should be able to talk, at least."

"He's the last person I want to speak to just now, but I shall, for Lucy," Beth said grumpily.


	74. Chapter 74 - The Finer Points of Command

Chapter 74 - The Finer Points of Command:

William lay on his right side with his head propped on his hand, gazing down at his wife, who lay on her side with her back to him. The curtains were open and with the clouds clearing, Beth was bathed in moonlight. She had never looked more beautiful - not to him. But never had she been more unattainable. He knew she was not sleeping, she lay too rigidly and her breathing was not that of a person relaxed in slumber. Each time he tried to move closer to her, she edged furiously away, and he feared she would run out of room and topple from the bed if he continued to try. Placing his hand on her shoulder had been met with a furious twisting of her body, until he removed his hand from her. Whispered words in her ear were ignored. Though he had witnessed her in a jealous rage before, the force of it this time had shocked him. She had been quite spiteful, calling Linda 'whore' and 'doxy' and 'slut', then damning her to 'fucking hell'. He had not thought her capable of such animosity.

A quiet knock on the door drew him from his wife's side. Mila stood outside and when he opened the door, she handed him one of Beth's skirts, which she had adjusted at his request. He thanked her and placed the folded garment on a chair.

"What is that?" Beth asked tersely.

"Divided skirts," he replied, climbing back into bed beside her. "It will not be raining tomorrow, and you wanted to take Shadow Dancer out for a ride. I asked Mila to alter the skirt so that you will be more respectfully attired than you would be in those boys breeches."

Silence. Beth lay frozen beside him.

"I thought it would be nice for us to take more rides together," he ventured. "Fox hunting, perhaps? Your brother said you like to hunt." Again reclined on one elbow, he stared down at her, but she still ignored him. When she said nothing, he tried again. "I gave those damned breeches of yours to Samuel for burning. Though I did enjoy the sight of you wearing them, so too did most of my men. The divided skirts will be far more proper," he said lightly. It was becoming an old joke between them and he hoped she would laugh. When she did not, he continued. "We'll meet with the baggage train but before we return here, I intend to find a quiet place where we can picnic, just the two of us. Mrs. Ambrose is going to be up first thing in the morning, arranging something nice for us. Wine too. You'll enjoy that, won't you?" He ventured, coaxing.

"You aren't taking me out for a ride for the enjoyment of it," she snapped. "You just don't trust that Banastre won't return, and so you're making me go with you."

"Tarleton is gone, he isn't coming back," he said. "I thought you might wish to leave the plantation for a short time. You won't have to see… her…" He avoided saying Linda's name. "You will be with your friends while I… Well, until I return to you."

"Yes, I think I like this idea," her voice was snide. "I doubt you'll have the opportunity to tumble with her, with me there."

"I won't tumble her no matter what opportunity arises - whether you are there or not," he promised. Caressing her shoulder, he ventured, "speaking of tumbling…"

"Oh, you must be joking!" Beth whirled up and around, the cold moonlight haloing her, making her appear as an avenging angel. "I told you, William. See that whore on her way, and perhaps then I'll welcome you. Certainly not before!" She threw herself back down to the pillows and again turned her back on him.

William sighed. He hadn't truly thought she would be willing, but it had been worth a try. Rolling over onto his back, he pillowed his head on his hands and stared up at the ceiling until well after Beth's soft snores signalled she'd fallen asleep.

* * *

Being careful of the mud which, in some places, reached Shadow Dancer's forelocks, Beth rode at William's side along the post road. Following behind was her brother Samuel, and one hundred Green Dragoons. Her brother seemed to becoming quite close to Captain Gordon, and it disturbed Beth quite deeply. Gordon had not accompanied them on the ride, he was back at Fresh Water, recovering. However, judging by the way Samuel continued to stare at Tavington with such open awe, the boy had transferred his reverence from one British Officer to another.

At least William is my husband, she thought grimly. And Sam's brother in law.

As they neared Pembroke, the first of baggage train for the British Legion came in to view on the post road. Beth clutched the reins tightly and stared dead ahead at the approaching wagons. The first line of soldiers were carrying the standard of the British Legion, she could see it flying gently in the distance. Some where to the back of that force, William's mistress rode in a cart, oblivious to what was coming. Beth had a sudden, mad desire to speak with her. A warm flush of anticipation washed over her. How much better would it be if she told Linda the doxy that Beth's husband no longer required her services? She shoved the desire down, for she recognised that it stemmed from her own jealousy of the woman. Beth was not a cruel person and it surprised her, how badly she wanted to tear Linda to shreds. Beth strongly suspected that the woman was in love with William. She would be hurt enough, when he informed her that their affair had come to an end. Beth stifled her desire for further revenge, for Linda had never done anything to intentionally hurt her.

After stopping several times to speak with various Officers, William drew rein at an ornate carriage belonging to James Wilkins. Emily sat within the cabin, with Sarah Wilkins and Rebecca Middleton.

"Miss Martin, good Lord!" Emily cried, she was so shocked by Beth's sudden, unexpected appearance that the usual courtesies were forgotten and she failed to greet Tavington. "What in the world are you doing here? And what in the world are you wearing?"

"My maid stitched my skirts so I can ride. As for your other question, well, that's quite a story," Beth smiled, because the story she was about to share with her friends was not all bad, after all. There were some happy moments to tell, though it was difficult to remember that when she was still so angry over Linda.

"Well, get off that horse and come ride with us," Emily made an inviting gesture with her arm. Sarah and Rebecca were equally welcoming.

"I will have Shadow Dancer cared for," Tavington said as she climbed into the carriage. Sitting beside Emily now, Beth tugged her divided skirts around her legs, trying to get comfortable. She glanced at him, her irritation had not lessened even slightly. But there were in Company now and she could not make a spectacle before her friends. Nor did she want them to know about the troubles that were plaguing the newly married couple.

"Thank you, husband," she said and almost laughed at the gasps of the other women. Amused, Tavington smirked at her, he knew full well what she was doing. Playing up to the audience, he reached for her hand through the window, kissed her knuckles.

"I'll return shortly, my love," he said. Then he kicked his heels, sending Thunder galloping forward. Beth watched him leave, unable to stifle the sickly feeling in her stomach as her husband left her to speak to his mistress. Worried over her husband and Linda Stokes, she did not hear Rebecca's question.

"Beth!" Rebecca repeated. Beth gave a start of surprise and turned to her friend. "Good Lord, you are distracted!"

"I'm sorry," Beth tried to smile, but William was on his way to see his mistress. A shiver ran along Beth's spine. What if Linda cried? What if he was moved by her tears? What if he had no intention of giving her up? He could be on his way to inform her that they would continue their dalliance, but in future, they must be more circumvent! What if William did not end it with Linda?

Chewing the inside of her lip, Beth pushed those fears aside. William loved her. He had said he would end it with Linda, and she had to trust to his word. Glancing at her companions, Beth began speaking of the madness of the last week. Speaking of her whirlwind wedding - the accompanied 'oohs and ahhs' from her friends - allowed her to relive the ceremony all over again. Before long, she was smiling brightly, her doubts banished. He would do as he promised, and Linda would plague them no longer.

* * *

As he galloped toward the rear of the column, William caught sight of Bordon, helping Harmony to mount Shadow Dancer. Linda was on the cart still and when she saw William, she smiled a bright smile filled with joy. A heavy weight settled on his chest. He understood immediately the cause of her excitement. Not only was she pleased to see him, but she thought that she was now to accompany William, as Harmony was clearly to accompany Richard.

Drawing rein beside the cart, he inclined his head toward her. Her expectant smile did not waver for a moment, despite his cool greeting, for he was not in the practice of being overly familiar with her when there were others to see. As it was, the cart was loaded with camp followers, all of them staring with open curiosity.

"Pass me Miss Jutland's bag," Bordon commanded, holding his hand out to take it when Miss Cordell passed it over.

"Bordon, what are you doing?" William frowned. "You don't have permission to use… this horse." He avoided calling Beth by name for now.

"I believe the owner has no use for it, for the time being," Richard replied. "May Miss Jutland ride it?"

"Where, exactly, do you think you're going?" William frowned at Harmony, then at Richard, for it was clear that the latter intended to be away on the moment.

"To the Ferguson's," Richard replied shortly. He held William's gaze, trying to convey his needs without words. Remembering their discussion of a few days earlier, William finally understood that Richard intended to keep Harmony away all others, until he had a chance to confess and apologise for bedding Mrs. Selton. William inclined his head, giving his permission.

"Yes, good idea. The Ferguson's manor is a nice one, you'll like being quartered there, Miss Jutland," he removed his helmet and bowed his head toward her.

"Why thank you, kind Sir," Harmony smiled, flashing him a flirting smile as she always did.

"Are you accustomed to riding?" He asked her. "Shadow Dancer is quite a spirited mount."

"Shadow Dancer," Harmony smiled in delight. "I like that name." She gave Bordon a sly glance as she continued, "oh, and I assure you, I'm quite accustomed to riding spirited mounts," her eyes appeared to twinkle with mirth at the Gentleman Officer's surprised expressions. Then she laughed, and despite himself, William chuckled under his breath. Several of the women on the cart frowned and gasped at her suggestive comment, but she was too elated to be reunited with Richard to care.

"Oh, pull that carrot out, Mrs. Salisbury. You'll sit much more comfortably." She scoffed. The woman turned white and whirled on her seat, showing her back to Harmony, while others of a less prim nature laughed along with her. Linda was one of these, she sat on the cart, staring and smiling at William, awaiting her turn to be helped down from the wagon bed and offered a room at the Ferguson's.

"Oh, Richard, do smile, won't you?" Harmony edged Shadow Dancer closer to her too quiet lover. She reached out and tried to rub away his frown lines with her thumb. "You're so much more handsome when you don't have that dour expression!"

"He has a lot on his mind," William said when Richard remained quiet. The Major mounted quickly, then shot William a grateful glance.

"What happened to you then, Sir?" Harmony asked, her gaze lingering on William's fading bruises. "Lord, is your nose broken?"

"I think it might be," he said, shrugging her concern away.

"We'll await you at the head of the column," Richard said to William as he edged his horse closer to Harmony. "Are you comfortable?" He asked her for, contrary to her earlier ribald declaration, she was not used to riding. Even now, she looked far more awkward in Shadow Dancer's saddle than Beth did.

"Not really, but you said it's only a short ride, so I'll survive," she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "And that bath you said is waiting for me will ease my discomfit. And the bed you said is waiting for me…" She smiled warmly, thinking of that bed and imagining what she and Richard would soon be doing in it. When he did not return her mirth in any way, she stroked his face with her fingers. "Oh, my darling, what is bothering you? You are never so serious."

"I will tell you," he promised, though his voice was filled with reluctance. "Tonight. At dinner. Let's just enjoy the ride back for now, hmm?"

"All right," she said dubiously, pulling away.

"Are you going to reside at the Ferguson's then?" William asked and Richard nodded.

"I intend to. There is no reason for me to stay in a separate house. Unless you disagree?"

William had made it clear from the outset that he wanted no scandal to reach Cornwallis' ears, but the two of them sharing a room at the Ferguson's would not be as blatant as them sharing a tent in camp, and so the Colonel shrugged.

"That's fine," he said. On the cart, Linda's smile broadened. If William had relaxed his orders to the point where Bordon and Harmony could share a room, then surely he would allow Linda to live with him in the manor house that she had heard Major Bordon telling Harmony about?

With Bordon and Harmony on their way, William strode to the back of the wagon. Holding his hand out, he gestured Linda forward and he was soon helping her down.

"Miss Stokes' bag, please?" He asked and a very astonished Miss Cordell handed it over. The camp followers watched in shock as William hefted the bag onto his shoulder. Linda, believing their time of secrecy had come to an end, wound her hand through his arm. It was not as though the women did not know she was his mistress, anyway. She ran her fingers over his arm as they stepped away from the wagon.

William glanced back down the line to ensure Beth was not in a position to see him in such a compromising embrace with Linda. He did not want to push his former mistress away, it would only hurt her feelings and embarrass her in front of the other camp followers. And it would confuse her, she did not yet know he had come to end their affair. As they walked into the woods aways, several soldiers fell in behind them, and spread out among the trees to keep watch on the vicinity, ensuring it was safe for the Colonel.

Linda frowned as they walked away from the horses, stepping deeper into the surrounding trees instead.

"Why are we… Oh!" She began to laugh as she answered her own question. "You could not wait, hmm?" She squeezed his arm and smiled up at him. "Well, I don't believe I wish to wait either. Though the ground is muddy," she glanced around, looking for a dry spot where they could lie together, but everywhere she looked was wet - damp leaves covered the forest floor. Over turned logs were so sodden they glistened. "You can be at the bottom this time, I think!"

"Linda…" He sighed. They were deep in the forest now, with the guard hanging back aways to give them privacy. He led her toward a likely spot for their discussion - a large felled oak which looked at least a little by drier than the rest of the forest.

"Oh, very well, you can be on top, as long as there's a bath waiting for me, too," she quipped as she plonked herself down on the oak. She patted the empty seat beside her invitingly. William lowered himself to the oak heavily.

"Linda, I didn't bring you here to sport with you," he said, meeting her gaze. "We need to talk."

"Talk!" She said, taken aback by his serious mien. They were alone now, relatively anyway, the guard would give them their privacy so they were as good as alone. But he was not reaching for her. Why was she not in his arms already? Why was he not kissing her? His hands should have been ripping her bodice by now, with his teeth nipping at her neck! Why? He was staring at her so gravely?

She had enough experience with men to know that look. The blood drained from her face.

"You didn't come here to take me back to this manor, did you?" She breathed, her eyes darting all over his face as she studied him intently.

"No, Linda, I did not," he said gently.

"Oh, no… Oh, William, no!" She slipped from the log and dropped to her knees before him, her hands grasping for his. Her skirts were soon sodden through at the knees, but she hardly noticed. "Please, William. Don't do this. Don't end us."

"Linda…" He shook his head. His fingers held hers as he blindly stared at the forest floor. As much as he wanted to keep his promises to Beth, he did not want to do this! He did not want to continue his affair with Linda, but nor did he wish to cause her this affliction.

"What's changed?" She begged, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh… No… It's her, isn't it? Oh, Christ, you've found her!"

William met her eyes and nodded. Linda lowered her head, her tears spilling onto William's gloves.

"But I.. I don't understand..!" She said brokenly after a moment's silence. "William, please - you promised me that even after you found her, we'd still be together! I would be your mistress and -"

"I made promises, I know I did," he cut in, speaking earnestly. "However, made promises to her, also. They are in conflict and I am now forced to choose. I do not like to go back on my word, Linda, but the promises I made to my wife must come before those that I made to you."

"Your wife!" Linda wailed, dropping back onto her rear, heedless of the mud. "Oh, you married her!"

"Yes, Linda. I did. I have no desire to hurt you. It causes me pain to do so now, but this must be done. We must end this now."

"But William you must know I love you!" She beseeched, professing the full depth of her feelings to him for the first time. She had never told him before but now, at the very end, she could see no reason not to.

"Sweet Linda," he cupped her face gently with his hands. "I know you do. And I'm sorry. But you knew this would end, you knew this was not forever."

"No! What I knew what that I was going to be your mistress, whether you married her or not! That's what you told me! Yes, I believed it would last forever, was I such a fool to think that, when you bought me all this way and made those promises!" She choked out through her tears.

"No, you're not a fool to think it," he said tiredly.

"William, we both know you need me," she placed her hand on his chest, her fingers splaying over his heart. "We both know you have urges that she can't assuage! There's a darkness in you - you need to lash out and you know only I can bear the brunt of it! She certainly won't be able to! That violence in you -"

"She calms me well enough," William stated coldly. Drawing away from Linda, he spoke more crisply now as he admitted, "I do not have those urges. Not now. She calms me. In a different way to you, perhaps, but in a way that is far more fulfilling."

Linda's face blanched. "She satisfies you better than me?" She whispered, utterly broken now. William drew in a large breath and scrubbed his hand over his face.

"I love her, Linda," he said honestly, believing that this profession should have been enough of an answer as to why Beth could satisfy him more than Linda. "I'm sorry, but I do."

Linda covered her face with her hands and wept. William watched her for a moment, then, after casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching who would report back to Beth, he reached out and pulled Linda into his arms. His fingers smoothed back her auburn hair as he held her against his chest.

"I did not wish to hurt you," he whispered as she trembled against him. She put her arms around his waist, clutching him tightly.

"Please, don't do this," she sobbed.

"It's done, Linda," he said, not unkindly.

"She won't have to know. No one will have to know," she lifted her head from his chest and met his pale gaze. "Please, William? I promise I'll keep it a secret this time!"

William drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes. This was far harder than he had thought it would be, but it had to be done, quickly and cleanly, like lancing a wound. It would only hurt her more if he drew it out by make more promises to her.

"I'm sorry, but a clean break is for the best," he said, drawing away from her again. She bowed her head and wept. Rising to his feet, he stared at the top of her head as she continued to kneel, trembling, at his feet. As she cried, he spoke with a crisp coolness that he did not feel.

"I have provided you with a letter of introduction to a Loyalist family in Pembroke," he placed a leather satchel on the log. As he continued, his voice became more business like as he himself became more emotionally detached from Linda. "I have given you some money, it's in the satchel. It's not much but there will be more, as I promised there would be, as part of our arrangement. Please remain in Pembroke until the money comes through. Once I have honoured that part of our bargain, I will organise an escort to take you to Charlestown, or a transport to take you where ever you may wish to go."

Linda made no reply, nor did she raise her head to meet his eyes.

"When you receive the money, use it wisely, Linda," he advised.

"Wisely?" She whispered, finally lifting her tear stained face.

"Find yourself a husband," he said pointedly. "Seduce a wealthy widower, or even a simple farmer. But use that money as a small dowry and get yourself married."

That he could so blithely suggest that she marry another man cut her to the bone and was as difficult to bear as his casting her aside. Didn't the idea of her being with another man not cause him the slightest ache? His marriage to Beth was causing her agony! She lowered her eyes and whispered wretchedly, "will you at least spend some time with me, when you bring the money to me?"

"No, Linda. One of my men will bring the money to you. You will not see me again."

This pronouncement, uttered so decisively and with cold finality, was the final blow for Linda. She buried her face in her hands and wept, her sobs were loud enough that she did not hear him leave her there. She did not know he was gone, until she felt gentle fingers wind around her arm and one of the soldiers was pulling her to her feet.

"This way, Miss Stokes," he was saying and she stumbled along meekly, tears blurring her vision as they made their way back to the road. "We'll have to walk to Pembroke, I'm afraid," the soldier was saying though she was only paying half a mind to his words. Something about him and several others taking her to this house in Pembroke. Her full attention was on William's retreating back - she could see him tall above the milling soldiers as he galloped back down the line toward the front.

The soldier had her bag slung over his shoulder and held the satchel in his free hand.

"Come this way," he tugged her arm in the opposite direction away from William. She had no choice but to be guided by him. As she passed the camp followers cart, she heard their astonished whispering. William's galloping back up the line away from them and now her tears, were not going unnoticed. She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand and tried to hold her head high, but it was hard - oh so hard.

"Are you all right?" Miss Cordell called anxiously.

"Miss Stokes," Mrs. Andrews called. "I have some money..." The offer was made because it was clear the Colonel had thrown her over and the women were concerned for her. Their sympathy moved her.

"I'll get by," she told them. "I always do."

Though, this time, it was not just herself that she needed to worry about. With a heavy heart, she placed her hand over her slightly swollen stomach and began to seriously consider the herbs that were stowed away in her bag. Without William to protect her and provide for the baby, wouldn't it be for the best? If she had told him about the baby, would he have still cast her aside? The soldier's fingers tightened on her arm for Linda began to sob again, so wretchedly, that she was unable to walk without that assistance.

* * *

"You were with your father for sometime," William said. He was reclined against a tree on several thick blankets. Beth was reclined against him. Their stomachs were filled with wine and food. Probably more wine than food. Beth slurred when she spoke.

"It was a bitter farewell," she said, turned her cheek into his jacket, her head tilted slightly upward as if hinting at wanting a kiss. He indulged her, she was in need of his love and attention after their fraught few days. Returning home from Pembroke to discover a letter from Cornwallis sitting on William's desk, with orders that Benjamin Martin and the other captured rebels were to be handed over to Lieutenant Whitty of Tarleton's Legion immediately, to be escorted to the city. Beth sat up, reached for the second bottle and filled both their glasses - the movement was unsteady, William watched her, ready to assist with her drunken effort to refill their glasses. She did it, however, with only a few drops spilt. She handed her his glass, then drank from her own. "It was so sudden, I didn't expect to return here only to have my father spirited away from us. It was thoroughly unenjoyable." She shifted too look back at him. "Did you write that letter you promised to write?"

"Yes, I wrote it. But as I warned you, Beth, his fate will be in the hands of my superiors."

"But you asked Lord Cornwallis to treat him gently, didn't you?"

"I did. I handed the letter to Lieutenant Whitty before they left," he replied.

"What if they hang him?" She asked in a small voice.

"He is an Officer in the Continental Army. I do not believe hanging will be his fate."

"What will be his fate?"

"Prison. Likely until the end of the war, so he can cause no further disruption for us."

"Men die in prison camp. Papa says so."

"Regulars do," he agreed. "Officers, usually the higher ranking, are kept in better care. I believe your father will be well, Beth."

She heaved a sigh and leaned back against him to sip her wine. "I wish Samuel had come down to say goodbye. If papa dies, Samuel is going to regret not making amends with him."

"Hmm."

In a way, it had proven fortuitous, returning home from Pembroke to find the letter waiting. Benjamin Martin's immediate removal and the chaos that had followed had distracted Beth from Linda and William's bastards completely. It was her father she focused on now, it was of her father that she talked herself raw, instead of William's affair and the children he'd sired so long ago. For that, he was grateful Martin was gone. Still, it rankled somewhat. Being so distant from his Commanders in the field, Lord Cornwallis was forced to make decisions for them based on information he received, that at times was already days old. When Benjamin Martin was initially captured by Bordon, Tavington had written to inform Cornwallis. He informed Cornwallis that he would send a detachment to the city with Benjamin Martin, when his Legion arrived to reinforce him. He explained that this would take time, for the Legion was stuck in Kingstree and unable to make progress due to the dreadful weather. His Lordship, having no idea how long it would be before William's Legion arrived to Fresh Water, had written back with instructions. The prisoners were to be handed over to Banastre Tarleton, who had greater numbers with him. Banastre must have received a similar missive, for when Tavington returned from Pembroke, Whitty was already there, waiting to remove Martin. Though Tavington's situation had changed and he was now able to send a detachment from his own Legion, Banastre had insisted that Cornwallis' instructions be followed to the letter.

Foolish way to try to rile me, Tavington thought now as he sipped his wine. It did not matter who delivered Martin up to Cornwallis, it would not change who did the capturing. Cornwallis had approved William's plans to establish a fort at Fresh Water, and congratulated him on the capture of Benjamin Martin and the other rebels. Banastre demanding William follow Cornwallis' instruction would not change that. At that moment, Whitty and a detachment of Banastre's Dragoons were en-route to Charlestown, with the captives.

"When do you ride for McDeals?" Beth asked, shifting in his embrace.

"Immediately, now that the Legion is here," he said. "They are preparing to travel now."

"Do you have to lead them yourself? Can't Bordon go?"

"Bordon could," he agreed. "But I shall."

"I don't like you anymore," she pouted and he laughed.

"I'm not leaving for a while yet, you have me for another hour or two," he snuggled her closer and when she tilted her head back, they began to kiss. Rain - just a drizzle - interrupted them. Knowing it might get heavier, they quickly packed up their picnic and strode made swiftly for the house. In Martin's office, William placed the blankets and basket on the floor and Beth went to the chaise, where she flopped on her back, one leg dangling on the floor. William grinned down at her. She gazed up at him, bleary eyed and soused. "Are you quite comfortable?"

"I am indeed."

He laughed. Leaving her there, he went over to the desk, to see if any other urgent messages or missives or letters had been placed there in his time away. There wasn't. He sat down in the large chair and began to read a report sent to him by one of his Captains. Beth lay back on the chaise, one arm draped across her eyes. There weren't there long before the door was pushed open and Reverend Premmon strode in. Tavington leaned back in his chair as Premmon quickly approached.

"Colonel Tavington," Reverend Premmon's voice was as crisp as his steps, he looked quite displeased. "I am told you believe yourself to be married, Sir; that Major Bordon presided over the wedding?"

Tavington looked to Beth as she began to put the book down, her eyes as large as saucers on Reverend Premmon.

"I do not believe myself to be married. I am married," William corrected. "Please may I present -"

"And Major Bordon presided over the ceremony?" Premmon snapped, cutting William off.

"Yes, he did. May I present to you Mrs. Elizabeth Tavington," Tavington finished with a toward Beth, who was slowly rising to her feet. He could tell she was moving slowly to disguise how soused she was.

Premmon turned to Beth, he inclined his head, then took several steps toward her. To Tavington, he asked, "you have lain with this child?"

"Hardly a child and yes, of course we have," Tavington said.

"Then you have done her a great injustice," Premmon snapped, his back stiff with fury. "This is… this is… The law is very clear, Sir! An ordained Minister must perform the ceremony, or your marriage is illegal!"

"Reverend, Major Bordon is ordained. He studied -" Tavington began.

"Oh, I know his history, Colonel. I know he studied to be a Clergyman, but a Clergyman he is not! Even if he entered the church, he would be ousted due to his…" The Reverend's eyes darted toward Beth. "His poor conduct! I am entirely too aware of his predilection for taking mistresses!"

Tavington lifted his chin, he heaved a breath of dismay.

"Even without that, however, he never took his orders! He left the church and purchased his commission. I assure you, no matter what you believe, you are not married! This… This is an act against God! This is… This is not how it is supposed to be done. You are not married - Bordon does not have the authority to make it binding, or legal in the eyes of God."

"William," Beth wailed and he was on his feet and striding toward her at once. He pulled her into his arms and glared at the Reverend.

"Beth and I are married, by damn," he snapped. "It was in a proper church. Our marriage is consummated, you will not call it undone!" He felt like he was being confronted by Martin all over again, he was getting heartily sick of his marriage being doubted.

"You could marry in a field for all I care! If you do not have a member of the clergy citing the words, then the words are nothing more than gibberish and are no more legally binding than if a child were to say them!" Reverend Premmon was red in the face, his fury strong. "If you wish to name yourself married, Sir, then summon your witnesses, and I shall conduct the ceremony myself, right here, right now! And then it shall be legally done, in the eyes of the Law, of our King, and in the eyes of God!"

"Oh. You'll marry us now?" Tavington asked, a little taken aback.

"I must! Anything else is… it's scandalous! I would insist you wait for me to read the banns for three Sundays before laying with this young woman again, but as you have already told the world you are married, the custom must needs be bypassed. Summon your witnesses, I shall marry you this this very moment!"

Tavington gazed down at Beth, whose fear was replaced by excitement. She smiled up at him and nodded.

"I'll go and get my sisters and the ladies," she said, bouncing on her toes and clapping her hands together. "Oh, this is the wedding I wanted. It's such a pity my papa's gone, he could have given me away…" She deflated somewhat, her shoulders slumping. Both of them knew her father would not have involved himself in any of this. "I suppose there's no point in asking Aunt Charlotte to come, either," she said.

"I do not want that woman at our wedding," William said. "Your sisters are welcome. Your brothers. Your friends. You will have to be content with them, Beth."

"Alright. Oh, we're getting married, for real and true!" She clapped her hands again. "Thank you, Reverend," she gushed before rushing from the chamber with a slightly unsteady gait thanks to the wine.

Reverend Premmon watched her go, then he turned back to slowly to Tavington.

"What?" Tavington murmured. "Were you expecting me to argue the point?"

"Yes, and was I wrong? You did argue it. May I sit at your desk? I'll draw up the marriage license now."

"Of course," Tavington gestured and the reverend rounded the desk, then sat in William's seat. "I did argue it, because I assumed you would declare my marriage illegal, which you did. I did not expect you to suggest we repeat the ceremony with you at the helm. I thank you, Reverend. I am heartily tired of others doubting the legitimacy of my marriage to Beth. This will dispel any further foolishness in that regard. You could have approached the matter with more… delicacy, however," Tavington chided, glaring at Premmon, who curled his lip and sniffed.

"For five days, you have been bedding that girl outside of marriage," Premmon said. "Sir, I can assure you, I was in no mood for delicacy."

* * *

At the Ferguson's, the windows in the small dining room were open to let in the late afternoon breeze but still sweat trickled down Bordon's back and he continually dabbed it from his forehead. The breeze was pleasant, refreshing, and it went a long way to help ease the stifling heat. Therefore, he should not be sweating. And he would not be sweating, if it weren't for the discussion he knew he must have. Staring at his plate rather than at the beautiful woman sitting across from him, he began to seethe with fury, fury with Charlotte Selton for placing him in this predicament. It was her fault - her damned fault. He'd been drunk for Christ's sake! How could he be held accountable? She'd known he was soused and she had used it against him, entwining him in her snare to meet her own ends. And now he was forced to admit it all to Harmony, who he knew would not be understanding of his situation at all. She would not care that he had been drunk at the time, she would most likely leave him anyway. He could feel her eyes on him now, filled with concern, confusion and ever increasing dread. She had no idea what was coming, but she knew something was terribly wrong and he could sense her working herself up into a lather as her imagination ran away with her. He needed to put her out of her misery, but in doing so, he would only cause her misery of a different kind.

Feeling the frustration keenly, he threw down his fork, not willing to taste a single bite. It clattered against his plate and the sudden noise made Harmony jump. Shockingly, she burst into tears. Shame pierced him to the bone, for he knew the tension he had created had become too much for her. He had been perpetually silent all afternoon. What should have been a joyous reunion had become something cold and dispassionate and Harmony did not know why. It all become too much for her and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"Harm…" He groaned, rising from his seat and circling the table.

"You know, don't you," she rasped out brokenly. The guilt in her voice, and the despair, stopped him dead in his tracks. He stared at the top of her head in horror, wondering if she had been unfaithful to him! "Oh, God," she whispered into her hands. "I only told Linda and Miss Cordell. Which of them told you? One of them must have sent you word! I can't believe it was Linda! But nor would Miss Cordell… Oh, Richard, I'm so sorry," she lowered her arms and reached for him, her beautiful face twisted with despair. "I didn't mean for it to happen, I didn't even think it could! But…" She began to sob too hard to speak and all he could do was stare at her, aghast, as she clung to the bottom of his jacket with clenched fists.

"Harm, Lord… You didn't -"

"I didn't mean for it to happen!" She wailed. "I'd never try and trap you, I swear it! I love you so much, and I want to be with you forever, but I'd never trap you! I'm so sorry, we should have been more careful," she sniffled and released his coat only long enough to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. He breathed shallow, sharp breaths, as he finally began to understand what she was trying to tell him. "I didn't even think I could fall pregnant, not after all those beatings Calvin gave me! The doctor, he said I would never be able to fall pregnant again! Oh, Richard, please try to understand! I've been so worried, and so happy at the same time! It's been terrible - I love you so much, I want nothing more than to bring this child into the world, but I am not trying to trap you, please believe me!"

He was stroking her hair without even realising he'd begun. With her face pressed to his stomach, he held her there, the wool of his jacket quickly soaking in a damp circle.

"Oh, Lord, Harmony," he whispered, staring at the far wall blindly as he cradled her head to him. Her hands wound around his hips and she clutched him, whispering how sorry she was, how she did not want to lose him, but nor did she want to give up the babe when she'd spent so long believing she'd never bear a child.

"Harmony," he lowered himself to his knees before her. Seeing her misery, he belatedly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her tears himself, dabbing gently, then he cupped her face gently with both his hands. Swallowing hard, then seeming to hold her breath, Harmony wrapped her fingers around his wrists as though she needed something to hang on to. "Harmony, I'd never leave you. How could you think it? I love you, how could you imagine I would cast you aside, because you're pregnant?" Her eyes widened with each of his words, they gave her another anchor to hold to, and her face became so hopeful it caused him physical pain. "Darling," he shook his head, lowering his gaze to her stomach in stunned amazement. She looked just the same as she always did, he could discern no difference in her stomach whatsoever, but even still, there was a child in there, growing. "Our child… Lord, I'd never leave you because you are pregnant with my child. Christ, I killed Sumter for you! That should be proof of how much I love you!"

"You - you what?" She whispered, drawing back slightly and staring at him with eyes as wide as they could go. "You killed… Sumter?"

"I did," he said grimly, still cradling her face in his hands, he stared deeply into her eyes, holding her entranced. "We met in battle. He was winning. Colonel Tarleton arrived in the nick of time. The rebels begged Quarter and during this, Sumter tried to escape. I did not let him. I killed him, Harm, in cold blood when he was sprawled in the mud on his back, begging I show mercy. And all I could think of was what he'd intended to do to you. I imagined you sprawled on your back, begging him not to take you. With that in my mind, I ran him through with my sword. I killed him, for what he did to you and for what he was going to do to you. Harmony, he is dead and can plague you no longer, that's how much I love you. This?" He pointed to her stomach and laughed, a joyous laugh, shocked himself at much he welcomed the news. "This is a blessing, my heart. A blessing!"

Harmony gaped at Richard, reeling with shock as his words rang in his ears. Sumter, dead. Richard had killed him. For her. He was pleased about the baby.

"I killed the bastard and I'm glad I did. So you see? Would you really imagine I would set you aside when I've gone to those lengths for you?"

"I don't know what to say," she whispered. "I am not sorry to hear he is dead. I'm as glad of it as you are! Lord, I don't know how to feel. You killed a man for me. A man is dead becauseof me!"

He could hear the conflict of emotions in her voice. For him, killing on the battlefield was as instinctive as it was natural, though that had not always been the case. There was a time when he had struggled with the taking of a human life but had become hardened to the necessity over the years. For Harmony, who had never so much as imagined killing a person, the news he had told her would be a struggle for her.

"He did not die because of you," he said grimly. "He died because he deserved to die. For what he would have done to you. He would have raped you, Harmony."

And suddenly, Cilla Putman's face blinded his vision and he froze, staring at her as if she were indeed standing before him. His fingers poised on Harmony's shoulders. It hit him like a physical thing, a blow to the stomach, the guilt and his own hypocrisy, all at once. The things William had said a few days earlier were like talons sinking into his soul. Bordon had murdered Sumter for what the man had done to Harmony and for what he'd intended to do. But Sumter had not raped Harmony, she'd fled and deprived him of the chance.

Bordon did rape Cilla Putman.

So what was waiting for him, then? Recoiling sharply from those thoughts, he shoved Cilla from his mind, squashing this unwelcome insight unmercifully. Now was NOT the time to succumb to William's accusations.

Harmony slipped back into his arms, wrapping hers around his shoulders again and nestling close.

"I wasn't trying to trap you, you must believe me," she whispered.

"I know you weren't," he said, stroking her back. "You did not know you could fall pregnant. I could have taken precautions too - it takes two to make a baby."

"But… What's going to happen now?" She asked. He could hear the dread in her voice, for she was faced with raising Richard's bastard and was unsure of their place in his life.

Richard closed his eyes as he though upon the question. He could not marry her, not if he wished to return home and be welcomed by his family. He could return home with a mistress and a child in tow, though it would be a scandal. But it was not unheard of - he could set Harmony up in a nice cottage near to wherever he settled down, with servants to help her - she would want for nothing. If he did this, he would still be welcomed in his mother's home. And Harmony would be safe and comfortable, he would spend the vast majority of his time with her and his child. She would be safely tucked away - her and the baby both - and he would see to their every whim. He could have the best of both worlds.

Until his mother began haranguing him to marry. Until gossip of a mistress and a bastard reached her ears. And then all hell would break loose for certain. He would be shunned from her company until he did as she wished. And Harmony? Lord, what would she say if he announced he was to marry a genteel English lady of his mother's choosing? The thought of her heart break made him cringe, he felt her pain as if it were his own.

He could not do that to her. What did he need his mother for anyway? He had his father's inheritance - a healthy figure, waiting for him back home. So what if he was never to be welcomed in his mother's home again? He'd never liked the old bat anyway.

His path was laid out before him, a path that would forbid him from returning to his family in England. A feeling of wellbeing rose inside him, and he found he could not have cared less. He would miss his sisters, but perhaps they would visit him in America. And even if they did not, he would still have Harmony, and their child, with more to come. What was his family and life in England compared to that?

He almost laughed out loud at the thought. But he sobered quickly, for in truth, his future with Harmony was still not assured - and after telling her about Charlotte, perhaps it never would be. Finally, the time had come. He would tell her of Charlotte now, because he needed to face their future head on, needed her to accept him as he was, a man with many faults. A man with damaging secrets in his past that he could never reveal to her. Would she still take him, knowing those things? He needed to find out. Drawing away from her, he looked her in the eye.

"Harmony, there is something I must tell you," he began quite seriously. Her breath caught - she was apprehensive now, he could see it, could read her like an open book. He caught her hand in his, bought it to her lips and he closed his eyes as he kissed her fingers. She was biting her lip now, sensing his trepidation.

"What is it?" She whispered, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. She tried, and failed, to think of something humorous to say that might dispel the anxiety they were both feeling.

"I am going to propose marriage to you," he said, holding her gaze, watching has her eyes widened and her lips parted, astonishment and joy spreading across her face. He held up his hand to forestall her premature happiness. "But! There are some things I must say, things I must tell you, and if you can still accept me knowing them, then we shall be engaged. Harm, while in service to the Crown, I have done things. Things I would never do during peaceful times, things that I am forced to in my duty as an Officer."

He thought of some of the men he'd tortured, digging into flesh with a knife while they screamed. If Harmony had been there at those times, she would have been appalled - disgusted - by what Richard was doing. And there'd been so many. If Harmony had borne witness to his interrogations, she would have fainted dead away and when she awoke, she likely never would have spoken to him again. There was Mark Putman and there was Cilla Putman. Everything he'd done, he'd done in the line of duty. But he knew, deep down, that upon Miss Putman, he'd been getting revenge. He'd been driven by fury. He did regret, very deeply, his assault of her. Tavington had said to him once, that the end justifies the means. Mark Putman had given him Camden, for that assault. Many British lives had been saved, for that assault.

And an innocent maid had been utterly ruined.

"I will not go into the detail of those things," he said earnestly. "I will take those secrets to the grave. Suffice it to say, people have been hurt, I have caused agony to my enemies, I have even killed them, and I am not speaking of battle."

She stared up at him, her breath in her throat. "You've tortured people," she whispered and he nodded.

"I have only done those things in service to the Crown. In doing so, I have thwarted rebel plans, even battles have been averted and British and Loyalists lives saved, and rebel plots destroyed. I will never tell you the details of any single one of them, but I need you to know that I have done some heinous things, things I would never do if there had not been the greatest need. Can you marry me, knowing this?"

She hesitated, her eyes searching his as the enormity of his question overwhelmed her. "Did you ever take enjoyment from it?" She asked, her voice trembling.

"I… I was about to say 'no, of course not,' but to be honest, it's not so simple…" His jaw clenched as he thought on the question. "When we take a captive, I do what must be done. At times, those captives already have blood on their own hands, those ones are not innocents. With them, I feel that I have… meted out justice. Though at times, it does feel more like revenge." He lowered his eyes. "Sometimes revenge feels good."

"Like when you ran Sumter through?" Harmony asked and he nodded.

"That had nothing to do with my duty to the Crown. If I had followed my duty, it would have been to show him the mercy he was begging for and to take him captive as Tavington had commanded. So you see, I am capable of heinous things."

"Toward heinous people," she said. Her voice did not hold much conviction, she did not say this because she believed it, but as if she were trying to understand Richard and his motives.

"Toward heinous people," he agreed. "Do I enjoy it?" He always distanced himself when torturing an innocent, like Simon Howard - he'd taken no enjoyment in the young man's pain. "Sometimes revenge and duty become blurred. Usually, I distance myself from what I'm doing and in those times, I don't enjoy it, Harmony. I don't feel anything at all."

"Oh," she whispered, lowering her eyes. She plucked at a dirt smudge on her skirt. "My head hasn't been buried in the sand, Richard. I have ignored it, but I came to realise that you were Tavington's questioner a long time ago."

"And Tavington is, also. As Commanders, we both feel that we shouldn't leave that sort of work to others - if it must be done, then it should be done by us. When the war is over, there will be no further need for such acts. But I need you to know that I've done them, it is something you will need to consider before you accept me," he said. "And there is another. One that I must reveal the details of, for it had nothing to do with my duties to the Crown."

"What did you do?" She breathed, drawing back further away from him. A shiver ran through her and her hands began to tremble. He held both her hands in hers, trying to still them.

"A thing I promised I'd never do again," he admitted softly. "I love you, Harmony. I do."

"Oh, no..." She closed her eyes, pain piercing her soul. A heavy weight settled on his chest, knowing he was the cause of that affliction. "You didn't.."

"I am human, Harmony," he begged her. "I promised I wouldn't do it again, and I failed in that resolve. I want to blame her, I want to blame being drunk, I want to blame you again, for not being there, but how can I? I'm clutching at straws, but I know it was me, all me. I want to marry you, Harmony."

"Oh, God," feeling weak to her very bones, she lowered her forehead to his chest, too wrung out to even cry. "Do you love her? Do you care for her -"

"No!" He gripped her arms and pulled her against him, the words tumbling from him all in a rush. "No! I can't stand her. I can't stand the sight of her! I despise her! She lifted her skirts, because she's a fucking whore and I was drunk, too bloody drunk, and you weren't there. I love you, only you!"

"Then why would you hurt me like this, for someone you don't even care for? It's Mage Putman all over again!" She wailed.

"It'll never happen again," he vowed.

"You said that last time!" She shouted at him. Planting both hands on his chest, she heaved with the last of her strength, trying to dislodge him from her as she continued to shriek in a voice that was bound to go hoarse. "You promised me that last time! You were drunk. I wasn't there to satisfy you. She lifted her skirts. It's the same, all over again! Let me go!"

Reluctantly, he obeyed her demand and released his hold on her. She was on her feet immediately and her skirts swished as she strode from him. Not from the room, to his profound relief, but to the open window, where she stood with her arms folded across her chest.

Harmony glared out the window, her eyes were fixed on the people toiling in the fields. She could hear Richard rise behind her, sensed he was coming closer.

"Don't you dare!" She whirled and pointed her finger at him, stopping him from approaching. When she was certain he would obey her, she turned her back on him. She needed time to think, to process it all, before she could decide where her future lay. He had interrogated people, some had likely died in the questioning. But she'd already known, they'd just never discussed it. She couldn't pretend to be outraged over it now, all of a sudden, when he was being open and honest about it. She was pregnant, she would bear his child, a child he welcomed enough to propose marriage. The baby would be closed her eyes and held her breath, struggling to remain in control of her emotions. Never, in a million years, had she considered that possibility, since discovering she was with child. That he would marry her, that their child would not bear the mark of shame. Would never be called a 'natural child' in polite society, 'bastard' in not so polite. And then there was Sumter. Richard had killed for her. He loved her, she knew he did.

But not enough to be faithful!

"Is it too much to ask!" She hissed, her fingers gripping the window sill. "That you just be fucking faithful!"

"It's not -"

"Stay right there!" She fumed when he took a step toward her. Again facing the window, "clearly, it is too much to ask! I won't be able to trust you! Every time you go on campaign. Whenever you are gone from me for a few days, I will be left wondering if some bitch is hiking her skirt up and if you are too soused to reject her!"

He stood silently behind her, watching her gravely throughout her struggle.

And a struggle it was. She loved him, oh so much. But his latest affair had her in such a fury that all she wanted to do was snatch up her cape and leave. Where would she go? She could leave - she still had her own money, almost two hundred pounds. Perhaps she could approach Tavington to see if he would help her reach Charlestown. She'd been happy enough at the tavern. Mr. Ingles would take her in again.

Or perhaps she could even go home...

That thought was so overwhelming, it almost unhinged her. Lord, it had been so long since she'd seen her parents! Her brother and sister. So much had happened in the years she had been gone from them. Did Calvin's mother know he was dead? Did her mother know she was alive? Did they miss her, did they want her to return to them? Sudden homesickness, acute and piercing, choked the air from her lungs and she was suddenly struggling to breathe. Only for a moment, but it felt like a century, before she was able to draw sweet air to fill her lungs. In that moment, Richard, distressed, closed the distance and wound his arms around her stomach, pulling her back against his chest. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against him. Richard's fingers splayed across her stomach, clearly, he was thinking of the baby within.

Well, so was she, though if he had been privy to her thoughts, he would find no solace in them.

Would her parents care if she came to them, pregnant with another man's baby, after she had been gone from them so long? They would not like it, but they loved her; they would take her in, even with Richard's baby. Her mother would weep to see her. Her father would too, he would shed a tear, though he would try not to show it. It had been far, far too long. If the child she was carrying was a boy, he would work her father's fields and learn a trade. If it was a girl, she would work in her mother's kitchen and learn how to be a good wife. Though her child's fortune would always be meagre, its future would be secure.

But he - or she - would forever be a bastard.

Harmony swallowed hard, knowing there was only one way she could avoid such a terrible fate for her son - or for her daughter. And Richard was willing. He would marry her. He wanted to marry her. If she refused him, what excuse would she give to her grown child, when he asked why she had never married his father?

'Because he could not keep his breeches closed.' She would tell him. She could imagine the look on his face - that he had been forced to live a life as an impoverished bastard, because his mother could not reconcile herself to his father's infidelities. A father that he would never even know, for Richard was bound to return to England if she fled from him. What would her child say to her then? Would he call her selfish?

It was such a frivolous reason to doom her child to a lesser life.

Could she deprive her child the name his father was willing to give? Of the life he deserved, for every child deserved to know their father? A riot of emotions roiled inside her, first and foremost was guilt that she could deprive her child of a proper name for such selfish reasons, and rage with Richard for putting her in this position, a position that was forcing her to make his latest infidelity seem minimal, when compared to condemning her child to the fate of a lesser life.

Both emotions fed off each other, building and building until she pushed away from Richard. Her hair flew as she whirled, her hand sailing through the air to slap his face with such force that she stumbled as her body twisted into the blow. Richard did not see the blow coming, so sudden was her movement. Agony flared across his cheek and his head was snapped to one side.

"How is it that you can kill a man for me," she shrieked, beyond hysterical, "yet you can't keep-your-breeches-closed-for-me!" He drew a ragged breath as he turned back to face her. "I have no choice! You leave with me no choice!" She railed at him, her fists clenched at her sides, her face blotched red with fury. "I would return to my parents, the Lord knows I've been gone for too long already! They don't know if I'm alive or dead or what I'm going through! They will take me in, bastard child and all but how can I do that, knowing I am depriving my child? How can I sentence my child to such a life? The stigma of being a bastard, an impoverished one at that! How can I do that to my baby when its father is offering to marry me? Yet how can I marry you, knowing that there will only ever be more heart ache, each time you return to me with confessions of more infidelities?"

"But it won't happen again!" Richard reached for her but she hissed and slapped his arms away.

"What, do you think that marriage will make you faithful?" She scoffed.

"Yes. I do," he began and she laughed wildly in derision. He continued in a louder voice so that she would hear him. "And not drinking might, also!"

Harmony's laughter cut short and she froze in place, her face openly displaying her shock.

"I believe that it's the drinking, Harm. I lose my judgement. Take that away and I can keep a level head just fine." Harmony said nothing, but he could see she was listening. Warily. And se was very far from convinced and was still far to angry to relent, but he continued speaking anyway. "It happened because I was drunk. I can't stop it if some whore - for coin or for whatever reason, throws herself at me. But if I am not drinking, then I know I'll have the judgement to refuse such offers!"

"And when the boys crack open a barrel of rum, hmm?" She asked softly. "What then? I can't imagine you being able to refuse that. To never drink another dram in your entire life? No, I just can't see that happening."

"Nor can I," he said. "And so I will only drink to get soused when I am with you. At all other times, I will be moderate. Jesus, I should not be getting soused anyway. I'm a Major, for Christ's sake. I had better start acting like it if I wish to advance! So. No more drinking, except in the company of friends and with my wife," he took hold of her hands and pulled but she would not come to him, she would not budge and so he went to her. "It happened. I can not change it. But I know it will never happen again, even if you do not believe it. I am capable of being faithful."

"As long as you're not drinking and there's no doxies offering it up!" She spat and he sighed, lowering his gaze to the floor. "I can not reconcile myself to your infidelities, Richard."

"No more than I could," he said, reaching up to caress her cheek with the back of his finger. "It will not happen again. I will drink only moderately unless in the company of my wife. I will refuse any woman who makes an advance toward me. I can, and will, do this."

She glanced away, clearly unconvinced.

"Christ," he scoffed, frustrated. "If William can make a promise to his wife to be faithful, a promise that he means to keep, then I can also!"

We can be a check for one another, he thought. We will watch one another's backs in this, as we do in battle. Yes, that would work nicely.

"What are you muttering about," she flashed him a dark look. "Tavington is not married!"

"He is," Bordon told her and her eyebrows climbed her forehead. "He married his Miss Martin. I presided over the ceremony myself. He promised her he would be faithful, for she was as uncertain as you are now, after his dalliances back in Charlestown. Marriage changes people. If he can do it, so can I. I have far more discipline than he does."

"Discipline?" She scoffed, curling her lip. "Yes, you proved that with this latest doxy of yours." Folding her arms across her chest, she ventured, "what of Linda? I saw him with her this morning! He's already breaking his vow and you wish to use him as an advocate for fidelity in marriage?"

"No, he was breaking it off with Linda. He is sending her to Pemboke and has vowed never to see her again."

Harmony's face fell and she lowered her arms slowly. In a softer, more compassionate tone, she asked, "but... What will become of her? Why didn't you tell me this? I never even got to say good bye!"

"I'll take you to her, if you wish to bid her farewell. You can see how she is then. I didn't tell you because we had more pressing matters to discuss, Harmony."

Harmony wrapped her arms around her body and stared at the floor, worry about Linda taking some of the edge from her fury.

"As soon as I am able," Richard said as he gathered her into his arms again. She did not resist him, but she was stiff, not relaxing into the embrace. "We will check on Miss Stokes."

"And us?" She whispered, frowning up at him.

"We will be married. We will bring this child into the world together. He will have my name. When this war is over, we will go to your parents home and settle there with them."

That idea appealed to her greatly.

"You'd turn to farming?" She asked softly.

"To whatever your father and I can think of. I have contacts, both here in the Colonies and in England. I have wealth back home - my father's inheritance. I can bring this to your parents homestead. They will want for nothing. You and our child will want for nothing."

"I do like the idea of going home," she said, finding herself desperately wanting to believe him. He was offering to take care not only of her and her child, but of her parents also. How could she refuse it?

"I know you are angry now, Harm," he pressed his forehead to hers. "But in six months, or twelve, or two years, this will all just be an unpleasant memory. When we are old, sitting in our rocking chairs on our porch, surrounded by our grandchildren, we may even laugh about it."

"I doubt that," she whispered. "I'll never find it amusing. But perhaps I might forgive you by then."

"That's a long time to wait," he replied solemnly.

"Each time you go on campaign, I'll be fretting that you're off screwing some doxy," she said but with far less conviction than earlier.

It was more a question now, as though he had an answer for her, one that would stop her fretting and restore her trust in him. But only time would do that, he knew.

"Each time I go on campaign, I'll be fretting that over how terrible you must be feeling, because I know you believe you can't trust me," he said and she arched an eyebrow, not certain how she felt about his reply. "I know in my heart that I'll never do it again," he explained. "But you won't, and you won't feel right about me being away until I return. How can I fix it, Harmony?"

"Christ, you're asking me?" She shrugged. She had no clue.

"Will you marry me?"

"I've told you I would."

"But I want it to be a happy occasion, Harm. I don't want it to be because you have to, because of the baby. When people congratulate us, and they will, I want you to feel pleasure from it!"

"Then I suggest you don't tell anyone yet," she said, stepping away from him. "At least for a few days. I'll need that long to calm down. I need to lie down."

"But you haven't eaten..." he said as she crossed the room.

"I'm really not hungry," her back was to him now and he steeled himself to watch her leave. However, when she was at the door, she stopped and turned to face him, her fingers on the handle, "are you coming?"

"Yes!" He said gratefully, stepping lively to meet her at the door. "Yes, I am."


	75. Chapter 75 - New Friendship Formed

Chapter 75 - New Friendship Formed:

"If they go any faster," Thomas muttered, his teeth clattering together from the jolting of the wagon, "they'll lose a wheel! God, my backside can't take much more of this." For half the day yesterday and over half the day today. They still had another day or so of this, before they reached the city. Benjamin nodded grimly, shuffling his position for a more comfortable seat. With his hands bound behind his back, he sat on the crowded wagon bed with Thomas, Danvers and the other militiamen who had been caught that fateful night not long ago.

"I shouldn't complain," Thomas continued, his gaze fixed on the long post road winding in away from them. "We could have been made to walk. Tavington did us a kindness."

The other men, including Benjamin, chuckled darkly and shook their heads at the boy's foolishness.

"What?" Thomas frowned, feeling somewhat offended. The grown men had a habit of treating him like he was nothing more than a child and they were doing it again right now.

"I suspect it has less to do with kindness, Tommy, and more to do with expediency," Benjamin did not bother to keep his voice down, despite the Dragoons flanking the wagon to either side of him. He could not have cared less who he upset amongst them, he even hoped one of them would take a go at him so he could test his mettle - though with his hands tied back, he was likely to come out second best. "He would quite happily make us walk until there were holes in our boots and blisters on our feet, but the old bastard needs us in Charlestown as quickly as possible. No doubt to parade us before our Whig brethren to dissuade others from joining the Cause, before tossing us in prison and throwing away the key."

"Do you think so?" Thomas frowned and his father nodded. The boy shrugged then - he didn't care what the reason was. It did not matter if the decision to carry them on the back of a wagon was borne of kindness of expediency. He wasn't walking, and that was all that mattered. It was a strange thing for him, to be on his way to prison, and not feel fear. He kept turning it over in his mind, he should be quaking, but he just wasn't. The places were dark and dismal and rife with disease, but Beth had assured him that all would be well, that they would not suffer the terrible degradations of most prisoners. His father, Thomas knew, did not believe Beth's whispered promises for a moment - he felt certain that Tavington had only said those things to mollify Beth, to draw her in to trusting his intentions toward her family. Thomas, however, saw no reason not to believe it. Either way, he felt no fear.

Apart from this short exchange, the men were mostly quiet on the journey. They were all lost in their own thoughts. Benjamin's mind turned to his sons; Thomas, who Benjamin was determined to protect - to see that the boy live through the coming months as a prisoner. Gabriel, who was at that moment being tended to by his soon to be betrothed. Samuel, who he was losing to the British and there was not a damned thing he could do about it. His other children seemed well enough for now, Beth would protect them as much as was in her power. Which left him to consider the last of his loved ones - Charlotte. As soon thoughts of her entered, his mind recoiled sharply and with a shudder, he thrust her out again.

Samuel. The boy was his most immediate concern. Drawing a long, worried breath, he glanced up at the canopy of trees over head, and began to pray that Samuel would realise the British were not to be trusted. If he could have ten minutes alone with the boy, perhaps then he could convince him, but Samuel would not come near him, and Benjamin had not been free to venture around the house in search of him. Before he could fret for overly long, the wagon came to a stop. Benjamin frowned. Lieutenant Whitty often stopped for shot periods to rest the horses, but he had done so only a short while ago. Curiosity caused him to lean backward to gaze around the driver to discover the disturbance. But all he could see were more mounted men - there were at least twenty of them. Something was happening at the front of the line, that much was certain, but Benjamin had no idea what it might be.

* * *

"Easy now," Lieutenant Whitty murmured to his restless men, who, after rounding a bend in the road, were suddenly confronted with more than thrice their number in Bluecoated Continentals. The road ahead was blocked, but the enemy held flags of parlay, so Whitty was slightly reassured. What bothered him more than the greater numbers of rifle bearing rebels, was the two cannons at the front of the blockade, both of which were aimed directly at the British column.

One of the Bluecoat officers urged his horse forward a few yards. Taking his cue from him, Whitty did the same. They continued to edge toward each other on the empty section of road, until they were face to face. Whitty studied the cold faced middle aged man. He had an inkling of who he might be, but he held his silence for now, waiting to be certain. His heart pounded against his ribs, for this unexpected parlay could go very wrong, very quickly. The two men eyed one another until finally the Bluecoat spoke in a soft, decisive voice.

"General Harry Burwell of the Continentals," he introduced himself, bowing low from the saddle.

"Lieutenant Robert Whitty, of Tarleton's Legion," Whitty returned the bow. He searched his mind for what else to say, how to handle this new and undesirable situation. What would Banastre do? Bluster his way through, no doubt, but Whitty did not have his Colonel's audacity. He was no coward, but nor was he as blatantly impudent. So. Two cannons and thrice his number in armed men, all of them mounted, with their rifles levelled and ready to fire. What to do, then? "General," he began politely, deciding to be both civil and bold. "Has no one explained to you how parlays are commonly executed? It is not routine to enter into them with weapons drawn."

Burwell smiled, but it did not reassure Whitty in the least, for it did not reach his eyes. His blue eyes remained cold and hard, chips of stone.

"I believe it is best to ensure from the beginning that we both understand one another. Those rifles and the cannons - they will help you to understand me well, I believe."

"I see," sweat popped out on Lieutenant Whitty's forehead. "And what am I to understand, exactly?"

"That I will be relieving you of that wagon there, and the prisoners it carries. Those are my men, and I am taking them back."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Whitty began. Eyeing the cannons warily, he licked his lips. "But those are murderers who attacked Colonel Banastre Tarleton's force during the night a few weeks gone. They should have been hung already -" and Whitty was still uncertain as to why they had not been! - "Besides, Sir, I do not have the authority to release the prisoners."

"Well, that is unfortunate," Burwell's lips quirked. "You see, while I appreciate you and your Colonel might be feeling sore toward them, I do want my men back, quite desperately, as I'm sure you can appreciate. I was hoping that you and I could come to some sort of resolution and avoid unpleasantness."

"I would like to avoid unpleasantness also, Sir," Whitty said. "But it is as I said. I do not carry that level of authority. You will need to speak directly with Colonel Tavington, I'm afraid."

"Now that is something I have no desire to do," Burwell said, his leather gloves creaked as his fingers tightened on his reins. "I'm not particularly well disposed to the Colonel, and I believe coming face to face with him would not be beneficial to either of us. Sir, explained in very simple terms, I shall be taking Benjamin Martin with me. By trade, or by force, the choice is yours."

"I… Ah…" Whitty swallowed hard. His jaw worked. By extreme effort of will he did not glance back at his companions, he would not show his uncertainty or his nerves, no matter that the sweat was now pouring down his spine.

"You have five of my men, I believe. Six, counting Josiah. I will take them and in return, I shall let you have Captain Wilkins and five of his lot."

"You have Captain Wilkins?" Whitty breathed. Even at that very moment, a detachment of Dragoons was en-route, taking trails southward to discover what had befallen Captain James Wilkins. Now, however, it was abundantly clear.

"If you would kindly follow me, you shall see for yourself," Burwell turned his horse without waiting for a reply. Whitty had no choice but to trust in the laws of war to protect him. Burwell was said to be a gentleman and so Whitty nudged his horse and followed the enemy General, getting nervously closer to the two cannons with each step. When he was only a few yards from the front of Burwell's line, the General drew rein and pointed away off the road to his right. Whitty glanced in that direction and gasped in shock. Several men, wearing the Greencoats of the British Legion's Dragoons, were standing on barrels, with their arms bound behind their backs, their cravats shoved into their gaping maws and a noose coiled tightly around each of their necks. The end of each rope was tied to a thick tree branch over their heads.

"Jesus," Whitty breathed, his eyes fixed on Wilkins, who even at that distance was trying to appear brave. With his back straight and his head held high, he was succeeding, somewhat, but Whitty could see by the man's that he was scared and he did not fault him for it.

"So. About that trade?" Burwell asked, drawing Whitty's attention.

"This is the most despicable display I've ever borne witness too," Whitty glared at the enemy General, his horse moving nervously beneath him at the sudden, tense tone. "I was given to believe that you were a Gentleman, Sir!"

"Yes, you British are waging a Gentleman's war," Burwell snorted. "Thank you for reminding me. After Waxhaws, I'd quite forgotten. Boy, make your decision."

"I don't have the authority to negotiate a prisoner exchange!" Whitty declared hotly. "Besides, you have no right to hang those men! The Law of War protects them!"

"An eye for an eye," Burwell ground out. "Or in this case, a Captain for a Captain!"

He was referring to Captain Trellim. Whitty drew a sharp breath, remembering the bodies of the men who had been dangling from the oaks when the Dragoons arrived to Fresh Water. The Lieutenant understood what Burwell was speaking of. "Those men were traitors within Tavington's own ranks! You can not hang Captain Wilkins and his men without a trial! If their blood is shed, there will be repercussions!"

"My men were executed by Colonel William Tavington without a trial," Burwell said pointedly. "And you speak of repercussions?"

To make his point, he raised his hand, clearly signalling for the barrels to be kicked out from under Wilkins and his brother Officers. Seeing the command to end their lives had been given, Wilkins and the others pulled on their bonds, their eyes popping from their sockets as they tried to shout protests around the scarves in their mouths. In utter panic, Whitty screamed, holding his hand out in supplication.

"Wait, please! Don't do this!"

Another hand gesture from Burwell stopped the execution from proceeding. Whitty was breathing heavily by now, as was Wilkins. Burwell, in contrast, was as cool as ice.

"You have a choice here, as I see it," the General said softly. "I can hang these traitors. My cannons will roar. My soldiers will open fire and your entire troop will be decimated. And, when the smoke clears, I will still have Benjamin Martin," he paused, allowing the warning to sink in. "Or, you can commit to an exchange. What is it to be, boy?"

Whitty closed his eyes and prayed. Softly, but not softly enough, he bemoaned, "Tarleton is going to have me flogged!"

"If that is the case, then Tarleton isn't much of a commander, boy," Burwell ground out. "And nor is that Butcher, Tavington. You know you have no choice here. Your superiors will know it also. You can do what you can to save as many of your men as possible, or you can all die here. If Tarleton and Tavington fault your decision, well, they will be proving my estimation of them."

"I should have bought more men," Whitty lamented. "And cannons. Christ."

He finally met Burwell's sharp gaze and found the General was smiling again - this time, it was one of genuine amusement.

"You could have bought a hundred and it would have made no difference. I want Benjamin Martin returned to me and I would have gotten him, regardless of your numbers."

Though this statement was boastful to say the least, Whitty found himself believing every word.

"What say you?" Burwell arched an eyebrow.

"I'll do it," Whitty bit out through clenched teeth. "On my word of honour. Just please, General, release the Captain and the other Officers?"

Burwell held up his hand again and this time, his men began to untie the captives.

"Release my men," the General said sharply. Whitty turned and galloped back to his Company to give the order. His very nervous men obeyed quickly and before long, an astonished Benjamin Martin was striding past the British Dragoons. Burwell leaped from his mount and strode toward Benjamin, ready to embrace his oldest friend. He had misgivings as the distance drew closer, however; with his second rejection of Beth, how was Benjamin's sentiment toward him now? Benjamin wasn't smiling, his look was quite grim. They came to stand before one another and Burwell hesitated. Embrace and slap one another backs like times of old? Times before Beth? Or…

"Well met," Benjamin said, his arms at his sides.

He was making no attempt to embrace, and Burwell felt the distance between them keenly. The moment was stretching, passing, in another, it would be gone entirely. Burwell embraced Benjamin anyway, then stepped back quickly, feeling oddly embarrassed.

"Thank you for coming to get us," Benjamin said.

"I told you, I can't do this without you. I won't do this without you," Harry said, trying to convey the weight of his sentiment, in those few words. Benjamin nodded.

"What of their horses?" John Billings, who did embrace Benjamin and slap his back, and was embraced and slapped in turn, asked mischievously. Whitty, who was close enough to have heard, bristled. He met Burwell's eyes and knew immediately that the General liked the militiaman's idea.

"They weren't part of the arrangement!" Whitty exploded, understanding by Burwell's amused expression exactly what he would demand now.

"They are now," Burwell pointed a finger at him. "Off those mounts. Now."

"Theft!" Whitty began to curse even as he dismounted. "Highway robbery! It's appalling - you have no honour!"

"He has plenty," Benjamin Martin, freed of his bonds, rubbed his raw wrists. - Burwell shot him a sharp look of surprise and pleasure - at least he still had a measure of Benjamin's respect. - "He's merely learned a few tactics from your Tarleton - isn't he in the habit of taking horses by force?"

Whitty, who had been on more than one such raid, snapped his mouth shut. Thomas hooted with laughter as Billings threw his arms around him in an all encompassing hug. Many back slaps and cheered greetings later, the freed prisoners began to move toward the line of Continentals.

A very dejected Wilkins, his arms around Simms and Middleton for support, was carried forward.

"Well met, Wilkins," Benjamin tipped his tricorn hat to the Captain in salute. "What happened to you?"

"I was shot," Wilkins snapped. He turned his fury on the General. "I was nearly hanged," he complained. His arms draped around Arthur and Michael's shoulders, he narrowed his eyes on Burwell,"Jesus, would you have done it? You said we were safe, that we were to be treated fairly!"

"That was before Tavington decided to start hunting and hanging my men," Burwell said coolly. Wilkins frowned, having no idea what Burwell was speaking about.

"You're free now, Wilkins," Benjamin added. "And be thankful for it. I believe it will be the last kindness we show any of you."

Wilkins was taken aback by the man's simple but cold tone, and he wondered just what had happened been happening during his captivity. As he had not been apprised of recent events, he decided it best to remain silent for now. He inclined his head, tipped his Dragoon helmet and gestured for his men to follow him.

"Was that out of line?" Benjamin asked Harry.

"Hell no, Colonel," the General replied grimly. "We've suffered too many losses since Tarleton and Tavington arrived and my sword is hungry for British blood. So no, you most certainly were not out of line."

The two commanders watched the British Dragoons in grim silence while the freed militia men continued to whoop with excitement at being reunited with their comrades. The Continental regulars took the newly acquired horses and began dismantling their blockade. The cannons were wheeled away and the rifles returned to their saddles. And still Benjamin and Harry stood glaring at the British, as they turned and made a hasty retreat on foot, with Wilkins and Whitty casting worried glances over their shoulders.

* * *

"Nice new horses we've got," Harry said, unable to hide his glee. Billings suggestion had been a good one, Burwell's men were quite well equipped now. Not like that poor British Lieutenant. He'd been ill equipped to handle the situation he'd blundered into. Harry almost felt sorry for Whitty.

Almost.

"Stuff the damned horses," Benjamin muttered. "Are you going to tell me how you came to be here, on precisely the right road, at precisely the right moment? How did you know I was being moved today, is there an informer back at home that I don't know about?"

Burwell laughed. "Two, actually. Two of Trellim's men still in Tavington's Legion, though I won't say more than that. I was informed yesterday morning that you had been moved, what route was to be taken, the numbers of the British escorting you. And how many prisoners they were bringing. Whitty should have had you on horses, the wagon only slowed you down. Nor should he have stopped last night. We overtook you during the night. Billings suggested I attack the camp, but skirmishes at night are always risky. We continued on through the night, found the best place to lay the ambush, bedded dow, and the rest is history."

"You've been travelling all night?" Benjamin asked and Burwell nodded.

"Since noon yesterday. I told you that I need you, Benjamin. If the need was great before, it's dire now. John Sumter - that damned fool - took charge of the militia that had formed at Hell Hole Swamp when you didn't come to command them. And then he bloody lost them to Tarleton. Many escaped, but damn me if they can be convinced to join again - not when many of them were chased away from Camden as well. Some of them were from Marion's militia, so that's three times they've faced major skirmishes and lost. They've had pitiful luck in the militia of late and they'll need hard convincing to return - for some of them, it'll be for the forth time! I need you for that."

"It has been a disaster from the get go," Martin agreed. "How's your position at McDeals?"

"Holding," Burwell replied. "Becoming stronger by the day."

"You've got Wilkins' unit there? Tavington will take McDeals as soon as Wilkins' returns."

"They're on foot, Ben."

"For now. How long before they acquire horses? They only need one. One rider, to carry Wilkins message to Tavington, that you are camped at McDeals."

"Yes. But we'll still make it back to McDeals with plenty of time to spare," Burwell said.

"We're going to McDeals now?" Benjamin asked and Burwell nodded.

"You're right, though. When Tavington learns where we're camped, he will come for his remaining Dragoons. And to capture as many of us as possible. I have no doubt that we will reach McDeals ahead of him, so we are faced with a choice. We can either send the prisoners away and battle Tavington there, or abandon the fort and fight another day."

Burwell was waiting to be advised, either way.

"Abandon the fort," Benjamin said immediately. "It was fairly derelict, you've not been there long enough to strengthen your position there. And if you had, I can't imagine you have supplies enough to withstand a prolonged siege. Tavington's Legion has arrived and he has the Loyalists hereabouts answering his call to arms, his position is no longer vulnerable. When he comes to McDeals - and it's a when, not an if, it will be with hundreds of men. What do we have here and at McDeals?"

"Two hundred, nearly three," Burwell replied worriedly.

"Then let's abandon it. Remove the prisoners, establish a fortified position elsewhere, fight another day."

"Yes, that's a sound plan," Burwell nodded, agreeing. "Very well. Let's pick up the pace, shall we? In case Whitty's lot gets hold of some horses."

"Do you know about Beth?" Benjamin asked, studying Burwell's face carefully.

Harry turned away, his jaw clenched and working, his eyes growing hard as flint. He gripped his reins in tight fists. Not trusting his voice, he nodded once. He knew that Beth was now married to Tavington.

"I tried to warn you, Harry," Benjamin began, feeling a small need to be nasty. "If you rejected her, she wouldn't remain unmarried for long."

Harry threw his gaze back to Benjamin, his eyes wide and incredulous. Benjamin shrugged.

* * *

Beth was not discussed between the two Commanders again. They discussed every other topic; the war, provisions, battles long past. But Beth was a closed subject between them. They stopped for a few hours for Burwell and his men to have a few hours sleep, for by then they had been awake for nearly thirty hours and were dreadfully exhausted. When they awoke, they filled their stomachs, got back into the saddle and continued through the night toward McDeals.

When they were still a few miles away, a militiaman intercepted them with most unwanted news.

"McDeals has been taken," he announced.

A fourth blow for the Patriots. As the men began to curse and swear, Harry and Benjamin exchanged glances. The militiaman reported. The attack came the day before yesterday, a few hours after Burwell had ridden out - with the cannons. Burwell did begin to curse, then. He had been banking on the idea that Tavington had no concept where Burwell was hiding. He'd needed to intimidate the British, for he'd known that whoever commanded the prisoner escort - even if they had the authority to commit to an exchange, they would not have exchanged a Colonel Martin for a Captain Wilkins. He'd known he'd need to force the issue, to intimidate the commander, to force their hand. Hence the charade of putting Wilkins and the others on barrels, with nooses around their necks.

And the cannons.

In taking them to intimidate the prisoner escort, he had left McDeals at a great disadvantage. It had been a risk, but one he'd taken, for he had believed Tavington hadn't known the Continentals were at McDeals.

"But he must have been told," Burwell whispered. "Someone told him."

"And it wasn't Wilkins or their lot," Benjamin said. "The attack took place the day before you released Wilkins to Whitty to rescue me. So yes, Tavington was informed."

"It was a rout," the militiaman said. "I wasn't there, but I heard it from those who were. Tavington took many Continentals prisoner, I don't know the number, unfortunately. I don't know how many escaped, but some did. He has his Dragoons back, too; the ones you took prisoner."

"Damn and blast it," Harry muttered. Another damned blow. "What now?"

"Black Swamp," Benjamin said. "It's not ideal, but that's where we're going. We make camp. And I start recruiting. Again."

"And if they won't join again? This is the fourth blow, Ben," Burwell fretted.

"They'll return," Benjamin replied, confidence ringing in his voice. "Give me a week, and we'll have a thousand."

* * *

Keeping his face still was an exercise in control. Colonel Tavington sat behind Benjamin Martin's desk, listening as Lieutenant Whitty gave his report. At William's side stood Major Bordon, his back ramrod straight, emanating fury. William understood the Major's raw anger; the lengths Richard had gone to to secure Martin after being duped by Charlotte Selton had been heroic, to say the least. Now they were all for nothing. His blue eyes glittered and poor Whitty quailed under that hard gaze.

After escaping from Burwell the day before, Whitty had put as much distance between himself and the enemy Colonel on foot as possible, before finally acquiring horses hours later. Once mounted, he went directly to Colonel Banastre Tarleton to report what had happened. The journey had taken a full night and half the day. From his position to the north, Banastre had accompanied his Officer and Tavington's freed Dragoons to Fresh Water, to give Tavington the bad news. Now, Tarleton was leaned against one wall with his arms folded across his chest, Major George Hanger sat comfortably in an armchair with his long legs stretched before him. The normally neatly groomed Captain James Wilkins reclined on a chaise, looking unshaved, dirty, bedraggled and forlorn. His leg was dressed properly now, he had stretched out on the chaise.

"I'm so sorry," Whitty wrung his hands, uncomfortable under the hard gazes of his superiors. "I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't let Wilkins and his Officers be killed! And Burwell would have taken the prisoners anyway - he'd made that abundantly clear -"

A simple waving of the Colonel's hand caused the Officer to snap his mouth shut, though he continued to breathe heavily and his brown eyes darted around the room with growing panic.

"I do not fault your decision, Lieutenant," William said finally.

"Good, because nor do I," Banastre said shortly, keeping his gaze deliberately averted from Tavington's. Peeling himself from the wall, Banastre strode toward Whitty and placed one hand on his shoulder. "I've already told you, you did what you could under the circumstances. You were heavily outnumbered, and they had the greater artillery. I would rather give Martin up than lose you and the other Officers. You are all too valuable to me."

"As Wilkins here is valuable to me," William added. "His knowledge of the area is of utmost import."

"Is that all you care about? I'm touched," the Colonial Captain scoffed. He could still feel the noose around his neck and the barrel shifting beneath this feet, he could still feel the terror. He was going to have nightmares for the rest of his life. Forcing a smile, he added, "I missed you too." Levity, even in a situation like this. He did not want these men to know how terrified he'd been.

Ignoring the comment, William tightened his lips, his fingers drumming furiously across the desk. "Damn and blast it. Cornwallis will not be pleased by this, not by far."

"So what do we do?" Banastre asked him, feeling the responsibility of the loss keenly. He was wishing he hadn't insisted that Tavington follow Cornwallis' instruction to have Banastre deliver the prisoners, he'd wanted the accolades that another Commander deserved and might now have to face repercussions for their loss. "He is not going to be forgiving - he'll think we are incompetent!"

"We?" Tavington asked, raising an eyebrow and all expression slid from Tarleton's face. It did not matter who delivered Martin up to Cornwallis, it would not change who did the capturing. William recalled thinking a few days ago. Now, he added, nor would it change who did the losing.

"Two cannons," Hanger said, holding two fingers up, hoping to forestall the argument before it began. "And sixty rebels. Those are pretty high odds, we can not be called incompetent for surrendering prisoners in that situation."

"I'm not questioning Whitty's decision, George," Banastre began to pace. "And nor will Cornwallis. I am the one who will be held accountable for this, I should have sent a larger escort."

Yes, you should have, the words were on the tip of Tavington's tongue. He tried to release the tension from his shoulders. Arguing with Tarleton would get them nowhere. There was already a division between them, perhaps it was time to smooth the waters somewhat. They would be working together for the unseeable future, it was important that they were in accord.

"So what do we do?" Banastre repeated his question. "We have to do something."

"I've taken McDeals," Tavington said and Banastre's eyes bulged. "Granted Burwell was not there as I'd hoped he would be, he was busy rescuing Martin. Still, a victory is a victory."

"Your victory," Banastre said, his face pale, his lips bloodless. William held his gaze.

Yes. My victory. And your debacle. At least you acknowledge it.

"There is no point rejoicing a victory when the Commander was not even there!" Banastre said, still pacing. "We captured Officers, but none higher than a few Captains. To make up for losing Martin, we need a larger gesture than McDeals. Something grand enough that Cornwallis will forgive us for losing the prisoners."

We didn't lose them, William thought. Banastre did. Still, they were all soldiers of the British army, they all had the same duty. "What do you suggest, Bordon?" He asked.

"We need to act swiftly, decisively. We need prisoners of Martin's rank or higher."

In unison, Banastre and William said, "we need General Burwell."

The two Colonels met each others eyes, both looking away again swiftly. That their thoughts were in concert was an unwelcome reminder of how close they had been and how damaged their friendship was now.

"Or Colonel Sumter, or Colonel Martin again," William said, filling in the sudden silence. "Or all three."

"Well, I'm not putting my hand up for that mission," James announced. "I've been shot in the leg, if you recall. The mission I do put my hand up for, is that of a damned hot bath. And a night in a proper bed. And a rutting between the sheets. Scrap that, I think I'll visit the camp followers before having a bath or climbing into a proper bed," he said and Whitty laughed. It was a nervous laugh, for he was still quite shaken after the confrontation with Burwell.

"Well then go tumble a pretty lass," William slapped the table and rose, indicating that the meeting was at an end. "Then have your bath and sleep in your bed, with your wife. I'm sure she's as eager for your company as you are for hers."

"Droll," James said. "You think you're being clever, but that was a fairly clumsy quip, if the truth be told. I'll have you know that Emily is quite eager for my company. I've been gone so long, she's probably chomping at the bit for it by now."

"You're disgusting, James," Hanger said cheerfully as the Officers began to file out of the office.

"You have a plan I take it?" Bordon asked William when they were alone.

"I do. Take a seat, we've a few things to discuss," William poured them both a brandy and the two sat across from each other on the arm chairs. As William spoke, Bordon began to smile, feeling warmed more by the Commandant's plans than from the brandy.

* * *

Beth and the other ladies newly arrived to the Plantation decided to take a stroll around the grounds. Beth, Margaret and Susan had been cooped up inside for too long because of the recent rain. With the sun shining at long last, they seized on the chance to be out of doors. The day before, Beth had gotten married for a second time, this time with her friends, her brothers and sisters, in attendance. When Reverend Premmon asked who would give her away, it hadn't caused as much pain as the first time, for Samuel had already agreed to perform the task. Beth had asked Nathan first, being closer in age to her, but he'd refused. He would come to the wedding, he said, but he would not defy their father by giving her away to a man he despised. Samuel suffered no such compunctions and had done an admirable job of standing beside his sister and performing his part of the ceremony.

Charlotte's absence had raised some eyebrows.

To dispel gossip, at Beth's suggestion, Charlotte decided to join the ladies for their walk. Though it was the last thing in the world she wished to be doing, she understood the important of keeping up appearances. With Sarah Wilkins, Rebecca Middleton and Emily Wilkins, the women strolled in pairs along a winding path toward Elizabeth Martin's small garden.

Seeing the state of the garden, Charlotte tsked.

"Look at it," she shook her head, grieving over how woeful her sister's favourite place on the Plantation was looking. "Those daises… they are a disaster. And the corn poppies! What would she say if she saw it like this?"

"She wouldn't say a word," Margaret said wistfully. "She would simply get her gardening tools out and set to work fixing it."

"You're probably right," Charlotte sighed as she gently fingered a broken sage stem.

"Oh, don't look now," Emily whispered, covertly peeking under the brim of her hat. "But there's Bordon's whore. What in the world does she think she's doing here?"

Beth glanced in the direction Emily had said not to look in, and there was Harmony, standing uncertainly by a large oak close to the house. She was quite a few yards away but Beth could still see the mud splattered on the woman's skirts, indicating that she must have walked over from the Ferguson's.

"She's probably come to see Major Bordon," Beth said. "I should go and tell her that he rode out already." She lifted her arm, making as if to wave at Harmony. Seeing the friendly gesture, Harmony smiled weakly - grateful that she was not going to be snubbed. But then, before Beth could wave, Emily grabbed her wrist and snatched the girl's arm down. Beth gave her a startled glance and Emily rounded on her at once.

"Lord, are you mad?" Mrs. Wilkins hissed. "Don't you dare go and speak to that… that hussy! You are the Colonel's wife! You can't be seen with that sort! Let the house staff tell her he's gone, they will send her on her way soon enough!"

Beth turned back to Harmony, who was now staring at the ground, looking miserable.

* * *

And that was exactly how Harmony felt now, completely, utterly miserable. When Richard had failed to return from his meeting with Tavington, and when Harmony herself had seen a troop of Dragoons thunder past on the post road, she had ventured out from the Ferguson's in search of Richard - or of Tavington - to discover where Richard was. It had been with trepidation that she approached the Martin family manor house. She recalled Beth as being the friendly sort, a different type to women than most of her station, and so she'd hoped perhaps she could ask to speak to her. Just now, when she came upon the women in the garden, her nerves spiked. But then Beth - out of all of them - had raised her hand and was about to greet her, and she felt such vast relief it had left her feeling faint. But then it was snatched away again, by Emily Wilkins, who was even now whispering furiously to Beth, who was beginning to look quite uncertain. Harmony swallowed hard as she met Beth's gaze across the distance. Feeling the rejection keenly, tears filled Harmony's eyes and she began to berate herself. For what else had she expected?

To be invited in to Beth's coterie? She felt stupid now, for believing that she might have been welcomed by Beth. It was just that - with Linda gone, and with her lover constantly screwing around with anything that moved whenever her back was turned - Harmony had never felt more alone. She'd hoped that she and Beth might begin a friendship, for the two had liked each other well enough on the few occasions they had met. She should have known better - for Beth was the higher sort, just like Emily Wilkins. Beth's friends would not permit it, even if Beth herself had been willing. Which was doubtful. Another woman - this one tall and regal and achingly beautiful, stepped forward and began whispering to Beth also. Though Harmony could not hear the words, she knew the woman was speaking against Beth approaching Harmony.

* * *

"I quite agree," Charlotte was saying to Beth. "You are an Officers wife, no matter how ill advised your marriage," she tightened her lips momentarily, then pressed on, "be that as it may, you are who you are. An Officers wife should not speak to an Officer's mistress. It would reflect poorly on you, and on the other wives here. You risk lowering the status of us all and bringing our virtue into question."

"Yes!" Emily gasped, "I couldn't have put it better myself! Thank you, Mrs. Selton!"

"I see…" Beth whispered, though in truth, all she could see was how miserable Harmony looked. Although Harmony could not hear the conversation, she was sure to know exactly what Emily and Charlotte were saying. Beth's heart went out to her. She'd been wearing a smile a moment ago and it cut Beth to the bone that Harmony now felt snubbed - by Beth herself.

I'm no better than you, Beth sent the thought out to Harmony. I was not a virgin when I married William and it was not even to William that I lost my virginity. I was Ban's mistress… only for a short time, but still. And I have no intention of telling William. So who am I to judge you? And who is my Aunt to judge - she was my father's mistress before they became engaged. And then she lifted her skirts for another man! And Emily - Rebecca told me all about how awfully Emily treated you! She tells me to act according to my station, but she wasn't doing that, when she planted that necklace in your belongings. Who are any of us to judge? We must shun you, to protect our virtue and our station? Between the three of us, we have no virtue and we don't deserve our station.

Gritting her teeth, she snatched her wrist from Emily's grasp. "I'm going to speak to her. Is anyone coming with me?"

"Absolutely not!" Emily gasped. Charlotte tightened her lips, she would not go and speak with Harmony either. Considering which Officer Harmony was the mistress of, of course she would not! Was Beth mad?

"I'll come!" Margaret said cheerfully.

"Maggie! You will not!" Charlotte hissed, trying to pull the lass back.

"Papa named me their custodians, Aunt," Beth reminded Charlotte in a harsh voice. "The children are my wards. Margaret can come. Now. Anyone else?" Beth challenged them and the other women remained perfectly still, not a single one making a move toward greeting Harmony. Rebecca and Sarah did exchange uncertain glances but Emily shot them a dark scowl.

"She's Bordon's mistress, Beth," Rebecca said, as if that was all the reason she needed.

Then you shouldn't be talking to aunt Charlotte, either. And nor should you be speaking to me, for I was Ban's.

Beth did not voice any of this. She nodded at Rebecca - she would not try to force anyone to do anything against their will.

"Come, Susan," Beth held out her hand and Susan danced along the path, past the women, then wound her fingers in Beth's. Charlotte made to reach for her but Beth challenged her with a look, and Charlotte lowered her hand.

"Come, Maggie. I think you'll like Miss Jutland - she's a nice person, very friendly," Beth said as they began walking away from the other women. The woman in question saw Beth approaching her. Her pale face filled with colour, her jaw began to drop.

"I like friendly people," Margaret was saying as they drew closer to Harmony. "I don't like Mrs. Wilkins much."

"Nor do I," Beth laughed. Harmony heard these last words and she broke out in a grin, though tears still threatened to fall. Damned emotions getting the better of her! Putting those surging emotions down to the baby, she dashed the back of her hand over her eyes.

"Miss Jutland," Beth held both her hands out to Harmony, who took them gratefully. "It's a pleasure to see you. How is your room at the Ferguson's?"

"Quite fine," Harmony said, trying to speak as properly as she could for she feared making a fool of herself. "It's very nice - I have a view of the woods and I can hear the trickle of the stream. I love it," she paused, then added belatedly, "Mrs. Tavington." Feeling every bit the fool, she rebuked herself, for she should have greeted Beth that way first! And she should have curtsied. Blushing crimson, she swallowed hard, but Beth didn't even seem to notice what Harmony thought was a fairly large misstep.

"I'm glad," Beth was saying. "If there's anything you need, you must tell me. Send one of the house servants, or come yourself. You'll always be welcome here."

"Will I?" Harmony whispered and Beth smiled and nodded.

"By me, you will. And frankly - though I don't like to blow my own trumpet, I'm really the only one that matters."

"Beth!" Margaret cried, aghast. "What a thing to say! And that is blowing your own trumpet."

"Well, I'm not trying to Lord it, but it's true just the same. I'm the Colonel's wife and he is the highest ranking person here, which makes me the highest ranking among the women. So if I say Miss Jutland can come here, then she can come here, and that's that. Unless William says you can't… But he won't, I'm sure. Let me present my sisters to you," Beth moved on with the formalities. "This is Miss Maggie Martin, and this little one is Miss Susan Martin. Maggie is going to be fifteen in only two more days - we're going to have a small party for her, you're welcome to come."

"Oh, thank you, but…" Harmony smiled at the two youngsters and then her smile faded when she shifted her gaze back to Beth's. "While an invitation from you does me honour, I don't think that would be such a good idea. Richard… That is, Major Bordon, told me… he told me what happened…" She paused, searching Beth's face intently. "I know what he did. I don't think I want to see… her." She tried to speak obliquely so the younger children would not understand, but Margaret was far too sharp to be put off so easily.

"You mean my Aunt Charlotte," she said bluntly and Harmony lowered her gaze.

"Even with you saying I can come, I wouldn't be welcome amongst the company who will be attending your party," Harmony said, clear and forthright. "I wish you every happiness and I'd like to give you a gift if you'll permit, but I won't attend the party."

"There's many who will be there who aren't going to be welcome," Margaret curled one lip. "Mrs. Wilkins for starters. But if you think it'll make you feel uncomfortable, then I understand. We'll save you some cake!"

"Thank you," Harmony smiled. Unable to help herself, she gazed past the girls toward the group who were watching with disapproving expressions from the garden. Harmony recognised three of them, but not the fourth. "Is that her?" She asked softly, speaking of the tall woman, whose face was achingly beautiful, whose figure was despairingly fine and whose bearing was painfully impeccable.

She made Harmony feel like a cow.

"It is," Beth whispered. "Come, Miss Jutland - let's forget them. Come and share some refreshments with us in the house."

"Thank you," on the verge of declining, Harmony hesitated. She had been about to make some excuse, but she found she did not want to return to the Ferguson house where there were only servants, who were too busy to keep her company, and would be too confused if she suggested it. And here was Beth, offering her this chance at friendship and she decided then that she would not refuse it. "I would love that too."

As they stepped into the house, she asked if Beth knew where Bordon was.

"They have gone to search for rebels," Beth replied, unable to keep the disapproval from her tone.

"I'm told Wilkins and the other Officers were rescued. Are they alright?"

"I'm fine, Miss Jutland, thank you for asking," James himself limped toward them, leaning heavily on a cane. He looked far healthier - and cleaner - than he had earlier in the day. In the presence of Beth's younger siblings - and Beth herself - he wisely restrained himself from being too familiar with Harmony - instead he greeted her in a very proper way. He bowed low, and smiled his least flirtatious smile. Seeing this, and sensing he was trying to behave himself, Harmony gave him a knowing smile.

"I'm glad you are well," Harmony gave him a small curtsy.

"You know each other…" Beth frowned and Harmony nodded.

"Charlestown is a small place, Mrs. Tavington," James offered by way of explanation. "You, know Miss Jutland, you have shown more concern for me in these few moments than most in this household have. Take the Colonel for example. He did not ask if I had been beaten or tortured! When I was returned to him, all he seemed to care about was my exhaustive knowledge of the area!"

"He cared," Beth frowned, defending her husband. "He was worried sick for you for days. Scouting parties were sent out as soon as the Legion arrived. Besides, you weren't beaten or tortured - General Burwell treated you gently - you said so yourself!"

"Yes, he only shot me," James said. "Forgive me, Mrs. Tavington, I was teasing."

"Oh. Perhaps I am being too prickly. Sorry," Beth muttered and James shrugged.

"That's quite alright!" He said cheerfully. "Does Tavington know what a perfect wife he has, to defend him in his absence?"

"Tavington does know," the man himself stepped out of a side chamber and closed the door behind him. He took the group in at a glance and after giving Harmony a startled look, he went to stand in front of Beth. "I know what a perfect wife I have," he smiled down at her. Nodding at Harmony, he took Beth by the arm.

"A quick word, my sweet?" He asked, guiding her gently toward the room he had just vacated. When he closed the door behind them, he placed his hands on her waist and then paused to consider his words carefully.

"You don't want me to be friends with Miss Jutland," Beth said, cutting straight to the core of it. Shocked, all he could do was gape at her. "That's what you're going to say, isn't it?" She challenged.

"Yes, it is," he said. "There is a strict protocol in the ranks - and this extends to wives also. The wives of higher ranking Officers rarely consort with those of lower, and Miss Jutland isn't anyone's wife! She's Richard's mistress. He will not be too impressed with me for making that distinction, but it must be made all the same."

"Would you like to know who you sound like just now?" Beth asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Who do I sound like?"

"Mrs. Wilkins and aunt Charlotte," Beth replied and he arched an eyebrow. "Look, I understand. I do. I'm an Officer's wife - the Colonel's wife. I have a standard to uphold, I'm supposed to look kindly down on those lower than me but I'm not supposed to consort with them, especially when one is having an affair outside of wedlock. I should not be inviting her to tea, I should not be introducing her to my sister's as if she could be a potential companion. I know that, but…"

"But?" William prompted.

"Just now, aunt Charlotte said it would reflect poorly on me and on the other wives here. I risk lowering the standard of them all and bringing their own virtue into question."

"She said that? Mrs. Selton, of all people?" Tavington said, sounding incredulous.

"That was precisely what I thought, William. My aunt has not conducted herself in a manner worthy of her station, nor can she be called virtuous. And Emily is no better, with all her conniving and love for gossip. Why should they be able to pretend they are while shunning one who isn't? Why should I do that when my own virtue is in question?"

"Your virtue is not in question!"

"No? Did I not put my hand down here," she boldly cupped his crotch over his breeches - she could do that without guilt now, being his wife. She rubbed him gently and saw his eyes begin to glaze. "Did I not wrap my fingers around it, did I not run my fingers up and down it until you came?"

"Gods, I wish you'd do it now," he said and she giggled.

"Did I not lay beneath you, while you rubbed this against me? Did I not lay back with a smile on my face while you used your fingers on me? William, were we married then?"

"No, we weren't," he sighed - in part because of the pleasure her fingers were bringing him and because he understood her meaning.

"If my sisters can sit with aunt Charlotte and I, then they can sit with Miss Jutland, who is no more damned than the rest of us," she continued to caress him over his breeches, simply because she knew he was enjoying it. "I am no better than Miss Jutland, no matter that I am married now. No matter who my father is. No matter how much wealth I have. I did those things with you, when we were not married."

"I wish you'd do them with me now," he said again, leaning down to kiss her.

"I know you do, but I have a guest," she said, though she kept her hand there, continued to toy with the bulge in his breeches. "If anyone looks askance upon the company I keep, we shall remind them that I am not in charge of the camp followers. And Miss Jutland is a camp follower, yes?" She prompted.

"She is, but does that mean you will bring each one of them up to the house to dine with them?" He shot back.

"Well, yes, that's a grand idea, I believe I shall. Or I'll go down to the camp and introduce myself to each of them. Miss Jutland has been travelling with the Legion, she must know them all - she can introduce me to them."

"Yes, she can that," William cocked his head to one side. "Are you doing this," he glanced down at her hand on his crotch and had to swallow hard at the sight. "To sway me?"

"Ooohhh, have I stumbled upon a new way to win my arguments?" She giggled, giving him a squeeze.

"It'd be a far quieter way," he said. "You hurt my ears with all your shouting -"

"I don't shout!" She gasped with mock outrage.

"- and I'll be more pleasurable for me," he finished, ignoring her protest.

"To answer your question, no, I am not doing this," she continued to stroke him, "to sway you. However, if it does work, I most certainly employ the tactic in future."

He laughed softly.

"So. Miss Jutland is now my second in command, which is only right, with her lover being your adjutant."

"You can't be serious, you can't make her your second based on that!" He said, though he was quite enjoying the tactic she had chosen to use - their future arguments were sure to be far more enjoyable than their previous.

Beth removed her hand from his crotch. "William - I like her," she said earnestly and his eyes widened in surprise. Beth held her breath, waiting for his decision.

"I see," he studied her carefully. "Well. As it happens, so do I. If it means so much to you, then I will permit it."

"You won't try to stop me?"

"No I won't. But Beth, despite that talk about your lost virtue, your aunt Charlotte is quite correct, this could reflect poorly on you and I. I don't care how it reflects on your aunt, or even Mrs. Wilkins. But it is the truth, just the same. You must remember that she is Bordon's mistress. I will allow you to form a friendship, as long as it's not too… Overt."

"If I am to entertain some Loyalist family who visits, I will not invite Miss Jutland to join us," Beth said. "I'm certain she will understand - I think she's uncomfortable with that sort, anyway. However, I truly doubt the other camp followers will mind me being friends with Miss Jutland. Except for Mrs. Wilkins, Miss Middleton, Miss Wilkins. Oh, and Aunt Charlotte."

"Your Aunt has no say whatsoever. She is not a camp follower," he scowled. She's a damned prisoner, is what she is! Leaving that thought unvoiced, he continued, "no more of this second in command talk, however. If you've decided to create that rank because you have need of a second, then the position must be given to Emily Wilkins, I'm afraid. She is Captain Wilkins wife and he is the next highest ranking Officer whose wife is in camp."

"Then the rank no longer exists," Beth declared loftily and William laughed at her.

"Tell me, Beth - why do you say that about Mrs. Wilkins - has she done something to make you doubt her virtue?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that," she said, realising she'd led William to believe that Emily had been unfaithful or somewhat. "She hasn't done anything of that sort. But Miss Middleton told me of the incident with the necklace - how she accused Miss Jutland of stealing it, trying to pin the theft on her. Her virtue is still intake, I'm sure, but that doesn't mean she can be trusted. And I'd not place her in a position of authority over anyone!"

"Which is why I offered the position to Mrs. Ferguson, instead of to Mrs. Wilkins," William said.

"So, I have your permission? Can I go now?" Beth asked.

"You've made me as hard as a rock and now you'd abandon me?" He shot back and she giggled. She pulled out of his embrace and took a step toward the door. He put his hands on her waist again and turned her to him. "I think…" He began, but instead of finishing, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. Beth closed her eyes and leaned into him, parting her lips to deepen the kiss. His tongue touched hers and he groaned softly as she swayed against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and sighed.

"Tonight," he whispered.

"Tonight," she agreed, feeling as much need for him as he did for her. Together, they stepped into the corridor and from there, they parted ways.

"Has he given permission then?" Harmony arched an eyebrow at Tavington's retreating back.

"You knew!" Beth gasped and giggled at the same time. Margaret glanced back and forth between them with confusion and Susan was twirling around in circles, looking bored.

"I knew," Harmony grinned broadly. "He's a Colonel, an Officer - appearances must be kept. I'll have to thank him later. What a compliment! Tavington thinks I'm a worthy enough companion for his wife!"

The two laughed at the jest and on impulse, Beth declared, "you know, I think the two of us are going to be such good friends!"

"So do I," Harmony replied. Margaret clapped happily, then the four girls continued on into the parlour, chatting while they drank cool cider and ate small cakes.

* * *

Tavington climbed the stairs two at a time. The the large clock in the foyer began to chime ten times, signalling the late hour. He suspected Beth would be fast asleep. His long legs carried him quickly through the house and in short order, he was opening his bed chamber door and slipping inside. There, he stopped short, for Beth was still awake, she was sitting up in their bed, reading by candlelight. He took a moment to gaze at her in the dim, flickering lantern light spilling around the room. She rose from the bed and as the blankets fell away from her, and it became difficult to think, for she was wearing the negligee she had worn on their first wedding night. And on their next wedding night… He hoped she wore it every night, for the rest of their lives.

"Finally!" She set the book on the small bedside table and glided toward him, her long golden curls spilling over her barely covered breasts. The silk moved with her, shaped to her form, making his mouth go dry. She stood before him and placed her hands on his chest, tilting her head up to him. He had not said so much as a word, even now with her pressed tight to his body, he stared down into her dark brown eyes. "I thought you would never come to bed. I heard a rider arrive - is everything well?"

"Bordon sent a report," he told her.

"Oh, where is he? Is he well? Someone should tell Miss Jutland so she doesn't worry. I assume Bordon is well?"

"He is."

"She is probably awake right now and worried sick."

"You are right," he bowed his head and nuzzled his nose into her hair, drawing in the scent of her. His voice was thick and deep, "how thoughtless of me. I'll send some one to her immediately."

"Well, perhaps a few more minutes won't hurt," Beth smiled up at him and she ran her fingers slowly down his chest over his jacket, lower until she was questing back up underneath to unclasp his belt by feel. All the while, her eyes held his with that small smile quirking her lips. With a serious expression, he stared back gravely. Below his waist, her fingers began to mould his erection the same as she'd done earlier, only this time, there was no need for her to stop. To his astonishment, she began moving downward, her body slipping lower, her eyes still fixed on his as she settled to her knees before him. He could barely focus his thoughts on anything except on her. Gathering her hair back with his fingers, he swallowed hard. Beth pulled her gaze from his and stared straight ahead now, her eyes fixed on his bulge as her fingers deftly unbuttoned his breeches. Tugging them down, she freed his substantial erection and her eyes glazed. She licked her lips and seeing this, Tavington almost exploded without her even touching him. With his hands holding her hair up, he gently guided her forward, prompting her to continue what she had begun, for he was at risk of spilling his seed without ever feeling her tongue on him. As it was, it leaked from his cock, her unexpected actions having pushed him to the edge with lightening speed. At the same time, he pressed his hips forward toward her. With one last, shy smile for him, she brushed her lips to the underside of his cock.

Tavington's head dropped back and he groaned in pleasure as Beth's tongue traced a searing path along his swollen flesh. She stroked and licked him in a maddening torturous way, causing him to pant with need.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he whispered as he opened his eyes to watch her. She smiled up at him and then, as he held his breath to keep from screaming, she opened her mouth wide and took him in. A hot, thrilling bolt of pleasure shot through him and the breath exploded from his lungs all in a rush. His fingers clutched at her hair as he began to buck his hips, and again she smiled up at him, around his prick as she sucked and devoured him. It was that smile which undid him. That she was enjoying it as much as he thrilled him. His balls constricted and he gasped for air as she sucked and stroked him through his orgasm. Light headed, he reached blindly with one hand, trying to find purchase against the wall lest his knees buckled beneath his weight.

Beth drew back and gazed up at him, gratified by his response. He would not want Linda - or any other woman - not after this. She could see he was fighting to catch his breath, the muscles of his legs trembled, weakened by the pleasure she'd given. She began to rise, when he reached down to grab her arms to haul her the rest of the way upward. She was rewarded for her efforts with a devastating kiss from her husband, who groaned against her lips as he clutched her to his body. Placing her fingers on his chest, she could feel his heart racing beneath the layers of clothing.

"My little Beth," he breathed, his usually pale blue eyes dark and sated. "Oh my sweet Lord."

"Hmm," she smiled. "I think I like you like this."

"And I think your friendship with Miss Jutland is going to have benefits after all," he said, his voice breathless. He leaned in to kiss the dip beside her collarbone. Believing it was Harmony who had instructed Beth so precisely, he asked, "just what did you two talk about today?"

"It was someone else who gave me that talk," Beth said mysteriously, thinking of Mrs. Howard's words so long ago, and the 'talk' the women had had.

"You'll have to tell me who," he whispered as he swept her up into his arms. She clutched hold of him and giggled against his lips as he carried her to the bed. "I'll have to send them a thank you gift."

Beth laughed. "I think I'm the one who should be given this gift, dear heart. Or, better yet, reciprocation."

He slipped her onto the bed, then slid to his knees. taking a hold of her ankles he pulled her to him, to drape her legs over his shoulders. Faced with her glistening quim, he whispered affectionately, "my darling, it would be my pleasure."

With the troubles with Linda over, they finally had a clean slate - and this was his last coherent thought as he dipped his lips to her cream.


	76. Chapter 76 - Calvin in Charlestown

Chapter 76 - Calvin in Charlestown:

In Benjamin's office, Beth sat quietly in one corner with a tidy pile of clothes in need of mending. The task could have been done anywhere in the house, but in the last few days, Beth and William had been inseparable. Not wanting to be apart from him for the long hours he spent either in council or pouring over reports and maps, she spent the time she allocated to her sewing curled up in a comfortable arm chair in the office. William was sitting back in the large oak desk chair with his long legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles. He tapped his fingers lightly on the desk as a recently returned Bordon, sitting across from him, continued to give his report.

"The traitor has been hanged," he said, speaking of the one British Officer who had turned coat and joined Burwell's force. "The Continental prisoners have been questioned and are now on their way to Camden, for we do not have enough stores here to feed them. And with winter coming, we need the crops for our own."

Our own? Beth tightened her lips but said nothing in protest. The British would not be paying for anything they used, and she fretted over the lost revenues. How much money would her father lose this year? He would not be able to sell his crops elsewhere for they had been seized, and the British certainly would not offer renumeration to a rebel. How would it impact on the family? How long could they sustain such a loss before they began to suffer financially? Her father did not have any debts - the farm was entirely his. Perhaps one year - or two - would not impact them too greatly. It still rankled, however. Three thousand pounds, perhaps more? Three thousand less for Margaret and Susan's dowries. Three thousand less to purchase what would be needful for the next year of planting. Three thousand less for her family to rely on in such uncertain times. And here the British Officers were, speaking of her papa's crops being fed to 'their own', as though they had every right to them.

"Yes, winter is almost upon us," she said primly, unable to hold her tongue. "I do hope you will leave a scrap of my father's crops for my family to eat."

"Beth…" William drawled her name with a hint of warning in his voice. "Do I need to send you away?"

She shot him a dark look before returning to her sewing.

Bordon continued, "there have been sightings that have confirmed that Burwell is heading toward North Carolina -"

"North Carolina!" Beth gasped, interrupting again. "My father would not go so far!"

"It seems he would," Bordon replied. "He is reported to be with Burwell and they are definitely moving toward North Carolina."

"So much for my plans to -" William paused and after a quick glance at Beth, he continued carefully, "to have the prisoners exchanged."

Richard understood what William had left unsaid - that the Colonel had hoped to goad the enemy General into beginning a fight during a prisoner exchange. He would be hard pressed to capture the General now, with Burwell high tailing it for North Carolina.

"Yes, that is unfortunate."

"I had a missive from Cornwallis - he is impatient for us to enjoy some level of success here on the Santee."

"Is that how he worded it?" Bordon frowned and continued hotly. "Has he forgotten our efforts at Camden? Or that I captured Martin. What of Sumter? We broke the militia's back - again. And what of McDeals? Besides, we didn't lose Martin. Tarleton did."

"He is impatient, as I said," Tavington waved a hand in dismissal. "He wants to move in to North Carolina to begin our campaign there, but events here keep stalling him. He does acknowledge the good we've done but, as always, he is full of praise for Banastre."

"As if he deserves it," Richard curled his lip. "As much as I like Banastre, he was to blame for losing Benjamin Martin. It was his escort who bungled it up!"

"Hardly bungled," William asserted. "Whitty took the best - and worst - choice presented him. I should have told them to make the escort larger." When Richard began to protest, William forestalled him with a raised hand. Beth gazed at William with fondness and approval, pleased that he was not placing all the blame on Whitty, a junior officer. Her relief that her father would not waste away in a prison camp allowed her to look at his rescue in a pragmatic way, and she was able to understand Tavington's point of view. He had lost several prisoners under strenuous circumstances, and he accepted that he would have made the same decision as Whitty. Which was the complete opposite of Banastre, who had blamed his junior officers when her father attacked his camp in late June, when he was stationed at Fresh Water. She found William's way of taking responsibility much more to her liking - it reminded her of her father, who she knew would do the same.

"Perhaps," Richard said sullenly. "It rankles that Cornwallis is still praising him, though."

"As I said, he'll forget this. We've had more successes than failures out here on the Santee. We've taken one of the enemies forts. We're in the process of securing our own and have already begun subduing the area," he pointedly ignored Beth's soft 'harumph' and continued, "we've caught many prisoners - and were clever enough to send them to Camden, so we don't have to feed them."

Richard laughed. Beth did not.

"Which means the poor prisoners probably won't be fed at all," Beth complained, believing they would be worse off in Camden than if they'd been kept at Fresh Water. William shrugged, and she bristled at his lack of concern.

"The Patriots have British prisoners too, Beth," he reminded her. "I wonder how they are faring under their care?"

Beth snapped her mouth shut and, again, returned to her sewing. William and Richard shared a small, gloating smile.

"If you have no further need of me, I'll head next door," Bordon said as he rose.

"Will you be returning for my sister's dinner party tonight?" Beth asked as Richard opened the door. "I just need to know how many are coming."

"Oh, I am sorry, I can not. Will you give my apologies to your sister and wish her a happy birthday for me?"

Beth nodded. "Of course."

As the door closed quietly behind the Major, Beth turned to William.

"I didn't think he would. Miss Jutland doesn't want to come, and if it's a choice between spending his night with his mistress and my fifteen year old sister…"

William laughed, agreeing. He rose and offered Beth his hand. She glanced up at him in askance and he explained, "I'll be riding out to inspect the troops - the 1st regiment of foot today, I think. They won't be expecting me, which means I'll see them in all their undisciplined glory. Might even catch a drunkard or two. Care to accompany me?"

"So I can watch as you shout at your men?" She laughed. "I wouldn't miss it," she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. The two shared a tender kiss, before heading out the door.

* * *

"July 15, 1780. …It was such a lovely evening, I had a wonderful time. Though I do wish Mrs. Wilkins hadn't come, I really don't like her very much. I don't even think her husband likes her, he always ignores her and when he does talk to her, he doesn't say very nice things. I like Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins, I only wished they would like Miss Jutland as much as I do, so that my friend could have come along. I'd have much preferred Miss Jutland at my birthday dinner than Mrs. stupid Wilkins. But Cornet Brownlow was there and oh, he looked so handsome! I didn't think I liked Redcoats very much, but I do - I like Brownlow. A lot. I wonder if I could call him Patrick now, after last night? Oh, I didn't think he would keep his promise and he seemed ever so worried that someone might find out and he would get into trouble but I promised him I'd never tell and I'll keep that promise forever. Does it mean we're engaged now? I guess not, Papa would never let me marry a Redcoat. But oh, he gave me that promised kissed and it was so wonderful. I've never felt anything like it. I was oh so nervous, I thought I'd faint when he put his hands on my waist and pulled me toward him. We were all alone for five joyful minutes and I've never known such bliss as I knew in that short time! When his lips touched mine, I thought I'd die. I felt so warm and fuzzy all over and I just melted. I wonder if I looked the way Beth looks, when ever I see her kissing the Colonel. She gets such a funny look on her face, like she's in Heaven, or like she's about to faint... Yes, she must feel the same. Does that mean I love Brownlow? Patrick... Yes, I think I do. I love him. I hope he kisses me again, though he said he would not do it again until I turned sixteen. A whole year is a long time to wait, though! Surely he feels the same as me, surely he won't want to wait? I saw his face when I opened my eyes - his eyes were closed and he looked very content when he was kissing me. And the way he smiled at me afterward! Oh, I thought I would die! He's so handsome. He kissed me! Oh, I love him so much.

Mrs. Margaret May Martin - Brownlow.

Maggie Brownlow.

Mrs. Brownlow.

M. M. Brownlow.

Scowling, Charlotte snapped the diary shut. She had not meant to snoop into Margaret's privacy and would not dare to read another person's diary, but she had suspected something had happened during Margaret's birthday dinner party last night, when Margaret and Brownlow disappeared, only to return five minutes later, both of their faces blazing crimson. Just now Charlotte, while packing away some of Margaret's clothes, stumbled across the diary and after a moment of fighting herself, temptation won and she flipped through the pages to discover what she could. To discover that Margaret had spent time alone, kissing a British Officer was a blow, no matter how expected it had been. She scowled at the diary, then shoved it deeper into the chest of drawers where she had found it.

Damned British Officers taking advantage of girls far too young for them. Charlotte had made the effort to learn as much as she could of Brownlow, therefore she knew he was twenty years old. Who knew how many women he'd known, being of Bordon and Tavington's circle? He was probably as much a philanderer as they were.

Charlotte had thought the young Officer to be a respectable man. He had intervened when Captain Gordon threatened to force himself on her during his beating, and he had earned the Captain's enmity, by stepping in when the Officer pretended to 'lose count' in order to give Charlotte more lashes than Tavington had commanded. Brownlow was one of the few Officers who Charlotte esteemed.

But she was becoming increasingly worried about his intentions now. He had kissed Margaret, a virtuous maid of only fifteen years. Would he put her through the same trials as Tavington had put Beth through? How long before Maggie could no longer be considered virtuous? What if he decided to kiss her sooner than her sixteenth birthday and what if he encouraged her to do more than kiss? Margaret seemed quite willing, believing herself to be in love with Cornet Patrick Brownlow. She might prove an easy conquest for the lass, whose upbringing hadn't been any more refined than Beth's!

Burwell was twenty-five years Beth's senior and Charlotte had approved the match, but that was entirely different. She doubted Brownlow had marriage on his mind!

She's only fifteen, Charlotte raged as she strode from the chamber she shared with her nieces. With no where else to go, she walked past the guards in the hallway and slipped into Benjamin's room. At the doorway, she stopped and drew a long, slow breath, imagining she could draw in Benjamin's very essence. Despite how much the room had changed, she could still imagine seeing him there, in the room they had made love so often. But Benjamin was long gone - from the house and, most likely, from her life. She would never know his tender touch again, would never ride the waves of ecstasy beneath his surging body. Those days were over, heartbreakingly, crushingly over.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Nathan was pulling his socks on. Hearing the door open, he glanced over his shoulder and, seeing his Aunt standing there, he froze, tensing all over. He had barely spoken a civil word to Charlotte in over a week. In fact, he had tried to avoid her as much as he could. Returning to his task, he did not greet Charlotte, but he did not demand she leave either. Taking that as a good sign, Charlotte shut the door softly and crossed the room to stand at the small window. Nathan said nothing.

"Now where oh where could you be going, I wonder?" Charlotte asked aloud, inadvertently breaking the silence as she peered through the window. Outside, a cart trundled along the lane toward the post road. Her question prompted Nathan to take a quick glance, but it was not an unusual sight to him and he could not see why the wagon would occasion comment. He gave a curt shrug.

"The cabbages and pumpkins are being sent to Tavington's soldiers in the outlying fields," he said, returning his attention to his socks. Seeing a hole appear in the toe, he scowled and pulled the sock off, then tossed it across the room before reaching for another from his small drawers. "It's not the first cart to leave with our crops. He has many men to feed and hasn't hesitated helping himself to our vegetables to do it. According to him, it's his right - he has seized my father's property for his own use and use it he shall. We'll have nothing left for ourselves to eat- and certainly nothing left to sell for profit."

"Yes, I know," she curled a lip, showing her irritation that Benjamin's carefully grown produce was being put into hungry British and Colonial Loyalist bellies, rather than sent to market where it belong. "But that wagon doesn't have cabbages or pumpkins, Nate," she said softly and he glanced up at her in askance.

"What then? And how do you know?"

"Indigo," she replied crisply. "And I know because Old Lucas told me this morning. And indigo is used to dye fabric, not to provide sustenance to starving troops."

"I know what indigo is used for," he replied testily. "Where's it going then? What's he doing with it?"

"What indeed?" She arched an eyebrow. "The Plantation has been seized by the British. The live stock and the vegetable and fruit crops will be consumed by them and when the force moves on, what's left will be destroyed as befitting crops belonging to a rebel. All other crops - those which do not yield anything edible - should have been destroyed already, as they have been at other Patriot Plantations. So why, Nate, have they not been? Why hasn't Tavington set the indigo and tobacco fields ablaze?"

"You're right," he frowned, setting his mind to the problem despite his ill feeling toward his Aunt. "Hells teeth - is he selling it for himself?" Nathan was appalled and he surged to his feet, his blue eyes flashing. When Charlotte nodded, he gasped, "to who? He doesn't even know anyone around these parts!"

"Nate, Tory's have been joining his militia for over a week now, as you well know. Others come to visit for the sole purpose of currying Tavington's favour. He could have brokered many deals with any one of them. Old Lucas told me the tobacco is gone - not destroyed, but cut down and loaded onto wagons, then driven off the property. And now the indigo is being sent off as well… Both of those crops alone will make Tavington quite a wealthy man. Or set him on the road to becoming one."

"'But that's… That's… stealing!" Nathan spluttered, outraged. "He's stealing from Papa! Does Beth know?"

"I doubt it," Charlotte shook her head as she slowly lowered herself to the window seat. "I am sure she would not be very happy with Tavington if she knew and at the moment she is the picture of perfect bliss."

"Please. She forgave him for bringing that woman along with him from the city," Nathan said. "They had a massive row about it and instead of leaving him, she upped and married him again. If his having a mistress isn't going to put a wedge between them, then stealing papa's crops definitely won't."

"I don't want to drive a wedge between them. If Beth left Tavington it would mean her ruin," Charlotte said wisely. "She's married woman now, and to a British Officer. No Patriot would take her in and if she left him, no Tory would either. She can't leave him, she's well and truly stuck. Neither of us have to like it, though."

"No, we don't," He scowled fiercely, glaring out the window as Charlotte gazed up at him with sympathy. "Stealing our father's crops… Someone aught to tell Beth. Even if she doesn't leave him over it, at least her eyes would be opened to what a bastard he is."

"Hmm. Love does make a person blind," Charlotte agreed. "I'd like to tell her but to be honest, I'm too frightened. He terrifies me and if he knew I was meddling in his affairs…" She shuddered and Nathan nodded understanding.

"He frightens me, too," he admitted softly. "But Beth needs to be told, father left the Plantation in her care. Maybe she can do something about it."

"I don't what. Besides, as a British Colonel, he has seized the property and can do what he likes with it. As Beth's husband, he is Benjamin's son in law and, well, he can still do what he likes with it. If Beth confronts him, he'll distract her a kiss and tell her to thank him for not burning the crops…"

"Damn and blast it," Nathan muttered, tightening his lips with fury - and helplessness. He folded his arms across his chest and scowled out the world outside. As two people carrying wooden practice swords appeared in view, his face became a thunderhead. "Another thing I don't like," he jutted his jaw and Charlotte saw Samuel and Captain Gordon face off to begin yet another lesson.

"No, nor do I. I like it even less that he gave Beth away at the second wedding," she said quietly, her eyes narrowing as she watched Samuel's wooden sword fly through the air. Captain Gordon blocked the blow, then began talking to Samuel, he seemed to be explaining as the boy listened intently. "I'm so glad you refused her."

"I couldn't go against papa like that," Nathan replied. He watched Samuel trade blows with the Captain. "He's getting good," he conceded reluctantly. "Even after this short time. Just over a week they've been going at it and I reckon Sammie's better than me now."

"Well, don't you go asking that Captain for lessons - you can wait until your father can teach you," Charlotte sniffed and Nathan shifted his scowl to her.

"As if I ever would," he ground out. "Why is Sammie fawning over them, Aunt? I just can't understand it. I know he's sore over those men, but to turn his back on his own father!"

"I think it's because your father has been such a gentle man all these years and now he's shown a far more… ruthless side to him," Charlotte tried to explain what she understood of Samuel's confused feelings. "Sammie saw the carnage himself - it would have been quite disturbing for him."

"Did you hear that Private Terrell died?" Nathan asked. "The one whose skull was broken? He died this morning."

"Oh no," Charlotte closed her eyes and whispered a prayer for the dead.

"I'm glad he's dead," Nathan said grimly, his blue eyes bright with zeal. "Glad! Glad that Terrell died - with all his talk of Papa being a ghost. Glad those others died in the ambush. They've treated us no better!"

Charlotte gazed up at the raging youth wordlessly. The 'us' Nathan was speaking of was not the Martin children, but Patriots all across the Colonies who had suffered at the hands of the British.

"Well, be that as it may," she said finally, shifting on her seat uncomfortably. "I believe that this will only make Gordon worse. That, and your father's rescue. I do not believe his interest in Sammie is innocent, Nathan."

"Nor do I," the boy replied grimly. "I tried to tell Sammie, but do you think he would listen? No, he would not. He got so angry when I said Gordon doesn't like him and is using him for something, that he stormed away. He even began sleeping elsewhere. He hasn't slept in here for three nights now."

"I see. Perhaps I should talk to him," she eyed the pair as they continued their practice, with the two clashing swords and with Gordon stopping to speak each time. Her eyes on Gordon, she shuddered as the unbidden memory of his beating came to her. His belt striking her bare flesh, his threat to rape her. The pain was gone, but the terrible memory remained. She did her best to avoid him, which should have been easy for he did not reside in the house, but she had too many 'chance' encounters with him for her liking. She did not like the way he looked at her, with a small leer and taunting smile, his eyes raking her each and every time. He had a vendetta against Benjamin, Charlotte was certain of it, and with the man himself out of reach, his only means for vengeance was through Benjamin's family. His thirst would have grown now, with Benjamin's rescue and Terrell's death.

Just then, Margaret came into view - walking along the lane with a basket filled with flowers. To Charlotte's utter dismay, Brownlow was walking by her side. She heard Nathan make an angry sound in his throat and they both stood at the window, watching. On the outside it appeared innocent enough, she wasn't even holding his arm. But they were far too close, and after what Charlotte read in the girl's diary, seeing them together now was greatly disturbing. They'd already lost one Martin daughter to a British Officer, Charlotte was terrified that they might lose another.

Brownlow and Margaret walked by Samuel and Gordon who were sparring. Charlotte's eyes shifted to Gordon, who had his sword flying. He stopped in mid-arc, his eyes fixing on Margaret. His training with Samuel appeared to be completely forgotten at the very sight of the her. Margaret must have felt eyes on her he was staring so hard, for she peeled hers from Brownlow and glanced toward him. Gordon immediately adopted an amiable expression and tipped his hat to her. She nodded and as she turned back to gaze up at Brownlow, Gordon's friendly mask slipped back that hard, hate filled stare. And he continued to watch her walk away with Brownlow, until Samuel began to batter him with his wooden sword. Gordon whirled on the youth then and the two continued to spar, though Gordon threw several glances over his shoulder until Margaret and Brownlow disappeared from view.

"Oh, did you see that?" Charlotte's skin was crawling and her voice came out high and thin. "Captain Gordon, not Brownlow. The way he was looking at her."

"I saw it," Nathan said softly, gripping the window casement until his fingers grew white, his zeal replaced with fear. Trying to reassure himself, he continued. "He won't do anything to her. As you said, Beth's married to Tavington. That makes Maggie Tavington's sister in law. Gordon would have to be out of his mind to hurt her."

"With that blow to the head he took, I think he might well be mad," Charlotte murmured. "Mad, and desperate. I believe that Gordon has a personal vendetta against your father, which increases with every passing day. He is deprived what he would consider justice, he was not allowed to guard Benjamin, and now instead of heading off to a prison camp, your father is free again. And now Terrell is dead. If it is revenge he thirsts for, he must be becoming very frustrated. I don't believe it's safe for Maggie here."

"If he could harm a fifteen year old girl, then Susan and William are not safe here either," Nathan began to pace, showing his restlessness and fear. "Anything could happen to them - smothered in their sleep perhaps, to make it look innocent -"

"Oh, don't say it!" Charlotte whimpered. "I know you are right, but please, don't say it! If only we could leave! Tavington has the entire plantation secure - crawling with his men! I doubt a stray dog could get off the property without him hearing of it!"

"You don't know the place as well as I do, and nor does Tavington," Nathan replied, giving Charlotte a thrill of hope.

"Do you know a way out?" She asked, pressing her hands to her stomach to help contain the excitement and fear.

"Several," he said calmly. "I never told Tavington about them all when he asked me. Papa would know of those ways too and I was hoping he would use them to come get us."

"He wouldn't dare that - he could be recaptured and we could all be punished. No, we have to do this ourselves," she drew a deep breath, held it, and then whispered, "but I don't know if I could dare to it either."

"I could," Nathan held his Aunt's eyes. "I'd dare it - but we must be clear on this - Sammie is not coming. He is not to be told of it. He would reveal it -"

"Oh, no, he wouldn't go that far -"

"I think he would," Nathan interrupted and Charlotte turned her attention back to Samuel, who was grinning up at Gordon, basking in the older man's praise. "He would," Nathan said again. "If we are going to do this, then it's just you, me, Susan, William and Maggie."

"Not the servants? What about Abigail - I know she's not happy here, now that Mila is married to Zeke and with all the changes here. And what of Polly and Mr. Talene?" Charlotte fretted for her maid and driver.

"The more we have sneaking from the property, the greater the risk of discovery," Nathan said. "Perhaps we can tell them, but only them. We'll give them the option and let them decide, I trust them not to reveal our intentions. I hope Mr. Talene does accept, he would be a big help - I can't protect you all on my own if we run into brigands out there."

"Brigands…" Charlotte mouthed, pulling her shawl closely about her shoulders to ward off a sudden chill.

"So, it's just us then?" Nathan asked her. "Abigail if she wants to. Your maid, Mr. Talene, and us."

"I don't know about Maggie, come to think of it. Will she want to come? She might reveal it to Brownlow," Charlotte agonised.

"They were just walking together, Aunt," Nathan scoffed. "That doesn't make her a turncoat."

"You don't understand. Maggie has developed a flame for Brownlow and might not want to leave him."

"A flame!" Nathan gasped. "Christ, has our family gone completely mad? Beth is daft over Tavington. Sammie has lost his wits with Gordon and now Maggie has for Brownlow? It's madness! We must get her away and the sooner the better!"

Thinking of the kiss Brownlow and Margaret had shared, and fearing that there was more to come, Charlotte nodded firmly. "I couldn't agree more. Leave Maggie to me. Now, what do we do?" With the decision to flee the property made, Charlotte was now at a loss as to how to proceed. "And when can we go?"

"Tonight," Nathan replied grimly.

"Tonight!" That thrill of excitement and fear shot through her again, leaving her breathless and her stomach churning. "So soon?"

"We daren't wait. Leave the how to me. Don't even tell the children until it's time to go. This is what we'll do," he sat down and the two began to plot. "Every detail must be considered, Aunt. First, you will leave your cloaks out on your beds. I'll come into your room later at dusk to get them. There's a guard in the hallway, we won't be able to simply walk out of our rooms tonight - we must go through the windows, the same as Papa did when he attacked Tarleton's force."

"I can't!" Charlotte gasped. "I'm too old to be climbing over roofs, Nathan!"

"The ladder papa used is still where they left it when they bought it back up after the attack on Tarleton's force - on the eave outside this room. You can climb down a ladder, Aunt."

"There are guards posted around the outside of the house," she pointed out in a shaking voice. "Even if I climb down without breaking my neck, how will we get away from the house?"

"They are posted on the front door, the back, and the side door," Nathan said. "They are not in the habit of lingering under papa's window. Why would they bother watching children? We've given them no trouble, we've made no attempt to leave. They do patrol further out from the house, so we'll need to be careful not to be seen trying to get to the trails."

"So we need an excuse for all of us to be in here, at the same time, uninterrupted for long enough to make an escape," she said, making it sound a difficult feat.

"Can you think of another way to leave the house?"

"No," she admitted.

"So, I'll get the cloaks from you later and I'll hide them in here. You will make sure your window is wide open, and that the girls have clothes and shoes appropriate for travelling, ready for them to change into. Tonight, I will come to your bedchamber, I'll tell you that… ah… I know, that William is sick and needs you. As you're stepping into the hallway, you instruct me to remain in your chamber to watch over the girls and then you'll close the door. That should satisfy the guards in the corridor. I'll tell the girls what's happening and I'll get them dressed while you come here. You close the door, you get William dressed. I'll guide Margaret and Susan over the eaves back here -"

"Oh, that's so dangerous," Charlotte groaned.

"It's as flat as the ground, aunt. They won't fall off. The window here will be open. I'll help you and the children down the ladder." Nathan and the children, he believed, would be able to evade detection by hiding behind barrels or bushes until they were free of the property, but he did not believe that Charlotte had any experience at skulking in her entire life.

"If we're caught…" Charlotte left it hanging, her blue eyes wide and filled with fear.

"William, Margaret and Susan will be returned to the house, safe and sound. You and I, however, will be flogged," Nathan said firmly. "Abigail, Polly and Mr. Talene too, if they come with us. Properly flogged - not like that beating you took from Gordon. It won't be a belt this time - it'll be a whip and it'll be on your bare back, with everyone watching. I'll be right beside you, receiving the same. Do you still dare?"

Gazing outward, she stared down at Captain Gordon, who was patting Samuel on the back before raising his wooden sword for yet another round. "We could just go to Tavington," she mused softly, some of her nerve slipping. "Tell him what we suspect about Gordon."

"Will he believe us? This is one of his men you're speaking of," Nathan replied crisply. "Even if he did believe, I still want to get Maggie away from Brownlow - her infatuation will die soon enough, if they are apart. Tavington will use us to keep Papa in check, I just know it. No, now that the idea has come to me, I say we follow through with it."

"I agree," she steeled her spine and nodded, though she squirmed on the seat. "Yes, I still dare. I feel like I'll lose my bowels right now, but I still dare."

Nathan stared down at her, appraising her, his Aunt who bedded Bordon on the very day her announcement to her engagement had been made. Sensing his thoughts, and his doubts, tears sprang to her eyes.

"Do you hate me?" She whispered softly.

"No," he sighed heavily. "No, I don't hate you."

"I'm so sorry," she gasped as he put his arms around her. The tears began to fall and great sobs shook her shoulders.

"I'm sorry too, for the horrible things I said," he soothed. "I was just so angry. I still don't think you should have done what you did. But I know you've suffered for it."

"Have I ever!" She sniffled. "And I don't mean the beating, either. I love your father, Nate. So much! And now I've lost him forever - what's a beating compared to that?"

"He might forgive you one day," Nathan said uncertainly, not entirely believing it himself. She shook her head wordlessly and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Where will we go, Aunt? McDeals is in British hands now. We have no idea where Burwell is, or where Papa might be."

"We can't go to your father," Charlotte said fervently. "Well, I can't, anyway. Let's try for Mrs. Billing's home. Her husband has joined the militia, she will know how we can send word to your father to come get you. When you're safely away, I'll find somewhere to go. To Mrs. Rutledge, perhaps. Her home is so large, she could hide me there. Or perhaps I'll go to Rhode Island and stay with Aunt Prudence. Lord, we have to get off the plantation first - we might not even make it as far as the first field!"

"We'll make it," Nathan said with confidence he did not feel. "The plan is foolproof. What could go wrong?"

"Oh, don't say that," Charlotte found it within herself to laugh. "Things always go wrong when people say that!"

"Not this time. Come, we have preparations to make. Remember - not a word to anyone, except Abigail, Polly and Mr. Talene." Together, the accomplices left Nathan's chamber and despite their fear, began preparing for their escape from their own home.

* * *

Christ, it had felt good to reach the city again. Calvin Farshaw looked forward to visiting old haunts, calling on favourite doxies, seeing his mistress again. But from the moment he entered Charlestown, he was disappointed. It was all different - it wasn't the same as it had been. Where there had been Blue uniformed Regiments of South Carolina walking the streets, was now Redcoated British without a Continental to be seen. They were all captured, for two months they had been kept in the holds of British man-o-wars out in the harbour, where they would likely be riddled with lice and disentry and other awful inflictions. Dying, is what they'd be right now, those who'd been caught for the Cause.

Was it all over then? Lieutenant Calvin Farshaw wondered. He lay on his bed, his arm draped over his eyes to block out the morning light. A whore lay alongside him, snoring gently in his arms. How many of his old comrades were abroad those ships? Had any of them gotten out? He hoped some of them had. While he despised the Commandant of his former unit, the other men were his brothers. He heaved a sigh, felt the whore stir, then quiet back to slumber. He'd wake her soon, get his money's worth. At least he still had that.

No Regiment - not one he took pleasure being in, anyway. No family. No friends. No wife; where the fuck she'd gotten too was anyone's guess. The first thing he'd done upon entering the city two days ago, was go looking for her. He'd galloped right up to Colonel Josiah Clement's door, only to discover it crawling with Redcoats. Of course. Clement would not have been able to stay in the city with it being surrendered to the British. He'd have had to flee, or he would have been caught.

Caught, it turned out, when Calvin questioned one of his old Commander's slaves. Good, fucking bastard had sent Calvin off to Savannah to his own death, so he could keep fucking Calvin's wife. Prick. Calvin hoped the bastard was dying - at that very moment, that he was keeling over with disentry or yellow fever or some other awful infliction. Even that horrid death was too good for Clement.

The slave had also informed Calvin of his wife's departure.

"Where the devil did she go?" Calvin had asked the slave, who'd spread his hands wide and shook his head.

"She flee," the slave replied. "When she told you dead. One night she here, next morning she gone. Masser look her. For weeks. Months. He don't find her."

"Soon as she heard I was dead, aye?" Calvin laughed softly. "Serves the bastard right, after what he did to me. Sendin' me off, hopin' I'd die at Savannah. Almost got his wish, too. He's lucky he ain't here, I'd smash him to atoms; he ain't my commander no more. Damn and blast him to hell." He was silent a moment, lips tight as he struggled with amusement, then anger. Amusement won out and gleefully, he said, "I tried to warn the fuckin' fool that she was only staying with him 'cause I was makin' her. What a simpleton, he thought she loved him and the first thing she does when she hears I'm dead is up and leave him," he laughed again. "He looked for her, aye? He was never goin' to find her here, fucking bitch probably went straight home!"

As soon as the last word passed his lips, terror struck him with the force of a hammer slamming between his eyes. If she'd gone home to her parents and his… She would tell them, there'd be no reason for her not to. He wasn't there to shut her up, to threaten her to silence. Hell, she thought he was dead. She'd have told them everything by now, they would know he forced her into Clement's bed, that he prostituted his own wife.

Maybe it's best I don't go there after all. Ever since he was forced to abandon the Cause and join the British, Calvin had been longing for the day he could desert. Now, with the Regiments taking over the city, now seemed like the best time to do so. He would disappear one night, he'd run and never look back until he reached his father's little Plantation up in the Shoals. That had been his dream, for months now. Ever since he was plucked off the battlefield and given his choice - to turncoat or to die, he'd been biding his time, waiting for the moment he could safely slip away… He'd had it all planned. The British, with his new Regiment, would eventually take the city. He would return there, collect Harmony, for he could not return home without his wife. But that was always his destination. Always - ALWAYS - he'd intended to return home. He never spoke of it to his fellow Officers, his commanders, his inferiors. He made up stories, telling them he was from Virginia, in the hope that when he made his move, they would have no idea where to look for him.

His parents would have been overjoyed to see him and Harmony again. His sisters. Harmony's family would have been, too. A joyous homecoming. But if Harmony had been there all these months, telling his parents and hers the truths that he would have forbidden her to tell, had he returned home with her? What if she had told them all that had befallen them these last five years?

His father, Harmony's father and brother; gods, they would drub him from one end of the Plantation to the other. By the time they were through with him, he'd wish he'd never been born.

* * *

Calvin grunted as he thrust quickly and deeply into the whore's quim. She was one he'd known from before, one who welcomed him back with open arms and open legs. She gripped his backside and thrust with him, panting in his ear, their sweat slicked bodies a slippery tangle of limbs and harsh breathing. At length, Calvin came and he cried out as his seed shot along his length, bringing pulsing pleasure and delirium.

At length, he climbed off her and dropped back onto the bed, gasping for air. She lay beside him, smiling at him, eyes dancing. They chatted for a bit, about this and that. He told her all about his near death and subsequent capture, of the terrible choice he'd had to make, and the even more terrible ultimatum, if he chose wrongly.

"Fucking bastards," he curled his lip. "They picked me up and tossed me on a wagon like I was dead already, all of us were heaped up on the bed, and never mind that we was covered all over in blood, some were missing their arms and others their legs, I had this," he pointed at the scar on his cheek. "Doesn't look like much now, but it was a sabre that did it, almost cut me clean in two. Sliced my cheek open and then some other bastard used his pistol like a club and smashed it across my head. I had these two," he pointed at the two dips in his chest, healed bullet wounds. "Yet none of it was enough to kill me. Guess they deemed me to be a brave or somewhat, for they came to my death bed, asked me rank and Regiment and when I told them, they says "you want to join us or stay here and die?" I wanted to tell 'em to fuck right off. But you know, when you's laying there and nearly dead, you suddenly think maybe I don't want to die after all." Calvin shrugged. "So I accepted. My unit - those who survived - they had no idea of course. Those that fled thought all of us died. And most did. Other are in prison camps. But a few, like me, we made a different choice that day. Which is why I'm able to be here, in this bed, with you wrapped up in my arms."

"That sounds like madness!" The doxy said and she continued to express her shock for some time, before Calvin continued his tale. He was allowed to keep his rank - he was a Lieutenant in the Continentals and he was a Lieutenant still, with the British. He spoke of his bravery and how well he was appreciated, when the doxy finally disentangled herself from his arms and made her preparations to leave. When she was fully dressed, she waggled her fingers at him and he dropped a few shillings into her palm. She kissed his cheek, begged to see him again tonight, and left him alone in the chamber.

Calvin scratched his chest as he walked around the room, pacing, wondering what he should do. Find a card game? Get drunk? He was off duty, he could do whatever he wished. But the problem was, his old crowd was gone and he didn't much like his new Redcoated comrades. It was familiar faces he was longing for. His brothers in arms. His family in truth. Hell, even Harmony. She'd always been a good wench. He'd never wanted to marry her, that had been his mother's dream. And Harmony's mother's dream. Harmony hadn't wanted it anymore than he had. They'd grown up together; it'd been like marrying his own sister.

Still, after they married and they had to consummate it, he stopped thinking of her as a sister then. He'd seen her for what she was, then. A beautiful woman with a fine body that was his to do as he wished. He'd been with women before her and although she'd been reluctant to start with, she'd soon warmed to the idea of bedding him. Soon, she'd become as hot for it as he was, especially when he'd knelt between her legs that first time. Gods. He'd thought she'd wake his parents with all her moaning that night.

Yes, she was a good sort. Maybe he never should have forced her to go off with Clement. In fact, Calvin knew he never should have done, because it ended up leading to that stupid fucking prick of a Colonel starting to fancy himself as her husband that had led to Calvin being forced off to Savannah and to his damned near death. The joke was on Clement's though, for as soon as Harmony learned Calvin was dead, instead of traipsing on down the aisle with Clement, she'd traipsed on out of the city away from the stupid bastard.

But now, he was thinking that perhaps he shouldn't have done it, for other reasons. His family were going to kill him, for a start. If she'd told them… Sweat broke out on his forehead, he wiped it away with the backs of his fingers. They'd kill him, for sure. Besides, Harmony hadn't wanted it. She'd enjoyed being in Calvin's bed, up until the day he forced her to go to Clement's. From then on, she'd been cold toward Calvin in bed, and he knew she never came anymore.

Not that he'd spent much time trying. He'd had a mistress back in those days, Mrs. Chastity Whitney, whose expensive tastes drove Calvin to extremes to satisfy. She was the reason he'd put Harmony into Clement's bed in the first place, so he could earn enough money to cater to Chastity's needs. And where the fuck was Chastity now? Calvin came to a stop before the window, he scowled out onto the street, glaring at the happenings below. Chastity, another damned bitch. He'd gone to see her, that had been his first stop, even before going to Clement's to find Harmony. And Chastity, who had for two years declared her undying love even while siphoning off every penny he had, had refused to see him.

I'll go tap on her window tonight, he thought grimly. Demand she see me… He knew which was hers, he'd been climbing through it for years before Clement sent Calvin off to Savannah and away from her. Her ancient husband was barely able to get it up, Chastity must be starving for it by now. Unless she'd taken a new lover… Calvin lowered his arms to his sides and clenched his fists. She'd better bloody not have.

Seeing his flask, he picked it up and was pleasantly surprised to find there was still some whiskey left. He thought he'd drunk it all during the night. He drank deeply now and the heady warmth helped to soothe his raw nerves. Yes, he would visit Chastity tonight, demand answers. And then, he'd start making his preparations to leave, to desert. Maybe Harmony had gone home, maybe not. Maybe she'd told their parents all he'd done, maybe not.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd get the rousing and joyful homecoming he desired. If so, after all he'd been through, once home, he was determined to never leave again. Not for the Continentals - who would place above him a Colonel who would so thoroughly abuse his powers that he'd almost bought about Calvin's death for the sole purpose of securing Calvin's wife for his own. And not for the Redcoats - who… well, were fucking lobster back Britisher bastards. With them, no further reason was needed.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Calvin despised parading.

Calvin enjoyed being an Officer, for he did not have to do the work of a lowly rank and file, but he was a middling Officer, which meant he had to parade right alongside the others, marching up and fucking down, up and fucking down, in step, pulling his musket, levelling it, resting his musket, attaching the bayonet. All while dressed in layers of wool and cotton in Charlestown's oppressive summer heat. It was all fucking ridiculous. There were a million other ways he'd prefer to be spending his day. Back in Chastity's bed, for instance. If he was to be uncomfortably hot, he'd rather it be from his cock being tightly lodged in her searing quim.

Last night was… Calvin forced the grin from his face, he must look a right fool, parading up and down while smiling like that. She'd told him the reason she'd refused to see him the other day, was because she was so vastly relieved to learn he was still alive, that she was certain she'd fall weeping into his arms, right there in her husband's hall. And she'd known he'd come to her, and was surprised it took him so long to do so. He'd spent the whole night fucking her, in her room just down the hall from that of her elderly husband's. It added as certain… Spice… to their sporting, that that old grey beard was sleeping soundly while his beautiful young wife was being satisfied by a handsome and energetic young stallion like Calvin.

And she was beautiful. Gods, seeing her last night, her pale cheeks glowing in the candlelight, her dark blue eyes shining bright to see him again, her long black hair flowing down her back like a dark river… It was enough to cause him to reconsider deserting. What was the point in returning home and leaving his beautiful lady behind? She was bound to get expensive again; she liked him fucking her, she liked it a great deal, but he knew it was not enough. He did not have Harmony or Clement's now, to support his enjoyment of Chastity, so he would need to return to another past time of his - and had done so that morning, while it was still dark, before leaving Chastity's house. After climbing out her window and down over the balcony, he'd felt his way in the dark for a door that would lead him back into the house. Once inside, he shoved two of Mr. Whitney's silver candlesticks down his jacket, before rummaging through the drawers of a desk, where he found a few coins - three of them pounds sterling. He'd be able to buy Chastity a nice gift now, a wee glittery trinket for her to ohh and ahh over before inviting him back into her arms for another wondrous night between her thighs.

Thinking of her was helping to pass the time, he went through the motions by rote, the marching and demonstrating how well he could aim his musket and fix the fucking bayonet. At length, the torture came to an end and he and his unit began to follow their Captain away from the parade grounds. It was almost lunch by now, Calvin fell into step with Captain McLaughlin and two other Officers, and together they made their way down the street to a tavern nearby. Calvin never frequented this place in the days from before, he had no idea what it was like back then. Now, however, it was overrun with Redcoats, just like every other part of the city. The small group worked their way deeply into the tavern, all following Captain McLaughlin. The four of them found some empty seats at the end of an already occupied long table, the other Officers were already deep in conversation, one was reading the broadsheet laid out before him. Calvin was quiet, sipping his ale, while the others chatted. Despite being with them for months now, Calvin didn't feel entirely welcome by his new comrades, but his presence was suffered as he was a fellow Officer and he was damned well good at what he did, too. He did engage in conversation with them occasionally, but for now, he was content to drink and to listen to those speaking around him. One was giving an account of his encounter with a doxy the night before, and further along someone was talking about some Major who'd recently gotten engaged. Frankly, Calvin was more interested in hearing about the doxy, whose breasts were so large, the Officer's two hands could not encompass them, and whose quim was so tight, the Officer had felt as though he'd put his cock in a vice.

"Which tavern is this?" Calvin asked and he laughed right along with the others. His comrade said the name, adding that Calvin had better have a decent fortitude for patience, for he intended to take spend quite a few hours with the wench again that night. Calvin shrugged, he hadn't been serious anyway, he would be returning to Chastity tonight, not to some poxed doxy who'd been fucked who knew how many times by who knew how many men. Talk turned to parading and even Captain McLaughlin started to complain, for it was too damned hot for such exertions of energy. They dined and chatted and still, around the tavern, this Bordon's engagement kept coming up, Calvin was beginning to think the Major was something important, for him to be talked about so much. He asked his Captain, but McLaughlin shrugged, he didn't know. Another Officer heard Calvin ask, and he was suddenly inundated with tales of the British Legion and the Green Dragoons, of the recently promoted from Captain Major Bordon, who had helped to capture Mr. Mark Putman and bring down an entire spy ring. Calvin regretted hearing that, he'd never met Mark Putman but he remembered the name, the Patriot gentleman who had helped to get supplies out to the soldiers stationed at Sullivan's Island. Back in the old days. This Major Bordon and his superior, Colonel Tavington, had captured Putman, questioned him, imprisoned him. Putman was dead now, killed by his own people, they said. Calvin wasn't certain if that was true, he couldn't imagine Patriots turning on each other like that.

"…Gods, what's he thinking?," One fellow who claimed to know Bordon personally was saying. "He's nobly born and now he's marrying this Colonial wench with no breeding, no fortune, no connections. Miss Jutland is pretty enough, to be sure, but to take her for wife?" The fellow shook his head and chortled. Others laughed right along with him.

Not Calvin, though. He'd become wide eyed indeed, his mouth dropped open, his eyes bulging.

"Miss Jutland?" He blurted loudly enough to draw the attention of the fellow. "Did you just say Miss Jutland?"

"Yes, I did," the fellow replied, cocking his head. "Why, do you know her?"

"It's not that common a name, so yeh. I do," he said, frowning, his fingers tightening on his cup. Maybe it's Amity. Harmony isn't a Miss. She hasn't been in years. Amity must be in the city. "Amity Jutland?" He asked, then held his breath, waiting for the fellow to confirm that it was Harmony's sister Amity and not Harmony herself, who was about to marry Major Bordon.

"No, Sir," the fellow shook his head and Calvin's stomach began to roil even before the fellow opened his mouth to continue, for there were no other Miss Jutland's in the family - only Amity and - "Harmony Jutland, Lieutenant."

"My thanks," he turned to McLaughlin. "Sir, I need to speak with you," he said, already rising. McLaughlin gave him a startled glance, then he rose with Calvin, who led the way outside, where he could have a private word.

* * *

No wonder it was was on everybody's lips, the news was still very new. The first Bann had been announced at Fresh Water Plantation two days ago and was published in the broadsheets today. With two Banns to go, Harmony was sitting pretty at this plantation, thinking no one would come between now and the next to Banns, to voice their objection. Her parents were too far away and couldn't afford the journey in any case. Besides, thinking Calvin dead, they'd likely welcome their daughter remarrying a wealthy nobleman, especially a Redcoat, their loyalties being what they were. And Clement certainly couldn't come forward, even if he wasn't a prisoner in the hold of a ship. He was an enemy Officer, he couldn't come to the British to try to claim Harmony.

Besides, he'd have no fucking say, he had no right over Harmony save what Calvin had given him.

There was only Calvin. And like hell was Calvin going to let his wife go off and marry another man. She thought he was dead, but she was about to be disabused of that notion.

"Are you sure this is the same woman?"

What a stupid fucking question. Calvin wanted to smash his fist into McLaughlin's face. How many Harmony Jutland's did he think there were? In Charlestown? That's where she met Bordon, when he started visiting the Mighty George, a tavern owned by one Mr. Ingles, where she'd been working as a barmaid. Calvin remembered him. If Harmony had disappeared while Calvin was in the city, Mr. Ingle's tavern would have been the first place he looked. But Josiah Clement hadn't known, he hadn't known Harmony's maiden name, either. And with Calvin dying at Savannah, she'd been free to create this entire new life for herself, aided and abetted by Ingles, who had helped to hide her and to evade Clement's searches. She'd only needed to lay low for six months, and by then the city surrendered to the British and Harmony had smiled her pretty smile, ensnaring for herself a British noble.

Yes, Calvin was pretty fucking sure this was the same fucking woman. He threw his belongings into his saddlebags. He'd spent the night in Chastity's bed again and he was loathe to give her up for Harmony, but he was even more loathe to let his wife go off and marry another man.

He threw his bags over his shoulders, left his chamber, and took the stairs two at a time. In the courtyard below waited McLaughlin, three lower ranking Officers, and two score of men. Calvin wasn't certain why McLaughlin was coming with him. Perhaps he didn't like Calvin's chances, going up against a Major to retrieve his wife. Perhaps it was because the Captain couldn't be certain of Calvin, who was once a Continental and now a turncoat. And that was fair enough, for Calvin had been biding his time, waiting to reach the city to retrieve Harmony before deserting the British.

Perhaps it was a combination of both. Either way, McLaughlin had managed to get his unit incorporated with the Regiment that was about to escort Brigadier General Charles O'Hara from the city. Calvin still couldn't believe his luck. That he would learn of Harmony's engagement with time to prevent it. That Charles O'Hara and his baggage were leaving the city, and had need of a protective escort. That O'Hara's destination was Fresh Water Plantation, where the British were building a fort, and where Harmony was living with her would be future husband, Major Bordon. Everything had slid into place so neatly, Calvin was certain the Almighty Himself had taken a hand in directing it.

"Are you ready?" McLaughlin asked and Calvin nodded. "Do you have everything?"

"Not yet, Sir, but by Christ, I soon will," Calvin said grimly.

"I have spoken of the matter to General O'Hara," McLaughlin said.

"Do you know him?" Calvin asked, startled.

"No, not before now," McLaughlin said. "I approached his adjutants first, and I was presented to Major Fallows, who thought the matter important enough to place before O'Hara himself. Due to the sensitive nature of… well, of this, O'Hara informed me that he will approach the matter when when we reach Fresh Water. He is friendly with Bordon, I believe, and Bordon and Miss Jutland's… understanding… is well known. From what I can gather, the Major is quite in love with her; Fallows and O'Hara both anticipate unpleasantness. He wishes to question you along the way; he asked me if you have your marriage licence?"

"Not with me," Calvin muttered. "It's back home. I doubt I have time to return to fetch it and then return here to show everyone. Besides, it's not like I don't have a witness," he said, thinking of his wife. She'd better not pretend not to know him - Gods, what if she did? How humiliating for him. By God, if she did, he'd return home, bring back the licence and both their father's and when she was returned to Calvin, he'd beat her black and blue.

"Yes, your wife," McLaughlin murmured.

"Thank you, Sir," Calvin said to McLaughlin. "For getting the whole unit onto the escort detail just so I could be at Fresh Water to claim back my wife. I could have just gone alone - taken furlough, you know."

"I doubt Major Bordon is going to make this easy on you, Lieutenant. Going there alone… you would have returned here alone, as well. From what I've heard of him, he will not let you take his fiancé without a fight."

"And I will not allow him to marry my wife without a damned fight either. I'm her husband, for Christ's sake. He has no claim to her, none."

McLaughlin nodded. "Well then, mount up and move out - O'Hara is waiting for us."

Calvin finished tying off his saddlebags, he vaulted into the saddle and his unit fell in around him and moved out.


	77. Chapter 77 - Escaped

Chapter 77 - Escaped:

The morning found Beth and William wrapped in their blankets, still in bed though the hour was growing late. Braced on one arm, he lay alongside her, his lips moving over hers as she stroked his hair back with her fingers. The house and camp were rousing, the noises intruding on the couples private moment and they both knew they would be forced from their chamber in just another few moments.

"I simply can't believe it," Beth said against William's lips.

"So you keep telling me," he replied, taking hold of her hand and bringing her fingers to his lips. He kissed each fingertip, then began to drift along to the inside of her wrist. As enjoyable as it was, Beth was not to become aroused again, for the two had made love not even an hour earlier. Tavington gently gyrated his hips against her thigh, already growing hard again, but she had no intention of indulging him a second time that morning.

"Pregnant! But at least he's marrying her. I'm so pleased for her - she looked so happy last night, don't you think?"

"Hmm, Miss Jutland looked happy," he agreed, his knee moving up her thigh as he continued to rock his erection against her. "Ecstatic even," he said, somewhat distractedly.

"I have a whole new respect for the Major now," Beth announced. "He must know that his family will think he is marrying beneath him." She gave a great sniff to show how little she thought of that. "But he's doing it anyway, despite them."

"Hmm, I'm sure you're right," William began to move on top of her, his knee edging her thighs apart. "Can we stop talking about them, do you think?"

"Oh, William, we have no time for that. Any minute now, someone will be banging on that door, demanding to see you in order to announce some disaster or other that only _you_ can deal with!" She batted at his arms and then rolled her eyes as he began to inch his cock inside of her. "For goodness sake -"

As if on cue, there came a determined knock on their door, hard enough to make it rattle against the lock.

"I told you so," she teased and he scowled down at her.

"What is it!" He shouted, sinking deeper into her body with a guttural sigh. "Whatever it is, it can wait!"

"Ah, I don't think it can, Sir," came Ensign Dalton's hesitant voice. "I'd not disturb you in your chamber if it weren't important, Sir!"

"Damn and blast it," William jerked out of Beth's body and he shot her a dark look when she laughed at him. Donning a long white shirt, he then jerked his banyan around his shoulders and then strode to the door, which he jerked open to confront Dalton with a face like thunder. Beth had pulled the bedsheets up by then and huddled beneath to hide her nudity. "What the bloody hell is it? Has the Ghost returned?" he said this with scorn, for there did not seem to be a single person on the property who did not call Benjamin Martin the Ghost now. With Terrell's death, the Colonel's new name had run rampant through the ranks.

"No, Sir," Dalton replied. Then he lowered his voice so that only Tavington would hear him. "Sir, it's Mrs. Selton."

The words caused William to shut the door and step into the hallway.

"What of her?" He snapped, his eyes on her closed bed chamber door. "If she's caused a problem, I'll -"

"She's gone," Dalton interrupted and William drew a sharp breath.

"Mrs. Selton, Mr. Nathan Martin, Miss Margaret, and the two little ones. Samuel is still here and he vows he knew nothing of it. Mrs. Selton's maid is gone though, and one of her male servants. And - another to have fled, is Abigail - the children's nursemaid."

"They've gone," William cut in, his face a thunderhead. "Gone. Just vanished into thin air, I take it?"

"No, Sir. Nathan Martin went to Mrs. Selton's chamber to inform her that his little brother William was ill. She told him to stay with Miss Margaret and Miss Susan to watch over them, while she went to tend the boy. I questioned the guard myself, he said he saw no reason to prevent her from looking after boy. He let her go, thinking she was tending the boy. He mentioned it to the guards when the rotation changed - for Mrs. Selton hadn't returned and Nathan Martin hadn't emerged from her chamber. He assumed they'd all gone to sleep. However this morning, when none came out, a guard entered both rooms only to find them both empty. I discovered a ladder on the porch under Martin's bed chamber, that is how they got out of the house. How they got off the grounds, though…" he left it hanging and William tightened his lips, his blue eyes blazing fury. The camp was secure - every single path leading on and off the property was being watched like a hawk.

Every single path that he knew of. "Damn and blast it - that Nathan! He must have known of a way off the property that he didn't tell me about! He's gone too, you said?"

"Yes, all the younger children except Samuel."

"Goddamn it!" The Colonel raged. "The sons are as bad as the father! Fetch me Samuel, I'll question him myself. And Miss Mila too - I can't imagine her mother would leave her without bidding her daughter farewell - if she knew something and didn't warn us, I'll have her off this plantation before she can say -"

He cut short as the door opened and Beth, dressed with her nightgown wrapped tightly around her body, stepped into the hallway.

"My family is gone?" She asked William. One glance at her forlorn face, her brown eyes as wide as they would go told him immediately that she knew nothing of her siblings and her Aunt's intentions. "They just… left?" Tears welled and he sighed sullenly. "They didn't even say good bye!" She began to cry, bowing her head, her face twisting in grief.

"This was left for Mrs. Tavington," Dalton said sympathetically as Tavington pulled Beth into his arms. He handed the Colonel a small packet with Beth's name written on one side, and Mrs. Charlotte Selton written on the other.

"Fetch me Samuel, Mila and Zeke," Tavington commanded Dalton over Beth, who was weeping into his banyan. "Speak to every damned servant on the property - someone must have seen something. Fetch me Bordon - we will give chase as soon as we know which direction they took."

Dalton saluted and marched away, leaving the Colonel and Beth in the hallway. With his arms around Beth, Tavington tore open the letter and began reading, hoping to gain more information as to the families destination and their intentions. Charlotte had worded her letter carefully, however, speaking only of her intention to leave and her reasons for doing so. Her suspicions that Captain Gordon wished the family harm was cited as one reason and her fear over Tavington's intentions for them, another. A warning was given regarding Tavington's use of Benjamin Martin's indigo and tobacco. It was too late to hide the letter from Beth, for she knew of its existence and she had turned in the circle of his arms to read it with him. She gasped while reading about Gordon and then when she read about Tavington selling the crops, she turned slowly to stare up at him wide eyed.

"You're not, are you?" She asked softly.

"We'll discuss it later," he said shortly. He could hear footfalls on the stairs and, hoping it was Dalton returned with Samuel, he stepped away from Beth.

"William -" she began.

"Later!" He said sharply, turning on his heel to march toward the stairs. "I've enough on my plate for now, Beth!"

She followed more slowly, mixed emotions roiling through her.

"Samuel!" Tavington barked when the two came face to face. The boy swallowed hard. "Did you know of your families intentions to flee the plantation?"

"They've gone?" He gasped with such genuine shock that Tavington knew that the boy had not been told. Charlotte had stated why Samuel was to be left behind, citing that because of his seeming allegiance to the British, they could not be certain he could be trusted any longer. Tavington decided to test this new found Loyalty.

"They've gone," he stated, then added shrewdly. "They've left you behind because they did not think you could be trusted."

"They said that?" Samuel asked, looking hurt.

"In your Aunt's letter," Tavington replied. "They thought you would come and tell me. Would you have?"

Samuel frowned. Thinking hard for a few moments, he finally nodded. "Yeh. I think I would have."

"Good. Do you know of any paths leading off the property - ones that I might not already be aware of?"

"I've never checked which ones you've got covered," the boy replied. "But I'll have a look and then I'll come back and tell you if any are unguarded."

"Good lad," William replied. "Dalton, fetch Brownlow to accompany Samuel. Tell him to inform the sentries that Samuel is to be allowed full access and is not to be challenged, detained or harmed. Sam, I need you to begin at once."

"I will, Sir," he promised. The two disappeared down the hallway again, in search of Brownlow. Beth, feeling utterly confused and miserable, was about to ask about the 'stolen crops' as her Aunt referred to them, only Mila and Zeke were at that moment answering Tavington's summon. Mila, her hands clutching her apron, stared at the floor and she was trembling visibly. Taking her in with one glance, Tavington scowled at the girl.

"You knew," he said shortly, his blue eyes narrowed and thunderous.

"Knew what?" Zeke asked, glancing back and forth between the two. "Sir - what is this?"

"Answer me!" Tavington shouted, ignoring Zeke and making Mila jump.

"I did," she whispered.

"Oh, Mila," Beth groaned, seeing what would happen next as surely as though she were reading a book.

"I'm sorry!" Her African maid wept. "Mamma came to say goodbye last night and -"

"Last night!" Tavington bellowed, the letter crumpling in his fist. "You've known since last night!"

"Mila…" Zeke shook himself, completely confused. He turned to Tavington. "Sir, please - you're upsetting her! I don't know why it matters if Mila's mamma left -"

"Because she left with the entire Martin family!" Tavington whirled on Mila's husband. "The entire lot of them slipped away during the night and your damned wife knew of it! She's an accomplice to this - she helped them get away!"

"No, I never did!" Mila pleaded. "I just -"

"Didn't alert anyone to their intentions to leave, which amounts to the same bloody thing!" The Colonel raged. "You knew the family was leaving with Abigail, didn't you?" He demanded, needing to determine Mila's level of guilt.

"No, Sir," she whispered, shaking her head vigorously. "Only mamma, and she said she'd be back in a few days. I didn't think anything of it, she never mentioned nothing about the children or Mrs. Selton, I would have told you if she had, I swear!"

"William, please remember who it was who told you which direction my father went, the day we arrived here," Beth said. "You can trust her."

His jaw was tight as he ground his teeth. At length, he nodded and waved a hand at Zeke, dismissing him and his wife.

"About your theft of my father's crops…" Beth began as soon as Zeke and Mila were out of ear shot.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" He spat, marching away. Beth followed, arguing doggedly as they returned to their room to dress.

* * *

_Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton with a detachment from the Legion will sweep the area north of you. All rebels are to be disarmed. If they will not swear allegiance to the Crown, they are to be dealt with accordingly. With sword and fire, we shall punish concealment of arms and ammunition with total demolition of rebel Plantations. I require you to prepare to receive prisoners at Fresh Water Plantation. I have been informed that Mr. Burwell and Mr. Martin have been attacking our supply lines and burning every single ferry and boat - even the smallest dinghy - from Lynches Creek, to the Wateree River, down to the Santee. It is my hope that together, Wemyss and Tarleton will settle for them. Brigadier General O'Hara shall be with you presently. In the interim, you will continue to build upon and secure Fresh Water Fort. Strengthen the garrison, create a stronghold, yet be ready to move at my direction. _

_Your most faithful and affectionate friend, _

_Cornwallis_

"You look like you could chew rocks," Beth, sitting curled up in her arm chair, studied him closely. Worried for her family as she was, she hadn't left his side. News would come eventually, William would receive it first and she didn't want to have to be sent for. She wanted to be there, when it did. So far, it was only a letter from Cornwallis that had arrived, much to Beth's impatience. She saw the frustration pass across William's face and knew that, whatever Cornwallis had written, William was not impressed. "The news was not to your liking?"

"It's about what I expected," William admitted. "He is sending General O'Hara to take over command."

"What?" Beth gasped. "Why in the world should he do that? Doesn't he trust you?"

"I'm sure he does, Beth," William laughed softly at her ferocity. "It has less to do with lack of trust and more to do with practicality, I suspect," he explained. "Lord Cornwallis needs his Regiments in the field; he has Tarleton and Wemyss out there already, spreading out to cover the north and west. He'll need me to take the south and east, when we're ready to break ground there. O'Hara is coming to relieve me, that I can return to the field." He gestured to her, inviting her to sit in his lap. Shoving her sewing back into the basket on the floor, she came to him. Sitting on his thigh, she put her arms around his neck and gazed down at him.

"Will O'Hara quarter here? The house is already so full."

"I had thought to suggest the Ferguson's," Tavington replied. "The house is large enough to house him and his many adjutants."

"That's a good idea," she cocked her head and asked gravely, "when do you think we'll get word of my family?"

"Maybe never," his lips twisted as he scowled. "It's only been a few hours, Beth, and thus far, they have managed to get clean away. Brownlow and Dalton are still looking, though I am considering recalling them. Your father has summoned his militia force together again, I don't want Brownlow and Dalton out there, they are vulnerable to attack."

"I know. You should recall them. I'm sure my family are alright," she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. William tightened his lips as he stared blindly over her head. He could not care less if they had been killed during their flight; his only tie to Martin - his only hope of keeping the traitor in check - had escaped into the night. Security on the plantation had been tightened - with the help of Samuel who had pointed out all of the trails that Nathan had managed to keep concealed from Tavington. A flea would have trouble leaving now. Any prisoners Tarleton sent to him would be secure enough.

"Have you thought more about Aunt Charlotte's warning?" Beth asked. "I don't want Samuel any where near that Captain."

"I do not believe her warning has any truth in it at all, Beth," William ground out. "She had a score to settle for the beating Gordon gave her and has resorted to slander to colour his reputation. Samuel is safe with him, and he is content enough - he is learning the sword."

"You could teach him yourself," Beth frowned. "You're his brother now - you should do it."

"I have neither the time nor the inclination," William frowned right back. "I barely have a free moment as it is, and any moment I do have will be spent with you - not with your brother. I do not believe Gordon is a threat to him, and it is useful that he has taken the boy under his wing."

"It should be you taking him under your wing, William - even if your time is limited," Beth countered.

"If I had known I'd be saddled with your family," William bluffed, "I never would have married you."

"Liar," she laughed, tapping his nose with her finger. "You're just annoyed because I've made you promise to provide for the boys and Margaret and Susan."

"Fifteen thousand a piece!" He scowled fiercely. "I don't think -"

"You agreed to it, William," Beth interrupted him. "If you insist on stealing my father's property, then you will provide for his children."

"I've stolen nothing," William rolled his eyes - the two had argued this point bitterly a few hours earlier, when Charlotte left that damned letter for Beth, telling her why they were leaving and of course, tattling on William about the 'stolen' crops. He'd had to come clean and tell Beth that he was assuming ownership of much more than the crops. She'd almost had a conniption when he confessed to her Clinton's scheme, and that he had been ceded the entire Plantation. "Your father has let us know in no uncertain terms, that he is a rebel. He is a traitor, he is in rebellion. Traitors properties are seized, your father is no exception. As Clinton believed you to be a Loyalist, he has allocated the property to me, as your husband. He could have given it to anyone, Beth. Hell, he could have bestowed it upon James Wilkins! Try to get Wilkins to provide fifteen thousand a piece for your sister's dowries."

"But Clinton didn't. He gave it to you," Beth said. "As if we don't have land enough. Or wealth. I have twenty thousand, William, and three hundred acres. We don't need Fresh Water. My father, however, does."

"He should have thought of that before turning to rebellion."

"I won't go into this with you again, I won't go round and round in circles. He did not take a side without provocation, William."

"So you said. I agree, we shall not go over this again and again. Our argument over this house was spectacular enough, and it changes nothing. I own Fresh Water now."

Beth's ringing laughter of derision filled the room. "For as long as the British hold the South. William, if the British lose, if the American's win, you won't have this house - we might even lose my three hundred acres. It will be by my father's grace and sufferance, that we're allowed to keep it. And that's if - and this is a big if - he decides he'll fight on our behalf."

"You've said all this already," William sighed. "It is a gamble, like you said. Our future depends on the toss of a dice," he grumbled.

"If you court my father's good will now, then perhaps he'll help us to keep my land, if the American's win. And if the dice fall in your favour, then you will likewise help my father. This is his home, no matter what you say," she held his gaze until he nodded. "My father's wealth and property is not for me and me alone, and you know it. We will provide Maggie and Susan their dowries. And if my father is unable to return here because the British have won and he is ostracised, we will help him establish elsewhere, using Fresh Water to pay for it. You agreed to it, William."

"Only because you nagged me," he scoffed, reaching up to stroke his fingers along her cheek. She seized his finger and attempted a playful bite but he jerked his hand away. "And only because I love you."

"Liar," she smiled. Though she enjoyed hearing him profess his love, she knew that was not the reason for his decision. "It's because you knew it was the right thing to do. While this property is under your control, you will earn untold revenues that are not yours - they are not even mine, no matter how you quibble and no matter how Clinton decides. But you haven't made your promises because you love me - you just know it's not right to keep that money as your own."

"Hmm, I am a Gentleman after all," he sniffed, all arrogance now. "I'm not a thief, nor am I a savage."

"You certainly acted like a savage last night," she flirted, bending her lips to brush along his jawline. "I like you being a savage more than a gentleman."

"Do you now?" He murmured, feeling himself becoming aroused. "Would you still think so if I did this?" Lifting her easily, he sat her on the edge of the desk and opened her legs wide, flipping her skirts up and bearing them to the garters all in one, quick motion.

"Oh, yes, I definitely still think so," Beth wrapped her fingers around his cravat and pulled him down to kiss her. "I think you'll make me a little savage as well."

"Indeed?" Excited now, his fingers flew to his belt buckle and he began jerking it open in his haste to free his member.

Which was precisely how Banastre discovered them when he opened the office door and sauntered in without knocking. Beth had her back to him, and seeing her perched on the edge of the desk, with William between her spread legs with the front of his breeches half open, he stopped dead and gaped in horror. Gasping, Beth shoved her skirts down and jumped off the desk. William's lips tightened as he met Banastre's eyes. Though he had not pulled his breeches down, it was clear what the two had been about to do, what Banastre had interrupted.

"I do not believe I heard you knock, _Lieutenant_ Colonel," William said as he very deliberately - and slowly - buttoned his breeches, ensuring Banastre would be left in no doubt. "You may have autonomy in the field, but that does not give you leave to traipse on in here without announcing yourself."

Banastre hissed in a slow breath as he struggled to control himself. Beth had her back to him, her head was bowed and her arms wrapped protectively around her body. She leaned against the desk for support - the very desk that Banastre had screwed Beth on during his previous stay at Fresh Water. The memory seared him, scouring through his body, heating the blood in his veins. Slowly, he pulled his eyes from Beth and met William's - who was now buckling his belt. A small smile curled William's lips - taunting Banastre.

"Damned arsehole!" The fiery red head seethed, taking three deliberate strides toward William, who braced himself, ready for the fight.

"No! You mustn't!" Beth turned finally and darted between them. "Ban, please - you'll be put in chains! He's your superior officer now!"

Stopping dead before her, he glared over her head at Tavington. With his back rigid and his dark brown eyes piercing, he ground out, "you are quite correct. It would be foolish in the extreme to strike a superior bastard."

"Very clever," William murmured. Rage fired through him but he held himself in check - it would not be befitting for a Colonel to strike a junior. Besides, Beth was standing between them and could be hurt in the cross fire. Instead of lashing out, he inclined his head as though congratulating Banastre on his witty play on words. "Say what you've come to say and leave. My wife and I have unfinished business."

Banastre's nostrils flared at this hint that William and Beth would continue relations as soon as he left the room. Beth, offended at being used to taunt Banastre, whirled on William.

"That's enough!" Her finger poked his chest hard enough to make him grunt. "That was uncalled for, William. And disrespectful to me, as well!"

He met her eyes, but made no apology.

"I did not come to say anything to you. I left some belongings here when I quartered here and I came to retrieve them." His eyes darted to Beth again and William curled his lip, suspicious of what Banastre had truly come to retrieve.

"If your business is finished then…" Tavington said, leaving it hanging.

"I wish to say goodbye to Beth," Banastre ground out, furious at how this sounded. As if he were asking Tavington permission.

"Then fare _Mrs. Tavington_ well and leave," William said, folding his arms across his chest, making it clear that he would not leave them alone.

Banastre quivered with rage. With one last look at Beth, Banastre turned on his heel and strode from the room.

"William, really!" Beth pointed an admonishing finger at her husband as she began to follow Banastre. "I don't know why you must keep taunting him!"

"Where do you think you're going!" He reached for her but she danced out of his reach.

"To bid him farewell."

"The hell you will!" He rasped out, seizing her wrist. "I will not let you be alone with him!"

"I will only be a minute. You're being absurd," she tried to pull her arm from his grip but he held her tight. "My love, don't you trust me?" She asked, her voice filled with so much shock and hurt that it made William pause. "Do you imagine I'll tear his clothes off, because I am alone with him?"

"He would tear yours off…" He mused, releasing his hold. "But no - I trust you. Very well, go and tell the bastard good-bye. Make certain he knows it's a final one."

"I will only be a moment," she said sadly. On the tips of her toes, she kissed his cheek.

It did not take her long to find Banastre, she could hear him yelling at some poor soul the moment she closed the office door behind her. Following the sound of his voice, she strode through the halls to the back of the house, to a small room where Banastre was shouting at a junior officer, admonishing the poor fellow for not brushing down his horse as the soldier had been instructed. Standing at the door, Beth folded her hands in front of her body and waited for him to finish. Seeing her, he stopped dead mid sentence.

"You have your orders, be off with you," he demanded of the soldier. The fellow fled the room and Beth closed the door quietly behind him, then turned to face Banastre. Sweat coated her palms and her heart began to pound. The two stared at one another, neither knowing what to say or what to do.

"You shouldn't take your anger out on your men," she said finally, the words coming out in a nervous rush. When he did not react, she licked her lips and continued, "it's not right… He can't yell back at you."

"Is that what you came to say?" Banastre's voice was harsh and she blanched, falling back a step to lean against the closed door. Seeing her nerves, he softened his tone. "I can't believe you came here to tell me that."

"No. He's allowing us a few minutes," she cocked her head, genuinely curious. "What did you leave behind, Ban? I thought you took everything when you left here."

"Not everything," he said softly, reaching up to run his fingers across her cheek. Her eyes widened and she gasped.

"You can't mean -"

"I can and I do," he said, urgency entering his voice. Taking hold of her hand, he pressed her fingers to his lips. Earnestly, he said, "I came back for you, Beth. Come with me!" Her eyes were as large as saucers now. She could barely breathe, her lungs strained for air that would not come. "It would be so easy," gripping her waist, he hauled her to him in a crushing embrace. "My darling, I won't be coming back here - not for a long time! If I ever return at all. This might be our only chance. Come with me - once we're gone, he won't be able to come after us! Cornwallis has him pinned here - he can't leave until the General summons him and that won't be until Cornwallis makes a move toward North Carolina! By then, we'll be far from here."

"Banastre," she winced. "You know I can't."

"Of course you can!" He laughed with nervous excitement, bending his knees to lower himself to her height. "My love - you can! We'll be together, we need never be parted again!"

"Ban, we wouldn't get one hundred yards up the road!" She protested. "I doubt he'll wait longer than a few minutes to come looking for me as it is!"

"Then we'd better hurry!" Banastre cupped her chin and pressed his lips to hers. A heartfelt sigh escaped his lips, he'd been longing for this for so long - to touch her, to kiss her, that to be finally holding her again was pure joy. Although William would have a fit if he saw her, she let Banastre have this last kiss, for she could not bear to break it - not when his joy and heartache was writ so clearly over his face. Banastre broke the kiss - but only because he believed she would flee with him and there was not another moment to spare. "Later…" he murmured, certain they would be curled up on his cot, in his tent, that very evening. "Come -"

"Ban, stop!" He had seized her wrist and was about to pull her through the door.

"Beth, there's no time for this!" He pleaded with her.

"Ban - you must understand. I've already tasted what it is like to be shunned. I will not willingly become your doxy!"

"You wouldn't be a doxy -" He began to protest but she cut him short.

"I will not leave my husband," she declared in a strong, firm voice, holding her back ramrod straight and her chin high.

"You won't… you won't leave with me?" He murmured, holding her gaze. "Beth. You know that I love you."

"I know," she replied. "Ban, we had such a wonderful time together. You helped me through the most difficult time of my life. We needed each other then. And you were my only friend in the world - the only one who loved me."

"I love you still," he took a single step forward but did not try and touch her this time. "I _need_ you still. Are you saying you no longer feel the same? That you don't need me? That you don't love me?"

"I will always love you," she replied, and she meant it, if not the way he wanted. "But Ban - I know this will hurt you, but you need to know - I love him too. So much."

"So much _more_?" He hissed, his fists clenching at his sides, his eyes blazing.

"So much _differently_," she replied after a moments hesitation. It was another truth, she did love both men entirely differently, but she was too mindful of his pain to explain that difference. "It matters not. Whether you like it or not, he is my husband. And I will be faithful. I will not leave with you, and I'm sorry for the pain I'm causing you. But it has to be said, there can be no doubt."

"So that I don't pine for you?" He shot back. "Never fear, I will be so busy in the coming months, I doubt I'll spare you a thought."

Hurt, Beth hung her head and Banastre drew in a deep breath, immediately regretting his spiteful words. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close again.

"I'm sorry, I should not have said that," he murmured. "I didn't mean it. I love you, and I'll pine for you until the day I die. But I don't think I'll need to wait that long for you."

"What do you mean?" She lifted her head to meet his gaze. He laughed softly, bitterly.

"I understand, Beth. You are married, too many people know of it for either of us to pretend otherwise. You will make the best of it, you will be the best wife you can be. But William is a bastard. I know him. He will screw other women. He will not uphold his end of the bargain, he will not be the best husband he can be. He will fail you - I have no doubt of it. He will force your hand, he will push you so you no longer care about trying to make this miscarriage of a marriage work. If I have to wait for you to come to your senses, so be it."

"Oh, Ban," Beth shook her head slowly - there were so many things wrong with all he'd said, she didn't know where to begin to correct him.

"You're surprised that I'll wait for you?" He arched an eyebrow. "Don't worry - I don't intend to be celibate until the day comes that you beg me to take you back."

"Beg?" She said tartly. All this talk of him bedding other women was designed to try to make her jealous; it was petty and annoying.

He saw the flare of irritation in her eyes and took it for jealousy. "You do love me," he smiled, on solid footing again now. "You're jealous and trying not to show it! Don't worry, I won't enjoy them too much."

"Stop it, I'm not jealous," she tried to push him away but he held her fast and she resorted to a fierce scowl.

"You can pretend as much as you wish, but I can see right through it," he leaned in and brushed his lips across hers with another desperate sigh. Lowering his voice to a mumble, he whispered, "no matter where I am, no matter how far, I will come for you when you are ready to leave him. And if you find yourself in trouble, just say the word. I'll come for you."

"No doubt, by the time you arrived, I will have fixed whatever trouble I found myself in, all by myself," she said archly, pointedly ignoring his certainty that she would leave William for him.

"I don't doubt it," he replied in praise for her ability to look after herself. "But I will be there all the same. I love you, Beth," he kissed her again.

"That was the last one," she said softly as she stepped from his embrace. "The last one. I mean it, Ban."

Not believing her for a moment, he allowed a small smile to curve his full lips. He gave William and Beth's marriage a month - perhaps two at worst.

"Just send for me, and I will come," he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. He turned to leave the small chamber, but with a quiet gasp, Beth threw her arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

"Please don't get hurt out there," she whimpered. "Please, Ban, you must be careful! So many people are dying, I don't want anything to happen to you!"

_The devil's hairy balls she doesn't love me, _he scoffed. Pressing his forehead to hers, he held her close for a few long moments.

"I will be careful," he promised. "And you better be too. He will not hesitate to hit you, though I'll cut his cock off if he does."

Beth sobbed a laugh and drew away again. Another moment's studying one another, with Banastre trying to etch her features into his memory, and then he was gone and Beth was walking slowly back to her father's office.

* * *

"What do you mean, gone?" Harmony frowned at Mrs. Turnbull, the Loyalist woman who Tavington had entrusted to care for Linda. "When did she leave? Why would she leave? This is a perfectly fine house, and your family is kind! I see no reason for her to quit this place!"

"Thank you Miss Jutland," Mrs. Turnbull smiled to hear the young woman compliment her family and home. "I assure you, we were good to her."

"She's a close friend of mine. Did she not even leave a letter behind to explain where she was going?" Harmony fretted.

"No letter," Mrs. Turnbull shook her head. "But I wouldn't worry, my dear. The fellow who came for her seemed nice enough, and she went with him willingly." The words sent a shiver up Harmony's spine, chilling her to the bone.

"What fellow?" She breathed.

"A Redcoat - a Private, I think. He had come to see her a few times this past week. This morning, he returned, and when he left, she went with him."

"This morning? Who was he, didn't she say? Didn't he give a name?" Harmony fired the questions frantically, fearing that Sumter or another enemy of Tavington's had come for Linda.

"Well, he did, but I am hopeless with names, I admit. But he was a British soldier, like I said. As for what he looked like, well, he was tall, with blonde hair and sunburnt skin. He was young too - not much above twenty, I think."

"And she just left with him?" Harmony was still unable to believe it. Tavington had told Linda to stay with Mrs. Turnbull until he could organise the money he had promised her - a thousand pounds, Richard had told her. Linda was in love with Tavington - she would not leave with some other man! And the amount of money she was abandoning was nothing to sniff at! Those two factors alone should have been enough to keep her safely ensconced at the Turnbull house - the hope that she might see William, and the money he was promising her, which would help secure her for quite some time to come if she was careful with it.

"As I said, she packed her things and he carried her satchel out the door. I saw them walking past the window, her arm looped through his."

A short while later, Harmony, with her arm looped through Richard's, also walked past the woman's window as they made their way to the their borrowed carriage. Dragoons fell in around the carriage as Harmony and Richard climbed into the cabin.

"Who was he, do you think?" Harmony said as they began to make their way back to the Ferguson's.

"A damned deserter, I'd suspect," he replied grimly. "Some fellow whose fancied Linda for a while, or perhaps he learned of the amount Tavington promised to give her. That's far more likely, I think. He heard of the thousand pounds and decided to up and leave the army and take her with him. Well, if they think they'll get a damed shilling from Tavington now, they can think again. If they are stupid enough to make contact, the bastard will be hanged for deserting before he gets a single penny."

"Poor Linda," Harmony dropped her head to her hands. "Where could he have taken her? Will he provide for her? Put a roof over her head?"

"Deserters have to keep moving or they risk being caught," Richard scowled. "So no, I'd say Miss Stokes is anything but warm and well fed just now."

"Oh, Richard! Why didn't she at least leave a note for me?" Harmony wailed, tears stinging her eyes. "She must have known I'd worry for her!"

"I don't know, Harm," he said, his fury giving way to sympathy as he began to rub her back. "I know you're worried, but there is nothing to be done. I'm sorry, dearest - I should have bought you here sooner but I've had so much to deal with lately. But you know, there is some hope."

"There is?" She lifted her head from her hands.

"The name of every single deserter is put on my desk. We have perhaps five a day slipping from the ranks, so it won't be so hard to put one of those names with a tall, blonde man with a sunburnt face. Once he is identified, it will be that much easier to find him - and to bring Linda back here where she'll be safe. He probably convinced her he would care for her, but I'm certain he was only after the money! William does care for Linda - he wants to see her settled and secure. I assure you, he will not be pleased to hear she's being used like this."

"He'll help her?" Harmony asked hopefully.

"Of course he will! But don't you dare breathe a word to Mrs. Tavington, for goodness sake. After the commotion she caused when she discovered Linda was on her way to Fresh Water, I have no doubt she'll explode again. That woman can cause upheaval like nothing I've ever seen! I like her well enough, but I'm sure that Tavington is going to have to paddle her damned bottom one of these days."

"I hope you don't think you'll be paddling my bottom once we're married, Major Dick Bordon," Harmony snorted. "I can cause upheaval too, especially where another woman is concerned."

"There will be no other woman," he told her firmly, earnestly.

"Hmm. Well, being engaged to you has to have some advantages," she said, changing the subject. "I'm looking forward to evenings spent with the Tavington's. Surely they will invite us for dinner once we're married, or they'll come to the Ferguson's to dine with us."

Bordon, believing this to be a pipe dream that would never happen, said nothing. He could not imagine Beth inviting Harmony for dinner, even after Richard made an honest women of her by marriage. Married or not, Harmony had been his mistress first, therefore Beth would never accept her completely. Richard intended to keep Harmony protected from being snubbed, by keeping the two women apart.

"Beth said that that now that the banns have been read," Harmony was saying, "she will convince Tavington to let us spend time together more openly - the way she does with that horrid Mrs. Wilkins. Beth doesn't even like Mrs. Wilkins and would much rather be with me, than with her."

"Wait…" Richard frowned at Harmony. "What are you talking about? And why in the world are you calling her 'Beth'? "

"Didn't I tell you?" Harmony gasped with realisation - she had been so caught up with Richard's return, that she had not told him anything of how she had spent her time since he left for McDeals. "I went looking for you after you left - when you never returned. I'm still annoyed with you by the way - a note would not have hurt!"

"Sorry, that was remiss of me," he admitted, gazing at her with curiosity. "I was in a hurry and… yes, you are right. I should have sent a note. Please continue, would you?"

"Patience was never your virtue," Harmony teased. "As I was saying, I went looking for you at Fresh Water. I saw Beth there and I thought she would snub me at first, because that fucking bitch," the curse words were hissed furiously but they rolled off her tongue so easily, showing Harmony's wicked side, "was whispering in her ear. But then Beth shrugged Mrs. Wilkins off and she and her sisters came to speak with me. We spent the rest of the afternoon together. Tavington said he doesn't mind, but we weren't allowed to be too _overt_ he said. And so Beth and I have been visiting each other. Like I said, with the banns read, Beth thinks she can work on Tavington so we can spend time together without trying to hide that we are. I really like her, and Maggie too. Susan is a sweet, dear wee thing but she misses her papa… I feel bad for her."

Richard was staring at his fiancé in shock.

"You've made friends with Mrs. Tavington," he stated, dumbfounded. And shocked that she was only telling him this now.

"I have. I didn't think I'd have a single friend here, but Beth welcomed me and I feel much better about being here now than I did before," she met his gaze and he reddened with shame, knowing it was his infidelity which had made Harmony not want to be there with him. "I do wish Mrs. Selton would vanish into thin air," she continued waspishly, "but she keeps herself away from me when I go over. I don't have to see her. Or Mrs. Wilkins either. I feel bad for the other two - Miss Wilkins and Miss Middleton because they both seem curious and I think they would want to sit with me and Beth, if not for Mrs. Wilkins getting into their ear. Oh well, at least I have Beth. Even overtly."

"You have me, too," Bordon said gruffly. "And it won't be 'overtly' between you and Mrs. Tavington for long. Everything will change, I promise. Our engagement is public now, there won't be a single person on the Plantation who will not want to spend time with you. Except Mrs. Selton," he said, curling his lip.

"I wouldn't want her too," Harmony turned her head away to stare out the window.

"Even Mrs. Wilkins will want to be your friend," Richard rushed on, drawing the subject away from Charlotte Selton. "Though I doubt you'll want her either."

"No, I most certainly do not!" Harmony announced firmly, and Richard laughed.

"You'll have to be nice, I'm afraid," he said. "But you can take solace in the fact that you - my dearest, humble Harmony - will be second highest ranking woman on the plantation."

"I will?" She whirled to him, her blue eyes wide with astonishment.

"Of course! You're to be the Major's wife! All this snubbing will be put paid too, as soon as we are married. Even before that though, your status here will be elevated considerably, your life here with the women will be much, much better."

"Second only to Beth," Harmony laughed. "I understand what she meant, now. She told Maggie that she was the highest ranking woman on the Plantation. When Maggie told her she shouldn't say such things, Beth said that she wasn't Lording it or anything, it's just that it's true, that's what she is. I know what she means now, for I'll be second only to her and I won't be Lording it over the other women either." She paused, then added with a venomous smile, "well, except over Mrs. Wilkins."

Bordon threw back his head and laughed.


	78. Chapter 78 - Family Obligations

Chapter 78 - Family Obligations:

"Thank you Mrs. Billings," Charlotte wrapped her fingers around the steaming cup. She took a sip of her coffee and tried not to pull a face. Though she would never admit it - especially to a fellow Patriot - she much preferred tea over coffee.

The house was far too small to accommodate so many, with only two bed chambers above for the entire household to share. The main chamber served as parlour and kitchen both. There was no room to move without tripping over another person, the children made every excuse they could to go outside. At that moment, Nathan, William and Mr. Billings son were all perched with rifles on the roof as look outs, though young Bobby Billings was not taking his sentry duty anywhere near as seriously as the Martin children. But that was because the Billings' had not had any visits from the Redcoats yet, they had not seen the death and destruction the Lobsters had bought down on the countryside. They had only word of mouth to rely on - the passing of news that told of Pembroke burning and the northern farmsteads attacked.

Margaret sat on the porch with Susan, reading to the little girl and playing other simple games to keep her occupied. The older girl had been rather despondent since they'd fled the Plantation and Charlotte hadn't had to ask why. Pining after Cornet Brownlow, which was utterly ridiculous, as far as Charlotte was concerned. Mr. Talene was gone, he had left nearly two days ago in order to track down Benjamin Martin. Abigail and Polly were busying themselves with chores - cooking, cleaning, washing - the two of them were running themselves ragged trying to look after the family, lest Mrs. Billings began to consider them a burden. So far, the woman had shown nothing but pleasure to have them there, and a little bit of nerves at housing someone of Charlotte's station.

Sipping her coffee, Charlotte worried. It would not be long now, any day now - any hour, and Benjamin would be striding through the door to take the children to safety, and Charlotte did not have anywhere to retreat to to avoid him, there was no where to hide in the small house.

"You'll be so pleased to see Colonel Martin when he arrives, I do not doubt," Mrs. Billings said as she lowered herself to the chair opposite Charlotte at the little dining table. For answer, Charlotte gave the woman a weak smile and a nod. While Charlotte was extremely grateful that no one knew of her dalliance with Bordon, she wished that news of her to Benjamin engagement hadn't travelled so quickly. It stood to reason that the Patriots all knew - Benjamin's men had been there the day he proposed, it had been very public and very exciting. She could count on two hands the amount of people who knew what she had done with Bordon and almost all of them would want to keep that ugly little event as silent as possible.

What reason, then, would she and Benjamin provide for the ending of their engagement?

"I was dreadfully sorry to hear about your house, Mrs. Selton," Mrs. Billings continued.

"To be honest, I've no idea how damaged it was - we left while it was still burning. Perhaps the fire put itself out - perhaps there is enough there to salvage and to rebuild upon," Charlotte said. "

"I've heard there was nothing more than a blackened husk," Mrs. Billings said gently. "One day, you and Mr. Martin will rebuild it bigger and better than before. Until then, you're more than welcome to stay here with me. The children, too."

"Thank you," Charlotte replied gratefully. "I'm not certain what Mr. Martin will decide for the children," she said carefully. "He might want them further away from Fresh Water." And because she did not want Mrs. Billings questioning where Charlotte fit in with that picture, she continued, "poor Mr. Talene. I do hope he is alright - I feel wretched for sending him but we had no one else."

"No, there wasn't," Mrs. Billings agreed. "Is he really as bad as they say, Mrs. Selton? The Butcher - Tavington?"

Charlotte recalled her first real sight of him, descending upon her plantation like a demon from hell sent a shiver coursing through her. He had struck her across the face that day, and had threatened to hang Thomas. What Beth saw in the man, Charlotte would never see or understand.

"Worse," she set her coffee cup down on the table with an audible click. Giving voice to her thoughts, she said, "I don't know why my stupid niece has become entangled with him. I love her and always will, but she is just so… Stupid! Such a foolish girl! She could have had Burwell but no. She chooses a Lobster!"

"Yes, I am afraid that Mrs. Tavington's name is mud round these parts now," Mrs. Billings said sadly. "Except amongst the Tory's. Our people will not have her amongst them, not if we win this war."

"I'm afraid of that also. Well, she has made her choice - I do hope he has enough sense to take care of her properly. I can't see that he will though."

"Does he love her?" The other woman asked.

"Yes, he does," Charlotte replied without hesitation, but with a distasteful twist to her lips. "I finally believe that, at least. He loves her, dotes on her, but he doesn't hesitate to lose his temper with her either. I can imagine him hitting her. John never hit me!"

"My John never struck me, either," Mrs. Billings said. "Only a base born bastard would do that."

"Well, Tavington is as baseborn as they come," Charlotte spat, snatching up her cup and drawing a long pull of coffee. "And he's a bastard as well."

"Mrs. Selton!" Mrs. Billings gasped back a laugh. "I've never heard you use such language."

"I believe the moment warranted it," Charlotte smiled weakly. "He is horrid. Utterly horrid. He hung decent men right in front of the house!"

"I heard," Mrs. Billings said sadly. "Not much news is coming from up that way, but I heard about that. Mr. Howard must be beside himself - his son and now his nephew - hung without so much as a trial. If he had both his legs, I'd say he'd take up a rifle and run off with the militia."

"Have you recent word from the Howards?" Charlotte asked. "I still can't believe Gabriel and Anne have married!"

Mrs. Billings smiled. "With Miss Martin's two engagements both ending in disaster, Reverend Oliver was determined to marry off a Martin."

Charlotte recalled Benjamin saying the same the day he proposed to her - that Reverend Oliver would be overjoyed to have a Martin married off, after Beth's two failed engagements. Charlotte hid her face in her cup, thinking that it was three disastrous engagements now. She wiped tears from her eyes and pretended they were tears of joy for Gabriel and Anne.

"I hope they're happy," Charlotte said. "Have you had word since, though? How are Gabriel's wounds?"

"Hopefully Reverend Oliver will pass by again and we can ask him. Oliver has been riding all over the countryside, railing at his flock to not slip into a melancholia over their recent failures, to be brave and throw off their fear. To return to the militia and again take up arms against the British. Who'd have thought it - a clergyman recruiting to the army!" She laughed brightly. "I do know that Lieutenant Martin was well enough a week ago. He was laid up in bed when Oliver arrived, but the lad combed his hair and sat up, with Miss Howard sitting on a stool beside him. They said the words, with the Scott's and Howard's watching on. We'll know more soon."

Charlotte nodded, finding some reassurance in that. Did Gabriel know yet? Did he know what she had done, that she had betrayed his father? What would he think of her, when he did?

"I wonder if Colonel Martin knows yet?" Mrs. Billings mused. Charlotte gave her a sharp glance, before realising that their thoughts had taken a difference direction. Mrs. Billings was referring to Gabriel and Anne's wedding - if Benjamin knew about that yet.

"I hope so - it will bring him some small measure of happiness," which was something Charlotte was no longer able to provide him.

From outside of the house, Nathan shouted a warning.

"Riders!" Came the frantic cry and fear lanced up Charlotte's spine. She shared a worried glance Mrs. Billings before lurching to her feet.

"Colonel Martin?" Mrs. Billings asked tentatively, she was hoping - not confirming.

"Or Colonel Tavington," Charlotte replied grimly. The door burst open and Margaret and Susan raced in from the porch, breathless and excited.

"It's Papa!" Margaret shouted, pointing toward the open door.

Charlotte nodded and together, they strode from the house. Squinting against the late afternoon sun, Charlotte shaded her eyes with one hand to see better. The large group of riders were galloping along the post road, racing along the rail fence toward the drive way opening.

"Brown…" She said in relief. "Not red - or green. They are wearing brown."

"That's a good sign," Mrs. Billings was scanning the approaching figures for her own husband, but with their tricorn hats shielding them from view, it was hard to discern one rider from another. These could still be Tory's, riding on behalf of Tavington, but she kept the thought to herself, for she did not want to worry the children unnecessarily. They would know soon enough. The boys clambered from the roof and raced - with their rifles raised - toward the front of the house. Mrs. Billings smiled nervously at her son, who still seemed to think the entire affair was an adventure or a joke.

"Three rifles against thirty men…" She whispered at Charlotte, whose beautiful face was lined with worry.

"It'll be a slaughter," she whispered back and Mrs. Billings laughed nervously, taking the words to mean that the boys will destroy the coming troop. The horses turned and entered the driveway without slowing, yet two riders picked up their speed, spurring forward in front of the rest.

"I told you, it's papa! I'd know him from a mile away," Margaret shouted, running off the porch steps. The boys lowered their weapons as the two riders approached - Colonel Benjamin Martin and Captain John Billings were close enough now to be recognised clearly. The children laughed as they ran to meet them and suddenly the men jerked their horses to a stop and jumped to the ground. Benjamin's arms were filled as he embraced the children.

"My little warrior!" John Billings roared approval and he roughed up his son's hair before pulling him into a bear hug. His wife dashed down the stairs to meet him, abandoning Charlotte on the porch steps. Alone and desolate, Charlotte stood silently as the families relished their warm reunions, revelled in being together again. Benjamin hoisted Susan into the air and managed to pull Margaret off her feet at the same time. Charlotte's eyes were on him, though the vision of him was blurred with unshed tears. She ached to join them, ached to run down those steps and throw herself into his arms, but she knew she was no longer welcome with them. She was outcast, shamed. Alone. Drawing a ragged breath, she pulled her eyes away to stare at the uneven wooden boards beneath her feet.

"No, just wait here," she heard him call and when she risked a glance, she saw Benjamin was striding toward her, and was waving his children back, indicating that they were to remain there. Thomas was with them, with Susan riding his shoulders and Nathan trying to wrestle him. Charlotte met Benjamin's eyes momentarily - it was too hard to hold that gaze, however. Her eyes darted away. He had left the children behind to speak to her alone, and he was no longer smiling. His expression was grim, now. His enjoyment gone.

"Let's go inside," he said, waiting for her to enter first. He closed the door behind her and, seeing Polly and Abigail at the far end of the chamber working in the kitchen, he asked them both for some privacy. Charlotte sat heavily on her chair at the table and waited for the women to leave.

Charlotte stared at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. Their last conversation had been… less than desirable. The cursing, the vile comments, the anger. And then, perhaps worst of all, his acceptance that their situation was altered, and his ending of their engagement. _'I am sorry,' _he said. _'I can't. Perhaps if you had not gained pleasure from it. You enjoyed it - all of it.'_

"Are you well?" He asked her now, taking a seat adjacent to hers.

"No." She replied, still not lifting her gaze. "Are you?"

"No," he said and a long silence followed. Then: "I named Beth the children's custodian, Charlotte. Care to tell me why you removed them from Fresh Water?" He asked.

Charlotte had only told Mr. Talene the minimum - that she was afraid for the children's safety, was leaving, and that he was welcome to come with her. If Benjamin wished to discuss only this, she wished he'd do so with Nathan instead of with her.

"Captain Gordon of Tavington's infantry," she began, forcing herself to lift her eyes, to meet his. There was no hiding from him - she needed to face this head on.

"The leader of the prisoner escort that I attacked?"

"Yes. Nathan and I believe he has a vendetta against you and as he can not take his wrath out upon your person, we both believe he is turning to the children."

"Samuel," Benjamin replied curtly. "I saw them together. Training."

"They spend their every waking hour together. To make matters worse, a few mornings ago, another of his men died. Private Terrell, one of the soldiers who received a blow to the head during the attack." _From you_, she left unsaid. "That same morning, Nathan and I were watching Gordon and Samuel sparring, when along came Margaret, walking with Cornet Brownlow - but I'll get to him later. The look Gordon gave her," Charlotte shuddered as if a cold hand had slid up her spine. Benjamin waited patiently for her to continue. "I can't explain it… He was sparring with Samuel one moment, he was completely engrossed in that, when he saw Maggie. He stopped dead mid swing and just… watched her. He was wearing this… awful scowl. She glanced over to them, Gordon and Samuel, and as soon as she did, he suddenly looked all friendly and he tipped his hat to her. When she turned away, his face slid back into that scowl. Sammie started battering at him with his stick which reminded Gordon that they were sparring. He turned back to Samuel but he kept glancing over his shoulder at Maggie until she and Brownlow disappeared around the house. I asked Nate if he saw the same as me, it might have been my imagination. But no, he saw it too and was every bit as concerned. We discussed the likelihood of a threat from Gordon and we both believed it to be quite high. Nathan began to fear that William might be smothered in his sleep, or that Maggie might be…" She trailed off, unable to say it. Benjamin grunted like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Nathan and I discussed confiding our concerns to Tavington, but we couldn't trust that we'd be believed," she finished.

"You really think he has a vendetta against me? That he intended to ravish Maggie?"

"I really do - he was going to hurt her somehow, of that I have no doubt. I think he's quite mad, he was struck in the head too, after all. The way he looked at Margaret made my skin crawl. It still does. I believe him to be quite capable of rape - he was going to… force himself… on me that night," she lowered her voice, even though they were alone. She saw Benjamin's eyes widen. "Even Cornet Brownlow thought it. He took his belt off to…" She closed her eyes as she remember and the shame of it was overwhelming. "To strap me. I was bent over a barrel, Brownlow was holding me down at my wrists. Gordon," she licked her lips, she was truly quiet terrified of the man. "He lifted my skirts and I was… exposed. I could feel his eyes burning into me and…" recalling who she was speaking to, she suddenly realised she'd likely not find much sympathy there. Trying to push emotion from her voice, she forced herself to continue in a more detached manner. As if describing something that had been done to someone else. "He was standing behind me, he kicked my legs apart and he began saying awful things." She said, her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap.

"What things?" Benjamin's voice was strangled.

"That… He was wondering if Tavington would mind him having a turn with me."

"Jesus," Benjamin heaved a breath.

"Brownlow objected, he said Tavington's command was very clear - that I was to be flogged only. That no other punishment had been insinuated. I began begging Gordon not to do it. He said -" she cut short. "And then Brownlow said that Gordon was not to do it -"

"What did Gordon say?" Benjamin said, voice sharp. "You skipped over it. What did he say?"

"Oh God," Charlotte groaned, eyes filling tears. She swallowed it all back down. Detached - she needed to remain detached. In a clinical voice, she said, "he was staring at my… sex. He said how he could slide in there easily. His… cock… in a nice, buttered bun. Do you know what that means?"

Benjamin nodded sharply. He was caught between fury that Gordon had done these things to Charlotte, and fury at the reminder of her coupling with Bordon. Of course he knew what a buttered bun meant - it was a coarse saying, referring to a woman's quim that was already filled with one man's seed when she was spreading her legs to take another. Charlotte had been filled with Bordon's seed, which was why Gordon said what he had.

"I begged him not to defile me and he said that it wouldn't be defilement, not when I'd… given myself to…" She licked her lips. "I could almost feel him about to position himself, but then Brownlow told Gordon that he would not allow it. Brownlow is only a Cornet, Gordon a Captain. I didn't think Gordon would listen, but then he laughed it off, said he was joking. But I don't think he was. I think if Brownlow had been as base as Gordon, if Brownlow hadn't proven to have honour, then Gordon would have done it. I think Brownlow thought it too, he said he had thought Gordon was serious, was surprised to hear Gordon claim to be joking. Gordon said he was just toying with the little bawd, that a strumpet like me wasn't worth the risk and he'd likely get some disease if he rutted with me. He called me a whore," now she was unable to keep the emotion from her voice, or the tears. "He told Brownlow he should see the view from back there, that I was filled with British milt and it was dripping down my whore legs." She drew a shuddering breath and held it, trying to keep her panic at bay. "I screamed at him to shut up. He was not moved. He said if he was a painter, he'd paint it and… It just went on and on, the awful things he was saying. Then Brownlow asked if they could just get on with it and so Gordon began. He strapped me. Brownlow kept count, thank God, because I was beyond the ability to think. Gordon wanted to keep going well past the thirty allotted and I thought he and Brownlow would come to blows when Gordon pretended to miscount so he could whip me some more. They quarrelled, and - this is why I think he has a vendetta against you," she said, lifting her gaze to Benjamin's. "I'm not telling you all this for sympathy, but because, when he tried to say he'd only counted fifteen and Brownlow insisted they'd already reached thirty and that Gordon was to stop, Gordon started shouting that Brownlow was a turncoat for protecting me, after what you did to Gordon and his men." She saw Benjamin's eyes widen. "Brownlow said I'd been punished for my crime, that he would not allow Gordon to punish me for yours, also. That I'd received my thirty straps and anything more than that was Gordon beating a helpless woman. Gordon called Brownlow a turncoat again and then walked away. Next thing, he's taking up with Samuel, they're always together, always. And then there was that look he was giving Maggie and I… I was really afraid for her. For William. For Susan. He is a madman, who knows what he is capable of? Nathan agreed. And so, we left."

"He looked at me like that, too," Benjamin mused. "The day Trellim and the others were hanged. I saw him walking off with Samuel and he caught my eye through the window - he put his hand on Samuel's arm and he gave me this… grin." Benjamin nodded. "I believe you are right, you and Nathan both. How did you get out of the house?"

Charlotte detailed their escape.

"If you'd been caught, your flogging would have been far worse than Gordon's belt," Benjamin said.

"Yes, Nathan warned me that it would be. He was willing to take the risk," she said, worried he was accusing her of putting Nathan in danger.

"And you were, also?" He asked.

"Of course. I had to get them out of there, Benjamin," Gods, it hurt to say his name. She'd whispered it with such raw affection, in his ear, when he filled her body and soared above her. "Even without Gordon. Brownlow had become a threat -"

"Brownlow!" Benjamin said, started. "After everything you just said, I was thinking that perhaps he was one of the good ones. It's rare that a Junior Officer will go against a higher."

"Oh, he is," she half wailed. "And he isn't. He's noble and honourable, he would not allow Gordon to do as he wished, he helped me get back into the house, he took care of me. But he is a man, and he took a liking to Margaret."

"He's what..?" Benjamin became still all over.

"I know I shouldn't have read her diary but I had too. I was worried. Beth held a dinner to celebrate Maggie's fifteenth birthday -"

"Oh, dear God, it was her birthday!" Benjamin groaned, having quite forgotten it.

"A few days ago now. No on can fault you for forgetting, Benjamin. She'll understand."

He stared at her gravely.

"Anyway, I did not stay for long, at this dinner party. I didn't want to go at all. I was there, however, when Maggie made some excuse and left the room. I noticed that Brownlow did, also. I likely would not have noticed at all, if they hadn't been making eyes at each other all evening. They were gone for ten minutes or so and when they returned, they both looked quite flushed -"

"Jesus, not again," Benjamin said, almost on the verge of tears.

"It was just a kiss," she said quickly to reassure him. "Lord, when did a kiss out of wedlock become '_just_'?" She said, shaking her head. "A few months ago, that alone would have been enough to have me sharpening my knives unless they were engaged."

"It is enough to have me sharpening mine."

"Well. You don't need to worry now. Anyway, as I said, I read her diary and she described the entire encounter. It seems that, when they first met, she'd led Brownlow to believe her older than she was. It was at Beth's wedding party, she'd seen Tavington kissing Beth and she'd wondered what it was like. She wanted Brownlow to kiss her and she told him she was sixteen. But then she got scared and admitted to only being fourteen. The way she described it in her diary, he was a gentleman about it. He said he would give her a kiss on her cheek at her fifteenth birthday, which was only a few days away. But in the end, it was a proper kiss, one that went on for at least five minutes. When they both returned to the party, I knew immediately that something had taken place. The way they kept staring at one another. He is most certainly interested in her and Maggie, oh, she returns the sentiment tenfold. She was signing her name as "Mrs. Margaret Brownlow" in her diary."

"Damn and blast it," Benjamin muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"It's clear to me that she has marriage on her mind, though it's doubtful that Brownlow has the same," Charlotte said.

"Even if he does, they will not marry," Benjamin said, voice firm. He nodded, some of his tension easing.

"No, not now. They were spending far too much time together, though - like I said, Brownlow was walking with her when Gordon gave her that look - on the day I saw Gordon staring at her in that awful way, Maggie was in Brownlow's company. Who knows if they stole away to some quiet place and shared another kiss? I don't want to confront her to ask, because then she'll know I read her diary. So I haven't said anything. She's not at Fresh Water anymore, they will never see each other again, so I'm hoping that is enough."

"You and Nathan did the right thing in removing the children. Thank you, Charlotte."

She nodded and lowered her eyes. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

"The children are safe now," she said eventually, just to break that awful silence. "And they have Abigail to watch over them. I'm thinking… I am thinking that perhaps I will go to Rhode Island. I will go and stay with Aunt Prudence." Which would put miles and miles and miles between her and Benjamin and that was precisely what she needed right now.

"How in the world do you think you'll get all the way up there?" He asked.

"I have some money. And I have Mr. Talene and Polly. I'll buy some horses, and a wagon. That will get me to Charlestown. From there, I'll take ship."

"It's the_ from here to Charlestown _that bothers me. The area is too volatile and I can't spare an escort to take _you_ one way and the children another."

"I'm not asking for an escort. I'll make my own way, like I've always done," she replied, holding his gaze. His face blanched, his cheeks reddened. She looked away.

"Charlotte, I know that we're… Our situation is… difficult… I know it's complicated right now but I don't want you to come to harm out there. Tavington is searching for you and the children. We've seen his scouts and the detachments. If he captures you, you will be flogged."

Charlotte shrugged, she simply did not care anymore. A flogging was nothing compared to what she was living through. "I was only worried about him catching me while we were attempting to escape, because then he would have taken the children back to the house. I don't care if he catches me now. I got the children free, that's all that matters."

Benjamin straightened, a little taken aback by this. As he stared at her, it occurred to him that he was gazing upon a woman who did not care if she lived or if she died. She'd gotten the children to safety and she did not care what happened now. "Mr. Talene and Polly will be travelling with you," he pointed out. "If you are caught, they would be flogged too. You need to protect them, even if you have stopped caring for yourself," he said, realising that was exactly what she had done.

Her eyes lifted to his. "What do you think I should do then, Benjamin?" She asked, throwing a challenge out to him. Their affair was over, he shouldn't care one way or another where she went or what happened to her. Nor should he be counseling her on what her next move should be. He knew of her betrayal, he would know of the predicament it put her in. Therefore, she said, "tell me, Benjamin. What words of wisdom do you have for me? What do _you_ think I should do?"

He was thoughtful for a time as he considered. "Those are Elizabeth's children," he said at last, pointing toward the window where the children could be seen outside with the men. "You are their aunt. You could stay with them."

"You didn't want me near them before. But now you need someone to look after them and I'm all you have and you're using my sister as an excuse to get me to do it. It's for _you_ though, not for Elizabeth. You're casting me aside yet you're expecting me to stay and look after _your_ children." She emphasised, trying to make him acknowledge it.

"You did make the decision to take them from Beth," he pointed out. "No matter how justified it was, they no longer have anyone old enough to look after them."

"Don't they? And what are you, a plate of corn cakes? You did make the decision to join the war, Benjamin," she threw his words back in his face. "I took them out of Fresh Water for their own safety. And now here you are, their father. Yet you're expecting me to choose to stay with them when I'd like nothing more than to go be as far from here as possible."

"You can't run away from your problems, Charlotte. And I can not fight this war and look after my children at the same time."

"Then admit it. You don't want me anymore, but you still_ need_ me, you still _expect_ me to stay, to be here for you. At least have the grit to admit it."

He was breathing hard, eyes fixed on hers. He could not admit that he didn't want her, sitting here before her was torture and it was all he could do to not pull her into his arms, to kiss her, to whisper all would be well, that they would weather the storm together, they would get past their troubles. He could not admit that he did not want her, when he so desperately did. "I admit I need you," he said, for that, at least, was the truth.

She cocked her head, as if uncertain of his meaning. "When John died, aunt Prudence asked me to come and live with her. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"Do you recall why I didn't go?"

He stared at her silently. Of course he remembered why she did not go; he'd begged her not to.

"Not going to live with aunt Prudence has changed the course of my life," she said. "_Everything_ I have done since my sister and my husband died, has been for _you_." She shook her head, her eyes becoming flint. "No more. I love my nieces and nephews. I will do it, I will stay with them – but I will do it for _them_. Not for _you_."

"You're angry with me?" He asked incredulously. "_You_ bedded Bordon, how can _you_ be angry with _me_?"

"You have good cause to be angry with me," she acknowledged. "To answer your question, you needn't worry - I'm angry with _both_ of us, not just with you."

"What in the world do you have to be angry with me about?"

"I'd do anything for you, even defile myself, it seems," she said, back straight, voice low, though she wanted to scream at him and slap his face. Ladies of her station do neither. "You said you would have forgiven it, if it had just been a kiss. You said you might have even forgiven the coupling, if I hadn't derived pleasure from it," she tightened her lips, then spat, "I'd do _anything_ for you, but you can't even do that."

He stared at her, shocked by her perspective.

"When have you done anything for me?" She asked, confronting him. "When have you made any sacrifice? You crook your finger, and I come running to Fresh Water to be with you there." She knew it was because it was more difficult for him to travel with all his children, than it was for her to travel alone. But that's what sacrifice was, wasn't it? - "Every. Single. Time. You never came to me at Drakespar -"

"That was John's place," he said gravely.

"And whose place was Fresh Water? Elizabeth's. My _sister's_," she said. "And I was closer to her than you ever were to John. Yet I came to you there - that's what I did for you. I bedded you, beneath my sister's roof. Outside of wedlock because while you loved me, oh, so much, you weren't ready to marry me, were you? I loved you for so long, I was so willing to have anything could of you, I was willing to be with you, knowing you could not give yourself fully to me, because you still loved her. That's what I did for you. I sacrificed my virtue, by entering into an affair with you. I did it because I love you. I defiled myself with you, _for_ you. Where was your sacrifice, Ben? You got a willing woman and all the pleasure, and yes, I got pleasure but I took all the risk. I could have fallen pregnant. That trouble might have laid with John, not me. But I risked it, to be with you. What sacrifice have you made?"

He continued to stare gravely, his heart pumping like a wild thing in his chest.

She continued, "I lied for you. To protect your children. My house was burnt to the ground. I was slapped across the face. All things I knew could happen if I was discovered by Tavington in helping to conceal his enemy and I did it anyway. For you. All of it, for you. And then I defile myself for you, with Bordon. Look me in the eye, Benjamin," she said, forcing him to do so. "You know damned well I did not flirt with that man for myself. I did it for you, to win time for Josiah to reach you, so you would not be caught, and sent to prison camp or worse, hanged on the spot. I did it for _you,_ you know that I did_._ You admit that you might have forgiven it, that it had gotten so out of hand. _If I hadn't reached climax during."_ She threw her arms wide, "even though that could be you _finally_ doing something for me, but no." She shook her head. "The pleasure I derived, my bodies betrayal, _you_ would allow to destroy us. My entire existence, has revolved around you. Everything I have done in the last eight years, has been for you. And it has all been for _nothing_, because you can't do this one thing for me." She sat up and leaned back away from him, shaking her head. "No more. I'll not do another thing for you, ever again. I will look after those children, because they are my sister's. They are my nieces and my nephews. They are my blood. I will do it for them. Never for you. _Never again for you._"

She rose, pushing the chair back with her legs, and strode the short distance to the window. From there, she folded her arms across her chest and stared out at the children, the men, the horses. She heard Benjamin rise, saw from the corner of her eye as he stepped up to the door. He closed it behind him and she watched him cross the porch, watched the false smile he put on before lifting Susan back into his arms, the smile that she knew was forced but everyone else took at face value. John Billings launched into some story and she saw everyone, including Benjamin, laugh. Charlotte remained at the window, alone, staring at her former betrothed's forced camaraderie, and her heart began to turn to stone.

* * *

"And then the door flew open," Harmony was giggling. "And Richard fell in, with me on top of him!"

Beth had to put her wine down she was giggling so hard. As it was, it sloshed over the rim. She could not breathe, she could not swallow and she was on the verge of making an utter fool of herself by snorting the wine out through her nose. Finally she got herself under control and she swallowed the mouthful down, then took a much needed breath of air. Only to begin laughing again at Harmony's hilarious tale.

"I think that's enough of that story," William said firmly and Harmony giggled all the harder. She poked her tongue out at him - did he think she was a fool? The funniest part had been told, she had no need to elaborate further. She would not spoil the evening by telling the Colonel's wife what she had seen inside the chamber. Tavington and Linda on one bed, Tarleton and Mariah on the other. Lord, he must think her an utter idiot.

"Was anyone in the room?" Beth squeaked.

"No - it was empty, thank goodness," Harmony lied, shooting a smirk at Tavington. The Colonel raised his glass in thanks.

"I can't believe the two of you were… oh my god, in the middle of the hallway!" Beth wiped her fingers across her flushed cheeks to dry tears of mirth. "You, Miss Jutland, have no shame! And I should not be your friend."

"Oh, but if you weren't, you'd be stuck with that 'up her own arse' snooty snoot for company. How is Mrs. Bitch Wilkins, by the way?" Harmony, sitting across the small table, asked Beth.

Bordon sat at her side, and the four of them were dining in the Ferguson's dining hall by the light of lanterns and candles. One of Ferguson's slaves sat in a far corner, plucking at a harp. The music drifted to them, adding to the intimate atmosphere.

This was to be Harmony's last night in the house. O'Hara would be arriving in a few days and would be taking over the house entirely. As Bordon's fiancé, she was to reside at Fresh Water from the following evening. Unfortunately, because of the Society ladies living at Fresh Water; Beth, Rebecca and Sarah for instance, Bordon and Harmony would not be able to share a chamber, not until they were married. For now, Harmony would share with Rebecca and Sarah, though Harmony had no intention of keeping to their chamber all night.

"Put out that she was not invited to your dinner party," Beth answered with a laugh.

"She was..!" Astonished, Harmony cut off mid sentence to gape at Beth, and then shifted her wide eyed gaze to Bordon.

"This was your engagement dinner," Beth explained. There had been many more guests earlier, including Brownlow and Dalton, Rebecca and Sarah, but all the others had left until there was only the four of them remaining. "Excluding her was a little… insulting."

"I told you," Bordon said, tapping Harmony's nose. "Even Mrs. Wilkins will want to be your friend now, I said. So, what am I?"

"A Major dick?" Harmony smirked and Beth almost choked on her wine again.

"An expert when it comes to people," Bordon corrected her calmly. "And your soon to be lord and master."

"So I can't call you Major Dick anymore?" She heard his veiled threat and scoffed at him. "I'd like to see you enforce that!"

"She called him a Major dick," giggling, Beth whispered in William's ear though with her being so drunk, she spoke loud enough for all to hear.

"She always does," William's eyes were hooded as he gazed down at Beth. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine, her eyes were rimmed red from tears as she had been laughing for the entire evening. He gazed down at her, soaking in her good mood with deep contentment.

"She thinks she's clever," Richard explained. "Dick is short for Richard, you see Mrs. Tavington and -"

"Oh, pooh!" Beth waved vaguely in Richard's direction and scowled fiercely. "I understand the joke, Sir! I'm just trying to think of a way to apply it to William with the same connotation." She paused, and at the exact same moment as Harmony, they both said, "Colonel Willy!" The girls barely got the words out before being overcome with laughter. Richard chortled and even William chuckled. "Oh my God," Beth wheezed, "Colonel Willy."

"I can't… I can't breathe," Harmony spluttered, her face red from laughing. "That's going to stick, oh that's going to stick!"

"It'd better bloody not," William snorted.

"Is that… a command… Colonel Willy?" Harmony asked, setting Beth on another tide of wheezing laughter and almost toppling from the chair. William took hold of her arm to steady her.

"I think we're going to regret bringing alcohol tonight," Richard said and William nodded.

Harmony leaned forward and stared cross eyed at Beth's bodice. "I'm only noticing this now, but I do believe that your buttons are not done up properly," she waved her fork at the front of Beth's bodice. "Did you and your husband have a little play in the carriage on the way over?"

"Oh no!" Beth gasped, glancing down at her bodice, her cheeks blazing crimson. Harmony roared with laughter and Tavington smirked.

"Let's see how you like it," he laughed at Beth, glad he was no longer the butt of the joke.

"It's not my fault, he can't leave me alone for two minutes," Beth grumbled. "Not even on the way to your engagement party!"

"Have you set the date for the wedding?" William asked to swiftly change the subject, before he became the butt of the joke again.

"Harmony wants her parents here for it," Richard replied. "She is going to send a letter off to them with some money for the journey down here. That's going to take some time, of course. We're hoping for the middle of August."

"That will be so nice, having your parents at your wedding," Beth said. "Have you told anyone else about the baby, Harmony?"

As Harmony's mouth was filled with food, she shook her head mutely.

"We're going to wait until after the wedding," Richard answered for her. "Harm is my fiancé and people are treating her better already because of it. But even with the first bann published, I fear -"

"That that will be undone if people learn she is with child," Beth finished for him. "They will say you are only marrying her because of the baby. I agree. Don't say a word. You don't want to give Emily ammunition."

"As if she is any better," Harmony curled her lip.

"What in the world do you mean?" Beth gasped, her eyes growing wide.

"Only that she is no better than me, for all her airs and graces. Li…" on the verge of speaking Linda's name, Harmony cut short and quickly changed what she had ben about to say. "A friend of mine and I were walking through the camp one night and we heard the sound of lovers inside the tent of a Lieutenant. Only a few moments later, who should pop out into the bright lantern lit night?"

"Oh, no!" Beth gasped, shocked. "She's having an affair?"

"Is she now?" William arched an eyebrow, exchanging looks with Bordon. "It seems your fiancé is a fount of information."

"I'll have to interrogate her thoroughly later," Richard smiled, putting his arms around Harmony and kissing her cheek. "See what else I can shake loose!"

"I'll never talk!" She quipped. "You'll have to torture me until I scream!"

"Oh, I'll have you screaming," he nuzzled her with his nose.

"He does realise she won't give information if she's enjoying the interrogation, doesn't he?" Beth laughed and William nodded.

"Better to withhold the sweet torture, Bordon. Only then will she break down and talk," the Colonel taunted.

"Oh hush you," Harmony waggled a finger. "Don't give him ideas. I won't have him teasing me in bed just for fun!"

"But that's the best kind of fun," Beth smirked, giving William a sidelong glance.

"Alright, I think that's enough wine for now," he said, taking the empty glass from her fingers and setting it aside.

"So, who was it?" Beth asked Harmony eagerly. She did not protest William removing her glass, for she knew fully well that he would pour her another wine in a moment.

"I'm not certain, some Officer or other. A Lieutenant, like I said. But isn't it horrid? The two of them - they both screw anything that moves - except each other!" The women both laughed at this.

"James has always been like that - he has often flirted with me in the past," Beth confided and William grew very still.

"Has he now?" He asked coolly. "How very interesting." Beth laughed at him. She answered his questions when he asked them until he was satisfied that nothing untoward had happened between Beth and James. Then they continued to chat, until one of them mentioned the Simms Ball. Harmony shuddered.

"Oh, that night was a disaster," she said as she remembered the fight between Beth and William and the repercussions that followed. "I never did tell you how sorry I was, Beth - I should never have mentioned that you were in the room with the Colonel - but it just slipped out and…" She trailed off, her eyes widening when she saw William was waving his arms, trying to silence her. Beth's eyes grew as wide as she realised what Harmony was saying.

"It was you!" She gasped. "You're the one who told!"

"Oh, I thought you knew," Harmony sucked in a frantic breath. "Beth, please, I'm so sorry! I never meant to cause harm to you."

"But… Why would you do that?" Beth frowned. "I had such a difficult time of it here at home after everyone learned what had happened! I was ruined after that!"

"I didn't mean to," Harmony pleaded. She continued on quickly, telling of how Arthur Simms had been speaking to his comrades while drinking and when they realised Harmony knew a thing or two about Beth and Tavington, they had pressed her to tell. They had not known the full truth and Harmony had been worried that the wrong sort of gossip would spread around the town, for they had been discussing the 'what ifs' quite loudly. Harmony told Beth now that she'd tried to protect her by speaking the truth, but in doing so, she gave them more information than she should have.

"You defended me?" Beth asked softly and Harmony nodded.

"I tried to, but to be honest, doing so only made it worse and I think I should have kept my mouth shut. They were saying - quite loudly - that you had already lost your virginity to William on a previous occasion, that your time with him at the Simms wasn't your first. But I recalled you saying, when you were arguing, that William almost claimed your virginity, so I knew that what Wilkins and the others were saying was not true. I didn't want their notions to take hold, and so I told them what I heard you say to William, about being a virgin, hoping that was… oh I don't know… evidence of your virtue, I suppose. Like I said, I was wrong, I only made it worse. Because all they cared about was that I had inadvertently confirmed that it was you that was alone with the Colonel. Whether you were a virgin at the end of it or not, that was all they seemed to care about. I thought I was helping but I only made it worse and before I knew it, the whole tavern was talking about it - it spread like wildfire no matter how I tried to say that you were still chaste. I tried to stop it, but I made it worse. I'm sorry."

"Done is done," Beth reached across the table and wrapped her fingers over Harmony's. "At least you tried, which is far more than other people did. Thank you for that, Harmony."

Harmony's tension melted from her and she relaxed with a small smile. The air was cleared, the women changed the subject and were soon giggling again.


	79. Chapter 79-Calvin arrives to Fresh Water

Chapter 79 - Calvin arrives to Fresh Water:

The golden rays of dawn were beginning to shine through the gaps in the curtains. Harmony would need to return to her own chamber shortly, before Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins woke and found her gone. With Tavington needing the Ferguson house for O'Hara, she and Richard had moved out and were now instilled at Fresh Water. She was not allowed to share Richard's room, however. Instead, she had been put in with two other unmarried women - Rebecca and Sarah. Why Tavington insisted Richard and Harmony keep up this pretence, Harmony couldn't understand. It wasn't as though the younger ladies were not aware that Harmony and Richard had been bedding one another all these months… What was the point of removing herself from Richard's cosy bed, taking herself away from the warmth of his body, slipping back into her own bed? To avoid scandal, was Tavington's reasoning. But by Christ, if there was anyone in the house that didn't know the truth of where Harmony had truly been sleeping these last few nights since quartering at Fresh Water, then she despaired for the poor, ignorant fools.

"We'll be married well before winter," Richard pointed out in a sleepy baritone when Harmony complained.

"I can not wait to be married to you. I still can barely believe it, it's almost like a dream!"She lifted herself onto her elbow and smiled down at her fiancé.

"One that is about to become a reality," reclined against the pillows, he reached up to stroke her face, tenderly winding her long blonde hair behind her ear. "It's no dream my darling."

Her smile broadened. She lifted one long leg and moved across his naked body to straddle his hips. He rested his hands on her hips, she rested hers on his chest and the two gazed at one another for several long moments.

"Have you written to your family yet?" She asked softly, knowing it was still a sore point. She had had no qualms in writing to hers, it was her hope that her parents would be able to travel down from the Shoals to attend the wedding. The difference was, Harmony was marrying so much higher, and to a British Officer as well. Her family would not only approve the match, they were sure to be overjoyed at her good fortune. Not so Richard's family. He was marrying far lower, to a Colonial woman who was lacking a fortune and anything else to recommend her. Richard didn't see it that way, because he loved her. But his family surely would.

Especially if they learned he was marrying a widowed woman with a very shameful past, who was already carrying his baby.

They would be powerless to prevent the wedding, they would be finding out about it weeks after the vows were said. It was the after that Harmony worried about. Would Richard be snubbed by the rest of his family, for making such a low choice in his wife? Even Richard expected to be rejected by the Bordon's, and that he had reconciled himself with. What he was not looking forward to, what he was apprehensive about and trying not to show it, was the actual receipt of the letter his mother was sure to write, of holding in his hands a condemning letter shunning him from the entire Bordon family.

A slow flushed climbed up his neck and spread across his handsome face and he gazed up at her solemnly.

"No, I have not," he mumbled. Which she took to mean that her very brave lover had not worked up the courage yet. She smiled and leaned down to brush a kiss on his lips, her nipples brushing across his chest sent shivers along her spine.

"There's no hurry," she murmured, enjoying the feel of his fingers gently caressing her sides. His cinnamon coloured hair spread out across the pillow, she loved seeing it loose from its queue, it gave him such a roguish appearance. He needed a shave as well, the dark stubble bristling on his cheeks and along his jaw only added to the effect. "All you need is a scar," she whispered, tracing his cheek gently, "and you'll look like a pirate."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" He smirked up at her. Rolling his hips up, he butted his morning erection against her quim. "You'd like me to be the scoundrel?"

"Oh, yes," she glanced behind her and reached around herself to guide his hardened phallus inside of her.

"Hmmm," Bordon moaned as he slipped in. With a sigh of her own, Harmony began rolling her pelvis, feeling his cock sliding along her walls.

"The rogue," she whispered, closing her eyes and dropping her head back, the ends of her hair tickling his thighs.

"A rogue," he said softly as he drove himself deep. For a brief moment, Mage Putman soared through his mind, he'd played the rogue for her between the sheets many a time. Stifling irritation, he shoved that traitorous bitch from his thoughts and fixed himself solely on Harmony. She moaned and closed her eyes, sighing as rode him. Still, it had been enjoyable, bedding Mage; especially the time he coaxed her to touch herself why he rutted with her. That memory was still very pleasurable, it was the face he needed to change. Harmony's hands were on his chest to keep her balance, but he took hold of her right hand and positioned it over the triangle of dark curls. "A rogue would want his woman to do naughty things," he told her, thrusting upward as he pushed her hand slightly, indicating what he wanted her to do. She caught her lip between her teeth and groaned. "There," he instructed. "Touch yourself."

"You think I won't?" She challenged softly, arching her back and pushing her pelvis forward at the same time. He swallowed hard. Pulling his hand away, his eyes were riveted on her quim.

"Show me then," he licked his lips, his heart pounded fast in his chest as she bought her fingers lower, dipping into her own folds in the search of her aching clit. She stared straight down into his eyes but he was not looking at her, he was struggling not to come as he watched her fingers move in very slow circles over her nub. This was far better than when Mage did it - with all her blushes and nervousness. Here was Harmony, bold as brass, doing anything Richard wanted of her.

"Agh, Christ," he panted, gripping her waist with one hand, her hips with the other, and driving himself upward in a relentless rhythm, never losing eye contact with her hand as she played with herself for him. "Dear Lord above!"

Harmony had been trying to hold back her climax but for the life of her, she could not. Her mouth dropped open and she closed her eyes as warmth spread through her body, explosive breaths panted from her lips. Bordon growled like an angry wolf, his cock throbbing inside her, he grit his teeth as her walls quivered around him, clenching him through her climax. Taking hold of her hand, he pulled her fingers to his lips and suckled the tips. The scent and taste of her drove him wild and he began to fuck her harshly, pushing in and out of her as she writhed above him in an attempt to draw out her climax for as long as possible. With a guttural sound, he seized her hips and shoved her down, lifting his head from the pillow and gasping as his orgasm pulsed through his body.

Spent, he collapsed against the pillows, and she collapsed against his chest. Their bodies heaved, gasping for breath as they struggled to calm. Harmony's legs curled around his hips and he cradled her close to his chest, his fingers curling into her hair.

"Next time," she said weakly as she lifted herself enough to smirk down at him. "You will have to do the same for me."

"You think I won't?" He threw her challenge back at her. With a roguish grin, he added, "I'd do it for you, but I don't see the point - your hand is far smoother than mine!"

She giggled as she climbed off of him, then slapped his hands away as he tried to pull her back into the bed. "Tavington's orders, remember?"

"Fucking bastard," Richard groaned.

Harmony dropped her shift around her body, pulled on her night robe, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then, for the sake of propriety, she slipped from his room and returned to her own. The other two girls were still sleeping, or pretending to, Harmony didn't know which. With Richard's seed snaking down her thighs, she pulled back the covers of her very cold bed, climbed in and pulled the covers up, then lay awake for the next half hour until the house began to stir.

* * *

"Would you like some cider, Reverend?" Harmony offered as Reverend Premmon took a seat facing Harmony and Richard. Quite unexpectedly, the Reverend had arrived a few moments ago and requested a private meeting with them both. Harmony assumed it was to discuss the next reading of the Banns, which was to take place in a few days times.

"No, thank you," Reverend Premmon waved away the offer. "I have come to speak to you both regarding a matter of delicacy." He began, grave and serious. Harmony and Richard exchanged a glance. "As you are aware, the reading of the Banns performs an extremely important function. They exist for the sole purpose of preventing illegal - or invalid - marriages. For instance," he paused and met Harmony's gaze. "Where one party is already married."

Harmony's face drained of colour, her stomach tightened. She shot Richard a glance and swallowed hard. Shifting her gaze back to the Reverend, she said softly, "Reverend, I… I was married - but I am a widow." And how in all hell had he learned of it? "I'm sorry I did not tell you; it's just that I've gone by Miss Jutland for so long now, that I didn't think it was important."

"Not important," Reverend Premmon repeated, stunned.

"How did you learn of Harmony's marriage?" Richard asked.

"You were already aware of it, were you?" Premmon cocked his head. Richard nodded. The Reverend turned back to Harmony. "Why would you - as a widow - revert to your maiden name?"

"Because…" Harmony shifted closer to Richard on the chaise, feeling the need of his strength. "There were people who knew me by my married name that I wished to avoid."

"Like your husband?" Premmon asked stiffly.

"My husband..?" Harmony asked, startled. "No, it's someone else I wish to avoid. My husband - Calvin - is dead, Reverend. He was an enemy Officer and he fell at Savannah.".

"No, Mrs. Farshaw, he did not," Reverend Premmon said softly.

"What..?" Harmony breathed, her heart giving a tight squeeze.

"That is your name, is it not? Mrs. Farshaw."

"Yes," she was reeling, her heart began pounding.

"You acknowledge that you are the wife of Mr. Calvin Farshaw of Grindal Shoals?"

"Was," she breathed. "Was. He is dead. He fell at Savannah. He is dead; I am a widow!"

"No, he is not. And no, you are not," Premmon said.

"What the devil are you talking about?" Richard snapped.

"Please describe to me your husband, Mrs. Farshaw," Premmon asked, ignoring Richard's outburst.

"Tall," she whispered, licking her lips. "Black hair. Green eyes. Handsome, but the devil is in his soul. What are you saying to me... Oh my God, what are you saying?"

"That your husband survived the wounds he took at Savannah," he said and Harmony began to cry. Still, he spoke, for it was better to have it all out, rather than linger and dawdle. "That eight months of you believing he was dead is not long enough to declare your marriage void, now that he has returned. That you are still his wife and therefore, you can not marry again." With each word he spoke, he had to raise the volume of his voice to be heard over Richard's loud objections and Harmony's weeping. "Any marriage you enter into will not be valid and therefore, I shall not permit it."

"He's dead - he must be!" Harmony gasped out between sobs. "He's dead, Richard!" She declared, half a demand, half a plea.

"How do you know this?" Richard shouted at the Reverend. "Who told you all this?"

"If you would be so kind as to be silent, I shall tell you all I know!" Premmon declared, disgusted with the Major's bellowing. He quite understood Harmony's reaction and had expected no less. But this sort of behaviour, from a gentleman? He would not tolerate another moment of it. When he was certain the Major would not continue shouting, Premmon continued in a softer tone. "General O'Hara bought it to my attention this morning. It was bought to General O'Hara's attention by Captain McLaughlin, of the 2nd Regiment of Foot. He has in his company one Lieutenant Calvin Farshaw, who was left to die of his wounds on the battlefield at Savannah. Upon receiving medical attention, he agreed to desert the Continentals, resume his Oath of Loyalty and is now an Officer in His Majesties army. He reached the city a few days ago with his unit, where he read of your engagement in the broadsheets. He informed Captain McLaughlin that you indeed were already married, and McLaughlin organised to have his unit put on O'Hara's escort from the city, that Lieutenant Farshaw could be here to contest your engagement, which is very much within his right, being your legal husband."

"Oh, no," Harmony gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth. "No, no, no, it can't be. It can't be true!"

"It is true," Premmon said, though he spoke with sympathy now. Initially, when he was informed that 'Miss Jutland' was indeed already married, he had thought she had tried to dupe Major Bordon, a wealthy gentleman, to marriage. However, now he could see her very real distress, he judged her reaction to be quite genuine. She hadn't known her husband was still alive.

"Harm?" Bordon's anguished whisper as she began to weep. Cradling her close, he turned to Premmon. "I will not believe this," he stated coldly, keeping his composure though his heart was racing. "If it's true, then why didn't he send word to Harmony? Why now, after almost all these months? She didn't receive a single letter! No messenger was sent to her -"

"And how could there have been?" Premmon cut in. "Farshaw marched off to war with his unit. He was wounded severely in battle. He spent months recuperating in a prison - I doubt very much his British guards would have allowed him to write a letter to his wife! It does not matter if he did not write to her, it does not alter that they are indeed married. He would need to be thought dead for several years, before their marriage to be considered void and for Mrs. Farshaw's next marriage to be considered legal. If her first husband suddenly reappeared years later, he could not contest it, then. But a few months?" Premmon shook his head.

"Oh my God," a shudder of revulsion coursed through Harmony's entire body and she gripped her stomach as though she feared she would vomit. "All that time I thought I was safe from him, that he was dead!" Her voice was ragged. "But I was never safe! He was out there, all that time!" Richard pulled Harmony into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"You have no idea what that bastard has done to her," Richard spat.

Premmon was momentarily taken aback, he wondered what it was Farshaw had done, what Major Bordon was accusing him of. But he steeled his spine, for it changed nothing. The woman was Farshaw's wife, and he had come to lay claim to her.

"Where is he?" Harmony asked Premmon as she clung to Richard.

"Waiting for you at the Ferguson's house, I am to take you to him now," Premmon replied.

Harmony lurched off the chaise, she swung her head violently for a place to be sick. It was too late, it was already coming up, she vomited into her hands even as Richard rushed to the side board and returned with a bowl. He held it beneath her chin as she continued to vomit into the bowl; her trembling hands still covered.

"As if I would ever allow that," Richard shouted at the Reverend as Harmony continued to heave. "Harmony is not going anywhere. Can't you see what this is doing to her? The very idea of being returned to him, look at the state she is in now! She can not be forced to return to him, not after all he has done to her! And not when she is my fiancé! We have plans! We're getting married! She's carrying my child, for God's sake!"

Premmon drew a sharp breath, this was news to him. He quivered with fury, at being shouted at by the Major - again! And at the lack of information this couple had given him, from her being pregnant to the expectant bride's true name and circumstances.

"That you have indulged in such activities that have gotten this woman with child alters nothing!" Premmon said, rising to his full height. He was not going to sit there while Bordon shouted down at him. "It is you conducting yourself in such a manner as does not befit a gentleman that has bought you to this pass - you should not have engaged with one another in such a manner until your marriage was settled! If you had done as you aught, the Banns would have been read sooner, Lieutenant Farshaw would have known to reveal himself sooner, and there would not now be a child to complicate the matter!"

"My child is not a complication, Farshaw is the complication!" Richard's voice boomed through the chamber. There was nothing left for Harmony to vomit, Richard drew her to the side board, washed her hands over the bowl with water from a ewer, dried them with a towel. He washed her face, then supported her back across the room to the chaise. She collapsed onto it, her legs too weak to bear her. Richard turned back to Premmon, his face livid. "Farshaw is a goddamned bastard!" He roared, flexing his arms and fists as though ready to pummel the Reverend, who stood perfectly still before him. Pushed beyond the edge of his composure, the Major spat out a stream of curses. "He was a fucking cunt to her! He beat her so that she lost the child she was carrying! He forced her to bed his superior officer, in return for money! He whored his own wife! You can not send her back to that - I will not allow it!"

"He is her husband -"

Richard's hand snapped out and he gripped the Reverend by his cravat, hauling the man closer.

"I've told you what he was done," Richard hissed through clenched teeth, nose to nose with the Reverend. "Would you send Harmony back to that? Knowing what he did to her? Knowing what he will make her do again!"

"I will not marry you to Mrs. Farshaw," Premmon said, winding his fingers around Bordon's and making the Major release his grip. "She is to return to the Ferguson's house, O'Hara has commanded it!"

"She is not going anywhere!" Bordon flared, curling his fingers into fists again. Harmony dropped her face into her hands, unable to hold back the tears.

"Farshaw has the prior claim!" Premmon declared, out of patience. "If you dare to interfere further, you will force my hand and I will have no choice but to have Mrs. Farshaw removed from here by your own men! As to your allegations, if they are indeed true -"

"If?" Bordon strangled out.

"Mrs. Farshaw has already lied to me - about her name and her situation, no mention of a pregnancy - since the day you bought her before me! Therefore, if it is indeed true that Lieutenant Farshaw has comported himself in such a manner, I shall offer him counsel against his old life, explaining that it is sin -"

"Counsel! Oh my God," Bordon threw his arms up. "Counsel! You speak as though her return to him is a forgone conclusion! Is that what you are saying? That Harmony must go back to him! My fiancé!"

"His wife," Premmon corrected. "She is his wife, Major Bordon. He has the claim to her. He did not die, therefore, they are still married. She is his! He is expecting her presently, as is O'Hara. If I am forced to return to the Ferguson's empty handed, O'Hara will send his men here to take Mrs. Farshaw in hand! I suggest you do not let it come to that!"

"It can't end like this," Richard shook his head as he reached down to cradle Harmony against his stomach. "It can't. I will not allow it." Defeated, he began to beg. "Sir, you must help me. If I smuggle Harmony away -"

"I will play no part in keeping a man from his wife," Premmon said seriously. "The two have spoken their Holy vows to the Lord, our God. I am a Holy man, I will not interfere with his Devine Will."

"His Devine Will," Richard laughed bitterly. "Is it His Devine Will that my Harmony is to be beaten by this man? Forced to become a whore at his whim? What of my child?" He asked, feeling as broken as Harmony. "He forced one baby from her - he'll do it again! If you do not support me now, you will be sending an innocent baby to its grave before it can draw its first breath!"

"Oh, Richard," Harmony wailed, stricken with grief and clutching at her stomach. Regretting his words, he dropped to his knees before her and pulled her against his chest. Premmon stared down at them, uncertain how to feel. Three decades he had been a clergyman. Thirty years since he had been ordained. And nothing, in all these years, had prepared him for such a terrible situation as this. If Mrs. Farshaw's claims about her husband were true… His mind whirled for the answer, for a way to help her and the baby. But there was nothing - nothing that could be done. He would have no choice but to side with the husband, rather than the wife and the man she truly wished to be with.

"Perhaps he has changed," he said, but was not heard by the anguished couple who clutched at each other in their joint grief.

* * *

Brigadier General Charles O'Hara recalled meeting Captain McLaughlin for the 2nd Regiment for the first time several days ago. The Captain had been concerned because an Officer in his command had presented him with a dilemma. Lieutenant Farshaw's wife, who did not know he was alive, was about to marry Major Richard Bordon. McLaughlin had been concerned, for several reasons.

The first, he was reluctant to grant Farshaw furlough to retrieve his wife, for he was one of those Continentals captured at Savannah, an Officer who'd forsaken his oath to the Crown, only to take it up again when offered the choice between dying of his wounds in a British prison camp, or returning Loyalty to the Crown and serving in the army. Like McLaughlin, O'Hara never put much store in such soldiers who turn coat from one allegiance to the other to save their skin. Like McLaughlin, O'Hara considered the risk of desertion to be high in such soldiers, also. It had been wise of McLaughlin, not to grant Farshaw furlough, for after retrieving his wife, the man might never have returned to the army. It had much more sense to utilise McLaughlin's entire unit, incorporating them in the security escort to protect O'Hara's baggage and person, thus allowing Farshaw the means to retrieve his wife without his commanders fearing he would desert at the first opportunity.

The second, McLaughlin had feared that Farshaw would not fare well, going toe to toe with his wife's new fiancé, especially when that new fiancé was another Officer but of far higher rank. In this, O'Hara thought grimly, McLaughlin had been quite correct for such concern.

General O'Hara gazed at Major Richard Bordon, who stood before him, pointedly ignoring Lieutenant Farshaw, who stood off to one side. Bordon's back was straight, spine stiff, chin and chest both pushed out, eyes glittering with fury.

Before admitting Bordon into his presence, O'Hara had been counselled by Reverend Premmon, who apprised him of what had taken place at Fresh Water just now; detailing the unhappy couples reaction to the unwelcome news that Mrs. Farshaw would not be marrying Major Bordon after all. O'Hara had been inclined toward sympathy for them, for Bordon, whom he knew to be deeply in love. He had been inclined toward sympathy, until Bordon had marched into the chamber, taken one head to toe look at Farshaw, before rounding on O'Hara, as if ready to do battle. O'Hara was a soldier. He had been surrounded by soldiers from the lowest sort to the highest for many a year. He knew when a man was on the precipice of starting a brawl. Bordon was at the precipice.

And Bordon had disobeyed O'Hara's direct command, being that Mrs. Farshaw was to return to the Ferguson's.

O'Hara's sympathy was quickly fading.

"I summoned Mrs. Farshaw, where is she?" He asked Major Bordon.

"Mrs. Farshaw, who said she was Miss Jutland," Premmon said with an angry sniff. O'Hara nodded agreement. The Reverend, he knew, was quite put out with the Major and his lady, for omitting vital details and speaking outright lies. He was a clergyman, a Reverend, a man of the cloth. He considered such antics to be sin - as did O'Hara. What sort of fellow lied to a Clergyman? What sort of woman did? _Miss Jutland_, indeed.

"With respect, General, I have left her where she is safe," Bordon replied.

O'Hara tried - Gods - how he tried, to keep his voice reasonable. "This matter can not be resolved unless Miss Jutland is here to declare whether this man is her husband or not."

"He is not," Bordon said. "I am her fiancé."

"Mrs. Farshaw," Premmon said, voice iron, "has admitted to me that Lieutenant Farshaw is indeed her husband. She described him and this young man matches that description."

"Miss Jutland believed him to be dead," Bordon said. "She has moved on with her life, we are now engaged and will marry. Their marriage ended the moment she received word he died."

"Preposterous," Premmon's nostrils flared. "That is not how it works, as you well know, having trained yourself as a Clergyman. Mr. Farshaw would need to be thought dead for several years, before the marriage could be considered to be void!"

"As you have already explained to him, back at Fresh Water," O'Hara said. "Bordon, you have barely been in this room for five minutes and you are already trying my patience. And it was Miss Jutland I summoned, not you."

"I will speak for her," Richard declared with a lift of his chin.

"As what, her fiancé? Only her husband can speak for her, therefore I will speak for her," Calvin Farshaw, who had been silent until now, spoke up. He was struggling - oh so hard - to maintain his composure. The whole thing was ridiculous, a riotous laugh, he wanted to smash Bordon's face in.

"As Miss Jutland has already confirmed," Premmon said. "But to be certain this man's claim is true, she must come here and identify him!"

"Mrs. Farshaw," Calvin corrected, voice hard. "She stopped being Miss Jutland five years ago, on the day we were married, before both our fathers and our itinerant clergyman."

Bordon glared, lip curled. "Harmony told me all about it," he said, adding pointedly, "she has told me everything." Bordon advanced on Calvin. "Every single thing you did to her. Every single thing you made her do."

"Good," Calvin said. "She admits I'm her husband then, doesn't she?" To Premmon and O'Hara, he said, "with respect, I've had enough of this. I demand that my wife be bought to me at once."

Premmon nodded, began to move toward the door. Bordon looked to O'Hara, who made no move to stop Premmon. Realising he did not have the support of either the Reverend or his General and that Harmony was going to be bought to her husband, he began to panic.

"You don't know what this man has done to her!" Richard cried, desperate, to O'Hara. "He beat her, she lost her baby because of him!"

"It is fully within a husband's right to give his wife discipline when," Calvin was very quick to declare. "As for her losing the baby, that had nothing to do with my giving her a damned slap."

"A slap!" Richard shouted, rounding on him. "You did more than that, you damned bastard!"

"You've been duped, sir," Calvin said, folding his arms across his chest. "You've known her what, a few months? I've known Harmony her whole life. Believe me when I tell you, she's always been prone toward her little fancies, at times she even tells outright lies. You can't trust a single thing that comes out of her mouth."

"You're the damned liar!" Bordon quivered with rage and frustration. He believed Harmony wholeheartedly, but Premmon and O'Hara might not.

"Yet she's the one who told Reverend Premmon here that her name is Miss Jutland!" Calvin shot back. "She's the one that led him to believe she's never been married. She lied to a clergyman!"

When Richard saw Premmon nodding, he saw red. He understood only too well that Farshaw was trying to discredit Harmony, so that everyone would think her a liar, and Farshaw a saint. "You're a damned little snake!" He shouted as he uncoiled like a whip. He seized Farshaw by the throat and hauled him up against the wall.

Not one to take an attack lightly, Calvin threw a punch, his knuckled glancing off Richard's chin. Richard's head snapped back, he recovered quickly, his own fist snapped out, slammed into Calvin's stomach.

The brawl Bordon had been itching for had begun. Disgusted, O'Hara stormed across the chamber, threw open the door, barked a command that had several soldiers rushing in to pull the two combatants apart. Both were restrained, though Farshaw did not appear to need it. After resisting initially, he now held himself still in his captors grips. Not so Bordon, who was like a leashed wild boar, trying to throw off the restraining soldiers so he could again go for Farshaw's throat.

It was a disgusting display and O'Hara was having none of it.

"From the start, it was a foregone conclusion. Major Bordon, you can not marry a woman who is already legally married! I understand you both believed Mrs. Farshaw's husband to be dead, but as that is clearly not the case, your engagement is valid no longer! Reverend Premmon has formally ended your betrothal. She is another man's wife! You have no legal right to Miss Jutland or Mrs. Farshaw or whatever she wishes to call herself. The rights of a husband supersede those of a fiancé. I am sending Farshaw with a guard to retrieve his wife. You will be detained until it is done!"

"Gods, no!" Richard bellow, fighting even harder. "Please, General, don't -"

"Enough!" O'Hara shouted. "I understand you to be in love with her, but she belongs to another man! Before God and her father, she said her vows! She is this man's wife and you shall interfere no further!"

The fight drained from Richard, he slumped in his guards grips. "At least… Sir, please, at least let me be the one to go to her."

"Absolutely not. Perhaps if your behaviour had been anything to what it has been, I might have allowed it! But that ship has sailed, Major! You should have bought her here earlier, when I summoned her. If you ever dare to circumvent one of my direct orders again, you shall be put in the stocks!" To the guards restraining Richard, O'Hara snapped, "remove the Major to another chamber and hold him there!"

"No, please," Richard begged. "Let me remain. I won't cause any more trouble, I vow it on my honour. I should be allowed to remain to support Harmony."

"My wife thought I was dead," Calvin snapped, immediately incensed. "I am not. My wife is about to be reunited with her husband, you have no part in this. My wife does not need another man's support!"

"I know what you did to her!" Bordon shouted. "I will not allow you near her, ever again!"

"You have no right to interfere in another man's marriage," Calvin hurled back. "I have the legal right to her, you do not!"

"Remove him, for the Lord's sake!" O'Hara snapped and Bordon was dragged, still bellowing and protesting, from the chamber.

* * *

As soon as Farshaw was gone, O'Hara went to the chamber where Bordon was being detained. As soon as he walked in, Richard rose to his feet and began begging, before O'Hara even opened his mouth.

"Sir, she does not wish to return to him. She loves me! For four months now, we've been together!"

"Bordon -"

"We've a child on the way!" Richard said.

"So the Reverend told me," O'Hara said. "It makes no difference, Major. All it means is that you got a child on the wife of another man. It does not give you any right to her!"

"How can you say that? I'm the father of her child, does that not give me any power here? I am her fiancé!"

"Were her fiancé," O'Hara corrected bluntly and Bordon drew a sharp breath. "This is one fact that you are going to have to accept, Major. You are engaged no longer. Mrs. Farshaw WILL be reunited with her husband. As its father, you have full authority over the child she carries, of course, you may wish to consider raising it yourself, when she gives birth. But you have none over the woman herself. And it certainly does not give you any right to meddle in Lieutenant Farshaw's marriage. She belongs with her husband -"

"You mean she belongs to her husband," Richard cut in hotly.

"Yes, I do. And Sir, do not think to interrupt me again," O'Hara said in a voice gone chill as winter. He studied Bordon carefully, and then snapped, " 'to death do us part'! To _death_, Major! And as Farshaw is very much alive, Mrs. Farshaw will be returned to him! You, Major Bordon, will simply have to do your utmost to forget her!"

"Simply!" Richard gasped, utterly offended. "I love Harmony! How in the world could I 'simply' forget her? With respect, General, did you not hear me earlier? Farshaw beat her!"

"As is a husband's right," O'Hara said with a distasteful twist to his lips. The look of disgust showed what he thought of a man who exercised this right.

"Surely we can intercede if he hurts her again!" Bordon pressed. He had seen the General's expression and now knew how little O'Hara thought of that particular 'husbandly right'. "We can take steps to protect her, to prevent him from beating her again!"

"At least you have finally accepted that she is to return to him," O'Hara said dryly. "Hear me now, Major. I will not meddle in the affairs between a man and his wife. And I will not tolerate anyone else doing so, either. You, Sir, will not interfere in any way. That is an order, do you understand?" Bordon drew himself up to full height, his back ramrod straight. O'Hara eyed the Major carefully. Bordon's face was a mask of stone, but O'Hara could see the cracks beginning to re-emerge in the Officer's facade. He's lost control earlier and now, he was hanging on by a hair, and the slightest provocation could tip him back over the edge.

"And how exactly will I interfere, Sir," Richard said softly. "When I'm told Farshaw's Company is to be stationed in the city?"

O'Hara snorted.

"They shall be here for several days yet," he ground out. "I have no doubt you will find every excuse under the sun to slip away from Fresh Water to visit Mrs. Farshaw in camp before she leaves. I warn you now, I will not tolerate any such foolishness!"

O'Hara made a visible effort to get control of his anger. Drawing a long, slow breath, he waited several moments before continuing in a softer, calmer voice, "Bordon, despite what Mrs. Farshaw believed, she was never a widow. She can not marry you while her husband is still alive."

"That can be easily rectified," Bordon said darkly, and very unwisely.

"Major Bordon!" O'Hara snapped, pushed beyond his limit. Bordon took a full step back, shocked by force of his superior's anger. "You've lost your ability to reason! Must I order you confined until Mrs. Farshaw leaves with her husband?" The General glared, his eyes piercing as he watched Bordon struggle to pull himself together. "I will do so, and you will not be released until I have received word that Mrs. Farshaw has reached the city!"

"No, Sir, that will not be necessary," Bordon swallowed hard, fearing that O'Hara would do exactly as threatened.

"I will hear no more of this!" O'Hara continued to rage. "You WILL get yourself under control! You WILL remember your rank, your station, and that we are currently at WAR! You WILL cease acting like a love struck fool! Hear me now, Major," he said darkly, taking a step forward to stand toe to toe with Richard. "You will stay away from Lieutenant Farshaw! No harm is to come to him! Disobey my command at your peril!"

"Yes, Sir!" Bordon said loudly, staring straight ahead, his eyes not focused on O'Hara's face even though the General stood directly before him. After holding his stare for several moments, O'Hara finally released Bordon by turning his back on him in disgust.


	80. Chapter 80 - Retrieving Harmony

Chapter 80 - Retrieving Harmony: 

Calvin anticipated no further opposition. Not from Bordon, who was contained back at the Ferguson's. And certainly not from Harmony. He marched into Fresh Water with Captain McLauglin to one side of him, Reverend Premmon to his other. They stopped in the large hall, while a servant disappeared deeper in the house to let Harmony know of his arrival. There were others in the house, Green Dragoons and young women, well to do ladies of breeding and fortune. One and all, they studied Calvin with interest, seeming to be making excuses to venture through the hall in order to look at him.

One such, a fellow as tall as Calvin, approached.

"Colonel Tavington," Premmon saluted. "May I present Captain McLaughlin of the Second Regiment of Foot, and Lieutenant Farshaw of the same. Lieutenant Farshaw has come to retrieve his wife, by order of General O'Hara."

Calvin gave Premmon a surprised look, startled that the Reverend had mentioned O'Hara at all. Did he expect this Officer - Colonel Tavington - to give opposition as well? The look on his face suggested he did. Calvin stiffened as he looked Tavington up and down, taking in the measure of the man.

"McLaughlin," Colonel Tavington nodded at the Captain, then his eyes landed on Calvin. "Lieutenant Farshaw. Miss Jutland, as she is known to us, has become a very close friend of mine and of my wife," Tavington drawled as he lifted his chin and stared down his nose at Calvin. The Colonel's voice was as cold and hard as the planes of his face. Calvin's eyes widened, and he took a full step back before realising it. Annoyed by the Colonel's chill reception, Calvin steeled his spine and took his place beside the Captain again. Tavington continued, "you will make Mrs. Farshaw available to Mrs. Tavington, I hope? Mrs. Tavington has expressed her desire to visit Mrs. Farshaw and for Mrs. Farshaw to visit her here."

It was not a request, and Calvin did not take it as such.

"Your friendship does my wife honour, Sir," he replied in a clear and strong voice. "We shall be returning to the city within the week, but while we are stationed here, I am more than happy for our wives to call upon one another."

William inclined his head. The servant returned.

"This way, Sir," she said, then led the way toward the stairs. Calvin followed, leaving the other men behind.

* * *

He was shown to a chamber with three small beds. The room was empty except for Harmony, who sat on one of the beds, looking as though she'd been weeping. On the way up the stairs, the servant - or more likely a slave, for she was a negro - told him that Mrs. Farshaw shared the room with two other young women, Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins. The two other beds would belong to those two young ladies, Calvin supposed. He was glad Harmony had been sharing with them instead of with Bordon. He doubted that she had been having relations with the Officer; she wasn't the type. While Harmony used to enjoy bedding Calvin before their troubles had started, he knew she was no whore. Just look at the fuss she'd made, when he'd forced her into Clement's bed. And how quickly she'd fled it, as soon as she had the chance. He had doubted she would be screwing Bordon, but seeing for himself that she had been sharing with two other women, confirmed it.

She stared at him as he closed the door behind him, shutting them in together.

"Don't look so pleased to see me," Calvin said, folding his arms across his chest.

"You," Harmony said between sobs, so overcome she was barely able to form the words. "Have ruined… _everything_."

"Jesus, Harm, I'm yer fuckin' husband. You can't go marryin' someone else! What were you goin' to tell our parents when you bring that bastard home and I come walkin' in?"

"I thought you were dead!" She gasped out.

"So you go about calling yourself Miss Jutland?" Calvin spat. "Even a widow, you were still Mrs. Farshaw."

"Clements didn't know Miss Jutland! I didn't want him to find me!"

"Yeh, thought that was the reason," Calvin shrugged. "Stupid fucking fool thought you were in love with him. That if he sent me off to die, you'd be free to marry him. But the first thing you do when you hear I'm dead is run off from him," he laughed softly, still amused by it. "Heard he was lookin' for you for months. But shit, Harm, callin' yourself Miss Jutland don't _make_ you Miss fuckin' Jutland. And anyway, the rumours about my death were incorrect, as you can see. I don't care what you've been doing these last few months, I don't care if you think you've fallen in love. You are my wife by damn and we are going to leave, no one here – and I mean no one – has the right to stop it."

"You can't… You… I can't believe this… Cal, you don't love me. You don't care… Just… Can't you just let me go?"

"And what will I tell your da when I show up home without you, huh? Or what will you tell them, when you show up with this new husband, when I'm still alive and well? We're married Harm, for better or for worse. Get your things, you're coming with me."

"I can't… I love him, Calvin. You can't do this to me. After everything else you've done to me. Please, just go!"

Fury spiked. Calvin seized Harmony by both her arms, hauled her to the feet and shoved her hard up against the wall, his hand snapped out, fingers curled around her throat. "You love him, huh? You see him in here? Is he rushin' in here to protect you? No, he fuckin' ain't," he ground out, holding her throat tight enough to make her terrified eyes bulge. "Because you are my fucking wife! Now get your Goddamned things together, so we can fucking leave!" He released her abruptly. She gasped in a deep, frantic breath and slid down the wall. She was useless to him like this; he cast his eyes around the room, trying to discern which belongings might be Harmony's. He started by dragging out the chest from under the bed she'd been sitting on, he threw it open and began tossing in items from the nightstand. "That Reverend ain't goin' to marry you to that fucking simpleton." He ranted as he worked. "Premmon, or whatever the hell his name is. He's downstairs right now, waiting. You want to take it up with him, you can. But don't you fuckin' go voicing no objections where my Captain and all those other fine people down there can hear you. And you wipe your fucking eyes, too - you let them see you've been crying and by damn, I'll give you something to cry for. Go and wash your face, for crying out loud."

Using the wall for purchase, Harmony began working her way back to her feet. She stumbled across the chamber to a large table, where one of the maids had left water and a basin. She washed her face, dabbed her cheeks dry. Where was Richard? Not here. That much she knew. He'd be in the chamber brawling with Calvin, if he was able. Which meant he was not able. Which meant Harmony was being given no choice by anyone. She had to leave, with Calvin. She swallowed hard. She had to leave with the husband who sold her into another man's bed, and then preceded to beat her until she lost the baby she was carrying, in case it was that other man's bastard. It might have been Calvin's, for all he knew. But he beat her anyway, on the for the mere possibility that he might be forced to raise that man's bastard. And never mind that it was Calvin who put her in Clement's bed to begin with.

For Chastity Whitney. So he could afford his high society mistress.

"I'm not going through that again," she whispered.

"What?" He barked.

"I am not going through that again," she said, lifting her voice higher. She turned to face him. "I swear, Calvin, as God is my witness, I am not going through that again."

"What, fucking Clements? I told you, he's dying on a prison ship right now."

"Not with him. Not with anyone. I vow, if you try it -"

"What?" He began to advance on her. "What will you do, aye?" As tall as she was, Calvin loomed over her, his very presence a threat. "What will you do about it, Harm?"

"I will write to our fathers and I will tell them _everything_," she whispered, her hands trembling. As frightened as she was, her voice was iron. She saw the trepidation cross his face. "That's what I will do. It's not like it was before, not now. I have friends, now. People who care about me. People who will check in on me, to make sure I'm alright. People who can send a letter to my father, who will come tearing down from the Shoals like nothing you've ever seen before and when he reaches you, he will rip you to shreds, Calvin. He will beat you to _fucking_ atoms."

Calvin studied her, eyes lingering on her face. She was serious, she meant ever word; and she had the means to see it accomplished, also. He curled his lip. "Jesus, Harm, I wasn't fuckin' gonna," he shrugged. "I'm not goin' to risk that some stupid fool's goin' to fall in love with you and then try to kill me off to marry you like Clements did. But you should know," he leaned in close, determined to gain the upper hand again. "We ain't goin' to be here for all that long. I came with my unit and in a few days, we'll both leave with my unit. We'll return to the city. So these friends of yours? You won't be with them for much longer. Don't think to threaten me with them again, ain't?"

"I didn't threaten you with them," she said, lifting her chin. "I threatened you with my father. And I can get a letter to him easily enough from the city now, for I have friends there, too. You try to put me in some other man's bed, even for one night, even for one hour, and I swear, my father will know about it right quick."

"I told you, I wasn't fuckin' gonna," he said, stepping back from her. He returned to continue packing for her, he threw open a small basket, then recoiled in disgust at finding a bunch of blood coated rags in there. The smell was horrid. "Someone's got her damned menses. What a stench." He slammed it shut, moved away. "This yours?" He asked, picking up a bejewelled net of lace.

"It's Miss Middleton's, put it back," Harmony said. "You're not stealing from these people, Calvin. Don't use me as an excuse to try."

"Then pack your own fuckin' bag," he snapped. Finally, Harmony began moving about the chamber, collecting up her own belongings. "Those are some fine clothes."

Harmony froze, she stared down at the silk gown she was placing in the chest - a gift from Richard - and wariness traced her spine. Would Calvin steal it from her? Would he sell it? Or give it as a gift to his whore? "It's mine," she whispered. "You're not stealing from _me_, either."

"You stupid bitch," he seized her arm and hauled her around to face him. "Everything you own, belongs to me. _You_ belong to me. All of this," he pointed at the contents of the chest. "Is mine. And not even your father would argue that."

Harmony stared at him, thinking of the money she'd saved, the cash she had hidden in a partition of the chest. Of the lovely clothes, that were worth quite a bit, if Calvin were to take them and sell them. And they were returning to the city, where he would have need of money to support his mistress.

"Her husband is rich beyond our imaginings, Calvin! She doesn't need my things!"

"Nor will she get them," he released her arm, but not without giving her a little push, first. "I've other ways to give Chastity what she wants."

"What, you still gambling?" Harmony asked, worried that's what he meant. She could see her belongings being sold - not to give to Chastity Whitney, but to pay his gambling debts.

"Nah," he laughed. "As you said, her husband's rich. And fucking stupid. After I fucked Chastity the other night, I went downstairs and stole a couple silver candlesticks. I got a good price for them, too. Her own husband can support me fucking his wife."

"You're despicable," she said, throwing the lid shut. "You both are."

"Why? She didn't know I stole them," Calvin shrugged.

"She's despicable because she's married and she's screwing you and accepting your gifts when really, you're paying her just like you would any other doxy. God, I can't go back to all that," she closed her eyes, the enormity of her despair overwhelming. And Richard… she was only going to be at Fresh Water for a few more days and then she would have to leave with Calvin. Was she even going to see Richard again? Tears sprang to her eyes and she quickly dashed them away, knowing Calvin would be furious. He'd warned her, he didn't want those below to see her weeping. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. Gods, how could this be happening? Her engagement, over before it could truly begin. Her marriage, that would never happen now. And Richard, she might never see him again, never feel his arms around her, never hear him whisper his love in her ear. It was wrenching, the agony was soul deep. She choked back a sob, struggled to maintain composure for she knew what Calvin was capable of and there was no one there to protect her. For he was her husband and no one had the right to interfere if he beat her. And he likely would, if she embarrassed him downstairs. She shoved her fist into her mouth, bit down on her fingers, tried to concentrate on the pain of that, instead of the agony searing her soul.

"Jesus, you'll forget him soon enough," he said, callous.

"How would you know?" She asked softly, weakly. "You've never been in love. I don't even know if I'll ever see him again!" She finished with a sob.

"Of course you won't see him again. Jesus," Calvin snorted. "Look, I don't care, alright? That you're in love with him. I don't care if you want to cry and fucking weep over him. But you're not to do it where anyone can see, understood?"

She swallowed hard, eyes still closed, breathed slowly through her nostrils, and nodded.

"It'll be better this time, alright?" He said. "Remember how it was when we first married? It was good back then, wasn't it? We'll go back to that, it'll be like it was before we went to the city," he said.

She didn't want to go with him, didn't want to try to make it work. She wanted Richard, she wanted to beg and scream and rail and pull out her hair and grab the doorframe so no one could pull her out. And if Richard was there, she likely would have. But he wasn't. The one person who would move heaven and hell to help her, and even he was unable to. Not in this. And still, Calvin droned on, voice cajoling. She didn't believe a word of it.

"It was the city that did it to us," he said, as if somehow, a portion of the blame could possibly be attributed to her, as well. "The damned fucking city. We were happy when we were back home. Remember our wedding night? How frightened you were? Only to damned near wake my parents with all your moaning. It'll be like that again. Gods, we should just go. Shit on the city. And Chastity… you're right about her; she loves it when I fuck her but I don't get to fuck her unless I give her gifts. When I think of all the time and money I wasted on her… We could have been getting ahead, back home. We should go home." His voice lowered to a murmur, he slid his arms around her waist, his lips close to her ear. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Harm? To see our folks again. And Claire. Hamish. Amity. It's been so long."

Now, finally, words that worked like balm for her bruised soul. Home. Her family. She might never see Richard again, but she could be with her family. She turned to Calvin, in the circle of his arms, though his fingers on her waist felt wrong. They were not Richard's hands. They were her husband's, but they did not belong on her. She stared up into green eyes, wishing they were Richard's blue she was staring up into.

"You'll take furlough?" She said. He gave a start of surprise.

"Yeh, furlough," he said quickly. "Don't tell no one yet, though. Let me work it out with my superiors."

"But you will, you'll take me home?" She asked and he nodded. "When we go home, I don't want to come back with you. Not to the city. Not to camp. I want to stay home. Promise me, you'll let me stay home," she begged. "Promise me that, and I swear, I won't cry in front of anyone."

"If that's what's goin' to make you alright with everything, then yes, I promise. I will take you home, and I will leave you there. With our folks."

"Oh, Gods, I want my mamma," the longing for her family was every bit as strong as it was for Richard. She dropped her face into her hands and began to weep. She could no longer be with Richard, but at least her family was in reach. "Please take me home, Cal. Please take me home!"

"Yeh, yeh, alright. Jesus," he said, pulling her against his chest. He was gratified when he felt her fingers clutch his hips. To think, all he'd needed to do was promise to take her home and she was all over him again. It was perfect, for it was where he longed to go as well. Not on fucking furlough though, he intended to stay there with her, with their families. He didn't trust her though, not enough to tell her that - not when her friends were the fucking British and Loyalists. He'd give her what she wanted, he'd take her home and he'd let her stay there; he wasn't lying. Calvin pulled her closer, nestled his lips and nose in her hair and drew in of her scent. "Jesus, you even smell the same," his voice thickened with arousal. He drew back, lifted her chin, began kissing her. She returned it, as compliant as a wife should be. He began to edge her backward toward the bed.

"I can't," she said, her hands palm down on his chest, pushing him back.

"Why not? Fuck, how long's it been for you, months? You must be hot for it by now." He was pulling up her skirts, still kissing her, still trying to coax her. "Let's do it in a bed while we've got the chance, otherwise it'll have to be in my tent down in camp."

"No! I've got my menses!" She lied. "That's my linen you saw." It was Rebecca Middleton's, but Harmony had to think of something. She had to do something, anything, to stop him bedding her. Though in truth, even she knew she would not be able to stop him for long. But for now, she could. It worked, for he drew back, looking vastly disappointed.

"Damn and blast it," he said.

"It'll have to be in your tent eventually anyway," she murmured. At least it would not be in the same house where she spent her joyful nights with Richard.

"Yeh, 'suppose. Well, there ain't any point stayin' then. That everything?" He asked and she nodded. "You'll need more rags," he said and she opened a drawer and pulled out napkins she did not need. She put them in her chest. "It's too damned big and heavy to carry, I'll ask that Tavington to have it sent down to camp."

"You met Tavington?" She asked and he nodded. She swayed a little. If he'd met Tavington, and if even Tavington hadn't tried to help her… She truly was lost.

"Let's go," he said, pulling her arm through his. "Here, when we're below, you're not goin' to embarrass me by showin' 'em you're pining for another man, alright?" She nodded. "So no more tears. Hold it all back until we're in the tent. You can cry and sob all you like, then, but you do it quietly, ain't?"

"Yes, Calvin," she said.

"I'm going to introduce you to my Captain, you're going to tell him how overjoyed you are, to discover I'm still alive after all. They'll suspect our situation is… complicated, what with you acceptin' the proposal of another man. They'll be giving us side ways looks, I suspect. But you'll make it look like you're glad I'm back, like it's me you want to be with. Me you love. You're not going to embarrass me, got it?"

"Yes, Calvin."

"It doesn't help matters that he came haring over to object to you coming back to me. Fucking bastard. If anyone asks, you'll say that was all his doing, not yours. That he made you stay here, when all you wanted, was to come to me as soon as you heard I was alive. He stopped you, he objected, not you."

"Yes, Calvin."

"When we're down there, you stare up at me, like I'm your everythin'. You keep hold of me arm like you're too afraid to let me go ever again, you keep real close to me, and for Christ's sake, smile. Do it. Smile now, Harmony."

She tried, but it was a weak thing. The second attempt was tremulous. By the time she tried a fifth time, he was finally happy with it. Doing as he commanded, for her father was far away and there was no one else to help avoid the back of Calvin's hand, she clung to his arm and kept that stupid smile in place, feeling every bit the traitor. Richard would understand though, wouldn't he? She had to protect herself now. That's what this was about now - protecting herself and her unborn child.

For her baby, she would do anything.

And so she kept the smile plastered in place and when they reached downstairs, she grinned for all she was worth as she was presented to Captain McLaughlin, who was stiff and tense at first, but began to look relieved as Calvin and Harmony continued with their little show, their happy reunion. She let the charade continue, nodding agreement as Calvin provided a ridiculous account of Harmony's reaction to seeing him again. It all came rushing back to her, the old days Calvin spoke of, when she would have to sit there, agreeing with everything he said, to give his lies validity to whatever audience he was boasting to. 'Isn't that right, Harm? You tell them, Harm.' He would say and she would nod and grin. 'Oh yes, that's exactly how it happened.' She would confirm, no matter how ridiculous his boast. And because she said it was so, the audience believed it, no matter how ridiculous the boast sounded to their ears. For if she had seen it or heard it as well, then it must be true. She was doing it for him again now, it was astounding, how quickly he'd forced her to slide back into her old life. She felt bile climb up her throat and into her mouth, the sharp, pungent taste as foul as the lies dripping from Calvin's tongue.

She could feel eyes on her, boring into her. Emily Wilkins, who was no doubt gleeful. Miss Middleton, Miss Wilkins. Brownlow and Dalton.

Beth and Colonel Tavington. Harmony met Beth's eyes, her friend was looking astonished. Confused.

Betrayed.

Surely Beth understood? They could not help her. They could not protect her, or her baby. She had to help herself.

"I need to say goodbye," she said to Calvin, who nodded. She approached Beth, who stared back gravely, in utter silence. Harmony took both Beth's lax hands into hers and stared at the ground between them. "I have to," she whispered, her voice pitched so low, only Tavington and Beth could hear her. She stared at the ground, unable to meet Beth's disapproving gaze. "He told me I was to do nothing to embarrass him. Neither of you can help me. You can't protect me or my baby. I must do that myself and I will do what I must. Please tell Richard I love him." All of this, without meeting Beth's eyes. She dropped Beth's hands and began to turn away.

"Oh, Harm!" Beth cried and was suddenly hurtling toward her, into Harmony's arms. With an unfeigned gasp of relief and despair, Harmony clung tight to her friend.

"Please try to understand," she whispered in Beth's ear. "Please, I love Richard. I'm not betraying him. I'm not! But he can't help me, I have to -"

"Shh, shhh, it's alright," Beth whispered back as she dragged the taller woman down into her embrace. "It's alright. We'll find a way out of this, Harm. Just… until we do, be strong. You're doing the right thing."

"There is no way out of this," Harmony said, then she began to sob, which terrified her because Calvin had been explicit in his instructions that she was to sob in front of no one. But that only made her panic, which made her sob the harder. She felt a strong hand on her back, Calvin's. Comforting? She doubted it. It was a warning.

"They are close, my wife told me." She heard Calvin say and she knew he was speaking of her friendship with Beth. "She is going to miss the friends she has made here. And she hasn't seen her parents for five years and I've promised to take her home, for she's dreadfully homesick." She felt his hand rubbing her back now. "Are you alright, dearest?" He asked her.

She lifted her head from Beth's shoulder. Beth and Tavington were both watching gravely and Harmony from the concern on their face, what hers must look like. Lips twisted, her expression filled with hatred. She wiped her cheeks, her eyes were flint as she met Beth's gaze.

"I'm fine," she forced her lips to form a semblance of a weak smile. "You're right, I'm going to miss Mrs. Tavington."

"Your husband has already agreed to allow for Mrs. Tavington to visit you," Tavington said.

"Of course, you will," Calvin said, offering Beth a gallant bow. "As often as you wish, until we leave for the city."

Beth tried not to glare at the youth who was causing so much trouble for her dear friends. She embraced Harmony one final time.

"I will tell him," she whispered hurriedly and Harmony stiffened in her arms. Beth raised her voice. "I shall visit twice a day, I promise it!"

"While I look forward to that, you will not be able to keep that promise once I'm in the city" Harmony choked, biting her lip. "Calvin has promised to take me home, which is even further. We'll only have these few days, after that, I might never see you again, Beth!" whispering, she said, "I might never see him again."

"You will," Tavington said, his voice like granite. She startled, surprised he had heard her. Had Calvin heard too? She shot a glance over her shoulder, but he wasn't scowling, so he must not have. She turned back to Tavington, her look hopeful. Could he do it? Could he bring her together with Richard, one last time? He inclined her head, as if answering her unspoken question.

"This is all so sudden!" Beth sniffled. "It'll be alright, Harm. I'll come visit you, we'll talk about it. We'll trade letters. I'll… carry you letters… the others. From Maggie, who isn't here to say goodbye."

Harmony choked back a sob, for she new damned well that Beth wasn't truly speaking of her sister. She was another who would help her with Richard.

"Thank you," she said, reaching out to grip William's hand. "Both of you."

"We'll do all we can," Beth said softly.

"Sir, I've left Mrs. Farshaw's chest upstairs," Calvin said, his hand moving up her back to curl around her shoulder. "I shall return with a wagon to collect it later."

"I will have it delivered to camp," Tavington replied, for he did not want Calvin to ever set foot in the house again.

"Thank you, Sir," Calvin said graciously. "We really must leave, wife. You'll see Mrs. Tavington again, this isn't the final farewell yet."

It will be though, Harmony thought. And even if Beth and William design a scheme for me to see Richard, eventually there'll be a final farewell there, too. She dropped William's hand, disentangled herself from Beth's arms, allowed Calvin to steer her toward the door, his fingers on her shoulder all the while. They were a reminder to smile, to be joyful, to stand near him, to pretend to love him. The Captain glanced their way and, because he was watching, she lifted Calvin's hand from her shoulder and wrapped her arm through his.

They reached his horse, he mounted, then held his hand down to help her up behind him. When she glanced back at the house, she saw that Beth was waving, but then the horse was whirled about and they were galloping away, surrounded by the soldiers of Calvin's Company.

* * *

"How is Bordon?" William whispered to Patrick Brownlow. "How many has he had?"

The Major was sitting with his elbows on his knees, a half drunk glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. His head was bowed and he only shot Tavington a cursory glance when the Colonel strode into Benjamin Martin's office.

"Morose, Sir," Patrick replied. "And this is his third. What can we do for him?" Though Patrick had been upset when Margaret fled the Plantation, he had not been in anywhere near the state that Bordon was in now. Though he felt a strong infatuation for Margaret, his feelings were not so intense as Bordon's were for Harmony. How could they be? The lass was only fifteen and they'd known each other only a few weeks. But what he did feel for her gave him some inclination of what Bordon might be going through. "How can we help him?"

"We can't," William replied grimly, his eyes on Bordon. "The heartache needs to run its course. We can get him rip roaring drunk. We can get him a doxy or three. Or I can sit with him, share a few drinks and let him talk himself hoarse. I will know soon enough which action to take. Please wait outside in the corridor, Cornet, in case I have need of you."

"Yes, Sir," Patrick was relieved to be dismissed, for he had no idea how to help Bordon, but was pleased he was not abandoning the Major entirely. He strode from the room and took up position in the hallway to wait the Commandants pleasure.

Back in the office, William poured a whiskey for himself, and then sat down.

"No doxies. Not one nor three," Richard said and William arched an eyebrow. "If your wife can spare you, let's just keep to the rip roaring drunk part of your plan."

"That's worked well for me in the past," William smiled in remembrance. "The last time we did, we burned an inn to the ground and thrashed a good seventy five rebels."

"The number grows with each retelling," Bordon said dutifully, his mind not entirely on the conversation.

Sensing that the Major was not in a particularly talkative mood, William launched into a one sided diatribe as he recounted the events of that evening. By the time he was on his second whiskey, he gave up, for he had not managed to make Richard smile even once.

"What are they doing now, do you think?" Richard asked, swilling his third whiskey. It was dark out, Harmony had been with her husband for several hours now. And there wasn't a damned thing Richard could do about it. O'Hara had only released him a short while ago, he'd been escorted to Fresh Water, where he'd been commanded to stay. Richard was a dutiful Officer, he did not disobey commands, not lightly. This one, however, he most certainly would have done. But what would be the point? O'Hara had made it clear that he was going to have his own men stationed around Captain McLaughlin's unit, soldiers who were under orders to not let Richard step foot in Farshaw's camp. He could disobey O'Hara and try, but he'd be dragged back to Fresh Water so fast, his head would spin.

"They will have settled into their quarters, I'd imagine," William said, filling himself a third and then topping up Richard's. "Perhaps they are having dinner."

"A filthy tent in the middle of the filthy Regiment - he's a Foot Officer, William! Infantry!" Richard scowled into his glass.

"Not good enough for her," William agreed. "Look, I know exactly what you're going through. When Beth left Charlestown… I understand what it's like. When Beth left, when her engagement was announced, when I thought I'd never see her again, I thought I was losing my mind. I thought I might go mad."

"You were mad," Richard said with a bare whisper of a smile. A ghost of amusement, quickly gone.

"You see? And so I can understand you completely," William replied. "I know what you're going through. For all the good it does you," he added, sighing heavily in defeat. For telling Richard that he knew what he was going through didn't change that Richard was going through it. It didn't lessen the agony, the heartache. Harmony had no more than two days, perhaps three, before she would be forced to leave with her husband. Falling back on silence, he refilled their glasses and the two began to drink in earnest.

Hours later, they were still seated in the office. Soldiers came and went replenishing candles and lanterns, bringing in trays of food. Brownlow bought them another bottle of whiskey to replace the one Tavington and Bordon had consumed, and William invited him to join them. Beth came in at one point, she stroked Bordon's hair, kissed William's cheek and bid them all a good night. William and Patrick ate with a soldiers appetite, but Richard ignored the fare entirely. Wilkins joined them, Dalton, Simms and the Middleton twins.

It became a lively affair, with Wilkins boasting of his time as Burwell's prisoner, with Arthur Simms insisting it was all true - every word of it.

"And so I grabbed him, like this," Wilkins curled his fingers around the bowl of his tankard as though it were a man's neck, gripping it tight. "And I shoved him up against the wall. I told him if he spoke to me like that again, I'd choke the fucking life out of him!" The men, even Tavington, laughed uproariously - all except Richard, who stared intently into his wine cup.

"That's exactly how it happened!" Arthur slapped his thigh. "I think that rebel damned near shit himself too - here's James, towering over him like an ox, his fingers around that rebels neck and his arm like this," he pulled back his fist and held it there, poised as though ready for the punch. "Burwell himself came running - the man's so old, I can't believe he could run so fast as that! He came himself, all panicked and white faced, and had to haul James off!"

Another round of laughter. William was so deep in his cups, he had forgotten what the rebel had said that had set James off into a murderous rage, but he had not forgotten his friend, who was sinking deeper in despair despite the amount of whiskey he'd consumed, despite the jovial company he'd found himself in. Richard continued to sit quiet and solemn, his attention focused entirely on each goblet of whiskey as they were filled for him.

"A doxy, I think," William mused. "Yes, I think we need some doxies."

"You!" James roared, pointing at William. "What happened to 'my wife is the most beautiful in all the world, I never need to screw another?'"

"I didn't phrase it quite like that," William said ruefully with a slight twist to his lips. Most men he knew wouldn't hesitate to indulge in relations elsewhere now and again, especially when their wives had their menses, as Beth did not. Still, even with her bleeding, he'd promised her he would be faithful the day they married and he had no intention of straying from her. He would accompany the other men down to the tents solely to make certain Richard had company, in case he tried to leave their camp to pay a visit to the Second Regiment's. "Besides, I was not speaking of me."

"Well, I'm in, if you boys feel like a ride down to the tents?" James glanced around the room. "Unless you'll let us bring a few up into the house, William -"

"Jesus, James! Our wives are upstairs!" William spluttered.

"As if that matters! Oh well, I shall take my business to them," James slapped his tankard of ale down and rose to his feet.

"Well, I shall not," William said. He rose with them, however - he would accompany the other men down to the tents solely to make certain Richard had reinforcement, in case he went against O'Hara's command and tried pay a visit to the Second Regiment's.

In that, he need not have worried. All of the men were on their feet now, crowding the office. All of them except Richard.

"I'm not go'in down there," he slurred, drinking deep and gritting his teeth against the harsh fire as it burned his mouth and throat. "I'm stayin' here."

"Come now, the best cure for a broken heart is to have your pole licked by a doxy. Get him up, boys," James gestured. Michael and Marcus had been sitting closest to Bordon and the two gripped one arm each and hauled the Major up. As soon as he was moved, Richard's head swam and he toppled forward. The twins had not expected to be carrying his weight so suddenly and he slipped right out of their grasp. Richard grabbed a small table to steady himself but that was toppled with him, a sharp 'crack' and the legs were snapped. Glasses, pipes, bottles and all were scattered across the rug.

"Sorry," he muttered as Marcus and Michael managed to haul him to his feet. Staring down at the broken table, he said, "Beth isn't gonna be happy."

Arthur and Patrick darted forward, one to pick up the whiskey, the other to dab at the spilled wet patch on the expensive rug.

"She'll never notice," William lied. Beth kept an annoyingly close eye on every single item in her home, from the largest table to the smallest ornament and she gave him fits every single time something was broken or damaged in any way. She would know something dire had happened to the small table as soon as she saw that it was missing.

"Woah, Michael!" Richard declared. "You're damned drunk, you can't stand up straight!"

"It isn't me!" Michael protested. "You're the drunk one! You're too heavy, I can barely hold you up!"

"Ah, that's why the room's spinnin'," Richard said, stumbling to his right and causing Marcus to almost trip and drop them both.

"Put him to bed," Tavington commanded, seeing that Richard would be thoroughly incapable of enjoying a woman right then anyway.

"Really, Sir?" Marcus groaned, mortified as he shifted his weight to bear Richard up better. "Couldn't we just let him sleep here? He'd be nice and comfortable on the couch, we'll get him a blanket!"

"Bed," Tavington commanded again, knowing that Marcus did not want to try and get Richard up the stairs. It was a struggle, but the twins managed to get Richard up the stairs, though their cursing disrupted the house, drawing the women from their beds. Emily poked her head out of one door, Sarah and Rebecca from another. They shut their doors quickly when they saw all the men in the hallway. Beth came out of the room she shared with William. Wrapped in William's banyan, she followed him, the twins and Richard into Richard's room. The Major was thrown unceremoniously on the bed, fully clothed, boots and all.

"Please don't ask us to undress him," Michael begged.

"Just his boots," William replied as Beth unfolded a blanket. "And remove his pistol."

This was done and the twins retreated quickly, eager to be gone in case Tavington changed his mind. Beth laid the blanket across Bordon's body, then wiped his sweat slick brow with a damp cloth. He stared up at her gravely.

"Will you go visit her 'morrow?" He asked her.

"First thing," she promised.

"Bed's cold without her," was his last coherent sentence. He slurred out a few more, but the whiskey soon pulled him under into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	81. Chapter 81 - Curiosity Killed the Emily

Chapter 81 - Curiosity Killed the Emily:

Colonel Tavington led his Green Dragoons out from the Plantation to sweep the area, to search for rebel nests and chastise the locals who had been assisting them. During his absence, General Charles O'Hara called his adjutants to council, a meeting which all high ranking personnel were to attend. With Tavington away, that left Major Bordon, as his second in Command, to attend the meeting. O'Hara sent a messenger from the Ferguson residence to Fresh Water Plantation, and when the messenger returned without Bordon, O'Hara sent another. When this one returned empty handed also, O'Hara, beginning to grow irritated, and decided to summon the Major - in person. Mounting his stallion, and with several of his Aides in tow, he galloped the short distance to the Dragoon billet, where he tossed his reins to a waiting Private and climbed the steps of the manor house. His Aides followed dutifully as O'Hara strode into the foyer. Once inside the house, he stopped and waited to be seen by the passing servants. One of them could lead him to Bordon, he was certain. Several of them bowed and began to approach him, but at that moment, Mrs. Tavington herself rounded landing and began walking down the stairs.

O'Hara smiled at the girl, a friendly smile he hoped would put her at ease. He gave her that elegant bow, and she curtsied. Though he was impatient to be on his way with the Major, there was always time for the formalities.

"Mrs. Tavington, I trust you are well this morning?"

"I am, Sir, thank you for asking," she replied, stepping off the last step and gliding forward, stopping when she reached him. She was quite a small thing - short, but fine of figure and remarkably pretty. O'Hara could see what had attracted Tavington to the lass. And what had attracted Banastre too, if soldiers gossip could be believed. According to several Dragoons, Banastre had proposed to her well before Tavington did. O'Hara had been astonished to hear this, and had not given the gossip much credence at first. Banastre Tarleton had dandled so many women on his knee, he had probably lost count long since. He had been a favourite of the Philadelphia Loyalists two years before when the Battalion was quartered there. The women had competed for his attentions. His and several other Officers, Simcoe and Major Andre for instance. No doubt, when those fine Officers had moved out from Philadelphia, they had left many hearts broken; Loyalist women crying into their pillows. It astounded O'Hara that Banastre of all people had met the woman of his dreams and had been ready to settle into the life of a married man! It was Benjamin Martin's refusal that convinced O'Hara that Beth had no hidden agenda in marrying Tavington. For if there had been, why would they not simply accept Banastre for their dastardly plans? It would have been much simpler, to accept him, rather than trying to corner and seduce Tavington at a later date. Banastre had access to as much information as Tavington, and was almost of equally high rank. And Banastre had been first to propose marriage! The rebels could have used him in their grand conspiracy, if there had been one. No, O'Hara simply did not believe that line of thinking any longer.

"That was a nasty business yesterday, wasn't it?" O'Hara asked, thinking of Major Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw's terrible situation. He regretted his harsh words, and felt sympathy for Bordon during his grief and heart ache. "I do wonder how Mrs. Farshaw is, and I hope Bordon's concerns for her are unfounded."

"I hope so, too," Beth replied, politely careful in O'Hara's presence. "I wanted to visit with her today. William was going to come with me, but he's gone off patrolling… I suppose I can still go - he left several Dragoons to follow me about," she avoided glancing at the man sized shadows that hung back at the top of the stairs, her watch dogs who were there to protect her from the slightest danger. A stubbed toe? They were on hand to help her. It seemed a bit useless really, when she was in the safety of the manor. Though they did come in handy when she needed something to be carried. "I should have asked him before he left if he would allow them to take me to Farshaw's camp."

"I shall allow it myself," O'Hara declared and Beth arched an eyebrow. "I'm higher ranking than your William, Mrs. Tavington," his voce was amused as he replied to her unanswered question. "I can permit it." He glanced toward the shadows, and one Dragoon - Arthur Simms - stepped forward. "You will take a full escort of twenty," O'Hara told him. Arthur nodded and stepped back again. Beth would tell him herself when it was time to leave. O'Hara turned to her now. "Mrs. Tavington, I wonder if you could show me to Major Bordon now? His presence is required and I've summoned him twice already." He allowed some of his irritation to show through. "I am resorted to fetching him myself."

"Ah… I'm sorry, Sir," Beth said, voice hesitant. "But ah… Major Bordon is… ah… quite unwell this morning."

"Unwell," the General asked flatly. His Aides shuffled and exchanged uncomfortable glances behind him, waiting for an explosion, and Beth began to feel uneasy again. "Mrs. Tavington, with the Colonel gone, Bordon is in command. While I sympathise that he is unwell," more like heartbroken and unable to pull himself out of bed! - "I must insist he attends me at once. Now, if you could please show me to his chamber?"

"Of course," not daring to argue the point further, she turned and began to climb the stairs. O'Hara exchanged a long suffering look with one of his Aides, then followed her. Once outside Bordon's chamber, Beth knocked softly. There was no answer. She knocked again, this time a little louder. Still no response. She glanced at O'Hara with a nervous smile and a shrug.

"Allow me," O'Hara said abruptly, his face a cool mask. Beth hopped out of the way to keep from being trampled as O'Hara stepped forward.

_Thump, thump, thump!_ His fist pounded the door hard enough to knock it from its hinges.

_"Go away!"_ A voice roared from within. _"Knock again and I'll knock your damned head off your shoulders."_

Beth winced.

"Major Bordon, you will rouse yourself from that bed at once!" O'Hara shouted at the heavy oak door. He had known Bordon for a long time, there was not a doubt in his mind that the Major would recognise his voice immediately. Sure enough, he heard the rustle and scrape from within the room, as Bordon scurried to get out of bed and dress himself, and then the thumps as Bordon quickly crossed the chamber. He threw open the door, and the two were face to face.

O'Hara closed his eyes and reeled as he was overcome with the stench of Bordon's fouled breath.

"Whiskey," the General said, voice flat. "There is the source of the Major's illness, Mrs. Tavington." Though he addressed Beth, his eye were on Bordon. The Major weaved where he stood, unable to stand straight and his face was an unhealthy green. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, which could have been from the alcohol or from weeping, O'Hara wasn't sure which. Either way, Bordon was in such a state and O'Hara was infuriated.

"General," Beth begged. "Whatever the source… Please - he is not well. Surely he can be given a few days furlough to… To…"

"Get over his heartbreak?" O'Hara snapped and Bordon flinched. "I would love nothing more than indulge you and your feminine sensibilities, Mrs. Tavington. I am not a heartless man, but we are at war a council has been called into session! So. Major Bordon - you will pull yourself together and by darn you will rid yourself of that God awful stench! And then you will get yourself over to the Ferguson's house, all within the next half hour, or I will have you flogged for disobedience!"

"Yes, Sir," Bordon said softly. He gulped and clutched his stomach, and O'Hara backed up a full step, fearing the Major would vomit, and that it would land on his boots.

"Mrs. Tavington," he commanded, "I will leave you with this unthankful task. He has half an hour, if you wish to avoid seeing him flogged."

"Surely you wouldn't..!" Beth was aghast.

"I would, have no doubt of it," he spared her a glance, then shifted his gaze back to Bordon. "Do not test my resolve, Major."

"No, General."

After one last scowl, General O'Hara strode away, with his Aides in fast pursuit.

* * *

"Do I need to get you more whiskey, do I?" Calvin asked Harmony. The two were standing outside their tent, as soldiers and Officers walked on by, bidding them both a good morning. Calvin smiling broadly with his arm around her. She wasn't playing her part however, not as she'd played it the day before, when he'd let her drain his flask. Then, she'd had everyone convinced how pleased she was, to be with Calvin again. Now, she stood at his side, looking forlorn, forcing the weakest of smiles to her lips. Calvin tilted her head back with his finger and gazed down at her. "You're not going to embarrass me, remember?"

"Better make it a whole bottle then," she said.

Startled, Calvin threw back his head and laughed. It was genuine, but he made it far louder than it needed to be. She grinned up at him - false, he knew, but it would do the job.

"A whole bottle it is," Calvin said. "Best thing for a broken heart, anyway. And if it makes you better able to convince everyone here that you're glad it's over with you and that fuckin' piece of shit, then so much the better."

"Please don't," she whispered. "Please don't speak unkind about him. If you want me to play my part, then fine, I'll do it, until we can leave to go home. But please don't make it harder for me, Cal. And you saying that sort of thing, it makes it harder for me."

"Eh," he shrugged, but he nodded. "We won't talk about him at all then. And if anyone else does, we'll shrug it off, like he don't matter enough for us to speak his name."

"Did you speak to your Captain about your furlough so you can take me home?"

"Yeh. He said he'd consider it. I don't know, Harm. He didn't let me come up here alone to get you, and he seemed evasive when I asked him to let me take you home. I think it's because I was a Continental. Not sure if he trusts me."

"The blue does look better on you," she said, her eyes lingering on his redcoat, which looked far better on Richard.

"I couldn't fuckin' agree more," he spat and she drew back, giving him a startled glance.

Yesterday and last night, he'd told her everything that had befallen him since he marched off to Savannah. The battle. His wounds. Being left for dead. Being given a choice that would mean the difference between life and death. She'd known he hadn't wanted to join the British, but just now, utter disgust and contempt was blazoned across his face and he was glaring at his fellow soldiers.

"You hate them," she whispered, having the sense to keep her voice low. He turned back to her, the look on his face confirmed it.

"I certainly got no love for them," he said grimly. "Never mind that. I promised I'd get you home and I will. One way or another, I will. I'll get us both home."

_Dear Lord, is he hinting at deserting?_ She did not dare ask him, not here. Not at all. She'd rather not know. If he did though, surely he'd be hung? A thrill shot through her, followed immediately by cutting shame. She had just cause to despise Calvin and to want him dead, but the excitement she felt just now was unworthy of her. She was wishing for another person's death, so she could be free.

Then again, if anyone deserved such a fate more than Calvin, she could not think his name.

John Sumter, perhaps. And Mark Putman, who put her in Sumter's bed.

Both of them were dead too, though. So no, she could think of no one living. Not even Josiah Clement. Though he was a close second too Calvin. And even he was getting his just desserts, dying aboard that British ship. Where the devil was Calvin's reckoning?

"She don't look like she belongs here," Calvin frowned. "She looks like she's come from the great house. Is she here for you?"

Harmony, excited that it might be Beth Calvin was looking at, glanced over her shoulder.

It was not Beth. Seeing Emily Wilkins speaking to some soldier and looking very much like a person asking for directions, Harmony hissed with fury and ducked into the tent. She hovered just within the opening, her fingers a white knuckled grip on the canvas as she glared out.

"She's come to fucking gloat, that damned bitch!" Harmony spat.

"What the devil?" Calvin frowned, wondering what the hell this was about.

"She's the devil," Harmony hissed through the barely open flaps. "She hasn't come to visit me, she despises me. And I hate her as much. Damned bitch hid her own necklace and then told Colonel Tavington I'd stolen it."

"Jesus, what?"

"She's been nothing but trouble for me since the day I laid eyes on her. She looks down her nose at me because I'm not the wife of some great Planter, as if their families wealth somehow makes her better than me. But then she goes and fucks some Lieutenant in camp - that's how much better she is than me."

"Oho! She didn't!" Calvin began to chortle. The woman - Emily Wilkins - was speaking to a soldier, who was pointing Calvin out now.

"She did," Harmony said from inside the tent. "I heard them rutting in the tent and then saw her coming out, looking right content. She's a whore in silks. I should have told Captain Wilkins when I had the chance. And now here she is, come down from on high, to see how far I've fallen. I'm not going to give her the pleasure."

"Her husband is a great Planter, is he?" Calvin mused. "And she fucks around behind his back."

"And she hid her own necklace and blamed it on me."

"Did you get into trouble for it?"

"No," Harmony snorted. "Colonel Tavington knew she was lying, so did - " she cut short, deciding at the last minute not to mention Richard. It hurt to speak of him, especially to Calvin. They'd decided not to talk of Richard to one another and that was what Harmony would do. "Tavington confronted Wilkins, his Captain. Told Wilkins to get his wife under control. Wilkins took his belt to her, you could hear her bellowing from twenty yards off."

"Damn," Calvin laughed again.

"She's likely come down here to get a look at you, so she can crow over my misfortune at being sent back from a Major to my husband."

"You think so, aye?" He asked and Harmony recognised the danger in his tone. "She fucked one Lieutenant, why would she look at me and find me wantin'?"

"Because that one was a commissioned Officer, Cal. His family is moneyed. She'll take one look at us together and she'll crow and gloat and think all her best days have come all at once."

_So she's come down here thinking she'll see a no good back country bumpkin, aye? Well, piss on that, _Calvin thought as he ducked into the tent. _She ain't goin' to add Harm being sent back to her bumpkin husband to her list of things to crow about. _He washed his face, then began combing his hair and righting his uniform. He knew he was fetching and he was determined that the whore in silks saw him at his best.

"Where are you going?" Harmony hissed as Calvin stepped back outside.

"To get you that bottle I promised you." _And to make this bitch jealous that you've got me. _Calvin added to himself.

"Oh. Thank you," Harmony said.

* * *

Beth did what she could for Bordon. Summoning her guards - which came in useful yet again, she had Arthur Simms and the others help Bordon to wash and dress. Then she bade him to sit down in the dining hall and forced him to eat a hearty breakfast, followed by lots and lots of water. When he was able to walk straight without weaving, and when she felt he looked respectable enough, she had his horse walked to the front of the house. He was able to mount gracefully enough and Beth felt there was some hope for him yet.

As soon as he was on his way, she sent her guards off to fetch her carriage, so she could be driven the half mile to where the Second Regiment of Foot had made camp. Arthur summoned eighteen more Dragoons, to make up the full score that O'Hara had demanded, and they surrounded the carriage, then began their journey. Almost an hour after Bordon had been roused from his bed, Beth's carriage was trundling through the first pickets. Her driver stopped several times to ask directions, until finally coming to a stop close to Farshaw's unit. The paths between the tents were too narrow for a carriage to drive through, so Beth and the Dragoons were on foot from there.

"I do hope she's alright," Beth fretted as they walked between the tents toward the one that apparently belonged to Farshaw. Dalton, Brownlow and the rest of her guard marched behind her, glaring with narrowed eyes at the infantry soldiers, who stared back in awe.

"As do I," Arthur Simms replied. He had heard some of the story from Wilkins, enough to know that Harmony was, potentially, in danger of abuse at her husband's hand. Beth could not bring herself to ask the question that was truly worrying her - did Farshaw force Harmony to bed him. The very thought was just too distressing. But Harmony was the man's wife, it was highly doubtful that he would not have demanded his husbandly right from her. No doubt that was the source of half of Bordon's worry also. It was no wonder the Major was in such a poor state!

"I wish there was something we could do for her," Brownlow said and Beth nodded grimly.

"We're here." Arthur rapped his knuckles on the post outside the tent and a few moments later, Harmony herself peered cautiously through the flap. When she saw Beth, she let out a shriek and threw herself bodily into the smaller girls arms. She buried her face against Beth's shoulder and her body convulsed as she clung on for dear life, weeping. Sighing heavily, Beth guided Harmony back inside. With no where else to sit, they sat on the narrow bed. Beth said nothing, she merely held Harmony as the woman cried. Eventually, Harmony herself drew away and dropped her gaze to the floor.

"As bad as that?" Beth asked gently, stroking a lock of hair from Harmony's face. She was trying to be strong, but seeing her friend in such a terrible state bought her to the brink of despair. She wiped at her own cheeks with the back of her hand, and her gloves came away wet. Harmony nodded, not daring to trust her voice just yet. "There, there," Beth whispered, stroking the other woman's back. "Where is he?" She asked.

"Off buying whiskey. Hopefully he'll stay gone a while," Harmony said shortly.

"Well, if he's gone, it means we can talk," Beth said, grateful that Farshaw was gone. "I don't like seeing you like this," she whispered, gazing at Harmony with concern.

"I don't like feeling it. It's horrid."

"Did you have to..?" Beth trailed off, unable to finish. Harmony understood though, and she drew a sharp breath.

"No," Harmony shook her head. "He thinks I have my menses. Yesterday, when he was packing my belongings, he thew open a basket and found Miss Middleton's blooded linen. I told him they were mine. And last night, I made a show of reaching up under my skirts to pull out rags I'd put up there earlier. There was nothing on them, but he didn't know and he didn't look. He told me off for doing that in front of him and he stepped out of the tent until I was finished cleaning myself. It's only a temporary fix, though; nobody has their menses for ever. It won't be long until I do have to bed him, and then I'll be betraying Richard and…" She turned away to hide her face and dabbed at her eyes. After a quiet moment, she looked at Beth. "How is he?" She ventured, searching Beth's face, eager for, but fearful of, any news of her beloved.

"He got good and drunk last night," Beth replied. "William stayed up with him for hours, and the other boys joined them too. He drank so much Michael and Marcus had to carry him to bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, but not before he asked me to come and check on you. I was going to anyway of course."

"Oh, poor Richard," Harmony keened. Closing her eyes, she slumped her shoulders. "I did the same, I drank until Calvin had no more to give. He's off buying some more now. Gods, I need it as much as Richard."

Beth chewed her lip for a moment, she wanted to tell Harmony that drowning her sorrows as not the way, but who was she to talk? She'd done exactly that, and then she'd invited Banastre into her room and offered her virginity! Christ, she definitely was not one to talk. "Might be I can bring some down, next time I visit."

"God, I don't know what's worse, dealing with my own anguish or carrying Richard's too!" Harmony cried, then began to weep again. "I love him so much, I wish I could spare him this pain! It's horrid, knowing he's hurting! I wish I could go to him… Just one more time…"

Beth held Harmony close as the heartbroken woman wept. It was some time before the storm past, before Harmony was able to draw herself away. When she did, she sat listlessly, her eyes on the ground. Beth thought she looked exhausted, thoroughly wrung out.

"I had to sit there, last night, at the camp fire, pretending to be oh so happy to be with Calvin again," Harmony said, pushing her palm against her face to wipe tears. "I'm betraying Richard, each time I have to smile at Calvin. Each time I have to repeat the story, of how distraught I was, when I found out he died. Of how I met Major Bordon, who fell in love with me. Of how I knew I'd never find love again, but here was Bordon, a wealthy nobleman, promising to provide for me, to give me a better life, now that I was living so meanly after Calvin died. 'But I didn't love him.' I had to say. Everyone down here thinks that Richard was just… a means to an end. That marrying him was a necessary evil, because I am young and beautiful and in want of a man to protect and shelter and provide for me. That as soon as I found out Calvin was alive after all, I threw over my engagement and while I've left a heart broken Major behind, I'm the happiest I've ever been, to have my husband back. Lies, lies, LIES!" Harmony spat, grief-stricken and furious, the words were hissed between clenched teeth. "That's all he ever does, is fucking lie! And I have to go along with it, just like I did before. Always going along with it. 'Oh yes, Calvin did that. He did! He flew to the moon! I was there, I saw it! You can believe him, because I'm his ever present little witness, and if I say I saw it, then no matter how ridiculous it sounds, you'll believe it!"

"Dear Lord," Beth breathed, running a hand across her forehead. She rubbed Harmony's back.

"That's how it was, Beth. And that's how it is now. I don't know why he does it, he wants everyone to think he is rich, that he has so many friends, that everything he does, he is excellent at. He wants their admiration. And their sympathy. He goes on about how he almost died of some horrible illness and now the illness is dormant, but it'll get him in the end. Five years, he'll be dead, he tells people. And they sigh and commiserate and say 'poor Cal'. Fuck Calvin. He was never sick, he isn't sick, he isn't going to die of it, more's the damned pity! He's going to live until he is ninety and I'm going to have to be there at his side, all the while, nodding and agreeing and telling everyone that 'oh yes, Calvin is telling you the truth', when I was supposed to have been spending all those decades with Richard!"

Beth pulled Harmony's head down to her shoulder and nursed her through another bout of weeping. Again, it began to dwindle, though Beth expected there would be quite a few more of these explosions, before she farewelled her friend for the day.

"I should be with Richard," Harmony said, voice drained again now. "Premmon, Calvin, O'Hara, they have taken everything away from me. From us. They've taken it all away from Richard, too. And from our baby. Gods, will he ever even see his baby? I hate them, I hate them so much for doing this to us!"

"I'm so sorry, Harm," Beth said. "Richard said you are both worried, for the child."

"I'm not as worried as I was," Harmony admitted. "If Calvin finds out that I am pregnant while I have no one to protect me, then yes, that would be a disaster. But he's promised to take me home and right now, that's all I want. Besides Richard. But if I can't have Richard," her voice choked a bit but she steadied it. "If I can't be with Richard, then I want to be with my family. I begged Calvin to take me home and he said he would. Once I'm home, I won't need to worry about him learning about the baby, because his parents and mine would kill him if he hurt us. It's just the next few weeks I need to get through, it's the next few weeks I'm not protected."

"Do you think he'll beat you?" Beth asked softly, terribly frightened.

Harmony nodded. "Gods, yes."

"Dear Lord," Beth shuddered.

"But as long as I can get home before he finds out, it'll be alright. He's going to keep asking for furlough; if Captain McLaughlin grants it, he will take me straight home instead of the city. Hell, if he doesn't get furlough, I'll write to papa from the city and ask him to come get me. That would be better, because I can leave Calvin in the city and I won't have to see him. For months, maybe. Or ever. Maybe he'll be killed in truth and Richard and I can be together after all. Cal's bound to make me bed him as soon as he thinks my menses are finished. Might be better that way - I'll bed him, and then papa can come for me and by the time Cal gets home, I'd have had the child and he'll think it's his, because he thinks I have my menses now. And because he doesn't think I'm the type to bed a man out of wedlock," she lowered her voice, averted her gaze. "Not willingly, anyway. I guess I've changed more than I thought," she gave a weak laugh. "Because I bedded Richard the first day I met him. If Calvin takes me home, I'll tell him in a few months that I'm with child and he'll think it's his. I know that sounds horrid, but I don't care. I'll do what I can to protect my baby."

"I don't blame you in the slightest," Beth said.

"This wasn't my intention," Harmony continued to defend herself. "When I told him I had my menses, it was so he wouldn't bed me. He wanted to, when he was in my room. I didn't want him touching me, I panicked and told him I was bleeding, knowing he'd leave me alone. But if it serves to make him think it's his, then I don't care. I'll do what I have to."

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Harm," Beth said.

"And I'll rut with him, too. The sooner the better, really. I'm already two months along. If I'm to make him think it's his… Tomorrow, I think. I'll tell him I've finished my bleeding and I'll bed him tomorrow."

Beth nodded, feeling miserable.

"Please don't tell Richard. He'll… Lord, I don't know what he'd do," she was quiet for a moment, then added softly, "I didn't even get to say goodbye," Harmony said, forlorn.

"He said the same," Beth heaved a sigh.

"Beth," Harmony ventured, her blue eyes wide with dread. "Please tell me the truth - he didn't go visit a doxy, did he? He can't help himself when he's been drinking!"

"No, no!" Beth rushed to assure her. "It's exactly as I said, the boys got him soused." She paused, and continued reluctantly, "William did tell me that Wilkins suggested they go visit a doxy - the great oaf that he is. But Richard said no, he didn't want any other woman…" She squeezed Harmony's good hand, "only you."

Harmony reeled with relief, then lowered her head in shame. "Here I am, telling you I will bed my husband tomorrow, at the same time as hoping Richard doesn't bed anyone."

"You're doing what you can to protect yourself and the child," Beth reminded her. "Besides, he's your husband. He's going to demand you bed him, whether you want to or not."

Harmony nodded. "Gods, that bitch Emily," she spat. "She was down here just before, I saw her looking for me. I know she just wanted to gloat, to see me forced to live in a tent and with my husband, to crow over how far I've fallen. As soon as I saw her, I darted back into the tent and I've stayed here since."

"I honestly don't understand why she has it in for you," Beth tossed her head. "I should expel her from the house."

"I'd like to see that," Harmony murmured.

"Harm, what do you think Lieutenant Farshaw would do, if he learns you're carrying Richard's child?" Beth asked. She knew it would be nothing good. "If you don't manage to convince him it's yours?"

"If he finds out before I can get to a place of safety?" Harmony asked. "There's some things I've never confided to you, Beth. I never told you about Colonel Clement. He was the commander of Calvin's unit, back when he was in the Second Regiment…"

* * *

_If she's fucked one Lieutenant, there's no reason she won't fuck another, _Calvin thought as he strode toward the woman wearing silks. The soldier she was speaking to waved, hailing him, and acting surprised, Calvin changed his course subtly and made a direct line for them. As he drew closer, Calvin was gratified to see that this Mrs. Emily Wilkins was certainly pretty enough to entice him. And he watched with pleasure as her expression shifted from smug self assuredness, to stunned amazement. It was in her eyes, which widened even as her mouth began to fall open. She made a gesture to the soldier and Calvin heard her say "that will be all," before she shifted her entire attention back to Calvin. The soldier gave a start, but Calvin nodded curtly, dismissing him. The soldier retreated, leaving the two alone.

"Lieutenant Farshaw, is it? I am an acquaintance of your wife. Perhaps she has spoken of me? Mrs. Emily Wilkins."

"No, she has not," Calvin lied. "However, any friend of Mrs. Farshaw is welcome here." He bowed with a flourish and gave her a slow smile, hooded eyes. She returned the interest with a smile of her own. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Harmony was still spying, but the flaps of the tent were closed. "I'm afraid, however, that Mrs. Farshaw is not receiving visitors just now; she is feeling poorly."

"Oh, the poor dear. I do hope it is not too serious, whatever is ailing her," Emily said and here, the smugness returned. Calvin understood where it stemmed from - he knew what Emily was thinking - that Harmony wasn't 'feeling poorly', she was heartbroken over Bordon. He wasn't sure if he should be offended or not, wasn't sure if it was a slight to him, or not.

"It's not," he waved his hand in dismissal, then leaned toward her and whispered, "she has her menses, that's all." He saw her eyes widen. In his normal voice, he said, "apart from that, she could't be happier. We had a wonderful evening last night, sitting by the camp fire with the other soldiers, laughing and reminiscing," he boasted. "Isn't that right, Anders?" He called to a fellow Officer, who paused. The fellow doffed his helmet to Emily.

"Oh yes, an excellent evening. Your wife is a fine woman, Farshaw, with a wonderful sense of humour. My sides are still sore," laughing, Anders continued on his way. Calvin saw Emily's astonished eyes on Anders, she was shocked to hear that Harmony had joked and laughed the evening away. _See? She's happy as Larry that we're back, no need to gloat over her misfortune. _"I am dreadfully sorry that you've wasted your time in coming down here. I'm happy to escort you back to the great house, if you need?"

"Oh, you know, I think I do," Emily glanced about, looking confused as if lost. "I have gotten quite turned about."

"I'll guide you, if you wish," he offered and her face brightened.

"Oh, yes, please! Thank you, that is very kind."

"Not at all. Shall we?" Calvin offered his arm, which she accepted.

"I'm not in any particular hurry," Emily gave a shrug. "The soldier, he said that this is your tent? Is this where Miss Jutland - that is, Mrs. Farshaw, is residing now?"

Calvin studied Emily carefully. Harmony had already told him how much the woman despised her, and now - seeing it for himself - he knew she hadn't been exaggerating. This question, Emily asking if Harmony was now living in the simple **A** frame tent, was not an innocent one. She trying to gauge just how far Harmony had fallen, in returning to her husband, and she was settling back into her smug complacency; she had come down to camp to wallow in Harmony's misfortune and just now, that was precisely what she was doing.

"For now," he said, as if admitting a great injustice. "But when we return to the city, we shall settle into my house there."

Emily missed a step - Gods, this was almost too easy.

"You have a house in the city?" She frowned.

"Yes, I had it built a few years ago, overlooking the harbour," he said wistfully, as if homesick for it. "Only a single house, but it serves our needs while in the city. We won't be there long, however. I've requested furlough, so I can take Harmony home. She told me she longs to see our great house at Cedar Hall, my Plantation," he said. He began walking and she had no choice but so go along with him, though it was clear to him that she was still more interested in gazing at the rude little tent Harmony was not forced to live in. He waited for Emily to bite on the opening he'd given her, that would allow Calvin to boast all about his great house back home.

"I'm told you will only be here for a few days, before your unit leaves to rejoin your regiment?" She asked instead. Perhaps she hadn't heard him.

"That is true," he replied. "You only have a few more days of Mrs. Farshaw's company, alas."

"That is… unfortunate…" a small, satisfied smile tugged at Emily's lips. "I shall miss her immensely, my good friend Miss Jutland. I mean, Mrs. Farshaw. Oh, I'll never get used to that! Here we are, the two of us as close as sisters and I never knew she was married and a widow."

Ahhh, that was the reason she hadn't bitten on his little hints at greater wealth. Emily was distracted, still focused on Harmony and her vendetta. She'd been trying to figure out a way to make him wroth with his wife, and she thought she'd seized it. She was trying to slide a wedge in his marriage. He could have told her, he certainly didn't need her for that.

"Well between you and I, I'm not entirely certain that Mrs. Farshaw is in possession of all her faculties," he replied, tapping his finger to his head, insinuating.

Mrs. Wilkins threw back her head and laughed. They continued to walk, side by side.

"If she's that daft, I wonder why you'd bother to try to get her back," she asked, fishing for information.

"Well, I could hardly go home without her," he said. "Her parents and mine would have a conniption. They all live on my Plantation, you see; both our families do. I had houses built on my property when I settled there. My father oversees my Plantation and my lumber mill. The Jutland's are of… lesser means," he said as if trying to be kind about it, as if he didn't want to give offence to those beneath him. "But the second cabin was built for them. Make no mistake though, financially reliant he might be, my father in law would still feel himself quite free to give me the rough side of his tongue, if I returned home without Harmony."

"You… have a plantation?" Emily asked, frowning.

_Finally! _Calvin stifled a smile. Gods, she was the daft one, hadn't she been listening to a word he'd said? That he was lying through his teeth didn't matter, he was not going to have this well born woman look down her nose at him. Better to make her feel sorry for him for having daft wife, than have her crow over Harmony's unfortunate husband.

"Yes, I told you - Cedar Hall Plantation. Weren't you listening?" He asked playfully and she blushed. "Three hundred acres of Tobacco and Indian Corn," he said. Not the most lucrative crops to boast of, but if she believed them to be his, and believed the plantation to be extensive, then she would believe him to be above middling wealth, at least. He was always careful not to pretend to be too high in rank. Emily was wide eyed, surprised and most importantly, impressed. "But it's my lumber mill that brings in the most cash. It's the largest in the Shoals."

"Truly?" She asked. "Well that is… splendid. And unexpected. I'll admit I'm surprised, Lieutenant. As I said, your wife and I are closely acquainted. I'm not such a stickler for the forms others believe we must adhere too, I was only too happy to bring Miss Jutland - Mrs. Farshaw - into our inner circle. But I understood her to be of… lesser means. You must forgive me, I mean no offence. I just… I've seen her living quite roughly. She was a barmaid in the city, you know, so what else was I to think?"

Was she testing him? Feeling him, to see if he was lying about his wealth? Because his wife was a barmaid?

"I do know," Calvin began to steer Emily among tents, he was taking a meandering path that would at some point taken Emily back to the house, but it was certainly not the most direct route. "Well, as to that…" He glanced over his shoulder at her maid. Emily made a shooing gesture toward the lass, understanding that Calvin was about to confide in her. When the maid fell back, Calvin turned to Emily. "I've already told you that Mrs. Farshaw is a bit daft, therefore I might as well tell you the rest. The truth is, she's quite dreadful when it comes to money."

"Truly?" Emily gasped.

"Oh yes. And her family - yes, they are of lesser means. Very much so. When I married her, without her providing a dowry, mind you, I decided that, if anything were to befall me, then my property should go to my family. Not even a slight portion went to my wife. I know that sounds uncharitable, but if I left even that much to her, she'd gamble the entire fortune away, I'm certain."

"Dear Lord," Emily said. "I do admit, I've seen her at the card tables many a time."

"Mrs. Wilkins, if she'd provided me with an heir, I would not have left her out of my estate. I had every intention of leaving her the portion that all wives are due, if she gave me a son. She never did. So why should she get any of it? I left it to my father, instead. So when it appeared as though I had indeed died, what was she to do? If she returned home, she'd be living with her father in the cabin I built him, rather than in the great house with my father, who surely would have taken it over by now. There are no prospects for her back home. I know my fortune isn't as extensive as some, but I'm among the most wealthy back in the Shoals. It was in her best interest to remain in the city. She's beautiful, as I said. It was only a matter of time before she enticed another wealthy wretch, as she did me. In the mean time, however, she had to support herself and she did so by working in taverns. I suppose it was clever of her, at that - for it put her in the paths of some influential gentlemen. This Major Bordon, for instance."

"Oh, I am sorry, but that is quite horrid of her. I find my opinion of Mrs. Farshaw doing a great shift, Lieutenant, please do not be offended. It's just, luring innocent gentlemen, getting them to fall in love, when she herself has nothing but her looks to bring to the match? I do believe you are being kind, Sir, but I shall put it bluntly - what you have described, that is a fortune hunter."

Calvin nodded sagely. "I believe it is so. I have saved Major Bordon from a great injustice, while I am forced to endure it myself. But as I said, how can I return home without her? She is my wife."

"Dreadful. You deserve far better."

"I'm sorry to have coloured your opinion of her," Calvin said. "Though in truth, it's probably for the best. You see, Mrs. Farshaw is not the sort you should have befriended, for she tells the most extravagant tales. She's quite an enthusiastic liar."

"A liar!" Emily gasped.

"Yes. You can not trust a single thing that comes out of her mouth. She'll speak the truth, but only a small amount of it will be that. The rest will be lies, always lies. No doubt, that's how she duped that poor Major Bordon. Or perhaps he is a big a dolt as she is?" He couldn't help but to get this little jibe in at Bordon's expense, even if the Major wasn't there to hear it.

"Oh, he is," Emily said, her lip curling. "The biggest you'll find."

_Oho! There's something here - she doesn't like him anymore than she does Harmony… _"Truly? No wonder she was able to sink her claws into him, then. I wonder if he knew she wasn't dowered? Or that she hadn't inherited my estate, when she thought herself to be a widow? Someone should warn him. As she hasn't given me any children, it is the menfolk of my family that will inherit my wealth." He was repeating himself, but on purpose, for it gave him the opportunity to expound his wealth. "If she'd given me a child, she would have inherited a vast amount. Perhaps ten thousand or so…" Emily gave a soft gasp at the amount. "I wonder if that's how she lured him? By telling him she's a wealthy widow… but no, that doesn't fit, for she led everyone to believe she is unmarried. Still, he was the perfect wretch for her. I'm assuming that Major Bordon is wealthy, is he not?"

"Yes, he certainly is."

"Then there you have it. Harmony became accustomed to being the wife of a Plantation Master and so when she thought I'd died, she tried to latch on to another wealthy gentleman to provide for her. With my showing up here when I did, I think I saved him."

"At great expense to yourself," Emily sniffed. "Now you're stuck with a lying, conniving, gambling dolt for a wife."

"Well, as I told you, I can not return home without her unless she's… well… you know, gone from this world. And so I am stuck with her. Oh well, at least she is beautiful."

"Not that beautiful," Emily muttered and Calvin laughed.

"And not faithful, either," he said. "She had an affair with my Commander, for months…"

"Oh, she didn't," Emily's hand flew to her mouth and Calvin nodded.

"With Colonel Josiah Clement. For months, it went on. That was another reason she could not return home to her parents and mine when she thought I'd died; she is an adulteress. I wouldn't be telling you this, Mrs. Wilkins, but it's important to know the truth of those you keep company with. That is the sort of woman I am married to, more is the pity."

"You poor thing, having to tolerate such a poor excuse for a wife," Emily commiserated. "I do thank you for your candour, I shall keep your confidence, I promise not to tell a soul. You're quite right, it's important to know the truth about those who you might wish to befriend - I wouldn't want to become too entangled with the wrong sort."

"Nor would I, however I am tied to her by our marriage vows. But enough about her; what of you, Mrs. Wilkins? And of your husband, Mr. Wilkins?"

"Captain Wilkins," Emily corrected. "He is a Planter much like yourself but more recently, he has become a Green Dragoon. He is another who looks fetching on the outside but is grotesque on the inside."

Calvin kept his face open and interested as Emily embarked upon her own tale of woe, including her husband's many infidelities and his awful treatment of her. Calvin found himself wondering if any of it were true, or if he'd found a kindred spirit in this lovely creature. Perhaps she was a good a liar as he was, blending just enough truth to make her falsehoods believable. If so, she was doing it extremely well. She turned to face him, head bowed, tears coursing her cheeks.

Waiting to be comforted? Or an opening toward seduction? He glanced about, saw that her maid was no where to be seen, and she'd stopped for this little performance in the relative privacy of a stand of trees, where a quick peck on the cheek would certainly go unseen by anyone passing by. .

Unless she was genuinely overcome with her lot in life and was weeping simply because she truly did have a horrid, philandering husband.

Calvin chose to err on the side of caution. He took hold of both of Emily's hands and gave them a squeeze, initiating an intimacy that was beyond their new acquaintance, but made no attempt to kiss her.

"He sounds awful," he said softly. "You truly deserve better, Mrs. Wilkins."

"I do?" She lifted her face to his, having adopted a look of uncertainty. This act bought them even closer together, she was almost against his chest, his fingers entwined with hers. "Oh, Lieutenant, you're so good to say so. I haven't had a kind word in… Oh so long."

"It makes me dreadfully angry to hear how awfully he treats you," Calvin said, playing along for all he as worth. "You point him out to me, my sweet Mrs. Wilkins, and I will pound him to pulp."

"Oh, you can't," she gasped. "You're lower in rank, you'd get into ever so much trouble. I wouldn't want that, not on my behalf. But I do thank you for defending me so."

"I don't care about any of that," he boasted. "He could whip me bloody and I would not care. It would be worth it."

"Well, perhaps I should do the same," her eyes danced. "She is so lucky to have such a husband as you. So handsome," her voice dipped and her eyes became hooded. "Yet look how she treats you? You deserve so much better. Your wife is no better than my husband. Perhaps I should… what did you say? Beat her to… Oh, I couldn't," she giggled.

"You have a lovely laugh, Mrs. Wilkins," he said. "I could listen to you laugh all day." He gave her fingers a squeeze.

"I wouldn't laugh at all, if not for you," she said, gazing up at him. "You've bought such lightness to my soul, Lieutenant, and for that, I shall bestow upon you a small reward."

"Oh?" He asked.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

Gods, here he was, wondering if the time was ripe - if she were ripe - for him to kiss her. It was a strange thing, being on the receiving end of a seduction; he usually did the chasing. And he could not recall ever moving so fast as she was - he would have waited far longer for this moment than she was prepared to. Calvin closed his eyes, acting the innocent. He felt her warm lips on his cheek, he opened his eyes slowly, acting surprised. Her face was still turned up to his, and she was smiling. Without a word, he released one hand, laid his fingers along her jaw, tilted his head to hers and began kissing her properly. With a little groan, Emily wound her fingers in his cravat, lifted herself to the tips of her toes, pushing herself upward into the kiss.

"Hmmm, lovely," he said. "But we might be seen…"

"Then I shall take you somewhere we won't be."

Calvin's eyes bulged at her boldness; in all his years, he'd never encountered the like. Was this what she'd come down to camp for? To fuck her rivals husband? No. She'd come down to camp to crow over her rival's misfortune. But now… now, it was to fuck him, too.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"Lead the way," he whispered and her face lit up, blazing like the sun.

* * *

Calvin had bedded women in the strangest of places, therefore it was nothing to him to be laying Emily down on the ground amidst the tall, ready to harvest Indian Corn crop. They could hear voices further afield and the great house was to their left, the side overlooking the corn. None of that bothered him for the stalks were taller than he was and planted so tightly, no one looking down from above would be able to see through the canopy of leaves to the couple rutting on the ground amidst them. Calvin would rut anywhere if it meant he was rutting. But it certainly surprised him, to discover Mrs. Wilkins was of the same ilk. They truly were kindred spirits. Laying on a bed made from his redcoat and her cape, she spread her legs wide and hooked her ankles around his hips. The sun barely shone through the thick canopy above them, and no one in the cornfield would be able to see them through the bushy stalks until they were right upon the couple. But if one of those voices happened closer… oh well, she didn't seem bothered and he certainly wasn't… He positioned his member at her entrance and, bracing himself on his elbows and resuming his kissing of her, he began his slow advance in.

"Cal," she whispered against his lips, he gazed down at her and smiled.

"You like?"

"Gods, do I ever," she sighed. "Oh, Cal." She wrapped her arms around his neck, cocked her head to one side and slid her tongue into his mouth. "Deeper," she whispered. "I want to feel all of you inside me, until no more of you can fit."

"Like this?" He pushed in deep with a delirious groan and she arched her back and began whispering incoherently. They began to thrust, the lowest branches of corn leaves ticking Calvin's backside. "Do you like me fuckin' yeh like this?" He was testing her, seeing if she would mind him how he truly was, course spoken and rough. She gave a wild gasp - stared up at him wide eyed, with astonishment and arousal.

"Yes, oh Gods, I'm dying, keep doing it, keep fucking me like this, oh Gods."

Calvin bit back a harsh groan, thoroughly undone. They kept at it, clutching at one another, kissing, begging to be fucked even as he thrust and she met each one, until they were overcome and Emily was clutching at his bare backside and whispering incoherently, except for "I'm dying, oh Gods, Cal, I die!" Now _that_ he understood and as he was very much in the same state, he could barely speak the words to tell her. His seed exploded along his length, liquid fire that had him gasping with pleasure.


	82. Chapter 82 - Spies Among Them

Chapter 82 - Spies Among Them:

They spent some time amidst the stalks, kissing, nuzzling, laughing, enjoying. Calvin picked leaves and twigs from Emily's hair. When they sat up, she fixed his cravat and flicked dirt and leaves from his jacket. He pulled his breeches up, tied them off. She pushed her skirts down and together, they began pushing through the tall stalks until they found a narrow path amidst the cornfield, where they could walk side by side, his arm around her shoulders, hers about his waist. They chatted as they walked, both keeping an eye out for Martin's workers. Neither wanted this to be a soul encounter and they spent some time discussing their options.

"No, you can't join me in my chamber," she laughed, for he'd told her he had no qualms in climbing up onto the balcony from outside the house. He was such a lively fellow, Emily could not understand what Harmony's issue was. "With all the soldiers, if you were seen climbing up the side of the house, you'd be in for it, Officer or not."

Calvin nodded agreeing reluctantly. "Then how? I want to see you tonight."

"Well, it'll be much easier for me to get out of the house, than for you to get into it. I can meet you someplace," she said.

"You won't be missed?"

"Not by my husband," she shrugged. "And not by the other women. Mrs. Tavington always preferred your wife's company over mine and the other women don't bother with me much either, even though one of them is my own sister in law. Eh, never mind them. It's better this way, better for us," she smiled up at him, her head on his shoulder. "I can go for walks and do what I wish, so it will be easy done, meeting with you. In fact…" She thought of Mrs. Salisbury, who was shunned even by the other camp followers. She had no friends among them, no one to gossip to about Emily. Especially if Emily gave the extra incentive of paying her. She presented the idea to Calvin and they made their way out of the cornfield - though they walked apart from one another, no longer touching. The camp was a bustling place, no one paid them particular attention, the pair doubted their presence together would be remarked upon. Calvin wasn't known here and Emily was making sure to keep her face hidden by the hood of her cloak. Emily showed him where Mrs. Salisbury's tent was, and she pointed the woman out.

"I'll go and talk to her now, but I'm certain she'll agree. What time can you meet me?"

Anytime was good for Calvin. They made their arrangements.

"I wish I could kiss you farewell," he said. Calvin didn't dare touch Emily here, in such a public place. No one was paying them any mind, but that would surely change, if they suddenly started kissing right there in the middle of the path.

"Me too," she sighed. "Tonight," she smiled brightly. "And we'll do so much more than kiss."

"Go then," Calvin laughed. "Speak to Mrs. Salisbury, get her on side. And tonight, my beautiful Emily, I shall bring you to the little death all over again."

Her breath caught and her face became flushed, he saw the smile creep across her face.

"I can barely wait," she whispered.

In the end, he bowed low, gave her one last, longing glance, then turned and strode away, whistling some tune to himself. His step was light, his mood quite high. It dipped a little as he remembered the things Emily had told him about Harmony, but he had to remind himself that Emily was just like him, a vicious little creature, and a very adept liar. Chances were, the things she'd said were designed solely to make him wroth with Harmony, too perhaps even punish her, and to ensure Emily's place with him was secure. He could not put too much store in what Emily said, he doubted that Harmony had been spreading her legs for Major Bordon. Not after the fuss she'd put up, with being forced to bed Clement. Her moral compass was not skewed like his was.

Chances were, Emily had said those things because Calvin had told her that Harmony was an adulteress who'd bedded Colonel Clement when Calvin's back was turned. Emily likely thought that with Harmony having already conducted herself in such a manner before, it would be easy for Calvin to believe she had done it again. She seized upon it, made a wild tale of Harmony fucking Bordon every chance she got, to cause trouble for Harmony and to ensure Emily would be his favourite.

Calvin knew better - he'd been lying when he told Emily that Harmony was a willing participant; she'd never wanted to bed Clement. Still, he had let Emily say her piece, he'd listened to everything she had to say on the topic, and did not hold it against her, her attempt to turn him from his wife. He would have attempted the same.

But it didn't mean he believed her.

"Calvin!" A voice called out and Calvin stopped whistling and turned to look over his shoulder.

"Jack!" He shouted, shocked to see a friend, one from his old unit, striding toward him. He gave a great whoop of joy, they slapped each other on the back and grinned for all they were worth. "Christ, Jack, it's good to see you. But hells teeth, what the devil are you doin' here?"

Jack looked Calvin up and down, his smile sliding away. "I could ask you the same."

"They gave me a choice what was no choice," Calvin replied, then he snapped his mouth shut because his old friend was a Redcoat now too. He needed to be careful. Jack still looked like Jack, but that Redcoat spoke volumes for how much he'd changed. If Calvin spoke out of turn about the British, Jack might go scurrying back to their Commanders to tell them. He doubted it, not Jack. Still, it paid to be careful.

"I turned coat because it was either that, or die in a prison camp. What's your excuse?" He was suddenly angry with the fellow.

"What if I told you I _never_ turned?" Jack asked.

Calvin stopped and stared, stunned.

"I'd ask you at what point were you a traitor? Here and now, are you betraying the British? Or before, did you betray us?" Calvin said, eyes narrowed.

"Us…" a ghost of a smile twitched Jack's lips. "There's hope for you yet, Cal. Walk with me, would you?"

"What did you mean you never turned?" Calvin asked as they began to walk along. He noticed how Jack was not quite watching the other Redcoats, while seeming to know precisely where the were. He steered Calvin in such a way, that they did not come into ear shot of any of the other soldiers.

"Maybe I just meant in here," Jack touched his chest, hand over heart.

"Maybe?" Calvin said, confused. "You better get sure, Jack, 'cause I don't much like the idea that you might've been untrue back in the day. Are you telling me your heart is still with the Continentals?"

"Always," the other man said. "What of yours?"

"Always," Calvin said. Some of the tension began to loosen in his shoulders and he saw the same of Jack, too. "Even the wife says the blue looks better on me."

"I'm not talking about how striking a figure we cut in our old uniforms, Cal."

"I know," Calvin replied. "What are we talking about?"

Jack looked away.

"I think you got something to say, you going to say it?"

"Testing the waters first, need to be sure they're safe," Jack shrugged.

"I can't tell you if they are or aren't, if you don't tell me what you're fearin', Calvin replied, feeling like he was playing some game, some tit-for-tat, where he didn't know the rules.

"Seems to me that if you were given a choice like that, to serve or die, your heart might not be in the serving," Jack prompted.

"Seems to me that if you're asking me that, your heart ain't in the serving either."

"Either? Then you don't want to be here?" Jack asked and Calvin arched an eyebrow.

"I can't answer that until I feel the water's safe too," he said.

"Either," Jack said, repeating, "You don't want to be here either?"

Which was all the confirmation Calvin needed - Jack didn't want to be a Redcoat anymore than he did. He decided to set the other fellows mind to rest by being upfront.

"Hell no," he lowered his voice. "Jack, are you talking about deserting? 'Cause I'm going to. My wife might slow us down, but I'm willing. Might actually be easier with two of us, watching each others backs, one standing sentry while the others sleeps, that sort of thing."

"Why haven't you deserted already, if that's what you were going to do? Why haven't you gone back to the Continentals?"

"Weren't no Continentals to go back to," Calvin said. He told Jack what happened during the battle, how his entire Regiment was either killed, or captured. "I was at death's door when I was taken prisoner – I was left for dead on the battlefield. The British picked me up, took me to their surgeons. By the time I healed well enough to serve, there was no Continentals to go back to. they're all on ships holds in the harbor. When I desert, it won't be to go back to the Continentals. It will be to go home."

"To the Shoals?" Jack asked.

"Yeh. I would've done it by now, but then I heard about my wife being engaged to another man. Thought I'd better come get her, and then desert with her when we reach the city. It'll be harder taking off from here, but if you want to go, we'll go – Harm might slow us down, but I can't leave her behind. Can't go home without her – I'll have strips torn off me by her parents and mine."

Jack scoffed. "Tavington lost some prisoners recently, Cal. Since then, they got this place locked so tight, an ant couldn't crawl out of here. We'd be caught before we made it ten yards past the last picket and we'd be hung an hour later. There is no hope of deserting from here."

"Damn," Calvin heaved a disappointed sigh. Then he turned to Jack, puzzled. "Then if you weren't talking about deserting, what waters were you testing?"

Jack was silent for a while as they continued to walk. He was deep in thought and appeared to be struggling with a decision. Finally, he turned to Calvin.

"We were friends back then, weren't we? Pals?"

"I thought we still were," Calvin replied.

"Good. Pals… They can trust each other, ain't? if I tell you somewhat, do I need to fear you'll go straight to the nearest Officer and report me?"

"God no, I'd as soon crawl through pig shit on my hands and knees, as go tattling on you," Calvin scoffed. "Jack, old friend, you've dug yourself in deep now. Maybe you should just spit it out, whatever it is. If I was goin' to betray you, I could on this alone. And all you'd need to do is repeat all my talk of deserting, to get back at me. We could both fuck each other up right good, if we had a mind too. So. You might as well spit it out."

"I'm a spy, Calvin," Jack said and Calvin stopped dead, eyes bulging. "Keep walking, for crying out loud," Jack motioned to make Calvin take up his stride again. They were quiet a moment, while Calvin came to terms with what he'd been told. Jack continued, "there were others. But they got found out. Neville Banksia. You remember him?"

"Your cousin?" Calvin gasped and Jack nodded.

"And others. Robert Trellim."

"I remember him. He was under Francis Marion's command, wasn't he?"

"He was. But when the city fell, he and my cousin, they went to ground. Got in with a gentleman named Mark Putman. You heard of Benjamin Martin, whose Plantation this is?"

"He was an Assemblyman," Calvin nodded. "This is his place? Has he turned traitor?"

"Nah, he fled from here, he's a wanted man, is Martin. Mark Putman was his brother in law but Putman is dead now."

"I never met either of them, though I heard Putman was caught for treason and was shot out a window or somewhat."

"All true," Jack replied. "He was ordered by Colonel Burwell to establish a spy ring. We were doing real good work too – I got placed in the Dragoons with Trellim and my cousin and a few others, we all reported what we saw and heard back to Putman. Only Putman got caught. He fled the city, was captured, then was killed after fleeing the prison, during the rescue attempt."

"Sounds like a balls up."

"It was. When he was gone, we reported everything to Trellim instead, who got word to Burwell directly. But then Bordon and Tavington figured out Trellim was a spy. My cousin, too and a few others. They were all hanged - just over there in those trees."

"Jesus." Calvin reeled. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"Yeh," Jack worked his jaw. "Yes. Well. There's only two of us left, and we're blind. Thought about deserting but there's no hope of that now, not if we want to keep living. So we just go along, keeping low, waiting for the moment when we might be able to up and leave without being dragged back and hanged. But now you're here… Thought maybe, instead of the two of us up and leaving, we could start recruiting instead."

"You want me to spy?" Calvin asked and Jack nodded. "Sounds like perilous business, that. You've just told me those others got hanged for it. And Putman was shot out a fucking window for it."

"It's perilous business no matter what we do. Putman, with him, we were betrayed from within, it was our own that killed Putman."

"What the devil?"

"I'll tell you more about that later. For now… Look, if you don't want too, that's fine. Just don't go telling anyone that I asked, alright? Unless you want me to wear a noose while taking the air and sunshine."

"Nah, nah, I told you, I won't do that. Look, Jack, I would, truly. And I thank you for trusting me. but I'm not going to be here long enough to help you. My unit is shipping out in a few days, I'll be going with them."

Jack was crestfallen.

"Well, when you're on the road, maybe you and Mrs. Farshaw might be able to get away after all. I wish you well of it, Cal. Best you're out than in."

"My thanks."

They were quite a moment, then, "I saw you with Mrs. Wilkins," Jack said. "Better be careful, getting caught up with her."

"Shit, now you tell me," Calvin laughed. "I already fucked her, back there in the cornfield."

"Dear Christ, Cal!" Jack began to laugh.

"Eh. She was good, too. Fucking nice quim on her. I'm going to see her again tonight; she was just showing me where to meet her. Mrs. Salisbury's tent."

"Christ, those two," Jack snorted. "Thick as thieves and nothin' but trouble."

"Oh well, as long as I get to fuck Emily again, I don't care overly much."

"Odd, you've only been here a day and you're already tumblin' her. Did you know her in the city?"

"No."

"Didn't think so. Which means Mrs. Wilkins is fuckin' you to piss off your wife. Those two hate each other."

"Harm told me," Calvin said. "How do you know of it?"

"Are you mad? Their feud is legendary. Besides," Jack cocked his head. "I wouldn't be much of a spy if I _didn't_ know."

Calvin laughed. "Harm told me about the necklace. Emily came down to camp 'cause she wanted to see how far Harm had fallen, at being back with me. She wanted to crow over Harm's misfortune, Harm said. I decided to make Emily jealous of Harm, instead - fuck me if I was going to be the butt of her joke, you know? So I introduced meself, we went for a walk and before I knew it, I was fuckin' her in Martin's cornfield."

Jack threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, Jesus, Cal, you've always had a way with 'em."

"She might be fucking me to piss Harmony off, but she enjoyed every second I was inside her."

"Lucky bastard, she's pretty to look at."

"You seen anyone from our old unit?" Calvin asked. "Before you came here with the Dragoons."

"Nah. Our old unit is disbanded, we're all over the place now."

"I'll say. Two of us with the British, that's the furthest place I ever expected ending up. At least the work you're doing is worthwhile."

"I ain't doing any work now, that's the problem," Jack said. "Got no one to report to, so there's no point being here. But I can't get away with my neck intact either. I'm stuck here. It's a damned pity you're not stayin', I miss my old unit. Seeing even one of them is like almost being home again."

"I know what you mean," Calvin said, feeling feels the same. "You'll be careful, won't you? I don't want you getting hanged too."

"I'll be careful."

"Was ours a chance meeting, just now?" Calvin asked, suddenly curious. "You must have heard I was here."

"I was going to go to your camp to see you out," Jack grinned. "You saved me the trouble by comin' to mine."

Calvin chuckled.

"You said Putman was killed by our own?" Calvin prompted.

"Yeh. Did Mrs. Farshaw tell you about Sumter, at all?"

"Colonel Sumter? No, why? Did he kill Putman?"

"No, his cousin did," Jack said. "Putman was tortured by Tavington and Bordon into giving up information."

"Hell's teeth," Calvin murmured.

"He held out as long as he could, but in the end, he gave them Camden. And John Sumter's spy ring."

Calvin's eyes widened. Jack elaborated, explaining that Sumter had taken over the spying in the city, but had been using his own men. To protect his own - including Jack - Putman gave Tavington and Bordon Sumter's.

"That's… he betrayed them," Calvin said, disapproving.

"He did. If he hadn't, I would have been caught and hung long since. In the end, the others were found out anyway, my cousin included. I don't know how I feel about it all to be honest. But yes, he did betray Sumter and Sumter shot him for it. So, your wife really never told you about John Sumter."

"No. Why should she?"

"Because he fuckin' abducted her, kept her in his bed for a day and a half, while Bordon scurried around trying to get a ransom together to get her back."

"What?" Calvin stopped dead, his mouth falling open. Jack got him moving again and when he did, he told Calvin all of it, as much as he knew. Calvin listened as Jack told him of Sumter forcing Harmony to pleasure him, and his threat to rape her. That she climbed out the window to escape him, and went running back to Bordon.

Jack continued, telling Calvin everything that Harmony hadn't. In the city, Jack hadn't known that Miss Jutland was Mrs. Farshaw, he'd found that out later, in camp, when he recognised her one day after she became a camp follower. She never recognised him though and he did his level best to not be seen by her, in case she ever did. Miss Jutland, he told Calvin now, was a name he was quite well acquainted with, well before he laid his eyes on her and recognised her for who she truly was. Calvin listened grimly as Jack told him of Bordon meeting Harmony at the Mighty George, and of the torrent affair that began almost immediately after.

"Emily told me Harm was screwing Bordon," Calvin ground out. "I didn't believe her. She's as vicious as a badger and I thought she was trying to cause mischief."

"No, Cal, it's true," Jack replied. "He asked her to be his mistress back in the city, she agreed. It's why Sumter took her, because Bordon and Tavington burned down Sumter's cousin's tavern and beat Sumter and his men to atoms. It was revenge, and it worked. Bordon loves her, he must do. Why else would he rush about trying to raise funds for her ransom? And later, when they came face to face in battle, Bordon killed him for it."

"Bordon killed Sumter?" Calvin asked, voice flat.

"After Sumter had surrendered, too," Jack nodded. "The quarter was ignored, because Bordon wanted to avenge Mrs. Farshaw."

"Who he was fucking, all along," Calvin spat. "Are you sure about that?"

"They tried to keep that part quiet, but Christ, Cal, canvas walls are thin. Bordon would visit her in her tent. They might not have been as loud as Tavington was with his doxy, but they weren't quiet, either. They were heard. Besides, she up and announced it to Mrs. Salisbury, right outside her tent, for all to hear. He was fucking her in the city, too. He was screwing Putman's wife for a bit there -"

"Putman's wife?" Calvin gasped.

"There's another story in and of itself," Jack replied. "But one night, Mrs. Farshaw caught them. She was so angry, she was screaming at him, Trellim repeated the whole argument back to the rest of us, word for word. The things she was sayin', it was clear she was screwin' him too."

"What things?"

"Well, for one, he accused her of not being there for him enough, when he had need of her. Between the sheets, like. She yelled back something like 'so you go and fuck another woman, because I'm not here to fuck you enough?' Something like that. I'm sorry, Cal, this can't be easy for you to hear. I assumed you would have known they were bedding each other, what with this engagement and all."

"Yeh. More fool me," Calvin scowled.

"Here, I know that look, Cal. You're fuming that she's spread her legs for him. She's your wife and all, and I ain't interfering with that. But you best be warned, Cal. You need to be careful of Bordon," Jack said seriously. "He already killed John Sumter for hurting her. He might kill you, so she'll be free to marry him."

"I'll watch my back," Calvin said. "And in a few days, Harmony will be beyond his reach."

"Well, if you want my advice, I say you should wait until then to punish her, if you've got a mind to."

"You think he'll retaliate, if he knew I slapped her?" Calvin asked.

"I'm damned certain of it," Jack replied grimly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Calvin jerked back the tent flap. Harmony glanced up from the straw bed, her face wet with the tears she'd vowed to only shed when she was out of sight. She was keeping her promise but just then, Calvin didn't appreciate her efforts. Not after what he'd just learned. He was already fuming but seeing her upturned face shift from grief stricken to contemptuous, her upper lip curling as she looked away, something snapped inside him. Heart broken over her latest fuck, and contemptuous of Calvin.

He lifted his arm and slapped her with the full force of the back of his hand. She cried out and flung to the side, she hadn't even seen the blow coming. As she was sprawled and gasping, he straddled her legs, seized her shoulder, pushed her down to her back and slapped her again. She kicked and flailed, crying out beneath him. Her arms came up to ward off another blow.

"You were fucking him!" Calvin hissed, though he wanted to shout. As Jack said, canvas walls were thin. "Everyone knows it - the entire time you were with him, you were spreading your legs for him!" She was sobbing in pain and fear, he was still landing blows but many were caught on her arms. That wasn't good enough for him, he didn't want to strike her arms, he wanted to smash her face. "All your cryin' and complain' over Clements and your virtue! You never had no virtue! You up and bed Bordon like it was nothin'!"

She was tall for a woman and strong, she wasn't laying there taking it. Pain flared in his cheek where her knuckles grazed him, her legs were kicking at his, he felt her seize his queue and she pulled it hard. He seized her by the throat and began to squeeze, that had always been the fastest way to settle her down. She thrashed beneath him, clawed at his fingers to try to loosen them. When she couldn't, she slapped him hard across the face. He slapped her back. All the while, he continued his abusive onslaught, calling her whore and every other insult he could think of, until she began to grow limp beneath him. That was when he released her, when the need for air that would not come drained the strength from her body. His fingers snapped away from her throat. She lay there, gasping her life back in.

"One day," she panted between gasps for air and her sobs. "You'll kill me. You'll hold on too long and when you let go, I'll be dead!"

"I should be giving you that warning, you damned bitch," he spat. He seized her by the hair and snapped her head back. "One day, I'll hold on too fucking long and when I let go, I'll be fuckin' free of you! You whore! You were fuckin' him! I was laid up wounded because of you and Clement and here you were in the city fuckin' Major Bordon!"

"You blame me for your wounds?" She gasped. "Get off me, get the hell off me!"

He remained on top of her, straddling her, his hands on her shoulders pinned her to the ground. He saw bruising on her throat, she would need to wear a scarf for a few days. Her cheeks were red, not only with tears, but from the blows he'd landed. Fuck her, damned bitch. "How do I know you ain't carryin' his bastard?"

Her tear filled eyes widened. "You know I have my menses!"

"Then you don't fuckin' deny it. You've been screwin' him all this time!"

"I thought you were dead!"

"I nearly did die, because of you! I'm sent to Savannah, where I'm left for dead, so Clements could marry you! I lay in the shit and muck for days! For weeks, I barely knew myself for the pain! Then I'm forced to join the damned British and all that time, you were fucking Bordon!"

"You did all that to yourself," she spat. "Putting me in Clements' bed! I didn't want to do any of that! I had nothing to do with you being sent to Savannah!"

"You fucked Bordon quickly enough though, ain't? Yeh, you told me you have your damned menses but there are two other women sharing that room, and now I know you to be a lyin' whore, how do I know those rags weren't theirs? I won't be raisin' his bastard, Harm. If you're bleeding, fuckin' show me!"

"Show you?" She breathed, staring up at him from where he had her pinned to the ground. Her throat felt crushed, her face burned from his slaps, her arms were covered in bruises from warding off the blows. But now… all of that agony faded, became insignificant. How could she possibly show him, when she didn't have her courses? "I -"

"You have been in another man's bed," he snarled down at her, spittle striking her cheek. "You told me you have your bleeding, but I don't believe you. I think it's to hide that you're carryin' another man's whelp. Prove me wrong, if you fuckin' can," he smiled as he said this, a small cruel curling to his lips that held no shred of amusement. He lifted one leg, reached down and took up a fistful of her skirts.

He was going to do it, he was going to jerk up her skirts and he would see that there was no wadding between her legs, and certainly no blood. Time seemed to standstill. One moment he was dragging her skirts up her legs. The next thing, Captain McLaughlin was calling Lieutenant Farshaw outside. Calvin jerked his hand away, releasing her skirt.

"I will be back in a moment. You stay right where you are, we're not done yet," he threw over his shoulder as he strode from the tent.

"Oh, God, oh God," Harmony lurched off the ground and began striding, wringing her hands, then pressing them to her stomach, almost hysterical with terror. He would know she was pregnant, as soon as he inspected her. He would see the absence of blood, he would know she had lied and there could only be one reason for that lie. She was pregnant. He would beat the baby from her, as he had once before. She covered her mouth to stifle a sob, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn't go through it again. She couldn't bear to lose Richard's child! Her child. Lord, no, she could not. A plan came to her in those moments, one she did not stop to consider, for there was no time. It would be painful, but she did not stop to think of that, either. Harmony reached into her skirts and began pulling items from her pockets in order to get to the little sewing kit she kept there. It had served her well in desperate situations in the past and now, it would serve her again. Her hands trembled as she opened it, her fingers shaking so badly she had to try several times before she could pull out the small but very sharp scissors. She was working by instinct now, as she had when she had just been told by Sumter that he would return in the afternoon to rape her. She opened the scissors. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, then quickly slashed the sharp blade down, cutting deeply across her palm. It did not hurt much, not at first. But a moment later, it stung like fire and she cut off a shriek, biting her lip against the torturous ache.

For several long moments, she panted through the pain. The breathing helped to clear her head somewhat. Her plan became clearer with each passing moment. She reached for the thick squares of linen she had pretended to need, wrapped one around her hand until it was soaked with blood. Meanwhile, she searched one handed through her chest until she found her thick, black gloves. It was far too hot for those, but she needed to hide her slashed palm from Calvin. The square of linen quickly soaked through, Harmony hoisted up her skirts and pushed the bloody rag all the way up between her legs. Keeping her legs closed to keep the rag in place, she dropped her skirts back down. She needed bandages now, for her hand which was dripping blood onto the ground. With her good hand, she pulled up her outer skirt to reveal her white petticoats. With the blood smeared scissors, she snipped the hem and then she ripped a long length free. Her cut palm stung like fire, but she grit her teeth as she wrapped the new bandage several times around her palm. She pulled on the gloves to hide the bandages, their dark colour would help to hide any blood that soaked through. They were knitted from a dark wool, and when spots of blood appeared, having soaked through the bandage, they were barely noticeable.

She wiped her scissors clean and put them back into the sewing kit. And then she collapsed onto the bed, her good hand pressing hard against the cut on her wounded palm, to help stop the blood. Sitting there waiting for Calvin to return, the full impact of what she'd just done hit her like a blow. She stared in shocked silence at her wounded hand, at the darker spots glistening there. Those scissors had been sharp and her palm was throbbing, the wound was going to torment her for days. She was utterly stunned by what she had just done. If she had stopped to think through her plan, she might not have done it. But there had been no other option to her, her mind had been focused, she had been working on pure instinct, driven only by her need to protect her baby. It was about self preservation now, and the preservation of the child she already loved so dearly.

The tent flap lifted and Calvin strode in, looking as livid as when he'd exited. She prayed that he didn't notice that she hadn't been wearing gloves before her left. Harmony made sure she was exactly where he had left her; his green eyes pierced her before he shifted his gaze to tie the canvas door closed.

"If you're lying," he said as he squatted before her. "I'm going to make you howl."

"I'm not lying," she said, forcing herself to ignore the throbbing pain in her palm. She pulled up her skirts herself, then leaned back, legs splayed before him. His eyes landed on the linen rag, the blood had attached it to her quim. He peeled it back, his expression shifting from fury to astonishment. She could see what he could, a square of cloth covered in fresh, glistening blood. Her quim was covered with it also. He lifted his gaze to gape at her.

"I tried to tell you," she said. "I have my menses, I am not pregnant."

"So you did," he breathed, staring at the rag.

"You made me bed Clements," she said, voice soft. "My virtue was destroyed. Why shouldn't I have taken a lover of my own choice, when I thought my husband to be dead? I didn't lie to you, Calvin. I never said I didn't bed him. I thought you were being a gentleman," she spat, "by not asking."

"I asked you how long it's been for you," he shot back. "I assumed your last time was with Clements, and you didn't disabuse me!"

"I don't even remember you saying that," she lied. "You said it would be different this time, Calvin, but it's not. It's just the same as before - the beating, the choking. You say you'll be happy if you take it too far and kill me but we both know you won't be! I haven't lied to you, Gods, if anything, I've been completely honest! I let you know from the first moment you came here that I am in love with him!"

"Yeh. And he loves you. Enough to kill the man who wanted to rape you," he said, returning his eyes to her blood coated dark blonde curls. "If he tries the same with me, it'll be me who does the killin'. And from now on, it'll be me who does the fuckin'."

He stared down at her naked quim until Harmony began to squirm. She was uncomfortable at being so exposed to him and she tried to close her legs and sidle back, but he gripped her thighs and shot her a such a glance, warning her to be still. She subsided, turning her face away as she settled back on her elbows. He tossed the bloodied rag aside and she felt his fingers move along her folds.

"Calvin, please," she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling sick to her stomach by his touch. "You have to wait, you know that! Until my bleeding stops."

"The hell I will," he removed his hand from her flesh and shuffled forward into position, unlacing the front of his breeches. "Do you think I care about blood? Fuck, that's all a soldier knows. Blood and more blood. Do you know what I was told, Harm? That the others in camp heard you and that piece of shit going at it in your tent," he shoved his breeches down, freeing his solid erection. "All the Officers, the soldiers, the camp followers. They all knew he was fucking you. Soon, all them out there will know it too. Men in my unit. We convinced them that you were marrying him for security, that it's me you really love. But they'll know soon that you were fucking him, because everyone else heard you enjoying it with him. So you're going to enjoy it even more with me," he shoved her back onto the mattress and she stared up at him, terrified and trying to ignore the probing of his prick at her entrance. "You're going to moan for me, Harm," he smiled that horrible cruel smile as her face drained of colour. With one swift movement, he lobbed his prick inside of her. "Agh, Jesus, that's good," he growled, burying himself to the hilt and holding himself there to enjoy her more fully. "You've been fucked by how many different men by now?" He taunted her. "And you're still as tight as you were on our wedding night."

Closing her eyes, she turned her face to the side. Her thoughts turned to Richard, because she loved him so desperately and wished she could spare him this. He must be completely distraught, worrying for her, fretting over her being in Calvin's bed, and now it was actually happening, his fears were coming true. Her husband was forcing her to be unfaithful to Richard. Calvin thrust and panted on top of her, bracing himself on corded arms as he lifted his hips high and slammed down into her. For those first few minutes, he drove into her, striving toward orgasm with the instinct of a wild beast.

But eventually he remembered himself, remembered there had been a purpose to this, a point that he needed to make. The tent walls were thin, sound carried. And right now, in the tents to either side of his, his brother soldiers were gathering, playing cards and drinking. Maybe to gossip over what might even now be spreading to his camp from Tavington's. That Harmony had been fucking Bordon for months, in a tent just like this one. That Calvin's wife was a whore. Fuck, he hated them. Hated the British, hated the Loyalists who wore the Redcoats of their masters. Hated having to parade as one of them, but he'd had to take the oath, he'd had to get out of that jail cell or he would have rot to death! Living amongst men he'd tried to kill a year ago… It could barely be tolerated as it was, he would not allow it to become even worse now, if they all believed Harmony preferred being fucked by Bordon. For the benefit of those soldiers, he commanded harshly, "moan for me, Harmony."

"Calvin - "

Her protest was cut off when he sifted his weight to one arm, raised his free hand, and slapped her. His fingers curled around her slim throat. He didn't even need to squeeze this time, in fact he was barely touching her. But she began to moan for him anyway.

"Louder," he panted, his fingers a mocking caress along her throat, his hand lingering there, letting her know what he would do to her. "Loud enough to let everyone know it's me you prefer in your bed, you fuckin' damned bitch."

She moaned again, but it was still too soft for him. Not loud enough. Frustrated, he jerked her bodice down to get to her breasts, revealing as much of her full globes as possible. He suckled gently at first, to lull her, but then he sunk his teeth in and she arched her back and shrieked.

"That's better," he laughed. He was so damned angry that he found her shrieks exciting - heightening his enjoyment. But that was not what had driven him to bite her. Sounds of pain and pleasure sounded much the same and those outside would believe hers were shrieks of pleasure after all his moaning.

"Oh, Calvin," he hissed in her ear. "Say it. Oh Calvin, fuck me."

She repeated it loudly, adding everything he told her to say.

"Oh, how I missed you! Yes, fuck me, Cal! Oh, I love you, oh, my darling husband!"

Calvin finally let her stop, he knew others outside would have heard, his point had been made. He gave no further instructions as he got down to the business of rutting through his arousal to his climax. Finally, he collapsed on top of her, spilling his seed deep within. He gave a final shudder and then stilled, his face buried in her neck.

"That was a fine performance, darling," he panted, his lips brushing along her smooth skin - a mockery of intimacy. "Worthy of the finest doxy."

"Oh, please get off me," she begged, softly so that no one outside would hear. She feared he would beat her bloody if she did or said anything that would see his efforts undone.

"We'll do it again tonight," he warned as he pulled out of her.

"Just, just, get off!" She sat up as soon as he shifted his weight off her, and she pulled at her bodice and stays to inspect the damage to her ravaged breasts. There were three large circular welts, red and raw and smarting. "Oh my God, you bit me!" she gasped, tears dripping in a torrent onto her breasts.

"You weren't being loud enough," he shrugged, pushing back up onto his knees to work his breeches closed. Without another word, he slipped from the tent.

Harmony stared blindly at the swaying flap. It was all silent outside, but then laughter rose abruptly among the soldiers. She could hear Calvin feign embarrassment, she heard him say "oh dear, I tried to keep her quiet, I guess she was enjoying herself more than I thought!"

"We're not going to get much sleep tonight, are we?" She heard someone else say to another round of laughter. More ribald suggestions were being thrown about.

Violated, humiliated, and the nightmare was only beginning. Harmony curled into a small ball and wept.


	83. Chapter 83 - Under a Minute

Chapter 83 - Under a Minute:

Beth entered the tent to find Harmony laying on the blanket covered bed of straw. Harmony forced herself to sit up, she moved slowly for her entire body was aching after her fight with Calvin.

"How is Richard?" She asked.

"Worried for you," Beth replied. She handed Harmony a bottle and sat down beside her. Without hesitation, Harmony pulled the cork and began to drink. Beth watched her warily. When Harmony offered the bottle to Beth, the younger girl shook her head, refusing. "You look dreadful."

"That's because I am fucking dreadful," Harmony replied. She laid down again but found she couldn't drink that way, so she pushed herself up again. Beth eyed her all the while. Harmony settled in with the bottle, determined to get soused 'til she was seeing double. "I had to bed him," she said and Beth closed her eyes, as if the pain was too much for her, too. "Yesterday and last night. He demanded I moan loudly, so everyone would hear me and know we were coupling and would believe I was loving it. Which was humiliating and… Gods, I hate him."

"Why would he do such a thing?" Beth asked, shocked.

"Because he found out that I've been bedding Richard all this time, that some of those times were in a tent, where others could hear us. He knows that gossip will reach his men here, he knows he won't look so grand, then, with everyone knowing his wife had been in another man's bed and had liked it. Oh, it's alright when he decides I have to fuck Clements for money, but it's not alright when I do the choosing, when I fall in love with the man I chose. He's taken everything away from me," Harmony wailed. "And now he's taken my dignity!"

"I'm so sorry," Beth began rubbing Harmony's back, just as she had the day before. "He knows then. But at least he doesn't know about the pregnancy, with him thinking you had your menses. Did you tell him your bleeding had stopped?"

"Yes, well," Harmony drew in a long breath. "I cut myself. It's quite deep… Needs looking at."

"Where? How? Show me," Beth said. Harmony pulled off her glove then peeled back the bandage around her hand. Beth turned Harmony's palm over, saw the livid cut. "Oh my God! How?"

"Scissors," Harmony said shortly. "I cut myself. It was an accident."

"Cornet Simms," Beth called toward the opening of the tent. "Send Mallory in here with his medical kit, would you?"

When the Dragoons entered, Mallory, who had some experience with doctoring, inspected Harmony's hand. As he set to work, Harmony hissed as Mallory pasted on a thick and pungent plaster. When he was done, he applied a fresh bandage.

"I have some laudanum, if you'd like it for the pain," Mallory offered and Harmony nodded eagerly. When he began to pour out a small measure, Beth told him to leave the bottle. He glanced at her in surprise.

"We've got plenty," Beth explained. "Colonel Tavington would let her have it, if he knew."

"Yes, Mrs. Tavington," Mallory said. "To take the edge of the pain but still be able to perform your daily duties, have only a drop," he instructed Harmony. "If you want it to sleep, have three. No more than that, this can kill you if you take too much."

"I know," Harmony said, already thinking of the advantages to having laudanum. Slightly more than a drop would have her able to walk about and perform duties, while keeping her in a blessedly wonderful haze. Mallory withdrew, leaving the women alone again.

"I know I'm married to Calvin, but I feel I've been unfaithful to Richard," Harmony said to Beth. "And what if he hears that I've been moaning while having relations with Calvin? It'll break his heart!"

"It's already broken," Beth said. "But yes, that would make it worse, to be sure."

Feeling wretched, Harmony poured whiskey into a cup and added the required measure of laudanum from the long, glass dropper.

"Harmony - did he hurt you?" Beth asked. "When he made you… I mean, I know he forced you, which would have hurt. But did he _hurt_ you?"

Harmony dropped her head back as if praying to heaven, she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Harm," Beth was worried now. "What did he do?"

"What he always does when he wants me to comply," Harmony murmured.

"And what is that?"

Harmony opened her eyes, met Beth's. "There's nothing you can do," she shrugged. She downed the whiskey and laudanum in one gulp; then she laid down on her side.

"He must have been in Tavington's camp," Harmony said, aware of Beth's eyes on her. "He heard gossip about me bedding Richard. At least he believes I have my menses now. After what I did."

"What did you do?" Beth asked.

"He demanded I prove I had my bleeding."

"How you could prove such a thing?" Beth gasped.

"Especially when I was lying and _wasn't_ bleeding!" Harmony agreed. "But I did what I had to," she lifted her hand to her face and stared at her glove covered palm.

It all became clear to Beth - Harmony's accident with the scissors, why she would be wearing gloves in this heat. Harmony had not cut herself by accident, it had been deliberate. Harmony confirmed this suspicion by explaining in detail what she had done, to Beth's ever increasing mortification.

"You think I'm mad," Harmony finished, meeting Beth's eyes.

"I think you're brave," Beth whispered. "I think you're the strongest, hardest woman I've known. And the most desperate. Oh, Harm, if there's a way out of this mess, I will find it! I swear, I'll.." She trailed off, over come as she gave way to tears. This time, it was Harmony comforting Beth. She rose and put her arms around her.

"God, I wish he was dead," Harmony said, voice wooden. "He _was_ dead! He's come back from the grave to haunt me…"

"Why won't you tell me what he did to you, Harm?" Beth asked between sobs. "It must have been so bad!"

Why not, indeed? Because she was feeling shame that did not belong to her. Calvin was the one who should be ashamed… Without another word, she unwound the scarf she had at her throat. Beth lifted her head from Harmony's shoulder, dabbed at her cheeks and eyes to dry them.

"What's that," she said, seeing some bluish marks on Harmony's skin.

"He didn't hold on as tight as he's done in the past," Harmony replied. "I told him he'll kill me one day. He reckons he doesn't care, but I know he will when there's no going back."

"He… he choked you…" Beth breathed.

"Oh, and he bit me," Harmony said, pulling the front of her bodice down to show the marks on her breasts. "When he was rutting me. I wasn't moaning loud enough so he made me scream."

"He's choked you before? And he bit you?"

"The first thing he did when he got back from Tavington's camp, was back hand me across the face. He started laying into me, saying the most vile things. I fought him back, but he's just so much more stronger than I am. When his hand came about my throat, I knew to stop fighting. That's when he demanded proof. He was called away, thank God, and I was able to use the scissors to make it look as though I had my courses. He returned, I lifted my skirts, he saw the rag I'd just put up there. I didn't think he'd want to rut with me, not while he thought I was bleeding. But he did and oh, God, I feel like a whore!"

Beth put her arms around Harmony's shoulders and whispered that she was not a whore.

"I moaned like one," Harmony said. "I moaned because he commanded me to. I pretended to enjoy it, because, as he says, the soldiers here might hear that I have been bedding Richard. That hurt Calvin's pride, he wanted them to think I enjoy it with him more, as if I ever would. I had to do it - I didn't want him choking me again and I was worried that he was angry enough to not let go! But then came the biting, to make me scream. When he was done, he went outside, and I could hear them all laughing. He pretended like he didn't know how loud we'd been. And last night, I had to do it all over again. I didn't wait for him to hurt me though. Gods, I am such a whore, just going along with it all so blithely. I can't believe he's reduced me to this again, this weak, meek little scared thing, too frightened to even speak when he's around!"

"Oh, sweet Lord," Beth breathed, pulling Harmony's face down to her breast and stroking her hair. "Harmony, I have to tell William about this. He will know what to do! I'm sure he'll come here immediately and give Farshaw the flogging of his life!"

"No, you mustn't!" Harmony begged. "You must not, Beth. William will tell Richard and Richard will… Well, he'll likely kill Calvin, which would be a fine thing, but Richard would be thrown into jail for murder!"

"I'll tell William not to tell him. That he has to deal with it himself -"

"No, it won't make a difference!" Harmony panted, desperate to make Beth understand. "It will only make it worse! Tavington won't be here at night, when I'm alone with Calvin. He'll rip into me then, hurt me even more! Please, Beth - I have it under control, now. I'm cooperating now which means he has no reason to hurt me. He didn't hurt me at all last night. Beth, you don't know what it's like, you don't now how much worse you can make it, by telling people who can't truly help me. At the end, I'll still be here, at his mercy. You don't want to rouse a beast that has no mercy! I'm begging you, let me deal with this on my own!"

Beth considered Harmony for a long time, the two locked gazes, Harmony pleading, and Beth contemplating. Finally, Beth nodded, conceding that Harmony had more experience in this area than Beth herself did, and she had survived her husband once, she must know how to survive him again.

"The laudanum… I'm starting to feel it…Harmony whispered, her voice thick and her eyes starting to glaze. "Oh, that feels so much better… The pain is so horrible, Beth. I'm sure I'll die of it."

Somehow, Beth understood that Harmony was no longer talking of the pain in her hand. Eventually the laudanum took a hold of her, and Harmony laid down on the pallet, drifting in a pleasant haze. Beth stayed at her side for a small while longer.

Then she hid the laudanum - and some money as well - where Harmony would find them, amongst her stockings in her portmanteaus. There was no reason for Farshaw to look in there, she hoped. After kissing Harmony lightly on her head, and pulling the blanket up around her body, Beth left the tent.

* * *

Richard picked up Harmony's pillow, pressed it to his face and inhaled deeply. The scent of her lingered, but like her, even that would be gone soon.

And Farshaw would take her even further away, soon. The Second Regiment of Foot were preparing to leave, they would begin decamping shortly, and Harmony - as Lieutenant Farshaw's wife, was to go with them. Richard was becoming frantic. He hadn't even been able to say good-bye, he couldn't imagine never seeing her again. Beth had promised to invite Harmony to the house, and Richard was desperate for that to happen, so they could say goodbye. This was a nightmare that had to have an end. He needed to see her, needed to speak to her, needed to hold her in his arms once last time.

He turned at a knock on his door, it began to open and Beth walked in. Richard knew immediately that something was amiss, he could see writ across her face.

"What is it?" He asked, throwing down the pillow and striding to her. "What's happened?" He knew she'd been to see Harmony, he'd been impatiently waiting for her to return, to give him news, as she'd done her previous visit the day before.

"I have to tell you something," she said, her hands pressed to her stomach. She began to stride around the chamber, restless, nervous. "But Gods, she told me not too. But I have to tell you, if I don't, it'll just keep happening. But she said it'd just make it worse, if I did. And she made me promise I wouldn't tell, so if I do, I'll be breaking a confidence. But we're not children, this isn't some child's game. You need to know but Gods, if she's right, and if I make it worse… I don't know what to do, I don't…"

"Beth," he took both her hands in his and stared down at her. She gazed back at him, imploring. "If it's bad enough to have you this distressed, then it's already at its worst."

"Gods, you're right," Beth broke down and cried. She managed to tell him through her tears, everything that Harmony had told her, everything Harmony had shown her. Once the floodgates were opened, they would not stop. She told him all of it, and Bordon darkened with every word, his face twisting with fury. Finally, she came to a stop. She was breathless, panting and panicked and still crying. Richard bought her hands up to his lips, kissed them, then released her and turned for the door. "Where are you going?" Beth cried, but he did not answer. He continued on out the door, she followed him as he strode through the house. "You can't go there," she pleaded. "You'll make it worse - he'll hurt her worse, Richard please!" She wailed but he ignored her. Once he was outside, he shouted at his men to saddle his horse.

She could not make him stay, he was going to go to camp, and possibly cause both his and Harmony's destruction.

Distraught, Beth bolted through the house, crying out for William.

* * *

With her good hand, Harmony fanned herself, though in truth she barely noticed the heat. Others were sweltering visibly as they walked her by, but Harmony just stood there at Calvin's side, in a lovely laudanum induced haze.

"Hmm?" She tried to focus her gaze on the woman standing before her - Mrs. Little. She was a pretty girl, no older than Harmony, and was married to one of the soldiers. She was an amiable lass and had been ready to welcome Harmony amongst the other camp followers in Calvin's unit. She was as vacant headed as Harmony; though in Mrs. Little's case, she was simply born that way.

"I thought we could go for a walk later," the woman repeated. "Though, truly, it's too hot to walk. But there'll be a pedlar, I've been told! I need some new ribbons, and some cotton… Oh, the list goes on. I hope he isn't too expensive. Some of them can be, can't they Lieutenant?" She asked Calvin, who smiled and nodded.

Despite being a married woman, Mrs. Little swooned a little at Calvin's smile. Such a handsome fellow, and those eyes! She had never seen such a deep green, it was quite compelling. She stared openly, spellbound, until his smile deepened and became knowing. She gave herself a shake. He was easily the most handsome soldier in camp. And well built too - so tall! She had to crane her neck to meet his gaze and…

_Oh, he's caught you staring again, you silly ninny! _Mrs. Little flushed crimson and to cover her embarrassment she continued to prattle at an even faster clip. "Some can be so expensive! My Walter, he doesn't get enough money to afford much of what these pedlars bring. It can be quite disheartening really, always looking at things that you could never actually have. But looking is half the fun, even still! Besides, Lieutenant Farshaw hasn't had his wife to spend money on, I'll wager he has lots saved up, don't you Sir?" Again she caught his gaze and again, she melted, her smile becoming lopsided. He eyed her up and down with such a smirk! The cheeky rogue! Again, she caught herself and pulled her gaze away. She loved her husband, but Lord, it was hard not to stare! "Mrs. Farshaw? Say you'll walk with me?"

Harmony's eyes worked - she struggled to keep them open, forced them wide only to have them drift almost closed again. A sharp jab in her side - a nudge from Calvin - helped her to focus on Mrs. Little.

"That'd be… good," she managed, though her voice was slurred slightly.

"I will come along, if you don't mind," Calvin offered. "You shouldn't be walking through camp on your own." _Besides, I doubt Harmony will be able to walk two steps without falling flat on her face! I'll need to buy a bottle a day, at this rate. _"And I do indeed have some money saved, Mrs. Little. Enough to buy the two prettiest girls in camp a pretty or two." _Hopefully he'll have something of quality for Emily, too._ That was his true reason for wanting to visit the pedlar, to buy his new mistress a gift.

Harmony's lips were curved in that smile, and now Mrs. Little simpered as well, though she was merely excited at the prospect of a gift from Calvin. Harmony's smile was caused by the lovely dulling sensation of laudanum. Her thoughts were scattered but Richard was somewhere in them, and whenever they arose, she embraced them. She did so now, she held the thoughts of Richard close and delved deeper into the fog, where she could dream without interruption. With that little smile, she remembered the first day they met, back in Charlestown. She had given herself to him that very first night, but afterward, she'd felt sick with worry that she'd never see him again, or that he would gloat to his companions of his conquest. But Richard had come back to her, with sweet words and flowers, even sweeter kisses soothing away her doubts. More memories ran through her mind, of throwing herself into his strong arms after escaping Sumter. Of all the nights they had spent in bed, sweaty and clawing at one another as they strove toward climax. Of the after, of being cradled in his arms, their fingers exploring one another's body as they kissed until finally drifting to sleep. They had been the best of days! Lord, how she wished she could hold him again, one last time. To kiss him, to feel him, to draw in the scent of him! Horses, sweat, spice, pomade and occasionally whiskey, all the smells that were uniquely Richard…

His touch, his scent, his handsome face were all so vivid in her mind just then that she could imagine him in the minutest detail. So strong was her recollection of him that she could almost imagine him striding toward her that very moment. She smiled her melancholic smile, expecting the vision of him to vanish in a puff.

"When do you wish to go, Mrs. Little?" Calvin asked the woman while Harmony stood at his side, fixated on her vision as it came closer. "He'll stay for a few hours, but I think it's best to get in quick, before the best of his wares are gone."

"Oh, I think so too, Lieutenant," Mrs. Little was saying.

The apparition had not dissipated. Harmony slowly lost her smile and her glazed eyes grew large as the vision of Richard grew stronger - actually solidifying into her beloved. Lord, he wore such a look on his face! Like he was chewing rocks. Like he was ready to hurl lightening and thunder from his fingertips. He was like a storm, his face dark and so filled with fury! A thought hit her like a blow then, striking through her haze.

_Beth told him! Oh, my God!_

It made her knees weak. The others noticed him and Mrs. Little wore a mildly astonished expression, wondering who the newcomer was. Calvin recognised him immediately and he stiffened, lips tight, face as dark as the Major's. He drew himself up to full height and flexed his arms, for it was clear by Richard's swagger that he had come to fight.

"Get inside," Calvin spat at Harmony, who was far too stunned to obey. Richard marched into their midst, and all she could do was gape at him like a fool. He glared at Calvin, who stared back, tight lipped. Ignoring him for the moment, Richard seized Harmony's hand and kissed it, and he did not let go. Calvin stared at their joined hands, his eyebrows climbing his forehead.

Mrs. Little was also staring at their joined hands in astonishment, which quickly gave way to understanding as she lifted her eyes to Richard's face. Everyone knew the story, that Harmony had been engaged to Major Bordon. Mrs. Little felt certain that this was he, Major Bordon, the former fiancé. Judging by the way Mrs. Farshaw was staring at the Major with spellbound fascination, Mrs. Little began to doubt, very much, the story that was being bandied about - that Mrs. Farshaw had no feelings for the Officer. And if Mrs. Little - the dimwitted fool - could draw to this conclusion in only a moment, how quickly would others realise it?

"Sir, let her go," Calvin hissed, teeth clenched, furious that the Major had come, furious that he would dare stand so close to Harmony, and holding her hand at that, in the middle of camp!

"I've been informed of what you did to her," Richard replied, eyes narrowed, his body stiff with tension. Mrs. Little took one look at the Major's face and she began to back away, her heart pounding as she slowly retreated. The girl had never liked confrontations and it was clear to her that there was one brewing now. She could not believe that Harmony could stand there, smiling up at the Major, clearly delighted to see him. Didn't she sense the violence in the man? The threat from them both? Mrs. Little could, and not just in Major Bordon, but in Lieutenant Farshaw also. When she was a safe distance away, she hiked up her skirts and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

"My wife is none of your business," Calvin reached out and seized Harmony's other wrist. Harmony, smiling that silly smile, made as if to move closer to the Major, but Calvin hauled her to his side. Bordon did not let go his hold, which left both men holding a wrist each, with Harmony gazing up at Richard all the while. She began to giggle up at him.

"You're always so fierce, my love," she whispered. He shot her a glance, his eyes softened for a moment, for her. Then they hardened again as he shifted his gaze back to Farshaw.

"She's coming with me," Bordon ground out. "You'll not get another chance to beat her."

"You've no right," Calvin curled his lip, his fingers curling tighter around Harmony's wrist. He was certain Bordon would begin trying to drag her away and the two men would be reduced to a tug of war as they wrangled for her right there in the between the tents. Soldiers were watching as they passed by, curious over the two men who were clearly on edge and ready to fight.

"I love her. You don't. That gives me the right," Bordon blustered, bluffing, knowing fully well that it gave him no right whatsoever.

"Bull shit," Calvin laughed in Bordon's face. "You love her, hmm? Well, you can have her then. For a price." Seeing Bordon freeze, his eyes wide with shock, Calvin's smile broadened. "I sold her to a Colonel once - it would be a step down for her, you only being a Major. But if you can pay, that's all that really matters."

Bordon uncoiled like a tight spring. Snarling like an angry wolf, he leapt forward and gripped Farshaw by the throat.

* * *

"Oh, God, Farshaw could be dead by now," Beth fretted. "And Richard will go to jail."

"Damned fool," William muttered. Sitting astride Thunder, he kept up a fast pace, one that Beth could match with ease astride Shadow Dancer. They were not alone, a full score of Dragoons galloped behind them. Even though they had set out only a few minutes after Richard, the Major had been going at such a fast clip, it had been impossible for the Dragoons to catch him up. He could very well be murdering Farshaw by now, or at the very least, in the thick of a fight.

The Company was forced to slow the hard pace once they reached the camp, for they could not thunder on through - too many people could be hurt. Tavington did bellow to make way, and the roads cleared for his passage, but it became very slow going. Finally, they reached Farshaw's section of camp. They saw that there was a commotion ahead of them, a group of soldiers and camp followers in a circle, dust being kicked up from inside the circle, men bellowing, women screaming and in the thick of it all - William saw from his high vantage astride Thunder, was Bordon and Calvin Farshaw, each doing their level best to kill the other.

"Keep Mrs. Tavington back!" He bellowed at Arthur, who reached out and grabbed Shadow Dancer's reins when Beth tried to plunge ahead. Thunder streaked ahead of them and William threw himself to the ground, then shoved his way into the crowd. No one seemed to notice him at first, all of them were too intent on the fight, until Dalton darted forward and shouted, "fall in for the Colonel!"

Immediately, the soldiers who had been blocking the way while shouting encouragement a moment earlier, all jumped back from the cluster, snapped to attention and saluted. Tavington ignored them as he strode into their midst, his cold eyes focused on Bordon and Farshaw. Grunting from the exertion, Bordon had pinned Farshaw to the ground. He pulled back his fist and sent it flying. A sickening crunch and William knew the Lieutenant's nose was broken. Farshaw bellowed, his own fist snapping out, he snarled like an infuriated beast as he clipped Bordon across the jaw. Richard was thrown to one side, Farshaw was gaining the advantage and was about to press it, when Tavington gestured to Dalton, Simms, Brownlow and Middleton to break them apart. The Dragoons stepped in, two for each, and they seized the offenders arms and hauled them away from each other. They were visibly restrained, two Dragoons holding each back, as William strode forward.

"Did you not hear the command to fall in?" Colonel Tavington asked Bordon and Farshaw coolly, his piercing gaze taking them both in at once. "You will both stand to attention!"

"He attacked me, Sir!" Farshaw, whose face was covered in blood, jutted his bruised jaw toward Bordon. "I didn't do nothing - he just sauntered in here and attacked me!"

"I can well believe it," William arched an eyebrow, voice condescending. "But I doubt you _'didn't do nothing'_ to deserve it. You see, Mrs. Tavington was quite forthcoming with all that you have been doing, Farshaw." When Calvin frowned, confused, William gave Harmony a meaningful glance. She was standing by her tent. William, seeing Beth at Harmony's side when he'd commanded her stay back, shot her a scowl. When he turned back to Farshaw, he saw by the Lieutenant's expression that his meaning was now understood. "She's told me everything," Tavington paused, then continued softly, "you may thank me now."

"Thank you, Sir?" Farshaw asked carefully, giving Tavington a wary glance.

"For saving your life," William replied, inclining his head toward Bordon, who was even at that moment struggling against his captors grip to reach Farshaw. "Stand down, Bordon," William commanded and for a wonder, Bordon immediately obeyed. "This ends now. All of it."

With that obscure remark, William strode to his horse, mounted and rode away.

"Where's he going?" Arthur asked, watching the Colonel leave.

"I don't know," Beth frowned. "He told me on the way here that he has something up his sleeve. And now he says that this is over. What do we do - do we take Harmony and leave?" She glanced at Harmony, who made no response.

"My wife's not goin' anywhere," Calvin ground out. "I don't give a fuck what he says."

"You'll give a fuck alright," Brownlow sneered. "You'll do whatever Tavington damned well tells you, my lad."

"That he will," Bordon said coldly, his voice calm now. His face was a mass of bruises and cuts, some bleeding openly. Shrugging off Brownlow and Dalton's grasp, he ignored Farshaw entirely as he approached Harmony. "I don't know what William has up his sleeve," he said gently, cupping her face with his strong fingers.

"You are so funny," Harmony giggled, staring up at him with her vacant eyes and radiant smile.

"Harm, listen to me," he tried to speak clearly, attempting to reach her through the fog. "I don't know what William is up to, but I do know that Farshaw will not harm you again."

"She's my damned wife!" Calvin bellowed. "Get your damned hands off of her!"

By now, several of O'Hara's men had arrived, having been summoned to the commotion. The highest ranking among them took one look at them all - at Calvin, covered with blood, at Bordon who was in much the same condition. The Major seemed on the verge of kissing Harmony right there for all to see.

"Sir," the fellow commanded - carefully, for Bordon outranked him. "Please step away, or I will be forced to take measures." He'd been ordered to take Bordon into custody, should he appear in camp. But there were an equal amount of Tavington's soldiers, seemingly ready to defend the Major, should O'Hara's men try.

"Damn you and your measures," Bordon muttered, staring into Harmony's eyes, wondering if he dared to kiss her. She was another man's wife and he had already failed to obey O'Hara's command to stay away from Farshaw… Knowing that he had probably incurred O'Hara's wrath as it was, he very reluctantly lowered his hands from Harmony's face - she pouted at him for that - and he took a full step back, leaving Harmony to Beth's care.

"Isn't he handsome?" He heard her whisper. Lord, she truly had no idea what was taking place right under her nose. He folded his arms across his chest and stood directly before Harmony, his eyes fixed on Farshaw's. Silence fell amongst the surrounding men as they waited for Tavington to return.

* * *

William had left them, his mount galloping through the camp, this time scattering everyone in his path. In short order, he came to the command tent, where he demanded to see Captain McLaughlin. Being of higher rank, he was admitted immediately.

Captain McLaughlin saluted, they exchanged the preliminaries, then Colonel Tavington cut straight to the point. "I've come to discuss Lieutenant Farshaw."

"Oh?" McLaughlin frowned.

"I wish to transfer him to my Legion," Tavington said bluntly and McLaughlin blinked, surprised.

"Colonel, I should warn you," McLaughlin began hesitantly. "Lieutenant Farshaw is a former Continental. He nearly died at the battle of Savannah, and he took the oath and joined us, to save his skin. I consider him and his kind quite a high risk for desertion. That is the real reason I petitioned my Colonel to give me leave to place my unit on O'Hara's baggage train. I couldn't stand in his way, I wouldn't stop him from coming here to retrieve his wife. But I feared that if I let Farshaw come here alone, on furlough as he requested, he'd likely never return to the city. I'm not certain what Farshaw has done to impress you, but I caution you, Sir, if you take him on, you might not have him long."

"I thank you for the warning," Tavington said. "I am not requesting this for Farshaw, but for Mrs. Tavington. As you are aware, Mrs. Farshaw is a very close friend of my own wife and Mrs. Tavington has been begging me for days to do what I can to stop her leaving with your Regiment. You don't appear to be all that impressed with Farshaw yourself; it seems to me that you would be just as content to be rid of him."

"I do not like having the former enemy in my unit, I prefer to be able to trust my men explicitly," McLaughlin shrugged. "Farshaw himself is a good enough Officer and soldier, I have no objection to him personally. However, if he is agreeable and if it is your will, I shall accede to it. I'll draft up the papers now that will transfer Farshaw to your unit."

"Oh, he is agreeable," Tavington lied. "My thanks, Captain."

McLaughlin sat down at his desk and wrote out the transfer papers, placing Farshaw into the British Legion, putting the Lieutenant under Tavington's direct command. William thanked him again, then he galloped back to Farshaw's tent. They were all waiting for him, all watching his approach. Tavington climbed down from the saddle, and handed Farshaw the papers.

"What's this?" The Lieutenant asked, his green eyes. He began to read of his transfer and he drew in a sharp breath.

"Congratulations," Tavington said calmly, "you've been transferred to the British Legion."

Bordon gaped with astonishment. But then, when he understood Tavington's design, he roared with laughter.

"I didn't ask for this!" Calvin protested, glaring at the victorious Bordon. The man had attacked him! He was chasing after Calvin's wife! And now Calvin was transferred into the Legion in which Bordon was Second in command? To William, he said, "Sir, you can't do this! Christ - being under his command! You can't do this!"

"It is done, Lieutenant," William drawled, holding out his arm and draping it around Beth's shoulders when she came to him. She wore a quizzical expression on her face, still not quite understanding exactly that William had wrought.

"I refuse," Farshaw ground out. The damned Lobsters, prying that fucking oath from him, forcing him to fight in their ranks! They had given him a choice that was no choice at all! And now they were doing it again! Was he just a pawn then? A piece on a game board? This wasn't fucking chess! This was his life they played with! And now he'll be at Bordon's mercy? No thank you! He tried shoving the paper back at William, who's pale gaze darkened.

"Lieutenant," William began, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You have two choices here. As you are now in the British Legion, you may petition me for a transfer out, though I warn you now, I will not indulge you. I will not release you. Your second choice - you can desert."

Calvin glowered - again, it was a choice which was not a choice at all. This was confirmed when Tavington continued, "in which case, you will be hunted like a dog, and hanged."

"Why are you doing this?" Calvin snapped, beyond caring that Tavington had the authority to have him flogged. "You place me under his command! I won't be able to take a piss without permission!"

"I'm so pleased you understand your situation fully," William said, voice amused. "It's always far more to my liking, when we all understand one another."

Calvin tightened his lips. "You might as well hang now," he blurted. "He'll make my life hell!"

"It's me you should be worried about," Tavington dropped his arm from Beth, and took a full step closer, now standing toe to toe with Farshaw. "Hear me well. I plan to have men I trust camped close enough to you, to intervene if they so much as hear a whimper from your wife. Harmony is a camp follower and is under my authority every bit as much as you are. In my camp, if a man beats a woman, he will be flogged. I do not care if the woman is that man's wife. There will be no beating her. Nor will your offer to _sell_ her - oh, yes, I know all about Colonel Clement!" He held Farshaw's eyes, "if you do attempt it, I will learn of it immediately and you will be flogged. On my honour, Farshaw, if you set a single foot wrong, I will make your life hell. Do I make myself clear?"

Harmony giggled again, and she began to clap her hands together with glee. "Oh, did you hear him, Richard? He's brilliant!" She said, and Richard smiled at her. He did not dare go to stand beside her, though he desperately wanted to. Beth went instead, to shush Harmony before she inadvertently said something that might inflame the situation. As it was, Harmony was pulling a stern face and mimicking Tavington, "do I make myself clear?" Then giggling all the harder. Beth placed her finger over Harmony's lips, trying to shush her.

"You take away all my rights!" Calvin ground out, still facing Tavington, barely noticing Harmony's antics behind him. "Are you saying I can not even lay with my own wife?"

At this, Tavington hesitated. Bordon waited in expectant silence, certain that Tavington would tell Calvin that he could not claim his husbandly rights from Harmony. But while some of the points William had stipulated were in his authority to enforce, this was most certainly not. Their victory was not complete, no matter what Bordon had initially thought. Harmony would still be forced to live with her husband. She would still have to bed him, if he so desired. She would have to do his mending, his washing, his cooking, and any of the other numerous chores he could demand of her, being her husband. All William had managed to do was ensure he could no longer harm her - or sell her off to other men.

"No, I will not interfere in your marital relations so far as that," William breathed out a sullen breath. He could feel Bordon's eyes boring into his back, willing him to exert an authority he did not have. "Know this, however. From this point forward, Harmony is under my protection. Beat her, force her to another man's bed, I will have you tied to a whipping post. I assure you, Farshaw, if you anger me, I'll make your life a pure misery."

"I can't believe this is happening…" Calvin shook his head, shocked and denying the truth.

"Strange. I heard Harmony say the same thing when she discovered she'd be forced to return to you," Beth said from Harmony's side.

"You should have stayed dead, Farshaw," William drawled. "But as you have decided to darken our lives by crawling our of your grave, you will do as you're told. Harmony is not going to the city. Nor will she suffer any further deprivations at your hands," the Colonel turned his back on Farshaw and commanded the dragoons to begin packing up the tent.

* * *

Captain DuBose - who over saw the various Infantry Companies of the British Legion, was closeted with Tavington for a full half hour, before escorting the Farshaw's to his section of camp. True to Tavington's command, Farshaw was placed in a small tent and was surrounded with men Tavington could be sure of. Calvin followed Harmony into the tent and the two turned to face one another.

"Well," Harmony said, folding her arms across her chest. The good feeling of the laudanum had worn off but now that the tables had turned so completely, she did not find desolation waiting for her. The heart break was still there, she could not be with Richard, but her life had just become infinitely more bearable, with thanks to her friendship with the Tavington's. Calvin stared at her, for the first time since they were married, there was uncertainty in his green eyes. He could not be handling the changes well, she thought.

"Well," he agreed. "Watch dogs all around us…"

"Which means no more foolishness," she lifted her chin, her eyes becoming defiant. "No more hurting me. No more making me do what you want me to do…"

"He can't stop me bedding you," Calvin snapped. "Even he admitted that. You're still my wife. If I want you to suck my dick, you still have to do it."

"And if you want me to lay on my back with my legs spread while you plumb away at me, fine. But I won't enjoy it and I won't perform for you, Calvin. Not ever again."

He gaped at her, shocked at the tone she dared to use, and she scoffed softly. Surely he understood by now? She had friends in high places, friends who had not forsaken her. Could he not see that the power had shifted between the two of them? Was he truly so utterly witless? She wondered how she could use this to her advantage. Did Tavington's protection extend to her baby? If Calvin learned the truth, this very moment, that she was carrying Bordon's child, would the child now be safe? Probably not, for even though Calvin had been forbidden to beat her, there were other ways to rid a woman of her child. Some herbs in her meal, perhaps… She would not trust that William's protection blanketed her baby also. For now, it was best to continue on as before, keeping word of the baby quiet, until enough time past that she could tell Calvin it was his. And now that she was amongst friends, she could easily have them assist her. She would ask Mrs. Andrews to be her midwife, for instance. Mrs. Andrews would help her - by telling Calvin little lies that would continue to make Calvin believe the child to be his.

"What would be the point in fucking you then?" He asked, his voice gaining some heat. "If you're just going to lay there like a damned star fish."

"I don't care, Cal," Harmony shrugged. "I just don't. Go and find yourself a mistress, there's plenty of women here. You're handsome, just don't show them your temper and you'll get along fine."

"You were furious when you found out about me and Chasity, but now you're encouraging me to take a mistress," he laughed softly, incredulous.

"I'd prefer it. I'd rather not share your bed again. Let me sleep with Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell. I'll still do your washing and I'll act the part of a good wife, but I'd rather not spend my nights with you."

Calvin planted his fists on his hips and jerked his gaze to the side, whispering "this is absolute fucking rot," under his breath.

"Just think on it, would you?" She asked as she began moving about the tent, unpacking their belongings. She spied the laudanum bottle and instead of making herself a brew from it, she set it to one side and continued unpacking.

"How is your hand?" He asked her.

"Do you know, that is the first time you've asked me?" She shot over her shoulder. "Now you show me concern… Lord, Cal. Very well, I'll play along. My hand is healing nicely, thank you for asking."

"You never did tell me how you did it."

"You never did ask," she shrugged, then lied, "I was sewing your shirt and I slipped with the scissors."

Calvin lowered himself to the pallet and, as it was within arms reach, he dragged over a box and began unpacking as well.

"I'm glad we're staying," Harmony said, Gods how that gladdened her. "But I was looking forward to going home."

"I would have fuckin' taken you, but then you had to sprout all that to Mrs. Tavington and now look at us? We're stuck here."

"Perhaps if you hadn't beaten me…" Harmony said. "And choked me. And bitten me to make me scream for you. Do you think perhaps you might be a little bit more at fault here than I am?" She asked, sarcasm dripping from her tongue. He scowled and looked away. "I'm going to write to my father."

"What, and tell him what I did?" Calvin asked, his head lifting.

"No, but it occurs to me now, that I should have done just that, a long time ago," she held his eyes until he looked away. "Make no mistake, Cal. My father would kill you if he knew. But he would be distressed by it all too, and I would save him that now it's all over. No point telling him now, when you're not going to do any of its like again, is there?" She could see his jaw working, they both knew she was protected now, there could be no repetition. She tried for small talk, she had to live with him and it would be better if they could at least be cordial. "I just want to tell him I'm alright, and to find out how they are. We've years of news to catch up on, it's been so long… it's past time we were in contact again."

"Then it's a good thing, isn't it? Now I'm back, I've made an honest woman of you again. Now that you're a decent woman and no longer a slut, you can write to your parents and be accepted in good faith!"

She whirled around to face him and when she saw his smirk, she raised her hand and slapped his face so hard his head twisted to the side.

"Tavington's edict said nothing of me not beating you!" She shouted down at him. "Say that again, I dare you!" Her hand was raised for another strike. He glared up at her, very much as if he wanted to go for her throat. Instead, he was as still as a statue, even as the red mark of her hand spread across his cheek.

"Mrs. Farshaw?" An urgent voice outside and the next moment, the tent flap was being lifted and there was one of Tavington's men, and several more behind him, ready to haul Calvin to the whipping post.

"It's alright," she lowered her arm to her side. "Thank you for coming, but it's alright."

"Do you want me to tell the Colonel?" The fellow asked as the ones behind him withdrew.

"No. There's no need. But thank you."

The fellow met Calvin's blazing eyes and held them, before finally withdrawing.

"How long do you think that was?" She asked, taunting. "Under a minute, I reckon."

"You're a fucking bitch."

"I am what you make me be," she replied. "Just like you made me into a whore. No point calling me either, when you had the doing of both. But you know, I'm glad you called me that. I'm glad I hit you. I'm glad I got to see how well you can control yourself, if you have to." She leaned down, almost nose to nose. "And I'm so fucking glad that I know how quickly William's men will fall on you, if you do lose control. Under a minute, Calvin. You remember that."

He was glaring up at her as she drew back. Without another word, she left the tent. Harmony's long legs carried her swiftly away and when she turned to glance over her shoulder, she saw him standing at the tent flap, glaring at her furiously. Holding his eyes, she stopped, smirked, and curtsied. Lord, it felt good, to see the expression on his face! Straightening from her curtsy, she lifted her skirts and began to stride away, enjoying the freedom of it, she felt like dancing. It was a short but exhilarating walk and, reaching her destination, she stopped and knocked on Mrs. Andrew's post, then darted inside to visit her friends.

* * *

Shortly after dusk, Harmony returned to her own tent. Calvin lay there on the blanket covered straw, reclined against the thin pillows with one arm bent beneath his head, watching her as she entered.

As she began kicking off her shoes, he seized her wrist and hauled her down to the bed too fast for her to protest. She landed with a thud and she was pushed back against the pillows, his body covering hers before she could catch her breath.

"What the devil!" She snapped, furious that he was pulling up her skirts and shift and kneeing her legs apart. "I thought we'd settled this! You can get yourself a mistress, you don't need me for this!"

He smiled down at her, she caught the vicious flash in his green eyes.

"I already have a mistress, I've been fucking her for days. They've taken away all my rights, the fucking cunts," he spat, holding her down with one hand while his other groped at his breeches with the other. "But they can't take this one away from me. Let Tavington's blasted spies report this!" Reaching beneath her thighs with both hands, he angled her upward and entered her with a harsh groan. Harmony turned her face to one side and grit her teeth as he began thrusting away inside her.

"I won't moan for you," she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut. "Not ever again."

"No need," he said gleefully, thrusting harder - hard enough for the distinctive slapping of their skins to be heard in the tents near by - to alert the nearby spies what was happening in the tent. "Agh, Harmony," he groaned loudly - unnecessarily so. He continued, almost shouting, "that's it, _wife_, I know how much _you love fucking me_. Agh, Christ, you're so good!"

"Shut up!" She hissed, snapping her eyes open and curling her fingers, ready to slap him. Calvin laughed at her, seized her wrists and pinned them down above her head. She may have been taller than most women, but she was no stronger for it. He held her easily and she clenched her teeth as he continued to thrust, smashing his hips to hers to cause that rhythmic slapping sound, shouting and moaning for all he was worth.

"Yes, that's it, die for me, I love it when you come around my cock!"

"Shut it!" She hissed again, furious that he would try to make the men beyond the tent believe that she was enjoying this. If they reported it to Bordon, he might very well think iit too, which, of course, was why Calvin was doing it in the first place. It's what drove him onward - bedding his wife, ensuring Bordon would not only hear about it, but think she liked it - it was all the defiance he had left. Within moments, fire scoured along his veins, his balls constricted and his seed shot forth, all to unnecessarily loud guttural grunts of pleasure.

Spent, he collapsed on top of her, his body heaving as he fought to catch his breath. When he lifted himself, he was pleased to see tears on her cheeks.

"So much for their victory," he spat, jerking his semi hard erection out of her body. His cold smile did not reach his eyes, "my seed is going to take, Harmony. You'll soon be carrying my child. Will this Major of yours still want you when you start getting big with my child, I wonder? Will he still feel such a pressing desire to protect you from me? I doubt it, I fucking doubt it," he leered at her and she stared back gravely. "We'll see soon enough. I intend to fuck you morning, noon and twice at night until I fill your belly."

"Wonderful. I look forward to it," Harmony said, voice flat. She curled her lip and turned onto her side, showing him her back so he would not see her smile. As despicable as it would be for her, having to screw him over and over, she'd already had the last laugh. The victory Calvin so desperately craved already belonged to Harmony and Richard.


	84. Chapter 84 - A Gift From Above

Chapter 84 - A Gift From Above:

Shocked to her core, Harmony held tight to Linda, her arms around the shorter woman's shoulder. At length, they drew back and Linda grinned up at her. "You should close your mouth, you'll start catching flies," Linda chortled. Harmony snapped her mouth shut.

"I just can't believe you're here," she said.

"Well, I am, in the flesh. I might have to move my tent though; with the guard that's been set to watch over you. If any of the men are familiar with me, it won't just be news of Farshaw that they'll carry back to William and Bordon."

"I know," Harmony breathed, shaking her head. Linda took Harmony's hand and led her into the tent, where they sat on blankets on the straw covered ground. Linda's tent was struck not far from the tent Mrs. Andrews shared with Miss Cordell. Linda, sitting just inside the door, was able to reach the small fire outside, where a saucepan filled with water was beginning to boil. She dropped tea leaves into the water and gave it a stir.

Harmony was still reeling at the discovery that her friend was perfectly fine and well, that she had returned to the Legion and was hiding there from Colonel Tavington.

"We went to Pembroke to visit you, but Mrs. Turnbull said you'd left," Harmony chided. "You didn't even leave a note for me, I was so worried about you!"

"As I have been for you," Linda said. "I've heard all sorts of things - it was so pleased to learn of your engagement but then your husband shows up and all that came to such a sudden end! Just like it did for me and William, when he up and married that fuckin' little bitch," Linda's lips tightened. She drew several ragged breaths, trying to calm herself. The water was boiling now, she poured it into mismatched cups and handed one to Harmony. She held hers in her hands. By now, Linda had calmed enough to continue. "As for how. Well, I refused to be dumped so easily," an edge came to her voice. "William thought he could keep me away, and throw money at me and I would just go quietly. But I won't do that, Harmony. I love him. The damned stupid fool needs me, even if he doesn't know it yet."

Knowing how deeply William loved Beth, Harmony gazed at Linda with sympathy, and said nothing to dispel her illusions. For now.

"No, I would not be kept away. Though it's been damned hard, Harm. Hell's teeth, I won't deny that. Being in camp, seeing him almost daily from a distance. It's been absolute torture. But being away from him was far, far worse."

"I'm sure it was," Harmony replied softly. "I know how you feel; it was the same when Calvin showed up here and took me to his camp and I couldn't see Richard. I was wretched…" Now, at least, she might see him at a distance on occasion, just like Linda could William. If it was enough to sustain Linda, perhaps it would be enough to sustain Harmony. "Why didn't you tell me you were here? I wouldn't have told anyone. And Lord, you're pregnant?" She asked, having been informed of this already.

"Well, you were living up at the Great House, I didn't think I should try to contact you there. And then everything was in confusion with that husband of yours returning, I wasn't sure if I should go to you in his camp… but you're here now. I'm sorry if you were worried. And yes, the baby…" Linda trailed off, glancing down at her stomach. "Just like you. I can't believe we're both pregnant. It's mad, isn't it? You and me, it's like we've been on the exact same path since the moment we left the city to be with our men. It all started out so wonderful, we both fell pregnant, we were happy and then… it all came crashing down and now neither of us can be with the men we love."

"It's is…" Harmony nodded, surprised now that Linda had pointed out the parallels. "It's very strange. Maybe someone cursed us with the same evil spell."

"Mrs. Bloody Shrew?" Linda asked with a laugh.

"I wouldn't be bloody surprised, that woman was a witch," Harmony took a sip of her tea.

"Mrs. Beth Tavington, she's the damned fuckin' witch," Linda spat. "And she thinks she's so fuckin' good, coming down to the camp and talkin' to us - the princess coming down from on high. Fucking cow."

"Wait - you are speaking of Beth as though you've spoken to her," Harmony frowned. "How can that be, Linda?"

"I don't go by that name here," Linda chided. "You and me, we were in a different section of camp before, I'm not as well known, here. None of the soldiers look twice at me, with my hair dyed," she fingered her blackened hair, wishing it was still auburn. Her lovely red locks were the only truly pretty thing about her. "Here, I am Mrs. Lilly Merry, widow. As for your other question - as I said, the damned bitch comes down from on high. Brings gifts of tea and other rot too," Linda's lip curled. "Trying to bribe her way into the camp women's affections."

"Oh… Well… I can't understand how you haven't been recognised, even with Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell's help. Sure, your hair makes you look different, but it surely it doesn't fool Mrs. Salisbury?"

"Eh, I never see her, I avoid her section of camp like the plague and Mrs. Salisbury doesn't show her face here, she knows Mrs. Andrews despises her," Linda scoffed. "After all her lording it, it turns out Salisbury was just a fuckin' coward. As for any who do recognise me, well as long I keep my head down and do my work, none of the people I knew from before bother me too much."

"What of me though?" Harmony said, voice hurt. "You should have tried to get word to me, Linda."

"Harm, I'm sorry. Maybe I should have thought of a way. But I just don't see how I could've - with you living up at the house with that great _fuckin_' lady. I think I did the right thing, it really was best for me to stay low and quiet. Though I should've known you'd be worried about me. I'm sorry for that."

"Well, the most important thing is that you're well."

"I'm breathing," Linda said. "I'd hardly say I'm well."

"We thought you'd made off with a deserter," Harmony said. "Mrs. Turnbull said a fellow kept coming to see you -"

"Oh, yes, Private Jeffrey Cox," Linda sighed heavily.

"Is that his name? Well, Richard," Harmony paused - Christ, it hurt to say his name, she was safe now and that was wonderful, but she wasn't with _Richard_. "Richard thought that this fellow had heard of the money the Colonel promised to give you. That he decided to up and leave the army - with you. Though it doesn't make sense now, surely he would have known he would not be able to claim the money, without William seizing him as a deserter on the spot?"

"Jeffrey doesn't even know of the money," Linda laughed softly. "No, there's no grand conspiracy here. Jeff fancies me, is all. I often spent my free afternoons with him, he's a good sort of fellow; he keeps asking me to marry him though… Anyway, on the day William abandoned me, he had Jeff escort me to the village, you see, and Jeff felt sorry for me, 'cause I was crying the whole way there. He came to visit me to make sure I was alright and then he visited again, and again. He proposed eventually, the stupid ninny. But I wanted to come back to William, to be near him in camp, and so I left with him."

"Will you marry him?" Harmony asked, shocked by what she was being told.

"Don't know. He wants to. I doubt I'll marry Jeff though…" she stared at her hands, uncertain.

"Linda, the Colonel will never leave her," Harmony said carefully, knowing her words could only cause pain. "He does love her, he'll never leave."

"So he'll never come back to me, you think?" Linda asked, defiant. "You don't know him like I do. He just needs more time. As soon as he gets tired of their molly coddling sort of fucking, he'll realise he needs more."

"I don't know…" Harmony trailed off. She decided not to continue trying to convince Linda, it would only cause her pain. "She'll keep coming down here, probably more so now I'm here," she warned instead.

"Why are you even friends with her?" Linda spat. "She's the same sort of uppity bitch as Emily is, Harm. How can you like her?"

"She's not like Emily," Harmony sighed, feeling quite uncomfortable. "Beth's nice."

"Nice," Linda snorted. "William must think the same, that she's so fuckin' nice. She's not - you'll all see eventually."

"Do you have to work hard, like we did under Mrs. Salisbury?" Harmony asked, more to change the subject than out of any real interest.

"Not as hard as that," Linda said. "We've been sorted into 'families', there's three or four of us to each family and there's one woman in charge of each family. Mrs. Andrews is in charge of mine, and she's the good sort. Still, it's not a walk through the garden."

"I suppose I'll be under Mrs. Andrews now too," Harmony said. "Now I'm back, I'm sure I'll be put to work too."

"Well, at least you're friends with the fuckin' matron - if anyone does or says anything that bothers you, you can just tell Beth whore Tavington and she'll settle for them."

"God, Linda," Harmony breathed. "I was trying to change the subject so we weren't talking about her."

"Suits me," Linda huffed. "I saw that husband of yours earlier - Jesus, but he's a fine thing to look at."

"Yes, he is," Harmony agreed. "He always was. He even got himself a mistress the first day in camp, but I tell you, my husband is the devil."

"Yes, I've heard. He's got a mistress already? Does it bother you?"

"No. It means he isn't bothering me so much, if you take my meaning," Harmony said. "The less I have to do my duty with him, the better."

"I see your point."

"Tell me more about Private Cox," Harmony suggested. Linda rolled her eyes but she settled in, relaxing back on one arm as she began chatting about her situation with Private Cox.

* * *

In the days following, Tavington's spies reported everything they learned, and they learned quite a lot, keeping such a close eye on Harmony. The Commanders were informed immediately if Calvin so much as raised his voice, and Bordon had been gleeful to learn that Harmony had slapped Calvin. Beth reported that after only a day in her new situation, Harmony was almost like her old self. Her torment had come to an end - unless one counted being separated from Bordon. In that, in their forced separation, the torment was continuing, with no end in sight. Beth knew Bordon was not getting much sleep, for his eyes had become sunken, baggy and puffy. Whenever she passed his room - no matter what time of night, she could see light flooding from beneath his door and could hear the floorboards creak from his continual pacing. But the other deprivations inflected upon Harmony had come to a very abrupt end, which was something to be celebrated. No more biting, hitting, no more fearing what he would do to her, for he could not make a single move against her without the fear that he would be tied to a whipping post.

Although it could hardly be compared to what Harmony was going through, Beth was in somewhat of a torment herself. Around the same time Lieutenant Calvin Farshaw darkened their doorstep, Beth's courses had begun and despite only being married a month, William had not been pleased. In fact, he'd been quite horrid, and Beth hadn't anyone she could talk to about it. Harmony had been going through her own very difficult time, Beth didn't want to burden her with her far smaller concerns. She doubted Rebecca or Sarah would have been much help, though she supposed she could have turned to Emily Wilkins for advice. But she'd gotten to know Emily and James far better these weeks, with them all living together, and she found herself reluctant to confide in the other woman, though she was the only other married woman in the house, who had also failed to give her husband a child.

If anyone could understand, it would be Emily Wilkins. But Beth had begun to realise that Emily quite enjoyed a good gossip; the more sordid, the better. And she was quite malicious, too. Beth feared that if she confided to Emily, not only would her confidence be repeated, but Emily would be quite gleeful that there were troubled in the Tavington marriage, as well. She knew Emily to be rather unhappy in her marriage - Beth would be too, if she were married to a man who quite obviously disdained her bed in favour of doxies and whores. Somehow, she knew she'd find little sympathy from Emily Wilkins, who'd had years of marriage to make her bitter.

Lord, what if it happened again next month, what if - after four more weeks of trying - her courses came upon her again?

Sitting in her bed against the pillows, Beth squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't bare it, to see the disappointment on William's face again. To hear him vent his frustration. To have him compare them to Harmony and Richard, and Mila and Zeke, two couples they knew of that were already expecting after such a short time. What would she do next month, if it happened all over again?

At least she would know what to expect from him, she thought. His harsh reaction had taken her quiet by surprise a week ago, when her bleeding began. Oh, he'd apologised after having his tantrum but that didn't alter that he'd had quite a few things to say on it. And he'd slept elsewhere, which hadn't been pleasant for her whatsoever. But he'd also made any excuse to be gone from the plantation, sometimes for days. He was back now, though, and he was going to come to her; she both welcomed it and she worried. They would enjoy one another's bodies again, in the full sense, not just a quick kiss and cuddle. Her heart beat quickened just thinking about it. But what if their exertions bore no fruit?

Her heart beat quickened just thinking about that, too.

Mila entered to help Beth get ready for bed and Beth rose nervously, for she could hear William's footfalls coming closer. Gods, she hoped he made no more comments about her failure. This was a new month, a new beginning, who knew what the next four weeks had in store for them? The door opened and William strode in.

* * *

Tavington strode into his chamber just as Mila began to undress Beth. There was never any privacy between Master, Mistress and servant, William felt no embarrassment at all when he closed the door and asked her, "has your bleeding stopped, Beth?"

As Mila began unlacing Beth's stays, Beth shot him a glance. "It has," she said, her face flushing red. Embarrassed at talking about such things before her husband, William thought. His disappointment when her bleeding began certainly hadn't helped matters, though. She didn't only look embarrassed, she looked nervous, too. Like a young girl who was afraid of getting into trouble. William puffed his lips.

"I'm sorry, Beth. I should not have made such a fuss," he admitted.

"No, William, you shouldn't have," Beth replied, voice hard and William heaved a sigh, accepting the rebuke.

"You've only been married a month, Sir," Mila said, holding Beth's skirts wide open so Beth could step out of them. "But if you are eager for babies to come sooner rather than later, I know of a few tricks you can use."

"These tricks, will they work?" Beth said, sounding eager for the advice.

"They did for me and Zeke," Mila placed her hand over her stomach. Tavington tried not to scowl with frustration that his attendant had gotten his wife with child while Beth was still empty after an entire month of trying. It's not as though he'd been away from her during that time - they bedded one another every single night. Sometimes they coupled twice. Yet Beth was not pregnant.

Mila gave her advice, all of which Beth soaked up like a sponge. When Mila was done, Beth turned to William, her eyes bright and hungry. He grinned at her, finally ready to cast off his disappointment, to settle into another enjoyable month of trying. Besides, with Mila's advice and her promise to fix Beth foods she knew would help her to conceive, next month was surely to have a far more satisfying conclusion than this.

Mila left the chamber, Beth pulled her night robe over her head and William was already leaning in to take one of her beautiful, hardening nipples into his mouth.

* * *

_30__th__ July, Ferguson Plantation:_

"A missive arrived this afternoon," General O'Hara placed his spoon down on a napkin. He had joined them for dinner.

"Oh?" William asked, arching an eyebrow. He shot O'Hara a fleeting glance before returning his attention to cutting strips from a chicken wing.

"Colonel Thomas Sumter has been evading all of Colonel Tarleton's attempts to snare him. They are leading him a merry chase, and Banastre is becoming increasingly frustrated. To add to our worries, Burwell's Continentals have regrouped, I would imagine we can expect to see some mischief from him shortly. The Green Dragoons will need to sweep out further afield than their current daily forays."

"I will lead them myself," William replied, ignoring Beth's sharp glance.

"Surely Bordon will be pleased to be out in the field again?" O'Hara asked in an attempt to draw the Major into the conversation. Bordon had, thus far, been deathly quiet. O'Hara had been keeping a sharp eye on the Major, he was looking out for signs that Bordon might be having difficulties functioning in that post. The possibility was of great concern to the General, for having such a high ranking Officer unable to perform his duties could spell disaster not only for Tavington's British Legion, but for Cornwallis' entire battalion. He was growing increasingly concerned both for Bordon's state of mind and his commitment to their quest in the Colonies. The Major was no longer drinking, not where the General could hear tell of it anyway, but he was still quite distant and uninterested in the goings on, leaving many of his duties to those below him, while he sought solitude. He was wallowing in self pity, in O'Hara's opinion, and even at that moment at dinner, he would rather stare grimly at his plate while pushing food around with his fork, than even attempt to join in with the conversation. He had joined them for dinner out of obligation, not spirit.

Added to O'Hara's concerns, was what had taken place in Captain McLaughlin's camp a week ago. O'Hara has forbade Bordon from entering the camp, he had put his own men in place to watch, should he attempt it. And attempt it, he did. There had been a brawl, O'Hara was told, which Tavington had put an end to. O'Hara was wading through unfamiliar waters, he'd never encountered a situation similar to Bordon and the Farshaw's before. He was uncertain how to navigate them. When he was informed that Tavington himself had put a stop to the brawl, O'Hara had been content to leave it at that.

Even more so when Captain McLaughlin began his return to the city. Farshaw and his wife were gone, O'Hara had thought, taking their troubles with them. Only, they hadn't. O'Hara was unable to question McLauglin personally of the rumours, however he did know for certain that some way, somehow, Lieutenant Farshaw and his wife were certainly not gone. Farshaw had been transferred into Colonel Tavington's foot regiment, and placed under Captain DuBose's command. Aside from this one very troubling fact, O'Hara knew nothing. The Green Dragoons had closed ranks, and the O'Hara's eyes and ears - Major Fallows - whom all information was siphoned through, was unable to glean any information from them.

No, O'Hara knew nothing, but he suspected everything. That Tavington had asserted his rank for his own gain, was not doubted by the General. If O'Hara was able to prove it, he intended to come down like a tonne of bricks on the Colonel's head. It would have been much better for all involved had Mrs. Farshaw and her husband been allowed to leave Fresh Water, but instead Mrs. Farshaw was living in the British Legion encampment, within notice and reach of Major Bordon, and it was clearly plaguing the Major. He was not being given opportunity to come to terms with his loss, for the woman was still shoved beneath his nose. Due to her close proximity, Bordon's heartache would continue to be raw, her presence in the camp would act as a deep wound that would never heal, and indeed would soon fester, the infection would spread and cause such potential damage to the Legion that it did not bear thinking about. O'Hara was determined to see a capable Major holding that Office, whether it was Richard Bordon or someone more able to deal with life's disappointments.

He simply needed the Major of the British Legion to do his damned job.

The commands O'Hara had imposed upon Bordon kept him from challenging Farshaw, but O'Hara could hardly forbid the Major of the Legion to visit his own infantry unit. Bordon could not be so restricted by O'Hara that he became unable to perform the duties of his office. Still, it worried the General. Lieutenant and Mrs. Farshaw were in camp, Bordon was brooding over it, and possibly ready to go up like an explosive cannon.

Richard glanced up now, and it was clear by his startled expression that he had not been following the discussion at all. With no small amount of asperity in his tone, O'Hara said crisply, "I was asking you, Bordon, if you will be pleased to be out in the field again?"

"Are we riding out?" He blinked, surprised. Beth, O'Hara saw, reddened with embarrassment and Tavington blinked at his Major.

"When we do, I shall be leading the Dragoons further afield than we have previously done," the Colonel said slowly, his pale gaze intent on Bordon.

O'Hara shook his head and breathed out a slow, sullen breath. Surely Tavington was beginning to feel the effects of not having his Major at his full potential? He should have an ally in the Colonel, but instead, William was determined to coddle Bordon, and in doing so, he was making the problem so much worse.

"Oh, well then," Bordon hesitated. "Perhaps I should stay here," he ventured, then he coloured and rushed on, "you know, to manage the fort, while you and the Dragoons scout."

"Isn't that what I am here for?" O'Hara's lips thinned. He doubted very much that Bordon's need to remain at Fresh Water had anything to do with managing the fort.

"Ah… Yes, General," Bordon said, his face flushing red.

"There's something I've been meaning to speak to you about," Beth said, addressing both her husband and O'Hara in an attempt to change the subject. The General met her gaze across the table - she was another determined to coddle Bordon. He liked her well enough, but she - just like her husband - was not helping the situation whatsoever. Still, he smoothed his face of the irritation he felt toward Bordon, and listened as Mrs. Tavington continued, "while Fresh Water is quite plentiful, we are starting to struggle to provide for the British Legion. Winter will be upon us soon, I would dearly like to see some of our neighbours put their corn where their mouth is. Those who claim to be Loyal really should begin making their contributions, I would not mind that at all."

"I can see your point," O'Hara nodded. "I agree, of course."

"I found time to go through the ledgers today and was quite appalled by how much of our stored corn we've used and how little we have left," Beth continued. "Those stores were supposed to carry us through winter, but we'll be lucky if they last the fortnight. This is not the largest plantation, our stores of rice are very little, as well. But even our wheat and our cabbages… my father planted enough to feed his family and our workers, with some little left to sell at market. But we've now got over triple our number here, consuming it all. There's hardly any left, not for such a large number of soldiers."

Tavington reached over to wrap his fingers over hers. "Little Beth, I sent Quartermaster Hoffman out to the surrounding plantations yesterday to procure more provisions," he told her and she widened her eyes. "I do look at the ledgers too, you know," he scoffed softly. "They are my men, after all. The Legion is my responsibility, as is the feeding of them. The local Loyalists will be handing over wagons filled with wheat, corn, rice and rum, and the rebels in the area will be providing even more."

"Ah, jolly good," O'Hara laughed, amused now, and pleased that at least Tavington was still performing at his full capabilities. The newlywed Colonel had not become stupid with love.

"I do hope you'll leave the families with enough to feed themselves, winter is only a couple months off," Beth frowned.

William wore a stubborn expression.

"Their personal stores will be left untouched," O'Hara explained. "Unless they have far more than they need. Never fear, Mrs. Tavington, no one in the area will starve."

Beth inclined her head in thanks, and they continued on with their dinner, speaking of procuring more horses and of Tavington's intentions to scout the trails. O'Hara and Tavington spent some time predicting Cornwallis' plans, and trying to anticipate Burwell's. And through it all, Bordon continued to dwell in silence, staring at his dinner and barely touching it, awaiting his moment when he could finally make his escape.

* * *

This came after another gruelling hour, but as soon as the final course was cleared, Bordon made his excuse. He gathered his coterie of guards and together, they rode out to the infantry encampment. He knew exactly where Harmony's tent was pitched.

As soon as he drew close to Farshaw's quarters, he dismissed his guards. He continued on foot, alone, through the sleepy Infantry camp. Being careful of the lead ropes that could trip him, he crept down the side of Harmony's tent, where he settled in to listen to the discussion within. He'd done it most nights since her return, tormenting himself thus. A soft light glowed from within, the large shadows of people flickered across the canvas wall. Bordon could clearly see Harmony's silhouette, her womanly shape moving about the tent, and he bit the inside of his lip to keep from groaning. Agony flooded through him, seizing his heart, making it hard for him to breathe. Why he did this to himself, he still did not know. But he had to see her - and hear her voice - in any way he could. He had visited during the day, but that was a sweet torture all of its own. A nod while passing her by. When she looked at him, he could feel her love for him. On the few occasions they had been able to speak, he could hear it in her voice. And when she managed to touch his hand, her fingers moving over his for a single fleeting moment, he had felt the jolts from the contact even through his thick gloves. But there were always other people about in the bustling camp, other camp followers too close for him to do anything more than make idle, stilted chatter, which always ended with a whispered 'I love you' before they parted.

_"Mamma should have her letter in the next week, if the weather holds," _a man's voice said and Bordon tensed, his fingers gripping his knees tight. He was squatting there, utterly silent as only an experienced warrior could be, waiting in the shadows. He could see Farshaw, sitting there, his dark shadow filling half the tent.

"_Unless Colonel Martin intercepts it,_" Harmony's voice came to Richard in the darkness. "_It's growing increasingly difficult for letters to get through."_

"_Well, fingers crossed it gets through. Your parents will be relieved to know you're alive and well._"

"_Hmm,_" that one word spoke volumes; Harmony was alive, but was she well? Hardly that.

"_You'll never believe who sought me out today_," that hateful voice continued, sounding excited now.

"_Who?_"

Bordon could hear the surprise in Harmony's voice, and he saw her silhouette stop and turn to face the other silhouette. How they could possibly be having such a normal conversation was beyond Bordon. He'd expected to hear fighting, the arguing that the soldiers stationed to either side of them reported so often. But this? This was not what he'd expected. He found he didn't like it, not one little bit, but perhaps it stood to reason that they would have an amiable conversation occasionally, they could not be at each others throats all the time. And they had known one another their entire lives, perhaps they occasionally fell back into easy conversation, considering their prior history. Still, Bordon did not like it - it left him feeling bitter, angry, jealous…

"_Christian Leeds_," came the reply and Bordon heard Harmony gasp in recognition. Farshaw continued like an excited school boy, "_I know, it was fuckin' mad! I couldn't believe it. He said he transferred into the British Legion a few days ago and that there's a few others from home as came with him."_

_"Transferred in? Not from the Continentals… He was in the Loyalist militia with papa and Hamish,"_ Harmony said.

_"Yeh, said he and the others came down to the city when they heard the British took it."_

_"Hamish?"_ Harmony sounded excited, hopeful.

_"Nah, he weren't with them."_

_"Oh…" _

_"Leeds was real surprised to see me wearin' this,"_ Farshaw laughed. _"I told him some of it, of what happened in Savannah and how I ended up with the British. We chatted some until that cunt Dubose commanded me to get a move on. Accused me of being fuckin' lazy, the bastard. Anyway, Leeds said he'd put the word out to the others and we're all going to meet at his quarters tonight."_

_"That won't leave you much time to meet with your mistress." _Harmony said with a mocking laugh. Bordon's eyebrows climbed his forehead. Farshaw had taken a mistress? And Harmony knew about it.

_"She can't meet me tonight. Anyway, do you want to come?"_

"_Are any of their wives in camp?_" Harmony asked and Calvin said they weren't. "_Then no, I'd rather not. Tell them I was tired if they ask but say hello for me._"

"_Come on, Harm, it'll be like old times,_" Calvin said and Bordon wondered if the fellow was mad. Old times? He doubted Harmony remembered anything but the more recent times, of her husband being an utter brute.

"_I'll be the only girl, Calvin. You'll all be talking about war and soldiering… Besides, I really don't want to. I am tired - I wasn't lying._"

"_Alright then, I'm off. Don't wait up for me, I doubt I'll be back before midnight_."

"_Make sure you ask Christian and the others about their wives, Calvin. I want to hear stories from home."_

After promising he would, Calvin left the tent. Waiting in the darkness, Bordon ducked low. As soon as the Lieutenant was striding off into the night, a very excited Major made his move. Unable to believe his good luck, he almost tripped over a guide rope in his haste as he rushed into the tent next to Harmony's. His men - those he had stationed to keep an eye on Harmony - were in there were playing cards and drinking, which they quickly tried to hide as soon as their commander entered. The Major waved them down, he couldn't care less about the alcohol they were trying to conceal.

"Have men posted at either end of the avenue," he commanded. "They are to watch for Farshaw's return. See that I am not disturbed - unless it's to warn me of his approach."

"Yes, Sir," the two men replied, standing at attention. Bordon left them there, and without even knocking, he strode into Harmony's tent.

"Did you forget something…" She trailed off, her eyes widening in shock as they fell on Bordon, not on her husband. "Richard!" She jumped up and Bordon was certain her feet didn't even touch the ground - she flew across the intervening space and hurtled into his arms.

* * *

"We can't do this again," Harmony said regretfully. She lay alongside Richard, her head on his bare chest, his arm cradling her and his fingers stroking her shoulder. She shifted so she could gaze up at him. Seeing his frown, she explained, "it's too risky."

"I can't stand to be parted from you, Harm," he said.

"Well, as long as we're very careful," she smiled as she sat up, her long blonde hair falling around her. It felt so good, his fingers moving up and down her back. "I'm so sorry," she said forlornly as she stared down at him. "God, each time I have to lay with him - I feel like I'm being unfaithful to you. And he shouts those awful things, knowing you'll hear about it, knowing you'll think that I really do enjoy rutting with him."

"I knew from the first time that was reported to me, that that was Farshaw's game. Don't fear, Harm, I know you can't stand him touching you."

"God, Richard, that's an understatement, he makes my skin crawl. And I know how much it hurts you and that makes it so much worse!"

He pushed himself up and pulled her against his chest. "It is driving me mad. I despise that he touches you - I want to cut his hands off for daring! I want to choke the life from him! But I do not, in anyway, blame you."

She nodded, feeling vastly better. "All of this will be so much easier to bear if you can find a way for us to be together, Richard. I wouldn't care about having to bed him, if I knew I would soon be in the arms of the man I love!"

"Then I will move heaven and hell to make it happen," he stated, as if he had not intended to do so in any case. They were silent for a while, just enjoying their time alone together.

"He wants to get me with child," she said and Richard stared at her, stunned. She shrugged. "He has very little control left now, William has taken it all. He has no way to defy you, except in bedding me. That's the only thing he can do, without repercussion, is force his husbandly rights. And make me have his children. My first night back here, when he made sure the other soldiers could hear, he told me that he would get me pregnant, as revenge against you. I almost laughed when he said it, considering," she smiled and stroked the gentle curve of her belly. "The joke is on him."

"I'm not sure whether to be furious with the bastard or entertained by his stupidity," Bordon said. "Ignorant fool. I find it ridiculous that he doesn't know you're already two months along," he stroked her belly and she shot a mock fierce scowl at him over her shoulder.

"And just what are you trying to say?" She arched an eyebrow and Bordon laughed.

"That your figure is filling out nicely," he chuckled. "How can you hide this from him?" He splayed his hands open across the front of her gently rounded stomach.

"Likely thinks that Beth sets too many apple pies at her table," she smirked. "No, our coupling is never intimate, Richard. He doesn't explore my body like you do. Thank God." She said emphatically. "I'm usually fully dressed and just lifts my skirts, or at the very least, I've got my shift on which covers me. He doesn't see me naked. Though in another month, become obvious that I'm pregnant even through my clothes, when my stomach starts truly swelling."

He looked at her gravely, "Harm, in another month, you'll be three months along, and you'll be trying to pass off your pregnancy as being only one month. Surely he will know the truth of it? Or when the baby is born on time - he will think it's come early. And if it does come early, he'll be truly suspicious then!"

"Babies come early all the time," she waved his worried away. "Darling, I have Mrs. Andrews on my side; she's been acting as a midwife for the women here in camp since the first day she arrived. One day in the next few weeks, I will tell Calvin that I believe I might be pregnant, and that I am going to pay Mrs. Andrews a visit. He'll want to come along. Mrs. Andrews is going to announce that I am indeed pregnant, she will congratulate Calvin's prowess and claim that he filled my belly our first night back together. She's going to say that bedding at the tail end of my courses was the best time for conception -"

"Is it?"

"No," Harmony shook her head. "The middle, in between courses, is the best. But you see? Men don't know much about this sort of stuff, not you and certainly not Calvin. Besides, Mrs. Andrews is a midwife, he'll believe anything she says. When the baby is born, Mrs. Andrews told me that she'll pander to Calvin's ego, she'll say things like 'oh, Lieutenant, you're such a strong young man and you make good big babies' and rot like that. And he'll be desperate to believe it's his so he has something to taunt you with. Don't worry, all will be well. He won't have cause to suspect the child isn't his."

"I better pretend to be disgruntled then, when Farshaw comes around to crow of his success," Bordon's voice was amused and he oozed contentment. "You're such a capable woman, Harm. I've been utterly distressed with worry over you and the baby but here you are, taking care of everything," he lowered his lips to the dip in her neck and kissed her there. "I should have known you would. If only I could think of a way of winning you and the child free of him completely."

"There's one way," she said, and he could tell by her tone that she was joking, "you could kill him for me. A knife between the ribs would solve all our problems."

"Don't think I haven't considered it," he said gruffly and she laughed, then leaned back into him with a contented sigh. "Alas, assassination is not the answer," he lamented, wrapping his strong arms around her and holding her close. "There are quite a few battles lying ahead of us, though, and I could see my way clear to sending him into the hottest spot, the front lines. I doubt my conscience would give me any trouble at all."

Believing he was not being serious, or perhaps only half serious, Harmony giggled again and snuggled in closer.

* * *

Fresh Water had begun to look more like a small village, than a Low Country Plantation. The tenth of August had marked two months since the British Legion arrived with Colonel Tavington and his wife. In that time, an outer and inner ring of earth works had been constructed around the Plantation for defence, many small cabins and a barracks had been erected near the outer perimeter of the earthworks. Closer to the Great House, more cabins had been built near to where Martin's existing cabins were situated, to house the higher ranking Officers. Tavington had gone to great efforts to have as many of his men housed properly as possible while he was still able to do so; camp life was arduous enough in summer, but winter would be more so, with the storms and the vastly lowered temperatures.

Bordon, colluding with William, had chosen a cabin of his own, one furthest from the house, amidst a stand of trees and bushes for privacy. There was nothing at all wrong with his room in the Great House, except for one small detail. He could not take Harmony there. These last few weeks, Bordon had visited Harmony as often as possible. Farshaw often disappeared at night for hours on end - he visited his friends from home but more often, he was meeting his mistress, Harmony said. His mistress was probably some camp follower bawd. Bordon didn't care any more than Harmony did, who the woman was. They were just pleased Farshaw had her, he spent far less time in Harmony's bed, because of her. Which in turn meant that Bordon could spend far more time in Harmony's. At those times, Richard and Harmony took over Calvin's tent, with the assistance of Richard's men, who kept look out for Farshaw.

Other times, he met her in the tent of her friend, Mrs. Merry. Richard hadn't seen or met Mrs. Merry, but Harmony vowed that she could be trusted, that not only would the woman keep their secret, but she would let them use her tent to meet in. Though Harmony insisted it wasn't necessary, he gave her money to pass along too Mrs. Merry, just the same.

The arrangements were working to perfection, and it meant that for the last two weeks, Richard and Harmony had been able to spend time together on a daily basis.

Or on a nightly basis.

Both knew only two well that winter was approaching, they feared that Calvin might venture out less - he might weigh up going out in the frigid rain and wind to fuck his mistress, against staying in and fucking his wife, instead. With Farshaw spending less time with his mistress, Harmony would be forced to spend less time with Richard.

And that, neither of them could bare. Tavington, however, had provided the solution to their problems. Bordon could take over a cabin of his choice and Tavington would send invitations to Harmony, inviting her to the Great House, to visit his wife. It was a bold plan to put into action, but it would surely work a charm, according to William.

For Beth had been inviting Harmony to the Great House on a regular basis these past weeks, therefore Calvin wouldn't think twice about it. But instead of drinking tea and eating sweet cakes with Beth in the parlour, Harmony would be escorted directly to Bordon's cabin - Beth wouldn't even know she was there.

With the excitement of a child, Bordon had seized the plan and he ran with it. The house he chose was furnished and several nights ago, Richard and Harmony had begun to use it. William's role was to send invitations down to Harmony to dine with Beth, though he was doing it without Beth's knowledge. Not a single one of them wanted to lie to her, but in this, they felt they should. None of them wanted Mrs. Tavington, the Colonel's wife, to be accused of helping to conspire in the facilitation of an adulteress affair. Beth's hands were to be clean, she was to be guilt free.

* * *

Bordon's cabin was a good twenty minute ride from the infantry camp. Farshaw did not have a single friend amongst the Dragoons, therefore it was extraordinarily unlikely that he would learn where Harmony was really going when she received her frequent summonses from 'Beth'. Even still, the fewer who knew a secret the better. Harmony was only ever escorted to Bordon's cottage in the darkness of night, with her hood pulled high over her head to conceal her face. She was escorted by the same two Officers each time, Brownlow and Dalton, both men Bordon could be certain of, that would not engage in gossip.

Their time together was a gift from above, and not solely an opportunity for intimacy, though that did play a large role in their activities. This particular evening, however, Harmony and Bordon were content to sit at his small table, with glasses of wine and fine fare that had been sent from Beth's kitchen. Tavington had warned Bordon that he was not to summon Harmony more than three times a week, for surely Beth would not send for her so often and it would only draw unwanted attention. On those other nights, Richard would have visit Harmony in her tent, or wait for her in Mrs. Merry's.

By the light of candles and lanterns, Richard and Harmony were chatting about Harmony and Calvin's visit to Mrs. Andrews a few days ago - of Mrs. Andrews' examination and declaration that she was pregnant.

"Her performance was wonderful, she told Calvin that I am precisely one month pregnant. She was so convincing, and Calvin is so ignorant to such things, he gobbled it all up like candy. She made me pass water on barley and on wheat," Harmony said. "I have to do this every day for the next week. If the barley sprouts, it'll be a boy and if the wheat sprouts, it'll be a girl," she laughed.

"Does that actually work?" He asked, also laughing.

"Yes, it does, it's almost always right. Don't ask me why. Mrs. Andrews told Calvin that this little test only works very early in the pregnancy, in the very first month, that any later and the barley and wheat don't sprout either way. That's not actually true at all, but everything she said, was to make sure Calvin was left in no doubt that he sired this child. Gods, women do that pissing text at six months pregnant - it doesn't matter how far along you are!"

"I heard yesterday that he's walking around with his chest puffed out," Richard laughed, imagining Farshaw boasting to the infantrymen in his Company. "He knows exactly which of the men report back to me, and I'm certain all this strutting about, squawking about getting you pregnant, is designed solely to goad me into a fight."

"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest," Harmony replied, popping a bite of corn cake into her mouth. "He said he's surprised you haven't come down to the camp yet, he was expecting you to challenge him. This, of course, shifted to him taunting me - he took great joy in telling me that you don't care for me anymore, because of your lack of reaction."

"I'll never stop caring for you," Richard said warmly, his warm hand reaching across the table to envelope hers. "I'll never stop loving you, Harm."

"I know," her smile was sweet as she gazed at him. "I pretended to be upset when he said it, for that is the reaction he's expecting. I think it's better this way. That he believes you don't care. That way he won't be suspicious about me slipping away whenever Brownlow and Dalton come for me."

"He didn't tonight, did he?" Richard asked, intent now, always on the alert.

"No. It's another thing for him to crow over. The Martins have always been a very prominent family in South Carolina, and Beth Martin is only one step away from Benjamin Martin himself. He is annoyed that he doesn't get invited too, but I told him that the men are never there, it's just Beth, the women and I. I think as long as he thinks that, he won't get his nose out of joint over it."

"What?" Bordon frowned. "I thought he wanted the connection to get closer to Tavington."

"Yes, he does that too, but when the war is done, he expects everything will settle down, and has high hopes that he could trade with the Martin's," Harmony explained. "I tried to tell him that it was unlikely that Mr. Martin would ever set foot on this Plantation again - it won't be returned to him after the war if the British win. If anything, I'd imagine that William will take it over and have the running of it."

"I'd imagine so as well. At least until Samuel Martin is old enough to take it over," Richard mused. "Samuel is showing much promise, his time with Captain Gordon has done him a world of good and he is beginning to distrust anyone calling themselves Patriot. I'd almost call the lad a Loyalist, in fact. And as such, I'm certain that he will be the one to receive the property when the time comes."

"I suppose Calvin could try to curry favour with Samuel…" Harmony mused, then she shrugged, for in truth, she didn't care either way.

"Enough about them," Richard sipped at his wine. "Are you certain that Farshaw was fooled, my love? He isn't showing the slightest distrust over the baby?"

"He's convinced, my Dick," she smirked. "Mrs. Andrews is quite convincing and he gobbles it up quicker than custard. Oh, and she's begun predicting that the baby might come early, because big babies always do -"

"Do they?" Richard asked and she frowned.

"No," she laughed. "You can't tell when a baby will come based on its size. She's only saying it so that Calvin won't be surprised when I do give birth before I reach what he thinks will be the end of my term. He thinks the baby will come somewhere around April. So when I give birth in January or February, he'll think the child is early, remember?" Richard nodded, feeling stirrings of worry despite Mrs. Andrews efforts. Harmony saw his face darkening and this time it was her hand reaching across the intervening space to squeeze his fingers. "You worry too much. Calvin is convinced the child is his."

"Alright, I'll try not to worry," Richard smiled at her, his eyes lingering on her face, soaking in the pleasure of being with her. "Now is most certainly not the time for worrying."

"No. No dark clouds to ruin our evening," her voice became giddy, "it's been so long since we've spent an evening together. I mean, like this. At a table, with a meal and wine…"

"Too long," he agreed. "How is your hand, my sweet?" He asked her when he saw that she was unable to wrap her fingers entirely around her glass.

"Mostly healed, see?" She showed him her palm, revealing a vivid pink scar, a long thin line. "Though I can't close it properly," she tried now, demonstrating. Her fingers could not form a fist any more.

"The sacrifices you've made for our child," Richard said softly, marvelling all over again at Harmony's quick thinking and her bravery.

"You'd do no less," she complimented. "You've made sacrifices also - you have risked O'Hara's wrath, to keep me and the baby safe."

"That's nothing," he waved her comment away.

The two continued to chat, quietly for Brownlow stood guard outside and they were determined to keep their private moments private. The meal was finished and Bordon took Harmony's hand, leading her to the bed.

Hours later, Bordon watched her leave. He would see her in her tent the following night, he thought, but it wasn't the same. That wasn't 'their' place. She had to bed her husband there, when the mood did take him. Here, this cabin, that was their own place, and they would be together there again in only a few more days.


	85. Chapter 85 - Bordon's Bastard

Chapter 85 - Bordon's Bastard:

Camden was under threat. Again. The damned rebels were persistent bastards, only this time, Colonel Sumter's militia and Burwell's Continentals had come together under General Gates, who had finally come down from North Carolina. Instead of the eight hundred Burwell and Putman had raised, the rebel force now numbered nearly four thousand. Unlike the first attempt, secrecy around the approaching forces was broken nearly a week ago. Cornwallis had left Charlestown with an entire brigade, he would be arriving to Camden today, if he was not there already. Tarleton was being summoned, as was O'Hara at Fresh Water. O'Hara, however, was far too ill to travel.

"I can go in your stead," Tavington was saying now to O'Hara, who was reclined in an armchair in the Ferguson's parlour, when he really should have been lying in bed. The General shook his head weakly.

"You dare not abandon your position here," the Brigadier General said. O'Hara had been sick for several days now, it wasn't the yellow fever, but he was too ill to ride, all the same. "With the rebels forced combined, Gates has nearly four thousand men. So yes, the threat is a strong one, this time. However, we've heard reports of Sumter and Burwell who have joined with Gates, but Martin's name has not been mentioned. It has been reported to me that Martin's numbers have swelled to nearly nine hundred. If we remove our forces to Camden, Martin might strike the depleted force here, to reclaim Fresh Water. It would be a devastating blow, we can not afford to lose our stronghold here."

"Jesus," Tavington dropped back in his chair. "The power to rouse the damned countryside."

"Indeed. If you abandon Fresh Water now to face this new threat to Camden, Martin may very well attack you here," O'Hara repeated. "He might be waiting for you to go haring off, waiting for the forces here to be depleted, and then he will strike. We will each send a small force, but you shall not lead them; I need you here."

"Very well," Tavington replied, agreeing. "General, please, would you go to bed? There's little you can do about any of this, we need you on the mend."

"I know, I know," O'Hara waved Tavington down. "I know my limits and I've just about reached them now. I'll get a letter away to Cornwallis, I'll make arrangements for a force to be reinforce him, and then I shall seek my blankets. Will that appease you?"

"Yes, General," Tavington replied gravely. "It will."

* * *

Standing out of the way in the corner, Celeste watched as the midwife knelt on the floor at the end of the bed to examine Cilla Putman's sex. Cilla, her face blazing crimson, lay on her back, her eyes squeezed shut. From her vantage, all Celeste could see was Cilla's skirts bundled up around her waist and the tops of the girls' knees.

The reason for the examination was to determine what was ailing Cilla. She had been nauseous lately, vomiting at all hours of the day, most especially in the morning before breaking her fast. It took a week of this before Celeste became suspicious of what might actually be wrong. She asked her servants very candid questions and discovered that Cilla hadn't had her menses since arriving to the Plantation, nearly two months ago. And when the maids helped Cilla to dress, Cilla complained of sore breasts when they tied her stays. There were other symptoms as well, all of which led to one damning possibility.

Cilla was pregnant.

Celeste had laid the worry before her husband, who had agreed that they needed to be absolutely certain. They'd summoned a midwife, instructed her to not reveal what the examination was for, and then escorted her into Cilla's chamber.

"There you are, you can sit up now," the woman said now. Her face popped into view over Cilla's skirts, she met Celeste's eyes gravely and nodded. Celeste drew a sharp breath and stormed away from the bed.

"What was that for?" Cilla asked the woman who was now rising to her feet. Cilla pushed her skirts down to cover her legs. "I still don't understand why you needed to look at me down there but… Do you at least know what is wrong with me?"

"In a moment, Miss Putman," the woman said, she moved away from the bed to follow Celeste out of the room. Celeste and Christopher were waiting outside in the hallway when the midwife closed the door behind her and joined them. "Her maiden head is gone and she is most definitely pregnant."

"I knew it!" Celeste hissed. "She's been lying from the start!"

"How far along is she?"

"Who cares? She must go!" Celeste said at the same time as the midwife said, "I put her at about two months along."

"Thank you," Christopher handed the midwife several coins. "For your time, and your discretion."

The woman took the money, she curtsied and then a servant escorted her away.

"I demand her immediate removal," Celeste said. "She's a hussy and if she stays here, she will ruin us all."

Christopher nodded agreement. To another servant, he commanded, "pack Miss Putman's belongings and escort her out of the house." He said, already turning away with Celeste as the servant entered the chamber. Christopher and Celeste would have nothing further to do with Cilla, they strode down the corridor, leaving the servant to pack and see Cilla on her way. They climbed down the stairs and were at the landing when Cilla ran to them.

"Why am I to be sent away?" She girl gasped, frantic. "Uncle, please, are you angry with me for something? Have I done something wrong?"

"You have," Christopher said, grave and furious. "You have been lying to me, Cilla."

"What? When? I don't understand, I haven't lied to you uncle -"

"Maybe not lied, but you certainly have not told us the full truth!" Celeste snapped, whirling to face Cilla. "That examination just now? The woman is a midwife, Cilla, and she could see quite clearly that your maidenhead is gone and you are with child!"

Cilla swooned, she gripped the balustrade for support.

"Your bags will be bought down presently," Christopher said, disgust thick in his voice. "And then you will leave."

"Uncle, please, you don't understand -"

"I understand plenty. I understand that you are an unmarried pregnant lass and as such, you are no longer welcome here."

"Where will I go?" Cilla asked as sobs tore from her chest.

"To that Brownlow fellow - or Dalton, which ever of them is the father! One of them is the father, one of them can look after you, though I doubt you know which!" Celeste said snidely.

Legs weak, Cilla slid to the floor, fingers still clutching the balustrade. "I did not bed them. Gods, you have to believe me, I did not bed them!"

Celeste baked a disdainful laugh. "Your mother made your uncle believe that, but now the truth is undeniable."

"It's true, she was telling the truth, I did not bed them -"

"Well you clearly bedded someone," Celeste said, challenging. "Tell me, Cilla, if not this Brownlow or this Dalton, who is the man we should inform is about to become a father?"

Cilla shook her head, not wanting to admit it.

Christopher, furious, stood over Cilla as she sat huddled on the step. "The servants will pack as much as you can carry and then you will be set out the door! I expect you to leave, Cilla, you will walk away and you will not return."

"Where will I go?" She asked, terrified.

"To the father, whomever he might be," Christopher said, contemptuous. "And you'd better hope he'll take you, penniless as you are now, for we certainly shall not keep you a day longer!"

"I can't go to him," Cilla slid from the last step to kneel on the landing before her enraged uncle. On her knees, she pleaded, "can't you find me a husband?"

Christopher stared down at her, incredulous. "Who would marry you? You have nothing to give except the baby in your belly and no man who didn't sire it will want that. You have nothing. I can force the father of this child to marry you as you are, the one that got you in the way. But no one else. Unless he is already married?"

"I can't," she said, trembling. "I can not go to him, I will not go to him!"

"Then you are damned! Who is the father?!" Christopher shouted.

Cilla, terrified of her uncle, blurted, "Major Bordon." Christopher and Celeste stared at her in disbelief. Cilla's gaze darted back and forth from one to the other. "He… He…" God, she'd kept the secret for so long but now she had no choice but to reveal it. She was with child. Gods, she was with child! Only her uncle could help her now. She had no choice but to tell him the truth. "Uncle, he… he forced himself on me."

After a startled moment, Celeste threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, of course he did. He forced yourself on your mother too, I suppose. I wonder if she's pregnant too?" Celeste tapped her lip with her finger. "Will her child be this ones sibling, or its uncle?" She laughed again. Ignoring Cilla, who was shaking her head wildly in denial, Celeste turned angrily toward her husband. "Gods, Mage and Cilla are both debauched!"

"Are you certain the child is his? Don't you dare lie to me now, could it be anyone else's?" Christopher asked and Cilla, frightened witless and still worried for her virtue, told him it could not be anyone else's, that there was no one else. Nodding grimly, Christopher began to stride away.

"Where are you going?" Celeste asked incredulously.

"Change of plans, we leave for Camden."

"Why Camden?" Celeste asked.

"Because that is where the British forces are assembling, and that is where Bordon shall be!" He threw over his shoulder as he took the last step and disappeared into the corridor below.

* * *

Christopher was already shouting commands even before taking that last step off the stair well. His servants and negroes flew into action - to pack traveling clothes, to hitch horses to his carriage, to prepare food, a half hundred different commands necessary for the half day journey. In the confusion and mayhem, a servant approached bearing a letter. Celeste came to stand beside him and he let her read it as he did.

It was from his cousin, Henrietta Middleton - Rutledge, and was already weeks old. It informed him that as Drakespar had been razed to the ground, his sister Mage Putman had come to her for asylum. Henrietta was now trying to locate Charlotte Selton, who Mage was desperate to be reunited with. The purpose of the letter was to let Christopher know that his sister was safe, but also to ask why she had left Christopher's in the first place, with no maids, no companions, no daughter, and only two outriders.

"You have to tell her the truth," Celeste said immediately. Christopher took hold of her arm and steered her into an empty chamber, then closed the door behind them. "Chris, you have too. If Henrietta can't find Mrs. Selton, then she will feel the need to provide a safe haven for Mage. Henrietta is your cousin, we can not in good conscience have her housing your sister in ignorance. We set Mage out because we can not be expected to house a woman of such ill virtue. Which is the same reason we are removing Cilla. Henrietta should have the information required to make her own decision. Remember, Christopher, your cousin's husband is in jail in the city because of the British, and here is Mage, after having an affair with one of them, begging Henrietta look after her. And now Cilla, whose carrying that same Officer's child. Henrietta deserves to know the truth, we'll be doing her a disservice, if we leave her in ignorance."

"Very well," Christopher agreed. "I will see to it now, I will have it on its way before we leave."

Shortly later, when they departed the plantation, so too did Christopher's reply letter to Henrietta Rutledge.

* * *

"I don't know how to feel about it, to be honest," Calvin was saying. "Mrs. Tavington has been inviting her to the Great House for morning tea and afternoon tea and whatever tea for the last three weeks now -"

"I know," Emily curled her lip. "I try to avoid it as much as I can."

Calvin laughed softly and nodded understanding. "But she's been inviting her to dinner as well, and I think it's wrong that I'm not being invited too. Don't you think so?"

Mrs. Tavington recently started inviting Harmony to dinner, Calvin had wanted to refuse, at least at first. An informal visit to chat over tea and scones in the morning or afternoon was one thing. But to invite Mrs. Farshaw to dinner, without Mr. Farshaw? That was just insulting.

"It is a slight, my darling," Emily agreed.

"I'm not sure what to do about it. Or even if there is anything I can do about it. If I stop Harm from going, then that'll mean I'll never be invited. I'd hoped to form a connection with the Tavington's, but that fuckin' bastard Bordon got in the way of that. And now this. Dinner parties that I don't get invited to, but my wife does."

"As I said, it's a slight, my darling. It does provide more opportunity for you and I to meet with Mrs. Farshaw non the wiser, but I will not pretend that they are not insulting you."

"Harm says I'm not missing out on anything, that none of the men attend these dinners. Only women - no husband's. So I suppose it doesn't matter."

"Who wants a connection to the Tavington's anyway? Cal, you should be trying to get onto my husband's good side. He is far more connected in the city than Tavington is. James could find new avenues to sell your lumber and your crops. And, of course, it would mean greater opportunities for you and I to be together after the war. You could come to the Planation, talk business with James during the day," she smiled up at him, "and fuck me during the night."

"You'd fuck me right there in your husband's house, would you?"

"Cal, I'd fuck you anywhere," she said, kissing him deeply.

"Jesus, you know just the right thing to soothe a man," he replied. "I've been in a damned foul mood over these dinners, I knew I was being slighted, and when Brownlow and Dalton came for her last night, I was going to tell them to fuck off. And to tell Mrs. Tavington she can fuck off too. But if its just you women, it don't matter, I suppose."

"Last night?" Emily asked. "Cal, I didn't come down to see you last night. I dined at the Great House with all the others - Mrs. Tavington dined with us, too. Mrs. Farshaw was no where to be seen."

"She wasn't?" Calvin frowned. He trailed a lazy finger around Emily's nipple, causing her to sigh. "But she said that's where she was going. She wore one of those pretty dresses she's got and she left with Brownlow and Dalton. Where the fuck did they take her, if she didn't go dine with Mrs. Tavington?"

"I don't know… Do you think… Maybe… She went elsewhere last night?"

Calvin sat up, face thunderous. "Yeh. That's what I'm thinkin' too. You do see her up there the other times though ain't? You said so, that you've seen her there?"

"Yes, a few times, I've seen her. I don't like your wife, Cal, so I'm not going to go sit and drink syllabubs with her in the parlour. I have seen her with Mrs. Tavington during the day."

"So the invitations are real then, Mrs. Tavington holds dinner for you women and Harmony joins you."

"Well, I try to come down here most nights, to be with you," she said. "So I can only speak for last night. Perhaps Mrs. Tavington has been hosting dinners for just the women - likely when the men are too busy to dine with them. Whether that is the case or not, I can assure you, my darling, Mrs. Farshaw most definitely did not dine with us last night."

"Did Mrs. Tavington? Perhaps they dined elsewhere…" he trailed off because Emily was shaking her head.

"No, Cal. Mrs. Tavington was there, sitting beside her husband, eating off the same plate. They're sickening, at times," she put two fingers under his chin, turned his face to hers. "You were lied to last night, Cal. Perhaps your allowing her to attend these women's dinners put the idea into Mrs. Farshaw's head. It seems to me that she pretended she was invited to one last night, but she most definitely was not at the Great House."

"Was Bordon at the dinner with you last night?"

"No, Cal, he wasn't," she replied gently and his face became grim. "It's always Brownlow and Dalton that come for her, you said. They are Bordon's and Tavington's creatures, Cal, through and through. If Bordon asked them to take your whore of a wife elsewhere last night, and to tell you she was going to meet with Mrs. Tavington, they would not hesitate."

"My thoughts also," he said, drawing in deep breaths to calm down. "That fucking bitch. That _fucking_ bitch! I'm goin' to beat her like she's never been beaten before -"

"Oh, no, please Cal," Emily lifted her leg and climbed into Calvin's lap, facing him. She cupped his face with trembling fingers and spoke quickly, earnestly. "You remember what they said! They'll kill you. Bordon will kill you, if you do. I couldn't bare anything to happen to you," she started kissing his cheek, his lips, his neck. "Please, Cal, if she is screwing Bordon again last night, please, be smart about this!"

"What the fuck do you suggest I do, Em?" He said as her kisses rained down on him.

"I don't know. But Gods, please, don't let it be something that's going to get you killed my love!" She cried, tears in her eyes.

Calvin subsided. He nodded, though his lips were tight.

"Alright," he nodded. "Alright. Something that ain't goin' to get me killed. Alright… Christ, she's lucky I know the child's mine," he said, shaking his head slowly, his voice filled with threat.

"She's with child?"

"Yeh," Calvin said shortly, still fuming.

"You're… sure it's yours?" She asked carefully.

"Why, you think I can't fill her belly?" He asked. "You think I'm only half a man?"

"No," she smiled, seeing he was teasing. "I think you're all man. If she's pregnant though, it means you can get a woman with child."

"Yeh?" He arched his eyebrows.

"Which means, unless he dies at Camden, I'd better lure that pig of a husband of mine to our bed as soon as he gets back," she curled her lip. Calvin laughed, understanding her now. She kissed his nose. "I'll be thinking of you all the while he's plumbing away at me. Might even come this time, if you're on my mind."

"He can't make you come?"

"He doesn't bother to try, the few times he bothers at all," she shrugged. "Cal, if she's bedding Bordon again, and I'm sorry my love, but it certainly seems she might be, how do you know for sure that it's yours and not his?"

"She had her menses when I got here. She might be fuckin' him again now, and if she is…" he tightened his lips again, before continuing. "We've known for a week now. Mrs. Andrews said then that Harmony is a month along, so she's five weeks now," he laughed softly, grimly. "I wonder if she's told him? Let's see if Bordon still wants to fuck her, when her belly starts getting big with my kid."

"He won't want to then," Emily laughed along with Calvin.

"How's this for me being all man? Mrs. Andrews said I must've filled Harmony's belly the first night I fucked her."

"Potent indeed," she murmured, eyes hooded

"It was when she was just finishing her menses," Calvin said with pride. "That's the best time to fuck if you want yer belly filled, Mrs. Andrews said."

"Oh, is it?" Emily frowned. "Well, if she says so, she'd know more about these things than I would. I wonder…" she placed her hand on her stomach and smiled warmly. "Perhaps you've given me a gift as well?"

"You want me fillin' your belly?" He asked, shuffling beneath her a little. He lifted her and positioned himself, then sighed as she slid down his length. "I'll fill yer belly, Em."

"Gods, yes," she dropped her head back, the ends of her hair tickled his knees.

"And you'll think of me, when you're fucking him?" Calvin asked, voice becoming harsh as they got started.

"With every thrust," she said. "I'll struggle not to whisper your name in his ear. Calvin," she did it now, that whisper. "Gods, Calvin, oh, you feel so good…"

Calvin gave a dark chuckle, imagining Emily screwing her husband and inadvertently shouting Calvin's name. "Better not. Ahh… Jesus… If ye don't want him to beat ye, you better not. Fuck, you're so good… I don't understand what his problem is, I fuckin' love your quim. Gods, Em, yeh, that's it, go faster, ahhhh damn!"

They screwed quietly in Mrs. Salisbury's tent, keeping their moans and encouragement to whispers in one another's ears; the fleeting thought that she wished James would take over one of those cabins flared through her mind - for when he was gone, Calvin could visit her there, and was gone again as she bounced on Calvin's length and kissed his lips hard until she was whimpering and he groaning as they both came. He covered her mouth with his hand as she became a little too loud, as she was prone to when her orgasm came upon her. They ended with a long, searching, searing kiss, Emily moaning in Calvin's mouth.

Spent, he lay back and bought her with him, she lay along his side in his arms, her head on his chest, both contented.

"Hey, Cal, I realised something just now…" she shifted her head on his chest until she could meet his gaze. "Those cabins that were built? I heard that Bordon took one of them over, which I found strange because he hasn't moved into it, he still has his room up at the Great House, too." Calvin went very still beneath her, she gazed at him solemnly. "Do you think," she lifted herself up onto her elbow with a frown, "that she met him there?" She gazed down at him.

"I'd fuckin' say so," he ground out.

"I'm not saying for certain that they are or anything," Emily continued. "But… the evidence is stacking, isn't it?"

"It is," he said grimly. "Sounds like he's built himself a little love nest and she intends to start visiting him there. Not doubt she'll be telling me of even more invitations to dine with Mrs. Tavington when half the time, she'll really be going to Bordon's love nest."

"If you want, I can keep an eye out," Emily offered. "I'll do some investigating and I'll be able to tell you for certain, soon."

"My thanks. Maybe next time, I'll catch her in the act."

"You won't be able to do anything about it, if you do," she said bluntly.

"No. I'll have to wait until I've got her back here, before I do anything. I just want to know for certain."

"I don't want you to get hurt," Emily said again, her fear returning. "They'll beat you if you beat her."

"Yes," Calvin agreed, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. "Enough of her - I'll deal with her later. I meant what I said, I don't understand what Wilkins' problem is, I can't get enough of you. If you were my wife, Jesus, I'd fuck you every night, I'd make it so you'd never want to stray from my bed."

"You're such a dear, Cal. If you were my husband, I'd never want to leave it," she said. "I don't know what it is with him either. Our families have always been close, I've known James forever. I was looking forward to marrying him, I thought we'd be happy together. But even before the wedding, I knew something wasn't right. And then I knew for certain, afterward."

"Huh. Sounds like me and Harmony. She changed too, after we were married." Calvin sat up, bringing Emily with him. He drank deeply from a flask, whiskey warming his throat. He handed it to her to have her fill, then he laid her back down on his chest. "How did he change? What did he do?"

"I don't want to bore you," she said softly, then continued, "he was just… angry all the time. And he was rough with me, our first time. And then disdainful thereafter. He will bed me but from the start, he made it clear that he'd rather be with doxies and whores. I don't know what I've done wrong."

"Gods," Calvin snorted. "It's him, Em, not you. What happened your first time? You said he was rough with you? You want me to beat shit out of him?"

She laughed softly. "Gods, yes, Cal, I'd love for you to beat him. During our wedding and for days before, I was so nervous. I knew we'd bed one another and I was so frightened and yet curious by it all, and James is quite a well set up fellow. Much like yourself. You're far more handsome though. As for what happened, well, I was a virgin back then, of course, and I was quite nervous of what was to come, but at the same time, I welcomed it..." As Emily continued, the two drank from the flask, the whiskey helping Emily to open up and confide to Calvin.

By the end, Calvin wondered if he should indeed beat James Wilkins to pulp, Captain or no Captain. He kissed Emily's tears away and to put her into a better mood, he worked his lips down her body until he was kissing her nether. It worked and before long, she was clawing at his hair and whispering his name, her husband quite forgotten.

* * *

After escorting Emily to a safe place where she could find her way safely back to the house, Calvin went in search of his friend, Jack. Emily was one for chatter, before, during and after bedding, Calvin received a wealth of information from her. A month ago, when he'd realised he was stuck under Bordon's command and unable to dessert, he decided to join Jack's small coterie of spies. Emily was quartered up at the Great House, right in the thick of it, where high ranking Officers discussed plans over dinner that Emily herself attended, right before spreading her legs for Calvin in Mrs. Salisbury's tent. Although he was still irate at being forced to transfer, at being forced to stay, it had proved quite fortuitous for the Cause.

Each time Calvin passed information to Jack, he felt as though he were sliding his dagger deeper into Bordon's back.

Though in truth, Jack couldn't do a hell of a lot with the information Calvin passed onto him, it caused more frustration than not. Jack did have some contacts outside camp he could get reports to, but none of them were highly enough placed to get much done. Still, they did have some small victories, Calvin was able to get word to Jack, who got word out of camp quickly enough, that when Benjamin Martin received it, he was able to intercept a baggage train that was heading toward Fresh Water, miles before it reached it.

It was frustrating more often than not, but they did have some small victories. Tonight, all Calvin could do was give repeat what was being said up at the Great House, regarding this second attempt of Burwell's to take Camden. The General had Gates with him this time, they had nearly two thousand men this time and Cornwallis was worried enough to have left the city himself, with over one thousand. Companies from Fresh Water had gone to reinforce them as well, both from the British Legion and O'Hara's Regiments.

That news was old now, though. It was likely that the battle had already been fought.

"I don't hold out much hope for victory this time either," Jack was saying. The two were standing in the dark of night, barely able to see one another. Calvin had repeated to him everything he'd learned from Emily, and now talk had moved on to the battle that may or may not have already been fought. "Maybe if the British hadn't learned of it in time for Cornwallis to leave the damned city. Camden." Calvin heard Jack's spit hit the ground. "It's damned cursed, ain't? Fucking swear it is."

"Don't give up hope yet," Calvin said. "What have the Lobster's got, two thousand? We've got four thousand, that's what Emily said tonight. That's what they're complain' about up at the Great House. They're worried, Jack. Em said the this time, they're worried. It was a rout last time, with Tavington and those others fallin' upon Burwell's lot. But this time, they're up against four thousand and most of 'em are Burwell's and Gates Continental's - proper Regiments, not just fuckin' militia this time. Have some heart, Jack. You'll see."

"Might be you're right, Cal," Jack said. "We'll know in a few more days. You got any tobac?"

"Yeh," Calvin pulled out his pouch and handed a thick wad of tobacco to Jack. "Better be gone, we can't risk being seen together.

"No, we can't. See you tomorrow night."

"Hopefully by then, we'll know," Calvin said and Jack agreed. They parted ways and Calvin returned to his own tent. Where Harmony lay sleeping like a log. He stared down at her, fingers curling into fists. Gods, he wanted to wake her, wanted to slap her dizzy. But he was very aware of the soldiers in the next tent over. If she started to scream, they'd rush to aid within moments.

Better to find out absolutely for certain, first; though in truth, he had no doubt. Why else would she be lying? Best to know for certain though and in waiting that long, he would be giving himself time to plan a way to deal with this, that wasn't going to get him killed. Laying himself out on the bed beside her, he closed his eyes and struggled with his fury, until he was finally able to sleep.

* * *

Late the following morning, Emily again began making her way from the Great House down to the camp. She had long since left the house behind her and was now amidst the camp followers of the British Legion. It felt strange, coming down here in broad day light. She felt exposed. Her hood was pulled up over her head to conceal her identity - it also hid her grimace of distaste as she wrinkled her nose, her eyes darting with contempt at the women carrying washing baskets and stirring cook pots. The women wore drab gear which had been patched so many times, it was difficult to see the original garment beneath. Wretches, every single one of them.

Emily spied a man wearing a Green coat up ahead and quickly changed her direction so that the Dragoon would not see her.

At length, she came to Mrs. Salisbury's tent. The woman was sitting just outside of it, thank goodness - Emily hadn't relished the idea of having to search the camp to find her. Mrs. Salisbury glanced up from the pile of sewing in her lap.

"It's a bit early, isn't it?" Mrs. Salisbury said. "He won't be here for hours yet."

"No, and there's something I need to tell him urgently," Emily placed her hands before her and linked her fingers together. "Thought you'd pass it on for me."

"It'll cost you extra," Mrs. Salisbury said.

Emily shrugged, uncaring. She paid the woman handsomely both for the use of her tent and her discretion. What was a few extra pennies, for the delivery of information? She smiled. "You're going to like it, this gossip I have. You're going to like it very much."

"Oh?"

"Major Bordon has started carrying on an affair with his former mistress, Mrs. Farshaw."

"Miss Jutland!" Salisbury gasped, shocked. Emily's lips curved higher, for her quarry had been snared.

"Indeed. The hussy is pregnant with her husband's get, but that has not stopped her from spreading her legs for Bordon. They've discerned quite an elaborate plan." Emily squatted, Mrs. Salisbury leaned in closer, the both of them whispering. "Lieutenant Farshaw and I began to suspect it last night. Mrs. Farshaw had told him Mrs. Tavington had invited her to dinner, you see. I told him his wife wasn't at dinner, and neither was Bordon. Mrs. Tavington was, though. So, where did she go? Clearly she was lying. I told him about a cabin that Bordon has claimed as his own, though he never sleeps there. We both suspect that instead of going to dine with the Colonel's wife, Mrs. Farshaw met with Bordon there."

"Dear Lord! Do you have proof?"

"That's what I want to talk to Lieutenant Farshaw about. Mrs. Tavington regularly invites Mrs. Farshaw to the Great House to meet with her, for morning or afternoon tea. But recently, about a week ago, she began to invite Mrs. Farshaw to dinner. You see, I avoid the House at night, I much prefer to spend my time with Lieutenant Farshaw. So I thought, perhaps, I could start making enquiries about these dinners - starting with the servants." Emily smiled. "And they told me the most interesting thing. Mrs. Farshaw hasn't had dinner at the Great House since she moved out over a month ago. I thought that maybe I'd simply missed her when I was down here with Lieutenant Farshaw."

"But that is not the case," Salisbury breathed.

"No. Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins confirmed it also. Mrs. Farshaw told Lieutenant Farshaw that the dinners she is invited to, are for women only. Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins told me that there have been no such dinners, yet Mrs. Farshaw has led her husband to believe there have been four so far."

"So she goes and fucks Bordon, while her husband thinks she's dining with a bunch of ladies?"

"Indeed," Emily said. "It began just over a week ago. I decided to keep digging, although it is my believe that that was confirmation enough."

"I certainly think it is," Mrs. Salisbury said grimly. "Quite damning indeed. What else did you unearth?"

"Well, just now, I went in search of Ensign Dalton and Cornet Brownlow - the two Officers who have sole responsibility of escorting Mrs. Farshaw to the Great House and back again. I wouldn't expect either of them to confide in me, so I pretended as though I just happened upon them -"

"And, what happened?" Mrs. Salisbury said eagerly.

"I mentioned Mrs. Farshaw in passing. I said I was worried for her, how she was faring, the broken hearted thing she must be. Oh, and how was she going to cope with winter, with spending her nights in a tent? It doesn't even have a brazier, I told them. Then I stepped out of the room and closed the door over, but stayed to listen."

"Oh! What did they say!"

"That it wasn't Mrs. Farshaw that needed to fear the cold," Emily said. "That she had Bordon to warm her. They began to complain to each other, of how they were the ones that were going to be cold, for it is they that would continue to have to fetch her up from camp, then stand guard outside the cabin for hours on end, before taking her back again. It was bad enough doing it now, they said, how much worse in winter? 'This isn't what Dragoons are for', one said to the other and both agreed Bordon should be using Privates for this function. You see?" Emily said, gleeful. "It's proof! I can't remember their exact words, but Lord, Mrs. Salisbury, once they got started, they did not stop. All I needed to do was to sow the seed and they just… Let loose. All their frustrations and complaints, they spoke quite heatedly on the topic for so long, I started to worry a servant would come along and catch me listening at the door! Here, the essence of it is this. Colonel Tavington is the one sending Brownlow and Dalton down to camp to fetch that bawd, on the pretence that Mrs. Tavington herself summoned her to dinner," - Mrs. Salisbury's eyes widened and she gasped several times before Emily finished imparting her gossip. "Bordon is making good use of his little cabin. The Officers take that slut there and then they wait for several hours until Bordon has had his fill of her, before returning her to her husband."

"Jesus," Salisbury breathed.

"I heard Cornet Brownlow's words himself. He was saying to Dalton that it's bad enough when they had to stand sentry duty on the cottage for a few hours in the summer, but when they have to do it come winter… Dalton agreed and both Officers were quite disgruntled."

"And Farshaw thinks that she's attending Mrs. Tavington!" Salisbury tossed her head. "The gall. Does Mrs. Tavington know?" Salisbury had met the woman several times, and she was still not certain if she liked the lass - the Colonel's wife - who had supplanted her. The girl had come down with offerings of food and had even given each of the camp followers a small portion of precious tea leaves, which many of the camp followers had used to barter for other items of more import. Salisbury had kept hers, though, she was saving it for a special occasion.

"Will you get word to Lieutenant Farshaw for me? I won't see him until tonight at earliest, and this is something he needs to be told now!"

"Of course I shall, though I'd like as much detail as you're able to give. Let me pour you a cup of tea," Salisbury offered and Emily's smile deepened as they entered the tent, Emily sitting down to watch as Salisbury busied herself boiling the water.


	86. Chapter 86 - O'Hara takes Charge

Chapter 86 - O'Hara Takes Charge:

"Gods, he looks…" General O'Hara tightened his lips as he looked down at Lieutenant Farshaw, fury surging through his blood.

"Like a man that was almost beaten to death," Major Fallows agreed.

"What do you know of it?"

"Very little," Fallows replied. "I've told you, the British Legion has closed ranks, it's been very difficult for me to get information from there. I knew that something was amiss, however, and I knew it concerned Lieutenant Farshaw and his wife, though I had no idea what it was. It's taken me a day and a half to find him."

"He was left there to die, you said?"

"General," Fallows said softly, "I believe they left him because they thought him to _be_ dead."

"Dear Lord," O'Hara sighed. "Where is Mrs. Farshaw?"

"At Fresh Water," Fallows said. "That's how I knew that something had happened. She was living in her tent one moment and was suddenly at Fresh Water the next. I have not seen her myself, but I've been told she was beaten also."

"By the people who did this to Farshaw? Or by Farshaw."

"By Farshaw, General."

"Hmm," O'Hara glared at the man on the cot, his face covered in bruises and swelling, he was barely recognisable.

"When Mrs. Farshaw showed up at Fresh Water and her husband was no where to be seen, I set a search for him. This is how my men found him, under a tree, beaten and unconscious."

"Thank you for bringing him here, Major," O'Hara said. "And for bringing this to my attention."

"I would have done sooner, but I you're unwell yourself and I did not want to disturb you unless the need was great."

"I believe the need is great," O'Hara said wryly. "Besides, I'm on the mend, Major." He moved closer to the bed, Fallows fell in beside him. "Lieutenant?" He called softly to the broken youth on the cot. "Lieutenant Farshaw?"

Calvin slowly opened his eyes, or tried to. Only one lid could open, the other was swollen shut. He blinked his good eye up at the Officer standing over him. His one good eye landed on the insignia on the other Officer's uniform and Calvin automatically tried to rise, for it was ingrained into every soldier, to salute those above them. And Brigadier General O'Hara was as high as they got at Fresh Water fort.

O'Hara motioned him back down.

"Just rest," the General said. "The physician has informed me of suspected broken ribs and the other trauma your body has endured. I do not wish you to injure yourself further on my account."

Calvin relaxed, shifting back against the pillow. All around him, other soldiers either slept or moaned quietly as they were tended by doctors, their aides and the camp women. He was in an infirmary, though he had no idea how long he'd been there for.

O'Hara pulled a seat over beside the cot so that he was not looming. Another fellow continued to stand, slightly behind the General.

"Do you remember what happened?" O'Hara asked gently. "Are you able to talk at all?"

"I can talk," Calvin replied, though it hurt to do so. He kept his breaths shallow for the rise and fall of his chest was the purest agony.

"I've been trying to keep an eye on you," O'Hara continued, his pale eyes intent on the youth laying on the cot. "I receive some reports via my aide de camp, Major Fallows." He gestured and the Officer standing behind him inclined his head at Calvin. "However, these reports have been few and far between since you left Captain McLauglin's unit."

"Didn't leave," Calvin licked his lips and the other fellow, Major Fallows, moved quickly to pour water, which he placed at Calvin's lips. Calvin drank, then slumped back down on the pillow. "I did not leave. Not willingly. That was Tavington's doing."

"Indeed?" O'Hara said, lifting his chin. "Well, we shall discuss that more in a moment. It seems that Tavington's men have closed ranks, not allowing more than a dribble of information to get past them. I've been reluctant to press the issue and decided that while there was no trouble, I would not. But now, there has been trouble, hasn't there? You may rest assured however, that anything you decide to tell me, will be taken quite seriously," he said this firmly, his jaw tight.

And Calvin, after studying the General for several long moments, realised he was speaking truly. Tavington might have done his level best to control all of those beneath him, but he had no control whatsoever over those above. And those above him, it seemed, were on the alert.

"I can tell you the whole of it? And I will be believed?" Calvin whispered, licking his lips again. Again, Fallows was there with the cup and this time, Calvin drunk deeply.

"Yes," O'Hara replied. "Major Fallows here suspected that something was amiss. He sent out his men to search for you, and they found you under a tree, as you are now."

"They thought you were dead at first," Major Fallows pulled up the other chair and sat close to Calvin's head, ready to assist with more water at need. "I had you bought here."

"Thank you," Calvin said. "How long?"

"Since you were found? Yesterday morning," Fallows said and Calvin's eyes bulged.

"That long? Gods."

"Please, Lieutenant, do tell me what befell you," O'Hara said.

Calvin closed his good eye as he remembered the events of the night before last. At length he began to speak, telling O'Hara and Fallows all of it.

* * *

Calvin no longer gave a rats arse for Tavington's lackeys. He was damned if he would be careful of them for one minute longer. Not after the message Emily had given Mrs. Salisbury to pass on to him. Fuck them. Tavington had fucking helped Major Bordon, the two had colluded together, the result being that Calvin had been cuckolded. As he'd just begun to suspect, Harmony was not going to visit the Colonel's fucking wife, she was instead spreading her legs and screwing Bordon, with each so called summons from Mrs. Tavington! For the past week, when she was supposedly visiting the great house to dine with Mrs. Tavington, she had actually been in the arms of her former lover!

Current lover again, it seemed. Calvin seethed. Only a short while earlier, Mrs. Salisbury had sought him out and told him the truth of Harmony's affair. He was left itching with the need to deal with Harmony immediately, but he was saddled with going through drills with his unit beneath the hot afternoon sun. Captain Dubose would hardly let him leave early, Calvin did not even bother asking. For now, he had no choice but to take his frustration out on the fellow he was sparring against, and his opponent was hard pressed to defend himself against Calvin's attack.

"What's the damned matter with you, Farshaw?" The fellow finally spat, falling back away from a punch aimed for the side of his head.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Calvin shot back, his fingers balling into fists. "You think your enemy is going to hold back his punches, when you're fighting in a real fuckin' battle?"

The fellow had nothing to say to this, and the two again assumed fighting stances. They clashed together again, fists flying and soon the other fellow was groaning on the ground, clutching at his broken nose. Fucking cry baby. Calvin snorted and, his gait graceful and deadly, he faced off against another soldier in his unit for another mock battle. Not satisfied to let the soldiers go after drilling them, Dubose commanded the unit trotted in step around the perimeter of the camp. They ran, hot and sweaty and exhausted, they ran. After circling the camp at that exhausting trot, they returned to Dubose, who stood waiting for them in the comfort of his open tent with a cup of cider in his hand. Fucking bastard. How Calvin had glared at the Captain who was working them so damned hard. The men were exhausted, even Calvin who had always been quite athletic. He was an Officer, Goddamn it, but Dubose was having him train like a fucking mere ranker. Captain Dubose dismissed them for the evening meal, and Calvin began to stride back to camp, his fury over Harmony and Bordon renewing his vigour.

_I'll be careful of the baby, but I'll be damned if she gets off fuckin' lightly for this. I don't give a fuckin' damn if the piece of shit Colonel does have me flogged after!_ He decided grimly. He was so damned thankful that Mrs. Andrews had been able to discern Harmony's pregnancy so early, or he would have cause to doubt who the father was, now that she'd taken up with Bordon again since. The baby was the only thing of import now.

His friends, Jack. Even Christian Leeds and the others from back home. They all looked at him with renewed respect now that he was to be a father. For his baby, he would be careful of Harmony's stomach. Her face, however, was to be another matter entirely. Her legs, also. He could bend her over a table and whip her rump and the backs of her legs raw and bloody - that wouldn't hurt the baby. It would have Harmony screaming, but the baby would not be harmed.

_I'll have to gag her,_ he thought. For if he did not, her screams would draw the attention of every soldier within earshot, and her chastisement would stop before it truly began. It was almost full dark by the time he reached his tent. As soon as he entered, his eyes landed on Harmony, who sat beside a lantern, sewing one of his shirts.

"Have you eaten?" She asked him. "I can fetch you something if you're too tired to get it yourself."

_Yes, what a fuckin' accommodating wife you've been lately_, he curled his fingers into fists. _I should've known from that alone that somethin' wasn't right._

It was not going to work - his idea of gagging her before the beating. The tents were struck too close together and the men set to listen for anything amiss were sure to become curious over the strange noises that they were bound to hear. Harmony's muffled screeching around the gag would draw them like bees to honey.

"No, I'm not hungry and nor am I tired," he said, easing his stance and keeping his tone light so she would not be alerted. "We are going to visit Christian and the boys tonight," he informed her, deciding he needed to get her clear of the camp, away into the trees or some other place that was not well populated with Tavington's spies. A gag would work then. Opening his chest, he pulled a pair of knee length socks out and stuffed them into his pocket.

"Oh, Cal, I don't want to go there." Her whining grated on every nerve in his body. "It's almost dark now and I'm exhausted. I could barely sleep last night, the baby kept me awake."

_It wasn't the baby that's been keeping you awake, you fucking whore. _He did not voice this out loud. Instead, he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. She gaped at him in utter shock, and he smiled cruelly. The stupid bitch had thought she'd gotten the better of him, with her little protectors - one of which she was fucking. Well, he'd show her.

"They've been asking to see you," he ground out. It was true enough, the boys from their village had been wanting Harmony to join them. But of course she hadn't and it became clear why now. If she'd left to spend the night with them, she might have missed out on 'Mrs. Tavington's' summons, which meant she would not have been able to spread open her thighs for Major Bordon. He tried to ease his expression and his voice. "You're coming this time, Harmony. You can ask them all you want about their wives, then."

"Alright…" Harmony said slowly, reaching for her cape. "Hopefully they will have news by now. I've asked you so many times to get news, Cal and you never do."

He waited impatiently while she pulled her cape around her body. They left the tent, it was fully dark out now but the avenue was well lit by firebrands. Mrs. Andrews stepped from her tent and when her eyes landed on the couple, she stopped dead, her face horrified. Calvin wondered at that, until he realised that his face must have been thunder. He smoothed his expression to something more benign. He inclined his head toward her, even forced a smile. Harmony was about to stop and chat with the midwife, but Calvin jerked her arm to keep her walking. Harmony shot him a dark look at being manhandled, then fell in step beside him. They soon cleared the camp completely and were walking toward the next lot of pickets, with soldiers standing sentry over the perimeter of the next encampment. That was where Christian Leeds resided, where Calvin and the other boys gathered for their twice weekly gambling and drinking. Instead of walking through the pickets, he steered Harmony away and into the darkness.

"Where are we going?" She asked, frowning. Their eyes took time to adjust to the darkness, but they could soon discern dips in the ground that could break an unwary ankle, and the dark shape of a stand of trees just up ahead.

"I need a piss first," he lied. "And maybe we can have a quick rut up against a tree while we're there. You do like to rut, don't you Harm?"

Finally, she began to grow cautious. He could barely see her face in the sparse silvery light of the moon over head, but he sensed her sudden tension, felt the worried breath that left her lips in a sudden burst. She stopped dead, just shy of the trees, and she whirled as if to turn back. He tightened his grip on her arm, hauling her backward. Harmony's terrified gasp was cut short, for as soon as she opened her lips to scream, his socks were jammed deep into her mouth. Gaping over the woollen ball, she was hauled upward against a tree. The rough bark bit into her back, Calvin's body pressing her hard against it. She tried to rip the bundle free from her mouth but her scrabbling fingers were immediately grasped, her wrists seized together and her arms pushed high over her head. Her whimpers were muffled as Calvin jerked open his breeches with his free hand, then lifted her skirts to her waist. He tried to knee her legs apart, digging in between them painfully but she kept them closed, squeezed tight as she tried to squirm away. His full armed slap twisted her head to one side, and she was crying in earnest now, tears soaking into the wool gaping from her mouth.

"Fuckin' whore," he taunted her, his voice thick with fury. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

She tensed then, still crying convulsively as she stared at him in horror.

"Yes, you fuckin' bitch, I know all about you and Bordon, of you screwin' him when you told me you were visiting Mrs. Tavington." She was making strangling noises now. Calvin shoved his hand hard between her legs and jerked her thighs apart. With her leg held hopelessly high, he positioned himself, then entered her in one swoop. "Fuckin' bitch," his breath was hot against her ears. "Is this how he does it? Do you even wash his fuckin' come out before you come back to me?" His fingers tightened painfully on her wrists and he thrust his hips forward, fucking deeply inside her, putting as much violence into the motion as he could. Though she was well used to coupling, she was in pain now, he could tell from the sobs ripping from her. "You're never goin' to see him again," he panted in her ear as he forced himself toward orgasm. "We'll dessert - right now. Fuck him. I'll have you halfway across the Santee before he even knows you're gone!" The idea only just occurred to him, but he seized it eagerly. Burying his face into her shoulder, he propelled himself forward, his long cock fucking her more deeply than ever before. His helmet struck her cervix and she cried at the battering deep inside her. Planting his boots in the dirt, he tensed, rammed forward one last time and then threw back his head, his seed shooting from him in a fiery orgasm. He collapsed against her again, panting as the fire abated and he began to come down from his climax.

"I promised I'd take you home, Harm. So that's what I'm goin' to do. Right fucking now," he informed her between laboured breaths. It was a struggle to buckle his breeches up with only one hand, for his other was still holding Harmony's wrists high, preventing her from removing the gag. "You'll never see that fuckin' bastard again, and in future, you'll fuck only the men I tell you to fuck. Those that can pay. You fucked Bordon, so my promise that I wouldn't make you fuck other men no longer holds. You're a whore, you can bloody well be paid for it. You better be thankful for the baby inside you now, because I swear it, if it wasn't for that, I'd fucking beat you to the edge of your pathetic life. As it is…" He pulled back his fist and it crashed into her jaw. The force of the blow snapped her head back, she struck the tree behind her hard enough to daze her. As she began to wilt he struck her again, and again. There was no further use for the gag, Harmony was in so much agony she did not have the strength to scream. When he jerked it free of her mouth, all she could do was whimper. On all fours, she tried to crawl away, but her movements were sluggish and slow, as though she were trying to move through molasses.

Calvin was panting again, this time from exhaustion. He'd spent the day fighting and then trotting around the camp, and then after ravaging his wife, his second strength was draining from him. He stumbled a few steps back, then stared down at her as he tried to regroup his strength.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" He laughed at her, she'd made it a full yard away from him, her fingers digging into the muddy ground as she crawled on her hands and knees. Those sobbing gasps exploding from her lips were not enough. Not for him. Not for her cuckolding him. He needed more from her, wanted to hear more of her sweet cries of agony. With one quick jerk, he pulled his belt free from his breeches. Gripping the back of her neck with strong fingers, he pinned her in place. She tried to writhe away but was held fast as he lifted her skirts again, revealing the pale half crescents of her buttocks to him. With an inarticulate growl, he lifted his arm high, the leather strap looped in on itself, and he sent it flying downward. Harmony squealed as more pain flared. He lifted his arm high again and struck her repeatedly, in quick succession, faster than a man could clap. Slap, slap, slap, Harmony could barely count them and she was near to fainting. When it finally stopped and her shoulders relieved of his weight, she dropped face forward into the mud.

Calvin had not stopped because he wanted to. No, he was so lost to the fury that he could have struck her with his belt a hundred more times. But both his beating of Harmony and his plans to desert with her were thwarted when a strong arm seized his arm and he was hauled away from his prone wife, coming face to face with Major Bordon. The Major's cold, fury filled eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire in the darkness of night.

* * *

"Please, Sir, don't send me back to them," Calvin begged O'Hara now. "They want me dead, I know they do. And they'll fuckin' make me suffer for hours or days before they end it. Please, don't send me back to their command."

"We shall discuss that in a moment, Lieutenant. Please continue your report," O'Hara commanded.

"There were five of them," Calvin said. His throat was dry, his voice hoarse after speaking for so long. He had left out many details in his retelling of the nights events - it would not do to reveal that he had intended to dessert, he doubted the General would sit still for that. Nor did he speak of fucking his wife up against that tree, for it was no one's damned business. He did tell O'Hara and Fallows of Bordon and Harmony's resumed affair. And O'Hara was staring at him with a grave expression on his face - his eyes had taken on a disgusted glint when Calvin spoke of the beating he'd given his wife. He had not left that out of his retelling, he had been quite frank about it, for why shouldn't he? Who the fuck were these people to tell him not to discipline his own wife when she was in need of it? He didn't think O'Hara would have done any less, had he discovered _he'd_ been cuckolded.

"Five of them?" O'Hara asked, prompting Calvin.

"Five. I recognised Brownlow and Dalton, those are the two who come down to escort Harmony to Mrs. Tavington. Only they've been escorting her to Bordon's fuckin' cottage," his lips twisted in a scowl. "And there was Bordon and two more. Brownlow and Dalton held my arms back, I couldn't even defend myself. Bordon had the first blow, damned near split my skull in two. I couldn't even think straight after that. From there, all I knew was pain. I must have fought back, I remember wrenching out of Brownlow's hold and I think I had my fingers around Bordon's throat, I tried to throttle him but Dalton kicked me off. And I think I got a few punches in -"

"You did," Fallows said. "I'm told Major Bordon is sporting quite a few bruises - his right eye doesn't look any better than yours. His cravat covers most of his neck but the bruises can be seen above it."

"Well, I can not say that I am willing to chastise you for striking a superior Officer, nor for trying to strangle him, considering." O'Hara's expression was such that Calvin had the feeling that O'Hara would not have minded throttling the Major himself.

"Most of it's a daze," Calvin said. "A hazy blur, but I do remember them taking turns. Brownlow and another Dragoon had my arms back again, tighter this time, and Bordon, Dalton and a Dragoon I didn't recognise each took turns punching and kicking me. I must have blacked out at one point, and I remember waking up, I was laying on the ground staring up into the trees over head. Harmony and the others were gone. They'd taken me wife, and left me for fuckin' dead. The next time I woke, I was here."

"I see. Very well," O'Hara turned and gestured to one of his entourage. "Go directly to Fresh Water and arrest Major Bordon. Tell Tavington that I will speak with him immediately."

"Why, Sir?" Calvin said as the other Officer strode away. "You're one of them, aren't you?"

"Am I Tavington's man?" O'Hara arched an eyebrow. "Most certainly not. I do not condone any of their actions. You say that Tavington organised with Captain McLaughlin to have you forced into his unit, and men were placed in position to keep an eye on your interactions with your wife, and those men were reporting back to Tavington?" Calvin nodded. "You say that Bordon issued you the dirtiest of duties - such as digging latrines?"

"As though I'm a common grunt, a damned ranker, rather than an Officer," Calvin spat, furious. "They don't give me an Officer's duties, not ever. They call me Lieutenant but I'm not fucking treated like one."

"Yes, quite unjust. And you maintain that this is the third time that Major Bordon has instigated a fight with you? I was there for the first. The second, you say, was the very day of your transfer into the British Legion? That he simply came up to you and tried to drag your wife away? That he beat you that day?"

"Yeh - he threw the first punch," Calvin said, adding, "we did our best to try and kill each other, until Tavington showed up and stopped the fight. That was when the Colonel laid it all out like, tellin' me what I could and couldn't do with my own fuckin' wife. He would have tried to stop me from screwin' with her at all, if he could have. But not even he has that sort of power."

"That he doesn't," O'Hara said primly.

"It wouldn't even bother me, fightin' Bordon one on one," Calvin ground out. "Like those other times. But the other night, it was five against one, and after a day filled with trainin' and then trottin' around the boundary of the camp, I was as helpless as a fuckin' baby."

"As helpless as your wife was against you?" O'Hara arched that eyebrow again.

"Sir, I have every damned right to strike my wife if I feel she deserves it. And findin' out that she's been screwin' Bordon, I dearly felt she deserved it!"

"Be that as it may," O'Hara said crisply, "I will not tolerate it. As for your concerns, I agree that your life is in danger under Tavington's command. I shall heed your request, you shall be temporarily be moved from it to mine, until matters are settled."

"Temporarily?" Calvin gasped. "You can't send me back to Tavington!"

"For now," O'Hara overrode Farshaw's protests, "you will be assigned to Major Fallows, who has need of an assistant." Fallows nodded agreement. "It is far more gentle work, your body is not up to the rigours of more strenuous duties. I doubt you will be able to perform the duties of an infantry Officer anytime soon."

"Indeed not," Fallows agreed.

"You shall be Fallows secretary for the time being, answerable directly to him and to me. Tavington and Bordon will have no part of that chain of command for now," O'Hara said. "However, and I can not stress this enough, Sir, this transfer comes with certain expectations. I understand you to be a drinking man, and often quarrelsome with others. This will stop now - no more drinking, no more fighting. When you behave like a ranker, you can hardly take Tavington and Bordon to task for giving you a rankers work. Further, I will tolerate no further violence toward your wife. She will continue to reside with you - you will be quartered at the Ferguson Plantation. She and Bordon will have no further opportunity for mischief, which should allay your concerns. If she does something to upset you, you will stay your hand young man, for I have absolutely no respect for a man who will strike his wife, whether he has the law on his side or not. Agree to it, here and now, or you will be returned to Tavington's command, for I have no use of that sort."

"It sounds like you're goin' to eventually anyway!" Calvin protested.

"Take what gift you are offered, Lieutenant," Fallows advised. "If you prove yourself, perhaps General O'Hara can be convinced to let you stay."

Calvin glanced back and forth between them. "Very well," he finally agreed.

"And there will be no more cursing in my presence," O'Hara said, voice prim. "Officers do not comport themselves in such a base manner, especially those amongst my staff."

"Yes, Sir," Calvin said sullenly.

"Very good. Rest yourself, you will be given a chamber in the Ferguson residence as soon as the Doctor sees fit to release you."

"And my wife?" Calvin asked as O'Hara rose from the chair. "When will she be transferred to the Ferguson house?"

"Forthwith," O'Hara said immediately. "And your belongings will be bought from the camp also. Rest easy. Mrs. Farshaw will not spend another moment in Bordon's company, ever again."

"Thank you, Sir. It's dam-" he cut off, remembering he was not to curse in front of O'Hara. "It's a good thing we've discovered her pregnancy so early on, or I wouldn't know who the father is. On my oath, I believe that half the reason Bordon began this affair again was to get back at me for gettin' my own wife pregnant."

O'Hara hesitated, he stared down at Farshaw with a look of blatant incredulity. Harmony had been at least a month along before she'd even been reunited with her husband! But it would not do to say so. Quickly smoothing the expression from his face, he nodded gravely. "Yes, well. Good day, Lieutenant."

* * *

O'Hara left Major Fallows at Farshaw's bedside. Once he was outside, he marched to his horse and mounted. With the rest of his coterie, he galloped hard to Fresh Water, where he dismounted, tossed the reins to a waiting soldier, and marched into the house.

It was an absolute uproar inside, he could hear Tavington's voice bellowing from his office. O'Hara strode past a nervous looking Mrs. Tavington, his eyes fell on Mrs. Farshaw and he stopped short, drawing a quick breath. Her face was black, blue and swollen, and she hunched in on herself, her hands pressed protectively over her stomach.

_I should have come here first,_ he thought, disgust rising from his gut like bile. If he had have done, he might have left Lieutenant Farshaw under Tavington's command, his fate be damned.

"How is the baby?" He asked Harmony gently.

"I think… I think the baby is alright," she replied softly, bruised eyes haunted. With shaking fingers, she wrapped a stray lock of her back over her ear. "I wasn't hit there… Everywhere else, but not there."

O'Hara sighed heavily, almost wishing he could separate the wife from the husband. But it was not in his power to do so. He vowed to keep an eagle eye on the pair in future as he walked further down the hall. Tavington's shouting was more distinct now, it was clear that he was challenging the Officer O'Hara had sent to take Bordon into custody. The nerve of him! That alone was enough to earn Tavington a few hours in confinement! Striding into the office, he locked eyes with the Colonel, and Tavington fell immediately silent.

"Captain," O'Hara told his man while completely ignoring Tavington and Bordon both. "You have your orders. Arrest Major Bordon immediately." Again ignoring Bordon, who stood against one far wall watching apprehensively, O'Hara again locked eyes with Tavington. He waited for the Colonel to challenge _him_, and was prepared to raise all hell if he dared. Tavington did not. Bordon's arms were seized, and he was escorted from the chamber. "Leave us," O'Hara commanded to those remaining and the chamber was soon emptied as Officers dashed for the door. O'Hara could hear a woman's weeping start up from outside, Harmony's distressed sobs at seeing her lover dragged away were muffled when the office door was closed behind the last of the Officers.

"You should be aware," O'Hara began, voice soft, his eyes not leaving those of the Colonel's. "That, after an extensive search, Lieutenant Farshaw has been found. Alive. And, after an extensive and very revealing _discussion_ with Lieutenant Farshaw, I have decided to remove him from your command to my headquarters."

William lifted his chin and stared down his nose, but said not a word of defiance.

"As we speak, his belongings are being stowed for the journey to the Ferguson household. His wife will leave here, to reside with her husband."

"Then you have sentenced her to a life of torment," William replied sharply. "For he will beat her, every day for the rest of their lives. And the baby will be lost, I do not doubt it."

"Farshaw understands what is expected of him," O'Hara countered. "I have made it clear to him what his behaviour should be and I informed him if he falls short of what I expect, he will be returned to your command, a fate he is terrified of after last night. He will not beat his wife again, Tavington further, with Major Bordon no longer able to interfere in their marriage, Farshaw will have no _reason_ to. He only did so, upon discovering his wife's affair, which you had a hand in facilitating," this last was said such asperity, warning William he was on dangerous ground indeed.

"He was forthcoming with you then?" William asked.

"Quite," O'Hara replied.

"And did he tell you that he raped his wife, before beating her? He took her roughly, up against a tree. Her back is bruised, her skin grazed the length of her body."

"While that particular method of coupling is distasteful," O'Hara sniffed, "a husband can not rape his wife. Her consent is assured the moment she pledges to him her troth and her obedience, in her wedding vows."

"I would never force myself on Beth, if she were not willing, and I would never lay with her in such a manner as to cause her pain," William stubbornly maintained.

"Then that makes you a better husband than it makes him," O'Hara shrugged. "What he did was not unlawful. What you have done, however - now _that_ is what I have come here to discuss."

"What have I done?" William spat, marching forward to stand before O'Hara. Now came the challenge, the General thought. He'd been expecting it, and he was ready. "I've kept a woman I care for safe from the degradations of a base born bastard! Every thing I have done was to protect Harmony - a woman I consider a close family friend! I was trying to protect hers and Bordon's child! Was I remiss in my actions?"

"You most certainly were," O'Hara replied so softly, William would not have heard him had he not been standing so close. The Colonel's eyes widened and he took a full step back. "What you have done…" O'Hara shook his head, he breathed steadily, slowly, trying with difficulty to remain calm. "You have abused your authority. You have taken a man from another Regiment with the sole purpose of commanding him and controlling him for your own ends. You have assisted Major Bordon, providing him with the means needed to facilitate adultery, which, I remind you, is a crime against God! That was ill done, William! I must say I'm quite disgusted with Mrs. Tavington, that she would allow you to use her friendship with Mrs. Farshaw in such a conspiracy!"

"Beth had nothing to do with it," Tavington said, relieved that in this, he could speak truthfully. There was no need to lie in his defence of Beth. "I never involved her, she only discovered it while she was tending Harmony's bruises. Beth has had to bathe Harmony's back three times already, the skin is -"

"Ripped raw, so you said," O'Hara cut in. "Do not seek to exploit Mrs. Farshaw's wounds as a means to defend your actions. I am sympathetic toward her for what she suffered, but I blame _you_ for that suffering. I hold _you_ to account, Sir, for if she had not dallied with another man in an affair that _you_ helped to make possible, she would not have been beaten at all."

William's stone cold face reddened with the slow flush of rage.

"Do you understand the depths of what you have done? I will have no choice but to inform Lord Cornwallis of all that has happened here. Your ability to command the British Legion will now be bought into question!"

"I am a damned fine commander, as you well know," Tavington defended himself in a softly intent tone. "You are quite short of officers of my calibre. Who would replace me, if I was relieved of command?"

"Banastre Tarleton matches you in every way," O'Hara said, voice blunt. "He has not yet lost a battle and furthermore, he has done nothing to lose my favour. From this point forward, while you will hold the post of Commandant of the British Legion, all commands are to come through me." William's eyes bulged at this and he seemed to stop breathing. Good. O'Hara was finally getting through to him.

"You would curb my authority?" Tavington rasped out, filled with frustration.

"Ah, finally he understands," O'Hara mused as if to himself. "After you have abused it so, you have left me with no other recourse! You have no idea just how damaging your actions have been, do you? Damaging to your own career, that is. I will not leave you in command, William. I dare not. Not after the way you have comported yourself and abused your authority."

"I'll be a laughing stock!" William's face darkened with fury. "The 'Pretender Colonel', they'll call me; the Commandant who could not wipe his own arse without permission!"

"No, not many will know of the restrictions I will be placing upon you - and believe me the one I just stipulated will be the first of many. But yes, Tavington, for the foreseeable future, you will be nothing more than a figurehead - a puppet only."

Tavington stared, his jaw working as he ground his teeth. It was a disaster. "For how long?" He finally asked, struggling to form the words.

"Until my faith in you is restored," came O'Hara's reply. "Farshaw shall remain in my command until then. I am at the edge of my patience with you, Colonel Tavington. I caution you to do nothing to tip me over that edge."

Tavington finally drew a much needed breath. Carefully, in a voice colder than a winter's night, he asked, "how long is Bordon to remain in confinement?"

"Until I have conferred with Cornwallis and we have decided if he is to be courtmartialed," he replied bluntly. Tavington's eyes widened to saucers. "Did you truly believe I'd let such actions as his just… slide?" O'Hara asked incredulously. "Be thankful that you are not joining him there, you too could be facing a court martial just now! You disobeyed my orders, challenging my Captain who came to arrest Bordon," O'Hara's voice was sharp and Tavington averted his gaze, knowing damned well he'd misstepped. O'Hara turned on his heel and marched from the office, leaving the Colonel alone. The hallway was blessedly silent - no weeping and no Mrs. Farshaw. His men must have acted on his commands swiftly and she would no doubt be at the Ferguson Manor by now. Mrs. Tavington still stood by the stairs, wringing her hands as O'Hara approached.

"I suspect your husband needs you, Mrs. Tavington," he informed her as he past her by. Her eyes widened, and she darted past him down the hall and into the office. He inclined his head briefly toward Captain Wilkins' wife, who was quite pale in the face and looked on the verge of fainting. Finally, he stepped outside again and called for his horse.

* * *

"She is not far, but she might as well be on the moon for all I can reach her now," Richard lamented to William, who had been allowed to visit him in the small, heavily guarded outhouse. He was being treated to similar accommodations as had been provided to Benjamin Martin - a converted out house, though this one was on Ferguson's Plantation, in O'Hara's domain. At least he was not in irons, and he did have a cot and blankets, he even had a wash basin and a ewer of fresh water, but that was about all. A chamber pot beneath the cot. Nothing else.

"Yes," William agreed. "We've failed her, Richard."

"Jesus. I wish I'd killed him the other night," the Major replied grimly, lowering himself to his cot and dropping his face in his hands. "I can't believe that after all of this, she's forced to be with him again, only this time she won't even have the respite of being with me. Will I ever see her again?" This was said so forlornly that William felt his heart go out to the other man.

"God willing, he'll die in battle," William replied. "There'll be plenty of those. I wish we'd been sent to Camden, I would have put the bastard in the front line."

"You should have sent him with Wilkins. Farshaw is an assistant of an administrator now, William," Bordon said, voice filled with asperity. "When the devil will an assistant of an administrator ever find himself in the thick of battle?" He lifted his head, met William's eyes. The Colonel had no answer for him. "And he is no longer ours to command," Richard continued. "We can't ensure that he's in the thick of the fighting, we can't place him within the hottest fire. He is free to torment Harmony -"

"No, he is not," William cut in quickly. "That is one thing I was able to make certain of. O'Hara told me that he's made it perfectly clear to Farshaw that he will not tolerate any more violence against Harmony. I believe he will end up in irons, if he should try it."

"That's something, at least," Bordon said softly. He stared at the wall for several long moments, before giving himself a shake. "Well. That's that then."

"What do you mean?" William frowned.

"It's done. As I said, I'll never see her again. Farshaw will not die in battle, for he won't ever be sent into one. He will live to a ripe old age, he'll probably outlive Harmony. She'll never be a widow, and without that, she'll never be free to marry me. She'll never be mine, William. It's done, we're finished."

"You don't truly believe that," William chided gently. "O'Hara indicated this transfer is only temporary. I don't think he wants to be saddled with Farshaw anymore than we do. We can still send him to the thick of battle, you can't believe this is the end."

"To believe otherwise is folly. It's dangerous. It gives me too much hope and that causes me to act rashly. Look at the mess I've created - and I've dragged you down with me. Your authority is dust, you will be humiliated if that is made public. And Harmony has been taken from me, yet again, this time with no hope of even being able to gaze upon one another. If I go within ten yards of her, I'll be thrown in irons again, O'Hara told me this himself. That's if I survive the court-martial, if he holds one. It would be worth it for me, to see her even if I'm thrown back into jail, but it would be distressing for Harmony. You should have seen her when I was dragged from your office."

"I didn't need to see her, I could hear her and that was bad enough."

"She was distraught. I can't put her through that again. For her sake, and yours, I need to obey O'Hara this time, and stay away from her. I must walk small - he said I was on thin ice…"

"We both are," William walked to the small window and peered outside. All he could see was a stand of large oaks and part of an empty, harvested cornfield.

"I won't see you lose your position because of me," Bordon said firmly. "I won't. As much as I love her, I draw the line there. After everything you've done for me…" He shook his head, his voice was filled with emotion.

"Your position is every bit as precarious as mine," William pointed out and Bordon nodded.

"Tell me, is Beth wroth with us?" Bordon asked.

"She understood, when I explained it to her. She even said she would have approved, and her invitations to dinner would have been more frequent."

Bordon's laugh was bitter. "I should have known. Not that it would have changed anything, except that she would have been dragged down with us."

"Yes, she's the only one who still holds O'Hara's favour. I'm certain the only reason I've been invited to dine with him tonight is because he wishes to spend more time with Beth," William finally turned to Bordon and gazed down at his friend solemnly. "Perhaps through Beth, I can chip away at him to see you freed."

"No," Bordon threw his arms up, waving his hands in front of him to ward off that suggestion. "Let O'Hara's anger run its natural course. What will be will be - I do not want you thrown in here with me. This cell is too small for the both of us."

William smiled weakly at Bordon's poor attempt at humour.

"Let us hope," the Colonel began, "that nothing else occurs to sink us deeper in the mire. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"A bottle of whiskey?" Though he was in the depths of despair, Bordon tried for humour again, for he did not want William fretting for him. "Will O'Hara allow Beth to see Harmony?"

"Because she was not involved in our little conspiracy, yes, she is allowed to visit with Harmony. Though Farshaw will be keeping an awfully close eye on them, I suspect," William curled his lip. "When he gets out of the infirmary that is. You worked him over quite well, by all reports."

"As I said, he should have bloody died," Bordon sighed sullenly. William agreed. It came time for the Colonel to leave and he bid Bordon farewell, with a promise to return in the morning.


	87. Chapter 87 - Summons to Camden

Chapter 87 - Summons to Camden:

_Mid August_

News had reached Christopher Middleton several days ago that his fellow Patriots were about to attempt a second attack on the small town of Camden and Lord Cornwallis himself had travelled up from the city to meet this threat. And he learned only yesterday that a battle had been fought and Cornwallis had squashed Burwell's and Gates' four thousand strong force with only two thousand British soldiers. It was a times like these, that Christopher wondered if he had chosen the right side.

Another thing he learned, this time upon reaching Camden, was that Major Bordon was not there.

Cornwallis was, however, and Christopher decided that the best course of action, was to lay the problem of Cilla before him. Upon reaching Kershaw Plantation, Christopher had revealed to a British aide-de-camp the delicate nature of his visit - some of it, anyway. Enough to have secured for him, Celeste and Cilla a private audience with His Lordship.

He strode along the corridor now, with the women flagging behind him, struggling to keep up.

"Uncle, please," Cilla begged, seizing his arm and trying to pull him to a stop. They were about to enter the chamber and this was her last chance to try to turn her uncle aside. "I don't want to marry him, he hurt me!"

"He doesn't believe that anymore than I do," Celeste said, panting a little as she came to a stop as well. "I understand it now - the coolness between you and your mother before she was sent on her way. It has taken on a whole new meaning, now I know the truth of you. You and Mage weren't out of sorts over Mage's infidelity to Mark. You were jealous of each other because Major Bordon was between you! You were vying for his affections."

Christopher nodded. "I'm inclined to believe this also," he said, having come to that conclusion himself in the time since learning Cilla had bedded Bordon.

"No," Cilla whispered, feeling drained. She wanted to collapse into a heap right there in the middle of the hallway. Why wouldn't they believe her? "That's not true, that's not it at all. Not jealous, sweet Lord, I was not jealous. I have no affection for him, none at all, and I just… Please, don't do this. I can't marry him."

"What do you think is going to happen if you don't?" Celeste said viciously. "We've warned you, Cilla, we will not keep you."

"We most certainly will not. I will not have a pregnant hussy residing in my home. I have the Middleton name to uphold and I vow, if my own niece will not marry to help keep our families respectability intact, then you are no niece of mine! Be thankful I did not cast you aside, be thankful I am going to these lengths to help you! When I first discovered your pregnancy, I was going to send you on your way to whatever your fate might be. Now, you might just have a future, and I will do my damndest to secure it for you! If you refuse to marry when the option is given you, you can expect no further help from me!"

"Would you like to know what it is you'll be sent to?" Celeste asked. "What sort of life stretches before an unmarried pregnant bawd? What will you do for money, Cilla? How will you feed and clothe yourself? How will you feed and clothe the child? You have to turn to the oldest trade there is - prostitution. You will become a doxy, screwing as many men as you can for coin. And when the baby comes, you'll likely give birth alone in some dirty roadside tavern, too poor to pay for a proper roof or a midwife! We are offering you a chance at so much more than that. Don't you dare spurn this!"

"You screwed him enough times to get yourself with child - don't tell me you had no affection for him," Christopher spat.

"I'm not - I'm telling you he forced me. Why won't you believe me?"

"Because I know what you and your mother we're doing, Cilla. And I know that Bordon caught you at it. He threatened to hang both of you, did he not? You're afraid of coming face to face with him again, afraid of his wrath. And so you've made up this story of him raping you, in some misguided belief that I will feel sorry for you and not force the issue. That I will look after you. But I know the truth about you and your mother, Cilla. Don't tell me you weren't willing now." He seized her arm and she yelped with pain. When they reached the door, they stopped again. Christopher growled at Cilla to pull herself together even as Celeste dabbed at Cilla's eyes with a handkerchief and fixed the younger girls hair. Cilla was dressed according to her station, a bodice and skirts of silk. They were Colonial Gentry, and they looked it. Composed as much as they were able to be composed under the circumstances, the three of them were admitted into the chamber and presented to the Commander within. Lord Cornwallis, was not alone however, he was seated beside Francis, Lord Rawdon, the Commandant of the forces at Camden.

The chamber was large, and except for the two Generals, was empty. The noblemen rose to greet the family as they advanced at a stately walk toward him. It was of paramount importance that they reminded these peers of England and Ireland of their own aristocratic roots, especially when dealing in such a distasteful and base subject as this one.

* * *

Cilla stared at her knees as the gentlemen spoke. The introductions had been made and Christopher was now getting around to the matter he had come to discuss.

Her hair was arranged into an elaborate coiffure garnished with sapphires. Her fingers were covered with silk gloves. A ruby dangled from a silk ribbon to nestle between her breasts.

At first sight, these Lords would know that Cilla was the daughter of a Plantation Master, a member of South Carolina's aristocracy. A genteel and virtuous woman who had been corrupted by a British Officer of high standing.

"I understand that Mr. Putman was in disgrace," Christopher was finishing, after detailing how Cilla - foolish but innocent young girl that she was - had become entangled with a British Officer and was now pregnant by him. "And I understand that his property has been seized. But it is my hope that if Miss Putman is able to marry the child's father - Major Bordon - then perhaps you will release unto her her inheritance and the dowry her father had planned to bestow upon her. Major Bordon is one of your own Officers. Surely you can see your way clear to releasing that much of Putman's wealth, if the two were to marry?"

Cilla's head came up and she stared at her uncle in horror.

"It is your hope that if Miss Putman's wealth is restored to her, then Major Bordon will be enticed to do the right thing by her and marry her," Lord Cornwallis said and Christopher nodded.

Her wealth would be used to bribe Bordon to marry her? The man who'd defiled her. This was to be his punishment? Marriage and wealth? To add to her escalating horror, Francis, Lord Rawdon, began to laugh.

"Do you find something humorous in this, my Lord?" Cornwallis was frowning.

"Indeed I do," Rawdon scoffed again. "Don't you? Or perhaps you do not see this as I do?"

"Perhaps you should explain it?" Cornwallis asked, eyebrows lifting.

"My Lord, really," Rawdon shook his head as if frustrated that his Commander was not seeing what he so clearly could. "This is a ploy, General. We force a gentleman, from an esteemed family as Bordon's, to marry this… This Colonial _nymph_ and not only is she immediately vaulted into the Gentry, but she receives her traitor father's fortune. Dear Lord."

The blood drained from Cilla's face. Beside her, Middleton drew himself up to full height, his face flushed red with fury.

"Do you suggest, my Lord, that I am lying?" Christopher asked, biting off each word.

"Not at all," Rawdon waved his arm, an uncaring gesture. "But do you truly expect us to change the course of Major Bordon's life, to force him to marry so far beneath him, because of a… fling…?"

"It wasn't a fling," Cilla whispered but no one heard her, her voice was too low. She bowed her head, unable to look at any of them.

"If Major Bordon _lowered_ himself to bed the lass," Cornwallis said with a sniff, "then he can hardly complain at having to take responsibility for her and the child he got on her."

"Yes, but through marriage?" Rawdon shook his head. "Lord General, I'm certain you are aware that Bordon was engaged recently, to one Miss Jutland." Cilla felt herself growing very stiff at the mention of Miss Jutland - she was the reason Cilla had fared so awfully at Bordon's hands. "He was wrong in his choice _then_, too, for it turns out, the woman was married all along - she was naught more than a bawd trying to elevate herself to riches and nobility. The Banns were published, which drew the husband like a bee is drawn to honey and the following cancellation of Bordon's engagement has left him open slather for others trying to gain a hold of a nobleman's title."

"That is not the case at all!" Christopher spat.

Cilla's mind was whirling, her panic growing. "You definitely can't marry me to him now," she whispered, shaking her head. This time, she spoke loudly enough to be heard. Cornwallis cast her a surprised glance, Christopher and Celeste furious ones.

"Enough, niece -"

"You don't understand," Cilla said, her voice growing louder. "You can't… He is in love with her and -"

"You know about Miss Jutland?" Christopher asked.

"She's the one my mother told you about," Cilla sat up, shifting in her seat to confront her uncle. "I don't know all this about her being married, but she's the one Mr. Sumter abducted, he kept her locked away for days and he made her…" She closed her eyes. "And Bordon blamed papa. He said he found out that it was papa's suggestion. That's why he did it to me, uncle! You won't believe me but it's true! He did it to make papa talk and he did it for revenge! If he can do that because of Miss Jutland, how much worse will it be if I was married to him, now that her husband has taken her back and he can't have her at all? If I'm his wife, he'll blame me for all that too!"

"I will not hear another word of this, Cilla!" Christopher snapped.

"I believe I would like to hear every word of this, Mr. Middleton," Cornwallis announced and Christopher whirled away from Cilla to Cornwallis, panic writ large across his face.

"Nothing my niece says will alter the fact that she is no longer a maiden or that she is carrying Bordon's child! I insist he marry her, Sir!"

"I am not refuting this," Cornwallis said. "However, I will hear Miss Putman's testimony, Sir. Be silent and let her speak!"

Christopher snapped his mouth shut. Cornwallis turned to Cilla. "Please, Miss Putman?"

"Sir. My Lord… I can't marry him. Just… I don't care about his title or being elevated to your nobility! Just… Please, let me have my inheritance, just give it to me and I'll leave. I'll find a husband elsewhere, I'll -"

Rawdon snorted and nodded, as if his suspicions were confirmed, Cilla was only after her inheritance from her father's seized estate.

Cornwallis, however, was far more alert than Rawdon. He sensed there was more to this tale than was being told, and he was determined to discover the truth to its fullest.

"Miss Putman." His voice was gentle, so gentle, and his face was so kind. She thought she might weep. "I need you to be calm, Miss Putman. And I need you to tell me the truth. No one will interrupt you again," he shot a hard look at Christopher and Celeste, who were both on the verge of doing so. "Or they will be removed from the chamber. Nor will you be in any trouble, not in the slightest. Not for speaking truthfully. You said he '_did it to make your father talk'_. And_ 'he did it for revenge'._ Miss Putman, what did Major Bordon do to you?"

She stared at him, mouth working, but no words would come. She shook her head, unable to speak. He waited her out, as silent as the grave. He wasn't going to let her leave it, he appeared ready to wait there for the next full moon. She bowed her head, tears spilling onto her fingers.

"Tavington tortured my father," she said, her voice a mere whisper.

"I am aware of this," Cornwallis said, still gentle, though in truth he didn't understand what the girl had expected. Cornwallis had been in the city when Mark Putman fled it, after his treason was discovered. Tavington capturing Putman and the subsequent questioning were both warranted and deserved.

"I saw the damage he had inflicted- when I was bought to the dungeon."

"What do you mean, when you were bought to the dungeon?" Cornwallis asked sharply and she saw him stiffen with very real surprise.

"Bordon had me escorted down there," she whispered, hoping he did not interrupt again. Hadn't he told the others not to do so? If he did, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to continue again. When he remained silent, she said, "when I arrived, my father was barely conscious, he barely knew I was there. His chest was covered in blood and burns and his face was a mess of bruises and blood and…" She gasped back a choking sob. "I don't know how he did it. How he could stand the pain. But he did not give them the information they sought, they did not have the answers to the questions they almost killed him to gain. And so Bordon… He… He perceived another way to make my father speak. He dragged me into the next cell. He asked me the same questions and I refused to answer. He told me he would make me scream, to rouse my father from his stupor and make _him_ speak to stop my pain. I told him I wouldn't. I wouldn't tell him anything and I would not scream. And so he… He hurt me," she drew a shuddering breath.

"Hurt you how?" Cornwallis asked firmly.

"He… he took my virtue."

"He forced himself on you," Cornwallis said and she could hear the fury and disgust in his every word.

"I begged him not to. I told him I was a virgin, my pleas fell on deaf ears. He took me, right there in the dungeon on a table covered in dirt and muck, he took me. I knew that if I screamed - and believe me, I wanted to, Gods, it hurt so much! - I knew my father might hear. He would wake, he would give Bordon what he wanted. I was determined not to allow it, not after everything he'd already endured. But Bordon, he wanted me screaming and this, the worst he could do, was not working. And so -"

"Take your time," Cornwallis said softly.

Cilla closed her eyes, she could not bear to look at any of them now, the shame was too deep, the embarrassment too strong. With her eyes shut tight, she whispered, "he said 'this will make you scream, I will take your virginity twice', and he entered me in my… from behind… I didn't think it could get any worse but I was so wrong. Gods, I was so wrong. I started to scream, I couldn't hold it back any longer, the pain, the humiliation." Overcome, Cilla began to weep and for a long time, her sobs were the only sounds in the otherwise deathly silent chamber.

"You are quite correct, Miss Putman," Cornwallis said at last. Cilla opened her eyes, stared into that kindly face. "For the crime of rape and buggery, Major Bordon will be courtmartialed."

Her breath caught in her throat, she was utterly stunned that the Commander believed her. Not so the other.

"Good Lord, you do not believe this, do you?" Rawdon asked scathingly. "My Lord, this young ladies testimony could destroy the career of a promising Officer! You must give it no heed."

"Lord Rawdon, this young lady has approached us with a complaint of the most grievous kind. If Bordon is guilty, he must be punished! He will be summoned to Camden, he will answer for this himself!"

"As you wish," Rawdon's lips twisted with distaste. "Another court martial over yet another Colonial lass. At this rate, we're having them daily! They are time consuming and ridiculous, we spend far too much time coddling the virtue of the very women who set themselves against us. They enter open rebellion, daring His Majesties armies to fall upon them and do our worst and when the worst is done, they weep and cry foul!" He sniffed primly.

"I would prefer to hold our Officers to a higher standard, as you said, Bordon is a gentleman! If Major Bordon cares for his reputation and career, then it is up to him to protect them, by not committing such heinous crimes."

Rawdon shook his head, lips tight.

* * *

Days passed.

Cornwallis had set a watch upon Miss Putman, fearing the girl would try to flee. The risk increased when, one morning, Mr. And Mrs. Middleton climbed into the carriage and left, leaving their niece behind. It was clear to Cornwallis that no matter what the outcome of the meeting to come with Bordon, Miss Putman's aunt and uncle had washed their hands of her.

Against Rawdon's advice, Cornwallis had taken the matter - and the girl herself - under his wing. It was his feeling that he would accede to Mr. Middleton's wishes and release upon Cilla a portion of her late father's seized estate. He spent a great deal of his time in her company, for she was quite alone with her own family abandoning her. In truth, she had been alone even with her uncle and aunt at her side. Horrid people, Cornwallis had disliked them immensely.

The girl had kept to her allocated room at Kershaw Plantation, while Cornwallis and Rawdon waited for Bordon. They needed to hear Bordon's side, to gauge if the girl was lying, though Cornwallis did not believe so. Either way, if Bordon as the father, the two would be required to marry, that was the only answer to keeping the matter discreet, away from the public. If this filthy affair could be resolved without a public hue and cry, then so much the better.

The hour had come. Tavington, Bordon and O'Hara with them had arrived a short while ago. Tavington and Bordon had not been apprised the details of the summons, though Cornwallis had taken the time to speak privately with O'Hara, in order that the Brigadier General understand the seriousness of the meeting ahead of them. After expressing utmost disgust, O'Hara had detailed to Cornwallis Bordon's other, more recent misadventures, with one Lieutenant Farshaw and his wife, with whom Bordon had conducted an adulterous affair.

That, coupled with Miss Putman's allegations, were enough to sink the Major, if Cornwallis were so inclined.

With Cornwallis and O'Hara's meeting ended, they took themselves to the council chamber. Now, Rawdon was seated beside Cornwallis, Miss Putman across from them, her head bowed. O'Hara on her other side.

Cilla's back was to the door but Cornwallis had a clear line of sight as it opened and in walked the Major and the Colonel together. Tavington's stride was confident and sure. Bordon's was also, his back was straight, his head held high. However, he looked as though he hadn't been sleeping, dark circles ringed his eyes like a death shroud and his face was drawn, lined. His gaze was fixed on the Lord General's, Cornwallis saw, but when Bordon saw Miss Putman sitting in one of the chairs, he stopped dead and stared with horror, his jaw dropped and he gave a soft, wild gasp. Tavington's reaction was almost an exact replica of Bordon's. The Colonel seemed as frozen, his jaw dropped and he shot a quick, concerned glance at Bordon.

Cornwallis, watching him, was certain he could read the guilt writ plain across Bordon's face. He shared a look with O'Hara, who met Cornwallis' gaze, lips thin and hard. They were in agreement, Bordon was clearly guilty. Still, his testimony must needs be heard. The Major continued his progress across the chamber, though with far less confidence in his stride. Bordon's legs looked ready to fold under him.

"Surprised to see Miss Putman, are you?" O'Hara said, having noted both reactions. "With your recent actions at Fresh Water, and Miss Putman's report, you are in very treacherous waters, Major Bordon."

"I could not agree more," Cornwallis added. "Please sit, both of you."

Without a word, both Officers took up the last two seats. Both Officers deliberately kept their eyes averted from Cilla. They sat stiff and nervous, rigid. Cilla by contrast was trying to push herself back into her chair, as if trying not to be noticed. She was staring at her trembling hands, looking terrified. The reactions were vastly different and quite telling. Cornwallis had spent time in Cilla's company these last two days and today was the first time he'd seen her behave with very real terror. He'd seen her weep with despair and panic, had heard the sharpness in her voice when she was angered and frustrated. It had been a fraught few days, but today was the first day he'd seen such fear in her. He'd been inclined to believe her tale from the start; but now, her reaction to Bordon, coupled with his to her, Cornwallis was absolutely certain she had spoken nothing but the truth.

"When hearing the testimony of one, I prefer to reserve judgement until I have heard the other," Cornwallis began. "I have to admit, however, that I am finding that I am quite convinced by Miss Putman's deposition."

"As am I," O'Hara joined his voice to Cornwallis'.

"Well, I am not," Lord Rawdon declared, his voice ringing throughout the chamber. "We should not be entertaining this. Miss Putman, you should be ashamed of yourself -"

"My Lord -" O'Hara began, only to be silenced as Rawdon spoke over him, continuing to rail at Cilla.

"Your conspiracy to have your dead father's estate released to you is foul and unworthy," Rawdon announced, eyes fixed on Cilla. "Now that Bordon is here, Miss Putman, I demand that you apologise to him for your ruinous testimony; you have slandered him, you slander all British Officers with your ridiculous accusations."

"It's not slander!" Cilla cried, astounded, bereft. "Everything I told you is true and it's only Bordon I spoke of, not ever British Officer!"

"Bordon is a fine Officer," Rawdon maintained. "He has his entire career ahead of him. You could ruin his entire future with those horrid things you are saying."

"He ruined my future!" Cilla said, shocked that she was the one being blamed. "He has utterly destroyed my life!"

"Enough!" Cornwallis barked with a quelling look at Rawdon. "We summoned Bordon here to speak, and that is what he will do. I shall give you this one chance, Major. You may begin."

Bordon could barely breathe, let alone speak.

"With respect, my Lord," Tavington said, "how can Major Bordon give a testimony when he does not know what it is he is being accused of?"

"He knows," O'Hara said and Cornwallis nodded agreement. "I can see it writ all over his face. You know also, Colonel Tavington, and I am quite disgusted that you would take the stance you appear to be taking. It repulses me, that you would discard so easily what was done to Miss Putman and attempt guile to distract us. Has protecting Major Bordon not landed you in enough hot water? He should have been flogged," O'Hara said, eyeing Tavington, choosing his words carefully, looking for signs of innocence or guilt in their reactions.

Cornwallis took O'Hara's tirade one step further. "Colonel Tavington, you have failed in your duty. You won your rank by valour, skill and determination. Do you now seek to strip it from yourself with guile and evasion?"

Talk of stripping Tavington of his rank snapped his mouth shut quickly enough.

"Isn't the ruining of one promising Officer enough for one day?" Rawdon asked and Cornwallis shot him a livid scowl. He wished the other General hadn't been so determined to be at this meeting, he was going to be trouble, Cornwallis knew it in his bones.

"That won't be necessary," Bordon said, straightening his spine. "Colonel Tavington is not at fault. I am."

"It bodes well that you will not attempt artifice; however I disagree. Tavington is very much at fault here," Cornwallis said. "You know fully well what you are accused of, the crime is so vile and wicked I am loathe to discuss it before such gentle Company. I shall hear your side, however. I am waiting, Major. Please begin. Give me your testimony."

"The day Tavington questioned Mr. Putman, I told him I would take over," Bordon began, determined to distance Tavington from the assault as much as possible. If he was to sink, he would not let Tavington sink with him.

Cornwallis shot Rawdon another look, this one loaded with meaning. _You see? He knows precisely of what we speak._ Rawdon was refusing to look at him.

"He gave full command to me before returning to other duties. To assist in the interrogation, I had Miss Putman summoned to the Provost," Bordon continued. "She and her mother were involved in Mr. Putman's conspiracy against the Crown, they should have been questioned also. I summoned Miss Putman to the dungeon in order -"

"I beg your pardon?" Rawdon cut in, frowning. "_I beg your pardon?_ Mrs. Putman and Miss Putman were involved in Mr. Putman's conspiracy against the Crown?"

"Yes, my Lord," Bordon replied, trying to sit up straight.

"How so?" Rawdon asked.

"They were spies," Richard said, starting to feel sick to his stomach. When they learned that Richard had given a spy information between the sheets, not even Rawdon would support him then. "Both of them. They listened to the conversations of Officers, posed questions deliberately in order to gain the information they sought. As the entire family were posing as Loyalists, we were not as careful around them as we aught to have been. They then passed this information to Mr. Putman, who sent it out of the city to Burwell, who used it as he saw fit."

"Traitor!" Rawdon snapped, narrowed gaze fixed on Cilla. "You! You are guilty of treason, perhaps you are the one who should be on trial, yes?"

Cornwallis was staring at Cilla as if noticing her for the first time. Days, he'd spent in her company and not once had she mentioned any of this.

"Is it true?" Cornwallis asked her and Cilla sunk her teeth into her lip. She looked away, hiding her face, but he could hear her when she spoke.

"It is true," she whispered. "I listened and I repeated what I heard to my father. Major Bordon discovered this, he bought me to the dungeon to question me. I refused to answer and I knew he would torture me. Which he did, and… when I did not tell him what he wished, he did worse to me, to make me scream so my father would reveal it."

"Do not try to play to our sympathies," Rawdon snapped. "You committed treason!"

"I confess, I spied for my father," Cilla cried. "Hang me if you will. I don't care anymore. Anything to escape this torment, just do it. I spent time with two of Bordon's junior officers with the soul purpose of gaining information, and I reported it all back to my father. Everything they said. Bordon found out and told me I would hang. That is punishment I can accept. But this? What he did to me? I begged him not to. I told him I was a virgin, my pleas fell on deaf ears. He raped me!"

"Traitor! How many suffered for the information you gained?" Rawdon's look was pitiless.

"Is what Miss Putman claimed you did to her true?" O'Hara asked Bordon, cutting through the discussion. He had known that Rawdon was already set against Miss Putman but now, with this confession of treason, O'Hara sensed Cornwallis withdrawing his support also. While he did not condone spying in any way shape or form, he condoned the British Officer's rape of a young maiden even less.

"I gave her the opportunity to speak what she knew," Bordon began. He licked his lips to work moisture onto them. "She refused. I had no recourse left to me, than to give such encouragement that either Miss Putman would talk, or Mr. Putman would." Bordon swallowed hard.

"Yes? And is the encouragement you used what Miss Putman has stated it to be?" O'Hara's voice was granite. "For once and for all, Major Bordon, did you force yourself on Miss Putman?"

Richard blew out a breath. Staring at a point past O'Hara' head, he nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I did."

"I am told by Lord Cornwallis that you took Miss Putman's virginity. And when she still would not scream, you took it again, by use of buggery. Is that not so?" O'Hara asked and even Rawdon quieted down at this.

Tavington turned to look at Bordon, eyes as wide as they would go, which O'Hara found interesting. Clearly, Bordon had not apprised the Colonel with the details of the attack. At length, still staring blindly past O'Hara, Richard nodded once.

"Treason," O'Hara said, eyes on Cilla, for he knew her crime needed to be acknowledged. Rawdon and Cornwallis would accept no less. "Is punishable by death. Sodomy," he snapped, his eyes on Bordon. "Is punishable by death." He drew a ragged breath, trying to maintain control of himself. "Tell me, how are we to resolve this?"

"How can you compare that vile, despicable thing he did to me, to my spying on a few Officers?" Cilla asked, stunned.

"Believe me, Miss Putman, we do indeed consider spying to be every bit as despicable as what was done to you," Cornwallis announced before O'Hara could get a word in. "They are both violations of the worst kind."

"You have spies," she said, almost incoherent with disbelief. "Among the Patriots, you have spies reporting to you!"

"But that is not treason," Rawdon snapped. "For Patriots are traitors rebelling against their rightful ruler!"

"Bordon," O'Hara's voice began to rise, with heat and volume. He had had barely an hour to nurse his anger and distaste, but the week of Bordon's antics at Fresh Water were still very much in his mind. He had thought he had it under control but was just realising, as he began to shout, that he was still very livid - it was just one atop the other and learning of Cilla's betrayal did not help matters at all. Still, rape was no punishment for treason. "The effects of that vile, _despicable_ act you committed upon Miss Putman's person did _not_ end in the dungeon. Not for her." Each word was incrementally louder until it filled the entire chamber. "Not only is she carrying the torment of what you did to her, she is also carrying your child." These last bellowed words echoed from the chamber walls and Bordon flinched as though from a physical blow.

"My God," Bordon breathed, reeling.

"General, we shall approach this calmly," Cornwallis chided.

"Yes, my Lord," O'Hara struggled to gain control, he shuddered with the need to do violence to this man sitting before him. The others were shifting with discomfort and he saw Miss Putman tremble. "You murdered Miss Putman's virtue, Major Bordon. You ruined her in such a way that _no_ gentleman will desire to take her to wife. Her family have abandoned her utterly, for now she is tripley ruined, for she is unmarried and with child. All of this, was your doing."

"You chastise him?" Rawdon said, every bit as heated as O'Hara. "Major Bordon has his entire career ahead of him. I shall not stand idly by and watch it destroyed for some Colonial nymph. Especially not for one that has admitted to being a traitor!"

"If we can not come to a resolution here and now, we will be forced to present the matter for Court Martial, Lord Rawdon!" O'Hara said. "And I do not believe for one moment, that our fellow General's will be as sympathetic toward Bordon as you so clearly are!"

"And nor will our fellow Generals be even remotely sympathetic toward Miss Putman, no matter what was done to her," Rawdon countered. "She will hang, General."

"Can't I just leave here?" Cilla whispered. "I didn't want to come here for any of this. I just want to go, I want to find my mother."

"You have committed treason," Rawdon snapped. "As has your mother. No. You shall not simply be allowed to leave here. If you ask me, it is my opinion that Lord Cornwallis is being entirely too lenient on you already, in adhering to your uncle's request to give you a nobleman for a husband!"

"I was not aware of her treason, then," Cornwallis said, voice hard.

"Husband?" Bordon breathed.

"You worry so much for his future," Cilla spat, suddenly furious. "As if his having potential for being a great Officer is reason to dismiss any crimes he might commit. If he is so worried for his career, he should not do things that will impact upon it!"

"If you are worried for your own future, you should not do things that will impact upon it, such as committing treason!" Rawdon shot back.

"What is this about a husband?" William asked. Bordon was frozen to his seat, having heard the same.

Cornwallis began to speak. "Two days ago, Mr. Christopher Middleton arrived here with Miss Putman. His request was this. Miss Putman, who had had relations with Major Bordon and was now with child by him, should be allowed to marry him. He suggested to me that we release Miss Putman's inheritance from her father's seized estate to her, for her dowry."

"But as you so succinctly put it, my Lord, that is before we knew of her treason!" Rawdon snapped.

"And before you knew of her rape," O'Hara shot back, having been informed of the entire conversation upon his arrival to Camden. "Miss Putman is guilty of treason. Bordon is guilty of both rape and sodomy. Her guilt does, in no way, lessen his. Their guilt does, in no way, change the fact that she is ruined and with child, gotten upon her by Major Bordon."

Tavington looked from Bordon to Cilla and back again. He spread his hands wide. "General, neither of them want this," he said and O'Hara gave him a flinty stare.

"At this moment, I do not care what either of them wants," he said, his voice low now, barely containing his fury. He was the lowest ranking of the higher Officers, but he was going to be damned if he let Rawdon and Cornwallis throw Cilla Putman over after what was done to her, no matter her crime. While it was in his ability to fight, he would do so. "It is my suggestion that we do as Mr. Middleton requested. As you, My Lord, were on the verge of doing," he reminded Cornwallis. He waited for the Lord General to finally nod, and when he did, he turned his attention back to Richard and Cilla. "Miss Putman, Major Bordon, you shall be married. If you refuse, then Miss Putman, your crime of treason shall be presented to trial. And Major Bordon, your crime of rape and sodomy shall be presented for court martial. Your decisions?"

Bordon glanced at Cilla, who stared back at him, grey faced.

"If this is my only choice, I'd rather die," she whispered.

"You have admitted your guilt," Cornwallis stated. "The punishment will be a forgone conclusion."

"Miss Putman, I suggest you do not underestimate how unpleasant hanging till dead truly is," O'Hara added, his voice slightly more gentle than Cornwallis' had been.

Her face flushed red and she looked ready to faint. As did Richard. A court-martial, for rape and sodomy. At best he would receive a discharge from the army and would be sent home in disgrace, where he would not be welcome. And his family were of the Gentry - the shame his actions would bring them…

He made his decision.

"I will marry Miss Putman," Richard said quickly. Gods, he'd thought he wanted to die - with Harmony taken from him forever this time, he'd thought nothing could tempt him to live. But now, when faced with the reality of a life spent in exile, he realised how wrong he was. He did not want to die, nor did he wish to be shunned, and he would do anything to avoid either.

Even marry Miss Putman. He risked a glance her way, saw her huddled in the chair, she'd taken on a protective position, curled in on herself.

"Miss Putman?" O'Hara spoke again. "What is your decision? I must insist you decide, or the matter will be taken from you both." The threat hung in the air - of trials and court-martials and punishment to come.

Bordon froze. He shared a quick, panic filled glance with William, as he realised that this ordeal was not yet over. He had made his decision, he would marry Miss Putman. But if she truly did not care if she lived or died - if she truly would prefer death, then her refusal of him would lead her to her trial, and him to his court-martial. He did not believe for one moment that his willingness to marry her, would be enough to soothe the angered Generals, should Cilla herself refuse.

"I am the one who will be censured," Cilla whispered. "Me. To be married in such haste. No banns read, no formalities observed. There is only one conclusion that everyone will leap to. That I am a whore, a hussy, I bedded him out of wedlock. No one will know that _he_ is to blame. Therefore they will think _I_ am. Everyone will think I was having… _relations_… with Bordon. That I have fallen pregnant by him and are now in need of a husband. Which is true, but I was never willing and everyone will think I was and I'll be vilified when _he_ is the one who should be! Him! I was a virgin and he raped me! And no, I don't want anyone to know that - not a damned soul - so I don't want him courtmartialed for it, because then everyone _will_ know! But what's the alternative?" Her voice broke as she stared at O'Hara, who had at least shown some little sympathy. "Tell them I was raped and be outcast for that, or let them think I was willing and be outcast still? Either way, I will be blamed. Either way, marry him or not, I am damned!"

"Choose the lesser of two evils," Colonel Tavington advised. "One situation will allow you and Bordon to continue in Society, while the other will be the end of you both. When you are married, when you have a husband, your position in Society will be assured. When they talk of your marriage, they may say that you bedded him out of wedlock. Married is married, it is only with marriage, that what came before, can be forgiven. I won't pretend there won't be talk, for of course, there shall be. At least marriage gives you a chance. Again, you must choose the lesser of two evils."

"You feel free to give me advice?" Cilla asked William, it was a challenge, but one made with bone deep exhaustion. "You didn't even punish him after." William lifted his chin, his eyes growing cold. But Cilla had closed hers, she did not see. "Two evils," she whispered. "The first - be an unmarried woman with a child, shunned from Society, or marry Bordon to maintain my respectability. The second evil, marry on the instant, knowing people will be sniggering behind my back and accusing me of hollow virtue, or tell them the truth and sink us both. I have to suffer, no matter which I choose, I am the only one who is going to suffer for it - while he suffers nothing." She wailed, tears spilling over. "I never did anything wrong -"

"You committed treason," Rawdon reminded her.

"Rape is not punishment for treason!" O'Hara voiced out loud his thoughts of earlier.

"I'm a good person, respectable, virtuous! Or I was! I was a _virgin_," Cilla cried.

Again, that silence descended.

"If it is punishment you want for him," O'Hara began. "Then choose not to marry him. He will be courtmartialed." He held Bordon's gaze and the Major paled.

"And you shall try for treason," Rawdon said. "We should still try her for treason," he said to Cornwallis.

"It is within our power to conduct a negotiation that will serve all of us, including helping to maintain the reputation of our Officers, which Major Bordon has so cheerfully endangered," O'Hara countered. He breathed out a slow breath. Bordon lowered his head and stared at his hands. "Marry him and your treason will be forgiven, Miss Putman. Bordon has made his choice. Please make yours."

"He hurt me," she whispered, feeling weak to her bones.

"Miss Putman, If you are worried about being treated poorly by Major Bordon," O'Hara began, recalling the girl's terror at seeing Bordon. "Then I beg you to let me reassure you. Just now, there is not a single man in the world who could think lesser of Major Bordon than I. He was already on thin ice with me and now, he has earned my utter disgust." He noticed how still Bordon had become, as if frozen in ice. "I will be returning with you to Fresh Water, and I vow to be your protector there. If you choose to marry him, and if he so much as raises a hand to you, I vow on my honour as a gentleman, you need only tell me and I shall have him flogged. But he will not, will you Bordon."

It was not a question.

"No, Sir," Bordon replied. Cilla's eyes darted to him and away. "If Miss Putman wishes it, ours will be a titular marriage, with none of the associated duties on her part, or powers on mine. I shall not demand the rights of a husband, nor will I exert my authority or use disciplinary measures against her."

"After your complaints against Mr. Farshaw, I should think not," O'Hara said tartly.

"Fresh Water?" Cilla breathed, staring at O'Hara as she drank in those two words. "Where Beth is?"

"Yes, your cousin is at Fresh Water," O'Hara said.

"And I'll be with her, there?" Cilla said, glancing at Tavington. "With my cousin?" That was all she cared about now, she had abandoned her questions regarding how she would be reflected in the eyes of her peers and was now solely focused on being with Beth, one of her last family members that loved her unconditionally.

"I can not predict where we will be in the future," Tavington said. "But yes, you will be quartered with Mrs. Tavington, there is no reason to expect that that will change, no matter where we are."

"You decision, Miss Putman," O'Hara asked gently.

"I… I will marry him," she replied. She met Bordon's eyes, saw the relief flare over his face. She'd just saved his life - perhaps not from death, but from something every bit as bad. Some of her old fire returned to her. "But if you ever lay a hand on me again, I will stab you in your sleep. It's the marriage I need, not the husband. With Lord Cornwallis releasing my inheritance to me, I will fair far better alone as a widow, than I will as your wife."

Bordon stared at her, shocked.

"I vow on my honour that he will not," O'Hara said. "Every conceivable measure will be taken to provide for and care for you. Your inheritance will be released from your father's seized estate. As yours is to be a name only marriage, I will manage this money to your benefit myself - Bordon will have no access to it. The only thing that will change for you is your living arrangement, and that you will have to, at times, be in Bordon's company. A thing I do not relish for myself," he glanced at Bordon with a curled lip, before turning back to Cilla. "And relish even less for you."

Cilla thought of the roadside tavern, where Celeste had predicted she would give birth, penniless and alone. She would not ever have a chance for that evil to happen, if the British tried her for treason here and now. At length, she nodded. "Let it be done."


	88. Chapter 88 - Mrs Putman - Bordon

Chapter 88 - Mrs. Putman - Bordon:

The parlour door opened and Mila announced that the Dragoons had been sighted, they were almost at the carriage way. The women were on their feet at once, reaching for shawls and capes which were thrown hastily around their shoulders, then they glided outside to stand on the porch and wait, just as the Dragoons turned into the long lane. Beth's eyes were on William at the head of the column and she sighed, warmth flooding her. She'd missed him immensely since he'd been gone, even though it had only been a couple of days. As he galloped closer, she could see his eyes were on her, he had picked her out amongst the women, just as she had picked him out amongst his Dragoons. She did glance toward Bordon and was relieved to find him in their midst, she'd feared he was summoned to Camden to be courtmartialed and what would become of him if he was found guilty. That he was here must mean he must have passed whatever trial he'd been put to, but she could see even from a distance that he did not look overly happy about it.

Wilkins was among the returning men as well - it stood to reason that the Regiment William had sent to fight at Camden would return with him when he did. Which meant Samuel must be with them as well - Gods, she was going to give him the rough side of her tongue for leaving with Captain Gordon. After squeezing him as tight as she could, first. When the British Legion forces left Fresh Water to reinforce Camden, Captain Gordon's unit had gone with them. Later in the evening, hours after their departure, Beth had discovered that Samuel had vanished from the Plantation.

She knew he was with Gordon but to this day, she had no idea how he'd left. If he'd stowed away with the wagons carrying supplies, or if Gordon had disguised him as one of his soldiers and simply marched him off the Plantation. Considering the bond that had sprung up between them, she suspected the latter. Either way, Samuel would soon be home and by God, she wasn't ever going to let him out of her sight again.

Leaving a stone faced Bordon behind, William's horse broke away from the rest of the column and he thundered toward her, stopping sharply when he reached the porch. Smiling, she trotted down the steps as he jumped from the saddle, his boots kicking up dirt as he trotted those last steps toward her. And then she was in his arms again, hers thrown around his shoulders as he pulled her tightly to him. And then his lips were on hers, chasing all thought away.

"Hmm," he murmured against her lips. "I can still make you swoon, can't I?"

"You brute," she said breathlessly. "Put me down."

He grinned at her, then turned her about in a full circle, her feet hovering a full yard from the ground.

"Your shoes will get dirty," he kissed her again. "Better that I hold you."

"It's always better that you hold me," she snuggled against him, her lips raining light kisses on his neck. A moment later she was set on her feet - on the first step of the porch to keep her shoes from the dirt. He was still facing her, still with his hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders, as he inclined his head in greeting toward the women standing behind her. "Did you bring Samuel home?" She asked and he blanched. "William, where is Samuel?" She asked more sharply.

"My darling, I… I am told he is fine - he is with Captain Gordon still. And Gordon has been detached to another infantry unit, by command of Lord Cornwallis."

"Dear God!" Beth gasped. Bordon had caught up and he was already dismounting, a groom waiting to take his and Tavington's horses away.

"I'm doing all I can to have him returned, love," William said. "I promise, he is in no danger."

"I just… I want to throttle him, he should never have run off like that!" Beth said, furious and frustrated and worried.

"I know," William agreed. "I will do all I can, on my honour. I know you're worried, but.. There's other things happening just now. Can you set is aside? Please? For a moment?"

William wouldn't ask that of her, not if it wasn't absolutely important. A little taken aback, Beth nodded. She met Richard's eyes over William's shoulder, and when he bowed to her in greeting, she saw that his jaw was working, his eyes were tight. Wilkins had arrived by now and astonishingly, when he dismounted, he greeted his sister, then went to directly to stand at Emily's side. Even Emily seemed taken aback. His expression was… Urgent.

"Ladies," Tavington's bow took in them all - Emily, Rebecca, Sarah and Beth. "Major Bordon has an announcement."

"What is the announcement? Was there a court-martial?" Beth asked Bordon, fearing the worst again.

"There was a… trial… of sorts," Bordon replied bleakly. He shot a glance at Tavington, who gave a commanding jut of his chin, to continue. "As you are aware," Richard began, his face was far too pale and his lips were bloodless. "When we were in the city, Colonel Tavington and I had the occasion to question Mr. Mark Putman. Your uncle," he said to Beth, whose shoulders slumped. She looked down, miserable at the reminder. "Well. It placed Miss Putman in quite a precarious position," Richard continued and Beth threw her head back up, her eyes wide. Rebecca looked as concerned, Rebecca and Cilla's blood connection was a little further than Beth and Cilla's, but they were still cousins.

"My cousin? What is wrong with my cousin?" Beth asked.

"Nothing. It just… her father's property was seized - his house, his money, his business's, everything. Mrs. Putman went to her brother, Christopher Middleton -" he glanced at Rebecca, who herself was a Middleton. "He took exception to Miss Putman's situation - she could no longer claim her inheritance, because it was seized before her father died. He took exception to other matters as well, and he travelled to Camden to lay them before Lord Cornwallis, chiefly his reluctance to provide for his niece when she had so much of her own wealth tied up in politics." He was staring straight ahead as he delivered this speech, barely making eye contact with the women at all. Beth began to fidget as she wondered what Richard was driving at. "As you are aware, I was summoned to Camden for my… for the recent unpleasantness with Lieutenant Farshaw," he said which Beth thought was an understatement. His face was still marred with healing bruises and there was a long blemish across his neck where Farshaw had tried to use Richard's own cravat to choke him. "Being in a less than favourable position with Lord Cornwallis, a decision was made that will - Cornwallis and O'Hara both hope - settle both mine and Miss Putman's situations." He drew a ragged breath, then announced, "yesterday morning, it was decided - by Miss Putman and I - that we would marry."

"Marry!" Beth gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She shared stunned looks with her friends. "You and Cilla are getting _married_?"

"No, Mrs. Tavington. Cilla and I _are_ married," he replied with the voice of death. Beth's eyes bulged. "Mr. Middleton wanted Miss Putman - Mrs. Bordon, that is, taken off his hands. Cornwallis wanted me settled back on my heels, it is his belief that a wife would keep me out of trouble." Beth took a step to one side where she leaned on the balustrade, one hand pressed to her stomach. It was then that she realised that there was a carriage approaching. It was still quite a way back but was clearly approaching Fresh Water. The Dragoons hardly ever travelled with carriages, such conveyances only slowed them down. Bordon was still speaking. "On the condition that she marry a British Officer, Cornwallis will release to Cilla her inheritance and a dowry from her late father's estate. In doing this, in marrying me, Cilla will be able to reside here with you, Mrs. Tavington, a thing she desperately wants to do."

"I don't understand," Beth whispered. "You and Cilla. Married?" She glanced at the approaching carriage, it was so much closer now. "Is Cilla… Oh my God, is that her now? And her mother? Her mother! You and her mother were -"

"Beth!" William's voice cracked like a whip and Beth snapped her mouth shut, realising what she was about to say - what she was about to reveal - in front of all the other women.

"This is insane. It's madness. You and Cilla can not be married!" For so many reasons, that was true. How could they be married? What of Cilla's hatred of the British, what of her spying? What of Bordon's affair with Mage? What about Harmony, the woman he truly loved? How in the world would he be able to dedicate himself to Cilla, when his heart was already taken elsewhere? And Cilla… How could she possibly find peace with a husband who tortured her father?

No, this was madness. Cilla and Richard?

"Their options were few," Tavington said, taking up the explanation. "Mr. Middleton did not want the financial responsibility of his niece. He made it clear that he was going to abandon her in Camden, that her situation was Cornwallis' fault and his too fix. He said Cilla was now Lord Cornwallis' concern and none of his."

"He was just going to abandon her there?" Beth asked incredulously.

"He _did_ abandon her there. He just up and left. Now, Cornwallis has never been inclined to bargain with traitors, but Major Bordon has earned the ire of his Commanders. He was directly involved in the questioning of Mr. Putman, and our Commanders were not entirely well pleased with the… methods… that were used. Major Bordon was there in Camden to answer for his attack on Lieutenant Farshaw, and he became the most likely candidate to take Miss Putman off Mr. Middleton's hands."

"Good God, don't say it like that!" Beth snapped, anger stirring. "She's not a dog to be taken off someone's hands and passed along to another!"

"They weren't my words, Beth; that's how he put it. Mr. Middleton. He proposed the idea that Cornwallis find Cilla a British husband, and to release her inheritance to her for their financial needs. Lord Cornwallis decided that Major Bordon - who he believed was in want of a wife to tame his rough edges - fit the need perfectly. He suggested the match to Bordon and Bordon, wanting to appease his Commanders, agreed. Miss Putman, who did not want to be abandoned penniless and alone, also agreed. Captain Wilkins and I were witnesses at the wedding. I understand this has come as a great shock to you all, but… that is what has happened. Beth, is there a bath waiting for me, my love?"

"There is," Beth breathed.

"Then perhaps Mrs. Bordon can make use of it, yes?"

"Mrs. Bordon… My cousin is Mrs. Bordon," Beth shook herself, then nodded. "Gods, is she alright, Richard? Have you -" she cut short, she couldn't ask if he and Cilla had lain together, to consummate the marriage. They must have done by now - Gods, poor Cilla; bedding a man she could never love, a man she never would have chosen for herself.

"Have I what?" Bordon asked.

Beth couldn't ask it, it was none of her damned business. Instead, her eyes narrowed and she asked pointedly, "is my aunt with her?"

"I would not have a clue where her mother is," Richard said, replying with more sharpness than Beth's question warranted.

The carriage was almost in front of the house, now. Tavington marched the rest of the way up the steps, passed the women, and strode into the house. Beth heard him speak to a servant about having a second bath drawn.

"Good God. Well, as unexpected as this is… Congratulations, Sir," Emily said, eyeing Bordon, the fellow she'd once hoped to snag. She wondered if he and Cilla had consummated their marriage, and when. They were married only in the last day or two, but Emily thought the pair must have already screwed one another back in the city. All this talk about Mr. Middleton demanding Lord Cornwallis find Cilla a husband - it could not have been merely because her family was in rebellion and Cilla was set adrift. That was why the fortunes of rebels were seized in the first place, it was a deterrent against rebelling. The Crown wasn't about to coddle children from those families - that was for the parents to do, and they were to do so by choosing their side wisely. And all this about Bordon happening to be in Camden when Cilla arrived, that he was the most likely candidate because he'd beaten Farshaw to pulp? And because he'd tortured a spy? No. He was summoned to Camden _because_ of Cilla. Because he'd fucked her and… because Cilla was pregnant. Dear Lord, it must be so; what else could it possibly be? She gave Bordon a slow, knowing smile.

Seeing it, all expression disappeared from his face and he turned his back on her to wait for the carriage.

Emily stifled a laugh. Gods, the other girls were so utterly naive. Even Beth, which surprised Emily, for Beth was married and she fucked her husband nightly. But here she was, naive little innocent that she was, looking perplexed, as if trying to figure out what to Emily, was as plain as the nose on her face.

Cilla Putman had given up her maidenhead to Bordon back in Charlestown and she was now carrying his child.

That was why James had come to stand at Emily's side, she could feel his tension - their marriage was troubled to be sure, but she knew he was dying to tell her.

It was why Middleton was being so insistent. It was why Bordon was the most likely candidate. Gods, these children were ignorant, Emily thought as her eyes bore into Bordon's back. Damned wretch of a man, he'd fuck anything that moved - even Cilla Putman, yet he disdained to bed her? Screw him. She had a new lover now, anyway. And Gods, what a man he was. She lifted her eyes from Richard's back and gazed at the approaching carriage.

Beth was still fixed on Richard. She eyed his stiff back for several long moments, before stepping off the step to stand at his side. She peered up at his profile, and saw him swallow, but he would not look at her. Beth slid her arm through his, causing a shudder to go through his body.

"O'Hara wouldn't even let me go tell Harmony in person," he whispered, voice wretched. "It needs to come from someone who cares for her, damn it!"

"I'll go to her," Beth vowed. "But probably not until tomorrow. Cilla…" Her eyes shifted to the carriage as the driver drew rein, bringing it to a halt. "Aren't you going to open the door?" She whispered up at Bordon, giving him a slight nudge. "I know you love Harmony and this is all very confusing, but please - don't show my cousin disrespect, Richard."

He nodded and stepped forward. He pulled the door open and held out his hand, but Cilla disdained to accept his assistance as she stepped down from the carriage onto the ground, unaided. Her fingers gripping her silk skirts, she took a step toward Beth, then stopped short, her face pale and suddenly uncertain. With a cry of joy, Beth raced forward, heedless of her shoes and the dirt, and threw her arms around Cilla's shoulders.

Cilla, being received so warmly, felt like fainting with relief. Her eyes filled and she began to cry as the cousins clung to one another. Sarah and Rebecca, both smiling, both believing Cilla's tears to be tears of joy, stepped down off the porch to take turns greeting their friend. Which meant Emily was forced to do so, also. Her lips twisted as she stared down at the muck beneath her delicate shoes, but she picked her way carefully until she, too, could embrace Cilla.

Beth glanced over her shoulder to speak to Bordon, but found that he was no where to be seen.

* * *

James cocked his head at Emily and together, they strode for the stairs. They did not stop until they were in their chamber, James closing the door behind them.

"He bedded her, didn't he?" Emily asked, her skirts flying about her legs as she turned to her husband. "Back in the city. She's with child."

James began to laugh. "I came to the exact same conclusion. I'm almost certain of it. The rest, that was all rot, what Tavington and Bordon were saying. Why would Cornwallis make Bordon _marry_ Miss Putman as punishment for what he did to Farshaw? And why would Miss Putman accept him? If she was cast adrift from her uncle merely because he did not want to support her, she could have come here to her cousin - she and Mrs. Tavington have always been close. It's not as though she didn't have any other family and was entirely reliant on Middleton. Gods, Mrs. Selton would have taken her in. And Martin, if Miss Putman could have found him. There's Henrietta Rutledge, another cousin. Rebecca Middleton. They wouldn't have cared if she had no fortune, they would have taken care of her. Unless she behaved in such a way that her virtue was compromised," James tossed his head. "It's just so obvious. Middleton didn't turn her out because he didn't want to provide her with clothes and food. He turned her away because she dallied with Bordon. It must be so. Why else would she marry him? She's got Patriot leanings, that one. I'm almost certain she'd have preferred to hedge her bets, than to marry Bordon, you know? No one knows what the outcome of this war will be. If we fail and the American's have their way, Miss Putman would get her inheritance back immediately, especially with the help of her uncle. She would have waited, _unless waiting was absolutely not an option_."

"Because she's carrying Bordon's child. You don't have to convince me, James. Why would she choose him though, do you think?" Emily poured her husband a glass of whiskey, then went and sat on the bed. He joined her there.

"Not for his damned looks, for he has none," James laughed. "I don't know, Emily. I've got no clue as to how he does it. Lord, he's bedded the mother _and_ the daughter. Their family gatherings are going to be one hell of a hoot."

Emily nodded. James had already told her of Bordon and Mage's affair - he did enjoy his gossip. It was another kick to the stomach, this reminder. She recalled the day she flirted with Bordon, for she'd hoped to start something with him herself. Perhaps she hadn't been clear enough? It didn't matter, she knew it wasn't her, she was beautiful - Calvin told her every time they saw one another.

"So," Emily grinned at James. "How was the wedding?"

James laughed again. "Gods, it was a somber affair. I've never seen a more reluctant pair in my life. I have no idea what made them bed one another in the first place, for they clearly want nothing to do with each other. What ever went on between them… well, suffice it to say, they are not happy about their current situation." He continued to chat, telling Emily all about it. She rose, began to pull off his boots, one and then the other. He finished his glass, she replenished it. She locked the door and, as he trailed off, she began to disrobe. He arched an eyebrow.

"It's all this talk of bedding," she shrugged. She turned and waited, holding her breath to see what he would do. Reject her? She'd never been as blatant as this before, she never approached him for coupling. But she had too, for God knew, it could be months before he approached her for it. It was with relief when she felt his fingers pulling at her stays. Unless there'd been doxies up at Camden, it'd likely been a few days for him. He'd had the whiskey and was in a good mood, she couldn't have been handed a more perfect time. Her stays became suddenly heavier as the panels fell away from her back. She placed them on the table, then reached behind her back to pull the drawstring tied there. She stepped out of her skirts and petticoats, then went to stand before him in only her short shift and stockings. The sight of her like this made Calvin's mouth go dry. Yet here was James, watching her, his eyes narrowed, as if he were fighting arousal. Why the hell would he fight it? She had no idea what was bloody wrong with him - he fucked doxies readily enough but was repulsed by her? Well, stuff him. Calvin enjoyed her, and other men before him had also. Frustrated, she said, "this is getting ridiculous. You speak of Bordon and Cilla being the most reluctant couple you've ever seen - perhaps you should look in the mirror?" She asked and he arched an eyebrow. "You're not the one that gets the lecture from your mother whenever I see her._ 'Why haven't you given me grandchildren yet?'_, as though it's somehow a failing on my part. If only she knew; you come to me so rarely that at this rate, it'll be ten years before I conceive. I came on this ridiculous excursion to do my duty by you and give you an heir, but you're making my hardships a waste of time. I might as well return to Charlestown. But if I do, James, I'll be telling my parents and your mother the reason why. I can't get a child on _myself_, you know," she cocked her head, her own eyes narrowing. "Well, I could, but I don't think you'd much like raising a bastard, would you?"

James heaved a breath. He rose and began unbuttoning his breeches. Emily tried to force the scowl from her face - neither of them would be up to the task if they were irritated. Then again, she didn't have to enjoy it with him - that was what Calvin was for.

"You know, I hear all sorts of rumours about you, James," she said when he pulled off his breeches and was now removing his green jacket.

"Oh?"

"Of what a wonderful lover you are. I'm your wife, we've been married for three years, and I'm yet to see evidence of it."

James gave her a startled look. She arched her eyebrows, then pulled her shift over her head. "I've heard you're exceptionally skilled, you have your lovers in the throes of passion, and in the depths of despair when you leave them. Again, I've seen no evidence to support this. I've started to wonder, James. Perhaps it's not your prowess in bed so much as your generosity afterward, yes? You do pay those women quite well." She was naked now except her stockings, and she laid herself out on the bed.

"Yes, Emily, that's right. Those are all the right things to say to a man, just before coupling. Just perfect," He said, voice dripping sarcasm. He was naked now also.

"Yes, and you scowling at me when I offer myself up to you, you fighting your own arousal for God knows what reason, that's precisely what I need, as well," she shot back. "I was hoping that perhaps we might be able to enjoy each other this time with you being in such a good mood and all, but if this is the way you want it, then this is the way it shall be. I don't need to be impressed by you, I don't need to know first hand of your prowess in bed, I don't need pleasure from you. _I'm_ just your _wife_," She said bitingly. "There's no need for me to enjoy it at all. You can save that side of yourself for your doxies."

"Just shut it," he scowled as he climbed on top of her. "Christ, Emily, you talk to damned much."

"Fine, I shall simply lay here with my legs spread until you're done," she replied. "Just how you clearly like it."

He stared down at her, shocked. Honestly, did he think she didn't want to enjoy it, too? Did he think wives weren't supposed to? Lord, he'd heard Tavington and Beth going at it, surely? She shook her head and tightened her lips.

"Just do it. Maybe this time you'll get me with child and your mother will stop bloody nagging me," Emily said, turning her face away. Again, James said nothing. For a moment, Emily worried that she'd pushed him too far, that his arousal would have dissipated, he would not be able to bed her. She needed him to - not for the pleasure, but in case Farshaw got her with child. She was relieved when she felt his prick at her entrance. To assist, she angled her pelvis up, making it easier for him to glide on in.

* * *

Beth had questions. A hundred and fifty of them. No, a thousand. Cilla and Bordon - married. It was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard in her entire life. Cilla and Bordon. It was just too shocking to give any credence. She sat ensconced in her father's favourite chair in the parlour, staring into the fire place, utterly stunned.

"It's just… It's all so sudden," Sarah Wilkins said. She and Rebecca were seated across from James and Emily, who had just rejoined them. Cilla would soon be finished with her bath and Tavington was still taking his. Bordon was… Beth didn't even know where Bordon was. "I never would have thought Cilla would agree to marry a British Officer."

"I don't think my uncle would have cared who Cilla married – he'd likely have preferred a rebel, being one himself," Rebecca sniffed disdainfully. "But you heard Colonel Tavington, Lord Cornwallis would only release her inheritance if she married one of his own."

"I did hear, but it still is so outrageous," Sarah said.

"I agree," Beth said, frowning. "They are the most unlikely pair. There are hundreds of British Officers; Bordon can't be the only bachelor among them."

"I don't know what Lord Cornwallis is thinking," Sarah said. "To marry Cilla off to the man who tortured her father…"

"And what sort of a wretch is my uncle, to not even look after his own family?" Rebecca asked, infuriated. "To take Cilla to Camden and leave her there. To wipe his hands of her. As if she's not going through enough – with her father passing. And where is her mother?"

Beth saw James and Emily exchange a knowing glance and with horror, she realized they knew the truth as well – that Mage had been having an affair with Bordon back in the city. Bordon's argument with Harmony had been rather loud, others in the house had heard it. They would have discussed it with people that weren't there – people such as James Wilkins. Who had in turn told his wife. Beth wanted to clout him, that was her family he was gossiping about.

"And what sort of wedding was that? To have so few in attendance and none of them family. Cilla deserved far more than that," Sarah said. "Fine, I am over the shock and can finally accept that they are married, but the suddenness of it!" Sarah shook her head. "It would have been enough to become engaged and then marry after the Banns were read, surely?"

"I just… I can't see how this has happened!" Rebecca said. "Cilla of all people. With Major Bordon!"

"After all he's gone through with Harmony," Beth added. "I know he loves her. I feel wretched for Cilla, being married to a man whose heart is already taken."

"She can't be in love with him, can she?" Becky frowned. "Cilla and a British Officer… No, she never would have entertained the thought! This is marriage is one of convenience only."

"You don't have to be in love to be married," Emily agreed, shooting James a significant look. "You don't even have to like each other." She saw his jaw begin to work, she'd never confronted him before, and here she was, doing it in public. She sensed the other girls shifting with discomfort and her face flushed red. Not with embarrassment - it was with fury. Fucking James, he'd made it so obvious from the start, his complete and utter disdain for her. "Even when the wife has done absolutely nothing to deserve it," she said, rising abruptly and marching across the room to the window. She could feel eyes boring into her back. She heard Sarah's tentative, embarrassed voice behind her.

"Perhaps there is some kinship between them? Enough for them to agree to this. Cilla was grieving her father, after he fled the city. None of us were able to be there for her. She might have been in such a wretched state, that she looked for comfort -"

"From a British Officer?" Becky asked, then shook her head in disbelief.

"Who else was there for her, except British Officers?" Beth mused. "There was no-one but Redcoats, day and night, except her mother. But…" Cilla must have heard the argument too, Lord, she must have known her mother had bedded Richard. She would be wroth her mother for that. And with Richard. He would be the last person she'd turn too… "I just can't make heads or tails out of it. I guess… I guess it doesn't matter, the how. Or the why. We don't understand it, but it's happened and she needs us. Our cousin," she said to Rebecca. "Our friend," she said to the others. "She needs us, all of us."

Emily turned slowly from the window, her eyes on Beth.

"She's bound to be wretched," Beth said, her eyes taking in Sarah, Rebecca and Emily all at once. "Her father is dead - she will still be grieving his loss. And now she's separated from her mother. She will need us, all of us."

"I couldn't agree more," Becky said, her questioning eyes shifting to Sarah, who nodded firm agreement.

"Of course," Emily said, agreeing wholeheartedly. "However, there is the matter of Mrs. Farshaw… Do we tell Cilla about her, then?"

"Cil knows about Harmony," Beth frowned.

"Back in the city, she knew," Emily nodded. "But I doubt she knows of more recent events. Surely she deserves to know that her new husband has continued his affair until recently and that his heart - as you say, Beth - belongs elsewhere." Emily locked eyes with her husband. "If she believes her husband cares for her, only to discover somewhere along the line that he most certainly does not, she will become bitter indeed." James eyes widened as far as they would go; he rose abruptly and strode from the room.

"I… I guess we should," Beth frowned at James as he made his abrupt departure. "She does deserve to know. She also needs to be made aware so that she can steel herself against the camp gossip."

She glanced at the other women, and each of them nodded agreement.

* * *

Sitting on the side of the bed, Harmony read the contents of Richard's letter by the yellow glow of the candle. Brownlow had delivered it a short while earlier. Now she sat there, staring blindly. Covering her mouth with one hand, she keened as agony shot through her. The letter in her hand quickly became soaked in places, the inked words bleeding. Hot tears burned her eyes, leaving ruddy trails down her cheeks. It was difficult to breathe suddenly, around the heavy weight settling onto her chest. Her hands trembled.

Christ, how could he? Married. Richard was married. She swallowed hard and shook her head slowly, disbelieving. Her eyes scanned the letter again, it was far more difficult to read now through the blur of tears, and the words were all blending together as the parchment became sodden. But it was all there in his own hand. How much he despised himself for the pain he knew it would cause her. His plea for forgiveness, another plea that she be strong and a final promise, that he would never bed his wife.

Too late for that! He'd already bedded her once, at some stage, for how else could she be carrying his child? It was shockingly painful, to learn of yet another of his indiscretions from their days in Charlestown. There had been many of those, she knew, and she had decided to forgive him a long time ago. But now one of them had come forward, her belly filled with his child and now Richard was lost to Harmony forever. A weakness entered her every muscle and she felt too dizzy to remain upright. Curling onto her side, she cried into the pillow, feeling wretched and broken inside.

She flinched, giving a start when the door opened and Calvin strode in. She quickly shoved the letter beneath the pillow as he rounded the bed, a small smile curving his bruised lips.

"Ah, I see you've heard the news then," he smirked, staring down at her as she quickly dashed at her eyes with her sleeve. She pinched her lips together to keep them from trembling. "Ah yes, you've heard," he laughed. "My poor wife. I guess he didn't love you after all, huh?" He perched himself on the side of the bed, moving carefully because of his sore ribs, and she lay rigid, tensing. "Damned bastard nearly beats me to death over you, and then he up and marries some other chit. That's everlasting love for you, huh? Fucking bastard. Well, at least I don't have to worry that he'll try and corner you for a quick rut again. I'm warnin' you, Harm, you better keep those damned cheeks dry when you leave this room. I won't have you cryin' over him for all to see."

She continued to hold her silence, not trusting her voice. Richard… Oh God… She squeezed her eyes shut, her throat constricting tightly.

"If you ask me, it is simple fuckin' justice," he glared down at her. "You deserve this. You spread your legs for that bastard as soon as me back's turned, and now that he's forced to stay away from you, he's gone and forgotten you. She's wealthy too, I'm told. He's married far higher than you. Got himself twenty thousand pounds - that's what her inheritance is. That was all it took to turn his head. A pretty genteel wife with a nice tidy fortune."

"Go to hell, Calvin," she whispered, barely able to find her voice.

"Is that the best you can do?" He laughed down at her. "Christ look at you, you're like a broken doll."

The bed rose back up as his weight was lifted off and she heard his boots cross the room, then the door clicking shut behind him. Despairing, she let loose the dam she'd only just been managing to hold inside of her.

* * *

Mila had come to assist Cilla out of her clothes. She sat at a small table in only her loose fitting shift, while Mila worked her hair, brushing until it gleamed in the candlelight. Afterward, Mila folded the petticoats, skirt, bodice and stays, and had told Cilla that she would take them away for laundering. When the door closed behind the maid, Cilla had still been sitting there, stiffly, perched on the edge of the bed, staring into the merrily burning fire.

The evening had been a confusion of emotions. Fear of Bordon. Cilla had been so relieved when he didn't dined with the women that evening, though she'd received some strange looks from Becky, Sarah and Emily, who were clearly startled by Bordon's absence. Their third night of marriage, and he didn't even dine with her? Though she had not enjoyed their speculative looks, Cilla had preferred for Bordon to be absent. She was with her friends again - none of them were shunning her, she was welcomed by them.

Celeste and Christopher, her own family, had put her out, but with her cousins and her friends, she had a place in the world still. And with Bordon's absence, there had been no horrid, dark shadow cast on the evening. Of course there were the questioning glances, Emily stared boldly at Cilla's stomach, trying to discern a tell tale increasing there. At times, the conversation became stilted as one or other of the girls tried to leave openings for Cilla to confide to them the affair she must have had with Bordon. She'd known from the start that people would think that - that she, Cilla, had been the willing participant in a pre-marital affair. Did they truly think so low of her, that that would be their first and only assumption?

Did it not enter into any of their heads that perhaps, just maybe, Bordon had forced her? Why was that not a scenario any of them thought to consider? No. They assumed that Cilla and Richard had had an affair, which meant they must consider her to be of low virtue indeed. Her own friends and cousins thought the worst of her, and the best of Bordon. For hadn't he saved her, by marrying her? She'd been so frustrated, she'd wanted to stick her fork into her thigh. She'd wanted to scream the truth, to see their expressions shift from knowing to commiserating. To sympathy for her, for all she'd suffered.

But she knew only too well that commiseration and sympathy - while both would be genuinely felt, would soon give way to discomfort. Then unease. When they were in her company, they wouldn't be able to forget that they were in the company of a raped woman, they would never be relaxed in her company again. Therefore, they would start to avoid her. She was damaged now; tainted. Their closeness would soon end as the others began to distance themselves from her until she was a pariah in the same house. They would not even know they were doing it.

She could not tell them the truth, but nor would she be lured into admitting a dalliance that never happened. O'Hara had advised Bordon and Cilla how to explain their quick marriage, and both had agreed to stick with that. Despite their suspicions, the other women still accepted Cilla as they always had.

Which they would not have done, had they known the horrible truth. Bordon would be ostracised from their midst - but so too would Cilla.

The door opened and Cilla tensed as Major Bordon walked in, carrying a glass in one hand. For a bare instant, she met his gaze, before quickly turning her head away. She could still see him from the corner of her eye, could see that he was staring at her as he shut the door closed behind her. They hadn't had to share quarters since they were married. But they were at Fresh Water now. According to Beth, Bordon had a cabin allocated to him, where he was meeting with his mistress. But with the affair truly at an end now, and with the heavy population of Officers at Fresh Water, it had been ceded to someone else.

Cilla wished he still had the cabin. She wished he was still bedding Miss Jutland, or Mrs. Farshaw, or whatever she was called now. She wished, most desperately, that she did not have to share this room with him.

Might as well wish they'd never had to marry at all…

Without a word, he walked deeper into the room and set the glass on a side table. With his arms high over head, he stretched and made a grunting noise as though his body pained him. She waited to see what he would do next, and was mildly surprised when he sat at the small desk and began to write in a journal. For some time the only sound in the room was the scritching of his quill across parchment. This task was soon completed, his journal stowed away in a drawer. Then, as though she were not even in the chamber, he began to undress. Her eyes widened until the whites showed around the brown of her iris entire, and she stared hard into the flames but it was of no use, she could see him as he pulled off every single item of the clothing that clad him. Each piece was folded with as much care as Mila had shown Cilla's clothes. He sat down and pulled his boots off. Then he was pulling his breeches off and Cilla snapped her eyes shut, trying to hold back her whimpers of fear. Her heart pounded and sweat popped out on her forehead, along her spine to soak into her shift.

But all Bordon did for now was stride over to yet another table, this one holding a large bowl and a ewer of water, and his shaving implements. As naked as the day he was born, he began to wash himself down, dipping a cloth into the water and sluicing the days grit from his body. It did not take long for his body to dry for he was close to the fire. As he rounded the bed, Cilla swallowed hard, her fingers trembled in her lap. The bed dipped, she could feel it, could hear the rustle of the blankets as they were pulled back. She did not turn to look, though she could feel the heat from his body against her back. Her thoughts roiled, terror seized her in his grip. Yes, he vowed that theirs was a marriage in name only, but now that she was alone with him, she could not quite believe that such a man as he would keep that oath. Any moment now, she would feel his hands on her shoulders, seizing her and spinning her around, forcing her down into the pillows as he shoved her shift up her body and kneed her legs apart. She could scream the house down and no one would help her, not even Beth, even though Beth would want to try. Her husband - the Colonel - would stop her from helping, for Cilla was this man's wife, sworn to obey and helpless against his will. He owned her, the oaths she had spoken and the license she had signed all bound her to him as strongly as if she were manacled and secured to a whipping post. Like a kicked dog, she waited for the whip to land.

Instead, she heard a strange noise and, startled, she twisted around to him. Her breath caught in her throat and she stared as the man laying on his back, one arm draped to rest on the pillow above his head, his mouth hanging open slightly as he snored through his nose. His eyes were closed and it was clear he was very much asleep. Cilla shifted around to face forward again. What should she do? In her terror, she'd been so certain he'd force himself on her again. But there he was, sleeping.

Keeping his oath not to touch her.

After staring at her hands for several moments, her mouth cracked open in a wide yawn and she realised she was utterly exhausted, and very much in need of the sleep Bordon seemed to be enjoying so thoroughly. She would not lay naked beside him however, she drew the line there. Pulling the covers back, she climbed in carefully, gingerly, afraid she would wake him and he would pounce on her. She kept her ankle length shift firmly wound around her body, making certain it was pushed down to her feet, as she lay down beside him and pulled the covers back up. Turning onto her side with her back to him, she finally allowed herself to relax, to close her eyes and finally drift off into sleep.

* * *

"I am taking some Dragoons out to scout the area and will be gone for a day or so," Bordon informed Cilla. She sat up in the bed, back against the headboard, the covers pulled to her chest, her pale locks surrounding her. He disappeared in his shirt for a moment as he pulled it over his head. "I thought it would be for the best," he said when his head was free. "if I were away for a while. You'd prefer it, wouldn't you?"

"I certainly would," she replied emphatically. He shoved his shirt tails into his breeches.

"If there's anything you need, speak to your cousin. I'm sure she and William will advance you money until your inheritance comes through - "

"Twenty thousand pounds," she drew a long, slow breath, then let it puff from her lips. "You've done rather well for yourself, haven't you?"

Her words gave him a moments pause. He studied her, noting the defiance in her gaze. She was challenging him, daring him to deny that in marrying her, he wasn't being punished for his crimes. She was beautiful and wealthy. But having her in his bed where Harmony belonged - having her bear his name, and eventually his child, was pure torment to him. Cornwallis could not have devised a more fitting punishment.

"I've told you, ours is a titular marriage only. I've forfeited a husband's authority and rights. Your money is for you. O'Hara will manage it, I will not get a penny."

"O'Hara will not be here to keep you honest forever. How long before you begin seeing my money as yours?"

"I think I preferred you yesterday when you were terrified of me," he decided to taunt her as he moved closer to the bed. She drew a sharp breath when he stood over her, looming. Her eyes were wide now, and her face drained of all colour. Instantly, Bordon felt ashamed. He realised in that moment that she was giving him the semblance of challenge only, the facade of defiance. But the veneer was thin, she was brittle just below the surface. He took several steps back and heard her exhale slowly, as though she hadn't been able to breathe until his backing down enabled her.

"You said you wouldn't hurt me," she whispered, doubting him now. Clearly her trust for him was as thin as that veneer she kept in place.

"And I will hold to it," he said. Standing at the small table, he began to run a comb through his hair. "That doesn't mean I can't be provoked. I won't hit you, Miss Putman. But if you push me, I will lose my temper."

"I've seen you in a temper," she accused, arching a brow. Challenging again. He knew better than to rise to the bait now.

"I do lots of shouting," he said, ignoring her challenge. "You mention your inheritance? Fine, let's discuss it. You know damned well why I married you, Cilla."

"You didn't want to be courtmartialed."

"Which would have bought great shame to my family. That was my sole reason," he said. "I am not a fortune hunter, I have plenty of wealth of my own. I married you to save my neck; and to save my family, who would be in disgrace if I were to be courtmartialed. I did not marry you for your money."

Cilla hunched her shoulders, feeling quite sullen. "My father's money… His house - his properties! What will the British do with it all?"

"Give it to a Loyalist in their favour, perhaps," seeing her bristle with true fury, he hurried on, "Or they might give it to us, seeing that I'm a British Officer and your husband. Through me, his entire holdings might come to you, yet. Would you prefer that? Our child would want for nothing, then. Your father's grandson would be provided for."

She blinked slowly up at him, her face unreadable. Shrugging, he finished dressing and strode from the room, leaving her there with her thoughts.

* * *

_Our child will want for nothing. Would you prefer that? _Cilla glared at the closed door, willing Bordon to trip over his damned feet on the stairs. A child forced on her through rape should not be her father's sole bloody heir. It was times like these she wished she had a brother, though she supposed it would not have mattered. Any brother of hers would have been a Patriot, and with their holdings seized, he would have as much chance of claiming it as fly to the moon. The door opened again and Mila slipped in. She introduced Vickie, a maid who had been in Charlotte's employ and was now working at Fresh Water. She was to be Cilla's maid, now.

After curtsying, Vickie went about her delegated duties in silence as a proper maid should. However, Mila prattled away, asking questions here and there, the content of which caused Cilla to wonder if Beth had sent her maid to spy. Answering vaguely, giving no true information, she rose at Mila's bidding to clutch the bedpost in order for her stays to be laced. Her pregnancy was not showing even slightly, yet she requested Mila to do them tighter, just in case. Frowning, Mila did so, until Cilla's midsection was contained in that perfectly figured, feminine V shape. Cilla took a few experimental breaths, she worried that it might become a struggle to take air into her lungs the more her pregnancy progressed, she might not be able to hide her pregnancy much longer.

_You don't have to hide it at all. You're married now, and everyone already suspects the reason for it,_ she argued with herself as Mila continued to dress her.

But if she did reveal it now when only having married Bordon a few days ago, they would know immediately the true reason she had been in want of a husband. Her pride would not allow that. Examining herself in the mirror, she saw that her waist was as small as ever. When the time came that she could no longer obscure the child within, she would reveal her pregnancy. Hopefully by then, she would be able to pretend that she fell pregnant after her wedding. The others did not know that her marriage was name only - they likely thought she would be bedding her husband.

She supposed that was one advantage at being forced to share the chamber with him.

_My father's heir_, she scoffed, sniffing in disdain. _Let's hope Bordon's get is a girl, so she can't inherit a damned thing from my father's estate._

It was difficult for her to love the baby within, no matter how much of it was of her. The baby was as much her as it was Bordon, and therefore, it was worthy of its mother's love. But how could it possibly be of both of them, when one of them was a monster?

"Will that be all?" Mila asked.

Cilla's hair was coiffured, a shawl graced her shoulders over her bodice. She gazed at herself critically in the mirror, then waved the maids away. Her first morning at Fresh Water. Oh, she'd been to the Plantation plenty of times before, but never without her parents. And never with so many of the enemy surrounding her. At least she had her friends, but even those she needed to be careful of, for they were Tory's, all of them. Even Beth was a Tory now, on account of being married to a British Officer.

_Doesn't that make you a Tory too? _A small voice in the back of her mind taunted as she walked down the stairs. _Never_, she shot back, her face darkening so that a servant who happened to glance at her at that moment, startled and turned in another direction. Voices were coming from the parlour. Women's voices, laughing and gay. Just how far could she trust her cousin these days? Beth, the wife of a Lobster… Then again, Cilla was wife to a Lobster now too… She opened the door to join them.

"Where's Beth?" She asked, noticing her cousin's absence immediately.

"Ah, it seems she had… ah… business… Over at the Ferguson's," Rebecca said gently, evasively, while burying her face in her tea cup. Sarah's face flushed crimson, only Emily seemed unperturbed.

"What business?" Cilla asked her as she took a seat.

"Well, you have to understand my dear, that Beth and that woman - that Mrs. Farshaw, have been friends for quite some time," Emily explained. She told of the grand friendship that had developed between the pair.

"My cousin is visiting my husband's mistress?" Cilla asked, voice sharp. Red flared over Becky's and Sarah's faces, they looked terribly uncomfortable.

"_Former_ mistress," Emily replied. "Come, sit with us, Cilla. We've so much catching up to do." Emily patted the seat beside her.

Keeping her face smooth of all expression while silently raging at Beth for this terrible insult, Cilla sat beside Emily, ready to settle in a prattle like she hadn't a care in the world.


	89. Chapter 89 - The Laundry Mangle

Chapter 89 - The Laundry Mangle:

Cilla snuggled into the worn but very comfortable armchair that was so favoured by her uncle, Benjamin. As Emily chatted away, Cilla wondered where Benjamin was at that moment. In the woods, hiding someplace while he did what work he could to free their country, undoubtedly. Would he have helped her? Where Uncle Christopher had turned her away, would Ben have accepted her, bastard child and all? She nodded to herself. Yes, he would have. If only that option had been available to her.

Her mother, she thought, must be at Drakespar. Cilla had not seen or heard from her since uncle Christopher forced her out all those weeks ago. Could Christopher have sent Cilla to her mother? Cilla pondered for a moment, before deciding against it. No, he could not have. Aunt Charlotte had always been so staid and proper - she would not have wanted an unmarried, pregnant dependent anymore than Christopher Middleton had.

"Cil?" Emily prompted and Cilla realised the other woman had asked her a question. They were alone in the parlour now, Sarah and Rebecca had spent time with her and Emily, the three of them telling them everything they knew about Harmony and Bordon, before Sarah and Rebecca decided they wanted some fresh air and sunshine. Cilla and Emily, not interested in either, had opted to stay at the house. Cilla simply had no energy for a walk.

"Pardon?" Cilla said.

"I asked you if you want to talk about it," Emily replied, rising from her seat and pulling up a chair so she could sit more closely. Cilla watched her warily.

"I don't know what you mean. Talk about what?"

"Cilla…" Emily trailed off. "Your marriage has not gotten off to the best of starts, just as mine and James didn't. Lord, it still isn't," she laughed softly. "If there is anyone in this house better able to understand what you are going through, then show her to me. I'm just saying, if you want to talk about it, I'm here."

Cilla didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to discuss Bordon at all. Or her marriage. Or Harmony Jutland - or Farshaw, or whatever she was calling herself now. Beth was over there visiting her - why in the world was Beth over there visiting her?

"Yours still isn't?" Cilla asked, more to take the subject off herself than anything. Still, she had always been curious about Emily and James. "I remember before you were married, Em. You were always older than me, but I do remember. You and Mr. Wilkins seemed to get along quite well, in the past. But when you married…"

"It all changed," Emily said. She got up and - shocking Cilla entirely - she poured herself a whiskey. She returned with one for Cilla, too. Cilla stared at the amber liquid in the crystal goblet, not entirely certain what to do with it. "Here," Emily fetched a jug and poured in a measure of water. "It'll take the edge off the taste."

"I… I shouldn't…"

"You're a married woman now," Emily said. "You're officially no longer a child. Take it from me, Cil, find what advantages you can."

"Oh," Cilla stared at the glass, even as Emily began to sip.

"You know, I could never say any of what I'm about to say, to Rebecca or Sarah, at least not until they are married. Perhaps not even then, for in truth, I'd never confide to Beth as I'm about to with you. She's so happy with her marriage… she'd never understand mine. Gods, I don't even understand mine."

Cilla, astonished that there were other people in the world suffering, was spellbound already.

"You remember correctly," Emily said as she sipped, she motioned for Cilla to do the same, and the younger wife did. She took an experimental sip and then screwed up her nose at the burning, sharp taste. Emily laughed. "Suffer through it, it'll be worth it, trust me. Two of these and you'll be feeling a whole world better. At least for a little while…" She added solemnly. "As I was saying, James and I got along quite grandly before we were married.

"I don't know how it went so wrong for us… James has despised me since we said our vows. He liked me well enough before we were married, back when it never occurred to either of us that we might. I've often wondered if he was in love with someone else, that perhaps his parents disapproved his choice and forced him to marry me? I'm from one of the leading families, after all. The Wilkins' are not as prominent as my family… I married _lower_, in marrying James. But I was happy enough to, for he is quite handsome," she trailed off for a moment, her far away expression made Emily appear as though she was, at that moment, someplace else. Or some when else. When she spoke again, it was in a quieter, haunted voice. "He was angry, even from the first night. I really think he was in love with someone that he could not marry."

She paused, she stared down at her lap as she began fidgeting with her fingers. Cilla watched in silence, transfixed. Emily had never confided in her before, but she seemed to feel the need now. Perhaps it had bought a new kinship, the knowledge that Cilla was unhappy also. Perhaps Emily had wanted to speak of it for a long time, for it certainly poured from her now.

"At our wedding, he drank and drank," she continued quietly. "And that night, I waited and waited for him to come to me. Lord, I was so nervous. I was only a girl then, barely twenty years old. I was worried he'd come to me. But as the hours went by, I began to worry that he would not. How shaming it would have been, if he had not. But when he did, I seriously wished he hadn't."

"Did it hurt?" Cilla whispered.

"It was more than that," Emily replied, haunted. "I was so excited, to have such a handsome husband. I always liked James - he was so funny, so filled with jokes and life. Everyone thought so, he needed only to enter a room and everyone started smiling. Including me. I liked him… But that night, he was not James. He stopped being the James I knew, from the moment he said his vows," she quickly swiped at her eyes, her voice was choked as she continued. "It hurt, yes, but I'd been warned of that. But it shattered me, too, if you can understand that."

"How so?" Cilla asked, barely able to breathe. Her first experience had shattered her, too.

"He was so callous. So cruel. Kept me waiting until I'd cried myself to sleep. I was confused, and nervous and worried, that was why I'd been crying. Anyway, I woke up when he climbed into bed. All I saw was a dark shadow and, snapped from sleep as I was, I screamed with fright. He grew annoyed and said something horrid like 'fine, if that's how it's going to be', I don't remember exactly what he said. Then he was pawing at me and… You have to understand, I was so young. I was terrified and even though I knew it was him by now and that that was what we were supposed to do, I was terrified. I fought him a bit…"

"What happened next?" Cilla asked when Emily fell silent.

"He hit me," she admitted, her voice so soft that Cilla had to strain her ears to hear. "Struck me with the flat of his hand. I'd never been hit before, it was quite shocking," she gave a self deprecating laugh. "I'm almost used to it now," - Cilla's heart gave a small lurch at this careless admission and she felt like weeping. - "Anyway. That night. He struck me and I was crying. I still fought a bit - not much though. He held me down, here," she pointed at her wrists. "Pushed my hands into the pillow to lessen my thrashing. He was so heavy, his body laid out on mine, I couldn't move at all then. He tore my shift, rather than raising it gently as I'd imagined he might. His knee pushed between my thighs - that hurt. I had bruises for days after that. He reeked of whiskey," she gestured with her own glass which was almost empty now, "and did not even kiss me. Then he was pushing into me - you know what I mean," - Cilla nodded, eyes wide. - "pushing and pushing and God, it hurt. I wasn't prepared for him, not the way a woman should be prepared to receive a man. He grunted and groaned, hurting me in the dark. And then he stopped, still holding my wrists, he shuddered, his hot breath in my ear. Then he pulled out - even that hurt, his withdrawal. And then without a word, he jerked up from me and began dressing. He left me there, in the dark, alone, frightened, in pain… And broken hearted."

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea," Cilla set her cup aside and rose to sit beside Emily, taking hold of Emily's free hand. Emily gave hers a squeeze.

"Thank you. Cilla, can I ask you something?"

_Oh, Christ, here we go_, Cilla thought, even as she smiled and nodded.

"I know you were both forced to this marriage, what with your uncle washing his hands of you - quite cruel of him, that. I'm just wondering - do you like Bordon at all?" Emily asked, curious. "You seem so… cool… with one another."

"In truth? No, I don't," Cilla replied, completely unable to lie now she'd been asked outright. "After everything he has done. He tortured my father," she spat. She did not elaborate on what was done to her, as part of her father's torture - it was enough to leave it at that. "We were both forced to this, as you said."

"Well… what of… I know I shouldn't ask, but I can't help but be curious. It's just… After my horrid experience with James, I am worried for you. Did it… did it hurt you, too?"

"More than I can ever describe," Cilla said softly. Her hands trembled as she took another drink. She did not elaborate. Not on the timing, not on any of it. Let Emily think she was speaking of the consummation on her wedding night.

"Was he horrid to you? The way James was to me?" Emily asked carefully, softly. When Cilla gave no reply, Emily sighed. "Oh, Cilla, I'm so sorry," Emily put her arms around her and Cilla, without intending to, burst into tears and leaned into the embrace. Emily comforted her, rubbing her back as she held her. "I'm so sorry, Cil," she said again. "Men… they can be beasts."

"They… they are b-beasts!" Cilla sobbed against Emily's shoulder.

"I wish I could say it gets better," Emily whispered. "At least I can say it isn't as bad now, as it was that first time. Maybe it will be the same for you."

"I'm not… b-bedding him… again…" Cilla said and Emily paused, drawing back slightly, startled.

"How can you not? You're his wife now," Emily said gently, she still held Cilla, she was stroking the younger girl's hair now.

"Never again," Cilla whispered. "Never again."

"Alright," Emily nodded, though she couldn't understand how Cilla could avoid it. Bordon would come to her again, for she was his wife now and it was her duty. What would Cilla do then? But the poor girl was weeping, now was not the time to distress her with life's harsh realities. Perhaps later, when Cilla was composed, Emily would broach it then. Cilla needed to be warned, so she would not be so shocked when Bordon did indeed press her for his husbandly right.

For now though, Emily simply sat with her, giving back the comfort Cilla had given. Cilla, Emily thought, needed it far more than she herself did; Emily had had three years to become accustomed to her horrid marriage.

Cilla drew back, straightening and wiping her eyes.

"Are you alright?" Emily asked and Cilla nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"Oh my Lord, don't be!" Emily gasped. "I told you, Cil. If anyone in this house is going to understand, it's me. Especially now that I know your first time was no better than mine. Dear heart, please - don't hesitate to come to me, when you're feeling low. No one else is going to understand you - not even Beth. I know you love her, you're close and all. But…"

"She and Tavington are in love. She welcomes his touch, she loves him and loves being married to him," Cilla said and Emily nodded.

"She'll want to tell you that everything will be fine. That your marriage will one day be as perfect as hers. While I hope that is the case for you, I don't hold out much hope. Not with the start you've had - just look at James and I, three years on. Besides, there'll always be that damned whore between you." Emily tightened her lips. She drank back her glass, then motioned for Cilla to drink hers too. Cilla did, lots of little, tentative sips, until it was all gone. Emily rose to pour another round, then returned to Cilla's side.

"I don't hold out any hope either," Cilla said. "I don't even want ours to be a good marriage." She took a sip. "I hope he dies in battle," she said softly and Emily's eyebrows climbed her forehead.

She despised James at times, but she did not wish him dead. She didn't know what to say, so she wrapped her fingers around Cilla's and gave a gentle squeeze.

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but… where is your mother in all this?" Emily asked. She almost wished she hadn't, for Cilla went immediately on guard.

"My mother decided not to stay with my uncle," Cilla said stiffly, thinking of an appropriate lie. The whiskey was going down more easily now; it still burned her throat but she liked how it warmed her soul. She understood what Emily meant, now. "Aunt Celeste and mamma never got along particularly well, so she left me with my uncle where she thought I would be safe, while she went to Drakespar to be with my aunt Charlotte."

Emily did not point out the incongruities in this tale, and she let Cilla leave unsaid the things she wanted left unsaid, such as her mother and Bordon's affair.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to tell you this, but your mother can't be at Drakespar."

"Why is that?" Cilla frowned.

"It's really quite awful, but… Mrs. Selton's home was burned. To the ground."

Cilla's eyes bulged. Where the devil was her mother then and where then, was Aunt Charlotte?

"It wasn't Colonel Tavington's fault," she continued.

"Tavington!" Cilla gasped.

"I don't know how it's possible, but it seems Tavington and Mrs. Selton were never introduced in the city."

"My aunt wanted nothing to do with him and she deliberately kept away from him."

"Oh. Well, he came to Drakespar when she was in residence. She must still have wanted nothing to do with him even then, for she gave him a false name when he arrived there, asking if she was Mrs. Selton and if this was Drakespar. She said she wasn't and it wasn't, because she thought Tavington would demand to see Beth, if he knew who he was speaking to and where he was. But Beth was gone by that stage anyway, so Mrs. Selton really should have been honest. If not for that, Tavington might not have burned her home when he learned she was hiding a rebel…"

"Tavington burned my aunt's home?" Cilla asked and Emily explained everything, repeating to Cilla the tale as it had been told to her, from the capture of two rebels who turned out to be Cilla's cousins Gabriel and Thomas, to her uncle's freeing of his sons and the massacre on the road, to Beth's arrival to Fresh Water, which Martin had to flee to stay ahead of the Dragoons, to Beth's confrontation with Aunt Charlotte, who was thoroughly disgusted that Beth had married Tavington. "Dear Lord," Cilla said, shaking her head. "So much has happened. And where is Beth? Next door visiting Miss Jutland, when she should be here, telling me all of this! Gods! Where is my aunt now? Is my mother with her?"

"I don't know," Emily said earnestly. "Wherever they are, maybe they are together..?"

"Maybe," Cilla said, her flare of anger fading as she slipped back into despondency. How could Beth leave her for Harmony Jutland, on her first day in the house? And when there was such news to be told, too. She was beginning to feel quite betrayed and alone. At least Emily was with her still. She listened, sipping her whiskey, as Emily embarked on the tale of Charlotte and the children's sudden disappearance from Fresh Water.

"…And then they just vanished in the middle of the night. Charlotte, the children, even a few of the servants…"

"Then that means…" Cilla thought furiously, trying to determine what had happened and when. "Drakespar might have already been destroyed before my mother even left my uncle's! Gods, no wonder I have not heard from her, she could be anywhere!"

"Don't worry," Emily said. "I'm certain she is safe - she has friends, and other family. I'm certain Mrs. Putman is with someone she knows and trusts. As much as I despise the rebels, she just has to say 'I'm the Ghost's sister in law' and just like that," Emily snapped her fingers, "she will be carried off to him, and he will protect her, for certain. He'd probably take her to Mrs. Selton, he would know where she and the children are. None of us do, but that doesn't mean they're not safe."

Cilla tried to set aside her worry for Emily was speaking wisely - her mother, her aunt, and the children were sure to be safe. It was the not knowing that was churning her stomach. "The Ghost?" She said to Emily now. "You called him Mr. Martin once, not so long ago."

"Well, a lot has changed, hasn't it?" Emily asked. "It's always been uneasy between Loyalists and Patriots, but not so much as it is now. The division is deep, now. I can't imagine we'll ever live peacefully with one another again, even after the British oust the rebels from the Colonies."

_Who says they will? _Cilla kept this question to herself. She did not want the fissure to extend to her and Emily, especially now with discovering they had such common ground. Nor did she want Emily to know just how deeply she despised the British - she hoped Emily didn't learn she'd spied back in the city, she might lose her entirely, then.

Nevertheless, she could not help but wonder. With the likes of her uncle fighting against them, alongside Burwell and other great Patriot Generals… Why should Emily be so certain of British success? Perhaps it would be Patriots ousting the Loyalists from the Colonies… Now there was a thought to warm her, even more than the whiskey did. But then, if her kind did win the war, what would become of her? The wife of a British Officer… Would she be forced to live in England, with Bordon? She shuddered at the thought, feeling suddenly chilled all over. She took a much deeper drink from her glass, then shuddered again as it went down.

"It would be far better for the rebels to remember their Loyalty and return to the fold, like Lieutenant Farshaw did," Emily said, thinking of her lover who, according to Mrs. Salisbury, had recovered enough to be able to move about again. His ribs were bruised, not broken as first suspected. His other wounds troubled him, his eye was only just now able to open enough to make the administration work he was doing for Major Fallows that much easier. He would start meeting her in Mrs. Salisbury's tent again soon, another day or two, he told Salisbury. Emily prayed that Wilkins would be sent out again, it was so much easier to leave the house at night when he was not in residence.

"Farshaw?" Cilla frowned.

"He was a Continental before he was a British Officer. Or so I'm told," Emily said. It was dangerous, speaking of Calvin, but she found she was desperate to speak his name. "I'm told he is quite formidable."

"I'm told he beat his wife until she was unrecognisable," Cilla said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable in discussing the Farshaw's.

"Well, you can hardly blame him, surely? He'd just found out she had returned to Bordon - she'd resumed her affair with your own husband."

"We weren't married," Cilla shrugged.

"No, but you are now. You keep an eye on that strumpet, she clearly has no respect for her own wedding vows, I doubt she'll have any for yours. As I was saying - her husband is quite formidable. Handsome too, I saw him the day he came here to fetch her. You should see those green eyes of his… Lord, he's one to make the girls swoon."

"Emily," Cilla gave a weak giggle as she cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The door was shut, they were quite alone. "You shouldn't say such things."

"No, I suppose not," Emily said. "He seemed so calm that day, but you know, when he discovered that his wife was dallying with Bordon, he went quite berserk. I saw her, afterward. Covered with blood and bruises, she was beaten so badly she could barely walk - she looked quite wretched afterward. She'd be a fool to cross him again," Emily sniffed, satisfied.

Cilla's eyes widened. Blood and bruises? He beat her so she could barely walk? Cilla had met Miss Jutland on several occasions, she would have been a likeable enough lass if not for her base character, and if Cilla hadn't had to listen to Richard and Harmony's bedsport - all that awful noise coming from their chamber in the Putman residence back in the city. Still, as low as she thought of Harmony, she didn't like to think of a woman beaten so badly that she was covered in blood and could not even walk.

"I remember, back in the city, when Tavington took over my house. My mother -" Cilla cut short for a moment, she breathed in deeply with remembered fury. She loved her mother, but Gods, to have an affair with Bordon… Was she no better than Miss Jutland, then? Cilla couldn't ask Emily, to do so would mean she would have to reveal her mother and Richard's affair and that, she would never do. "We were forced to share a chamber, and unfortunately, it was right next to Tavington's and… And Bordon's…" God, she hated even having to say his name. "We could hear everything they did with their bawds - Tavington with that Miss Stokes, Gods, they used to beat each other and they liked it!" Emily's eyes bulged. "It was disgraceful. Bordon and Miss Jutland were no better, all the crying out and moaning. Thank God Tavington let mamma and I move to the far end of the hall corridor, in a room as far from theirs as was possible to be while still on the same floor. We could still hear Tavington and his bawd, but we didn't hear the other two after that. Thank goodness. Still…" Cilla trailed off.

"Yes?" Emily prompted, finding herself riveted. She plucked Cilla's glass from her hand and rose to refill them - hers was straight whiskey and Cilla's was watered down. Still, it was having an effect on the girl, Emily could see the colour in Cilla's cheeks now, and she wasn't in the slump she'd been in when they first began their chat. "Still?" She said, handing Cilla back her glass.

"I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, what Farshaw did to her. To beat her so horribly," she shuddered. "I just… I don't think that was right, either, what he did."

"Yes, well, perhaps not," Emily said, not wanting to argue. "Tell me, Cill," she averted her gaze, staring at her finger as it made a slow rotation around the top of the glass. "Did you ever see… Did my husband… Did he ever take a woman back to your house?"

Cilla curled her fingers around Emily's. "No," she said gently, "but I did hear him talking with the Middleton twins and your brother about doxies a lot. Of going to the taverns, drinking, gambling. And ending the night with… a… a scandalous woman. I'm sorry, Emily - he didn't bring them back to my house, but he…"

"He did bed them," Emily nodded. "I know. I've known for some time, in fact. It doesn't matter," she shrugged as she dabbed at her eyes, must have dust in them. She wasn't crying, for she simply did not care anymore. Cilla was still gazing at her with sympathy and Emily forced a bright smile. "So, my brother visits doxies to now? Lord, that boy. He's had horrid influences of late."

"In those two commanders and in Mr. Wilkins, most certainly," Cilla sniffed. "And the twins, too. I despair for their wives, where I never did before."

"Me too," Emily said. "I pity the poor woman that ends up like us."

Cilla nodded, taking no offence, for it was true enough. They were both married, and extremely unhappy in it. "You said earlier that Beth and Miss Jutland have become close friends," she said cautiously, trying to stem the flare of jealousy.

"I'm sorry that I had to tell you that, but yes. She must see something in that woman that I, most certainly, do not. Even your aunt, Mrs. Selton, spoke out against it, Cilla. But Beth… Well, she's a headstrong girl, is she not? I'd never speak poorly of her, not in a hundred years. But sometimes I have the feeling… I believe she likes to go against the grain sometimes, and she doesn't seem to care how it effects other people. I love her dearly, mind… It's just a feeling…"

"Perhaps Beth will end the friendship now that I'm here," Cilla said uncertainly. "Continuing a friendship with my husband's former lover is worse than merely going against the grain.

"Yes, I'm certain that Beth will finally see how… improper… the connection is now," Emily said, though she sounded doubtful.

"You don't believe it either, do you?" Cilla murmured and after a startled hesitation, Emily finally shook her head. "What if Beth has grown so close to her that there is no room left for me?" Cilla asked, tears springing to her eyes. "Has my husband's mistress taken my place?"

"Oh, no, no no," Emily rushed to reassure Cilla. "You're Beth's _blood_, Cil. Her cousin. Her dearest friend, apart from Mrs. Ferguson. And even then, I'm certain she would choose you over Mary, if she was forced to. Mrs. Farshaw?" Emily barked a contemptuous laugh. "She probably just feels sorry for her, that's all."

"Much of the reason I could stomach marrying him, was because I was informed we were coming to Fresh Water, where Beth is," Cilla said, near to sobbing. "If she can't even spend time with me though…"

"Shhh, it's alright. You have Becky and Sarah. And you have me. Don't you? We're friends too, aren't we?" Emily asked and Cilla nodded though she still looked miserable. "I think you and I, with our shared misery, the two women who can understand one another best, I think we're going to become very close in the coming months. I feel it in my bones, Cil. You've got me, and Beth isn't even your only cousin here. I know you're further removed from Becky, but she is your blood too. You're not alone here. Even if Beth is next door visiting that damned whore, we won't let you be alone. And she'll come back, you'll see. You might miss out on her for a few hours, at most, but all the other hours will be yours. You'll see!"

"Perhaps you're right," Cilla wiped her eyes, then she met Emily's with a tentative smile. "And I think you're right about the other thing too. You and I… I think… if you'd like… it'd be nice if we became very dear friends."

"I think we already are," Emily said, throwing her arms around Cilla's shoulders. "I told you, take what advantages you can from your marriage. You didn't want to marry him, but now you can sit here drinking whiskey with me, because of it!"

Despite herself, Cilla threw back her head and laughed far more than the amusing comment warranted - the whiskey was going straight to her head. Emily was laughing too, the two giggling like girls as Emily purposefully steered their conversation to Tavington and Linda Stokes' bedsport. Cilla told her all she could, with neither woman understanding why couples would want to strike and whip one another during coupling. Talk then turned to far lighter matters, such as the possibility of a ball in the coming days, for they had learned earlier that Lord Cornwallis intended to visit Fresh Water Fort, and with the arrival of the Lord General, some wealthy Loyalist or other was bound to host a soiree. They spoke of gowns, with Emily excitedly suggesting a visit to Pembroke in the hope of finding silk of high enough quality to make dresses for them all.

* * *

In the small bedchamber Harmony shared with her husband, Beth and Harmony sat on the bed, speaking quietly. Harmony had her knees drawn up to her chest and Beth sat cross-legged at her side, gazing at her friend with concern. Harmony's face was pallid, almost grey, her eyes puffy, her lips bloodless.

"Richard did not tell me he'd managed to get a letter to you," Beth was saying in a commiserating tone. "I'm glad he did. He wanted to come and speak to you in person but General O'Hara would not permit it."

"So he said in the letter," Harmony murmured, staring out the small window. The day was so dark and ominous, great black clouds threatening a deluge at any moment.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Beth asked, concerned.

"Not a bit," Harmony heaved a sigh. "I couldn't stop crying. All night and for half the morning. I haven't been able to stop."

"I can see that," Beth said gently. Harmony's eyes were puffy and rimmed with red.

"It's just... I can't understand it. It's like it won't sink in, you know? _My_ fiancé. The father of _my_ child. The man _I_ love. _My_ man, Beth. And he's married to another woman..." Harmony buried her face in her hands for a moment. She did not start crying again, she merely held still, breathing deeply. Then she scrubbed her fingers over her face vigorously and heaved another sigh. "How can he be married?" She met Beth's eyes. "I must have been really horrid in a previous life to deserve this. Or perhaps I'm being punished for my sins in this life. What have I done that's so dreadful that Our Lord sees fit to punish me this way?"

"You've done nothing wrong, Harm," Beth soothed softly. "You're just being dealt a really bad hand at the moment..."

"A fucking horrible hand, if you ask me," Harmony ground out crisply. Beth did not bat an eyelid at Harmony's swearing. "And what do you mean, 'at the moment'? That would suggest I've just hit a rough patch and things will be better soon. But how can that be? Christ, two people would have to die, for this to get better. Two people, Beth. Calvin and _your_ cousin," she held Beth's eyes, saw her friend wince. "They would have to die, to free me and Richard, in order for this to get any better," Harmony laughed softly, bitterly. "Or me and Richard would have to die!" Tears welled and her voice became hoarse, she struggled to form her next words. "I'd welcome it too. Death would surely be better than this!"

Beth threw her arms around Harmony's shoulders and pulled her close, while the grief stricken girl struggled to gain her composure. At length, Harmony managed.

"I'm alright," she whispered, rubbing at her wet eyes with the heel of her hand. "Calvin warned me, I'm not to weep where people can see me."

"Back to that again, are you?" Beth arched an eyebrow. "Well, if he hits you this time around, O'Hara will have his hide."

"I don't want to cry anymore, anyway," Harmony replied, some strength returning to her voice. "I don't want anyone sniggering behind their hands, when they look at me and see how upset I am. Whispering that the mistress has been ditched for a wife. And I am just tired of crying, you know? It's all I do now, it's been going on for weeks! How could Richard do this to me? I love him, so much. How could he up and marry another woman? I don't fucking care if she's pregnant! She goes snivelling to Cornwallis, and he demands Richard marry her? Fucking hell, the stupid chit lifted her skirts and spread her legs for Richard - it had nothing to do with Cornwallis! Why should he have gotten involved at all?"

"Wait..." Beth was gaping at Harmony, shock freezing her in place. "Wait... She's pregnant?"

"You didn't know?" Harmony tightened her lips. "Yes, she wouldn't want _that_ to become common knowledge, I suppose. Miss 'prim and fucking proper' wouldn't want her precious _reputation_ tarnished."

"God, she's pregnant," Beth closed her eyes and reeled. It was just as she'd feared, Cilla had had a liaison with Bordon, and he had gotten her with child. "Lord, I can't believe he would do such a thing. He seduced my cousin!"

"Don't you blame him!" Harmony defended, voice hot. Though she was furious with Richard, she would not hear a bad word spoken of him. "He's a man like any other. Why would he refuse some whores quim when it's offered so freely?"

"Harmony!" Beth cried. "I doubt my cousin did any such thing!" She hesitated, and ventured softly, "is that what Richard said she did?"

"No," Harmony spat, continuing with reluctance, "he did not go into the details of their fling, beyond vowing it only occurred the once. But I have no doubt about it. Bordon strayed when Mage crooked her finger - she seduced him to get information and there's Cilla, flirting and gossiping with Brownlow and Dalton for the same. Somehow, she flirted with Richard and he took what was offered up. For whatever reason, he believes the child to be his, but if you ask me, it's just as likely to be Brownlow's or Dalton's. Richard was an opportunist back then, falling into bed with any bitch who offered it. But he didn't actively go and seduce other women - he had me, remember? Like a fucking blood hound scenting a bitches heat, he took what she offered up."

"No, Harmony, you are mistaken," Beth protested, an edge entering her voice. "I know Cilla. She is a virtuous young woman and I have no doubt that she did not 'offer' herself to anybody, let alone a British Officer. If they had a... fling... as you say -"

"Of course they did, how else is she pregnant with his child?" Harmony sneered. "Or Brownlow's or Dalton's."

"You don't know that," Beth said. "You don't know any of that! I know for a fact that all she did was chat with them, she did nothing more. Yes, the subjects she focused on were to gain as much intelligence as possible, but she did not bed them."

"And yet here she is, pregnant," Harmony said. "I'm sorry, Beth, but you can't know anything for sure. You weren't with her when she was in private with them. Hell, you spent most of your time with William! At some point, she did indeed bed one of them, likely for information, and now she's pregnant and it's Richard that is forced to take responsibility for it!"

Beth rose, feeling agitated and restless, she went to stand before the window, arms folded across her chest. Harmony was right - Beth knew Cilla to be good, but if she was pregnant, then at some stage, she did what Beth never imagined she'd do. She bedded a man out of wedlock. Beth had done the same, she'd bedded Banastre, had an affair with him for days, so she certainly was not judging her cousin. Instead, she tried to put herself in Cilla's shoes, easily done seeing she had walked them herself.

"Her father was guilty of treason," she mused, trying to work her way through what might have happened, what Cilla's motive might have been. "And he took flight before he could be captured. It was the right thing for him to do, he would have hanged otherwise. But Cilla, she would have still felt abandoned." _Just as I did when Harry took flight from me._ "Even when she understood the necessity. Except for her mother, she was alone, probably scared with being confined to the house and surrounded by Dragoons." She thought of that night when she'd been feeling her lowest, when Banastre had walked back into her life with wine and music and hilarity and how Beth hadn't ever wanted it to end. How she hadn't wanted to be alone, so she invited Banastre into the chamber with her. "It takes two, Harmony. Neither is innocent, but I doubt she was lifting her skirts and offering her quim like some doxy, as you imagine. If she was at her lowest, and feeling alone and scared and unloved, all it would have taken was a few kind words from Richard, when she was at her most vulnerable -"

"If you are about to suggest he took advantage of her, then you can damned well leave now," Harmony said harshly, and Beth gasped in shock, her jaw dropping. Harmony modified her tone, "look, Beth. I don't want to argue with you, I don't want us to be out of sorts over this. You're my only friend in the world now," she choked back a sob, and tried to force the ever present tears back. Beth softened as well, and returned to the bed and pulled Harmony into her arms. "However it happened," Harmony continued, voice wretched. "It happened and now she's pregnant. It doesn't matter who seduced who; they had relations and because she's of the elite or aristocracy or whatever you want to call her, Cornwallis made Richard take responsibility. Richard had so many affairs back then, Lord, if each one of those women came forward declaring they were pregnant with his child," she laughed bitterly. "There's only one Richard, he can't marry them all. But because this one's uncle is powerful and can mostly likely raise all hell, Cornwallis took a stance and demanded..." She fell silent, shaking her head.

"Did Richard tell you all of this in his letter?" Beth asked. "That Cornwallis made him marry Cilla?"

"Of course he did - Richard did not want to be married to her - or anyone else, Beth! He was hoping - hell, we were both hoping - that Calvin would do us both a favour and bloody well die for true this time. If I was a widow - a proper widow - then Richard could marry me, so of course he was reluctant to take responsibility for Cilla! There was little hope for us as it was, but with him married, now there is no hope at all!"

Beth hung her head, struggling not to take sides or make judgements. Her friendship with Richard was strong, but she was hard pressed not to be furious with him at that moment. Not only did he lay with Cilla - taking her virginity Beth did not doubt, despite Harmony's spiteful assumptions - he also got her pregnant and was then _forced_ to marry her, by command of the Lord General himself!

Lord, how shaming for Cilla!

Harmony spoke into the silence. "All she had to do was flounce on up to Camden, wearing her prettiest silks no doubt, and cry prettily in front of his Lordship."

"Is that what Richard said?" Beth asked.

"No," Harmony huffed sullenly. "It's just how I imagine it happening. She won Lord Cornwallis' sympathy and because of that, she gets to marry my man."

"I'm really certain that was not the case," Beth defended Cilla again. "I know that she's every bit as reluctant as Richard. This is all Mr. Middleton's doing, I was told as much yesterday when it was explained why they married. He forced the issue, though nothing was mentioned about a pregnancy. He had Cilla in his charge and he must have discovered she was pregnant. He is quite a stuffy sort of person, very jealous of his privilege and his status in society. And his wife," Beth snorted, "Christ, she's even worse. No, this was not at Cilla's design - it was Mr. and Mrs. Middleton's."

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," Harmony sighed, forlorn. "God, this is all so hopeless. It hurts so much, Beth. And I'm angry. I am so angry with him. Oh, not for the fling, I've long since accepted that he did little more than screw anything in skirts back then. I'm angry with him for marrying her. I don't care what the damned reasons are anymore. Your cousin is married to my man, Beth," she said sharply. "My man! As far as I'm concerned, she's another money born chit who lifted those silk skirts of hers and spread her silk clad legs. She, out of all the little bitches he fucked, got pregnant and it's forced my man to do the right thing by her, and in doing so, your damned cousin has taken away any chance of happiness that my man and I might have had."

"Harmony, please," Beth wrung her hands, struggling. She despised hearing Cilla spoken of so horribly. But Harmony was implacable, she continued on, ignoring Beth's distress completely.

"Richard, the father of my child, will raise hers when he should be raising ours!" She declared, face hard. "Their child will get the better father, while our child is stuck with Calvin! Theirs will be wealthy and want for nothing, while ours will _have_ nothing! And she gets to be with him," Harmony choked back a sob and her face twisted with grief, "while I'm stuck with Calvin! She gets it all, because they had a quick fucking rut, while I gave Richard my all! I've endured so much, forgiven him so much, and she gets it all after spreading her legs one damned time?"

"Harm, please," Beth begged, filled with anguish, "she's my cousin and I love her. She's not the horrid person you think she is. She's not the Mrs. Tisdale type!"

"Horrid or not," Harmony said, resting her chin to the tops of her knees, "she has Richard and I don't."

Beth sighed heavily. Harmony began to withdraw into herself, she barely even seemed to notice when Beth whispered that she had to leave, but would return as soon as she could.

Harmony remained on the bed, alone with her grief, for how long she barely knew. Half an hour, perhaps, until the heavens opened and the promised deluge was released to lash against the windows like a wild beast. The storm suited her mood completely and she edged along the bed where she leaned her exhausted body against the wall, feeling numb as she stared into the storm.

* * *

Feeling as wrung out as an old, used dishrag, Beth stomped up the steps and walked woodenly into the house. Her Dragoon escort began to disperse while she pulled off her hat and cape and hung them both from a hook on the inner wall. She kicked off her muddy shoes with a deep, forlorn sigh, and then padded into the parlour, where Cilla was sitting with Emily, Sarah and Rebecca.

"Oh, you're back," Emily greeted brightly.

"That I am," Beth rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "Lord, I'm tired." She took a seat opposite Cilla and sighed heavily again.

"We were worried you'd miss lunch," Cilla said, eyeing Beth carefully. "You were gone quite a long time."

"Yes, I…" Beth hesitated as she met Cilla's gaze. Christ, she was pregnant! But did it make any difference? She was safely married to Bordon now. Bordon, who had been forced to it by Cornwallis. And Cilla, she would have been forced to it by her uncle. Why had they bedded one another? For the comfort of another bodies? It must be so, for Cilla was hardly behaving like a woman in love, a woman pleased with her new husband. _She must have needed comfort back in Charlestown, and she seized on what Bordon offered. Bordon had to have known how vulnerable she was... And yet he took her to his bed anyway. _These were all assumptions, Beth knew, but she could hardly ask Cilla outright, could she? In a guarded way, she continued, "yes, I was gone a while. But I'm back now. Is that… is that whiskey, Cil?" She asked incredulously.

"Yes. Emily said we're allowed to drink it, because we're married now. Would you like a glass?" Cilla asked.

Beth frowned. She could hear the slurring quality to her cousin's voice, no doubt from being tipsy. She could also hear the bite in Cilla's voice, as though she were angry or somewhat. "No, thank you. Did anything happen while I was out?"

"Not a thing," Cilla answered with a glance at Emily, who shrugged and shook her head. Cilla leaned forward intently, not ready to abandon the subject of Beth' whereabouts. "Will you be returning there anytime soon? To the Ferguson's I mean."

"Later today, perhaps. Certainly tomorrow," Beth said, again carefully. Cilla's lips tightened.

"Perhaps it would be better that you didn't," Sarah broached, eyeing both cousins at once, understanding how they both felt. Still, she sided with Cilla in this, it simply was not proper for Beth to continue being Mrs. Farshaw's friend any longer. It never had been in the first place, but it was doubly so now, with Cilla married to Mrs. Farshaw's former lover.

"Why not?" Beth frowned at Sarah.

"We all know the answer to that, Beth," Cilla said, somewhat crisply. "Or do you actually require an explanation?"

"Cilla, Harmony is -"

"My husband's former mistress," Cilla snapped, out of patience. "I'll go and find Miss Stokes, shall I? Make a friend out of her?"

"Cilla…" Beth breathed, utterly shocked and hurt.

"Well, what's the difference?" Cilla asked. "Miss Jutland, or Mrs. Farshaw, or whatever she calls herself these days, is still the same woman from the city, who came back to my house when my mother and I were confined to it, and bedded Major Bordon, in a chamber right down the hall from mine! We could hear them, every moan, every thump of the bed! Was he married to her? No. Were they even engaged back then? No, they were not. What does that say of her virtue, Beth? Very little, very little indeed. And you would continue to visit her? Lord, _you_ are the Colonel's wife. _You_ are from an excellent family of high standing. You will embarrass both your family _and_ your husband by consorting with such as her. What more is there to be said on the subject?"

"William doesn't feel that way," Beth frowned, feeling miserable. "He is not embarrassed by my friendship with Harmony."

"Well he should be, for it reflects just as poorly on him as it does on the rest of us," Emily said, voice blunt.

"The rest of you?" Beth gasped, aghast, her wide eyes taking in those of all her friends. Rebecca and Sarah lowered theirs, but they voiced no protest at being included. Therefore, they agreed with Cilla and Emily, who did stare back at Beth, both implacable in their resolve. Beth was beginning to feel hunted, as the other women banded together against her.

"I believe Colonel Tavington allowed your friendship with Mrs. Farshaw to be known only when she became engaged to Major Bordon, did he not?" Emily asked. "Before that, you were never allowed to be seen in public with her."

"Well, that is true, but -"

"They are no longer engaged, Mrs. Tavington. Which means Mrs. Farshaw has plummeted back to her previous, precarious position. Not that of a Lieutenant's wife, for that would be an elevation for her, from what she was in Charlestown. She is what she herself has created, an adulteress, a woman of very low standing," Emily said. "She is not a worthy companion, her friendship reflects poorly on you."

"She is not the only person of my acquaintance that is an adulteress," Beth snapped and Emily drew back, stunned.

Sarah and Rebecca both gasped, their eyes swivelling toward Cilla, whose face flushed a slow, angry red. Gods, Beth was speaking of Emily, not Mage Putman!

"I am going to forget you said that," Cilla said, voice strangled. "For despite the crime, the comparison is an extremely poor one."

"Cil, I didn't mean -"

"We all feel this way," Cilla raised her voice over Beth's attempt to smooth the water. "As Miss Jutland, that woman drank until she was soused, she allowed men to pat her bottom as she served at their tables, she allowed one of those men to become her lover! Well that lover is married, now. To me. The idea that you would even consider continuing your friendship is an insult to me!" Cilla placed her hands in her lap to hide the trembling. She was both angry and nervous all at once; angry that Beth would even think of continuing her friendship with Harmony, and nervous because, well, Beth was as known for her temper as Cilla herself was. If it came down to the two of them shouting at one another… "I am informed that Aunt Charlotte tried to counsel you the same, and you ignored her thoroughly. However, given my marriage to Bordon, your friendship with her is even more a scandal now, than it was then. You're not some changeling from the forest, Beth. You are one of us. You were raised the same as the rest of us. You understand how it works the same way we do. You know the reasons why it would reflect poorly on all of us, as well as on yourself. Why do you persist in this? If her own bawdy behaviour were not enough to dissuade you from her, then surely you must take into consideration how much lower the Farshaw's are to us?"

"Cilla, that's a terrible thing to say!" Beth shot back hotly. "My father raised me differently to yours and you know it. That's why I needed those years under Aunt Charlotte's and your mother's direction, if you recall. But if this was the sort of lesson they were trying to teach me, then I don't want it, and nor would my father! I don't believe that anyone is beneath me, just because they don't have the same wealth and privileges I've had in my life!"

"Or the same morals, clearly," Cilla shot back and Beth gaped.

"Sweet Lord," she tossed her head, struggled to maintain a sense of composure. Quietly, she said, "my father has always said that the higher we rise, the harder the fall. And that all we have left when we're at the bottom is our honour, and - if you've been a decent enough person - our friends!"

"A decent enough person," Cilla seized on this and used it ruthlessly against Beth. "I agree that a decent person would be worthy of your friendship even if they're of low means. Is that what she is, though? Can you honestly say she is _decent_, when she lifted her skirts for -"

"Enough!" Beth surged to her feet, her face flushed red with rage. Christ, she was getting it from all quarters! First Harmony, speaking so horribly about Cilla and now this! But this was worse, for all four women were demanding that she abandon Harmony! "Goddamn it, Cilla! Harmony is my friend and I will listen to no more of this!"

"Then you do choose her?" Cilla asked, tears stinging her eyes. "You choose her! You're _my_ cousin. My flesh and blood! I love you like a sister. We've been close for… forever! And now I lose you - not only to Colonel Tavington, but to Harmony Farshaw as well? I have no one left in all the world, and now I've lost you, too?" Cilla, who had been ready to battle Beth, to browbeat her until Beth relented and end her friendship, found herself overcome instead. Anger fled and in its wake came desolation so acute, she dissolved into tears. She could feel Emily's hand rubbing her back as she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking from the force of her sobs.

"Oh, Cilla," Beth dropped to her knees and pulled her cousin into her arms. "You haven't lost me," she soothed as she rocked Cilla gently. "You'll never lose me. I love you, too, so much. You could never be replaced in my heart, not by William or Harmony or anyone else. Surely I'm not so miserly as that? There's room in my heart for all of you." She tried to smile weakly but Cilla did not see, she continued to cry into her hands.

"Please don't go back there," the desperate girl begged between sobs. "Please, Beth."

Stroking Cilla's hair gently, Beth closed her eyes and bit back a groan. How could she promise such a thing? To abandon Harmony now, when she most needed her? Yes, Cilla needed her too, Beth understood that. And she also understood everything the women were trying to tell her, about how poorly her friendship with Harmony would reflect on herself and those around her. But wasn't that what was friendship about? Sticking by one another, regardless of your differences? Besides, Beth truly was no better - having lain with a man out of wedlock. And she didn't even marry Banastre afterward. She married William, and never told him she wasn't a virgin when they married. She would not place judgement on Harmony when she had conducted herself no better. Emily and Cilla should not be judging anyone either - Cilla had to marry Bordon because she is pregnant! But how could she say any of this to Cilla? She could not. And so she merely held her, stroking her hair and rocking back and forward, soothing, but offering no promise to sever ties to Harmony.

"You won't lose me," she did promise that much. "All I'm asking is for you to share me. There's room enough -"

"I can't share you with her!" Cilla gasped out, outraged. She sat up, pulling out of Beth's embrace. "How could you ask it of me?"

"We have to find some middle ground here, Cilla," Beth said, feeling wretched and frustrated all at once. When Sarah handed her a handkerchief, she dried her own wet cheeks. "I do understand - I see it all as clearly as you do," her glance at the other women showed she was speaking in the plural, addressing them all. "But I do not believe that I am any better than Harmony and I will not end my friendship with her just because she's done things you don't approve of. Though I love you dearly," she turned back to her cousin, "nor will I end it for you, just because you are feeling anxious. I am caught in the middle of you both and I vow here and now, I will not be forced to choose one over the other. You both need me, and I am here for both of you."

"Well that's just wonderful," Cilla spat. "But what will people think when they see you going to her? To my husband's former mistress! They will think that you are going to her because you don't support me. That you don't love me!"

"Cilla," Beth sighed. "No one will think that. But if you're worried, then… Well, we can always prove them wrong, can't we? We could go for a walk, right now. We'll visit the camp followers together and stroll about the camp." She reasoned that, after every person on the plantation had seen them together, no one would question how important Cilla was to Beth. "Come on. We'll go now -"

"I will go now," Cilla said, rising so abruptly, Beth was still on the floor at her feet. She glared down at her cousin. "With Emily. And Sarah and Becky, if they want to go for another. You're tired, you said. You should go to bed," Cilla was ruthless, she forced herself to ignore the hurt on Beth's face as she strode around her and headed for the door. She heard the others rising and did not need to look back to know that all three women were following. None of them cared to go for a walk, Sarah and Becky had just returned from theirs. This was their protest, their way of showing their absolute and profound disapproval, to Beth. In the hall, the four of them pulled on capes and caps. Cilla chanced a glance into the parlour to see Beth on her feet, standing before her father's great arm chair, watching them in stoic silence as tears coursed her cheeks. She had a moment's misgiving - she knew she was being harsh, and to a person she loved dearly. Emily must have sensed it, for she felt the older woman's hand on her arm.

"It must be done," Emily murmured, guiding Cilla toward the door. Cilla pulled her eyes away from Beth and - as she was the one to start all this - she led the way outside.

"Gods, she'll hate me for this," Cilla said, knowing fully well what she'd done.

"Maybe we should -"

"No," Emily snapped at Rebecca. "No, this had to be done. Everything will be fine, we'll be back to normal by dinner time. But we had to let her know how seriously we're taking this. Perhaps she'll finally see sense, this time. Don't worry, it'll all blow over, everything will be back to normal before you know it."

"Unless she continues to go and see her," Cilla said. Emily nodded, agreeing. It wouldn't blow over so quickly then, that was for certain.

* * *

"Where have you been?" William snapped when Beth slipped into her father's office. He threw down his quill and pushed back from the desk, then strode around it to challenge her. "I haven't seen you all bloody day!"

"Oh God, not you too," she groaned, on the verge of tears again. She really WAS copping it from all quarters! All the people she loved were against her today! She sniffled and, seeing how upset she was, William's anger drained from him.

"What's happened, Little Beth?" He asked her as he pulled her into his arms.

"You could have started with that, instead of the other!" She scolded, voice wretched.

"I'm sorry, my darling," he crooned into her hair. "Tell me what's upset you."

"It's Harmony and Cilla. Sweet Lord above, I feel much like a shift must feel, after it's been through a laundry mangle! My arms should be aching, I feel like they both have a hold and are pulling me back and forth between them! Harmony is saying the most horrid things about Cilla, she's jealous and upset and heartbroken, and I don't blame her. But I love Cilla and it's horrible to hear those things from Harmony. And then I get back here, and Cilla starts in on how I should end my friendship with Harmony! And the other women too - all siding with her, banding together against me! They worry about how it will reflect on them, and on my family name and even how it will reflect on you! And Cilla - she was crying because she thinks I don't love her, because I refused to give up Harmony! And then they all got up and walked out on me! All of them! That was so cruel of them! I know it's only because Cilla feels so alone, she believes I'm all she's got left in the world and she's frightened she'll lose me. But there was no cause to be so cruel! Lord, it's so horrid and confusing! I just want us all to get along, but that will never happen, because Harmony and Cilla despise each other without ever even knowing each other and… Damn and blast it, then I walk in here and you have to be all angry too! What is wrong with you people! There is only one of me, I can't be everywhere at once!"

"Shh," he pulled her back into the circle of his arms when she tried to push away. "I said I was sorry, didn't I? Stop struggling, damned wench," he scoffed fondly. When she settled against him, he tilted her head back to meet his gaze. "You didn't think it would be easy, did you? Harmony and Miss Putman - Goddamn it, _Mrs. Bordon_," he twisted his lips, it was so hard to think of her as 'Mrs. Bordon'. He doubted he'd ever get used to it. "Those two will never get along with one another, not in a hundred years."

"I won't chose between them," she ground out, her dark eyes fierce. "I just won't. Oh, what am I to do?"

"Stay here with me," he replied without missing a beat. Brushing her hair back from her face, he gazed down at her with a small smile. "Just curl up in that chair there and do my sewing."

"William!" She managed a soft laugh and his grin deepened.

"I've missed you," he admitted, kissing the tip of her nose. "I've missed seeing you curled up there while I'm working. You don't have to go anywhere or do anything you don't want to. As your husband, I command you to sit in that chair, where you will spend the rest of your afternoon."

"Doing your sewing," she giggled. "Very well. Give me the entire Legions mending and I'll have the perfect reason never to leave this room."

"You already have the perfect reason: I'm in here," he released her with another smile and returned to his seat behind the desk. Instead of nestling into the comfortable armchair, Beth rounded the desk and draped her arms over William's shoulders. Her fingers worked slowly at the knot of his cravat, eventually pulling it away from his neck completely. With that obstruction freed, she kissed his bare skin.

"Stop that," he protested, though he made no move to pull away.

"No. I need more cuddling," she whispered, her lips brushing, raising goosebumps along his neck.

"I've work to do," he protested half heartedly.

"Hmm, hmm," she whispered, drifting higher to trace her tongue over the shell of his ear. "So I can see."

William sighed when she persisted, and he leaned back, lifted his arms high, and dropped them back over her shoulders, linking his hands behind her head. "You insist, I take it?"

"You could say that," she murmured against his cheek. "You want to make a baby, don't you?"

"Very well," he grumbled as though she was being quite unfair and he was hard done by. "If you're to have your wicked way with me, might I make a small suggestion?"

"Certainly, as long as you don't suggest I wait."

"Never that, you're terrible at waiting for anything," he quipped. "No, my dear. I was going to advise you to lock the door," he gave a pointed looked toward the door and she blushed crimson. "Hmm, no, you would not want anyone to walk in on us, especially when we're in the compromising position we'll soon be in."

"What position is that?" She asked, her heart beginning to pound as she crossed the room and turned the key in the lock.

"Up against the wall, I think," he replied.

"I don't think I'm strong enough to support your weight," she joked, feeling much better now that she was with him.

"Damned goose," Tavington chortled. He held out his arms to her. "I think you'll like this," he murmured against her lips when she was back in his embrace.

"Almost as much as you will, I'm sure," she smirked. Grinning, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and kissed her deeply. Amusement began to recede as their need grew. Beth, unbuckling his belt and pushing his his breeches, began to caress his length with the tips of her fingers.

"Mmmm," he whispered, his eyes glazing. She glanced down at his cock and licked her lips, thoroughly drawn in by the sight of having his impressive erection in her small hands.

"I can't believe I was afraid of this once," she whispered. "I wouldn't even look at it. Do you remember?"

"The Simms ball," he smiled, reminded of their time together in Arthur Simms chamber, when the two had been alone on the Cornet's bed. Still holding him with her right hand, Beth reached up her left and ran her fingers along his smooth shaved cheek, gazing at him intently.

"I loved you so much," already at the ragged end of her emotions, tears filled Beth's eyes. "Even back then, though I'd only known you such a short time. God, I loved you so much it was pure agony."

He gazed down at her, studying. "And yet you abandoned me, anyway."

"Are you still angry with me?" She asked, holding her breath. His face softened and he wiped a tear from her cheek with the tip of his thumb.

"No. My conduct toward you was very... Poor," he admitted. "I'm not angry with you any more. I understand your actions. But you're not to do it again, hmm?"

"No, I couldn't stand not being with you," she gasped as an unexpected sob burst from her.

"It's a good thing I came after you, then, isn't it?" He smiled down at her, then sighed heavily. "Don't cry, Beth..."

"I'm sorry, I know I'm being silly. It's just... After everything this morning... I need you to know I love you, William. So much. From the first moment I saw you. I'd never leave you again, I swear it. It was agony then and it would be even more so now. I'm sure I'd die of it this time, if we were parted again."

"For me too, little one, do not doubt it," he murmured, kissing her and tasting salt on her cheeks. "I'll have to leave you on occasion, you know this -"

"I do know. It's torment for me whenever you ride out, but you know that's not what I mean. I'd die, I'm certain of it, if a rift between us caused us to part ways. You know that's what I mean."

"And I know that that's never going to happen," he said intently, holding her gaze. "We've conquered all the obstacles that stood in our way, my sweet Beth. There's nothing that can come between us now," when she lowered her eyes, gnawing at her bottom lip, he sighed, partly in exasperation. He continued with feeling, "Beth, you're just on edge because of Harmony and Mrs. Bordon. You are worrying over nothing," he smiled then and, shuffling back slightly, he lifted the bottom of his Redcoat and stared downward with a significant look. "You worry too much, and you've made my cock go all soft."

A sobbing laugh burst from her. Warmth filled her chest as she gazed up at the man she loved so much. Her voice still thick with emotion, she said, amused, "I suppose I should do something about that, hmm?"

"Yes, believe you should," he replied, pale eyes alight with mischief. Her hands disappeared beneath his Redcoat again, his lips parted when she took a gentle hold of his member and began to stroke him back to hardness.

"What a little innocent thing you were back then," he murmured.

"Not innocent now," she caught his gaze.

"No, not now. You know just how to handle me now. And your appetite is almost as bad as mine. Hmmm, yes, that is… Hmmm," he dropped his head back as she wrapped her fingers around his length and began to tug him quickly. Slipping one hand lower, she cupped his sack gently and massaged. His cock twitched, and when she glanced down, she saw a pearly drop glistening from the tip. Biting her lip, her stomach did a small flip, as she brazenly swiped her thumb around the tip of him, massaging that moisture all along his helmet.

"Ah, Beth," he murmured. Holding the hem of his Redcoat up and out of the way, he glanced down to watch her progress.

"I love how smooth it is," she said dreamily as she played. "Soft, like silk, but so hard inside…"

"Only when I'm with you," he sighed, leaning in to kiss her. "I love you, little one. I meant what I said, too. If you want to stay here, then that's damned fine by me. You can escape them both."

"They both need me," she shrugged. "I love you, William," she said again, earnestly, holding his gaze.

"And I you," he smiled, stroking her face with his fingers gently. "Now… let's see about making us a baby, hmm?" She giggled as he began to push her back against the wall, lifting her skirts all the while. It was no easy feat, and he was hardly graceful with his breeches impeding his movements. He would not take the time to push them off, however. Not when there was no need. Beth draped one arm over his shoulders as he hoisted her high in the air. As he kissed her, she toyed with one of the gold buttons of his Redcoat, while the fingers of her other hand caressed his nape. He groaned against her mouth, kissing her gently even as he guided her legs around his waist, positioning her, then pushing his member upward into her warmth. And there he stayed, holding her body between his and the wall, his sword buried to the hilt inside of her.

"It's different, yes?" He asked her and she nodded, her face flushed and lips parted.

"It's so full… wonderful…" She closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the damask wall momentarily. Then she murmured, "now what?"

"Now this," he replied, pulling his shaft out slightly and plunging in deep again.

"Oh, yes… Ah, William…" She met him thrust for thrust, faster as the two became frantic in their need. Her fingers on his nape curled and tightened, and with her other hand, she almost pulled the gold button free.

"Tighten your legs on my waist," he whispered, voice harsh. She complied and he pushed her hard against the wall, bucking in a frenzy as he drove his phallus, plunging them toward orgasm. "Ah Christ!" he groaned, seizing her hair and crashing his lips to hers.

"William, William! Oh, God," she thrashed on his length, bucking wildly, ankles hooked behind him. His legs were straining, from the strength it took to hold her, even light as she was. He parted his boots, gaining purchase and began to thrust hard.

"Agh, can't hold..!" He rasped. Then he felt her spasming around his shaft, she threw back her head and keened, and with that, he let himself go, thrusting; grunting into her neck as his fluid shot out of him and deep inside of her. Holding still, he swallowed hard, and gradually came back to himself.

"Hmmm," Beth sighed, thoroughly replete. "You'll be doing that again, and very soon, dear heart."

"That I will," he began kissing her neck, his lips drifting up to her ear, then across to her mouth. "Again and again…"

He slipped out of her and lowered her gently, setting her feet back on the floor. As she pushed her skirts down, he pulled his breeches up and buckled them. Taking hold of her hand, he curled his fingers around hers, and tugged her toward his chair. "Stay with me," he commanded, pulling her down into his lap. Beth made no protest, snuggling into the comforting warmth of his body as he tucked the chair closer to the desk. Beth shuffled until she was sitting comfortably across his lap, with her head against his shoulder. With one arm around her body supporting her, he managed to continue to work with his free hand, reading missives and supply lists, writing commands and letters. Within moments, Beth's full weight was resting on him and her soft snores told him she'd fallen asleep.

Those two women, he thought scathingly, angry with both Cilla and Harmony. They had drained Beth completely for her to be so completely exhausted, that she would fall asleep like that. Though it became quite awkward, with her sleeping in his lap while he tried to conduct his duties, he was determined to not wake her for all the world.


	90. Chapter 90 - Cilla and Emily

Chapter 90 - Cilla and Emily:

Thoroughly distressed, Cilla moved away from the door. It was bad enough that she had to share Beth with Harmony, but with Tavington, Beth's time was split three ways. And it was clear who Beth enjoyed being with most, judging by all the laughing and chortling coming from within the bedchamber. How any sane person could take such pleasure in being alone with a man like Tavington, she would never know or understand. Cilla had never heard the Colonel laugh before, or she could not remember having ever heard him; she had not thought him capable of it. She moved back to the door, pressing her ear close, for it had gone quiet within - the laughter had stopped. She strained her ears, wanting to know exactly what was happening within; until she heard a definite and very satisfied womanly moan.

_"William, oh god, yes!"_ Beth was panting, following by more moaning. _"Mmmnnnn!"_

As if the sound scorched her ear, Cilla jerked back from the door. Licking her lips, she twisted her fingers into her skirts and stared at the door, aghast. Beth enjoyed it? She enjoyed doing that with Tavington? Sweet Lord above! Cilla had felt nothing but humiliation and agony, the one time Bordon had done that to her. It was too much for Cilla to comprehend, she could barely take it in. There was a thumping from within now, it took Cilla a moment to place it. But when she did, she shuddered, realising that the bed was hitting the wall in a telling rhythm. She imagined it was the table in the dungeon, striking the wall as Bordon thrust away on top of her.

_"William, deeper, faster!"_ Beth gasped out, her voice muffled through the door, but quite distinct enough for Cilla to understand the words. That was something Cilla had not said to Bordon! She had wanted him out of her, not in deeper! But Beth… She seemed to welcome it - she encouraged Tavington onward!

_"Christ, Beth! Slow down, my love! You'll make me come!__"_ Tavington's voice rumbled through the door.

_"No, faster… Faster! Ohhh!"_

Deeply disturbed, Cilla stumbled down the hallway toward her own room.

* * *

"It's just… I can't imagine how anyone could possibly enjoy it!" Cilla whispered to Emily, who she was sitting with in the shade of a tree outside the house. They had gone off alone, for Cilla couldn't have this conversation with Becky and Sarah present. "But she did. I could hear her. I know I shouldn't have listened, but… I did… and I heard her moaning. Gods, they sounded like… Like Bordon and Miss Jutland!"

Emily nodded, unsurprised. "It might surprise you to hear this, but it can be enjoyable, Cil. Listen, bedding can be a trial, but it's the only way to make children. Therefore, our bodies have… special places… that bring pleasure when touched in a certain way. Coupling can be very pleasurable; we are made in such a way that it's all we can think about at times, men more so than women, but certainly women also. We begin to desperately need it, the pleasure and the relaxed feeling of after. If we didn't have the pleasure, we might not go to the required efforts at all, and babies would not be conceived."

"But you said… you said that with Mr. Wilkins, it never is."

"That's because with me, he doesn't try," Emily said. "With his doxies, he does. They lament his leaving them. Though I did tell him recently that it could be his purse they are grieving," she giggled, feeling quite proud of the things she'd said to James. "That first time I told you about? That hurt, I'm not going to pretend it didn't. It was horrid. At times, I even think it felt like how I'd imagine rape to be. If wasn't rape, of course, for I'd pledged my troth and all… But it's certainly not how I'd expected it to be between us."

"The vows be damned," Cilla said with conviction. "He should not have treated you like that. Yes, you vowed to obey him, to 'pledge him your troth'," she quoted Emily. "But what of his vows? He took a vow to protect you, didn't he? To cherish and love you. He ignored his vows, Emily."

"Yes, I suppose he did," Emily said, staring blindly. "And from what you've said, Bordon has ignored his. But Cil, I want you to know, I think you need to know, that I've known the pleasure of coupling since. It's… indescribable but when you've felt it once, Gods, how you yearn for it all the more. Six months ago, if you'd told Beth she'd throw over all her reticence in order to feel that stupendous pleasure exploding inside of her, she never would have believed it either. But here she is, in her chamber with her husband, this very moment, doing God knows what…" Emily began to giggle, her face flushing red. "Anything she can, I think, to feel it. One day, you will too. That whore next door enjoyed it with Bordon, I know he must be a very capable lover."

"No, I told you, never again," Cilla said, voice harsh and Emily quieted

"I just… I felt much the same as you, afterward," Emily said. "I just want you to know that there's light at the end of the tunnel. It won't feel like this forever. You need not let that awful night disrupt your entire future. That would be horrid, I think. I can't imagine how dark the world would be now, if that first night with James was my only experience. If I had never felt the wonderful pleasures of my body. You said earlier, about Mrs. Farshaw, how you wouldn't wish that beating on your worst enemy? Well, this is what I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. To never feel an orgasm, ever. That would be like denying them to finest tasting wine or food. Or air. It would be like denying them air. If you ever do let yourself feel it, you'll understand, my oath on it."

Cilla was feeling awfully confused. "I still don't understand, though. You said to me that it's never been enjoyable for you with Wilkins. Again just now, you said he doesn't bother. How do you know about these pleasures -" She paused when she saw Emily's face flush red, the other woman looked away, embarrassed. Cilla's voice dropped down to that whisper of astonishment, "Lord, do you mean… was it not with Wilkins?"

"I, well, that is… I -" Emily realised she had indeed told Cilla that she found no enjoyment in bedding her husband. What could she say now? She'd been caught in a lie, and now Cilla knew. Tears sprang to Emily's eyes, she felt truly and utterly caught. Cilla would turn away from her now, she was certain of it. But she knew already, Emily could see it on Cilla's astonished face. "From the day we were married, he's had lovers," she said urgently, trying to get the younger girl to understand. "A slew of them, a constant and steady stream! And he was so brutally awful to me, and he ignored me so often after! Why shouldn't I…" She looked away, breathing deeply, terrified she would no be ostracised.

"Oh my God," Cilla whispered. "Oh my God…"

"Please, try to understand," Emily said, whirling back to Cilla. Surely the lass would, for as certain as the sun rose at dawn, Emily knew Cilla had bedded Bordon back in the city. They hadn't been married or even engaged, not then. She began to confide in Cilla, because of that certainty. "I could've lied just now, but I didn't, I was honest with you. And somehow, Beth knows. What she said earlier? About having other adulteress' among her acquaintance? You got angry because you thought she meant your mother. She didn't, Cil. She meant me. Somehow, she knows. I… Please, Cil, I -"

"You know about my mother and Bordon?" Cilla asked, reeling. "Oh God! I feared you must - the way Sarah and Becky looked at me! How do you all know?"

"Well, the argument was quite loud, I'm told. Many Dragoons heard it. And they told others…"

"Like Captain Wilkins," Cilla groaned. "And he told you."

"That's the only thing we have in accord," Emily said quietly. "We like to gossip."

"Oh my God," despite herself, Cilla barked a laugh. "That is true…" her laughter was short lived. "Does everybody do it, then? Our Reverend speaks against it, our parents and everyone, they all speak against it. But everyone is doing it - having relations outside of wedlock, or committing adultery, even Beth did it with Tavington in your brother's chamber!"

"Did they have relations?" Emily said, her curiosity getting the better of her despite the situation.

"No, no… But they did… things… They shouldn't have done those things even if they were engaged, which they weren't. Beth was engaged to another man entirely! We are taught differently for so long but now I find that everything is turned on its head. Everyone seems to engaging in these activities! I thought it was just the lower sort that would do that sort of thing, like Miss Jutland; but there's my mamma, and Mrs. Tisdale, and Beth, and you. Captain Wilkins has affairs too and Gods, even my own husband!"

Emily cocked her head and frowned, confused. For surely Cilla should be counting herself among the list of people among the higher sort, who'd been… indiscreet… either before marriage or during? Cilla had had relations with Bordon back in the city and was now pregnant, Emily was certain that was why the pair had had to marry. It surprised her now, seeing Cilla look so forlorn and confused about learning of this very old but hidden way of life.

"I don't know what to say," Emily said. "The body wants what it wants. Sometimes it's hard to resist."

Cilla stared at Emily, trying to understand. "But it's sin. And we're supposed to at least try to resist."

"You tell that to the young woman who had such high hopes for a wonderful marriage, only to be… abused," Emily said. "For want of a better word."

"Raped," Cilla whispered and Emily's eyes bulged. "That's the better word. For that's what it is."

"I told you, it can't be rape," Emily whispered uncertainly. "My consent was given the day I said my vows. It was harsh though, how he conducted our consummation. I was hurting and felt so alone, there was no one to talk to about it, not that I even wanted to. I'm shocked I told you, I think the whiskey loosened my tongue. If not for that, I never would have."

"I'm glad you did," Cilla said, for her experience had certainly been no better, and she found solace in knowing that she was not alone.

"Yes, well. As I was saying, you tell that to me three years ago, when James climbed off me and strode from the room in disgust and didn't return to my bed for months after. And then along came Mr. Graham Reed, who was so… lovely," Emily smiled as she remembered. "He knew I was married, he knew precisely what he was doing and we both know he should not have. He seduced me," she laughed, because she _could_ laugh about it now. "The damned rogue. But he showed me, Cil. He showed me what my husband should have showed me, all the pleasure I was missing out on, because of whatever the hell James' problem is, that won't allow him to be a lover to me between the sheets. I knew after Mr. Reed, though and I tell you, I don't even care that it's sin anymore."

"Emily," Cilla breathed, stunned.

"Well, I don't," Emily shrugged. "And you shouldn't either. They say God sends us these hardships to try us, that if we do not give in to temptation, if we do not sin, then we will be allowed into His Kingdom. Well, I gave in to temptation, well and truly, so I guess I am not the type He'll want among His petitioners."

"Em, you should not speak like that," Cilla said, distinctly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, but…" Emily trailed off, searching for the words to convey her thoughts.

"What did you mean before, that I shouldn't either?" Cilla asked and Emily paused, she stared at Cilla, held the younger girls gaze.

This was the opening to confront Cilla with the notion that was plaguing her, to get her confirmation. It was on the tip of her tongue. _'Cilla. Did you bed Bordon back in the city. Are you pregnant by him. Is that the true reason you had to marry.'_ She pulled herself back at the last moment - for knowing the truth would not change anything and would just make Cilla distraught. She didn't want to cause distress to her friend, not when their friendship was blossoming as it was. "Only that you've been dealt the same hand as me. What sort of husbands are Bordon and James to give to young innocent maidens who'd done no wrong their entire lives? Why would God do that to us? And you know, it was only after marrying James that I began to fall. Well, I have fallen now, and to be frank, now that I know how it feels and the solace it brings me… well, Our Lord can only send me to Hell once."

"If you don't do it again," Cilla persisted. "If you repent…"

"I'll repent the day James does," Emily said, voice hard. "I'll stop, the day James does. If neither of us do, I guess we'll continue our torment of each other in Hell, as we are doing here on earth."

"I've never… I've never heard anyone speak like this before," Cilla said.

"You should visit the docks more often," Emily laughed. She gazed at Cilla, who looked away, though thankfully not with derision. She seemed to be trying to come to grips with what Emily had said. Emily gave her a nudge with her elbow. "Do you despise me, Cil?" She asked and Cilla shifted her gaze back to her. "We declared ourselves to be friends, earlier. We both said we thought we'd become closer, now. With our shared misery. Have I ruined it all, in revealing what I have? Because frankly," tears sprang to her eyes. "I think I'll be quite distressed if you do. I don't want to lose you."

"Emily," Cilla sighed, wrapping her fingers around Emily's. "I didn't turn my back on Beth. I'm not going to turn my back on you."

A sobbing gasp of relief burst from Emily's lips. She'd been through so much, having almost lost Calvin, she'd been utterly distressed for days with no one to speak to. Her lover had nearly died and she had been powerless to do anything, she couldn't even go and sit by his bedside or… or anything. She was brittle already; losing Cilla's friendship so soon after it had started to strengthen would have been another blow, one she did not believe she could handle. It was such a wonderful relief, that she did not have to. Perhaps Cilla felt the same? After the unpleasantness with Beth earlier, with Beth declaring that she would continue her friendship with Harmony, and how distressed that made Cilla, perhaps Cilla felt the same as Emily. Emily knew the girl was brittle already too, after her experience with Bordon, and now with the loss of her beloved cousin, who she now had to share with a whore. Perhaps losing Emily so soon after finding common ground was a blow she could not have handled either.

They really did only have each other… She about to say so, when Cilla asked a question that sent all thought flying from Emily's head.

"Em, will you tell me it's _supposed_ to feel like?"

Emily's eyes bulged, her mouth falling open. Just like that, they'd gone from Cilla trying to grapple with the idea that people did actually sin and they enjoyed it, to wanting to know how bedding should truly feel. Emily's smile became dreamy.

"It's like… well, at the start of it, it's like a tingling sensation. That nice tickling feeling you get when you stroke your palm," Emily took hold of Cilla's hand, turned it over, then traced several slow, light circles with the tip of her finger, around and around. "It's nice, isn't it?" She asked and Cilla nodded. Emily let go Cilla's hand. "Think of that, but then imagine it building to something far more intense, and you begin to forget everything - that you're committing sin, or that you might get caught, or… all of it, all your worries begin to recede, because your body wants the feeling it knows is coming, even if you do not. It thrives for it, it takes over completely, what's between your ears," she tapped her temple. "It stops working. All thought, disappears. The sensation is lovely, it's as though you could lie there forever, just feeling it. But then suddenly you need even more, and it intensifies, and then it's a powerful surge, a wave, you feel like you're outside your body in this delirious, delicious place. It feels like it lasts a lifetime but you could probably count to ten, if you had the wherewithal to count at all," Emily giggled. "Believe me, you don't. You can't think, you're just lifted and spun, it rushes through your entire body and it's wonderful. And then, it fades and you're just… calm. Relaxed in a way no bath or good night sleep can relax you. It's euphoria. Sweet, blessed euphoria."

"Oh…" Cilla was frowning. "I can't even imagine something like that."

"Goodness me, no-one can," Emily laughed. "I can't even describe it to you, not truly. You will know what I mean though, if you ever experience it."

"I don't imagine I shall. I am not ever going to bed him, Emily; I meant it."

"Well, I do understand," Emily said though she didn't truly. That Cilla did not want to, that much she understood. But she could not believe that Bordon would never demand his husbandly right from his wife. She just hoped he would show more consideration of her next time, give her the same treatment he clearly gives to Harmony Jutland-Farshaw. Then again, James didn't for Emily, so why would Bordon for Cilla? Was her next time to be as horrid, then? Emily hoped not. Her next time with James wasn't as horrid as their first time. Then again, she'd had a lover in between, she'd known pleasure by then, and hadn't been so frightened of coupling. Maybe that was the key - to not be frightened - maybe then, it won't be so brutal. She glanced at Cilla, ready to suggest it, but the girl's face… No, she wasn't ready to hear that at some stage, she would have to bed her husband again. "I just… I despair for you, Cil. Allow me to put it this way. Every summer, my absolute favourite dessert is raspberries and cream. It's sweet and the way it feels on my tongue and is just… it's delicious. I adore it so much, my kitchen staff make it for me _every - single - day_. Every day, for all of summer. And when the season for raspberries is over, I have to wait at least eight months, to have it again. I yearn for it. But every summer, I am satisfied. Now, I know you've had raspberries and cream," Emily giggled. "And maybe you love it as much as I do, maybe not. But I just… if I were to imagine you never, ever, in your entire life, having such a delicious treat, while I'm spending the entire summer gobbling it down and enjoying it immensely, I would despair for you. What I'm trying to say is, I know what you're missing out on, and I think if you felt it, then you would know and you wouldn't ever want to miss out on it. I'm not suggesting you bed your husband," she raised her arms up wide, as if in surrender. "I just… I don't want you to go through the rest of your life, without feeling that… joy. It's _joy_, Cil."

Cilla was quiet for sometime, as was Emily, who was considering whether or not she should suggest to Cilla that perhaps she, too, should take a lover. But that was going too far, so she did not.

"I guess that's what Beth feels," Cilla said finally. "All that you just described. If it's like that, it's no wonder she wants to do those things with Tavington… But… well, you can't miss what you don't know, can you?" She shrugged finally and Emily planted a smile on her face, she nodded false agreement, to make Cilla feel better. "I can't believe you all know about my mother and…" Cilla trailed off. "Gods, I suppose the entire city knows by now. I don't think I could ever show my face there, ever again."

Emily said nothing, she just listened and rubbed Cilla's back.

"And my papa. I suppose you consider him a traitor, but Gods, he believed in what he was doing and now he's dead, Emily. My father is dead. I have no idea where my mother is or if she is alright. I might never see her again and I won't ever see my papa again and everything has just gone… my entire life, it's just…"

"There, there," Emily pulled Cilla closer as the younger girl began to weep.

* * *

A hundred miles to the north of Fresh Water, near the border of North Carolina, two very worn and exhausted men rode in to General Harry Burwell's camp of Continentals and Patriot militia, asking directions to the command tent until they were deep enough in camp to see it for themselves. By then, the two men - both in need of a wash and shave, guided their tired horses along the avenues until they finally dismounted and asked a sentry to announce them. The soldier standing duty outside the tent darted inside, leaving the two men outside to wait.

"General," the soldier saluted Burwell, who was bent over a large table, pouring over several maps spread before him.

"Corporal," Harry nodded.

"Two men have arrived requesting an audience. They have named themselves as Mr. Mark Putman and Mr. Nicholas Watson."

Burwell gaped. For several heartbeats, that was all he was capable of. He stared at the Corporal, his eyes almost popping from his head. "He's dead!" He said finally, rounding the table with two long strides. "They are supposed to be dead!" He marched toward the tent flap and threw it wide, and there, standing before him were two very bedraggled men, one of which he recognised.

"Mr. Putman!" He cried, throwing his arms around the plantation owner and would be spy. Having expected an entirely different reception, Mark froze for several moments, before finally returning the embrace. He drew back to stare at Burwell in shock. Harry cried, "Christ it's good to see you! We thought you were dead! That damned Sumter - we thought he killed you!"

"He tried," Mark said ruefully. "And I have the bullet hole to prove it. But I am recovered now and am able to march back into the land of the living."

"I'm glad for it. Come in, come in!" Harry ushered the two in and told the Corporal to bring refreshments. "Ben isn't here, but Christ, he'll be relieved to learn you're alive!"

"Will he?" Mark asked bluntly, lowering his gaze. All of a sudden, he dropped to his knees and in a display of true contrition, began to beg forgiveness. "I never should have told them about Camden!" _But they were hurting her - my poor Cilla! What they did to her… Lord…_ "they tortured me and I broke. I'm so sorry. I broke." He hung his head.

Harry gazed at the former Redcoat gravely, and the youth nodded, confirming what Burwell already knew, what he'd already been told.

"Mr. Putman, get up," Burwell commanded, gripping the man's shoulder to help him to his feet. Even standing, Mark would not meet the General's eyes. "It was Tavington and Bordon, wasn't it?" Burwell asked, his eyes flashing hatred for an instant before he managed to get himself under control. "Mr. Putman, I know what they did to you."

"You don't know," Mark shook his head, Cilla's scream still sliced through his mind.

"They tortured you. I can only imagine what you were forced to endure," Harry said. "I'm certain… I'm certain you held off for as long as you could."

"I did," Mark said desperately. He'd seen Burwell's face begin to close over, his relief at discovering Mark was alive was becoming overshadowed by his betrayal. "I vow, I did. I held out as long as I could. I am so sorry, I…"

Burwell nodded, though he took a step back, feeling the weight of his rank settling upon his shoulders. Torture was… well, it was used to gain information for a reason. Not only did it have the ability to destroy a man's body and his soul, but it broke the victim down in other areas of his life, also. Such as this. Putman had held out as long as he could but the fact remained, he did not hold out long enough. He broke, and as a consequence, Burwell's men died, and what should have been certain victory turned into a crushing defeat. Burwell, his officers, his superiors, would judge Mark Putman by that now, they would find the measure of the man wanting.

That's what torture did. It was a mind game, as well, and it tested everyone who was involved in the victims life. Here was Putman, returned from the dead. But what could Burwell do with him? When he'd already proven his lack of resolve. Burwell knew it wasn't fair to judge a man in this sense, not when he'd been tortured. But he also knew that others would. Not many would want to fight with Putman again, not unless he was able to prove himself.

Then there was the other chilling fact, what Benjamin had revealed to Harry recently. Harry had known that Mark had used his wife and daughter - and Beth as well! - To spy on the British. What Benjamin had recently learned, however, was that Mark had allowed his wife to enter into an affair, to gain that information. And he'd suggested for an innocent woman to be captured by Sumter, told Sumter precisely what he should do with her. What Sumter would have in turn done with Beth, though Burwell doubted Mark would have endorsed that. Still, the seed of the idea had come from Mark Putman. These were tactics Burwell simply could not condone, he'd found his respect for Mark Putman greatly diminished to what it had been six months before. Burwell's joy at seeing Mark withered and now he was left wondering what the hell he was to do with the man. God help him if his men demanded Mark be punished for his betrayal of them. He wished Benjamin was there to counsel him. Or to take Mark Putman off his hands.

"They won't get away with it," Mark said, voice urgent and hard. "I will settle for them both. I am going to kill them for what they did to - to me."

"And if he doesn't, I will," Watson said, speaking up for the first time. "I've fought Tavington once before, I can handle my own against him."

Burwell shifted his gaze to the young man, the former Redcoat who had turned after meeting and falling in love with Beth. He tightened his lips, not quite sure how to deal with the youth who had tried to court Burwell's fiancé. _Former_ fiancé now. Beth was Tavington's wife and though it cut him to the bone, he knew it was time to forget her and move on with his own life. That seemed an impossible task to the General, who felt like he would vomit every time he imagined Beth as Tavington's wife. However, he could not view every single young man as an adversary merely because they had been infatuated with her - especially this one, who'd more than proven his metal and his worth. After everything he'd heard of Watson, Burwell did not find this young fellow wanting, not at all.

"Ensign Watson, is it?" He asked this in a friendly way, nodding at the youth and holding his hand out to shake.

"Just Mr. Watson now, Sir," Nicholas replied, clasping the General's hand. "I no longer hold any rank in the army."

"Well you do in mine, if you want it. I've been told of your accomplishments and bravery by one we both care for. Based on her word, I wouldn't hesitate to take you into my ranks."

"How is Miss Martin, Sir?" Nicholas asked tentatively, and he seemed to be holding his breath as he waited for the answer. Burwell realised that the youth didn't know.

"Married, I'm afraid," Harry replied gravely and Nicholas drew a sharp breath, his eyes bulging. He grunted as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Burwell continued, "I'm sorry, lad."

"Not to you?" Mark asked. "Who did Ben marry her too?"

Something must have shown on Harry's face, for Mark's grew dark. Thunderous. "Christ, General Burwell. If you tell me my niece has married…" He panted with furiously sharp bursts and Burwell slowly turned to face him, then he inclined his head. His suspicions confirmed, Mark bit off a string of curses and balled his hands into fists.

"I've had more time to become accustomed to terms with it than than the two of you," Burwell murmured. "And even still I find I'm struggling with it. I'd like nothing more than to string that bastard up by his damned balls," he turned his back on the other men and took a few much needed moments to gain control of himself. He could hear laboured breathing behind him, and when he turned back, he locked gazes with Mark once more. Mark's blue eyes, so like his sisters, blazed with a murderous fire.

"She'll be a widow soon enough then," Mark ground out through clenched teeth. "For I will not allow those bastards to live - Tavington and Bordon both. They will die, of this I vow."

"Mark, it's been years since you've held a sword," Burwell said bluntly. "While Tavington is damned near a blade master. You'd best leave this to -"

"The hell I will! I am still a militiaman. I know I betrayed the Cause, but no one can say that I did so lightly. If you'll still have me in your ranks, I'll do it. I'll train with Watson. We'll start training with edged weapons, for I want to cut their guts from their stomachs. I want to hear their screams!" _As they made my baby scream! _Tears stood in his eyes - tears of rage, tears of grief.

"Very well," Burwell said, relieved at finally knowing what to do with Putman. "When Colonel Martin arrives back, you will be placed in his command. I believe he wants to take a crack at the Butcher himself."

"I want to kill those fucking bastards myself," Mark spat, feeling he had more right.

"An argument you will need to have with Benjamin. Let's see about getting you quartered, and after a rest I'll introduce you to a few others who I believe will be quite interested in seeing you trained for killing those two bastards." They exited the tent."We have tried attacking Camden twice now and both attempts have failed. The second attempt at Camden was as disastrous as the first, this time because of damned Gates - he's a fool and we're still expected to take orders from him, though I'm certain it won't be long now before he is replaced by someone more capable. I damned well hope." He drew a shuddering breath, he shook himself, as if to clear his head. "We have, however, had an ordinate amount of luck lately with our raids against British supply carts and small units of Redcoats. Soon, I doubt they will travel in groups any less than thirty strong, they will be getting too damned scared to. And our numbers are growing by the day. The Lord is shining down on us and he is smiling. Let's get you and the Lieutenant settled."

"Ah, General?" Watson ventured. "Ah, did you say Lieutenant?"

"I did," Harry smiled. "Would that suit you?"

"A promotion! As easy as that?" Nicholas gaped, his eyes darting to Mark's. Mark smiled, pleased to see his young friend being rewarded, but his eyes were still haunted.

"We reward where reward is due," Burwell said, "and we are not nearly as stingy with promotions as is the British Establishment," Burwell slapped the boy on the shoulder, as if the matter was all but settled.

"Thank you Sir!" Nicholas said proudly, his anguish over Beth's marriage momentarily forgotten.

"And thank you, General," Mark added. "For not ordering me to the whipping post."

Burwell nodded. "Come. I'm hungry and need a damned strong whiskey. We've much to discuss; what happened to you after you were shot? The last I heard, you fell into the river and were swept away."

As they stepped from the tent, Mark began to explain - with Watson filling in bits that he had forgotten - what had happened that day in the lumberyard when Sumter's small force betrayed him.

* * *

Cilla was in quite a delicate mood the following morning. Melancholy. Beth, sitting across from her in the parlour, noticed that her cousin continually swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, wiping away tears. Perhaps it was her pregnancy playing havoc with her - Beth was not certain and nor could she ask, for she was not supposed to know of the baby at all. Instead, she poured Cilla a cup of tea and handed it to her.

Cilla stared at it for a long moment, before accepting it as the peace offering it was.

"Thank you, Beth," Cilla said. She took a sip. She would not argue with her cousin over that whore again, but nor would she apologise. It was better to simply ignore it - Beth wasn't going to budge from her position and neither was Cilla. They'd make one another miserable, if they didn't at least try to be cordial.

"You are looking a little green, Cilla. Are you unwell?" Beth asked, hoping this was the opening her cousin needed to confide in her.

"I am feeling unwell," Cilla replied. In fact, she'd not been feeling well all morning. She had vomited three times before leaving her chamber. Vickie would have to remove the chamberpot, she would see the vomit and her curiosity would be piked. Well, Cilla had been married for several days now - perhaps the maid will guess that she's pregnant, but it didn't matter now. As long as everyone thought she'd only just fallen pregnant, that was all she cared about.

"Do you need to lay down?" Beth asked, concerned and hovering. Cilla shook her head, then began sipping her tea.

"I'm happy in your father's chair," she said.

Beth nodded and resumed her seat just as Emily and the other girls entered the parlour. Perhaps now hadn't been the best time to encourage Cilla to confide in her after all - they would not have gotten far into the conversation before the other women interrupted them.

"Is it true? Are you hosting a ball for Cornwallis here at Fresh Water?" Rebecca asked Beth excitedly.

"I am," Beth smiled. "Well, William and I are, I should say."

"I knew someone here would," Emily said. "Didn't I say so yesterday, Cil? I didn't know it would be you, Beth. But how wonderful that it is! We don't even have to travel anywhere to attend it!"

"That's if you're invited," Beth said. She smiled, though she was only partly jesting. She was still quite annoyed with the women, for getting up and walking out on her yesterday. Perhaps she shouldn't invite them, it would serve them right, if she didn't.

"Oh, Beth, you're too funny," Sarah gave a little laugh and Beth forced a fixed smile to her lips.

"We should visit Pembroke to see if they have silk," Emily said. "Though I don't know that we'd have time to have new gowns made, I suppose."

"Still, it'd be nice to get away for a bit," Becky said. "We could go and have a look, at the least."

"I have no money," Cilla said. "Not yet, anyway."

"Oh, pooh," Emily waved her hand. "If the mercantile doesn't extend you credit - which I'm almost certain they shall - I will do so myself. Whatever you wish, Cilla; don't even think of it."

"My thanks, Em," Cilla smiled.

Beth glanced back and forth between them - she'd been about to say - and offer, the very same thing, but Emily got in first.

"Is there any word on your brother?" Sarah asked Beth.

"No. Gordon was detached to another unit, I'm hoping that they will return though, with Cornwallis. I'm still so wroth with Samuel for leaving with Gordon in the first place, but hopefully he will be home safe soon."

"I hope so too, travelling with a company of soldiers is no place for a boy," Becky said.

"I couldn't agree more. I think I should warn you about Pembroke - I know you want to visit there but it might not be the diversion you're expecting. Several buildings were on fire when I left there last, I don't know if they were put out or if the mercantile is even still standing. I could ask William, though. He will know. If it is worth visiting, I'll ask him if he can provide us an escort - we won't be going anywhere without his permission…"

"Oh, thank you Beth, that would be grand!" Rebecca gasped, her bright blue eyes bright. After a moment, she gave a self deprecating laugh. "Listen to me, excited over a trip to little Pembroke. Sweet Lord, I must be bored!"

"We've just been gone from Charlestown for too long, that's all," Emily agreed.

"Well, I can tell you right now, without even asking him, that William won't allow us to go all the way _there_," Beth said.

"Don't worry, I wasn't asking too," Emily said, waving her hand. "I assure you, I'm quite happy here." Mrs. Salisbury had gotten word to her that Calvin wanted to meet her - the only place Emily desired to go to right then, was Mrs. Salisbury's tent; though that would have to wait for nightfall.

"I could tell him my mother is dying, then he'd let us go to the city," Sarah laughed grimly. The other women giggled with equal measures of amusement and outrage.

"You're shocking, Sarah," Emily tittered. "You must want to leave quite badly."

"Oh, just for a few hours!" Sarah groaned, slumping back in her chair. "Pembroke will do. Do you think the Colonel will allow that much, Beth?"

"I'll ask him," Beth promised. "I'm sure he won't mind sparing us an escort for that short trip. It's not far after all and he has the area fairly secure."

"From rebels?" Cilla arched an eyebrow, meeting Beth's eyes. "From your father?"

"He'll never have the area secured from my father," Beth said, sitting tall and proud. "As much as I love William, I'm fairly certain my father could outfox him easily. William is too… Well… British… But you know, I don't think any of us have anything to fear from my father. It's not like he'll attack his own daughter."

"He might try to take you back, given half the chance," Cilla mused. "From what you've said, he hardly approves of this marriage. He'd want to spirit you away from Tavington."

"To what end?" Beth shrugged. "He'd know I'd give him fits about it. No, if my father were going to try and 'free' me from William, he'd have already done so by now."

"How?" Cilla frowned. "You're surrounded by Dragoons here…"

"I told you, my father could outfox them all, if he put his mind to it," Beth said.

"Well you don't have to sound so pleased about that, you know," Emily sniffed. "Your husband is the Colonel of the British Legion, if you recall. I doubt he'd like to hear you speak with such admiration of your father!"

"Even William speaks of my father with admiration, Emily. And disgust, frustration, fury…" Beth laughed. "But he can recognise a good Commander when he sees one and he knows my father is damned good."

"He's a rebel," Emily shook her head, surprised that Beth would speak so openly of her father at all. If she had a family member riding with the rebels, Emily would never speak his name! She'd be too ashamed.

"He's a Patriot," Beth corrected.

"Strange sentiments from a British Officer's wife," Sarah shook her head. "Then again, we've always known you're not a Loyalist. Oh well, if the Colonel doesn't take you to task over it, then nor should we. Besides, weren't we discussing something far more interesting a few moments ago..? Oh, yes, I have it now. Pembroke!"

"I'll ask William," Beth laughed softly. "As soon as I get back. He's busy at the moment, but I'm sure he'll be free before I return."

"You're going somewhere?" Cilla asked sharply. "Where?"

"To the Ferguson's," Beth said, preparing herself to show defiance.

"Is that so?" Cilla asked. The other three women were deathly silent as Cilla glared at Beth.

"Yes." Beth's heart began to pound, the vision of all four women suddenly rising and going for another 'walk' without her flared and she balked. Her defiance disappeared and she found herself murmuring, "I need to visit General O'Hara. I'm going there to see him."

"Of course you are," Cilla snapped, immediately furious; she ignored Emily's reassuring hand as it alighted on her own. "Do make sure you say hello to Harmony the Whore from the rest of us, now, won't you?"

"Cilla!" Beth cried, shocked to her stomach. "That's a horrid thing to say!"

Cilla waved her arm in an airy gesture, indicating that she did not care. "If you'd rather spend yet another morning with her instead of me, then just go."

"I'm getting rather tired of this," Beth snapped, surging to her feet. "I don't need this, not from any of you!"

"You clearly don't need our company, either," Cilla said and Beth stared in utter disbelief. "It's been months since we've seen one another. Months since we've spent any length of time together. Yet you spent half of yesterday with that whore, the other half with your husband. You've shown no interest so far in spending time with me, whatsoever.

"When you get up and walk out of the room, shunning me to teach me a lesson, no, Cilla. I don't," Beth replied. With a swirl of her skirts, she turned and made for the door. Filled with fury, Beth slammed the door shut behind her.

* * *

"Beth!" Richard, a little puffed from running, darted toward her. He'd arrived back from scouting an hour ago and had already written a letter, which he intended to have someone carry over to Harmony. Hearing Beth was going there now, he intercepted her in the hall as Beth pulled on her cape.

"Are you going to see Harmony?" He asked intently.

"Yes, I am," she said warily.

"Will you give her this?" Richard held out a sealed letter. Beth stared down at the letter as though it were a live adder.

"Oh, Richard…" She sighed, forlorn. "I can't pass on letters from you along to Harmony! You're my cousin's husband!"

"Please, Beth," his begged. "Please… I'm not asking her to meet me or anything. I just… It's just a letter… Please…"

"Hell's teeth," she swore, snatching the letter from his fingers and stalking from the house.

"Thank you!" He called behind her as she marched off the porch and threw herself into the waiting carriage.

Beth fumed all the way to the Ferguson House, and was still angry when she was sitting on Harmony's bed in the small chamber.

"It's just that he's placing me in such an awkward position!" She complained to Harmony who was sitting across from her. Both girls were seated comfortably with their shoes off and their legs curled up beneath them. Harmony was staring down at the letter, reading with a small, sad smile on her face. "He should ask Brownlow to deliver letters, not me! I know this is excruciating for you both and I have always been willing to help bring you together in any way I can but it's complicated now!"

"Yes, on account of your cousin…" Harmony curled her lip. "How is Mrs. Prim and Pregnant, by the way?"

Beth made a small, grumbling noise beneath her breath.

"Very unhappy, as it happens," she answered as though Harmony had asked out of true concern, rather than obvious sarcasm. "And she's been sick, as well, though I don't think I'm supposed to know that. What of you, Harm? Have you been getting sick in the mornings, too?"

"No, not at all," Harmony lifted her head, she was wearing a small, satisfied smile on her face. "I'm made of sturdier stuff it seems, than little Miss Papa's Girl."

Beth drew a deep, long suffering breath.

"I am pleased you're not suffering the sickness," Beth said, ignoring the jibe. Her voice was rather strained, however. "And Farshaw? How is he treating you?"

"Indifferently," Harmony shrugged. "I think he is going to start visiting this mistress of his again, now he's better."

"How do you know?"

"He took a bath and got out his best shirt," Harmony laughed. "Whoever she is, I hope she manages to hold his attention. I'd hate for him get bored of her and start wanting it from me again."

"Yes, I can see how you would feel that way," Beth laughed grimly. "What does Richard say in his letter? He promised he was not trying to set up a secret meeting with you…"

"He wasn't lying to you. He speaks of how sad he is, that he can't be with me. And how sorry he is, as well. For everything that's happened. He hopes I'm alright," Harmony began folding the letter, which she slipped into her pocket. "The poor thing, he's asking me if I still love him, and if I still think of him as much as he does me. As if I could ever stop. My poor Richard… Beth, will you carry a letter back to him, from me? I need to reassure him that I'll love him until the day I die. Even if I do still want to punch him in his damned nose for marrying that damned chit."

"I'll carry the letter," Beth said, stiffening. "But if I'm going to start doing this, Harmony, you need to do me a favour in return."

"Anything," Harmony vowed. "What is it?"

"Stop saying horrible things about my cousin," Beth snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "If you can't say anything nice about her, then just don't speak of her at all. Call her by her name, not by 'that damned chit', or 'Papa's Girl' and the other things you keep calling her. I understand why you do it, but if you want me to do this, well, that's my price."

"Alright," Harmony said, somewhat stiffly. "I will. Now, how will you stop her from calling me 'whore' and the other horrible things she says about me?"

Beth arched an eyebrow, wondering how Harmony knew of the way Cilla spoke of her. At length she said, "Unfortunately, I have no leverage to influence her -"

Harmony barked a bitter laugh.

"But!" Beth held up a finger to forestall her. "But, I defend you to her, Harmony. I don't sit by idly when she and Mrs. Wilkins start in on you, I swear it."

"I know you don't," Harmony smiled fondly and reached out to take hold of Beth's hand. "You've always been a good friend to me, Beth. I know you'd fight for me with your dying breath. I'm sorry I've made you uncomfortable, I just haven't been able to help myself. She has my man, Goddamn it!" She drew a sharp breath, closed her eyes, and sought for calm. "But I am sorry I've put you in that position and I promise not to continue."

"Thank you. Write your letter then, Harm. I wish to have a word with the General, I'll be back soon and I'll carry your letter to Richard when I leave."

"What do you need to speak to O'Hara for?" Harmony frowned as Beth climbed off the bed.

"It would be bad form for the wife of the Colonel to not call in on the General, when she visits the house in which he is billeted," Beth explained. "Also, I wish to ask him about Cornwallis' tastes and requirements, for the ball we're having at Fresh Water."

"Oh," Harmony's frown deepened. "Will Richard be going to this ball?"

"I would imagine so," Beth said, heaving a sigh.

"I wonder if he will dance with her."

"I'll be back soon, Harm," Beth said, not wanting to discuss how Richard might pass the ball with his wife. "You better get too writing, for I don't think I'll be long."

* * *

The lowly Farshaw's were only allowed their small chamber in the Ferguson house because O'Hara wished to keep a keen eye on them. To be on hand to stop it, if Calvin began beating Harmony. To make sure Harmony could not slip away to be with Richard. Otherwise, they'd be sleeping in a tent in camp, with all the other junior officers and soldiers of the inferior ranks. The small room had become Harmony's home these last few days and right now, the bed needed to be made. Calvin's worthless junk had to be picked up from the floor and other places he'd scattered his mess around the chamber. Pushing her hair back behind her ear, Harmony began her morning task of tidying. She worked by rote, as she did every day, trying not to think, not to feel. Gripping the layers of blankets, she hauled them up and smoothed them out, then positioned the pillows just so. It still hurt to move, her face was still a mess of bruises, but she made the effort, if only for herself. Even if she was at deaths door, Harmony would still like her room to be nice and tidy.

Beth would come by to visit again today, Harmony was determined to keep her end of the bargain, she would not say a single bad thing about Cilla if she had to chew her own tongue out. The best way of accomplishing this, she decided, was simply by not speaking of Cilla at all. It had not been easy for Beth, she knew, hearing all the terrible things Harmony said about Richard's new wife. But Harmony had been unable to help herself - she was heartily sick of privileged, affluent women always having their way, always getting everything that Harmony tried so hard not to want. It was impossible, trying not to want Richard, but he was yet another thing denied to her, yet another thing taken by a woman of money. With the exception of Beth, Harmony decided she absolutely despised noblewomen.

The various bottles and bowls, shaving implements and the like were pushed to one far corner of the small table, which Harmony proceeded to wipe with a damp cloth. Everything was put back in where they belonged - tidily this time; and she moved onto her next task, cleaning out her chest in order to place her folded, clean washing inside in an orderly fashion. When she was living at Fresh Water, a servant had conducted these tasks for her. Back when she was able to share Richard's bed. Now, everything was freshly laundered by her own hands - not the servants she had become accustomed to. The Farshaw's would never be able to afford to keep servants. Reaching into a small panel in the wall of the chest, Harmony felt to make certain the money she'd saved was still there - that Calvin had not discovered it. She had earned that money herself, while working at The Mighty George back in the city. If only she was still there; her life had been far less gut wrenchingly painful when she was nothing but a barmaid. Reassured that her cash was still safe, she closed the panel, and then pulled down the chest lid. It was astounding how Calvin could even function during the day, considering the state he put himself in each night. When he deigned to return after screwing his mistress, who ever she might be. Harmony wished she knew who the woman was, she would have liked to send her some flowers or a trinket of some sort, to show her gratitude. For while this woman was pleasing Calvin, he was not forcing himself on her.

Hearing a gentle knock, Harmony glanced over her shoulder at the door. A moment later, it opened and a particularly large Redcoat filled the door way.

"Mrs. Farshaw, Mrs. Merry is here to see you."

"Oh! Thank you," Harmony said. The soldier stepped aside and Linda walked into the room, closing the door behind her.

"Linda!" Harmony squealed, rushing over and throwing her arms around her friend.

"Shh, it's Mrs. Merry, remember?" Linda said. "Lord, are you alright?" This was the first time Linda had seen Harmony since her husband beat her so horrendously. "You look awful."

"I'm still very sore," Harmony said. "But so is he," she said vengefully.

"I've heard some of it already, but tell me what happened," Linda said as she guided Harmony to sit with her on the side of the bed. Harmony told her everything that had happened since Calvin learned of her resumed affair with Bordon, she wept as she spoke of his rough coupling with her against the tree and the blows that landed all over her head and body, everywhere except her stomach. Her voice became vengeful again, when she spoke of the beating he'd received, as Bordon and several other soldiers did they best to try to kill him.

"How's it been since?" Linda asked solemnly.

"Oh, we hardly speak to each other now. As soon as he was well enough, Major Fallows set him to work scribing. At night, he visits his mistress and leaves me alone. I'm left to my own devices more often than not, I don't like to go out of this room much though, because of," her fingers touched her bruises. "It's embarrassing, everyone keeps staring at me. Besides, I'd rather stay in here, I just want to be alone. Did you hear about Richard?"

"Marrying that fuckin' chit's cousin?" Linda asked. "Yes."

Harmony shifted with discomfort, Linda couldn't speak about Beth without being vile. Beth was Harmony's friend, it wasn't easy to hear Linda say such horrid things about her.

Linda closed her eyes and drew a deep, fortifying breath. In a desolate voice, she said, "God, I miss him so much."

"I know," Harmony wrapped her fingers over Linda's.

Linda met Harmony's gaze, her eyes filling and becoming blurry. "He said we'd be together, Harm. He promised it - that I'd still be his mistress, even after he married her. He broke his promise, Harm." She sniffled and Harmony, sighing heavily, pulled Linda into her arms. It wasn't the first time she'd had to console Linda thus, after learning the woman was back in camp.

"Damned fucking bitch," Linda whispered, voice muffled against Harmony's shoulder. "I hate her, she thinks she's so damned good but she's not, she's no better than Emily Wilkins if you ask me, walkin' about with her nose in the air," Linda lowered her head. "And she's so damned pretty."

"She's not like that," Harmony defended softly. She'd tried to defend Beth on previous occasions, to no avail. Still, guilt made her try again. "Beth is a good person. She just happened to fall in love with the same man as you, that's all."

"And _she_ caught him," Linda spat. "Used her fucking pretty youth and her innocence, with all those courtly manners of hers, she hooked him then reeled him in! After all that rubbish she put him through, he goes running to her? Fuck her. Damned whore in silks is what she is. She's no better than me, no matter what she thinks."

Harmony sighed again. It seemed Linda would not be convinced that Beth was a decent person - her jealousy wouldn't allow it. It was difficult for Harmony to hear it though, she loved Beth dearly and if she was completely honest with herself, she realised there was probably a closer affinity between herself and Beth than there was between herself and Linda. She despised hearing such awful things about her closest friend. Harmony eyes widened at this thought, for it served as a sudden revelation. For hadn't she been doing this exact same this to Beth? She had been unable to say anything but the most vile things about Cilla… It was exactly the same thing, for she knew Cilla no better than Linda knew Beth.

"I was always going to be second to her, but I never thought I'd be nothing. Sending me off to live with that Loyalist family. They were nice enough but Gods, how could he do the to me? After all his promises! At least I get to see him most days, even if he doesn't know I'm here."

"Linda," Harmony said, exasperated. "You can't live your life for him. You've got a baby coming and a fellow who will marry you. You should marry Private Cox, use the money William gives you as a dowry. It'll be a good start for you. If you wait for William, you'll be waiting until there is grey in your hair and you're too old to walk without a cane."

"William," Linda said, focusing on this and ignoring the rest. She arched an eyebrow. "I can't believe how close the two of you are now."

"We are close," Harmony agree. Her face became pallid and she stared past Linda, eyes haunted.

"I know you've been having a hell of a time lately," Linda commiserated. "That husband of yours, what a bastard. It's a pity he's such a nasty thing, he'd be quite handsome if not for that."

"He's a damned rotten, filthy, little bastard," Harmony spat softly.

"Don't hold back now," Linda laughed eventually. Harmony's eyes had become hard blue chips of ice. "Harm?" Linda asked carefully and the other girl's eyes focused. Harmony shook herself from her daze.

"I'm alright. It's just… as you say… A hell of a time…"

"Hell's teeth, it sounds like it," Linda commiserated. "And your baby… Lord, you've done so much to protect it… I understand it though, I think I'd have done the same," she took hold of Harmony's hand and studied the pink slash across the palm. "That was brave…"

"I don't know," Harmony shrugged. "Maybe."

"It was. Well, it's all healed now, and that drunken sot is none the wiser, thanks to your quick thinking. Feigning your menses…" Linda trailed off, it never ceased to amaze her, the lengths Harmony had gone to to protect her baby.

"I did what I had to do," Harmony shrugged. "Are you hungry, Linda? We could go out to the kitchen, get something to eat and drink."

"I'd like that," Linda smiled. She rose and held her hands out to Harmony, who laughed softly and let Linda pull her up off the bed.


	91. Chapter 91 - The Tavington's Host a Bal

Chapter 91 - The Tavington's Host a Ball:

_End of August 1780 - Fresh Water Plantation_

"Why they insisted on hosting a ball on this speck of a farm, I'll never understand," Cornwallis said under his breath. He slapped at his neck, then inspected the large fat glob spread across the flat of his palm. "Mosquitoes," he curled his lip. "Fresh Water Plantation," he sniffed with distaste, "Fetid Water Swamp would have been a more apt name."

"Shhh," O'Hara admonished softly, eyeing his hosts who were standing nearby. "They will hear you, Sir. You do not wish to cause offence, do you?'

"I could not care less if I offended the new Mrs. Tavington," Cornwallis said, voice prim.

"My Lord, please, I wish you would heed me! Mrs. Tavington is not a traitor -"

"Her cousin is," Cornwallis said, of Cilla Putman. "As are her uncle, her aunt and let us not forget Colonel Benjamin Martin. When Major Bordon informed us of Miss Putman's crime, my eyes were opened to the entire family. That extends to Mrs. Tavington whom, I am certain, has married young William for the sole purpose of betraying him, and us."

"She is another young fool who is completely, utterly, head over heels in love," O'Hara argued. "Sir, I understand your misgivings, but -"

"You have yet to convince me of her innocence, Charles," Cornwallis cut in. "You've done nothing to assuage my fears."

"Colonel Tavington has not married a spy, my Lord," O'Hara sighed.

"His wife," Cornwallis eyed the woman in question warily. "The daughter of The Ghost. Niece to two traitors. Cousin to another. Sister to a Continental. We should have known from the start, what a clan of traitors the Martin's and Putman's were. She will have done precisely the same as her cousin, you mark my words, to think otherwise if pure follow. How much information has she passed along to her dear old Papa, General?" He shifted his gaze to his Second in Command. "Have you done as I requested?"

Cornwallis had never harboured any particular enmity toward Beth Martin back in the city. That had come later, after the revelations at Camden. Immediately after his meeting with Bordon and Cilla Putman, where Cilla's treason was revealed, Cornwallis had become suspicious not only of Cilla, but of Beth, as well. He'd expressed as much to O'Hara who expressed doubt, but it had not allayed Cornwallis' concerns. If the family could put Mage Putman in Bordon's bed, if they could set Miss Putman to spy on British Officers, was it really such a massive leap to imagine that they would marry off one of their number to a British Colonel? Clinton had been such a strong advocate of Tavington's bid to marry Miss Martin and Cornwallis had had no reason to feel otherwise himself. Until Miss Putman's treason was made known. All of Miss Martin's actions in the city were doubted now, he feared there was nothing that family would not stoop to, to further their own Cause. Before O'Hara departed Camden with Tavington, Bordon and the new Mrs. Bordon for the return journey to Fresh Water, Cornwallis had set him a task.

"Yes, against my better judgement. I've had her movements watched," O'Hara said, reiterating his belief that Cornwallis was jumping at shadows. "I've been careful to discover if she has had any contact with anyone from off the Plantation. And I can assure you, Sir, that she most certainly has not. As far as I am aware, she has revealed nothing to her father. I doubt she even knows where he is. She is privy to much information, that is unavoidable. But she has given much information to Colonel Tavington - information that saw the hanging of several traitors, spies that Mr. Putman had inserted into Tavington's ranks. Some of them were family friends to Mrs. Tavington, I can not believe she would have imparted this information to her husband, if she herself was a spy. And nothing she has learned of our own plans has been mysteriously acted upon, by the other side. There has not been a single incident with the rebels to date, that can be traced back to her."

"Then she's either innocent, or a damned masterful - and ruthless - spy," Cornwallis sounded as though he believed the latter. O'Hara laughed out loud.

"I doubt she has much time to be some grand woman of mystery, my Lord. Mrs. Tavington's time is split with the organising of the camp followers - she's become somewhat of a Matron, if you will. And her husband is very demanding of her time, also, as are her constant companions, the sisters and wives of other Officers. No, I believe as I have believed from the start. Mrs. Tavington is what she is."

"The daughter of the Ghost and the niece of a man who should have hanged, is what she is," Cornwallis grumbled. Beth happened to glance over at the two gentlemen at that moment. Seeing their eyes on her, she paled slightly and quickly averted her gaze. "You see?" The Lord General gestured toward her with his glass. "There is something quite wrong here, when she can't even look me in the eye."

"And you glaring at her would have nothing to do with that," O'Hara scoffed, speaking freely as he often did with the General. "If she were masterful and ruthless, she would not look so distinctly uncomfortable at a mere glance from you. Your scowls have been more than enough to keep her from looking you in the eye. It's clear your opinion of her has changed since you saw her last in the city, that you have become disdainful of her… You know, it occurs to me. If you were lower in rank than her husband, you might have found yourself in a duel to the death with the Colonel, for those glares you continue to direct at his wife."

"There might be a duel yet," Major Fallows, stepped up. Hearing this last comment from O'Hara, he laughed softly. Both Gentlemen turned to him in askance. "Tarleton," Fallows inclined his head toward yet another group of guests. Colonel Tarleton stood in their midst. Though he was behaving as his usual, jovial self, he could not seem to stop himself from staring continually at the Tavington's. His glances at Colonel Tavington were less than friendly and those sent to Tavington's pretty, young wife were entirely _too_ friendly.

"How do you even notice these things, Fallows?" Cornwallis asked testily when Fallows explained this.

"It's what I'm paid for, my Lord," Fallows smirked. "I can ferret information from a sack of potatoes."

"If that is so, then pray tell me what our young Banastre thinks of the rebuke I gave him?" Cornwallis asked as he sipped his madeira. The fine liquor was sweet on his tongue, it warmed him. It was surprising that there was such quality to be found in Martin's cellar.

"Not well, my Lord," Fallows replied, again casting his gaze to the auburn haired Colonel, who was at that moment laughing gaily and flirting outrageously with Miss Rebecca Middleton. Fallows frowned, his lips twisted. "He has been heard several times, voicing the injustice of it to any who will listen. How is he to perform his duties, he asks of his enraptured audience, when his '_balls have been cut off'_?

Both Generals stiffened, both cast their glares toward Tarleton. "With all due respect, my Lord, you should have pulled that young cubs reins in long ago," O'Hara ground out.

"Perhaps. He still holds much promise. He sees the right of it now, I'm sure. We are Gentlemen and we will fight this war as such," Cornwallis replied, though he still looked quite vexed. Balls cut off? Indeed! If even a quarter of the reports were true, then the youth had needed that reprimand quite sorely. To think, Cornwallis favourite, raping and murdering his way across the Santee!

"And what is Colonel Tavington saying these days, Fallows? Did you hear any reports of complaints from him at O'Hara's - as Tarleton put it - cutting off of his balls?" Cornwallis asked as he eyed the other Colonel. O'Hara had seized command of Fresh Water from Tavington, citing Tavington's abuse of authority, to do so. It had been done quietly, discreetly, no one knew that Tavington could make no formal commands without them first being passed for approval to O'Hara. Tavington was at that moment giving Tarleton a very hard stare, while his pretty young wife tried to distract him. At least she had the sense to see trouble brewing… Though that in itself was vexing. His best Commandants, bickering over a bloody woman! A rebel's daughter and a blood relative to known spies at that!

"No. If he is disgruntled, at least he had the sense to keep it to himself," Fallows reported. "He has been trying extremely hard to work his way back into O'Hara's good graces, to prove himself to be the Commandant he is required to be. If you ask me, I believe he has learned his lesson, I believe he is ready to do better as a Commandant in truth again, not just in name."

"It's only bee a week, Fallows. I admit, he has made the changes I required of him. But let us see how long he can sustain them for," O'Hara sniffed.

"You're not convinced he has redeemed himself?" Cornwallis asked, surprised. "Do you not believe he will refrain from abusing his authority again?"

"Oh, I'm convinced," O'Hara nodded grimly. "I just wonder how much of a struggle it will be for him, especially when I send Lieutenant Farshaw back to his command.

"I would not recommend that, General," Fallows said quickly. "I would not recommend that at all."

"So you've said, but frankly, I am less than enthused to be saddled with his like," O'Hara turned to Cornwallis. "He's the one I told you about, he gave that nasty beating to his wife."

"For having an affair with Major Bordon, yes you told me," Cornwallis heaved a breath. "What is wrong with the youth of today? I'll never understand them. Tavington." He scoffed. "Going and getting married to a rebel's daughter. And with that wife of his… did you know she has put me in the smallest room in the damned house?"

O'Hara refrained from rolling his eyes by a hair. He also refrained from replying that yes, his Lordship had indeed regaled them all with how unpleased he was with his accommodations at Fresh Water.

Cornwallis continued, "and it's south facing, overlooking that fetid swamp… it's shockingly small, the whole house is! Why would Martin build such a small house, then promptly get eight children on his wife? Why did he not build extensions? Lord, Mrs. Tavington had to remove poor Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins, for me to take their room! It's really quite absurd. The sooner I am back on the road, the better I say. Lord, has that child ever even thrown a ball? When, I ask you, does she plan to serve dinner? Tomorrow afternoon, perhaps?"

O'Hara did roll his eyes then, and he took a large swig of madeira from his crystal goblet as Fallows tried to stifle his laughter. Cornwallis was, by nature, always polite to a fault. He was a Gentleman that others styled themselves on. He was behaving quite churlish this evening, however. O'Hara was not certain if the blame could be laid entirely at Mrs. Tavington's feet, or if Banastre Tarleton had something to do with the Lord General's sour mood. The discovery that his favourite Officer, whom some spitefully called 'Cornwallis' Pet', was conducting himself as little more than a rogue, had been a cause for much disappointment. Cornwallis had been forced to scold the youth quite harshly, and that had sat poorly with the General. And then he was forced, by protocol if nothing else, to accept an invitation to a ball he had no desire to attend… All of it combined had pushed His Lordship to the edge of his patience. O'Hara could not help but agree - the sooner he left, the better.

* * *

A few yards away, Rebecca was gazing up at Banastre with an expression that could only be called worshipful. Banastre had known for some time that the girl was infatuated with him, though his own affections had always been focused elsewhere. Still, the object of his desire was denied to him, and Rebecca was quite pretty… He pushed those thoughts aside, for Rebecca was also from a very prominent family and - no doubt - a maiden. He would probably end up forced to marry the lass at sword point, just as Bordon had Cilla Putman. And weren't they just the happiest couple? Bordon and Cilla were standing not far off, with Wilkins, Mrs. Wilkins and Brownlow and several other Green Dragoons. Not once had Bordon's face cracked into a grin. As for Cilla, she mostly had her back to him as if she were trying to ignore his existence as she she engaged in some deep conversation with Mrs. Wilkins. Their dalliance, if that is what had caused them to marry, had bought them a lifetime of misery which Banastre did not envy in the slightest. No, it was not worth it, no matter how pretty Rebecca was. He had no desire to be bound to her in matrimony… and no doubt, that was exactly what would be his fate, if he lifted the lasses skirts and spread her pretty legs. He was not in Cornwallis' favour at the moment, he would find no support there, should Rebecca's brothers make a complaint.

_"We are Gentlemen, and we will conduct ourselves as such!" _Oh, how those words still rankled. "_These Colonials are our brethren. When this conflict is over, we will resume commerce with them. You are not assisting our Cause toward peace, by earning such enmity!"_ Oh, and another rebuke from that disastrous meeting, "_we serve the Crown and we must conduct ourselves accordingly. You serve me and the manner __in which you serve me reflects upon me! I would have thought a Gentleman from a family as distinguished as yours, would understand that."_ And perhaps worst of all, "_you advance yourself only through my good graces._" This had struck Banastre with the force of blow from a blacksmiths hammer. If Cornwallis withdrew his support, it would be an utter disaster. He did, very dearly, wish to distinguish himself. To continue his meteoric rise through the ranks. To be regaled with acclaim, adoration and riches beyond his understanding, upon his triumphant return to England. That should be his fate. But without Cornwallis good will, he would return to England in disgrace, no acclaim and no riches. Without Cornwallis, the only people who would be knocking at his door, would be his debtors. Fire and sword, Lord Cornwallis had said! Take the country, with fire and sword! Yet when Banastre does so, he is reprimanded so thoroughly, that he was now forced to perform his duties with such restrictions, that he would not be able to do his duties at all. His balls, as he had said so many times since his rebuke, had been well and truly severed. For how was any Colonial to take him seriously now? How would any of them be frightened of him, when he could not lift a finger against them? And yet, Cornwallis still wanted results… Oh, that he did. Banastre blew out a vexed breath. His eyes landed again on Tavington, who was glaring right back. Banastre stifled a laugh. Did William honestly think he would try to corner Beth, to beg her for a kiss, right there at the ball? Stupid man.

That would have to wait until there weren't quite so many people around.

"Sweet Lord, when will these flies let up?" Banastre complained as he waved his hand over his face. Rebecca's expression shifted from adoration to one that showed she clearly doubted his sanity.

"I would have thought you would be accustomed to them by now, Colonel. Though they are a nuisance, to be certain," Rebecca paused, then added softly, "perhaps when the dancing begins, they will not worry us so much."

_Hint hint, _Banastre thought, stifling a scoff. She had mentioned the dancing, thus giving him the opening to ask her to join him on the dance floor.

He did and her face lit up like a joyous lantern. Gods, she would be so easy to seduce… Instead of making such overtures, however, he asked, "Now, Miss Rebecca, you were telling me about this trip of yours to Pembroke, where, beyond your expectations, you found the most exquisite muslin you've ever seen?" he teased and Rebecca's cheeks blazed crimson. Banastre laughed at her - he could read her thoughts plainly and right then, she was mortified for having spoken to him of such trivialities. In truth, he did not mind. It was a far more preferable way to spend his time than riding from one side of the County to the other, splashing through fetid swamps, chasing his quarry down only to have it slip through his fingers at the last moment. Through heat one moment, wind and hail and lashing rain the next. Only to return to Cornwallis to be told he was doing it all wrong! It had been a dreadful few months, of hardship and privation… A chat with a lovely young lady at a ball was just what he needed. Besides, he had a sister of his own and it was pleasant, conversing about things that would only be of concern to young women. He enjoyed fine clothes as well - not quite as much as his friend and Second in Command Major George Hanger, but he enjoyed them all the same. Therefore, he listened quite attentively, as Miss Middleton continued her tale.

* * *

"If he looks at you again," William said under his breath, "I'll knock his head from his shoulders."

"Now, William," Beth sighed. She was heartily sick of holding her husband back, it seemed that had been her purpose all evening, keeping William from Banastre's throat. "What, do you imagine, would Cornwallis have to say about it, if you did?"

"Not a damn thing," William sniffed. "Not if half of what I heard is true. Cornwallis is furious with Banastre. Besides, I am his superior, I can knock his damned head off, if I want to."

"O'Hara will accuse you of abusing your authority again if you did that. You're being stupid," Beth giggled. She snuggled closer and wound her gloved fingers into his warm arm. "You know where my heart lies."

"You only want me because it's cold and I'm warm," he scoffed down at her, though he still kept a wary eye on Banastre.

"Hmm, so warm," she snuggled even closer, her body pressed alongside his for it was an unusually cold for an August night. "I'm such a fool, what a stupid thing, this evening is a disaster and the weather is not helping. We're coming into September but Lord, it should not be this cold!"

"At least it's not raining," he pointed out, comforting her.

"You don't disagree that it's a disaster!" She accused, glaring. He laughed, half expecting her to begin tapping her foot. Well, he would not lie to her - he'd attended far more organised affairs in his day. At least the servants were circulating with trays of madeira - the guests would be too soused to remember their discomfort and hunger before long. And the call for dinner would come soon. It was almost ready now, and there'd be less grumbling then.

William and Beth's conversation had been in hushed whispers, and William turned his attention to the silly woman who had continued to prattle to him all the while. Lord, would she never cease? What, in God's name, did William care about her milk cows? So a calf had been borne feet first. What of it? Hell's bloody teeth! One glance at Beth showed him that she was every bit as intrigued as he. Clearly. For why else would her eyes be glazed over? She wore such a faraway look on her face…

"And what are you thinking of, little Beth?" He leaned down to whisper. "Where ever you are, may I come too?"

She blinked up at him, startled, and he smiled.

"You're obviously very far away," he explained. "You've travelled to some place far, far away and you've left me behind."

"No, I haven't," a mischievous glint entered her eyes. "You're right there with me, dear heart."

"Oh?" His interest was immediately piked. "And what are we doing, hmm?"

They were not alone in their small group, and as William and Beth whispered at each other, the woman continued to prattle to the others in their company. Beth pitched her voice even lower. Speaking in a code that she clearly was making up as she went along, she said, "I was just about to pull your… sword… free… of its scabbard," his eyes narrowed, became more focused. Emboldened, she continued, "I was just now lowering myself to my knees, in order to… glide my fingers along… the blade… a little better.."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, seizing her arm. Without even excusing himself, he pulled his wife from the midst of startled guests and began to march her toward the house, with Beth giggling all the way. William ignored any and all attempts from the guests who hailed him, trying to get his attention. He continued marching Beth along, his expression set in a look of keen concentration. To the casual observer, the Colonel's face was a thunderhead. He looked filled with fury, but Beth knew better. She continued to giggle even as she was dragged up the stairs and ushered into their bedchamber. By then, she was breathless, for it was no easy feat, traversing such a distance at such a pace, in such restrictive stays. She cursed herself for a fool, for asking Mila to do the laces tighter than usual.

"Now," he said. He was not even breathing hard! "You were on your knees, stroking my sword, I believe. What next?"

William wrapped his hands around her waist and edged her backward to the bed.

"On second thought," she panted, still trying to recover her breath. "I believe it was you who was kneeling."

"Indeed?" he quirked an eyebrow, amused.

"Yes. You were. You were checking… ah… to see if my garter was holding my stocking, because… I'd thought it had come loose…" She smirked.

"I see. A worthy and most important duty," he mused. "And after I have checked that your garter is holding your stocking? To ensure it was indeed secure?"

"Well, you had to explore further you know," she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaned in to kiss his smooth cheek. "To… ah… make sure I was warm enough… you know…"

"Hmm, and after I've assisted in the warming of your sweet quim, what then?" He asked as he boldly began lifting her skirts. His fingers edged the silks and layers of petticoats upward, and she licked her lips in anticipation. "Will you then be pulling my sword free of its scabbard, will you be lowering yourself to your knees, to glide your fingers along the blade?" Despite his fingers now caressing the insides of her thighs, and the exquisite feelings this was drawing forth, Beth tossed her head back and laughed.

"Yes, dear heart," she giggled, "it would be my pleasure."

* * *

"So, the Tavington's are not to join us for dinner, then?" Banastre asked Cilla, eyeing the two empty seats stiffly.

"I am sure I have no idea," Cilla replied and Banastre cocked his head, giving her a long look. They were seated at their tables, Cornwallis was seated two tables over with O'Hara and his other adjutants and oh - there were the Tavington's now, looking somewhat embarrassed as they took their seats at the high table with Cornwallis.

The high table in which Banastre had not been invited to sit. Instead, he was with Cilla and Hanger and several others; Richard, Banastre saw, was at another table again. Banastre held his glass out and a servant ventured over to fill it with a dark, red wine. On impulse, he picked up the crystal goblet at Cilla's place setting and held that out to be filled as well. Cilla gave him a startled look.

"I don't think that is watered," she said, frowning as he set it before her.

"You're a married woman now, Mrs. Bordon," he pointed out. "And I believe the required response is 'Thank you, Colonel Tarleton.' " He arched an eyebrow. He remembered how prickly she could be at times, but now she looked utterly fractious, as though she simply did not want to be there at all. "I think you could use it as much as I do," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"You look about as happy to be here as I feel," he replied, draining a mouthful. He swallowed and smacked his lips. "It's surprisingly good. Come now, Mrs. Bordon, try it." Her lips tightened and she looked even more irritable. "Here, like this," he said, bringing the glass up to his lips again. She watched as he took a drink. He swallowed and smacked his lips again. "Just like that."

"You look absurd when you do that," she replied. "And it sounds awful."

He laughed softly. "And incredibly impolite, as well. I have to admit," he glanced at the high table, at Tavington and at Beth. "Being here is a trial, I want to be here as much as you do."

"Which is to say, not at all?" Cilla asked and startled, Banastre threw back his head and laughed.

"Precisely that much," he admitted. "Look at them all, jovial and merry. You are the only guest here who matches my mood to perfection, therefore you are the only one I desire to keep company with. Therefore, I insist you drink for if you don't keep up with me, I shall soon surpass you in silliness, and then we will not be well suited to one another's company at all."

"Why do you want to drink?" She asked.

"Why, to alleviate my sour mood, of course. It shall alleviate yours too, though in truth, my company should be enough for that." He cocked his head again and grinned. "Was that a smile? I think it was! It was a smile! I made you smile."

"I suppose you did," she said, her weak smile deepening slightly. She was staring at her glass as though it was something strange and foreign, but at length she did pick it up and she took a small, experimental sip. It wasn't as harsh as the whiskey, which had been watered down. Still, it was quite strong, without the added water to thin it. Perhaps it would put her in the same good mood the whiskey had, God knew she had need of that. Take what advantages you can, Emily had said. Very well.

"See? It's a lovely drop. You have enough of this and you'll be feeling cheerful indeed," Banastre said, taking a much larger drink. His glass was almost empty, he motioned again and again, a servant filled it for him. Hanger was sitting across from him, chatting jovially with Rebecca Middleton and several others. Banastre noticed the looks Rebecca kept giving him but he was no longer in any mood to entertain her. He was in no mood to flirt, not when he could not flirt with the woman he actually wanted. Seeing Beth disappear with Tavington earlier had plummeted Banastre to the depths of despair, for he knew damned well where they'd gone and what they'd done. Now, he simply had no energy to entertain the pretty maid who had fallen in love with him. It took much less of his vitality to sit there with Sour Cilla and get rip roaring drunk.

"You really should stop looking at them," Cilla said, taking another sip. This one was not experimental, it was a determined pull and she did not squish her face as she had with the first sip.

"No?" Banastre asked.

"I get the feeling that Colonel Tavington likes it," Cilla said. "Do you know what I mean? He knows you still love her and I think… This is like a victory for him and seeing you hunger for her just makes his victory that much more…"

"Enjoyable?" Banastre finished when Cilla was searching for the right word.

"Complete," she said.

"That damned bastard. It's damned hard though," Banastre said. "I love her, Mrs. Bordon."

Cilla's eyebrows lifted. Banastre had spoken low enough for her to hear, no one else heard the words.

"It's torture," he whispered. He took another pull - unlike Cilla, this was not his first glass of wine for the evening, he was already well on his way to getting soused. He nodded at her glass, encouraging her to sip her wine, wanting her to keep up with him. It really would do her the world of good. He would introduce her to the wonderful activity of drowning ones sorrows, for she seemed as in need of it as he. "I know she loves me, yet it's he she has to lay with," he said. "I can only imagine how awful it is for her. Do you have any idea what it is like, being forced to bed a man you don't want?" Cilla's face blazed crimson and she averted her gaze. "I'm sorry," he said, immediately contrite. "Something tells me you know that feeling all too well."

"I'm not… that is, we don't… ours is…" Cilla frowned fiercely, extremely embarrassed. "It doesn't matter," she finished, taking another pull. This one was deeper, her glass was almost empty. Banastre took it, gestured for a servant and it was filled again promptly.

"Does he… Do they fight? Does he treat her poorly? For if he does, I vow, I shall kill him," he declared, feeling free to speak this way with Cilla, for he knew that she was very close to Beth.

"There is no unpleasantness between them," Cilla replied. She'd chosen her words carefully, unsure what to tell the lovesick Officer, that would not hurt him. She recalled hearing Beth and Tavington have relations and thought how wrong Banastre Tarleton had it, to assume Beth was not enjoying herself thoroughly in Tavington's bed. She could not tell that to Banastre, however.

They continued to chat, mostly it was Banastre chatting about Beth, while he drank steadily and Cilla slightly less so. One glass to every two of his. But that was enough to soon have her lightheaded and giddy.

"See?" He leaned in close, whispering. "I told you you'd be feeling cheerful in no time," he said and she smiled, nodding. Feeling rather cheerful himself as the dinner continued and the wine flowed, he finally began to have the energy to flirt. With Rebecca across from him, with several other ladies at the table. With Cilla Putman Bordon, who rolled her eyes and did not take him seriously in the slightest, even when he called her the most beautiful flower in the garden. He had taken her advice and hadn't looked over at the Tavington's even once since Cilla had advised him not to. He did ask her, several times, what the pair were doing now and while she was exacerbated at first, eventually she became less so, she eventually became his eyes, giggle as she watched the Tavington's and whispered what was happening now.

Which was nothing much, in truth. William and Beth were chatting with O'Hara, Cornwallis and the other Generals. "Perhaps he needs some of this," Cilla said, indicating her glass. "Cornwallis seems as cheerless as you and I."

"I am cheerless no longer, with thanks to such fine company," Banastre said.

"With thanks to the wine," Cilla corrected.

The dinner came to an end and the guests began filing out. Some of the staff at Fresh Water must have had hidden musical talents, for several of them played their rudimentary instruments for the revellers to dance beneath the stars. Banastre fell in with Major Hanger and Whitty, he walked along with them for several steps, thinking that Cilla was still with him. When he discovered she was not, he turned to see her standing uncertainly, watching as couples began to walk toward the dance area. He glanced around for Bordon, but he was no where to be seen.

"Aren't you coming?" Banastre called to Cilla, who gave a start. "Come on - we finally get to have some fun!" He held out his arm to her and she smiled gratefully as she came forward to take it. Rebecca and Sarah soon joined them and the six of them fell into their dancing lines, all paired off with one another.

So began the next, far more enjoyable, part of the evening. Banastre danced with the ladies - Cilla, Rebecca, Sarah, Emily Wilkins. He was watching for Beth with the hopes that he might dance with her, too, but Tavington was keeping her back, allowing her to dance only with his men; Bordon, Brownlow, Dalton, and others in his command. The damned prick.

Between dances, Banastre stepped away from the group. He pulled a flask from his pocket and took a long pull of whiskey, turning his back to the others to shield his actions. When he turned back, Cilla was standing right behind him, staring wide eyed. He gave her a lopsided grin and offered the flask. "What some?"

"What is it?"

"Whiskey. You ever had whiskey?"

"I… for the first time, the other day," she admitted. "Mrs. Wilkins and I… we had, well a few. But it was watered down."

"You and your water," he laughed. "Why in the world would you spoil such a fine drink, by watering it down? Go on, have a drink with me, forget about your water."

She laughed, smiled nervously, then took it from his fingers gingerly.

"Small sips," he advised. "It's strong."

"Alright," she said and took a small, experimental sip. He laughed at the look on her face. She swallowed and cringed. "Ooohhhh that is so much worse," she said, but she surprised him by taking another sip. They shared the flask for a few more moments, before turning back to the dancing. The group was cheerful, Banastre gave Rebecca the attention she so clearly craved from him, while slipping away to share the flask with the often giggling Cilla.

His suspicion that Cilla was in a loveless, arranged marriage became abundantly clear to Banastre when Bordon strode over to offer his wife an obligatory dance. Cilla's smile slid from her face and assumed a 'proper' facade. _Properly unhappy_, Banastre thought as he went through the steps with Sarah Wilkins. Cilla kept her line of sight pinned on the space above Bordon's shoulder, never quite meeting his gaze even as she moved through the steps with him. Bordon looked as grim as his wife - it was clear he was only dancing with her to keep up appearances, to make people think the two valued one another. And a woeful job he was going, too. Banastre made a gesture to gain her attention and when she glanced at him, he jutted his chin toward Bordon, made a rude expression with his face, then gave Cilla a slow wink. Cilla laughed and Bordon, frowning, glanced at Banastre, who threw on a vacant expression of wide innocence . When he turned back to Cilla, he saw her hiding a smile.

When the dancing ended, the guests began to leave the party. Some returning to the great house where they were quartered, others would climb into carriages that would carry them to the Ferguson's or for the local Loyalists, to their nearby homes. There were scores of Dragoons - both William's and Banastre's - on hand, ready to escort them safely. Banastre offered Cilla his arm and together, they began to make their way back to Martin's manor house. Banastre stumbled and lurched, the path kept moving under his feet for some reason.

"It's so difficult to walk," she giggled. "I can't believe we managed to dance at all."

"Even drunk," he boasted, "I am an exceptional dancer."

"And exceptional company. Thank you, Colonel Tarleton," Cilla said. "I honestly didn't want to come tonight at all, I certainly didn't think I'd enjoy it. But I did," she smiled up at him. "Thanks to you."

"Thanks to the wine and whiskey," he replied, grinning. He dipped his hand in his pocket for the flask, unscrewed it, then offered it to Cilla. She glanced about to make sure no one was watching - indeed, there was scant light except for nearby torches, and most people had gone on ahead of them in any case. Even Hanger and Whitty, with Sarah Wilkins and Rebecca Middleton - the four of them were still walking onward toward the house, while Banastre and Cilla had slowed to share the flask until it was empty.

"Ooh, I really need the privy," Cilla said, squirming.

"I've been to enough of these affairs to know that the privy will likely be busy for sometime yet. Can you wait to use the chamber pot in your room?"

"Oh, I really don't want to walk another step," she said.

"Then off into the bushes with you," he said, guiding her off the path. "I'll go too."

After getting Cilla to squat behind a tree, Banastre went behind another, where he answered the call of nature. He was there a while. When he'd finally passed as much water as he was able, he returned to Cilla, who was waiting for him in the darkness. He felt for her arm, then guided her back to the light of the torches.

"Better?" He asked.

"So much better," she replied. They resumed their stumbling walk back toward the path, with Banastre nursing thoughts of kissing Cilla. She looked so much like Beth even in daylight, let alone now in the near darkness. Perhaps that was why he'd been so solicitous of her all evening - because she resembled her cousin so greatly. And he couldn't have Beth now. Banastre pulled Cilla's hand free of his arm, then placed his arm around her shoulders. The torch lit path was empty now, the last of the laughing and chatting guests had their backs to the couple as they made their way toward the manor house. Banastre steered Cilla toward a lovers seat.

"Aren't we going back to the house?" She asked, looking drunkenly surprised as he encouraged her to sit beside him.

"Soon," he said. He pulled his arm from her shoulders, tilted her face up to his, cupped her jaw with both his hands. "But first…" He bent toward her and she watched him, wide eyed and shocked, as he leaned in to brush his lips to hers. He heard her little gasp - a quick, indrawn breath. His lips moved over hers for barely a moment, before she was turning her face away. With one finger beneath her chin, he turned her back to him. "It's just a kiss, Mrs. Bordon," he said smoothly, softly. "There's no harm in it."

"Please don't call me that," she replied, lowering her eyes.

"Alright…" he paused, then said, "Cilla." She glanced back up at him and he met her lips again, while holding her jaw with the gentleness he would use holding a frightened bird. "It's just kissing," he whispered, his lips moving over hers. As a married woman, she would have done this and so much more. Strangely, while she was not pulling away, she was not responding much either. He'd given girls their first kiss before and this felt very much like that, Cilla's responses were clumsy, untrained and all the more delightful for it. He remembered the coolness between Cilla and Bordon and it occurred to him that perhaps she had not had occasion to kiss very often after all. She was only newly married, and her husband was not exactly attentive of her. Perhaps Bordon was not taking the time to care for his wife's needs, as he had those of his mistress's.

Setting Bordon from his mind, he settled in to show Cilla just how enjoyable kissing could be. He nudged her lips to part, suckled on her top lip and then her lower, relished her little sigh as he felt her arms come about his waist. He drew back ever so slightly, she gazed at him with wide eyes filled with wonder.

"Shall I take you back now? Or would you like to stay here a few minutes longer?" He asked.

"Can we… Can we stay here?" She asked.

For answer, he resumed kissing her, he kept his eyes open, watching the expressions of wonder and curiosity shift across her face. This could not be her first kiss - she would have consummated her marriage days ago. But he sensed it was her first kiss like _this_. Cilla turned her face from his, cast a quick glance about, before leaning back to him again. Just making sure no one saw them. He smiled, delighted with her complicity. As his fingers began to caress her neck, Banastre eventually began to recall that, while he was enjoying kissing Cilla, who greatly resembled Beth and therefore the kissing was more enjoyable for it, he _was_ kissing his friend's wife. He had to stop, before either of them began to want more. He lifted his lips from hers, rested his forehead on hers.

"See, Cilla?" He whispered, "no harm in it." He gave her a quick peck, then regretfully drew away from her. "We'd best get back before it's noticed that we're missing." She said nothing as he rose, but when he held his hands out to her, she placed her fingers in his and let him pull her up. He gave her a warm smile - the special smile he reserved for his lovers. Even though they had not coupled, they'd shared an intimate moment, and therefore she was deserving of more than his usual amiable grin. She wound her arm through his and together, they made their way back to the manor.


	92. Chapter 92 - Mrs Lilly Merry

Chapter 92 - Mrs. Lilly Merry:

_Mid September - Fresh Water Plantation_

The sun shone overhead but as it was two weeks into Autumn, it was not as searing as it once had been. Bordon would even call it pleasant, now. It hadn't been shining for long enough to dry the ground though; the paths were a churned up mess from the rain during the night. Mud coated the skirts of the camp followers, dragging garments down, making them heavier. It caked the boots of the soldiers, one could not walk easily in that slop.

Richard's task was finished. He'd called three different units to muster for a surprise inspection. It was time to return to the house, where he would sit with the other Officers, with a glass of brandy in one hand and his pipe in the other. That was what passed for bliss for him these days, he enjoyed those simple things, his blessings were so few and far between.

Tipping his helmet to a camp follower - a doxy he'd bedded once or twice what seemed like a lifetime ago - he continued on down the path. More drudges filed past him, but one woman was heading the opposite direction, and there was something about her that struck him. Something familiar. The girl glanced over her shoulder, and in that brief moment, Richard saw her face.

Linda Stokes.

Jesus fucking Christ. Her auburn hair was coloured black, but still. He'd recognise her anywhere. He'd screwed her a time or two himself, back in that other life. Of course he'd recognise her. Not seeing him, she turned back and continued to walk up the churned up path. Bordon followed her. The area was familiar, Harmony had shared a tent with her husband here not that long ago. The tent was still there, and Bordon stared at it, though he knew it would be housing someone else by now. He couldn't help but stare at it with longing, he used to visit Harmony there, when her husband was gone. And when he was not, Harmony would tell Farshaw that she was visiting Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell, only to meet Richard in Mrs. Merry's tent, further along the avenue.

He had to push the memories away for they were too painful, and because he was following Miss Linda Stokes. He saw her up ahead of him and he quickened his stride, closing the distance just as she ducked into one of the tents. He frowned, for he was certain that was the one Harmony used to take him too, so they could be alone. As painful as if was to enter the hallowed ground of their lovemaking, Bordon lifted the tent flap and strode in after Linda.

Linda whirled around, she was alone in Mrs. Merry's tent, but appeared to be acting like it was hers.

Everything clicked together and Richard said, "you're Mrs. Merry." Coming face to face with Bordon, Linda drew in a sharp breath of dismay. Richard, however, was now staring down at her increasing stomach. "And you're pregnant," he breathed, reeling. Slowly, he lifted his gaze and met her eyes. "Is it William's?"

"Sweet Lord above," Linda swayed. Her hand went protectively to her stomach. "Yes and yes, Major. It's William's."

"Does he know?" Richard asked, voice going up an octave. "I can't believe he didn't tell me! You're pregnant and in camp - Lord, he hasn't been coming down here to see you has he? He isn't…"

"No, he is not unfaithful," Linda said bitterly, eyes brimming tears. "He doesn't even know I'm here."

"How…" Richard was staring at her, utterly incredulous. "We went to that house, Harm and I. You were gone - the woman said some fellow came to visit you a few times and on one of those occasions, you left with him. The fellow - he was a soldier. I thought he had deserted, and taken you with him! Is he here too, then?"

"Yes, he is," Linda began moving around the tent, folding clothes and packing them away, tidying. "He wants me to marry him. He's a good sort," she shrugged, "I suppose. But he's no William," this last was whispered and finally, the tears spilled over.

"Here, sit down and tell me," Richard curled his fingers around her arm and guided her to the only stool. He remained standing.

"He left me," Linda whispered, forlorn. "I knew he'd marry her, but he promised he'd stay with me too! I'd be his mistress, he said. Christ I love him so much. It hurts, so much. How could he make those promises and then just… leave me? How could he expect that I'd stay away from him? As if I ever could!"

"Oh, I see," Richard nodded, pondering. "That's why you returned…"

"He's going to need me soon," Linda predicted, voice feverish. "That stupid chit can't keep him happy forever. I doubt she's giving him any pleasure. She'll be too priggish to take him into her mouth - she wouldn't kneel on the floor, she wouldn't sully her skirts!"

"All right!" Richard held up one hand, he did not need any more of that sort of talk. "Linda, I am sorry that you're in pain, but you must believe me when I tell you that Colonel Tavington is contently married. I know he made promises, but when you love some body…" He trailed off, thinking of Harmony. "If you love deeply, then only that person can fill that void."

"Don't I know it? That's why I haven't taken Private Cox up on his offer of marriage. I couldn't be with anyone but William."

"But that's just it," Richard argued. Marriage? Jesus, this old whore had been offered a proper life and respectability, and she'd turned it away? Keeping this thought to himself for now, he continued, "William has found the woman he loves and as I said, he'll not stray from her."

"Give it time," Linda curled her lip. She dabbed at her eyes. "Have you seen her? Stalking about here like she owns the place -"

"Well, her family _does_ own it…" He said but was ignored.

"Making all the other camp followers like her. She bribes them, that's why they like her. She comes down with blankets and food and smiles and says kind words but it's all a lie. I see right through the bitch, I do."

"You've spoken to her?" Richard asked, alarmed.

"She doesn't know who I am if that's what you're worried about, and I've a few friends in camp, and they will not tell. They worry about me, being all alone and raising a child, so they won't tell _Mrs. Tavington_ a damned thing," Linda spat the name like it was a curse. "In case she demands William send me away. When she came down here with her stupid book, taking all the names of the women and asking what we do and how best she can help… Ech, she makes my stomach churn. Anyway, as you have already guessed, I gave a different name. I'm now the pregnant widow, Mrs. Lilly Merry, though there's nothing fucking merry about me! Not without William."

"Sweet Lord," Richard rubbed at the bristles on his cheek. "All those times Harm bought me here… She kept saying we could trust Mrs. Merry implicitly and I realise that is the case. But I can't believe she didn't tell me the truth."

"I begged her not too," Linda shrugged.

"Linda, there's nothing for you here. Either marry that fellow who wants you, or leave. You need to forget William, he won't take you back. If he learns your here…" He shook his head. "The whole reason he sent you away was out of respect for his wife. This is her _home_, Linda."

"And I sully it with my presence?" Linda shot back, offended. Richard's silence was reply enough. After a moments anguish, she pleaded, "don't tell him. Please, Major. Just let me stay here. He's going to need me one day, and I need to be close by when he does. I pull my weight. I do chores, just like the other women. I don't eat any more than those others. I'm not a burden to no one. There's no need to tell him…"

"Of course there is," Richard sighed. "He'd have my hide if he found out I knew where you were and didn't tell him. He has been worried, you know. You just disappeared, of course he was worried about you. And then there's the money he promised you… You know, it would serve as a good enough dowry for this soldier of yours…"

"I'm not marrying him," Linda shrugged. "If you tell William… God. What if he sends me away again? Please, Major. I need to be close by! I might not be able to be with him at the moment, but at least I can see him walking about camp most days! Those glimpses of him are all I have, they've stopped me from going mad!"

"I know the feeling," Richard said, thinking of his own troubles. With Harmony living on the next plantation over, he was denied even that much! "Harmony is wretched, Linda. Why haven't you visited her? You must know some of what she's been through - you would have heard the rumours. And she has been worried sick about you, she'll want to know you're alright."

"Who says I haven't been to see her?" Linda asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You…"

"I go to the Ferguson House regularly. Well, Mrs. Merry does anyway. I have to be careful because that fucking bitch goes to see her as well, and I don't want to be there when she shows up. Harmony is wretched, like you said, but she's getting through each day. Which is more than I'll be doing, if you tell William I'm here. He'll send me away again and I don't know what I'll do, then. Please, won't you please keep my secret, Major?" She pleaded, wringing her hands.

"I am sorry, Linda, but I can not. You're going to bear his child!" There were other reasons, as well. Yes, William was a friend, but he was also Richard's Commander, his Superior. He could not keep secrets such as this from him. Richard was not above withholding information from his Superiors but it would have to be of far more import and for a far more worthy cause, than Linda Stokes. "I can't keep any of this from him."

With a sullen sigh, Linda hung her head.

* * *

The duties of a camp follower were never ending. Usually, it entailing the caring of a group of ten or fifteen men, cooking and cleaning, sewing for them. At times, she was required to assist in the medical tents, or to carry messages from one section of camp to another, if no Private was available. It was late afternoon now and Linda was on her way back from visiting Private Cox. She could have served his unit where she would be close to him, but she preferred to be reside Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell, both for their friendship and because they were situated closer to the Great House and William. Besides, she didn't want to encourage Cox more than she should - she went to him twice weekly, more out of duty than anything. And because Mrs. Andrews said she should. Mrs. Andrews thought Linda was a damned fool, for not taking up Cox's offer of marriage. Perhaps she was right, perhaps Linda was a very great fool. Still, she couldn't bring herself to accept him. Not when, with that accepting, all her hope of being with William again would be dust. Just look at Harmony, who'd been so close to marrying her man. Only for her worthless husband to show up and ruin everything. Still, if Calvin Farshaw had died, for true this time, Harmony and Richard could still have been together. But now Richard was married also, further narrowing the slim hope for their future until it was dust. Linda wasn't going to make that mistake, no sir. When Tavington was finally free of his wife, Linda intended to be available to him.

Besides, he was going to need her soon, she'd meant what she said to Richard Bordon. She felt it in her bones.

As she walked along, Linda realised too late that she'd taken the wrong path and was now about to walk through the section of camp where Mrs. Salisbury was quartered. She stopped dead in the middle of the avenue, her eyes searching for the horrid woman. If Mrs. Salisbury saw her, she'd likely tell Mrs. Tavington, just to curry favour with the new Matron of camp followers. And Mrs. Tavington would raise hell, she'd ensure Linda was booted from camp, for certain.

She was about to turn on her heel, when she saw a caped woman approaching Mrs. Salisbury. The woman had her face hidden deep within her cowl but as Linda was facing her and as the late afternoon sun was slanting in her direction, Linda saw her face. To her horror, she recognised Mrs. Emily Wilkins. Now there was a person who would definitely tell Beth Tavington, should she see Linda there. This time, she turned on her heel and did not stop walking until she was behind a tent, where she turned to peer back at the pair. They were talking now, neither of them had seen her, thank goodness. They were thoroughly unaware that they had someone watching them, though the still hooded Emily did keep casting her gaze about, as if worried she was going to be seen.

That they were up to no good was without a doubt. Though she feared being caught back in camp by these two women - especially Emily - she stayed where she was, watching to see what the hell was going on. .

As Linda watched, Emily pulled a purse out of a pocket and she dropped a few coins into Mrs. Salisbury's hand, before disappearing into the woman's tent. Still outside the tent, Mrs. Salisbury counted the coins before pocketing them and then striding away.

What the devil? It seemed to Linda that Emily Wilkins was paying Salisbury for the use of her tent. But to what purpose? Mrs. Salisbury was still walking away, Linda watched the woman until she turned a corner and disappeared from view. Emily Wilkins though, she was still in the tent and Linda was dying to know why. Curiosity taking over her need to not be seen by either woman, Linda strode boldly up to the tent. No scurrying or lurking that would alert the casual observer that she was someplace she shouldn't be. Careful of the guide ropes, she made her way down the side of the tent to the rear of it; she could hear Emily talking so Linda knew she was not alone. Remembering the time she and Harmony had followed Emily in the dark of night, and considering Emily had paid for the use of this tent, Linda strongly suspected that Emily had taken another lover. They had heard her with an Officer that night, the damned trollop. And Linda could hear her now.

Fortuitously, there was a basket filled with wet washing, waiting to be hung on the line. Picking up a shirt from the basket, she began pegging it to the clothes line. If any of the soldiers questioned her, she'd tell them she was helping Mrs. Salisbury. But in truth, there was no reason for anyone to question her. She positioned herself close enough to hear the goings on inside the tent.

_"…the poor dear is dreadfully ill, she has been for the last few days. It's much more than her pregnancy, it could be yellow fever. I do hope not. Bordon has been sharing a room with Brownlow. I joked with Mrs. Bordon, I said at least her husband is sleeping elsewhere now, leaving her in peace. She even smiled, when I said it, but I'm so worried for her, she is dreadfully ill. She really doesn't want him anywhere near her. And he her, I believe. Like my husband, Major Bordon takes any opportunity he can to be away from the Plantation. Which is wonderful for me, because I get to be here with you. And it's wonderful for Mrs. Bordon, too, for when he's away, she doesn't have to share his bed then, either."_

_"You told me she was refusin' to fuck him,"_ the fellow said. Linda frowned, surprised by the coarse speech. It didn't bother her, such language, but why the hell was up-her-own-arse Emily Wilkins bothering herself with this sort? Linda pricked her ears, she focused until all the surrounding noise faded to the background, so she could concentrate better on what was being said in the tent, for Harmony would want to hear this. She was distraught enough that her man had married elsewhere, but she was tormenting herself with fear that he was bedding his wife, when he promised he never would. And Linda also wanted to know who the fellow was, why should he care about gossip from the Great House? Perhaps he was just indulging Emily, getting the preliminaries out of the way before he was able to fuck her?

"_Oh, yes, she's refusing to bed him alright, though I don't think he's bothered to try, either. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, it was a good few months before James came back to my bed after our first time and Cilla and Bordon have only been married a month. Still, Cilla is far more content when he isn't here, she has the bed to herself and feels far more comfortable when he's not around. When he's there, she is so much more… guarded… than when he is not. I feel quite dreadfully for her."_

_"The fuckin' prick should do her a favour and go live in the cabin he set up to fuck Harmony in,"_ the male voice said and Linda paused, shocked, curiosity building. "_I know Mrs. Bordon prefers that he don't touch her, but I'd prefer it if he was fuckin' her. Or anyone else."_

_"Well, he can't, for that cabin is in use by someone else now. But you don't need to worry, Cal. There's no way possible he'll ever be able to start an affair with her again."_

Linda's eyes bulged. Lieutenant Calvin Farshaw! The man in the tent was Lieutenant Calvin Farshaw! Hell, Emily was bedding Harmony's husband? Her arms raised to the clothes line, Linda's fingers froze on the peg. What was Emily about, having an affair with Farshaw? How could such a thing even begin? And why?

_"Yeh, maybe. You two have become real close, haven't you? You and Mrs. Bordon?"_

"_Oh yes, and I'm quite worried for her, because she's quite ill at the moment. She hasn't risen from her bed for two days now; I do hope it's not that horrid illness that has corrupted Cornwallis' men - I'm loath to say it, but I worry that perhaps he bought that awful illness with him. As for closeness, I think Cilla and I are even closer than Cilla is to Beth now. They get along grandly enough now, as long as they don't mention _**_her_**_. But it's still strained, you know? Your bitch of a wife will always be between them, unless Beth finally chooses. But with Cilla and I, well, we don't have anything putting a strain on us. She confides in me and I in her. Well, not about you and I, of course,"_ she giggled. "_Though she does know I have taken lovers in the past. And she suspects I have one now, I think. But she hasn't asked me outright."_

_"Does she talk about her prick husband? Does she know if he's ever tried to make contact with Harmony?"_

_"No, she hasn't said anything like that, and she would tell me, if she did know. And I'd tell you straight away, the same as I did last time. No, Cal, I really don't think you have anything to worry about there. It's over between Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw."_ There was a momentary pause, then said with what Linda perceived to be forced lightness. _"You're getting me a little worried, darling, with you asking all these questions about Cilla's husband and your wife."_

_"Jealous, aye?"_ Farshaw sounded amused. _"Em, I don't give a fuck about Harmony. I just don't want to be embarrassed by them fucking again, you understand? I don't want to be the last to know, I don't want to be the fuckin' butt of the joke again."_

_"Oh, Cal," _Emily said, sounding soothing. There was the sound of tender kissing, that went on for some time. Linda continued to put the clothes on the line, though she was working slowly, she was still only on her third shirt by now. Finally the sound ceased and the talk began again. _"I was right, by the way. While Cilla hasn't confided her pregnancy to me, she's most certainly with child. Vickie, her maid, told me that Cilla has never had her menses since she came to Fresh Water, and she's been sick every morning, from that day. She's proper sick now, with chills and fevers and the like, but she was pregnancy sick before that, I'm certain of it."_

_"She's your dearest friend in the world, and yet you gossip about her to her maid?" _Calvin laughed - it sounded fond.

_"I know, I'm dreadful. But I can't help myself,"_ Emily giggled. _"But it confirms what I thought, Cal. Cilla was pregnant before coming to Fresh Water. It's why she had to marry Bordon, he got her pregnant back in the city."_

_"They were married a month ago,"_ Calvin reasoned. _"How do you know she wasn't pregnant from their wedding night?"_

_"Because she was already showing signs of being sick every day, from the first day she got here,"_ Emily said. _"Even if she fell pregnant on their wedding night, she wouldn't be sick after only a few days, Cal."_

_"No? But Mrs. Andrews said a women can be sick from the very first day of pregnancy," _he said and Linda felt a sense of foreboding. She knew Mrs. Andrews had lied to Calvin about many things concerning Harmony's pregnancy, in order to make him believe she was not as far along as she actually was. If Emily said something to make him question that…

"_Mrs. Andrews said that? I wouldn't have thought so, but I've never been pregnant so…_" Emily trailed off.

_"You think she could be mistaken?"_

_"I'm not saying anything,"_ Emily said, sounding innocent.

_"She had her menses, remember?" _

_"Yes, you told me,"_ Emily said.

_"But you're thinkin' something ain't right anyway?"_ He asked and Linda only heard silence, though she had the feeling that Emily had nodded, for Calvin continued as if she'd answered. _"Em, you hate her. You fuckin' despise her, you proved that the day you sent Mrs. Salisbury to warn me about them. You were right then, but this time are you sure you ain't jumpin' at shadows, 'cause of you hatin' her?"_

_"Maybe," _Emily said. _"Maybe I just don't want it to be yours, maybe I'm just jealous that she's pregnant with your baby and I'm not."_

_"Maybe we should do something about then then, aye?" _He asked and Emily laughed. The kissing resumed and Linda knew there would be very little talk now, they were going to get down to the business of rutting. She dropped all pretence with the clothes, she simply turned her back on the basket and walked away. Keeping a careful eye out for Mrs. Salisbury, she left that dangerous section of camp and began the long walk straight to the Ferguson house.

* * *

Linda closed the door behind her, then turned to face Harmony.

"Harm, you have to get out of here. Right fucking now." Linda even began picking up Harmony's belongings, ready to pack them for her.

"What's happened?" Harmony asked, her eyes widening.

"Calvin's mistress is Emily Wilkins," Linda said, laying it all out to an astonished and now frightened Harmony. "I don't know how or why. But I heard them together, they're like two peas in a pod. The good news is, Major Bordon isn't lying to you in those letters of his, he isn't have relations with his wife."

"Thank God," Harmony breathed. "How do you know that though?"

"Because they were talking about it, Harm. Because - and here is the bad news - Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Bordon have become stupendous and fast friends who confide to each other about just about everything. And didn't you tell me once that Mrs. Bordon knows that the baby you're carrying is Bordon's, and not your husband's?"

Harmony sat heavily to the bed, her hands on her stomach. She looked ready to vomit. "Yes, she knows the truth."

"So how long before she tells Emily, aye?" Linda asked.

"I don't… I don't know… I don't think she would…"

"Oh of course, because the two of you and stupendous and fast friends too, aren't you?" Linda scoffed. "Harm, Mrs. Bordon knows the truth. And Emily, who bares you no love at all, is suspicious that the baby isn't your husband's. Or at least, she's hopeful that it isn't."

"She said that? To Calvin?" Harmony squeaked.

"She said that, _to Calvin_. She thinks Mrs. Bordon was pregnant before she married Bordon, that they had an affair back in the city. She said Mrs. Bordon has been sick, ever since she arrived here. Calvin said 'but Mrs. Andrews said you can be sick from your first day of pregnancy', which is what Mrs. Andrews and you want him to believe, yes?" - Harmony nodded, white faced. - "To which Emily replied, 'i don't think so.'"

"Oh, dear Lord."

"He asked her if he thought something was wrong - as in, if he'd been lied too. She said she didn't know, but she was making sure to hint at you already being pregnant before he came back. He said it's his because you had your menses before he got here and that she's just jumpin' at shadows because she hates you. She said maybe she just don't want the child to be his, that'll she's jealous because she wants his get. That's when I left, because he said something about fixing that now and they started rutting. Harm, Emily does hate you. Even if she believes the child to be Farshaw's, she's still a danger to you. She's going to cause trouble, say things to make him suspicious. And if she does speak to Mrs. Bordon about it… If she realises there's a secret to be had and she starts doing a little digging there, she won't hesitate to tell her husband, the moment Bordon's wife tells her."

"Gods, I… you're right, I need to leave. O'Hara said he'd protect me but when Calvin loses his temper, he doesn't see reason, he'll kill the baby and maybe even me too, before O'Hara knows to stop him! He could hold a pillow over my face and they won't even know he's killing me until I'm dead!"

"Yes, there are a hundred ways he could hurt you without drawing attention to himself. Mrs. Salisbury is involved too," Linda said. "Which makes this doubly dangerous. Three women who have reason to despise you, and they are all together in some way or other, through Emily. Emily pays Mrs. Salisbury for the use of her tent, that's where she meets your husband for their little interviews. Oh, and I think Emily is the one who warned Farshaw about your affair with Bordon."

"What?" Harmony breathed.

"Just going by the things they were saying. He asked her if Mrs. Bordon has ever indicated that her husband has tried to make contact with you. She said no, and that if she ever heard otherwise, she'd tell him, 'just like I did last time'."

"Dear God."

"And later, when he was talking about her being suspicious that the baby isn't his. He said it's because she hates you, I guess he means that because of her hatred, her reasoning is clouded. Anyway, he said 'you proved how much you hated her the time you sent Mrs. Salisbury to warn me about them', or something to that effect."

Harmony swallowed hard and nodded mutely. "I think you are right then, it can't mean anything else. Oh, my Lord… That damned bitch. And she's still screwing him, she saw me that night after that beating! I could barely walk, for crying out loud and I was covered in blood and bruises and you'd think that was enough for her but oh, no, she has to go and start sinking her claws into Calvin good and deep!"

"I don't know how long it'll take Emily to work out that the baby isn't his. But as soon as she does, and it's highly likely she will, considering her friendship to Mrs. Bordon, she'll be telling Farshaw right off. Frankly, I'm shocked Mrs. Bordon hasn't told Emily already. I don't know how long they'll be at it, Harm; you need to pack a bag with as much as you can carry, and come with me now."

"Where will I go?" Harmony asked, frantic. "How will I leave the fort? Because that's what I'll need to do. I won't be able to stay here, I can't be where he can find me."

"One step at a time. First, the house. Pack your bag, I'll carry it. When we're in the hall, I'll thank you for the second hand clothes you passing on to me, that'll explain the bag. I'll leave, and in about twenty minutes, you leave as well, and if anyone asks where you're going, you tell them you're visiting Miss Cordell and Mrs. Andrews. You're allowed to do that, aren't you?"

"Yes," Harmony said, nodding. "But Linda," with her hands splayed across her stomach, Harmony fought against the roiling nerves. "Where would I go? To the tents? I can't just change my name and keep my head down like you did. I'm too well known and -"

"You won't be staying here," Linda interrupted, still filling the rucksack as she began outlining the details of her burgeoning plan. "I'll lead you out."

"How?" Harmony gasped.

"I do it all the time," Linda shrugged. "We forage in the woods for herbs and kindling, we snare rabbits, we even head into Pembroke at times. The soldiers on the pickets have no problem with letting me and the other women go through, we usually leave on camp business which means we have passes and an escort of soldiers to protect us. But they've let me go through, without a pass and without an escort. Not often, but I've done it. I'll get you out, Harmony. Trust me.

Linda had nerve… She always had. Harmony nodded slowly, believing her.

"I'll get you to Mrs. Turnbull's before they even know you're missing," Linda vowed. "No one will know where you are, except me. You can send word to Bordon when you're safely snuggled up at Mrs. Turnbull's. Have you got any money?"

Nodding, Harmony pulled the purse from the trunk, her fingers trembled as she handed it to Linda.

"Give me half an hour," Linda said, pocketing the money. "So that no one sees us leave this house together. Shh, Harm, all will be well," Linda grabbed Harmony's quivering fingers, encompassing them with her own, steady hands. She stared up into Harmony's terrified eyes, "you're no coward, so don't start acting like one now. You're doing this, you hear me? No one can protect you, you must protect yourself, just like you did to get away from Sumter. Remember that? How brave you were then? You're in danger again, just like before. Harm, you're not - staying - here." She pronounced each word succinctly and when Harmony finally nodded agreement, she dropped Harmony's hands and quietly left the chamber.

* * *

"Ah, young Farshaw," Major Fallows greeted his new clerk. Calvin gave a short bow and closed the door behind him. "What kept you?" The Major demanded somewhat testily as he placed his quill on the desk and leaned back in his chair. By the glow of candlelight flooding the chamber, he studied Calvin. The handsome Lieutenant hid his distaste well; Fallows did like to look at him, even more so now that his bruises had healed. Major Bordon and his comrades had not been gentle, he'd been a mess after his attempt to make off with Harmony. He sported two new scars from that beating, one above his left eyebrow, and the other above his lip. Even still, Fallows had stared. Calvin was becoming increasingly certain that Fallows preferred a nice tight bottom over a slick, hot quim. Backing up so his arse was hard against the wall, and therefore quite safe, he opened his mouth to tell the lie that was ready on his lips.

"It took longer than expected to find Captain DuBose, Sir. And then he made me wait while he read your missive, and then he made me wait longer again while he had his dinner, before replying to it," he said, instead of admitting where he had actually been. He would not tell Fallows he was screwing Captain Wilkins pretty wife. What a wild ride that lass was! Demanding too. He enjoyed that she wanted to fuck every night, but after nearly two months of it, his cock needed a break from it all. Not that he'd ever turn her away, he found he was enjoying her as much as he ever had Chastity Whitney. Emily took his mind off Chastity, he barely thought about his Charlestown mistress anymore. Emily liked to lay in his arms, chatting and snoozing, and then fucking again before returning to the Great House. Their little chats were as enjoyable as the romping was, really. The woman despised her husband and she was always filled with stories about Captain James Wilkins.

As affectionate as he was, he still didn't feel guilty in the slightest for using her to gain information. When she got started complaining about Wilkins, it was an easy thing to divert her, she gave all sorts of interesting information during those chats. No sooner did she leave him, did he slip away to pass on everything he learned, to Jack Statton and Eric Clayton. As deserting was far too risky, the remaining spies were trying to form a new spy ring, within the Legion. The only thing they were lacking, was someone from the Great House who could pass along tidbits to them. But then along came Calvin, and along came Emily Wilkins… Emily, with her tight quim and her loose tongue. Calvin tried to keep the grin from his lips.

"Damned DuBose," Fallows scowled. "Keeping my clerk waiting," again that perusal, that lingering study that made Calvin's skin crawl. "So you weren't off dallying with some pretty girl, hmm?" The Major asked in a voice thick with exaggerated mischief and false amusement. He had that voice down to a fine art, he even managed a twinkle in his eye. To anyone else listening, they would think the Major was being playfully shrewd, as though he would find it quite a riot, to discover his Clerk had been coupling with a woman, when he was meant to be on duty. Calvin knew the Major would be anything but amused, if he discovered Calvin had been with a woman. No, he'd be jealous, not amused.

"No, Sir," he forced a smile, trying for an amiable grin, trying to keep the mood light. Always light. It was a difficult balance, an intricate dance; Fallows wanted Calvin, of that Calvin had no doubt. He could not report Fallows to their superiors, for he hadn't actually done anything and besides, who would believe low life Calvin over a Major? And Calvin knew that Fallows had spoken on his behalf to O'Hara several times, whenever the topic of Calvin returning to Tavington's Legion arose. Christ, if he was forced back there, he'd be dead the next day. Fallows knew it, and he was doing what he could to prevent it. Fallows encouraged O'Hara to allow Calvin to stay, where he was protected. Of course, Calvin did feel the need to protect himself from Fallows, as well.

A difficult balance, an intricate dance. He absolutely did not want to encourage Fallows even slightly, but nor did he want to earn the Major's enmity. He knew where the true danger to him lay - with Major Bordon and Tavington and as Fallows was stopping him from being returned there, he smiled now, grinning for all he was worth. "I'm a married man, Sir," he said. "What sort of husband would I be, if I chased after other skirts?"

"I agree," Fallows lips quirked, tugging up at the corners. "You already have quim; what you're lacking is variety."

"Sir?" Calvin assumed an ignorant expression, as if he did not understand Fallows meaning. Fallows waved the comment away.

Fallows rose from the desk and approached him, and Calvin grew very still. Boldly, Fallows took hold of Calvin's hand to cradle it in his own. Heart pounding, Calvin resisted the urge to snatch his hand from Fallows' grasp. Holding Calvin's gaze, the Major began slowly tugging the glove from Calvin's fingers, the Major wore such a look on his face, as though he were pulling down Calvin's breeches, not peeling off the single glove. The Lieutenant ground his teeth together.

"Your hands," the Major said softly as he cradled Calvin's hand in his and traced Calvin's palm with the tips of his fingers. "Like silk." As though he were imagining that hand stroking his cock. "I recall when you first arrived here," the Major continued. Calvin clenched his fingers shut and pulled back his hand - slowly, because he could not risk offending the Major - out from Fallows' grasp. Calvin had hoped to free himself of the Major's touch but instead, Fallows reached up to trace healing bruises on Calvin's face. The Lieutenant drew a sharp breath, he clenched his fists and resisted the urge to smash one into Fallows' face. Gods, if he retaliated… Calvin swallowed hard, his heart beginning to pound with frustration and fury as he forced himself to stay still under Fallows' touch. The Major smiled warmly. "Does this still hurt?" He asked softly. Gods, he was using the pretence of probing Calvin's wounds as an excuse to touch him.

"No, Sir, I am recovered." Calvin said.

"It feels good then, does it?" Fallows asked. "This gentle touch?"

Calvin knew how he must answer, but he could barely breathe, he could barely form the words Fallow was digging for. He had to force himself, he recalled the balance that must be kept. "Yes, Sir," he said.

Fallows took a step closer, his gaze holding Calvin's, the tip of his finger tracing the scar above Calvin's eye. "And this? Does it feel good?"

"It no longer hurts, Sir."

"That was not what I asked," Fallows chided and again, Calvin swallowed hard. "I thought you would die on me, Lieutenant," Fallows confided, voice soft, eyes lingering. "I believe should O'Hara make the decision to return you to Tavington's Legion this time, you will most certainly be killed there."

The blood drained from Calvin's face and he was suddenly cold all over. "Is there renewed talk of returning me?" He asked, unable to keep the panic from his voice.

"My dear boy, the talk of returning you has never ceased. O'Hara's regiment will not be staying at Fresh Water forever," Fallows said smoothly.

"Yes, but, I am a part of O'Hara's regiment now," Calvin said. "I will be going with him, won't I?" He knew this had never been part of the discussions but he pleaded ignorance now, hoping to plant the seed. He couldn't stay, not if it meant being under Tavington's command, where he would surely be beaten again, or killed. It was better to suffer Fallows' constant flirting and touches, than that.

"O'Hara doesn't like your… rough edges," Fallows confided. "The latest talk is that, now that Bordon is married, O'Hara believes the threat to you to be diminished."

"It's not diminished. They'll kill me if I'm under their command," Calvin said bluntly.

"Yes, I believe that is true," Fallows replied. "However, you should not be so secure of your position here. Perhaps…" Fallows paused, breathing out slowly, as if about to play his gambit. "I have a lot of influence with the General, as you know. It is a patron you need. I could be that for you, for if I were to formally request it, General O'Hara would most certainly allow you to accompany us, despite his… reservations." Fallows reached down and enclosed one hand around Calvin's, giving it a squeeze. "I would not like to consider what might happen to you, if O'Hara releases you to Tavington." His eyes lingered on Calvin's lips, as though he wanted to kiss them. Calvin wondered what he would do, should he try. Five weeks ago, he would have murdered Fallows, higher in rank or not. But now… With the threat of returning to Bordon's command… "Would you like that, Lieutenant? Would you be grateful to me, if I became your patron?"

"I would be grateful, Major," Calvin replied woodenly. Fallows smiled.

"I can help you to… rise… too, should you desire it," Fallows said, insinuating. "Through the ranks, and in… other ways," he gave Calvin's hand one last squeeze. Then he turned Calvin's hand over again, gazed down at his open palm. "With hands this smooth, there really is no excuse for your writing to be so messy. Take your time, my boy. It's never a good idea to rush."

"I'll do my best, Sir," Calvin whispered, sidling along the wall, keeping his backside well and truly away from Fallows' view at all times. "I will begin at once."

"I'll have some food bought to you," Fallows offered. He was staring into Calvin's green eyes. Never had Calvin despised being handsome - he'd always revelled in the good looks His Lord above had granted him - until meeting Fallows, that is.

"That's kind of you, Sir," Calvin said, quickly rounding the desk and taking a seat. He felt much more comfortable now his rump was safely fortressed by the chair. Fallows finally left the chamber and Calvin gave a great shudder, he even gagged. When he was recovered, he dropped his head to the chair back and closed his eyes. _He won't force himself on you. He wants you willing, so will try to bribe and beguile. String him along until the Regiment leaves. And then they'll be too far away for them to send you back to Tavington._ Calvin thought, trying to calm himself. _And maybe when you're away from here, you'll be able to desert…_

He gazed down at the letters on the table, left by Fallows for his 'trusted' clerk to copy. And copy, Calvin would. For those Fallows needed to see them, and for those Calvin wanted to. Jack was going to get his share of the information contained in these missives.

The candled burned lower, dinner had come and gone and Calvin's hand was starting to cramp well before midnight. And the stack was only halfway copied, for he'd had to do duplicates of each report and letter. With a stretch and a yawn, he picked up the next sheaf. Harmony was bound to be sleeping soundly by now. He'd calmed somewhat in the last few hours and was having second thoughts about waking her to spite Fallows. The Major would not even know Calvin had fucked his wife, and his cock was so damned sore after Emily riding him earlier… She was the much better lover, perhaps he'd just keep himself for her. He'd got a child on Harmony, he didn't need to fuck her anymore. Still, he found that as sore as he was after their mad coupling, he always recovered by the following evening, and was always ready for another round with Emily. Why bother with Harmony, when it might mean he might not be able to screw Emily? He laughed under his breath as he dipped the quill in the ink. What a stupid thought. Even if his cock was ready to fall off, he'd still stick it in his pretty noblewoman.

Fallows had got his wish, burying Calvin with such a work load. The youth's eyes began to grow heavy, they stung with the need to close. Just a few moments wouldn't hurt…

* * *

A tickling sensation on his cheeks caused him to stir. He batted it - whatever it was, a fly perhaps - away, but it continued, like a feather stroking his skin. Calvin cracked one eye open, then yelped like a little girl when he saw that Fallows, feather in hand, was standing over him. Calvin shoved away from the desk, toppling the chair over backward.

"My my, you are a skittish thing," Fallows observed, his eyes lingering on Calvin. "You have a piece of paper stuck to your face," he pointed. Calvin had been so startled to wakefulness, he'd barely noticed the paper clinging to his cheek. He whipped it away with his hand, then stared at Fallows. The Major was sliding the feather between is forefinger and thumb. So. It had not been his imagination, Fallows had been tickling him! Jesus Christ.

The candles had all burned out, sunlight filtered through the curtains. Calvin had fallen asleep at the desk and had been there all night.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he ground out between clenched teeth. "I fell asleep before I could finish."

"Oh, no matter," Fallows said, moving away. Thank the sweet Lord above, he moved away! "Perhaps you should go and freshen up? Return here in an hour and you can continue then."

"Thank you, Sir," Calvin backed away, then strode for the door. His pace quickened until, by the time he reached the door, he was almost running. It was fear that Fallows would haul him face forward over the desk that drove him. Calvin closed the door behind him and he took a moment, leaning back and breathing a sigh of relief. He stalked though the house, and finally entered his room. Harmony was gone. Up and about already, he suspected. She'd become quite the early riser and made every effort to make herself useful to O'Hara's staff. Calvin stepped deeper into the room. He poured chilled water from a ewer into a bowl, he needed to shave. Harmony had tidied, all his kit and bottles were placed exactly in a neat array. It was not until he had finished his shave - after cutting himself twice thanks to trembling hands from bloody Fellows spooking him - that he noticed the lid of her chest was thrown open, and that her belongings were no longer inside it.

Harmony was not up and about already, the damned bitch was gone.


	93. Chapter 93 - Tavington Visits Linda

Chapter 93 - Tavington Visits Linda:

_I did the right thing_, Linda told herself as she folded the soldier's shirt she'd washed and dried with her own blistering hands. A whole pile awaited her attention, it would take her all morning to finish.

It had been easy, getting away. Far easier than even Linda had anticipated. Providence, it seemed, had been shining down on them. It had been a simple thing for 'Lilly Merry' to depart through a check point guarded by soldiers who were familiar with her. That she had a friend in her company was not even questioned - the friend was a woman, not some soldier trying to desert. Nor was it questioned the following morning when she came back without her companion, because the guard had changed during the night, well before she returned.

Linda shook her head, smiling over the shirt. It had been so easy, in the end. The Turnbull's had taken Harmony in without question, because of Harmony's and Linda's 'acquaintance' with Colonel Tavington. She told them that the Colonel needed them to look after Harmony who was in trouble with the rebels for giving information to Tavington. They were to do so in utmost secrecy. Being Loyalists themselves, they'd agreed, believing the command had indeed come from the Colonel. That was a lot of pig's rot, of course. But if they approached Tavington to confirm it, he wouldn't say otherwise - he'd want Harmony there instead of with Farshaw, for certain.

Christ, William. Her thoughts and worries turned to her former lover. He must know by now that she was in camp, Bordon must have told him by now. Why had William not sent his men to escort her from camp yet? Surely he will not come himself, he would not risk being caught with her -

A knock outside on the post was all the warning she had. As if thinking of him had the power to summon him, the tent flap was whisked aside and fell abruptly behind Tavington. Linda gaped up at William, who stood staring down at her with a very grave expression. His pale eyes seemed to blaze with fire. Without saying a word to her, he stepped deeper into the tent and sat down on her only stool. All she could do was gape, her mouth hanging open like gasping fish. She'd not seen him this close up in… so long. The last time had been in the woods, when he'd told her it was over, before handing her over to Private Cox, to be done away with like so much rubbish.

"So, it's true. You're back," he drawled, and his voice made her shiver. Lord, that voice… Like a gentle caress across her skin… Christ, she'd missed it. She'd missed him, so much. He sat hunched forward, his elbows on his knees. She stared at his gloved hands - oh, how much pleasure had she felt from those hands? At length, she raised her gaze to meet his eyes.

"Will you send me away again?" She asked, setting her sewing aside.

"You can't stay here, Linda," he said. "If you are worried about the baby, I will see you both well situated -" He began but she cut him off before he could breathe another word.

"I won't leave, William. I'll not be set aside so easily as that," there was an edge to her voice. She was no weakling, not Linda Stokes. Whores could not afford to be weak. "Listen, I've been here for over a month now and no trouble has come of it. I've kept low and I've worked. I'll keep working and I'll keep staying low - just don't send me away again, William. Please," she hated the pleading in her voice. Despised it.

"You can't stay here," William shook his head. "Christ. If Beth discovers this," he shook himself, as if a chill had taken hold of him. "This is her home. She'd feel -"

"Like I've desecrated it with my presence," Linda interrupted, filled with fury. "Like I've dirtied it somehow."

"Yes, she would," William said, speaking the simple truth.

That was not his only concerned. He recalled what Beth had told him, that day in the stable, when she tried to leave him after Banastre - the damned prick - told her that Linda was with the Legion. '_I have friends in your Legion - you needn't think I don't! Half of them are boys I grew up with. And then there's Mary. Rebecca. Sarah. Emily. They know how to route out the slightest gossip. I assure you, William, if you are unfaithful with that __fucking slut, I will know it within an hour and there is not a force on earth that will make me stay with you!__'_

"She would feel that I have betrayed her, through no fault of my own," he said to Linda now. God, he had a blinding headache coming on, he did not want to deal with this right now. Or at all. He forced himself to continue. "You have no idea what position you've put me in, by returning here. I risk losing everything. She would never believe that I'd been faithful these months, if she discovered my former mistress was still living here. There's no hope for it, Linda. You will leave."

"Please," she shuffled closer, closing the two paces separating them and took hold of his hands. Lord, to touch him again… It was more than she could bear, strong whore or not. "It was torture, being parted from you. I love you, William. I'll stay away from you, I've been doing so, haven't I? She won't find out I'm here. Just don't send me away again!"

"Why do you want to be here?" He asked, honestly perplexed. "Linda, I can make no sense of it. The Turnbull's were good to you, were they not? You were safe there, there was no reason for you to leave!"

"Except I could not see you," she whispered. She stared at his hands as he pulled them from her grasp. The pain of that rejection pierced her and she dropped back onto her heels, desolate. She did not try to touch him again, but nor did she draw away from him.

"I see," he tightened his lips, finally understanding why she'd stayed. "Linda, it is over between us -"

"You _promised_ me!" She ground out. "You _swore_ it, William. You said I wouldn't have to go back to a life of whoring, that's what you promised!"

"Have you -"

"Of course I have!" She cried softly. "What else could I do?"

"You are carrying my child!" He shot back, outraged. "And you're letting men spill their seed inside of you? It didn't have to be that way. You could have stayed with the Turnbull's, where you were provided for!"

"I thought you had honour!" She spat. "I never would have thought you were an oath-breaker!"

William stared at her, her words cutting him deeply.

"You damned bastard," she continued in that whisper, pure rage moving through her like a flood. He drew a long breath, sat up straighter. Linda rose slowly, her eyes locked on his. She might have been his mistress once, but she was ever a whore before, and had become one again. Whores did not last long, not without a backbone. Linda would not cower before this man. No, she would not bend and scrape!

"Your _trust_," she spat. "Do you remember? You told me I had your trust, and that was something that bitch would never have." William moved uncomfortably on his seat, he did not like his wife being insulted. She ploughed on before he could protest and defend her. "You told me, that day. You loved her, you said, but you'd never trust her. You gave that to me, that trust and then you snatched it away, along with all your empty fucking promises," she leaned close to him, eye to eye, nose to nose and for a wonder, Tavington drew back, chagrined. "Oh I see - you do remember," she spat a bitter laugh. "Do you also remember the whippings, William? You used your riding crop on me!"

"You gave as good as you got, I recall," he said ruefully.

"It was all for you! I enjoyed it, I won't claim I didn't. But it was all for you! I would have enjoyed you just as well, if you remained a gentle lover. I allowed you to use my body, to calm your demons, demons _she_ caused! And then you toss me aside, after promising you'd never end it with me! I left Charleston for you - I left my faithful patrons, my favourites, to become your mistress and for what? A liaison that would only last a scant few bloody months? Tell me, do you think it was worth my while? You promised me so much more, and I gave you so much more - I gave you my body, to use as you saw fit! How many times did you ignore the safety word, William? I bear scars because you were in such a rage, you could not stop! I bear those scars for you, so that you could keep your sanity because of what she did to you! And this is how you reward me? By sending away again. You don't even realise the debt you owe me!"

She whirled away from him, her chest heaving as she fought for breath. Not once had she raised her voice, even now she would protect him from gossip by not alerting those outside to his presence within her tent. She'd spoken in low tones, a furious hiss, that was all the more powerful for it. He gazed at her back, saw that her shoulders were not so much heaving now, as shaking. Was she crying?

"Linda… yes, I made those promises, but you can't expect me to keep you as my mistress. I won't come down here each night and lay with you, because of some promise I made months ago. I was crazed back then, I don't know what I was thinking when I made those vows. But you must know by now that I won't be unfaithful to my wife."

"I'm not asking you to be," she said softly, turning back to him. "I'm just asking you to not send me away again. I'm not hurting anyone by being here. I have friends here, Mrs. Andrews has promised to help me when I give birth -"

"To my son or daughter," William shook his head, breathing out slowly. "Lord, Beth is going to kill me, if she finds out…"

He was trying to reach a decision, she could sense it. Linda stood before him as he deliberated her future - her fate was in his hands. That was no new thing, her fate had been in his hands from the moment she met him.

Tavington cocked his head to one side. Would it do any good, to send her away? She would come back again. Oh, he could give commands that would see that she never set foot on the plantation again, of course he could. But at least this way, he'd know exactly where she was, he'd know she was safe. He had been worried about her, and now he knew about the child, his worry would be ten fold. The situation had changed, she was carrying his child, and he knew he could not send her away again. He preferred to know where she was, to keep an eye on her and to provide for her. That much of his promise he should - and could - keep.

"No more whoring," he said, his words crisp and firm. "I will not have my child dirtied by another man's seed. I will provide for you as I promised. And the babe too. I promised you a stipend, and I have it for you, though I didn't know where you were to give it to you. And I will give you a stipend, to support the child. I suggest you consider this fellow of yours - Private Cox. Bordon has looked into his background and it seems he's a good sort of fellow. Marry him, and I'll make sure he is promoted, to a non-commissioned Officers position - a Sergeant, perhaps. Just think on it, will you?"

"You'd palm me off to another man so easily?" Linda asked, tears burning her eyes. This was the worst! The vision of him swam before her. "Do you not care for me at all? I thought you might have… I thought you were in love with me once!"

Love? He arched an eyebrow. He'd needed her once. But love? No, he'd never been in love with her.

"I care for you," he said softly, heaving a sigh. "Why do you think I'm going to these efforts for you? Christ, if my wife discovers you're here… She told me once that if she heard one more whisper about you and I, there isn't a force on earth that would stop her leaving me. I'm taking that risk because I care for you. Because I owe you a debt. And because I want you were I can keep an eye on you, where I know you'll be safe. Linda, of course I care." This time, he reached out and took hold of her hands. His strong fingers wound around hers and she let out a gasping sob. His touch, voluntarily given, undid her. Sobbing freely, she threw herself against his chest, her body shuddering convulsively. He whispered soothing words and when his arms moved around her body to cradle her, she felt she'd die of joy. "She can't know," he whispered, closing his eyes, already imagining Beth's reaction. "And you must not expect anything of me. You are my _former_ mistress, I'll not begin our affair again. I will be faithful to my wife. If you do expect more from me, Linda, you can leave immediately."

"I promise," she sobbed. "I've been careful so far, haven't I? And my friends have kept my secret."

She felt him nod.

"You'll think on Cox, will you?" He asked her.

At length, she nodded agreement. That she would 'think' on marrying Private Cox, but she did not make any promises. She rested there against his chest, heart broken all over again at his declaration, that he would not be unfaithful to his wife. But he was allowing her to stay - that was something. He would need her, she knew he would. And now that he knew where she was, he knew where to come for her.

"I have to go," he said, drawing back from her and rising to his feet.

"Will you visit me?" She asked.

"Jesus," he shook his head. "That would not be wise. No. It's best that I stay away. Send word through Major Bordon, if you have need of me." He set her aside and stepped closer to the entrance. He would be leaving now. Linda watched him sadly, she reached up and laid her hand on his thigh, her fingers very close to his manhood, awe flooding through her. Lord, the effect this man had on her.

"Linda…" Stepping back from her, he shook his head as he stared down at her.

"You can't fault me for trying, can you?" She asked, a laugh escaping her. He chuckled softly and she exulted to hear it. One step at a time, she thought. He would soon return to her, he would be in her bed again. She could wait.

* * *

"Gone?" Richard asked, narrowed eyes darting around the chamber. He glanced at Fallows, O'Hara, then returned to Calvin, his voice rising as he continued, "gone where? When did she leave? Who did she leave with?" His voice was almost shrill and he glared daggers as he threw the questions at Calvin.

"Why don't you tell me?" Calvin raged, "you helped her get away, where did you bloody take her?"

"I've warned you of your language, Lieutenant," O'Hara spat before Bordon could get a word in edgewise. He was still fuming that the young man had felt free to barge into his office. Calvin had waited impatiently while Bordon was summoned, and now the Lieutenant looked ready to fall back on his old ways, cursing and brawling right there in O'Hara's office. He'd been raising merry hell, even before Bordon's arrival. "And to use such a tone with me..! I should have you locked in irons! And if you dare to barge into my office without my leave again, I'll have you whipped!"

"Before you do, Sir," Calvin said, still furious though he was a little more careful of his tone now, "perhaps you should have Major Bordon questioned? She can't have left without any help!"

"I do not believe that Major Bordon has any information regarding this matter," O'Hara said crisply. Bordon's shoulders relaxed slightly though he was still tense, with worry over what might have become of Harmony. Calvin's eyes bulged.

"With respect, Sir," he ground out when he managed to recover himself, "my wife is missing and I've no idea where she might be. The only person who probably does know, is standing right there, pretending bloody ignorance!"

"I am pretending nothing," Bordon spat, drawing himself up to his full height. "You will be careful, Lieutenant," the Major snapped. "You will remember that I am your superior."

"This Officer is under my direct command, Major," Fallows ground out. "I suggest _you_ remember _that_."

Bordon threw Fallows an astonished look, was the man actually defending Farshaw? He shook his head, shoved the question from it, turned back too Calvin. "When the devil did you see her last?"

Calvin licked his lips, looking suddenly embarrassed.

"Yesterday morning," he admitted.

"Yesterday morning -" Bordon was momentarily too stunned to continued. Then he roared, "you should have been keeping a better watch over her! You're her damned husband, to Harmony's utter woe! You should be protecting her! Christ," he laughed bitterly, "what am I saying? _You_, protect _her_..? _She_ needs protection from _you_!" He tensed as a terrible thought seized him. He advanced on Calvin. "She's fled from you - why did she flee from you, Farshaw? What the fuck did you do to her?"

Suddenly Fallows was between them, he just slid in front of Bordon, facing him, and Calvin was to Fallows back.

"Lay a hand on my Junior, Major," Fallows said softly and again, Bordon's eyes widened with astonishment.

"Major Bordon," O'Hara warned softly over steepled fingers. That one drawn out word, softly spoken, drew the red faced Major up short. O'Hara did not believe that Bordon, who had been making a herculean effort to redeem himself, would be so foolish as to make off with Mrs. Farshaw. But he could not have the Officer cursing in the middle of his office, either.

"Forgive me, General," Bordon said, turning to O'Hara, his voice all contrition. "I forgot myself. But I vow - if he has hurt her again -"

"Then he shall be whipped," O'Hara said simply, eyes shifting to Calvin.

"I didn't blood- ah, that is, I didn't hit her, Sir," Calvin said.

"Mrs. Farshaw had a visitor before she disappeared," Fallows said, turning to face O'Hara but keeping himself between Bordon and Farshaw. He opened his mouth to speak of what he'd discovered in the last hour, but stopped dead when the door opened and Colonel Tavington slipped into the chamber.

Calvin was momentarily distracted from his fury when he saw the way Major Fallows' eyes lingered on the Colonel, as the Colonel walked across the room and lowered himself into a chair, uninvited. If Calvin wasn't so damned angry, he would have sniggered. It seemed that he - Calvin - was not the only object of the Major's desires.

"Are you well, Colonel?" O'Hara asked.

"Headache," William replied as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. His body was aching, ever muscle was sore and felt like water. His strength was draining fast and he did not want to show any of it.

"One Mrs. Merry," Fallows continued and Tavington threw Fallows a startled glance. "I've questioned Mrs. Merry myself. She said she did indeed drop by to see Mrs. Farshaw, as the two are acquainted. Mrs. Farshaw was not expecting her and as she was busy and needed to be about her business, she did not entertain Mrs. Merry for long. Instead, she cut the visit short, she generously gave Mrs. Merry some of her old clothes, and then showed her to the door. I asked Mrs. Merry if Mrs. Farshaw revealed what her task was that had her so occupied and Mrs. Merry said she didn't. She said she was with Mrs. Farshaw for no longer than ten minutes, and then left. Mrs. Farshaw was still in the house when Mrs. Merry departed, I have confirmed this by those who saw her bidding the other woman farewell - she returned to her room after that. From there, about a half hour later, another soldier saw her in the corridor but that was the only sighting I have been able to gain."

_Mrs. Merry. _Bordon froze, he stilled as a deep calm settled within him. He met William's eyes, saw the same recognition. Mrs. Merry. Linda Stokes. Linda had come to see Harmony only a half hour before? Therefore, it was very likely that it was Linda who had spirited her away.

"Mrs. Merry," Bordon said, trying to keep the same level of panic in his voice as before. He could not alert O'Hara that he might, perhaps, know who had assisted Harmony in leaving. "Where is she quartered?"

"Near Quartermaster Hamish's tent," came the reply.

"I will question her myself," Bordon announced, determined to take command of the situation, lest Fallows uncover too much information.

"Whatever for?" Fallows said, offended. "I've told you, I've already done so."

"A full scale search must commence immediately," Tavington advised from his seat, ignoring Fallows, his voice confident as he became a conspirator with Bordon. "We need to know that Mrs. Farshaw is safe and well, for she might be wounded and hiding from her husband."

"I didn't touch her!" Farshaw spat but Tavington ignored him.

"She will be found, where ever she might be. The Dragoons will begin at once." And he would make certain it was his Dragoons- and only his Dragoons who would be used in the so called search.

"I do not see how that will help any," Fallows said, frowning. "Far better to send out my eyes and ears. If Mrs. Farshaw is hiding, she'll see your Dragoons coming a mile off and it'll only scare her away."

"Are you questioning my command, Major?" Tavington arched an eyebrow, voice dangerous. He'd lost much of his ground over the last month and only in the last few days, was he seeing any signs that he might be regaining it. He was determined to prove once and for all just who was in command. Major Fallows, after darting a quick look at O'Hara, and perceiving that O'Hara was not going to come to his defence, submitted immediately.

"No, Colonel. Forgive me," he demurred, bowing with respect. "Your Dragoons will be perfectly adequate for the job."

Tavington tightened his lips, but he turned from Fallows as though the man was of no further consequence.

"Thank you, Colonel," O'Hara said. "I appreciate you taking this in hand. I have more than enough on my plate."

"Sir, I shall report back to you as soon as I learn anything," he told O'Hara. "If you will excuse me." He pushed himself up, it took every ounce of his strength just to stand, but he did it.

"Wait!" Calvin not quite shouted, halting Tavington who was turning for the door. "You'll report to the General? What of me - she's my wife! Surely I should be told immediately..?"

"If she's got a single bruise on her when she's found, Lieutenant, I'll hang you by your fingernails. Do you understand me?" Tavington said softly. He somehow loomed over Calvin - who could not understand how the Colonel managed it, when they were both of a similar height. He swallowed hard and nodded quickly.

"Now see here!" Fallows protested, frowning fiercely. "He is no longer under your command, Sir. Lieutenant Farshaw is my clerk, Sir, and as such, any judgement and punishment regarding ill doings will be processed through me!"

Tavington scowled but in this, Fallows held his ground.

"Farshaw is not under your command, Colonel," O'Hara agreed. "I suggest you remember what got you into trouble in the first place. Find what you will and then place your complaint before Fallows, if there is one to be had."

Tavington stared at O'Hara for a long while, before finally nodding. As he turned back to the door, he gave Calvin a filthy look loaded with threat.

Gods, he did it. Fallows had promised to protect him, and he had. Farshaw blew out a slow breath, his heart still raced though and sweat beaded his forehead. The Colonel left the chamber, with Bordon hot on his heels.

* * *

"Be still, Richard," William said under his breath, barely moving his lips as the two strode along the corridor. "If Linda is involved then Harmony is safe."

Richard let out an explosive breath. "As soon as 'Mrs. Merry' was mentioned, I knew. But you saw her this morning. Why didn't she tell you then..?"

"We had our own troubles to sort out then," Tavington snorted. "I doubt Harmony was on her mind when I went to see her."

The two fell silent, it would be unwise to discuss it further while striding along the corridors. At least not until they were outside of the manor, and safely on their way back to Fresh Water.

"I'd imagine Linda spirited her away - you should head straight to camp to ask her," Tavington said, urging Thunder closer to Bordon's mount so they could converse easier. He kept his voice low, conscious of the Dragoon guard following behind them. "I'll have the Dragoons make a show of searching all of the camps, that will convince O'Hara that you and I had nothing to do with Harmony's disappearance. I'd rather Fallows kept his eyes and ears out of it, for he might realise the truth of who 'Mrs. Merry' is… I do not want him questioning her again. Damn and blast it, women are the bane of my existence, Richard."

"And mine. You're letting her stay then?"

"Yes, and not a word to Beth, hmm?"

"Of course not," Bordon snorted. He liked Beth well enough and was grateful for everything she'd done to help Harmony, but when it came down to a choice between William and Beth, he'd fall on William's side any day of the week.

"Tell me William," Bordon said, able to jest now that he was certain Harmony was safe and well. "Just how do you hang a man from his fingernails?"

* * *

William climbed the stairs wearily, each step heavier than the last until he he was not certain he'd make it to the top landing. Soldiers and servants rushed by him, the house was crawling with far too many people. He was just tired, he thought. He reached the top landing and stopped to stretch his aching back. Everything was aching and he wanted, very much, to lay down. For just a moment. Perhaps Beth would join him.

Bordon would be in camp by now, he'd raced on ahead to speak to Linda, to find out if their suspicions were correct, that Linda had helped Harmony to leave, and why. Tavington was not worried; if Linda was involved, then Harmony was safe enough. Far safer than she had been with Farshaw, that was for certain. Bordon would get to the bottom of it. He would discover where Harmony was and, in just a few more hours, he'd probably be buried to the hilt inside of her. Tavington chuckled softly as he placed one leaden boot in front of the other. He'd like to be buried to the hilt also, but he doubted he had the energy. Perhaps if Beth were on top? He did like it when she was on top, with her breasts bouncing around. It was such a beautiful sight, especially when she really got going… Such a delight.

And it could all be whipped away, if she discovered Linda was in camp. He sighed deeply and entered his chamber.

"Oh, good, you're here," he said. Beth was laying back against the pillows with one hand splayed across her stomach.

"Where were you expecting I'd be? Spirited away by rebels?" She sat up with a frown as she noticed William's pale pallor. Ignoring her own aching stomach, she jumped up from the bed, "sweet Lord, William! You look like death warmed up! Come lay down, lay down!"

He was suddenly too weak, too weary to do anything but what his little wife commanded. He fell rather than sat, to perch on the side of the bed. Sitting there, the room seemed to tilt and sway, though he was certain he was sitting quite still. Beth was on her knees before him and he smiled down at her. He did love it when she was kneeling - it always felt very grand, what she did when she was in that position. Instead of working at his breeches so she could pleasure him, however, she began tugging at his boots.

"You're no fun," he scowled down at her.

"You're in no condition to have fun," she scoffed. His boots removed, this time she did turn to his belt and buttons, but only to pull off his breeches before forcing him to lay down in between the blankets.

"I've got too much to do, Little Beth," he protested. "I can't -"

"Be sick?" She finished archly. "'The Great Colonel Tavington' can't fall ill?" She laid the backs of her fingers to his forehead, then let out a stream of expletives. "You don't need these blankets after all," she said, throwing them off him and letting the cool air flow across his bare legs. "You're as hot as blazes."

"Only for you, dear heart," he said, mustering a soft laugh.

"Stop joking," she said, voice rising in pitch with worry. "It could be Yellow fever you damned dolt! You're going to be so sick and you might even -"

"Shh," he said, taking hold of her hand and pulling her closer. He continued to pull and tug until she was laying down beside him. "I'm not going to die," he said, snuggling her into him. "I'm as strong as an ox."

"Be that as it may," she said, relaxing on her back as he sighed and rested his head on her breasts - they made a very comfortable pillow. "I'll send for Mila. You need herbs and water and laudanum and…"

"Soon," he finished for her. "Just stay here for a bit, I'm quite comfortable and I'd loathe to be moved."

"I'm sure," she sighed. With deft fingers, she freed his hair from its queue. She began to run her fingers through the dark brown strands with one hand, while rubbing his back with her other. He would fall asleep soon and she still needed to get his wool jacket off, and his cravat, his vest. The only thing he should be wearing was his shirt - perhaps not even that. He needed to be stripped down, so she could run wet cloths over his body in an effort to bring down his rising fever. At length, she slipped out from under him, ignoring his grumbles. She helped him remove the remainder of his clothing. After opening the windows to let the cool September breeze in, she slipped out of the room to gather all that was needed.

By the time she returned to him with, he was laying back against the pillows, slipping in and out of a doze. He awakened properly when she entered, and he was immediately alert.

"What is wrong?" He asked her, seeing her look of concern on her pretty face.

"Something is happening with Cilla," she said softly as she placed a tray with water, cloths and small vials on the table.

"What is it?" William asked. Cilla was sick, she hadn't risen from her bed for several days now.

"I was just in Cilla's room. She is as weak as a newborn kitten, she's barely aware, almost in delirium. But she is curled up on her bed crying and clutching her stomach. I saw one of the maids shove strips of linen into a basket just before another of the maids closed the door. William, that linen was covered in blood. Soaked with it - it was dripping on the floor," Beth said, her large eyes wide. He gazed up at her, then sighed heavily.

"Her illness has bought on a miscarriage…"

"I think so," Beth said, then promptly began to cry. She'd managed to hold herself together after witnessing the terrible scene, but now found she was utterly unable to. He pulled her down into the bed as he had earlier and held her close during her storm of weeping.

A short time later there came a brief knock on the door, and Mila entered the room with wine and herbs for Tavington. Beth sat up and quickly swiped at her eyes to dry them.

"Is Cilla alright?" She asked, voice frantic. "I saw blood. Is she..?"

"She is losing her baby," Mila replied as she came to stand beside the bed.

"Why? Is it because she is sick?" Beth wailed, struggling to understand.

"I think so, yes. But sometimes these things… They just happen," Mila said. "Perhaps it's a combination of things. It could be she's been eating something she aught not or because of her stays, or she's been doing too much - or worrying too much about something. When someone has too many responsibilities, it can happen. But I'd say it's because she's been so ill."

"Her stays?" Beth asked. What did Cilla's stays have to do with anything?

"If your stays are too tight, the baby has no room to grow," Mila explained. "It's more likely that it's because she's ill, but like I said, these things just happen at times, we don't always know the reason."

Beth swallowed hard, her dark eyes wide with shock. Mila inclined her head to William, "and you, Sir - I'm told you are unwell?"

"Beth is tending me," he replied and she nodded.

"That's good - Mrs. Bordon is going to need me. Where is Major Bordon? I sent for him but he can't be found," Mila wrung out a cloth and handed it to Beth.

_Yes_, Beth thought, her fingers trembling, _I'm supposed to be tending William. _With shaking hands, she began running the cool cloth over his skin. William did not care that he was completely nude before the maid and Mila gave no indication that she was bothered by it. She began measuring a dose of laudanum and mixed it into some wine.

_Bordon_, William thought. At that moment, Bordon was, most likely, in Harmony's arms, enjoying the first embrace with his beloved after weeks of going without. And Tavington had no idea where that could possibly be occurring - he had no idea where Linda had taken Harmony. He could not send for Bordon, even if he wanted to.

"Off the Plantation," he replied to Mila. "I'm not certain when he will return."

"It's probably for the best he's not here while she's going through this.

"Can you save the babe?" Beth wailed, voice choking.

"No, I can't," Mila said. "It's still inside her. She needs to give birth and she's bleeding - there's so much blood… I have that to clean away, and when the baby comes…" When a woman gave birth in the normal course, it was usually to a healthy baby with ten fingers and ten toes, fully formed and beautiful. What Cilla would give birth to would be a heart breaking sight and she wished to spare Beth that. "Beth, please. You can't be in there."

"She needs me," Beth said, sounding both uncertain and stubborn. "I'm going to come in Mila - as soon as William is sleeping."

William frowned at Beth, knowing full well that being with Cilla could only distress her. Mila drew a shuddering breath, she inclined her head however, remembering her place that much. She was Beth's maid, Mila could not bully her into doing what she wanted.

"I should send for Mrs. Andrews," Beth said. "You're capable, Mila, I know you are. But Mrs. Andrews is a midwife. She should be here."

"If you think it's for the best. Here, I bought you these," Mila said, handing over a stack of napkins, folded and sewn into rectangles. William's eyes widened when Beth took them. He remembered entering the room and seeing her in bed, her hand over her stomach. He met her eyes as she placed the pile aside.

She had her courses.

Again.

He drew a deep breath and tried to keep the displeasure from showing on his face. It was hard though, damned hard. He was sick, tired, frustrated that he would not be able to perform the weight of his responsibilities and he'd hoped, prayed, that her womb would quicken by now. They'd been married for two month, shouldn't they have some bloody good news by now? Jesus. Beth flinched and looked away, he hadn't been successful at hiding his annoyance after all.

"I'll come shortly," Beth said to Mila, keeping her gaze averted from William's. "Will you return to her now? I don't want her to be left alone."

"She's not alone," Mila snorted. "She has two women in there but yes, I'll be getting back now," she left as quietly as she'd entered.

"We need to get word to Bordon," Beth said, forlorn.

He wondered what she would think about it, if he was to tell her where he suspected Bordon was at that moment. She liked Harmony well enough, but Cilla was a beloved cousin. And right then, Cilla was losing her baby, while her husband was enjoying his mistress' company. William had no doubt that Harmony was, indeed, Bordon's mistress again.

"We shall," he replied, deciding it was prudent to remain silent on the rest.

"Poor Cilla," Beth sniffled, again wiping at her eyes. "I think she might have been in danger a few days ago - she was complaining of odd pains then, though I didn't think much of it. Oh, if only I knew what was happening, perhaps I could have helped her! She might not have lost the baby. If only I knew more about this sort of thing!"

"How could you know more, when you've never been pregnant yourself?" He asked, arching an eyebrow. She drew in a sharp breath.

"That's cruel, William," she said firmly, rallying. "And uncalled for. I've got enough to worry about now, don't you think? You're sick and Cilla… Lord…"

She hung her head, trailing off, unable to finish.

"Jesus," William said, heaving a sigh. It seemed the best curse to use, it summed it all up perfectly. How would Bordon react, he wondered? If it was the child Bordon had created with Harmony, he would be utterly devastated. But would he care so much, about Cilla's babe? The child had been as much Bordon as Cilla... Yes, William decided. Bordon will be most upset. The baby had been the one thing he'd been looking forward to enjoying in his loveless marriage. Setting Cilla and Bordon's troubles aside for now, he turned back to Beth. "You've done that too - getting Mila to tie your stays too tight. It stops now," he said, using the same voice of command he used on his men. Beth had learned to obey him, when he used that voice on her. "I'll not have your vanity stop us from having a healthy baby."

"I wouldn't, not after I knew I was pregnant," she said, offended.

"You won't anyway," he said, voice hard, demanding her submission. "Who knows what sort of damage you could do before you even know you're pregnant?" He sniffed and added, "not that we need to worry about that this month." It was unnecessary and cruel, but he was unable to help himself.

"I'm sorry, William. I don't know why this is happening!" Beth gasped, feeling he was berating her. The problem, Beth knew, could not lie with William himself. Some men could not conceive a child, but they both knew that William was not one of them. No, if they continued to remain childless, the problem had to lie with Beth. "My mother never had any trouble at all - she bore eight children!"

"Yes your mother had lots of children, yet Mrs. Selton had none and the Putman's only had one," he snapped. "Since we married, Beth, barely a day has gone by that we have not coupled. You did the things Mila suggested - yet you've still got your menses again!"

The rebuke made Beth feel small and guilty. She pulled her knees to her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know what else to say!"

Again using his voice of command, he said, "I am going to hand over responsibility of the camp women to someone else."

"No!" She cried, objecting as he knew he would. "They need me, William! You can't do that!"

"I can't?" He arched an eyebrow, his voice was cold. He'd just in that moment seized upon the solution to his problem - he'd discovered the means to keep Beth away from the camp women - away from discovering Linda was there - and he was determined to make her submit. "Beth, I give you a lot of leeway - a damned lot more than many husbands do. But I am speaking as both your husband and the Commander of the Legion and by God, I will not be challenged on this," he continued to hold her gaze, he saw her faltering as she began submitting to his will. "You are no longer Matron of the camp followers. You will no longer oversee - the responsibility of them will be handed to another."

"But why?" She asked. One look at his face and she knew he would not be budged. What was she going to do with herself all day, drink tea with Emily Wilkins? Sweet Lord.

"You heard Mila!" He frowned, "she spoke of what too much responsibility could do. I mean to take some from your shoulders, and perhaps _then_ we'll have more success," he said, determined that she obey this command.

"You think that's the reason I haven't become pregnant?" She asked, incredulous.

"I will not put at risk our ability to have a child," he snapped. "When there are so many others who can manage the camp followers. It does not need to be you."

"William, women conceive under the most perilous, trying of circumstances!"

"You haven't," he snapped. Beth blanched.

He regretted his words - and his tone - immediately. Beth's eyes filled with tears and she averted her gaze, taking the rebuke to heart. He was immediately contrite and again, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Beth. I didn't mean it like that."

"You did," she accused. "Why is it that as soon as a woman doesn't have a babe right off, she is to blame?"

That was not a question he could answer without revealing that Linda was back in camp - and pregnant with his child.

"I do not hold you to blame for not conceiving," he said instead. "I merely wish to eliminate the issues that I believe might be adding to our problem. As you pointed out, your mother bore eight children. But did she have the management of sixty camp women, added to her responsibilities as your father's wife? No, she did not. Your father would have ensured your mother was treated as she deserved, as a plantation mistress. From this point forth, I shall do the same. I've let you have your way for more than long enough, but it stops now."

"How will I fill my days?" She asked, frustrated. "Will you let me tend the sick, at least?"

"I can not refuse that request, seeing that I am one of the sick and I want you tending me," he smiled at her, attempting to win her over again. He'd won the battle, she had submitted, a potential disaster had now been averted. He would be gracious in his victory. "And when you are not tending the sick, you shall relax by the fire with your feet up, with no responsibilities, and perhaps then in another month, we'll have some good news."

"It sounds dreadfully boring," she said, huffing a sullen breath. But she would not argue further. Her stomach was cramping with the menses she did not want, her courses which was the root of their argument, being evidence that she was not pregnant. And she was too worried for Cilla, to argue further. "Mrs. Andrews. I nominate Mrs. Andrews to take my place, at least until I'm with child. And then -"

"You weren't listening," he said, voice hard again. "I will have you resting, even after our child is conceived."

"And when it's born?" She arched an eyebrow, irritation growing again.

"We shall discuss it then," he said, voice firm.

By then, she would be too busy with the raising of their child to nag him into restoring her as matron of the camp followers, he hoped. In removing from her the responsibilities of the camp followers, her body would indeed be under less strain. Also, she had would now have no further reason to visit the camp. In one fell swoop, he had damned near eliminated Beth's chances of discovering Linda. He was determined that this would not be changed, even when she did fall pregnant. He would keep her from camp - and away from Linda.

"Mrs. Andrews is an excellent choice - she will be informed immediately," he told her. He cupped her face. "I am sorry, Beth. I am disappointed, I will not deny it. But I know that you are every bit as disappointed."

"I am," she admitted, lip trembling.

"Then we are in accord," he kissed her forehead.

She nodded, perhaps he was right. It was quite stressful for her at times, seeing the woeful condition of the women, the heavy workload which she could only do so much to ease, and hearing their problems, which she could not do much about usually. Mrs. Andrews was a caring soul, and firm as well. She would take the women in hand, Beth was not abandoning them. Was she? She felt as though she was… perhaps she should have fought William a little harder…

"I love you," he said, his lips drifting from he forehead, down her cheek, to brush along her lips. She sighed, melting beneath his touch.

"I love you," she said gravely.

"Don't worry so," he nudged his nose against hers. "All will be well. You'll bear me ten children, no doubt, and all of them will be damned terrors."

"If they are, it'll be your fault, not mine. You'll be too soft," she wrapped her arms around his neck. He laughed down at her, thinking it was absurd that anyone would believe he was too soft. Beth lay in his arms for a short while, before the intense heat radiating from his body recalled her to her task. She rose and wrung out another cloth, washing him down and laying folded, wet strips on his forehead. When she pressed the laudanum laced wine on him, he drank deeply and within a few minutes, he was fast asleep.

* * *

Fearing Mr. And Mrs. Turnbull would become suspicious of where his true devotion lay, Bordon tried not to stare at Harmony, who they knew as "Mrs. Campbell". Harmony was seated across from him in the Turnbull's small parlour, she kept her eyes lowered and he knew she must be feeling the same.

"You are doing the Crown a very great service," Bordon was saying to the two Loyalists, who straightened their backs, looking proud and pleased. "You have our gratitude and our admiration. We will not pretend that what this task we have given to you is not dangerous, for it is. If any rebels were to discover that Mrs. Campbell is here, they will come for her, that much I am certain of."

He wasn't exaggerating. If Farshaw learned where Harmony was, it would become very dangerous for both her and the Turnbull's. And Farshaw had been a rebel, so he wasn't entirely lying there, either.

"I shall, therefore, leave two of my Green Dragoons here to guard her," he continued, for indeed, Farshaw was a British Officer now and he could waltz into British held Pembroke whenever the hell he wished. "It would be better if you tried to keep to yourself that you have a lodger, and it would be better if Mrs. Campbell did not leave your house."

"Not even for church?" Mr. Turnbull asked reluctantly.

"Sir, unless you can be absolutely certain of the entire congregation, then no. Not even to church," Bordon said and the Turnbull's exchanged a troubled glance. "Having said that, Mrs. Campbell," he said and Harmony lifted her face, met his eyes, and it was all he could do to not rush to her, to start kissing her. "Those rebel spies you told me about have been sighted."

"Oh dear," she murmured. He could see her longing and her amusement shining in her eyes.

"Yes. Now, I know it is a lot to ask for, but I need you to identify them. They are on the road and travelling hard, but we shall catch up to them and then you can confirm it is they. I will keep you safe every step of the journey, and I will return you here tomorrow, the day after at the latest. One night, or two, is all I ask."

"If you think it will help." He saw the fleeting grin the flared over her face.

"It will. It will certainly soothe my soul," he said, holding her gaze. He continued brusquely, "to have those spies confirmed that I can deal with them."

"To think, more spies among the British Legion," Turnbull said. "After you hanging a few only a couple months ago!"

"I know," Bordon shrugged. "That is the problem with recruiting among the local populace. Most of the men who answered the call to recruit are true and can be relied upon. Unfortunately, it left the way open for those who are not to seize the opportunity to join as well. To let those outside know of our plans."

"Horrid," Mrs. Turnbull said. She turned to Harmony. "How did you discover them, Mrs. Campbell?"

"I overheard them talking before they rode out," Harmony lied, making it up as she went along. "One of them saw me listening and he chased me when I ran away."

"Dear Lord, you must have been terrified."

"I was," Harmony agreed. "I got away from him, but he got away from the Legion before I was able to warn Colonel Tavington and," she looked at Richard. "Major Bordon. By then, his companions had already departed - Tavington thinking they were obeying his commands - but who knows what they're truly doing? If that soldier has reached them and told them I know they are all spies…" she feigned a shudder.

"Perhaps… Sir, if Mrs. Campbell has already identified them, surely there is no reason to take her to do so again? It's far too dangerous," Mrs. Turnbull said. "What if they attack you, she will be at risk!"

"What if we capture them and they are the wrong men?" Bordon said.

"Bring them back here for her to identify them," Mr. Campbell said. All good advice, Bordon reasoned, but none of it would allow him to remove Harmony for a few nights.

"No. It must be done this way. I truly am grateful for all you have done. Colonel Tavington has expressed his gratitude as well. Thank you," he began to rise. "And thank you for the offer of your carriage, that Mrs. Campbell can travel in privacy with no one the wiser. Mrs. Campbell, if you could pack a small bag, I promise you, I shall have you returned on the morrow. The following, at the latest."

"As long as you need, Sir," she said, rising and then curtsying. "I am pleased to serve you and am at your disposal."

He hid a grin.

A short time later, they were on the road with a score of Dragoons for protection. They did not have nearly so far to travel as he'd told the Turnbull's. They were not chasing down spies masquerading as soldiers of the British Legion. They were going to Doux Ruisseau - James Wilkins Plantation, which was only a few miles away. As soon as they had left Pembroke, away from prying eyes, Bordon had climbed into the carriage where he and Harmony spent the rest of the journey in one another's arms, kissing and relishing being together again.

Now, he was escorting Harmony through the massive, imposing hall and she was staring at all the finery like a poor, country bumpkin.

"No wonder she thinks so highly of herself," Harmony said, her fingers alighting on the polished bannister as she stood before the wide, curving, carpeted staircase. "Couldn't you have taken me somewhere else, Richard? I don't want to be in Emily's house."

"No, Harm. This is the best place for us. It's close enough to Fresh Water that we will be safe and Captain Wilkins staff will make ourselves at our disposal, as I am his superior."

"But you said he was away from the fort, you have no idea if he'd agree to us coming here or not," she said, turning to face him.

"When we first arrived to the county, he told us to come here. His house is our house, he said," Bordon said. "Stop worrying - let's go upstairs, where we can put our time to better use." He smiled and took her arm.

"Well, I did promise to serve you," she grinned and he laughed. They followed a servant upstairs to one of the chambers, where they were left alone for the first time in far too long. Truly alone, for in the carriage, they had still had Bordon's outriders. Now, it was just the two of them. Bordon's heart gave a small leap.

Harmony, after so long of waiting, was finally in his arms again. Her scent surrounded him. Her body shook as she sobbed into his neck. It had been far too long. Too damned long.

"I missed you so," she whispered.

"I know you did," he smiled. "And I most certainly missed you."

He cupped her face with his large hands and kissed her. It was glorious, he was drowning and she was saving him. She gripped his shoulders and whimpered, pressing herself against him.

"God, I'm so glad I left!" She gasped between kisses. "If this is to be the outcome!"

"I imagine you were quite scared," he guided her to the bed.

"Terrified," she agreed. "But it's all over now."

"He will be looking for you," Bordon shook his head, refusing to believe she was safe. "Which is why I'm leaving the twins to watch over you at the Turnbull's. Christ, I love you."

"I love you," she gripped his ears and pulled him downward, tugging until he was laying along side her. He couldn't stop touching her, his hands moving over her arms, her hips, the gentle swell of her stomach, where their baby lay peacefully within.

"Have you kept your vow?" She asked him. Her fingers had already unbound his hair and she wound her fingers through those cinnamon locks now, and she gripped far too tightly. "I vow, Richard, if you've bedded her -"

"I have not, and nor will I," he said, wincing with pain. He locked eyes with her. Christ, that hold was hurting!

"It's bad enough you've married her. I want to lay with you, I do, but Christ, Richard, I want to slap you stupid as well!"

He kissed her face, her cheeks were flushed with grief, fury, happiness, desire.

"Please, my love… Our time is precious, we might not be able to fool the Turnbull's twice. We likely won't be able to come back here and I don't waste a moment discussing her…"

Harmony heard the grief in his voice, the utter despair and she gazed up at him solemnly, worried. She sighed heavily. Linda had told her what she'd overheard, Cilla herself had told Emily Wilkins that they were not bedding one another. There was no point in pursuing the question. She and Richard had discussed Cilla extensively in the letters they had traded, and she found she did not want to speak of the girl again now either. They had said all there could be said on the subject and wasting their time talking about it would not alter anything. He would still be married to another woman, Cilla would still be carrying his child… Harmony loosened her hold on his hair, and began stroking his face gently.

"I've been so lost," he whispered, now that she had softened. He could admit such things to her, but only to her. "So lost. I thought I was going mad. He swooped in and took you and everyone supported it because he's your damned husband! And then he beat you and I couldn't even be there for you while you healed and I was forbidden to touch him - I could not challenge him and if he died mysteriously I would have been questioned and -"

"Oh, my darling, you would not have killed him would you?" she asked, shocked.

"My finger would not have even trembled on the trigger," he ground out. "I still want to kill him. I want to see his blood, so damned badly!"

She continued to stroke his face, smoothing the deep frown lines from his brow.

"It's all over," she whispered, soothing. "I'm free of him. We're together again, as much as we can be. I'm done with being fussy, I'll settle for anything I can have of you," she deliberately avoided any more mention of his wife, who had usurped Harmony's place. "Promise me that when Cornwallis begins his push into North Carolina and when he recalls you from Fresh Water, you will take me with you," she said, demanding. "You owe me, Richard. You owe me this so, so much! Promise me that you will not set a single foot from Fresh Water without me."

"On my honour as a Gentleman and as an Officer and as your beloved, I vow I will not leave you behind," he said, as firmly as she. "I will ensure that _she_ remains there - at Fresh Water. She will not accompany us. As for Farshaw, I'll do what I can to keep you hidden from him, which will be easy enough if he remains under O'Hara's command." There won't be any reason for Farshaw to visit the British Legion once the two regiments leave Fresh Water.

Hearing the oath from his own lips, Harmony relaxed beneath him. She stretched in contentment, the cat who ate the cream.

"I do like the sound of that," she said, smiling. He laughed softly. Leaning in, he brushed his lips to hers and she draped her arms around his head. All that needed to be said, had been.

When they were free of Fresh Water, Cilla and Calvin would both be far from either of them and they could finally continue with their lives. Harmony melted in Richard's embrace, she sighed as he again began stroking her body all over. Every part of her was familiar and beloved, though her stomach was certainly swelling, as he discovered when he had her disrobed and laying naked beside him. He smiled down at that swell, a small smile quirking his lips as he stroked her lazily.

"My child won't be raised by Farshaw," he said, his smile broadening, meeting her gaze. "I was so afraid of that. He's such a bastard, he might have beaten the child even thinking it was his… I worried about what my boy would grow into, living with a father such as Farshaw."

"I worried about that too," Harmony confessed. "But I'm shed of him now, I'll think of him no more. You will raise this child, Richard. I don't care anymore if the world knows it's a bastard or not. It's your child, and that's all that matters."

"I couldn't agree more," he leaned down and kissed her stomach while she watched him with a fond look. "Do you hear me, little one? I shall acknowledge you, you will have my name and by God, you'll have the best of everything," he lifted his head and asked her, "do you think he can hear me?"

"Perhaps. You know, he won't need the best of everything, Richard. He has you, now. And you're the best thing he could ever have."

"Come here, you," laughing, he scooped her up into his arms. "Nobody loves me like you do."

"And no one ever will," she said archly. "Except perhaps the little one," she smiled down at her stomach.

"Will it harm the baby if we..?"

"I'll harm you, if we don't," she laughed. She reached down between their bodies, her hand searching blindly until her fingers wrapped around his hardened shaft. She stroked him gently, her thumb and fingers caressing and exploring. He did the same, his palm moving down her body. He parted her thighs and stroked her with gentleness bordering reverence. He felt the keen need to prostrate himself before her. Instead, he knelt for her, between her legs, and lowered his lips to her sex, to pay her homage. Harmony threw back her head, her fingers clutching the sheets as she writhed with joy, affection and utter bliss. He licked and stroked her through her orgasm, with extreme patience, only stopping when her body was calm and languid beneath him.

"Hmmm," she sighed, gazing up at him through dazed eyes. "Just like old times."

"And this?" He asked as he began to press his marble shaft into her. "Is this just like old times?"

"Oh..." She moaned and bit her lip, and she reached for his arms as he impaled her.

"Tiresome, is it?" He whispered against her ear, thrusting in slowly to the hilt.

"I could never get tired of you," she met his lips, kissing him, as she met his thrusts.

"I could tell that," he smirked, nudging his nose against hers. "As soon as I slipped in. You are dripping for me, my darling."

She couldn't have agreed more and as the flame within her began to blaze like a bonfire, she wrapped her legs over his thighs and pressed him with the heels of her feet, urging him to take her harder, demanding a greater gallop from him. He remained in steadfast control, refusing to indulge her, lest he cause damage to their unborn child. And it was all the more pleasurable for it. That tortuously slow ascendance paid off, his body seemed to shatter to splinters. Tranquility and gratification, a slow but strong release, carried him toward the heavens. He stopped moving, frozen above her during that interminable pleasure. Harmony, also in raptures, rolled her pelvis, driving him within her, until she arched her back, and then collapsed to the pillows.

He withdrew, gathered her into her arms, and kissed her slowly.


	94. Chapter 94 - Cilla and Emily

Chapter 94 - Cilla and Emily:

"…Cease your attacks," Major Patrick Ferguson pronounced loudly, his eyes searching the press of homespun clad villagers. Was Colonel Isaac Shelby amongst this lot? Hiding in plain sight, to listen to Ferguson's message? The Major did not doubt it. His horse shifted restlessly beneath him, sensing its riders agitation, and his eagerness. Behind him were some twenty British regulars and triple that number in the Loyalists of North Carolina. Lifting his chin, the Major continued his speech. If Shelby did not hear it with his own two ears, he'd get word soon enough. There were rebels in this lot, eyeing him coldly, probably fingering their weapons - he'd never know, the press they hid in was far too thick. "If the Over Mountain-men refuse to cease their attacks, I will lay waste to their country with fire and sword," his voice rung, echoing off the buildings to hang heavily in the air. In a softer voice, but still loud enough to reach those in the rear of the crowd, he said, "have no doubt of it. I am giving fair warning, my patience is at an end. As is my mercy. Cease your rebellion, bring your allegiance back to the Crown, and perhaps I'll find a shred of mercy left after all."

He was left with stone cold silence. Oh, the children could not be quieted - a babe cried wretchedly in its mothers arms, wanting the teat no doubt. But from the adults, to a man they were deathly silent, staring back at him with wary and angry eyes. His message was delivered, and they knew better than to dismiss it.

Major Ferguson's fingers twitched on the reins, his heels kicked the mounts flanks gently. He turned, and a column parted amongst his men for him to ride through and out of the village. He was followed by the thunderous sound of hooves, picking up speed the further they were from the village. At length he made camp and, tossing his reins over to a Loyalist militiaman, he strode toward his tent.

"How did it go?" Captain Fenlock fell into step beside him. "Did you see Shelby?"

"I've no idea if he was there or not," Patrick replied. "But he will get word soon enough. I would imagine our old adversary will be quite incensed."

Old adversary was a slight exaggeration. The two had been circling each other, following and advancing, retreating and falling back. Patrick had skirmished with the fellow earlier in the month, and the damned rebel bastard killed almost half of Ferguson's force and had taken another half captive. The Loyalists - those who had been killed in that skirmish - were growing quite edgy and frightened, after that Patriot victory. He was lucky he still had militia at all, and he was damned charmed that more Loyalists were answering his banner call.

His long legs carried him into the tent, he ducked low to clear the roof. Waiting within were both his Virginia's, the two lasses who shared both their name and his bed. He'd heard the jokes whispered amongst his men, that he was a damned lucky bastard to have two such beautiful creatures to warm his blankets, and a damned clever bastard for choosing two with the same name. The joke ran that he never had to fear offending either of his mistresses by whispering the wrong name into her ear as she lay in his arms at night. He could never get the girls mixed up. As one Virginia smiled and offered him a tankard of ale, and the other Virginia began dishing the meal she had busied herself preparing, he hoped that his luck and cleverness held. For the little speech he had issued in the village a few miles away, was sure to have riled up Shelby and his fellow Commanders, and the entirety of the rebel militia to boot. With that luck, Shelby and his fellow traitors would be so filled with violent emotion they would make disastrous mistakes. With that clever speech, it was Patrick's hope that half the countryside - which might have followed Shelby prior to his speech, would be too terrified to leave their front doors.

Ferguson ate his meal quickly, and as the Virginia's cleared away the dishes, he began penning a missive to Lord General Cornwallis.

* * *

"Colin!" Thomas roared, filled with youthful excitement. It had been a long time - too long, since he'd seen his neighbour. He kicked his heels and his horse flew like a dart directly for Colin Ferguson, who was waiting on the road, ready to guide them to camp. Colin kicked his mounts flanks too and met the youth midway. They embraced whilst still in the saddle. Benjamin Martin and his militiamen caught up more slowly.

"Damn it's good to see you," Colin's face split into a grin as he greeted Benjamin, Thomas and - with much relief - Nicholas Watson. He felt slightly cooler toward Mark Putman, though he tried not to show it. "I was damned relieved to hear you were still alive after all."

"So was I," Nicholas laughed. He thumped Colin on the back.

"It's good to see you again, Ferguson," Mark tipped his hat, inclining his head.

"You too, Sir," Colin said, though with far less enthusiasm.

"How are you lad?" Benjamin asked as he pulled his pipe and tobacco from a pocket and began filling the bowl.

"Missing home," Colin admitted.

"I heard that was the reason you left," Mark said. "For your family." He cocked his head, he was the one who'd suggested to Colin to join the Green Dragoons to spy in the first place.

"Yes, that and because I had no stomach for it any more," Colin replied.

"I understand that," Mark said. "It'd make me sick to my stomach too, serving under Tavington."

Colin grunted; he averted his gaze from Mark in favour of Benjamin, who understood the silent exchange. Colin hadn't been able to stomach serving Mark, either, not after discovering an entirely different side to the man.

"Last time we spoke, you said you didn't want to serve either side," Benjamin said to Colin, ignoring the surprised look Mark shot him. "Yet here you are with the militia. What changed your mind?"

Colin heaved a breath. "Didn't much like being called a coward," he replied and Benjamin's eyes widened. "The men around here aren't as understanding as you - they see a man not willing to join and they shame him until he does." Colin shrugged Benjamin's concerned look away. "And I figure I can't complain about the outcome of the war, if I don't do my bit to fight. Papa says we'll be able to go back when we've won the war - that they won't burn the house. What do you think, Mr. Martin?"

"Could be," Benjamin took a long draw from the stem and puffed the smoke, "your place and mine - one big bloody British fort… I can only assume they'll take care of the houses while they need them, though they might burn them when they're done."

"Hateful bastards," Thomas spat.

"Still, we can rebuild the houses," Mark said sensibly. "We can't rebuild you, Colin."

Colin nodded, again reluctant to engage with Mark. While he was glad the fellow wasn't dead, all he could think about was how he let his wife bed Bordon for information, and how he set Sumter onto Harmony, like a Master siccing his dog onto its prey.

"Christ, I can't believe you got clean away," Nicholas Watson said. "You made it all the way here without being harassed by the British!"

"Tavington released me readily enough when I told him I didn't want to serve under him anymore," Colin explained to Nicholas. "I let him know I was disgusted with him and couldn't stand serving under a Commander like him. Not in those words, but he knew what I was saying. Reckon he was glad to see the back of me. He gave me a pass that got my family and I all the way through British lines. Though I suppose his good will will end quickly enough if he does ever discover I was a spy - or that I'm here now, fighting with the Patriots."

"I'm sorry if put you in such danger, lad," Mark said.

"If?" Colin asked sharply and Mark's eyes widened. "What do you mean, if? They hanged Trellim and Banksia and those others. I'd say it was more than an 'if'."

Mark was speechless. Nicholas, frowning, said, "Colin, no one twisted my arm and they didn't twist yours."

"Yes, I know," Colin said shortly, unable to explain further his disgust at Mark. He wondered if Nicholas knew the full truth, of Mark letting Mage bed Bordon to gain information. And about his part in Sumter's filthy treatment of his hostage. Surely Nicholas would feel the same as he, if he did. Colin could feel Mark's eyes on him, but he didn't explain further or apologise for his bluntness. Best to simply leave it over, he'd let his annoyance be known.

They were on a road a few miles inside of North Carolina, in sight of the Appalachian Mountains. Colin and his family were living there now, with relatives on a vast plantation. Almost as soon as he arrived to North Carolina, Colin was coerced into joining his cousins who were active members of a militia Company. The militia, their homes, their very land was now under threat by Major Patrick Ferguson - no relation of Colin's, of course, a Scottish born British Commander who would lay waste, just as Banastre Tarleton had been doing in South Carolina. The countryside was up in arms, ready to lay waste to Patrick Ferguson, and - as Colin's cousin had so poetically put it several days earlier: 'ready to shove his words back up his Scottish arse'.

"If you'd like, I'll have a talk with those bothering you, lad," Benjamin offered soberly. "No one should be forced to this and no one should be calling you a coward, when you've already proved otherwise."

"No, it's alright. My training under Tavington has given me a good feel for command," Colin shrugged. "And that Major Ferguson - the devil take him for having the same name as me! He needs to be bought down a few rungs and I don't mind joining those who want to see the job done. Thought you might like to join us."

Benjamin grinned.

"You know me too well, lad. I dare say this Shelby fellow has enough men, however, and all of them from North Carolina. How does he feel about you inviting us along?"

Colin hesitated. He jerked his head, indicating they should go apart for a private chat. Benjamin followed.

"It's not that you're from South Carolina," Colin explained. "He'll take all the men he can get who wants to join him. But well, there was a few raised eyebrows when I suggested we send for _you_."

"For me in particular?" Benjamin puffed his pipe again, he savoured the flavor of the tobacco and the the soothing feeling of the smoke filling his lungs. "Why's that then?"

"Because, well… Because of Beth," Colin blurted. Benjamin nodded, understanding.

"Yea. That's what I thought you were going to say. Well, he either wants the extra hands on deck to help settle this Major Ferguson and his Tory's, or he doesn't. I can't change the fact that my girl has gone off and married a damned Lobster Colonel, but I'll be damned if I'll let any man question my commitment to the Cause. If it comes down to that, lad, I'll be heading on home and taking my nine hundred with me. He can settle for this Ferguson without me."

"He's a good man," Colin said of Colonel Shelby, "and he will come to the right judgement when he meets you. I just wanted to warn you, he's a little wary."

"Aren't we all? No one knows who to trust these bloody days. His reaction is understandable enough - I'm a complete stranger and my son in law is a blasted British Officer, one whose reputation has certainly proceeded him. I could be filtering information back to Tavington while telling the world that I can't stand the bastard. It's understandable, but I won't be putting up with it, either. Let's go meet the fellow and let him make up his own mind then."

"Alright," Colin and Benjamin joined the others, Thomas was damned near jumping in the saddle with curiosity. He'd missed the entire conversation!

"How's Mrs. Ferguson?" Nicholas asked as Benjamin put his pipe away and the Company began to move out.

"Pregnant," Colin smiled. "Pregnant and beautiful."

"Ha! I can't imagine you as a father," Thomas said.

"Well, my thanks Thomas, that's a grand compliment," Colin said sarcastically.

Thomas laughed, then he puffed out his chest. "I'm a Corporal!" He announced, puffing his chest out with pride. "I can't wear my uniform right now, Papa made me put it away so we wouldn't attract attention. But I'm an Officer in the Continentals, just like Gabriel!"

"That's wonderful news!" Colin slapped him on the back. "I'll bet the camp girls swoon when you walk past them."

"He does hold his head a little higher when there's a lass about," Nicholas chuckled, teasing.

"Oh, is that right?" Colin asked. "You forgotten my sister already?"

"Nah, never that. And Papa says I have to be careful of those lasses anyway - their father's are in camp too and they are keeping their tomahawks nice and sharp," Thomas said. Nicholas and Colin chuckled. "Has Nancy been getting my letters?" Thomas asked Colin, who nodded. "I don't get many from her. She doesn't have another sweet heart does she?"

"Nah, nah our arrangement with your family still holds," Colin assured the youth. "There's no other lad whose taken her fancy. It just shows how lacking she is in taste, really. It's only ever '_Tommy this_' and '_Tommy that_'. Quite annoying really. Especially when she gets one of your letters - do you think you could write fewer? It sets her off for days and days, none of us get any peace…"

Thomas smiled and sighed, well pleased to hear that Nancy's feelings had not changed.

The Company rode on for another half hour before entering the Patriot militia camp. Colin made the introductions, then fell silent. It was up to Benjamin now.

"Thank you for coming, Colonel," Colonel Shelby greeted Benjamin. Shelby's voice was a little terse, seemingly on edge. Did he fear that Benjamin would swagger in and try to assume command? Or was it as Colin feared, had Shelby already taken Benjamin Martin's measure, and judged him without even meeting him?

"The militia of South Carolina stands with her brothers of the North," Benjamin said formally, gravely. His wording was careful and deliberate - no he would not attempt to assume command, he would fight side by side with them instead. Shelby seemed a little taken aback by the reply but a loosening around his shoulders told Benjamin that Shelby was softening.

"How were your travels?" The North Carolina militiaman asked politely. "How do you fare?"

_How do I fare? My arse is taking on the shape of a saddle. I'm hungry. I'm cold. I'm dirty. I stink. My house is now a blasted British Fort. I haven't seen my children in too bloody long. Two of them are lost to the blasted British and, a far more immediate concern of mine, I have not had a bloody woman in months and my engagement to the woman I love ended on the same day it began. How do I bloody fare?_

"It was a long ride to be sure," he replied, giving nothing away on his face, showing none of his discomforts. "So. When do we get the target practice you promised?"

Mark and several others in his company, including Thomas, snickered and laughed. Shelby blinked in surprise.

"Target practice - oh," he chuckled in understanding.

"Just so," Benjamin replied. "Where are the Lobsters, Sir? Just tell me where to point and I shall shoot," there, that aught to relax the other Colonel's fears, Benjamin thought, he had as much as placed himself under Colonel Shelby's command.

"A few miles off yet," Shelby replied, some heat entering his voice. "We're giving chase but he's keeping the distance - he's not allowing us to close. We've been swelling our numbers during the march, however, so that's a damned fine thing. That little speech he gave a few days ago," he cut short, fury whisking his next words away. At length, he was able to speak again. "That speech, about laying waste to our land by fire and sword… It's angered a few citizens, to be sure."

Benjamin glanced behind Shelby to the camp proper, where somewhere upward of nine hundred men milled amongst tents.

"Just a few," he agreed, chuckling. "Well, we'd like to join you on this little jaunt, if you don't mind."

"My father doesn't like to miss out when there's carousing to be had, he finds entertainment like this quite diverting," Thomas said.

"My son," Benjamin introduced shortly, "Corporal Thomas Martin," the youth - who had only received his new rank a short while ago, puffed himself up with pride. "My brother in law Captain Mark Putman," Benjamin continued on with the introductions. Shelby introduced the Officers in his immediate retinue. The Martin family was in disgrace with many a Patriot commander, but these ones seemed just plain relieved to have such an experienced Colonel on their side.

"What are you expecting to have happen here?" Benjamin asked a short while later, when they were bent over maps laid out all over a table in the command tent.

"What I expect, Colonel Martin," Shelby replied, voice grim. "Is to catch up with that Scottish bastard, force him into a pincer and crush him like pulp."

"Well," Benjamin laughed under his breath. "You know, that sounds mighty fine to me. When do we get started?"

"Now that your lot is here, we'll continue the chase this afternoon. If we push hard enough, perhaps we can catch him in a week or so, two at most. I wish to thank you again for coming, Colonel," Shelby extended his hand across the table, Benjamin shook it. "And for bringing so many of your friends."

"All nine hundred of them," Benjamin quipped. "And you're most welcome."

* * *

"We're gaining on him, I think," Thomas mused. "That's what they're saying, anyway."

"Not nearly quickly enough for my liking," Benjamin frowned into the camp fire. He reached for a long branch and began stabbing into the centre of the fire, sparks rose high as the logs were disturbed. Colin placed another thick log on the top and flames began lapping around it greedily. "We've been chasing him for days now."

"But the distance is closing," Mark cocked his head to one side as he studied his brother in law. "With Shelby coming in from the South, Ferguson will have no choice but to choose a ground soon, and try to hold it. Why are you chafing at the delay Ben?"

"I just want this affair settled and done is all," Benjamin replied. "I want to be back in South Carolina. We've business there that needs tending."

"Tavington," Mark agreed grimly, his blue eyes flint of chipped ice, "and Bordon."

"Not just those two," Benjamin chided. "Though they are certainly on my list. I know Burwell and Sumter are doing what they can but if we were there, how much more damage could be done to the British?"

"A damned sight more," Thomas said, swelling with pride. In the months he'd been riding with his father, he'd come to understand what a true genius the man was, and he was so very proud to be his son. "We'd have them quelled in a matter of days!"

"All of 'em, hmm?" Billings asked, grinning a tooth gapped grin. "Tavington at Ben's place, Rawdon at Camden, Balfour in Charlestown, Cornwallis at Charlotte, Tarleton, O'Hara, Wemyss -"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Thomas scooped up a handful of rocks and threw them in Billings general direction. The older fellow laughed. "Alright, there's too many still, but I know papa is right. We'd do far more damage if we were there."

"This is every bit as important," Colin replied, looking about at the group of men, who gazed back at him with interest. "Major Ferguson and his detachment, and all those Loyalists following him. Shelby thinks we'll deal the British a major blow, if we are able to quell Ferguson. Besides, he's threatened us, hasn't he? He's going to come after all Patriots, with fire and sword, just as Tavington and Tarleton have done in the South. We need to settle for him now, him and his Tories. Besides, with him gone, whose going to protect the opening into North Carolina, for Cornwallis? He won't be able to traipse on in with his battalions, if his watchdog is no longer on the gate."

"Watchdog…" Benjamin chuckled. "That's clever, Colin. You're right, of course," he began to brighten. He understood all this as well, but Colin's words helped to clear his head. In a much happier voice, he said, "and with the watchdog gone, there will be no close reinforcements for Cornwallis, he will have to drop back down into South Carolina or risk being cut off from his main force. They will have to winter in our territory. If that comes to pass, then by damn, we'll give them hell."

"It'll also mean that Tavington and Bordon will be staying put, right were we need them to be," Mark added and Benjamin nodded.

"Indeed, they will," he said. "Well, lads. I say it's time to bed down. I want us nice and fresh for an early start in beginning the chase on the morrow. The sooner this dog is leashed, the better."

* * *

Richard stared down at Cilla, who thrashed and groaned on the pillows. Candlelight flooded the room. Her face was slick with sweat, her breathing laboured. Her baby had passed from her body because of the terrible illness; he thought she looked near to death. She was sleeping, but fitfully. He lowered himself to the chair beside the bed and stared at her. He'd stretched his time with Harmony to it's limit, keeping her at Doux Ruisseau for the two full days he'd told the Turnbull's they'd been gone for.

For two glorious days, he hadn't left Harmony's side. They wasted little time sleeping, they spent as many hours awake as was possible; drinking wine, eating and bedding one another.

Throughout that time, Cilla was back at Fresh Water, losing their child.

It was gone now. Done. He'd returned in time for the worst to already be over, and it left him feeling stricken. He loved Harmony and did not regret his time with her, but he could not help but feel, perhaps if he should have been here, by his wife's side, perhaps there might have been something he could have done. He, the child's father. The babies life had slipped away, and Richard had been with his mistress.

"She's strong, Sir," Mrs. Andrews said as she tugged the sheets up to Cilla's chin. Mila, who was in the chamber with them, nodded agreement. "And young. She will pull through this. And there's time yet, she'll be able to conceive again."

"She's not… broken inside?" He asked Mrs. Andrews.

"No, I do not believe she suffered damage inside. Everything… ah… has been coming away cleanly, you know?" She asked, trying to find the right words to describe what she meant, without the need for deeper details. Richard did not truly understand, but he nodded anyway. He rose suddenly and stalked about the chamber. Would it have ended differently, if he had been at the Plantation? Cilla was his wife, and, during the time that he was laying in his beloved's arms, his wife had been miscarrying their child. Had she been in much pain? Had the baby been in pain, while it was dying? He couldn't bring himself to ask. Gods. He curled his fingers into fists, feeling worse than useless.

A chance glance toward a chamber pot was cause for alarm, for he caught sight of the gruesome contents within . A napkin covered most of the opening of the bowl but at that glimpse, he pulled the napkin to reveal more.

"Sir, I'll put that away," Mila was moving toward him. She stood at his side as he stared down at the dark blood in the bowl. In the middle of the puddle, there was a large, grotesque looking... lump of something. It was the size of his palm. Mila made to remove the chamber pot.

"Is that it?" He asked, gesturing to that wet, misshapen lump. "Is that my baby?"

"No, Sir, it's just a blood clot," Mila replied, folding away the grizzly sight from view again. "I haven't had a chance to remove it. You weren't meant to see it."

"It's very big," he frowned. "Can clots really get so big? Are you sure that's what it is?"

"Yes." It was Mrs. Andrews who replied. She sighed, she had not wanted to go into the details, but it was too late, Bordon had seen the thing in the bowl Mila was holding and a further explanation was now necessary. "This is what I meant Major, when I said everything has come away cleanly. This is a good thing, it's better for these to be out of her. It's when they are left inside that the troubles begin."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

Mila pulled the chamber pot away and placed it on the dresser beside the door.

"Did you see the babe, then?" He asked the two women tentatively. "Do you know if it was a boy or…"

"It was too early to tell," Mrs. Andrews replied, not without sympathy.

That was about right, Richard thought as he stared down at Cilla. Lord, his child was gone. And he'd never know if it had been a boy or a girl. The growing life had been ended so abruptly, it was shocking to him. Since their forced marriage, he had imagined holding it, the small bundle, his own child. It had been the only thing he'd looked forward to in his marriage, back when he thought Harmony and his child with her were lost to him. Now, he and Cilla had nothing.

"Her blood will run normally now," Mrs. Andrews was saying. "She will be able to conceive again, I do not believe she is damaged inside."

"Thank you," he said to Mrs. Andrews, who did not know his was a marriage in name only, that he had no more desire to bed Cilla than she did him. "Does she know?" He asked the woman.

"Yes," came the sombre reply. "She knew from the moment it began."

"Was she... Well, how did she react - how did she feel?" He asked. Mrs. Andrews looked to Mila, for she wasn't there when it began, she was summoned later.

"She was distraught, Sir," Mila said, casting a sympathetic look at the sleeping girl in the bed. "She told me she did not think she would be, but now that it was leaving her…" Mila's eyes filled with tears. She placed her hand over the swell of her stomach and she turned away, unable to continue.

"She is heartbroken, Sir," Mrs. Andrews said.

"Oh," Bordon said, casting his gaze toward Cilla. The girl was sleeping, but restlessly. She thrashed and moaned, tossed and turned. The pain of the miscarriage, as well as from the sickness raging through her body. He wondered if she would survive both ailments at once.

"She's strong," Mrs. Andrews repeated. "But one never knows... I'm sorry, Sir, I can not reassure you further. You should hope for the best, and prepare for the worst."

He nodded again. Perhaps, if Cilla was as distraught as Mila said, then she might agree to try for another baby.

The thought surprised him, shocked him to his soul. He'd made promises to Cilla, that he would not demand his husbandly right from her. He'd made promises to Harmony, that he would never bed his wife. But now? Now was not the time to think on it overly much, but he was certain he could not suffer a childless marriage. His marriage to Cilla was miserable enough, without that.

"Look after her," he commanded, though he knew that the two women already were, before he slipped away to speak to Tavington.

* * *

Emily stared gravely down at Cilla, who lay on the pillows, eyes closed. On top of being ill, Cilla had her menses, Emily had been told. She understood the girls bleeding was upon her, but she knew it was more than her usual monthly courses. Vicky had confirmed it, when Emily asked the maid. Up until now, Vicky had only been able to report her suspicions that Cilla was pregnant. But she'd been tending Cilla right alongside Mila, under Mrs. Andrews direction, she knew her mistress was miscarrying and according to Mrs. Andrews, Cilla was three months along before it started. Cilla and Richard had only been married for a little over one month. Vicky had been sworn to secrecy, but was not above exchanging information for Emily's coin when it was offered.

Emily's strong suspicions were all confirmed now, Cilla married Bordon because he'd gotten her pregnant. And now, she had miscarried the child, because of her illness. Emily didn't know what to say, especially as she wasn't supposed to know.

Instead, she fussed over Cilla, who lay weak in the bed. Emily lowered herself to a chair, it was her turn to sit with the stricken girl again. Deciding it was best simply to play along, she said, "did you know that when a lot of women are living closely together, they all begin to get their menses at the same time? Beth has her courses too, and so does Rebecca."

"I did not know that," Cilla whispered. Early morning sunlight streamed through the window, but provided no warmth. Not that Cilla needed warmth - it was already too damned hot, she wanted to throw her covers off her body and stand naked before an open window. Well, perhaps not stand, she doubted her weak legs would bear her weight. And the room spun and tilted each time she rose for the few moments it took to use the chamber pot.

"It's quite true," Emily placed her hands in her lap, then leaned forward to ask, "just how horrid is it, Cilla? I am so worried. How are you feeling?" She laid her fingers across Cilla's brow to gauge the girls temperature. "You poor thing, you're burning hot."

"I am," Cilla closed her eyes. She could barely speak but was grateful for Emily's company. She did not want to be alone, though she could not tell the woman why. The loss of her child was hard enough to bear when she was alone. "It is horrid, I would not wish this on my worst enemy."

"Not even on Mrs. Farshaw?" Emily laughed softly.

"Not even on her," Cilla managed a smile. "I don't hate her, Em. I don't much like her either, but I don't hate her."

"I do," Emily sniffed. "She's a damned little trollop and had no place amongst us."

"If anything, I think I was jealous of her, but I certainly didn't hate her," Cilla said. She groaned as she shifted her weight from her aching back, to lay curled on her side, her head on the pillow facing Emily.

"Jealous!" Emily gasped, surprised to hear Cilla confess such a thing. "Oh, because of your husband, I suppose."

"Because of her friendship with Beth," Cilla said after a startled moment.

"Oh, of course," Emily said, remembering how little Cilla cared for her husband. "Well, you don't have to worry about her anymore."

"Beth visits her every day. Well, not now, with Tavington sick and all. But when he's better, she'll start going next door again. I despise having to share her, Em." Cilla laid a weary hand over her eyes.

"No, she won't," Emily said, leaning forward, all eagerness. "I mean you don't have to worry about her at _all_ anymore! I have some gossip for you."

The girl lifted an eyebrow. "I'm on my death bed, and still you'll gossip," Cilla managed a weak laugh.

"I could be on my own death bed and I'd still be _willing_ to gossip," Emily laughed and Cilla nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Tell me," Cilla replied, curling into a ball, her knees to her chest. It was the most comfortable position she could achieve for now, though she knew she'd start aching and would have to change position again soon.

"She's gone!" Emily crowed, clapping her hands. "I don't know where or how or… But I can tell you this. Farshaw is in a right fit about it."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

"She just… vanished! She was seen last in a corridor at the Ferguson house three days ago, and then… she vanished!"

Calvin had told her of Harmony's disappearance almost as soon as it happened, he'd sent Mrs. Salisbury to the Great House to fetch her to the tent, where he'd told her everything. Emily had soothed his raw temper by sitting in his lap, her legs straddling his thighs as he impaled her. He'd been much calmer after they'd finished. She had met him again that night and the following, and would continue to do so, she'd spend every night in his arms if she had to, in order to convince him that he was a wonderful creature. And that it was a wonderful thing the damned cow was gone. Still, he was fuming because he suspected most strongly that Bordon was involved. It was being thwarted by the Major and Tavington, yet again, that had him angry - not because he was missing his wife. He wouldn't care two figs about her, Emily knew. Not when he was so deeply in love with Emily.

"I heard he is furious," Emily said. That was true, she'd _heard_ him fuming quite a few times since. "Not because he cares about her, because he doesn't."

"You're good at ferreting gossip, Em, but how can you be so sure of that? That he doesn't care about her?"

"Oh, I just… I heard it. He couldn't care less for her, I'm told, but it would be quite galling, if Bordon was involved in spiriting her away."

"That _would_ be galling - for me too!" Cilla gasped. She groaned again as she tried to push herself up. She gave up halfway and settled for laying back on the pillows, on her back. "Ours might not be the happiest of marriages, but it would be quite shaming if my own husband were to take up with a mistress again, especially her!"

"It would be shaming…"

Cilla had no doubt that Bordon felt the same way - if Cilla took a lover and Bordon heard the gossip, he'd be in quite a fit. They had their reputation to maintain, the appearance of a happy marriage, presenting anything less would reflect poorly on them both. She did NOT want to be the butt of gossip!

"Three days ago, you said?" Cilla asked and Emily nodded. "Major Bordon left here, three days ago. He was gone two nights, Em."

"On Dragoon business, surely?" Emily asked, though her face paled with realisation. She'd known Bordon had left with his Dragoons but she'd believed he was routing rebels. Now, she felt foolish for having even thought it.

"So I thought. But now, I wonder!" _Oh my God, was my husband with another woman while I was miscarrying our child?_ She tightened her lips, her hands balled into fists.

"I… Lord, I don't know what to say -"

"Don't tell Becky and Sarah, please Em -"

"Of course not!" Emily said, she knew when to keep a confidence. "I… I don't know that Major Bordon was involved."

"Really? Then how did she get away? And don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence, that she left the same day he did?" Cilla asked.

While she did not actually care if he took a mistress, and nor was she the least bit jealous, she prayed fervently that he had enough sense to keep the liaison hidden from prying eyes and ears. She resolved to tell him thus, the very next time she saw him. To be discreet, always discreet.

"I know! I'll keep an ear out, just in case," Emily promised. "If I hear the slightest whisper that Bordon knows anything, or has been to see her or is going to see her, I'll tell you immediately!" The poor girl had a right to know if her husband was dallying with whores again. _And I'll tell Cal, too_, Emily thought.

"As long as he is discreet, I don't care," Cilla waved a weak hand, her indignation fading with her energy. Her eyes felt quite heavy, she thought she might drift back off to sleep.

"Cil, you can't be serious."

"I am. I was shocked just now, but the truth is, as long as no one discovers it, my husband can lift the skirts of any woman he likes, I simply do not care." A thought occurred to her and she asked, "I've heard Farshaw is quite brutal. What do you think he'd do if he finds her?"

"Kill her, I reckon," Emily said, brushing her skirts and feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She disliked Harmony but did not actually wish her dead. "Or maybe he wouldn't. He was most upset that she's taken off. Or so I've been told. I think that he'd wait until the baby is born before he did anything… Brutal."

"What if the baby wasn't his?" Cilla asked carefully, curious about how Farshaw would react then.

Emily stared at Cilla, shocked. "You know, I rather suspect it isn't," she said, neglecting to add what Calvin had told her - that Harmony had had her menses when she went back to him. "Do you suspect it too?"

Cilla heaved a breath. "It's rather an embarrassing thing to have to admit, your husband having a bastard."

"Are you admitting that Cil?" Emily asked, leaning forward, her face sharp. Cilla looked away. Emily's heart was galloping so fast, she felt like she had a thoroughbred in her chest. "You know I'm the last person to judge, Cil; I don't know how many bastards James has sired, and that's while we were married. At least you weren't married to Bordon at the time."

"Doesn't make it any easier to bear," Cilla replied. Gods, especially not when her own baby was gone from her. Richard had nothing to mourn about, his mistress was still going to provide him with a child.

"So Mrs. Farshaw's child is Bordon's?" Emily asked, barely able to contain herself.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone, Emily?" Cilla begged. "It's really very shaming."

"I -" Emily cut short, unable to promise that, for she did not want to break it. Gods, she wanted to leave right this moment, she was desperate to see Calvin now, to tell him. How was she going to hold on to this until tonight? Perhaps she should risk another daytime trip to Mrs. Salisbury, to have the woman summon Calvin to the tent again. "Oh, Cil, I vow, on my honour, I won't tell any of our friends or family," she said, getting around the problem that way. Calvin was not friend or family to Cilla, Emily would not be breaking her promise in telling him. And by damn, he needed to know. "It's passing strange though, I am certain I recall someone saying that she had her menses when Lieutenant Farshaw came here? It might have been Beth…"

"Well, I don't know about that," Cilla said with a shrug. "O'Hara told me on the way back from Camden. He preferred for me to know from the outset, in case I heard it from someone else later. That would have been galling…"

"O'Hara knew Mrs. Farshaw was pregnant?" Emily was thinking back on dates and the like, wanting to get all of the details correct before laying all the facts too Calvin. Oh, he'd want to know this, that the General himself had betrayed him. "

"Yes. O'Hara said it's why they became engaged - Bordon wanted to make Miss Jutland an honest woman," Cilla heaved a sullen breath. "He confided all this to me, I'm not really supposed to repeat it. Then again, it's not like I'm the only one who knows," Cilla sniffed. Emily sat listening in stone silence as the younger girl spoke. "Beth and Tavington knew as well. And Mrs. Andrews."

"Mrs. Andrews? You don't say…" Another to have betrayed Calvin!

"Yes. I only know about that because I overheard Beth speaking to Bordon about Mrs. Andrews lying for Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw. When Bordon left, I confronted Beth and asked her. Beth tried to deny it of course, until I told her that I already knew Mrs. Farshaw was pregnant, because O'Hara told me. I was quite angry with Beth, for keeping it from me - I had words for her that day. Do you see what I mean? I can't believe I've lost her to that… that…" Cilla shook her head. Emily's fingers closed over hers.

"You haven't lost her. I daresay she's been caught between you both - though in truth, I can't understand why she'd let herself be caught up with such a woman at all! Anyway, you were saying? Mrs. Andrews knew, as well? And was lying - how?"

"By lying for Mrs. Farshaw. By telling Lieutenant Farshaw that his wife was one month pregnant, when she was already at least two along. That was to trick Farshaw into believing the timing of the child's conception coincided with his arrival. If she thinks she had her courses, then she's somehow found a way to trick him there, too."

"Sweet God, those conniving… Of all the…" Emily shook her head, stunned and fuming. She met Cilla's gaze. "Why didn't you tell me?" They'd confided so much to one another, why not this?

"Don't think poorly of me, but in a way, I'd hoped if Farshaw accepted the child to be his. That way, I'd never have to suffer the embarrassment of my husband having a bastard."

"Oh," Emily nodded. "I understand."

"That's why I didn't tell you, because I'd hoped no one would ever know, outside of those who already did. But now, with her taking off three nights ago, and Bordon being gone the same length of time, I'm starting to worry that I'll be saddled with him looking after his mistress and his bastard and it's going to be so public and shaming!"

"Well, you don't know for certain he was with her."

"Of course he was," Cilla sighed. _While I was miscarrying our child, he was relishing his bastard and mistress._

"You don't know," Emily repeated, though she was as certain as Cilla now, too. She was going to risk it - she'd head straight to camp and tell Mrs. Salisbury to fetch Calvin to her immediately. Just as soon as she took her leave of Cilla. "But as I promised, I'll keep my ear out and I'll tell you as soon as I know if something is amiss."

"Thank you, Em. And you won't tell Becky and Sarah?"

"I promise, I won't. Never fear, I like to gossip, Cil, but I can keep a secret when it's important," Emily said, relieved Cilla specified those two, which still left her free to tell Calvin.

"Thank you," Cilla sighed. "Can we change the subject?"

"We can," Emily said. She shot a look toward the door to make sure it was indeed closed, then she turned back to Cilla, her lips curved in a smile. "I heard today that Banastre Tarleton has this horrid illness too."

Hearing that name, Cilla's face flushed red. "That's not something to smile about. Why are you smiling?"

"Because, Cil," Emily lowered her voice, though there was no chance anyone could hear them. "He has been bought here."

"Here?" Cilla breathed, her heart beginning to pound.

"Yes. He was convalescing in some hovel not far from here, but he only had a few Dragoons to protect him. Cornwallis almost had a fit when he found out that his favourite was sick and unprotected. What if he'd been caught by the enemy?"

"That would be dreadful," Cilla whispered.

"And so, he was bought here, to the fort, where he will be safe. He is getting settled into Benjamin Martin's chamber now."

"Oh my Lord," Cilla swallowed hard. She closed her eyes but could still feel Emily's grinning eyes boring into her.

"He'll be here for some time, I'd imagine. You'll be better well before he will be. He'll need nursing back to health…"

"Oh Em, I never should have told you about the kiss," Cilla groaned.

"But you did!" Emily said cheerfully. "And you also told me you enjoyed it, very much."

"I never should have."

"You shouldn't have told me? Or you shouldn't have enjoyed it?"

"Both," Cilla said and Emily laughed. On a previous occasion, after admitting she'd taken lovers, Emily had described to Cilla what it should truly feel like, to bed a man. Cilla had listened in confused rapture, something deep inside her had yearned for the thing Emily had told her about. Cilla had never thought she could experience pleasure with any man after being treated so horribly by Bordon. But then she'd spent a drunken ten minutes in Banastre's arms while he kissed her, she'd felt wonderful flares of delight in her stomach, her heart had raced with excitement and warmth.

And now Emily was saying that Tarleton had returned.

"I'll help you, if you want to spend time alone with him. When he's better that is."

"Emily Wilkins, that's a terrible thing to suggest!" Cilla gasped. "What an offer to make!"

"I'm just saying," Emily said, spreading her hands wide.

"He is in love with Beth, and I am a married woman," Cilla ground out.

"Which is why he is perfect," Emily giggled. "I've heard what a fabulous lover he is and you certainly had a taste of it yourself, that night."

"He is not my lover," Cilla said.

"He held you in his arms, kissing you for upward of ten minutes. Cilla, he is your lover," Emily smiled. "All I'm saying is, if you need help to visit him occasionally, do ask me. I won't tell a soul."

"You're incorrigible," Cilla said, closing her eyes. That was the best she could do, her energy was fading fast. She'd managed to stay awake longer this time than she had for a while, perhaps she truly was on the mend. For now, though, she felt herself draining, her eyes becoming heavy. "Em, my head…"

"Oh, here, you poor thing," Emily jumped up to prepare a remedy for Cilla to help ease the girls headache. She helped the girl to sip it, keeping her head propped up with the cup pressed to her lips. "I've kept you awake far too long. I'm sorry. You should be asleep by now. Why don't you get some rest?"

"You won't leave will you?" Cilla asked. She hated to be alone now, alone with her thoughts and her heart ache. Though she had said nothing of it to Emily, she could not set her grief of her loss aside and when she was alone it was worse. It ate at her until she felt certain she would die.

"I'll stay until I'm certain you're asleep."

"Thank you," Cilla sighed. She could not keep her eyes open and she drifted off to sleep.


	95. Chapter 95 - Birched

_**1st Instance of Calvin and Fallows intimacy. It's pretty tame at the moment but future encounters are far more descriptive.** _

Chapter 95 - Birched:

Upon entering the Colonel's bedchamber, Bordon could smell the sickness. Beth had gone to some lengths to lessen the smell, there were flowers in every corner of the room. The heavy drapes were closed and candles burned in their sconces, though it was broad daylight outside. Despite Beth's efforts, there was still that underlying bitter scent that was a little offensive on the nostrils. The same scent which lingered in Cilla's bed chamber. The stench of disease. Bordon was able to ignore it, for he'd smelled worse. The sharp tang of blood, even shit and piss - all of which assailed the nostrils on the battlefield. He sat beside the bed, conversing with Tavington who was reclined against the pillows and had the pallid look of death about him.

Bordon began to fill William in, bringing him up to date on everything he had learned from Harmony. That Emily and Calvin were having an affair, and that Emily was the one who warned Calvin - through Mrs. Salisbury - that Bordon and Harmony had resumed their affair, which in turn led to the vicious beating Harmony had suffered at Calvin's hands.

"Something will have to be done about this. If only Wilkins were here, we have to tell him his wife has been having an affair," William said in a too weak voice. He could barely lift his arms, he was so tired and drained. Lord, the yellow fever was a vile thing. William had seemed quite hale when last Bordon had seen him, it was quite a shock to return two days later to see the Colonel like this.

And Cilla had miscarried their child…

A vile illness.

"Yes, Mrs. Wilkins," Bordon agreed, focusing his despair and rage on her. "Damned bitch. I just want to wrap my fingers around her pretty little neck and squeeze!"

"I have a better idea," William said softly. As he continued to pronounce Emily's punishment, Bordon began to smile. He could not have thought of a better way to handle the little slattern and he was positively gleeful. William continued, "you will write to Wilkins, informing him of his wife's crimes against Harmony. She has caused trouble amongst the camp followers, yet again. Tell him I have taken matters into my own hands, as is my right, as I warned him I would, if she became troublesome again," he licked his lips. Bordon reached for a glass and lifted William's head to help him drink. "Ah, this thing is wretched," he complained of his illness. "Inform O'Hara of Farshaw's affair - he has dallied with the wife of a superior Officer, surely that could be punishable by flogging?"

"Well, yes, but I do not believe you can command such a thing done. If the offended Officer makes the complaint, Farshaw could be flogged," Bordon mused.

"Hmm… I see your point. Bordon, I want Farshaw settled for. Therefore, you will inform O'Hara that we have had word from Wilkins, who has expressed his grievance most strongly and that it is the Captain's wish that Farshaw be punished."

Bordon laughed softly. Even in the throes of his illness, William could plot and lie with the best of them.

"I shall see it done," he said, smiling wistfully. "And when he is being flogged, I'll make certain I'm standing right where the bastard can see me." As Bordon rose, Tavington reached out and grabbed at his sleeve, though his grip was limp.

Richard paused, and William continued softly, "I'm sorry for your loss, Richard."

"Thank you, William," Richard replied. There was nothing more to be said, the Major strode from the chamber.

* * *

"We have eight confirmed deaths, caused by yellow fever, Sir," Dalton informed Bordon, who was busy working at Tavington's desk. He couldn't believe how much he'd missed these last two days, and how quickly this awful illness had spread.

"Jesus," Bordon muttered. "How many more sick?" It was an absolute nightmare, one he had no desire to shoulder. His own wife was at deaths door - and his baby was gone. Had it been a boy? Or a girl? Could his child be counted amongst the dead? Yellow fever had taken him, or her, and Richard was not even being given the time to mourn the loss. No sooner had he left Cilla's chamber that the demands on his time began.

Dalton was unable to keep the fear from his voice. The sickness was running rampant, it was an enemy they had no weapons to fight against. "A good two hundred are ill - one hundred and twenty from O'Hara's camp and eighty in ours. Sir, I'm not feeling the best myself and was wondering if you didn't mind if I laid down? I'm sure it's nothing but… Christ, I hope it's not yellow fever."

"What are you feeling? Tell me your symptoms," Bordon said, voice crisp. Jesus, not Dalton. He could not afford to lose his Officers.

"My head feels as though it'll explode into a hundred shards. No, it feels like there's a hundred shards piercing inside my skull," Dalton admitted, rubbing his temples. "I hurt all over, every muscle is aching. I'm hot and it's not all that hot today. Brownlow said it's cool, in fact."

"It is cool…" the Major mused, cocking his head to one side, he studied Dalton.

"I can barely keep my eyes open and they sting when I glance outside and -"

"Get yourself to bed," Bordon snapped, "Immediately. Jesus, Dalton. I can't afford to lose you."

"Yes, Sir," Dalton stumbled out of the office and Bordon, scowling, threw his quill to the desk. How many more would sicken? How many would die? Jesus. He had so much to worry about, so many missives pouring in, the numbers of sick were growing steadily and there was not a damned thing he could do about it. Cornwallis was suffering much the same at Charlotte, even his physicians were being struck down with the illness.

And another thing to worry about - Banastre Tarleton had arrived a short while earlier, he was dreadfully ill. Bordon had put him in Benjamin Martin's chamber.

So much was happening all at once, and he still had Emily Wilkins to deal with yet. He'd done all he could about the illness in camp and in the house, there was nothing more to be done just now. But Emily Wilkins - she was a problem he could deal with finally. He rose from the desk, determined to see to her now. He found her in the parlour, pulling her cape around her shoulders.

"I won't be long," she was saying to the other women. "I'm feeling rather tired - it'll be a short walk, I think."

"You're looking rather pale, Em and this illness creeps up quite quickly. Perhaps you shouldn't go?" Beth asked.

"Mrs. Wilkins isn't going anywhere," Bordon said as he strode into the parlour. Emily turned sharply at the sound of his voice. She gave a start, he heard her gasp and indeed, she looked suddenly terrified by his sudden appearance. And well she should, he was advancing on her with the threat of doom.

"My ladies, I hope you will forgive the intrusion. I will speak to Mrs. Wilkins alone. Please excuse us," Bordon said, his voice polite for Beth and the other ladies as he seized Emily's arm.

"Ah, Major…" Beth was looking worried. "Is something amiss? Where is Emily going?"

"Mrs. Tavington," Bordon said firmly in a no nonsense voice, "please excuse us."

Beth's eyes widened and she drew a sharp breath. Bordon held her gaze, wondering if she would make a fuss. She could not like him stomping on her in this way… Sensing that all hell was about to break loose, Rebecca and Sarah clutched their skirts, their anxious eyes on Beth. Who lifted her chin, smoothed her skirts and; with a scathing look at Bordon, glided past him with her head held high. He would have laughed, for she looked completely absurd, trying to intimidate him with her height. She was so tiny, even with her chin raised and her back straight, she barely reached his upper his chest. He towered over her. Yes, he would have laughed, if he wasn't so damned tired and angry and frustrated and… He'd have to smooth Beth's ruffled feathers later. It was another thing to add to his ever growing list…

"If you've finished your tea," Bordon called to Rebecca and Sarah, allowing his asperity to show. "I believe the both of you could find employment upstairs. You can alternate your time tending Mrs. Bordon and Colonel Tarleton and Ensign Dalton and the other sick. Mrs. Tavington will be run ragged if she continues seeing to them all herself!" Drinking tea with Emily when there were sick in the house!

"You show concern for Cilla do you?" Beth rounded on him, her eyes burning as if on fire. "Better late than never, I suppose."

"Beth -" Richard began, astounded, only to be cut short.

"The women have been helping me. _Sir_," Beth said, loading the honorific with contempt, her dark eyes flashing. "You would not know that however, with you returning only this morning."

He stared at her with foreboding, she held his gaze, he didn't like the disgust he saw shining in her eyes.

"Miss Middleton, Miss Wilkins and Mrs. Wilkins are as deserving of a rest as I am. They have been run as ragged as I have been," Beth continued, her chin lifted high. "Another thing you'd know, _if_ you'd been here. In fact, there were quite a few things you'd have known, _had_ you been here. A few things Mrs. Bordon could have used your help with, had you been there. You could have found employment upstairs yourself," her voice hardened, it lashed like a whip, "had you been here." She glared up at him, challenging, waiting for his answer. He stared back.

"I thought you'd… You know where I have been," he began, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I thought you'd understand. What I was doing… it was important," he said, his voice faltering. "It was… Important."

"No, Major, it was not," Beth said. She folded her arms across her chest, she looked as though she wanted to scream at him but was holding it all in. "You were well aware that your wife was sick before you left. As for your other situation, I'm told that it was well in hand without you. As far as I am concerned, your attending to it at such a critical time was, quite simply, nothing more than _pure indulgence_."

Bordon saw the girls trading puzzled glances, both appeared discomforted both by Beth's anger and the conversation that clearly, only Beth and Bordon understood. They began to make their way for the door, not wanting to be within twenty yards of this discussion.

Beth was right, he knew she was. Harmony had been delivered to Mr. Turnbull's in Pembroke, she was safe there and it wouldn't have mattered if he'd gone to her immediately or waited for a week. He'd been so desperate to be with her again, wild horses could not have kept him away. He'd taken it for granted that Beth would understand, that she would have supported him, for she always had in the past.

But her cousin had been sick, as Beth just pointed out. And she'd lost the child, in his absence. Right now, Beth was anything but understanding.

"Emily," Beth said, shifting her gaze to the other woman, who'd been too frightened to move. "Forgive me for asking this, but could you please take a seat beside the spinnet for a moment? I'd like a private word with Major Bordon."

"Of course," Emily - who'd understood far more of the conversation than she was supposed to, retreated to the far end of the parlour, for Beth wanted her out of ear shot. She'd heard enough, in any case; it was all but confirmed now, that Bordon had spent the last two nights in his lovers arms, while Cilla was miscarrying. She sat down, wishing she could still hear Beth, also wishing she could go immediately to Calvin to tell him. And to Cilla, to tell her that her suspicions had been correct…

Beth's eyes shifted from Emily back to Bordon. She took a step closer to the Major and kept her voice low, to be certain Emily could not hear.

"Beth, I know you're angry, but -"

"I am wroth," Beth interrupted. "I am so very disgusted." Richard's eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath. "You bedded my cousin. I'm not supposed to know, but sometime during your stay in her father's house, you did bed her. You got a child on her. How you managed to seduce her, I do not know. Harmony blames Cilla, but I do not. I blame _you_," she said and Richard swallowed hard. "I blame you, for taking advantage of an innocent girl, for taking her virginity, for getting a child on her, all of which led to this forced marriage, which you have all but ignored since the day you said your vows. Your wife's heart is _bleeding_, Richard. For all of it. And now for the loss of her baby, as well. You have treated my cousin appallingly, from the moment you bedded and discarded her, to the moment you married her, to these last few days, that have seen you abandon her. You have behaved appallingly toward her, Richard. And words can never, ever express just how quickly my regard for you has been plummeting; since the day I learned what you did to her. Now, it's hit rock bottom. I could not think lower of you if I tried."

His mouth worked but no words would come.

"Don't you dare suggest to me that a visit to Harmony was more important than staying here to tend your sick wife," Beth said. "And don't you dare take the other women to task, when they _were_ here, at the bedside of your sick and heartsore wife, doing absolutely everything that you should have been doing for her. With Harmony as safe as she was, Cilla was the one that was important. Your wife. I just… I have no more words for you. I am so utterly disgusted with you." She glared up at him and he stared back in silence. "Don't you ever take those women to task again. Don't you ever suggest they are being lazy. You weren't here. You did not see." She paused, glanced past him at Emily. "What business do you have with her? She has been helping as much as anyone in this house. Which is far more than you have done."

Richard licked his lips to work moisture back into them. "My business with Mrs. Wilkins is unrelated," he said. He wondered if he could tell her the truth about everything Emily had been doing - would Beth champion her, still? No, she still cared deeply for Harmony, she would not condone Emily's actions against her. It was his actions against Cilla that she took to task, not his love for Harmony.

"She has been having an affair with Farshaw," he told her and Beth's eyes began to widen. "She is the one who told Farshaw that Harmony and I had resumed our affair. The beating happened because of her."

"No, it didn't. The beating can be laid only at Farshaw's feet, no other. But the rest…" Beth trailed off, shocked. "Are you sure about all this?"

"I am," Richard said. He thought of Linda Stokes and he realised he could not reveal his source. "They were seen together in Mrs. Salisbury's tent. Their conversation - and their sporting - was overheard by my informant, who happened to be outside the tent at the time."

"I see," Beth was reeling, he could see she was. "What do you intend to do with her?"

"About the affair? Nothing yet. But she has worked trouble among the camp followers yet again; I have placed the matter before Colonel Tavington this morning -"

"He is too ill to be dealing with this sort of thing!" Beth snapped.

"He is the Commandant and he gave me his orders for Mrs. Wilkins."

"And they are?"

"She is to be birched and removed from camp entirely."

"Birched!" Beth gasped. "You go too far, Richard."

"This is your husband's command, not mine."

"Oh, of course it is. And you had nothing to do with the decision, did you. Birched, for revealing your affair to others."

"He beat her, Beth!" Richard hissed. "He raped her!"

"Then beat him again. Kill him for all I care! Emily is no more guilty than you yourself - you renewed your affair, knowing what a madman Farshaw is, knowing what danger you were putting her in!"

"I know!" Richard snapped.

"Then bloody birch yourself, because you are every bit as responsible!" Beth was breathing hard by now, her cheeks were blotched red with fury. "

"What's this about a birching?" Emily asked tremulously as she rose to her feet. The two had begun raising their voices, she'd heard enough to know that they were now discussing her.

"Is it true?" Beth asked, advancing on her so quickly her skirts swirled around her legs. "Are you having an affair with Lieutenant Farshaw?"

The blood drained from Emily's face and her legs began to tremble. "I… No, of course I am not… what a thing to suggest… That is not true..! Whomever has said such a thing is lying. I have not been unfaithful to my husband," she managed to whisper, though she looked hunted, her eyes darting from Richard to Beth and back again. Unwilling to admit defeat, she did her best to rally herself. "I'm not... I'm not having an affair... Who would suggest such a thing? Whomever it is, they are lying and I... I... I demand you deal with them most harshly!"

"Your source?" Beth rounded on Bordon.

"Is quite sound, I assure you," Bordon said. "My informant shall remain unnamed, but I am told that Mrs. Wilkins enlisted the help of Mrs. Salisbury, who she paid for the use of her tent, where she met Lieutenant Farshaw for her liaisons."

"Emily, is this true?" Beth breathed.

"No, I… I haven't… absurd… to even think it. I told you… this person, they are lying!"

"You were seen. You were heard. There are witnesses," Bordon said bluntly. "There will be no lying or evading, not this time."

"This time…" Beth whispered, remembering. "This isn't the first time. There was that other Lieutenant, before Farshaw, wasn't there?"

"How do you -" Emily cut short, her mouth working. Beth took a full step back. "That's a lie! I would never… Beth, please. "

"Please what? You are having an affair with Lieutenant Farshaw!" Beth glared. "All that talk of Harmony being a whore, of being lesser, because she beds men who are not their husband. You are no better! You've never been any better! If anything you, out of every woman in this house, should have understood Harmony best! Instead, you speak as though you are above her, when you most certainly are not! Farshaw, of all people! Why the devil did you start up with Farshaw?"

"I… I don't know… I…"

"No doubt it amused her, to be screwing her rival's husband," Richard said. "The affair is secondary to my purpose here. What is more important is that Mrs. Wilkins discovered that Mrs. Farshaw and I had resumed our understanding, and she tattled to her lover. This isn't a question of whether she is guilty or not, Mrs. Tavington. Colonel Tavington was explicit in his orders, that Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Salisbury were not to put another toe wrong and if they did, they were to face the consequences. They have ignored his warning, they have caused their trouble, Colonel Tavington has announced their punishment."

"Punishment?" Emily quavered.

"How did you discover that I was meeting with Harmony again?" Richard asked. He'd forgotten his unpleasant encounter with Beth earlier, all he knew now was pure rage.

Emily saw it in his eyes, his desperate urge to slap her. Terrified, she said, "I heard Brownlow and Dalton talking about it. They were complaining of having to stand guard over your cabin, where they escorted Mrs. Farshaw. You are no better than me," she said, tears stinging her eyes. "You have affairs too! So does James! He's constantly with other women -"

"It is not your affair that I am interested in, though your choice is hardly an innocent one," Richard snapped. "It is your rushing to Mrs. Salisbury and your instructions that she warn Farshaw immediately! That is what we are discussing. What was done to Harmony as a consequence, that is what we are discussing!"

"Emily, did you know what Farshaw would do to Harmony, when you passed on that warning?" Beth asked.

"No, I didn't, I swear -"

"It does not matter!" Richard shouted.

"Did you know what he would do to her, when you resumed your affair with her?" Beth asked Richard, who gaped like a fool. "He's beat her before, hasn't he? She told me. He forced the baby from her then, and you both feared he would do so again, now. Yet you resumed your affair anyway."

"Whose side are you on, Beth?" Richard rounded on her.

"In this? Harmony's," Beth said. "But even she knew the consequences. The only one who didn't, was Emily!"

"She did know that there would be consequences if she interfered with camp followers again, and that, Beth, is what she has done. That is what she is going to be punished for, by order of the Commandant of the British Legion!" He saw her lips thin and he turned back to Emily, ignoring the now silent Beth. "Now you add eavesdropping on British Legion Officers to your list of offences!" He snapped and Emily cowered back in her chair. "So. As soon as you overheard this conversation, you sought out Mrs. Salisbury, is that correct? I'll bet you couldn't wait," Bordon began cracking his knuckles, Emily twitched with each resounding crack. "I'll bet you raced on down to camp as fast as your legs could carry you. He beat her, you damned bitch!" He hissed and again.

She cowered back against seat, wishing it would swallow her whole.

Richard had to forcibly restrain himself from lashing out. "Where you lying just now? Did you know he'd do that? Or were you just hoping?"

"I didn't know," she whispered. "I was shocked to see her afterward. I never meant for any of that to happen and I was appalled. I felt terrible, I truly did not mean for that to happen!"

"And yet you continue your affair with Farshaw, despite this guilt? Despite being _appalled_?" Bordon asked. "You realise he raped her, don't you? He raped, and beat, a pregnant woman! That's the sort of man you've taken up with, you stupid, damned fool of a woman!"

"What's going to happen to him?" Emily gasped, seizing Richard's arm. "Gods, please don't hurt him!"

Shucking off her hold, Richard glared down at her. "Farshaw's fate is not your concern," he announced. "You will never see him again. It's your own fate you that you should be concerned about now."

"What will happen to me?" She craned her head back to meet his eye.

"Your husband will determine your punishment for your infidelity. However, as I said, your meddling and trouble making are entirely Tavington's to discipline. You shall be delivered up to Mrs. Andrews, and you shall be birched by every single camp follower you have offended."

"Birched!" Emily gasped, shocked. "Beth, please!" Emily shifted her pleas to her friend. "Dear God, no - please, don't let them birch me!"

"Colonel Tavington has given the command, there is nothing Mrs. Tavington can do!" Bordon snapped, throwing a glare at Beth, who looked ready to attempt to intervene. "Go and speak to your husband, if you wish, but Mrs. Wilkins punishment will not be altered."

"I do wish," Beth said, wafting past Bordon for the door.

Bordon drew in a sharp breath, he began to count in an attempt to cool his temper.

"Please, won't you let me see him?" Emily gasped between sobs. "I need to say good bye!"

"You are in love with him, aren't you?" He sneered down at her. "You, Mrs. Wilkins, are a goddamned fool." He slammed the door shut, cutting off any further pleas.

* * *

It was coming on to sunset. The shadows gathered, light was beginning to fade. And a youth, shirtless, arms spread eagle across the frame, grunted with each lash that landed on his back. Richard watched in utter silence. Others too - Fallows, O'Hara, several Officers and many soldiers. The condemned man's full crime was not announced publicly, it was known only that Lieutenant Farshaw had greatly insulted and offended a Superior Officer. A fuller explanation would have bought shame to James Wilkins.

Although it was clear that Farshaw was terrified and in agony, Richard despised that such a bastard as he could act with such courage. Farshaw had held his head high and hadn't baulked once on the walk to the post. And he was not screaming anywhere near enough for Richard's tastes. He hated it, he wanted to rip the lash from the Sergeant's hands, to show the fool how it was done. Oh, how Calvin would howl then. To hear Calvin's screams and see blood sluicing from his back. Those almost silent grunts, and the bloody sluicing from his back were a damned joke. He should be screaming, and as for the blood, there should be a river of it. This flogging was not wrathful enough for Bordon. Thirty lashes. Only thirty bloody lashes. It was over far too soon for Bordon's liking.

Farshaw leaned his head against the post. His wrists still bound, he breathed heavily through the terrible pain.

Bordon, infuriated by the unsatisfying punishment, marched forward. He gripped Calvin by the hair and jerked, fingers twisting as he hauled Calvin's head up and back. Pale blue eyes bore into brilliant green.

"It might interest you," the Major began, drawling into that sweat slicked face, "to learn where your lover is at this moment."

"Oh yes?" Calvin asked, voice showing only a little of the agony that Bordon's hold must have been inflicting.

"Mrs. Wilkins has been given over to the other camp followers, those who she has caused trouble with since her arrival. And I am told that Mrs. Wilkins was strapped to a post much like this one, and each woman who has reason to hold ill will toward her, has taken her turn. They used a birch on her bare back and her bare rump, I believe," Bordon had been quite shocked to learn exactly how Mrs. Andrews had chosen to mete out Emily's beating. Giving the punishment over to Mrs. Andrews had been a bold and brilliant move on William's part, and Mrs. Andrews had shown shrewdness in its execution.

"You're a fuckin' damned pig," Calvin managed.

Bordon's lip curled. His fingers still twisted in Calvin's hair, he jerked and pulled Calvin's head back and forth and was rewarded with a screech of pain. "I am going to kill you, Farshaw." Richard said. He spoke softly, but his voice was no less implacable for it. "You will die slowly, and in agony, by my hand."

"O'Hara -" Calvin began and Richard laughed.

"Is as sick of you as can be. Do you see him rushing over here, has he called me back? He stood there and watched me nearly rip your hair from your scalp. Whatever protection you enjoyed before, is dust now. It won't be long, now. He'll release you back to Tavington's command, for he does not want you in his ranks. He never did. It won't be long now. And then, you'll be back with us, and then your torment will begin, don't you ever doubt it."

Calvin hissed as Bordon gave his head one last, vicious shake.

"Enough!" This from Fallows, who came forward, fury in every stride. Calvin saw him advance, and he also saw O'Hara standing there, stock still, doing nothing to stop Bordon, even as Bordon pulled back his fist. He aimed for Calvin's healing ribs, and Calvin tensed, jerking back but the blow did not land, for Fallows blocked it at the last moment, stopping it from connecting with Calvin's traumatised ribs. Fallows shoved Bordon hard, sending the other Major reeling back several steps. "I said, that is enough!"

"Majors!" O'Hara shouted, intervening only when it appeared that the two Officers were about to brawl.

* * *

"Easy," Major Fallows rushed forward and placed his hand on the arm of one of the young Private's. "He's in awful pain, just lay him down nice and gently. On his stomach, lad, that's it."

_Gods, not my stomach. _Calvin's ribs were still healing and he had been sleeping upright, leaning back against a pile of cushions; but with his back ruined, that was not an option. Calvin groaned as he was laid face forward on his bed. He breathed out slowly, relieved to discover that his ribs were not under the strain he'd thought they would be. It was not as painful as he'd feared.

Calvin had already been stripped down to his bare chest for the flogging. Now, blood seeped from the open wounds. Fallows stood back, making room for the two soldiers, who began washing those gashes. Calvin bore it stoically, he was breathing heavily and groaning, his fingers digging into the coverlet, the entire length of his body tight with pain and tension. Fallows admired the lad's bravery, he'd barely whimpered during the entire beating and even now, as his muscles rippled beneath his skin from the pain of his bathing, he still barely whimpered. Hissed, panted, grunted, but he did not cry. He did not weep or bawl like a baby. Calvin Farshaw was no dandy. Fallows began biting his fingernails, he covered his own whimper as he stared down at the half clad youth, trying to hide his extreme concern and increasing hunger.

The soldiers dried the youth's skin and Fallows came forward to closer inspect the weals criss crossing Calvin's back. He traced one with a gentle finger, and shuddered. Christ, that must have hurt. The poor boy. To add insult to injury, Bordon had pulled the lad's hair, causing even more agony. Fallows had been determined to let that slide - it was just punishment for Calvin's screwing that silly doxy! He had thought Bordon would leave over quickly but when he didn't, Fallows had had no choice. No one would think twice about him stepping in to protect his clerk when Bordon was clearly bent on forcing more pain. Besides, by then, Calvin had had learned his lesson.

"Leave us," he said quietly, turning back again. The soldiers startled, for they had not dressed Calvin's wounds. They obeyed without question and quietly withdrew from the chamber. "O'Hara wants you put straight back to work," Fellows warned Calvin. He finally saw they were alone and he knew a moment of panic. "Oh, don't worry," Fellows said. "I told him you were in my office, scribing. He won't know you're in here recuperating."

"That's… That's good," Calvin licked his lips and swallowed hard. "Ah, thank you."

Fallows pulled up a chair and sat beside Calvin. "Does it hurt terribly?" He asked in a soothing tone.

"Yes, Sir," Calvin replied. "O'Hara just stood there," he whispered. "Just stood there, while Bordon… He damned near ripped my hair from my scalp. Gods."

"Hmm," Fallows said. Calvin turned his head on the pillow, his green eyes feverish with pain and anger.

"You didn't hear him, but Bordon said he is going to kill me. Slowly, painfully. He said that O'Hara is going to release me back to Tavington's command, and that's when he'll do it."

"And I am doing all I can to prevent that," Fallows said and Calvin whirled his head back to the Major.

"He wasn't lying?" Calvin gasped, aghast. "O'Hara is considering it again?!"

"No, Lieutenant, and yes," Fallows replied. "For some weeks now, O'Hara has wanted to turn you loose. In taking you into his command, it seems the only person O'Hara was truly trying to protect, was your pregnant wife. With her no longer here, there is no further reason to keep you… And with your reputation and recent conduct, he is inclined to send you back to Tavington."

"They'll kill me. If that happens, they will fuckin' kill me."

"Yes, Bordon has made that abundantly clear. As I said, I'm doing everything I can to keep you - the only reason you haven't been turned back over to Tavington, is because I have championed you. Though I wonder why I go to such lengths, if the truth be told."

Calvin breathed out slowly and looked away.

"I need to treat your wounds. Here, I'll help you to sit up," Fallows took hold of Calvin's arm and helped the youth to turn over and sit. Calvin pulled his knees to his chest and leaned over them, presenting his arched back. He looked haunted and terrified. Vulnerable in a way Fallows hadn't seen in him before. "Perhaps a drink would help you, lad?" Fallows handed him a bottle of whiskey and Calvin immediately began to drink. Fallows reached for a jar with ointment and began rubbing it into the wounds on Calvin's back gently. Calvin hissed at the touch, sweat beaded his brow, he tried to bury the pain in the bottom of the bottle.

"You just stood there too," Calvin accused as Fallows worked. "You say you champion me, but you just let it happen."

"The whipping? That was not in my power to stop."

"After," Calvin said. "You let Bordon do that to me. Pulling my hair like that."

"Should I have done something earlier, Lieutenant?" Fallows asked, lifting one eyebrow. "I've promised you my protection but so far, you have given me nothing in return."

Calvin drew in a harsh breath and looked away.

"I could have stopped it sooner," Fallows admitted. "But I've become quite irritated with you, if the truth be told. You've been leading me a merry dance, flirting with me, allowing me to think that something more might come of it. And I champion you to O'Hara continually, for the hope you have given me. But you have no intention of committing deeper, do you?" He asked and Calvin stared at him, frozen in place. "I have as I promised you I would. Yet you continue to lead me along. And you go and fuck Mrs. Wilkins."

Calvin was sat there, unable to move as very real terror began mount. If he was losing his hold on Major Fallows… He could not be sent back to Tavington and Bordon. He could not. And now he'd earned the enmity of the only man powerful enough to convince O'Hara to let him stay. His fears were confirmed with Fallows' next words.

"I wonder why I should bother with you. Perhaps I shall go to O'Hara now and tell him to send you into Tavington's command immediately."

Calvin's head came up, his face horrified. "You said you'd protect me."

"I believe I have already addressed that," Fallows shot back. He continued to work, the silence stretching as Fallows rubbed the lotion into Calvin's skin, touching him far more than was necessary. Although Calvin was stiff as a post, he made no rebuke, nor did he shy away. "With your fucking of that whore, I realise now that you have been lying. You've allowed me to believe you agree with my way of thinking, but in taking Mrs. Wilkins for a mistress. you've proven that your propensity is only for the fairer sex."

"No, I… I wasn't lying," Calvin said, his heart pounding, the blood roaring in his ears. What else was he to do? What else could he say? Tavington and Bordon, they were going to kill him. He could wake in this bed tomorrow morning, all snuggled up and safe, or he could be at Fresh Water, where he might not wake at all. "I… I appreciate all you've done for me." He held Fallows eyes, he did not dare look lower, for he could pretend then, that his hand wasn't reaching for Fallows breeches, where he cupped the Major with his palm. Fallows eyes widened, Calvin tried not to cringe as he felt the Major's member stir and grow beneath his fingers.

"No more dangling the carrot?" Fallows asked, his voice already low and thick. "No more flirting and stringing me along."

_I'll be sent back and they'll kill me. They'll kill me._

"No, Sir. I want to stay here," Calvin whispered.

"And I do not want you to leave," Fallows said. "Very well, I will speak to O'Hara. While I am on your side, he will not send you back there." He glanced down at Calvin's hand. "I do hope this isn't another ploy, though. A step up in your flirting, to keep me stringing along…"

"No, Sir," Calvin said.

"Shall I lock the door then?" Fallows asked, testing Calvin.

"Yes, Sir."

"With me inside, or out?" The silence stretched, Fallows kept his eyes on Calvin's. It was now or it was never - they both knew it.

"Inside, Sir."

"Very good," Fallows rose, Calvin's hand fell away from his breeches. When he reached the door, there was an audible 'click', as the key turned in the lock. Calvin was frozen on the bed, fighting panic. It was either Fallows - or Tavington and Bordon. Tavington and Bordon would see him dead, while Fallows… with a shudder, Calvin drank deeply from the bottle, the whiskey burning along his throat and dulling his senses.

A small, very contented smile curved Fallows' lips as wiped his fingers on a cloth. He picked up the bundle of bandages, began winding them around Calvin's chest as the lad continued to pull on the whiskey. With Calvin's wounds dressed, he sat up on the bed, careful not to lay his back too much into the pillow. Fallows removed his boots, then sat on the bed beside him. Calvin stared blindly out the window as Fallows' reached across Calvin's leg and his lap, his hand splayed over Calvin's crotch. Slowly, he began to palm Calvin's cock.

"Gods, you're massive. What a magnificent specimen," Fallows whispered in Calvin's ear as his fingers explored Calvin's growing erection through his breeches. Fallows was delighted by this wonderful, physical result. "You might have your doubts, Calvin, but I knew you would enjoy this."

Trying to ignore the Major; his words, and his hand, Calvin sucked at the bottle, swallowing until he needed air even as the Major tugged the laces of Calvin's breeches, then slipped his hand down inside.


	96. Chapter 96 - Too Close for Comfort

Chapter 96 - Too Close for Comfort:

Carrying a tray balanced against one hip, Beth opened the door and ventured into the darkened room. She closed the door behind her, then blinked, trying to force her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Outside, it was a bright sunny, if cool, morning, but the heavy drapes provided an effective wall against the light. Several candles were lit - not many, for too bright a light stung the eyes of those afflicted with yellow fever. It was strange to be entering her father's chamber, and not seeing him there. Each time she entered to tend to Banastre, she felt that same, eerie feeling. It had been so long since she'd seen her father. When her eyes adjusted, she peered around the room. It was not so different from how her father had left it. There was a deer's head mounted to the wall, the long imposing antlers jutting out from its head. It made for quite a sinister sight, with the candles lighting it from beneath. Benjamin had been very proud of that kill. There was his large closet of course, and her mother's dressing table, a small stand table beside the bed. She placed the tray, with its bowl of broth and slices of bread, on that table.

Banastre lay sprawled across the large bed, auburn hair in sweaty, stringy strands fanned out across the pillows, the covers tossed back. He had the look of death about him, a horrible grey pallor to his cheeks. Beth moved closer, she placed the backs of her fingers to his forehead. Her fingers burned, he was so damned hot. He stirred, whispered something, then continued sleeping. On the table by the bed, near to where she'd placed the tray, was a bottle of wine, and a bottle of laudanum. Banastre had been living on both since he fell ill, even before reaching Fresh Water three days ago. She was becoming increasingly worried for him, his fever had raged for far too long. His chest was bare, he refused to wear a shirt and always shoved his blankets away from his body. Beth could make out the light spattering of auburn hair which circled his nipples and lined his stomach. He wore drawers loosely tied, thank the sweet Lord - he was not entirely naked. The sight of him almost nude stirred something within her - something she knew she should not feel, something to be pushed down deep. It was only normal that she would feel something for him still, how could she not? Considering the nights she'd spent in his arms, as those hands explored her body, warming her. Loving her. She pulled her eyes away and resumed a critical study of the chamber.

The Colonel's bags and chest made an untidy bulk, spilling across one corner of the room. His clothes tossed in an equally untidy heap all around them. Beth sighed, exasperated. She'd asked one of his men only a few hours earlier to tidy away that mess. She parted one heavy drape - only by an inch or so - allowing some small amount of light to filter in. It couldn't be good for him, the constant darkness, and the amount she let in should not be enough to hurt his eyes. With a heavy sigh, she began tidying his clothes. Beth was not alone in caring for those laid up in their beds - doctors from the Legion were tending them. But Doctors did not pick up after themselves, they did not tidy away soiled clothing, they did not bother to air out the chambers. A host of Privates had been set to doing the hard labour, the house was crawling with them, as was the camp. But none of them thought to crack open a window...

And they had clearly forgotten her request to tidy his baggage. Men, she scoffed, tossing her head. It was a woman's touch that was needed - not only for Banastre, but for those others in the house who were ill.

Beth glanced at several shirts before tossing them in the pile to be laundered. She did not study them too closely, she had no desire to learn if those stains were caused by mud - or blood. Either way, they were soiled and they would be washed. She set to the task of folding the shirts that were actually clean, and packing them away. She supposed that his damned Aide had pulled out every item of clothing in the search of one particular shirt, and then didn't put any of it back.

Useless.

Beth tugged at what she thought was another shirt amidst the pile. But when she tugged on the corner of, it just kept coming. Not a shirt then, but something very long and rectangular in shape. She frowned as she held the large shape up to the sparse light. It was as long as her arms were when stretched wide, and it draped halfway to the floor. Across its front was embroidered several images - a star in one corner, a snake in the other and in the middle, a Palmetto tree.

A flag then. And with the Palmetto tree emblazoned on the front, it had to have belonged to one of the Regiments of South Carolina. She dropped her arms and stared over at Banastre, the man who had seized the flag, no doubt after quelling the Patriot force who had carried it. It was a trophy, proof of his triumph over a Regiment of Patriots. Beth blew out a vexed breath. She carefully folded the flag, reverently. It was not her father's, but it could have been... She was tempted to steal it, to deny Banastre the ability to crow over his victory, but she knew she would incur William's wrath if she did. He was still not speaking to Banastre, but in a matter such as this, he would side with his fellow Commander in a heartbeat. She placed the folded flag into the bottom of his chest, then continued to fold his clothes until the floor was tidy again, and the bags and chest closed. She glanced around the room, thinking it was much better now.

Her father's bed chamber should not be treated as a dumping ground.

"Beth?" A hoarse whisper. Forgetting the flag for now, Beth went to sit on the bed beside Banastre. He tried to elbow himself up, and Beth placed two more pillows beneath him.

"It's better if you're reclined," she said, fussing and primping the pillows.

"Are you alright?" He reached for her hand, bought it to his dry lips. "I heard them talking. You're sick, they said. I couldn't move to come to you myself, though and -"

"I'm well. It's Cilla who was sick, though she is on the mend now," she told him. He was still holding her hand, her fingers were still pressed to his lips. Knowing William would be furious, she gently pulled free of Banastre's limp grasp. "You don't need to worry about me, I doubt very much I'll get this," she said. "I'm as strong as a bull."

He was too tired to do more than smile weakly. He stared up at her, his eyes lingering, searching her face. From the moment he'd arrived at the plantation, she'd known that his feelings for her were unchanged. How he could still be in love with her, she could not understand. Especially when she had overheard his Officers gossiping about the string of women he'd been taking to his bed.

"How are you feeling?" She asked him.

"Better than the last few days," he said. "Lord, I don't think I've ever been this sick."

"It's not pleasant, for certain."

"Have you any news from the Legion?" He asked her as she held a glass of water up to his lips. He took the opportunity to wrap the fingers of both hands around her wrist as he drank. It took her a moment to realise he was asking after his own Legion, not William's.

"Snippets only. There's far too much happening here, I have not enquired deeper. Lord, it's terrible - I feel like I'm in the middle of a battle myself. Dalton is down, he took to his bed a few days ago. And now Major Bordon has, too. It comes on so quickly! It's madness."

"And you think you're immune?" Banastre asked her, scoffing softly. "Who is in charge of Tavington's Legion, then, with both Commanders down?"

At least Banastre still had his Major - Hanger had assumed command of Tarleton's Dragoons.

"General O'Hara," Beth replied. "O'Hara has been sending messengers over to William, they are conferring with one another as best they can, but O'Hara has full command."

Banastre frowned, his expression shifting to one of concern for all of those who were suffering from the fever. Beth placed the glass on the table and after wringing out a cloth, she began washing the sweat from his brow. "I could get used to this, I enjoy being bathed by you," he grinned a boyish grin up at her. She laughed softly. "Do you remember that time..?"

Beth closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. Yes, she remembered. During his stay at the Plantation, back when they were lovers, they had shared a bath together. It had been an enjoyable evening, each bathing the other, the wash cloth moving over their dips and valleys, his moving over her breasts, hers moving lower, beneath the water...

"We shouldn't talk about it," she chided, the cloth moving down to his neck now.

"You were mine before you were ever his," Banastre's lips curled for a moment, a split second, before his grin was back. "You could wash me a little lower... Actually, far lower..."

"Don't be stupid," she laughed. "I'm a married woman now. Besides. You're in no condition for any of that sort."

"Am too," he made as though to pull unlace his drawers, but she seized his hands and pushed the away.

"Enough," she said sternly. "I feel sorry for Miss Middleton, if this was how you behave when she sits with you."

"Ah, she's a sweet soul," he said, dropping his hands listlessly to his sides. She was quite correct, he was in no condition to dally, though it had been amusing to try. "And no, I've been a perfect Gentleman."

"Is that so? A Gentleman with her, a rogue with me," she huffed.

"Always," he sighed, gazing at her dreamily. She laughed again.

"You shall spend your time with me as you do her, Colonel Tarleton, or you shall spend no more time with me at all," she said loftily. He arched an amused eyebrow, for he'd seen her face warm with pleasure, he knew she was well pleased by his answer. She continued, "so, what does Miss Middleton do - does she read to you?"

"Nothing so polite and boring as that," he snorted. "No, my love. We gossip."

"Gossip!" Beth laughed.

"Gossip," he said firmly. He managed to sit up. A tray was set on his lap holding a bowl of chicken broth. "Tell me about James Wilkins and his dear wife Emily," he said as she dabbed soup from his chin. He needed a shave, but she would have to entrust his aide to that - she would not attempt such a task. "I'm on the edge of my seat, my love. What do you think his reaction will be when he learns of her infidelity?"

"Rebecca told you about that?" Beth squeaked, shocked.

"I told you, we spend our time gossiping," he chuckled. "I find true life can be far more entertaining than the most intriguing romance novel, don't you?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head, her lips moving as if in prayer.

"I still can't believe it. An affair with Lieutenant Farshaw! I can't imagine it, I really can't. But you know, between you and me, I don't think it's fair that she was punished without James here to defend her."

"Would he have defended her, if he were here? She's been unfaithful, Beth. If you ask me, he ought to take his riding crop to her bare rump himself. I know I bloody would."

"You're such a brute, you all are," Beth huffed. She shoved the next spoon full in a little too forcibly and Banastre's eyes bulged. Good. She tried not to laugh at him, for she really was quite irritated by it all. "I still think it's awfully unfair - her birching. I was already angry with Major Bordon and truly, I haven't been able to even look at him for days now."

"Why?" He asked.

Beth began to explain everything that had happened; she began with some of what had taken place between Calvin, Harmony and Richard. She kept mostly to details that were well known, and did not repeat too much of what was not. Banastre was, after all, a very great gossip.

"Poor bastard," Banastre said, when Beth told him that Farshaw had discovered Harmony had been meeting with Richard, and of Richard losing Harmony all over again. "I know only too well the heartache of losing ones beloved to another man," he reached for her hand again and Beth sighed. Banastre was melancholy now, he stroked her fingers gently, his eyes locked on their linked hands. She did not have the heart to pull away this time, not when he was wearing such a heart stricken look.

She continued, telling him that Emily had learned of Bordon and Harmony's affair, and that she had ensured the information would be slipped to Calvin Farshaw, who beat Harmony's ruthlessly. "Poor Harmony, you should have seen her after that beating, it was dreadful. But to sentence Mrs. Wilkins to a birching? When in truth, the fault lay entirely with those having the affair, and the husband who did the beating. I pointed out to Richard that he - and even Harmony - are as much to blame for Farshaw's reaction, they were the ones having an affair, knowing what a violent temper he has!"

"They certainly should have been clever enough to not be caught."

"Yes, that's what they should have done," Beth said, sarcastic. "Anyway, and then Farshaw was flogged - for grievously insulting a Superior Officer, they said. What they did not announce publicly, was the the whipping was for his and Emily's infidelity. He was strung to a post and received thirty lashes."

"He should have received more than that, considering everything he's done," Banastre sniffed.

"I agree. A hangman's noose would have been more fitting," Beth placed the empty bowl on the side stand.

"So what is happening with Mrs Wilkins now?"

"She's been taken away to a cabin, I'm not allowed to know where. She's under guard and has a woman with her, and she'll stay there until James returns to deal with her. She's already been beaten for what she did to Harmony, and she'll probably be beaten again when James gets here," she sighed.

"It's no less than she deserves," Banastre said. "How is Mrs. Bordon?"

"Cilla has improved enough that she's able to sit in the parlour, if someone helps her down the stairs." Beth did not add that, with Richard sick in their bed now, Cilla wanted to be anywhere else than in their chamber. "She has taken a turn watching over you, too."

"She has?" Banastre smiled. "She is a dear. If she has suffered half as much as I have, I do feel for her."

"We need to get some flesh on your bones again, Ban," she said. "You're looking so frail... Hopefully soon you'll be able to stomach something a little more solid than broth."

"I'll try tomorrow perhaps. And only a bite or two of bread, perhaps. Just for you. So you won't worry about me."

"Well, I'm not so worried as I was," she admitted. "You have spent too much of this visit laughing and trying to get me to... Well... Let's just say that as soon as you tried to open your drawers, I knew you were going to be alright."

He laughed, though it was weaker than it had been earlier. His brief flare of energy was waning. Suddenly he lurched upward and Beth grabbed the chamber pot. She shoved it into his lap as the contents of his stomach came rushing back up again. She held his hair back from his face with one hand, rubbed his back with the other, her concern returning. He might have been able to joke with her a bit, but he was far from recovered. When the convulsions finished, she wiped his mouth with a napkin, and removed the bowl from his lap. He dropped back against the pillows with another weak groan.

"I can't stand that you would see me like this," he said, unable to meet her gaze as she placed the chamber pot on the floor. "I must look a sight… and now I've disgraced myself and -"

"Don't be stupid," she berated, voice firm. "You're sick. It's not as though you had your nose in a bottle of whiskey and then threw up. And besides, I'm here to look after you, not to admire your dashing good looks."

"But you do admire them, don't you?" He gave her a weak grin.

"Time for the laudanum, I think," she said instead of answering. She reached for the bottle and made up the tincture. He drank deeply and settled back against the pillows. Beth rose and, sensing she would probably not return for some time, he reached for her hand again and guided her back to him. "Not even a good-bye kiss?" He asked her, without a trace of amusement.

"Ban... No, no good-bye kisses," she shook her head.

"Will you come back, my love?" He asked, a worried frown creasing his forehead.

"I will," she promised.

"When?" He pressed her.

"Often. I check on you frequently during the day and throughout the night. I'll be back. I'll be here to feed you your dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. Though judging by the grip you have on my wrist, I'm fairly certain you're strong enough to feed yourself," she arched a brow and he sheepishly released her. "I will come back tonight, though I doubt you'll even know I'm here."

"I can't believe your bloody husband is letting you," he scowled. "I haven't had a chance to ask you. How is he treating you? My promise holds, if he's been hurting you, I'll kill him."

"You couldn't go a single round with a goose right now," she laughed, trying to relieve his sudden tension.

"My pistol will do my fighting for me," he said grimly.

"Stop that," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest and glaring down at him. "William is not hurting me. And he has been good enough to let me come tend to you myself, knowing fully well that you would flirt even in this condition... So just stop it," she turned from him, snatched up the chamber pot and began stalking to the door.

"You'll come back, won't you?" He called to her, trying to sit up. He was worried he'd upset her and that she might not...

"I will," she sighed, her hand on the door. "I've promised, haven't I?"

She slipped from the room. He dropped back on the pillows, heaving a sigh of relief. It had been horrid, he was so damned sick and weak and despondent because of it. Miss Middleton did her best but it was Beth's presence he found most soothing. He needed to learn to keep his mouth shut, for he did not want to anger Beth so that she would not come back to him right when he needed her most.

* * *

"You should have been there, Harm," Linda laughed as though it were the most magnificent thing in the world - the beating of Emily Wilkins. Harmony and Miss Amity Cordell sat across from her in the Turnbull's small parlour, listening as Linda retold the tale. "We were all wondering what was going on, you know, when we saw the cart trundling toward us with Emily on the bed. And then Mrs. Andrews was all matter of fact like, as she considered the order William had given her. She mulled it over, like she was trying to discern the full scope of the command. You know, I mean, how much she could get away with," Linda chuckled. "She decided that, well, William did say that she should not be gentle. So she gathers us all together and tells us to spread the word. Any woman who had sufficient reason to feel slighted by Emily, who wanted to take a turn in her punishment, should come forward now and present her case. I was first in line, of course!"

Harmony threw her head back and laughed. Miss Cordell sipped her tea, a small smile quirking her lips. Linda continued.

"When she saw me, Mrs. Andrews said, 'you don't need to present anything, Miss Merry, I already know your gripe,' and she passed me this thick branch. All the leaves were taken off, but it had lots of spindly twigs sticking out from it. Emily screamed when she saw me, she looked ready to shit herself!"

"Oh no!" Harmony cried. "She recognised you?"

"Hell yes, I made sure of that. Richard you see, he made it clear that Emily - fucking whore - would not be returned to the house, but kept under a strong guard in a cabin someplace. Those women in the house - and bloody_ Mrs. Tavington_," she curled her lip, "would have no further contact with her, so there really was no danger in revealing myself."

"I like Mrs. Tavington," Miss Cordell said, hearing the hate filled undertone in Linda's voice when she spoke Beth's name.

"Oh, you like everybody, Amity," Linda snorted. "Anyway, there's no danger - Emily the fucking bitch can't tell anyone a damned thing. So she sees me and starts to scream - oh, music to my ears! But there was nothing she could do. Mrs. Andrews told the men to leave - 'this is women's business', she said to them. And then she told off three women to strip Emily down to her stockings! Did I already say I was in line first?" Harmony nodded, eager to hear more and Linda ploughed on. "So I stood there, gazing at that smooth skin - she was tied to a post by now. And I thought, you fucking bitch. And I started - Harm, I could not stop. Mrs. Andrews eventually came forward but I tell you, my arm was getting tired by then. She let me go for that long! And Emily, she was howling and spluttering. When I finished, her skin was bright red and all scratched up. And I was only the first!"

"Women were coming forward," Miss Cordell added, "claiming the most ridiculous things. They complained that Emily had looked at them funny, that she'd looked down her nose at them. I was quite shocked with them, and I didn't think that Mrs. Andrews would let them have a turn, for there was no proof. But she did! They were all allowed a turn with the birch!"

"And I stood there watching for a while and when my arm was recovered," Linda said, "I went back to Mrs. Andrews and said 'you know, if Harmony was here, she would want a go too. She was the worst used amongst us, I want to take Harm's turn -"

"Oh, you didn't!" Harmony giggled, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

"I did. And Mrs. Andrews agreed, because she said you're still a camp follower and you were most aggrieved and that it was justice. She let me do it and I beat Emily with that birch again… Actually, it wasn't the same birch we'd started with - that first one was long since broken up on Emily's arse. I think it was the forth one cut..."

"It was a horrible sight," Miss Cordell shuddered. "I know she's awful, but I didn't take a turn, Mrs. Farshaw. I couldn't bring myself to," the lass sounded apologetic and Harmony patted her hand gently.

"It's quite alright, I think Linda more than made up for the lack!"

"Damn right I did," Linda flexed her fingers as though wishing she still held a birch, and that Emily was laid out before her. "Mrs. Andrews was determined to do as William commanded, down to the last letter. She also doesn't want any more of that sort of foolishness. She thinks we should be as sisters and she has now shown the other women what could happen, should they think to use the same sort of dirty tricks as Mrs. Wilkins…"

"That makes sense... So she was taken to a cabin someplace?" Harmony asked. "To wait for James to return."

"She had to lay flat across the wagon bed," Linda giggled as she remembered seeing Emily climb up - with excruciating slowness - and lay face forward on the floor of the cart. Even then, she was weeping. "I reckon her shift touching her skin would've ben enough to hurt her. I could tell she wasn't wearing her stays neither, under her bodice... And then when she saw Mrs. Salisbury being delivered to the cart, she let out a god awful screech. Salisbury was weeping, I almost feel bad for her. Oh well, they're gone now!"

"Justice," Miss Cordell said and the other women nodded. Emily and Salisbury, shut up together in a cabin as they waited to be delivered to Charlestown. Which would not happen until James returned, so they would be shut up together for days. A fate worse than death, Harmony thought. She wondered if James would give Emily a second beating, for having an affair. With Calvin. Sweet Lord, what sort of a woman would want to bed Calvin willingly?

"We aught to go soon," Linda said. "I think your Richard would be quite angry with me, for not staying in camp where he can find me. He has quite a lot on his plate with running the Legion, but he told me as soon as he saw an opportunity, he'd get me to come here with him again. If I'm not in camp when that opportunity presents, then there will be no one to come here and sneak you away to the tavern to meet him. I'll probably get an earful from him, if that happened."

Harmony nodded. The Turnbull's were decent God fearing folk, Presbyterians. She liked them quite well, but she knew they would be quite appalled should their charge disappear upstairs with her male visitor. Since returning from Captain Wilkins' Plantation, she had been intimate with Richard once only, at the small tavern in Pembroke. Richard and Linda's doing - Linda had accompanied Richard to Pembroke. Linda came to the Turnbull's to visit, while waited at the tavern. After a short span, Harmony and Linda had gone out for a 'walk'. Their destination had been the tavern… Her heart quickened at the very thought.

"Yes, I think you should get back," she said. "You know. In case he finds time and wants to leave…" It had been a few days since Richard orchestrated their rendeavouz and Harmony was missing him dreadfully.

Linda snorted. "You're eager. Aching between your legs, are you?"

"Oh, please don't talk like that," Miss Cordell groaned, though Harmony merely laughed.

"For Richard, always," Harmony said, then she grew serious. "Do you know how William is?"

"No bloody idea," Linda spat, instantly furious. "He's up at the great house, sick as a dog and there's nothing I can do to help him. That fucking bitch better be looking after him, I swear. If he dies…" She trailed off, stiff with fury.

"If he does, it won't be Beth's fault," Harmony said. She wished she could wrangle a promise out of Linda, to stop speaking so horribly about Beth. Just as Beth had managed to wrangle one from Harmony, that Harmony would not speak horribly about Cilla… But Harmony needed Linda too much to protest too strongly, when she began hissing and swearing about Beth. She sighed, feeling guilty. Beth had defended her, when Cilla said horrid things about Harmony… She really should be doing the same.

"He did come to see me before he got sick," Linda said. "But we didn't have time for a proper reunion. Oh well, when he's better, I'm sure we'll be together again then." She ignored Harmony's dubious look.

"Miss Stokes!" Miss Cordell cried. "You can't! He's married now!"

Linda shrugged. "So? He promised me our affair would continue even after he married, and now he knows I'm back in camp; continue it shall." She paused, then added. "When he's better."

"Before you leave, do you have news of my husband?" Harmony asked, an edge entering her voice.

"He was whipped," Linda said gleefully and Harmony gasped in surprise. "Yes, thirty lashes for screwing the wife of a Superior Officer, though they didn't mention the screwing part. More justice for you…"

"It certainly is," Harmony said, voice firm. "I wish he'd been given more than that. Do you know if he's looking for me? Even with the Middleton twins here, I'm too scared to sleep at night. I pray each night that the servants don't talk..."

"I don't think he'd find you," Linda assured her. "And if he did, what could he do? One man against those twins? They're bigger than him and damned strong. Don't worry so, Harm, it's not good for the baby."

"Hmm," Harmony said, sighing.

"Best be off," Linda announced, rising. "Besides, I'll probably be back in an hour or two," she quipped. "And then we'll be off to that tavern so you can have another romp with your fellow."

"God speed," Harmony grinned, giggling.

* * *

The carriage trundled along the dirt road, then turned down the Turnbull's lane. Beth was finally free of the sick at Fresh Water and at long last, she was able to Harmony. Cilla was well enough to share the job of looking after Banastre. William was much better than he was. But Richard was sick and Harmony needed to know. Besides, she was dying to see her friend, and was in a fit of excitement. It had been days and so much had happened. Harmony was free, finally free! It was absolutely glorious and Beth had been longing to share in Harmony's happiness.

She pulled the curtain aside, glanced out the window and watched as the carriage came to a stop outside the side gate. Two women, both wearing hooded capes, stepped out of the gate. Beth recognised them both - Miss Cordell and Mrs. Merry. Smiling, Beth waved at them. Miss Cordell stopped dead, gaping as though in shock. After a moment's hesitation, she returned the wave, but Mrs. Merry did not. The carriage had stopped, Beth felt the dip as her driver dropped down. Waggling her fingers at the women, she made a halting gesture - silently indicating that she wanted them to wait so she could chat with them. She turned away long enough to gather up her belongings, the book she'd been reading was stowed in a small bag and she picked up the fully laden basket she'd bought for Harmony. Her driver appeared at the door, then he was opening it and helping her down. She thanked him, then turned to the women, a smile already on her lips as she made to greet them.

But by then, the two women were striding arm in arm up the avenue, away from the carriage and toward the street. Startled, Beth frowned after them, feeling the slight most keenly. Had Miss Cordell not seen her wave, had she not understood that Beth had wanted to chat for a bit? She watched them, therefore she saw when Miss Cordell glanced back over her shoulder. The girl waved good-bye at Beth with an embarrassed expression on her pretty face. Mrs. Merry still had a death grip on the girls arm, pulling her along... _She_ did not glance back at all.

"Don't worry at it, lass," Old Lucas said soothingly. He'd known Beth her whole life, he knew her well, and he saw how offended she was, how deeply hurt.

"I suppose not everyone can like me," she said softly, her eyes boring into Mrs. Merry's back. Like hell would she call out to the pair now, and she would not run after them either! "But there's no call for being so rude. I just wanted to say hello them! To Miss Cordell, at least..."

"Only a fool wouldn't like yeh," he laughed. "Old Ben's daughter... Come now, get that smile back on yeh face. Yeh guards will start asking questions."

She glanced over at the Dragoons, who milled around the carriage. Not Brownlow and Dalton this time, those two were still laid up in bed. To the ageing servant, she asked, "do you have that list I gave you?"

"I will try and get everything yeh need," he bobbed his head. Whistling, he began walking away. The women had not looked back again, they turned onto the street and were gone. Still quite upset, Beth was unable to put them from her mind.

Beth stepped through the gate as her guard settled in to wait for her. She was accustomed to their presence by now - it had been an odd thing at first, having these men trailing after her whenever she left the house. She'd always felt guilty for leaving them to wait while she went visiting, the men seemed to accept their lot, however and she didn't even think about it anymore.

Hefting the basket, she stalked to the door, still silently raging over Mrs. Merry's rudeness.

* * *

For some reason, that woman had always been aloof with Beth. Aloof, even almost hostile. She'd worried over it at first, and she always tried to be nice to the woman, but had been unable to win her over. She'd never done anything to Mrs. Merry that she could think of...

"You have a visitor, Mrs. Campbell," Mr. Turnbull announced. Harmony glanced up, she was still unused to her new name. It was important she played the part of a widow, however. With her advancing pregnancy and no husband accompanying her. The Turnbull's were pious and would feel much better about their pregnant lodger, if she were a widow. But she could hardly use her real name, not when she was trying to hide from Calvin. She set her book aside, exulting. Richard had come! But no, Mr. Turnbull had said 'a visitor'. One. And Richard would not have come without Linda, who had only just walked out the door. When Beth glided in, her skirts swishing around her ankles, Harmony was every bit as excited as she would have been, had it been Richard.

"Beth!" She cried, jumping up from the chaise, she rushed to embrace her friend. As much as she cherished Linda's visits, she'd missed Beth dearly. Beth dropped the basket into a chair and the two women embraced, then Harmony stood back to inspect the smaller woman. "Are you well? I'm told there's sickness in the house and I was worried about you."

"Yes, there is, and I've been so busy. I am so sorry for not coming sooner," Beth apologised. The door clicked shut behind them - Mr. Turnbull departing. "I'm so sorry to tell you this, but Richard has it now too."

"Oh no!" Harmony cried, her hand over her mouth. "Will he be alright?"

Beth took hold of Harmony's hand and drew her over to the chaise. "He's sick - I won't say he's not. He started feeling tired and complained of a headache, and within a few hours, he was vomiting and feverish. We put him to bed, and I'm keeping a close eye on him. Well, clearly I'm not keeping an eye on him right now... But I've left him in good hands."

"My poor Richard! Is it yellow fever, oh God, has he got yellow fever?" Harmony asked, her voice strangled and bordering hysteria. Beth nodded gravely and Harmony bit back a sobbing gasp. "I should be there," she whispered. "Oh, he's all alone. He needs me, Beth!"

"It's just as well you're not, Harmony," Beth said, still grave. "We've had a few deaths already."

"Oh sweet Lord, don't say that," Harmony moaned, utterly distressed now.

"William has it too, I know exactly how you feel, Harmony. It's not pretty, I'll tell you that. I've never seen William so weak before, he was like a newborn babe. I was so worried for him, but I think he's getting better now. It's a horrible sickness," Beth whispered. "But Richard and William are strong. They're healthy and strongly built. They've had decent food all these months. I think it's those who are living in poorer conditions who are worst effected, those soldiers in camp who barely have shelter and all. I think William and Richard will pull through."

"Time will tell," Harmony swallowed hard. "You'll get word to me, won't you? Even if you can't come yourself. I need to know how he's doing and -"

"I'll send word to you as often as I can," Beth promised. "I know how hard it will be on you, the not knowing."

"It's going to be torture," Harmony admitted. "You'll care for him yourself, won't you?"

"Of course I will," Beth promised. "Day and night. Which does mean I won't see you very often, but when all of this is over, I'll come every day."

"You'll still send reports in the meantime, of Richard?"

Beth nodded. She might not be able to come in person, but it would be easy enough to send word to Harmony.

"There's something else you need to know," Beth began. She was both reluctant and wary of telling Harmony the news, for she loved Cilla dearly and knew her cousin was heartbroken over her loss. Beth did not think she could bear it, if Harmony showed triumph that Cilla's babe was gone. "It's about Cilla…"

"Oh yes?" Harmony brushed her skirts vigorously with her hands. She averted her gaze, her face was now hard as stone. Beth wondered if Harmony had, in some corner of her heart, hoped the illness would carry Cilla away? She could not bring herself to ask, she feared the answer far too much. She drew a deep breath.

"As a result the yellow fever, she… she lost her baby."

"Oh no!" Harmony gasped, meeting Beth's gaze again. Her chagrin was entirely unfeigned and Beth sighed with relief. At least Harmony could bring herself to mourn the innocent. "That's terrible! The poor baby! Oh…" Her eyes filled with sympathy, not with triumph. Harmony stroked her ever expanding stomach gently, she was now an expectant mother to be, commiserating another woman's loss.

"Richard was very upset about it. The poor child," Beth hung her head and whispered a prayer for the lost soul. Cilla was wretched and heartsore, but Beth kept this to herself. Harmony commiserated over the loss of the child, but she could not feel anything more for Cilla than she had earlier.

"I'm sorry," Harmony said softly. "For Richard - Lord, that was his child… And for your loss too, Beth. The baby would have been your cousin…"

Beth nodded. She noticed that Harmony was still stroking her stomach, a speculative look on her face. She wondered if Harmony felt slightly relieved about not being at Fresh Water after all. To be at Richard's side, tending him, would risk herself, and the baby.

"No chance Calvin has caught this vile thing?" Harmony asked, drawing away from the unpleasant subject.

"No, and he came to the house today!" Beth told her eagerly, she was just as pleased to skirt away from the complicated and unhappy topic.

"Why?" Harmony spluttered.

"Oh, that stupid Fallows sent him over with a message from O'Hara for William. Of all the people to send! I think William wanted to go for Calvin's throat. If he wasn't so sick, he would have!"

"I wish someone would," Harmony said fervently. "That flogging must have not been very bad at all, if he's able to walk about within days after!"

The woman looked furious, she'd been hoping that the flogging would have been so bad, that Calvin would be incapacitated for weeks.

"Mrs. Merry told you of that already, did she?' Beth asked, unable to hide the edge to her voice. Harmony froze. Had Beth seen Linda leave? If so, that was far too close for comfort! Her hands trembled in her lap. The timing would have been about right, and Beth confirmed it when she continued in an irate voice, "I saw her leaving just now, she was really very rude to me."

"Oh?" Harmony asked weakly, her voice a breathy whisper.

"I waved from the carriage and she didn't wave back," Beth began in a crisp voice. "And I signalled to them to stop so we could chat. I thought Miss Cordell was going to stop, but when I got out of the carriage I saw Mrs. Merry was dragging Miss Cordell away. As though she couldn't think of a worse fate in the world, than stopping and chatting with me. Oh well, blast her. I don't care," Beth's cheeks were blotched red and Harmony could tell that the younger woman did care and was quite upset over the snub. "Anyway, forget her. I was telling you about your husband. He was escorted into my bed chamber and he handed a letter to William, and said that he had been instructed to scribe William's reply. I wanted to ask him when he'd been promoted to such a lofty position as messenger boy? But I kept my mouth shut. Perhaps there was no one else Fallows could send. The illness is spreading through O'Hara's ranks, as well. Anyway, William handled the situation quite well. He was cold to Calvin but William is such a good Commander, he did not let it perturb him. Calvin sat in a chair with a lap desk and scribbled as William spoke his reply. I'll say this, he wasn't sitting easily. He kept shuffling around on his seat as though he were in pain - so that flogging was not gentle by any stretch."

"Well too bloody bad," Harmony said decisively. "After what he did to me, it was less than he deserved. Forget him - oh, my poor Richard… I feel so useless, I should be there for him, but now I feel guilty because I'm glad I'm not… the baby, you know and -"

The door opened again and Harmony bit off what she had been about to say. Mrs. Turnbull entered, with a servant following behind her. The servant carried a tray of tea and scones.

"I understand," Beth said, squeezing Harmony's hand. She then glanced up at Mrs. Turnbull.

"Mrs. Tavington," the woman curtsied - she curtsied! Beth was utterly astonished. Having been raised in Reverend Oliver's Parish, she'd known Mrs. Turnbull her whole life. And she could not remember a single instance in the past when Mrs. Turnbull had curtsied for anyone! But the Loyalist woman was gushing, ready to greet the Colonel's wife as though Beth were the most revered person in the Colonies.

"Mrs. Turnbull," Beth inclined her head. "How are you?"

"Quite well, quite well. Not like those poor souls at Fresh Water though, hmm? I've heard at least a quarter of the soldiers are ill."

"Yes, it's not a pleasant place to be just now," Beth agreed.

"I've had tea bought for you and Mrs. Campbell," she said, as though Beth could not see the tray with its steaming pot. To Harmony, Mrs. Turnbull said, "you're popular this morning! Miss Merry is such a good friend to you, visiting so often as she does and this time, she bought that delightful young girl with her - Miss Cordell. And now you have Mrs. Tavington visiting as well."

"Yes, I'm rather lucky," Harmony said weakly, her eyes darting. Beth was a little surprised to see Harmony looking so nervous all of a sudden. Then again, perhaps it was worry more than nerves - her concern over Richard which she could not continue to express now with Mrs. Turnbull present. The servant slipped out and Mrs. Turnbull lingered, she appeared to be hoping for an invitation to join them. Not wanting to appear rude - this was Mrs. Turnbull's house, after all. And the woman had been at her wedding - Beth gave it and Mrs. Turnbull plonked herself down in a chair, then began to pour the tea. It was not proper tea, rather an infusion of herbs and dried fruits, and it smelled delightful. Beth accepted hers willingly, she took a sip and sighed with pleasure. It was bitter and sweet all at once, lemons and strawberries and honey. Delicious. She would have to get the recipe before she left.

"You know, I'm quite surprised to see Mrs. Merry's growing stomach - the woman is with child!" Mrs. Turnbull spoke as though she assumed that Beth knew Mrs. Merry - and her history - as well as she did. "Of course, it's been some time since she resided here, but she never mentioned being pregnant, though she must have been, judging by how far along she is now."

"She lived here?" Beth asked, startled. She knew so little of the woman. All she did know about Mrs. Merry, was that Mrs. Merry did not like her.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Turnbull looked startled now. "You didn't know?"

"No, why do you imagine I would?" Beth cocked her head to one side as she studied the older woman. "I don't know much about the woman at all, I only met her when I started managing the camp women."

"Oh well, I assumed that as you know Mrs. Campbell, who is here at Colonel Tavington and Major Bordon's behest, then you must know Mrs. Merry also."

"Colonel Tavington sent Mrs. Merry to live here?" Beth frowned.

"It was more Major Bordon's idea, then Colonel Tavington's. Private Merry died," Harmony said to Beth, hating herself for lying even as the words continued to tumble from her lips. But Richard and Linda had begged her - on William's behalf as well - not to mention any of it to Beth. With great reluctance, and feeling like the worst of betrayers, she continued, "and Mrs. Merry was pregnant. She couldn't really stay anymore, not without her husband, so she was settled here where she could be safe and provided for. But then Private Cox began to court her came for marriage, and he took her back to the camp again." There. An explanation given and no mention of Tavington's involvement at all. Harmony really hated herself in that moment.

"That explains much," Mrs. Turnbull said.

"Well, it doesn't explain why Mrs. Merry is so cold toward me," Beth said, heaving a breath. Then she threw her hands up. "But oh well, I'm no longer the matron for the camp followers, therefore Mrs. Merry is not my problem."

"Oh, why is that, Mrs. Tavington?" Mrs. Turnbull asked.

"My husband is trying to reduce my responsibilities, he is worried that I've taken on too many duties," Beth replied. "We're trying for our first child, you see, and he is insisting I do nothing but rest. Not that I've had much of that," she laughed. "For no sooner did he announce that he was removing that duty from me, did sickness strike us like lightening and I've barely had any rest since!"

"How is poor Colonel Tavington?" Mrs. Turnbull asked. "And Colonel Tarleton, too? I've heard he has returned to Fresh Water?"

"Yes. He was in quite a vulnerable position, laid up sick with only a few Dragoons to protect him and Lord Cornwallis became frantic for his safety, so he was returning to Fresh Water to convalesce. They are both still laid up in bed, but they are on the mend," Beth replied. "Major Bordon has it now, he is dreadfully ill."

Harmony hung her head, and Beth regretted giving her this awful reminder about how sick Bordon is.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mrs. Turnbull said. "I'm told Mrs. Bordon is your cousin, is that true?"

"Yes," Beth said, suddenly wary. She shot a glance at Harmony, whose face closed over.

"It came as quite a surprise, I hope you don't mind me saying. We read the Banns announcing Major Bordon's engagement to Miss Jutland and at first, we were hoping there would be a grand wedding at Fresh Water. But the next thing we heard was that Major Bordon was married to Miss Putman, who I remembered to be your mother's brother's daughter. It was all quite startling."

This was an opening for Beth to explain. She shared another look with Harmony, who was now burying her face in her glass.

"Well, yes, Miss Jutland had thought her husband was dead only he was very much alive. He learned where she was when he read about her engagement in the broadsheets, and he came to Fresh Water to announce himself."

"I'd heard that. What is quite startling is why she would call herself Miss Jutland then?" Mrs. Turnbull said, disapproving.

"Because that is her name," Harmony said with an edge to her voice.

"No, Mrs. Campbell. Her name was Mrs. Farshaw, from the moment she married," Mrs. Turnbull corrected. "I've heard many scandalous things about her. If you ask me, Major Bordon had a lucky escape - he has married far more appropriately in marrying your cousin, Mrs. Tavington."

Beth was frozen to the spot, completely unsure how to answer. _'Thank you,'_ was the response Mrs. Turnbull was expecting, for the woman thought she was giving Cilla, and by extension Beth, a compliment.

"What scandalous things were those?" Harmony asked and Beth stifled a groan.

"Oh, not things I can repeat in such delicate Company," Mrs. Turnbull said.

"Yes, I agree, it would be… impolite to speak of certain things," Harmony continued. Beth could hear the bitterness in her voice, though Mrs. Turnbull seemed not to notice it. "However, we're all married women, we should be able to discuss such things frankly. You'll be doing us a service, in telling us - we'll know to keep a wide berth of the woman, if we know the truth about her."

"Mrs. Campbell," Beth whispered, shaking her head at Harmony, silently begging her to stop. "There's no need to continue, Mrs. Turnbull. I am already well acquainted with Mrs. Farshaw and I know her to be an honest woman who has been dealt an awful hand. She was quite devastated that she could not marry Major Bordon - her husband is a mean spirited sort of fellow with an awful temper. I love my cousin and I wish her all the happiness in the world, but I wish it had not come at Mrs. Farshaw's expense." Mrs. Turnbull cocked her head, she looked terribly confused.

"What things, Mrs. Campbell?" Harmony repeated, refusing to be put off so lightly.

Mrs. Turnbull shifted her perplexed, uneasy glance from Beth and settled it on Harmony.

"I believe you are quite correct, Mrs. Campbell. It probably is for the best that you are warned about Mrs. Farshaw. Pastime, in fact," Mrs. Turnbull said with a glance at Beth, who had declared Harmony to be one of her acquaintances. Beth sucked in a vexed breath. She had been trying to make Harmony feel better about herself but all she'd done was convince Mrs. Turnbull that a deeper explanation of Mrs. Farshaw's sins was necessary - to open Beth's eyes about her. She glared at Harmony, but her friend's attention was fixed solely on Mrs. Turnbull. "I'm told that they were having relations out of wedlock. Miss Jutland - or Mrs. Farshaw - liked to drink and to flirt, and those among her friends are the even looser sort - women that bed for money."

Beth cast her eyes downward at this reminder of Harmony's friendship with Linda.

"Hmm, she sounds positively villainous," Harmony said, catching Beth's gaze. "You should end your friendship with Mrs. Farshaw immediately, Mrs. Tavington."

"Perhaps you should, Mrs. Tavington," Mrs Turnbull agreed.

"Right now, I'm thinking that ending my friendship with Mrs. Farshaw isn't a bad idea at all," Beth scowled at Harmony, whose irritation vanished immediately. Harmony hid a grin behind her glass. "Let's chat about something else," Beth suggested. The others agreed and they began to speak of inane things, how glad they were that summer was over and the cooler weather was coming. Of the dreadful rains, which none of them could be glad of. Of the illness sweeping through camp and gossip about the families of Pembroke, as supplied by Mrs. Turnbull. They spent some time going through the basket of items Beth had bought for Harmony, handkerchiefs and socks and other things Beth had thought Harmony might need. She worried if it would be this way every time she visited Harmony - if Mrs. Turnbull would sit in with them. She hoped not, for she wanted to speak frankly with Harmony, not couch her words and give silent messages, or have poor Harmony forced to sit there while Mrs. Turnbull repeated gossip about 'Mrs. Farshaw' and her scandalous ways.

"Mrs. Tavington, you must get a message to your husband for me, if you don't mind," Mrs. Turnbull said as she poured another round of tea, showing no sign of departing any time soon.

"What message?" Beth frowned.

"It's about Reverend Oliver. You know, he still holds his sermons here in Pembroke. Not in the church of course, for he's a known rebel and the British fort is far too close. And he doesn't hold them regularly. But he's been riding with the rebels for a while now and he comes here because he knows most of his flock trust him. It's taking advantage of them, is what it is. They trust him, they trust his words. He preaches at them and when he's finished, some of them drop what they are doing, they leave their families behind and they march off with him when he goes."

"And what has he been preaching, to make our men up and leave?" Beth asked after a moment's surprise.

"Patriotism. Insurrection. Rebellion. Independence," Mrs. Turnbull spat the words primly. "He is trying to rile his congregation with his fine words, and as I said, many of them have been marching off to join those traitors. Every second or third Sunday he comes, but he appears in a different place each time. We Loyalists are outnumbered by Patriots in these parts, and they have managed to keep the locations and times quiet, amongst themselves. But we've started to hear whispers, and I believe that Oliver is going to preach to the folk again, this Sunday at Cosgrove Bridge. No doubt another troupe of children will be carted away by his speeches. Two o'clock, I'm told, that's when it will take place. Something aught to be done, Mrs. Tavington. You'll be sure to tell him, won't you?"

Beth could barely breathe. She stared at Mrs. Turnbull, who was patiently waiting for Beth's agreement. But the girl was busy worrying over what William would do about it, if she told him.

_If?_ Stupid girl, what was she thinking? She had no choice but to tell him. She'd vowed to be Loyal to him and here was this Loyalist, entrusting her with a message meant directly for her husband, one associated with the war. Beth could not _not_ tell William. But what would he do, when she told him that her Reverend was preaching of the Cause, right under William's nose? He'd send his men in to wait, at Cosgrove Bridge, this Sunday at two o'clock and Oliver would be taken captive. She finally exhaled and she nodded slowly, agreeing that of course she would tell William.


	97. Chapter 97 - Fine Distinctions

_Hi everyone - just a wee warning, there's explicit detail of Calvin and Major Fallows sex in the second half of this chapter. Hopefully no one will be offended, I've detailed all the other sex scenes in this story, it's just that this one happens to be between same sex partners :-) _

* * *

Chapter 97 - Fine Distinctions:

When she was able to do so, Beth fled the house as fast as her legs could carry her - not toward her carriage, but toward the village proper, where the businesses were. She peered at faces, hoping to recognise known Patriots. What would she do though, if she did spy a rebel among the populace? Keeping back Mrs. Turnbull's message to William would be treason and yet another betrayal. So tell him she would. But revealing what she knew to a Patriot in the hopes that he or she would warn Oliver, well, that was treason and betrayal too. It wasn't long before she left the businesses behind - Pembroke really was a small village - and she was standing at the little gate of the church. Oliver wouldn't be there, she knew. But it was a church, and churches were calming places, and she felt need of such. She entered the gate, then waved down the Dragoon guards that had followed her, indicating she needed to enter alone. The door was unlocked and she walked right in, she strolled down the aisle between the pews, memories assailing her the whole way. She paused at the pulpit and stood there, soaking up the memory of standing at William's side as Major Bordon married them. She rounded the pulpit and gazed down at the ledger, her eyes scanning the page for the entry of her own wedding, which William had written in the day they were married.

It wasn't there. There was jagged strips of paper down the middle and she realised, aghast, that someone had torn it out. Hearing a sound behind her, she whirled, and came face to face with Reverend Oliver, who was peering around the edge of the door.

"Miss Martin!" He gasped, tension draining from his body. He must have been expecting British soldiers.

"What are you doing here?" She gasped back, stunned. "Lord, the place is crawling with Dragoons, Reverend!"

"Yes, you bought them here," he accused.

"I was visiting a friend," she replied. "William does not let me leave without a guard."

"Fears your father will snatch you away, I dare say," Oliver sniffed.

"My husband fears many things."

"Are they going to come in here too?" He asked and she shook her head. "If they hear your voice, they will wonder who you are speaking to. Come, into my office." He turned and she followed him the short way to the room at the back. As she entered, she thought on how dim it was in the chamber, the curtains were closed over the windows and Oliver had candles and lanterns lit to light the room. Didn't want anyone to know he was there, clearly.

The last time Beth had been in this part of the church, General Burwell had spurned her, rushing away as quickly as he could, as though the hounds of hell had been hot on his tail. As she entered, she stared at the three chairs that she, her father and Burwell had occupied that day, across from Oliver. Oliver would always sit there, in the large armchair facing the door, holding a cup of tea as he gave council to his parishioners.

And he was resuming that seat right now, in that same place, with a hot cup between his fingers. She lowered herself to one of the chairs opposite him. Eyeing the chair Burwell had occupied on that fateful day, she could almost see the General there, as he was told of the very great crime she had committed, at the Simms ball with Tavington. She remembered the look on his face and suppressed a cringe. He'd been so hurt, angry, heartbroken. Her father had worn the exact same look as her former fiance. Both had been disgusted. Lord, how Burwell had run… She turned back to Oliver with a sigh. "Why are you here? You need to leave, Sir," she said, no longer whispering.

"Running me out of my own village, hmm?" He asked her, eyebrow arched.

"I'm not your enemy," she said softly, holding out a hand in supplication. "You're in danger, Reverend. I was speaking with Mrs. Turnbull just now. She said she's recently learned you've been giving sermons in the area, to Patriots, beseeching them to join you. She's learned when your next meeting is to be held."

Oliver drew in a sharp breath.

"Has she now?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you're telling me..?"

"I'm warning you. As I said, I'm not your enemy. I fell in love with a British Officer, Reverend. That's my only crime. I'm still a member of your Parish. And I'm still as Patriot as you, though I have promised William I would not work against him and that he could trust me fully. And now I'm faced with this - this message that I have to get to William now, of your intention to meet at Cosgrove Bridge…" She shook her head, gave a sullen sigh.

"And will you tell him?" Oliver asked.

"Of course I will," Beth replied. "I will not withhold information such as this. I won't risk his wrath. Besides, I vowed to be loyal and he needs to know he can trust me and what the devil am I saying?" She dropped her head to her hands, feeling utterly confused. "I'm betraying him right now."

She heard a clink as Oliver placed his cup on the table, and then Oliver was sitting beside her, his hand on her back. She lifted her head, met his grave eyes.

"You'll be taken prisoner, Sir, if you do this," she told him. "I will tell William. I'm just so glad I was able to tell _you_ first." Tears stung her eyes, she had no idea why but she was on the verge of weeping. The enormity of what she'd just done swept over her. She'd betrayed him. She was always betraying him! "He'd take it better if I was having an affair," she whispered. "If it was another man I'd betrayed him with, at least he'd have someone to stab. But this? I can't keep going against him like this!" She wailed.

"You should have chosen your consort more carefully, Miss Martin," came the gentle reply. In using her maiden name, he was showing he was still unwilling to acknowledge her marriage. "I understand your confusion. You are conflicted and overwhelmed. I do appreciate your warning me in this manner."

"Will you stop recruiting from here about?" She asked him, voice hopeful.

"No. I'll just be more careful of who I invite to the gatherings," he smiled and despite herself, she managed a soft laugh. "Would you have gotten warning to me, if I hadn't been here?" He asked, studying her face carefully.

"Yes."

"How?" He cocked his head to one side, considering her carefully. If she revealed a sound plan, then he would believe her.

"I was looking for someone I could tell just now, but I wasn't sure who I could trust. So I decided that perhaps I should pay a visit to Mrs. Rutledge," came her simple reply.

Oliver was stunned for a moment, then he laughed out loud.

"Yes, that certainly would have done the trick. I thank you. I will be sure to tell your father you did this."

"Oh, please don't," Beth drew a shuddering breath. "He might expect more from me and I won't do it. How is he? How are they all? It's been so long - too long. I worry and… How are they?"

"Well, Mrs. Selton is in Gullah with the children," he replied. "The Howard's are there. Did you know that Gabriel and Anne are married?"

"I heard," Beth said shortly, pain piercing her. She had not been at the wedding. She would not have even been invited and she probably would not have been missed.

"Gabriel visits Gullah as often as he can but, well, you know. He is quite busy. And Thomas - he looks quite fetching in his Bluecoat. He is very proud of himself."

"Of course he is," Beth smiled. "At least Tommy still liked me when last we saw each other. Will you tell him I wish him well?"

"No message for your father?" Oliver asked, eyebrow arched.

There was so much she longed to tell her father…. Where to start? If she began, she'd be there for an hour and Oliver could not possibly remember it all anyway.

"Only… that I love him. I miss him. And to take care," she shrugged. "I'm not sorry, if that's what you're asking. I love William and I will not be sorry for marrying him."

Oliver looked disappointed, and he averted his gaze.

"I hope he'll accept William as his son, someday. But I doubt that will happen."

"Neither do I," Oliver agreed. "Where is Samuel, lass? He's not on the plantation."

"How do you know?" She asked, surprised. Oliver maintained a mysterious expression, and eventually, she shrugged it off. He was not going to tell her and, perhaps, it was better she didn't know. "He is with Captain Gordon. Captain Gordon's unit was sent to reinforce Rawdon's at Camden. Samuel went with them, I didn't know he was gone until it was too late to do anything about it." Beth hung her head, feeling wretched. "Papa gave me charge of the children, but I've done a poor job of protecting them. First Nathan, Maggie, William and Susan flee with Aunt Charlotte, then Samuel hides stows away with Gordon's lot. William has since found out that Rawdon arranged to have Gordon's unit detached elsewhere, so I wrote to Samuel, asking him to come home. I received a reply from him recently, refusing. He said he's become an important part of Gordon's unit, which is absolutely ridiculous, but there it is. There's nothing more I can do for now. Samuel is gone and won't come home."

"He's willingly serving the British," Oliver said, voice flat. "A son of Benjamin Martin's, in the British Army."

"He's twelve years old, for crying out loud. He can't be a soldier," Beth heaved a sigh. "But after what father made him do… what Samuel was forced to see that day… Captain Gordon led the party that papa attacked, of which twenty British soldiers were brutally killed. Sammie was there - he killed a man, he said, and he was awfully confused by it. It left him feeling wretched, he is far too young for war. He did not like seeing papa killing indiscriminately, and with his tomahawk, too. It affected him, it really did."

"So your father told me. And it doesn't surprise me that Samuel has reacted in this way, he was always a gentle boy," Oliver mused, "and he had always thought his father was, also. He witnessed an entirely different side to your father that day."

"He was so affected by it, he saw the dead afterward and he probably worried over which one he'd killed."

"My thoughts precisely. Your father regrets it now, but he was… unhinged, I think. He shoved the rifle in Samuel's hand and told him to shoot… Samuel was not ready for such harsh realities."

"I agree," her tone became grim as she commiserated with her brother. She had never killed a person herself and could not imagine what sort of affect it would have to do so. "I really wish he would just come home - I really don't like Captain Gordon's influence over Samuel," she ground out. "He is teaching Samuel the sword, spending time with him, he took him under his wing, when Samuel needed someone most. The way he spoke in his letter, you would think he has found a new family. But I don't think Gordon is doing it out of the kindness of his heart. He's probably filling Sammie's head with all sorts of lies, so that Sammie never comes home. I'll wager Samuel doesn't know that Captain Gordon had ill intentions toward Maggie."

"Yes, I had heard about all of that," Oliver said. "It's why Nathan and your aunt insisted on escaping Fresh Water."

"Yes," Beth agreed. "Gordon was deprived of five targets, when Nathan and aunt Charlotte got everyone away. So he'll concentrate on the only one he has now. He'll turn Sammie, he'll use him for his own ends."

"I shall tell your father," Oliver promised. "And if something can be done to drag Samuel away, then it will be."

She rose, and so did Oliver. "The fewer people who know I warned you, the better," she said as she stared up at him.

"The more Patriots who know, the better they'll feel toward you," he replied, holding her gaze.

"After how they spurned me, I do not care. Let them hate me. It's better than William learning of this and…" she paused with a shudder. He had not taken his hand to her since they'd married, but for this, he bloody well might. "Well, I'll be going."

"Good bye, Miss Martin," Oliver said.

"Still unwilling to acknowledge my marriage?" She asked archly.

"Always," he replied firmly.

"What if I told you that William and I said our vows again a second time? With an actual Reverend," she said and Oliver's eyes widened. "Reverend Premmon demanded it, he drew up a marriage license and everything. I'm sorry, but you refused to do it, and it needed to be done. You might not like it, but you have to accept that I am Mrs. Tavington in truth, even by your standards."

His jaw began to work and she knew he was struggling, still not wanting to acknowledge her marriage. He'd find some other reason to deny it, she was certain. Oh well. So be it. She turned to leave, but he caught her hand and drew her back. With a kind smile, he embraced her farewell.

"Thank you for the warning," he whispered.

Beth held frozen in his arms for a moment, before relaxing into the embrace with an unhappy sigh. She sniffled, then rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her head.

"You're welcome," she said, stepping back from him. "Don't let it be for nothing. I can't help you to escape Fresh Water - that would be beyond me, so don't let it happen."

"I know. Though in truth, I doubt they would bother to take me prisoner. Hangings are far more to their liking, I'm afraid."

Beth nodded, agreeing that it was likely true.

* * *

Beth laid alongside William, her fingers stroking his cheek gently. She stared at him, her face only inches from his. She'd done the right thing, she knew she had. But still, it was another betrayal. When would it end? How many more times would she find herself in this situation? Her husband trusted her now and she felt a wretched, deep sick feeling in her stomach, for failing him again. He slept soundly, on his back, the chamber as dark as Banastre's. William was so ill… so helpless… She hated to see him like this…

When she returned from Pembroke, he'd been awake. She had passed on Mrs. Turnbull's warning, she waited while he had an Officer scribe a message to O'Hara, and then she locked their bed chamber door and laid down beside him. He'd taken her into his arms, he'd held and kissed her gently, and all the while she'd felt so empty, so conflicted, so guilty. Torn. Between her loyalty to her husband, and to that of her father and her country. She hadn't realised until then, just how difficult her marriage was going to be. When William's hands began roving over her body, when he pushed down the covers and revealed his erection, she made no move to stop him. Instead, she allowed him to guide her until she straddled his lap, for he was in no condition to take her in any other way. She slid down on his length, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of him inside of her. It had been days since they had last been joined. He lay mostly still beneath her, only moving his hips slightly, his hands moving over her bodice as she rocked on his length, bringing them both to blissful release. Afterward, she lay down beside him again, she covered his body with the blankets against the cold and kissed him gently. He was asleep within moments, the last of his strength discharged along with his seed.

The coupling had not helped her in the slightest. As enjoyable as it had been, it had chased away her demons for only a short time. At length, Beth rose from the bed and slipped her feet back into her shoes. There was too much work to do to loll about in bed all day, guilt and demons not withstanding. She straightened her skirts and her hair, then after kissing him one last time, she slipped from the room.

* * *

"There's no need to blush so, Cilla," Banastre teased. "I was merely describing how wonderfully delightful it was to kiss you."

"But that's just it," Cilla cast an eye toward the open doorway. There was no one in the hall, no one to hear their discussion, but still she lowered her voice. "We should not be discussing it at all. We should not have done it, at all."

"Ah, but as I said that night, it's only kissing. And you can not deny how enchanting it was," he turned over onto his side to face her. "Go on, Cilla. I dare you to tell me you did not find it utterly enchanting. Captivating. Delightful, kissing me."

"Lord, you are abandoned," she laughed softly.

"Do you deny it?" He pressed.

"I do not deny how much I enjoyed myself that night," she replied, her own smile teasing. She was much easier in Colonel Tarleton's presence these days, since the night of the ball, when he'd cheered her with his company and his whiskey. And his kissing. She enjoyed her turn sitting in with him, it helped to take her mind off her troubles. Her grief was never far from her, but even sick, Banastre was so cheerful, it was infectious.

"Not good enough," he said. "You need to be more specific. Which part of the evening did you enjoy most?"

"Oh, you'd like me to say that I enjoyed myself most at the end, before we came up to the house?" She arched her eyebrows and she saw his smile broaden. "No, my favourite part of the evening was when I had the wonderful opportunity to dance with my husband."

Banastre fell back against the pillows, laughing. "Oh Lord, you're such a fibber," he said, chortling.

"Sir!" Cilla adopted a mock stern look. "What a thing to say! I am insulted."

"You are not," he was still chuckling but he slowed and eventually turned onto his side to her again. She was seated in the armchair, facing the bed. "Come now, I've admitted it to you - our stolen moments were the highlight of my evening. Will you truly not admit it to me? Even though I'm so dreadfully sick, and such a revelation would make me feel so very much better?"

"Dear Lord," she rolled her eyes. "I'm sick too, if you recall."

"I do recall. And haven't I made you feel better, by revealing how delightful it all was?"

"Hmm, indeed you have," she smiled. "Very well. If I must. It was very nice."

"Nice. Nice!" He tossed his head in disgust. "Lord, it looks like I'm going to have to step up my game, if that is the best description you can come up with."

"Yes," she giggled. "Your technique can certainly do with some work."

"Cilla!" Banastre gasped, outraged as she laughed at him from her chair. He lifted himself up onto his elbow, his eyes becoming shrewd and hooded at the same time. "Nice is not the reputation I desire, my darling. Perhaps you will give me a second chance, that I might redeem myself?" The truth was, he had enjoyed it so much the first time that, now he was at Fresh Water, he was truly hoping that there would be a second.

"You're incorrigible," she said.

"No argument there," he said, noticing that she didn't say 'no'. "Lord, it's hard to get comfortable," he pushed himself up until he was sitting and Cilla rose to place an extra pillow behind his back. As she worked, he gazed up at her with a hopeful smile, his head tilted back, lips pursed. She laughed at him and resumed her seat. "Did you not find it so?" He said, ignoring her rejection. It was temporary only, he'd heard the hitch in her breath, he strongly suspected she would not mind kissing him again. Nice indeed. "If I lay too long on one side, it hurts. I lay too long on the other, it hurts. I lay on my back, I sit up, I turn over, I simply can not get comfortable."

"It will pass soon," she said. "If you're well enough to complain about it, then you're definitely on the mend."

"My Lady," he said with mock insult. "I do not complain."

There was movement in the doorway and they both turned as Beth walked into the room.

"Captain Wilkins is back," she said by way of greeting.

"Do you want to sit down?" Cilla made as if to move but Beth waved her back down, for although Cilla was better, she was still quite weak. She still felt tired far too quickly. It took much of her vitality just to visit Banastre and he was only down the hall. It was because she could not sit with him in her shift and robe, her maid Vickie had to dress her properly - her hair and all, in order for her to leave her chamber. But she did it - for she could not bear to be stuck in her chamber all day, with Richard also sick in their bed. She much preferred to take her turn in tending Banastre, even though she wasn't entirely well herself. It was better than spending time in her room with Richard.

Beth perched on the side of the bed, instead, which made Cilla's eyes bulge. She knew Beth was friendly with the Colonel but this? This was way too familiar - not even Cilla would dare such, and she'd kissed the Colonel!

"And now it begins," Banastre said.

"No need to sound so gleeful about it," Beth rebuked him. He spread his hands wide.

"I didn't even smile!" He defended himself.

"He's been waiting for Captain Wilkins to return for days. He's a dreadful gossip and I'm sure he takes great joy from all of this," Cilla said to Beth.

"That's not true, Mrs. Bordon," Banastre said. Cilla had asked him that night, not to call her that. But she knew he could not call her anything else, when they were not alone. "I'm just bored, that's all. It's dreadfully dull, being sick. All I can do is lay here and do… What? Nothing. I can't read - it's too dark in here and if you open a curtain my eyes start watering and stinging…"

"Oh, you too?" Cilla asked, empathising. "And you probably couldn't concentrate on a book anyway, from the pounding in your head."

"Yes! You understand!" Banastre pointed a finger in her direction. "I can barely move to get out of bed, so I can't go in search of company -"

"There's no company to be had, everyone is sick," Cilla added. "Which, by the way, is the only reason I come in here to you."

"You say the loveliest things," he laughed. "But I quite agree, there is no other Company to be had and the sick make dreadful conversationalists."

"I'll say," Beth agreed fervently and Cilla threw back her head and laughed.

"You took the words out of my mouth, cousin," Cilla said.

"My word!" Banastre protested. "I was not referring to myself, my dear ladies. I am and always have been the greatest of company," he turned back to Cilla. "All I can do is lay here and wait for visitors. Yet when they come, in the form of two beautiful lovely young women, all I get is this! Horrid teasing. I deserve none of it!"

"You deserve every bit of it," Beth scoffed.

"I worry that Wilkins is going to beat Emily," Cilla said, drawing her knees up to her chest and shifting until she was comfortable in the big arm chair. "Honestly, I don't know what to make of it all. Emily and I became quite close these past weeks, we shared many confidences." She paused, wondering if she should say anything further, then decided it was common knowledge now anyway. "She told me she'd had a few affairs, I already knew that."

"So did I," Beth sniffed primly. "Though it wasn't Emily who told me."

"Who did?" Cilla asked.

"I just… Heard about her taking up with some fellow in camp - some Lieutenant; another one, not Farshaw."

"Oh, yes, him," Cilla nodded. "Yes, she told me about him. I'm not sure what shocks me more, that she was having an affair with Farshaw, or that she didn't confide it to me!"

"You must have grown close indeed, if you'd expect her to reveal that," Banastre said.

"We had…" Cilla said.

"As for Emily Wilkins - well, James Wilkins can hardly be too outraged - as if he kept only to her bed," Beth said tartly.

"And he's horrible to her," Cilla said. "From their first night, their wedding night and every day since for the past three years. The things she has told me…" Cilla shook her head, lips tight with anger. "I know you are close to Mrs. Farshaw, Beth. But I don't think Emily should have been birched for what she revealed to her husband. Yes, he beat her, but shouldn't that have been Mrs. Farshaw's look out? And my dear husband's," she curled her lip. "If they didn't want to incur Farshaw's wrath, they should not have courted it. No point pointing the finger at Emily and saying 'oh, you tattled!' "

"I said much the same to Bordon," Beth said and Cilla's eyes widened with surprise.

"Oh. I'm glad you did," Cilla said. "I'm aware that Mrs. Farshaw suffered greatly - but no one can be blamed for Lieutenant Farshaw's actions except himself - and those who crossed him. From what I heard, the camp followers were not gentle at all. And now Emily will receive another beating, from Captain Wilkins this time, for having an affair," Cilla wrapped her arms around her legs. She felt the desperate need to lay down, but was resisting it with all the strength she could muster.

"Yes, that's especially hard to take," Beth said. "When he is no better. Captain Wilkins never did settle down. He's almost as bad as Banastre."

Far from being insulted by the jibe, Banastre stretched his arms high over head and gave them both a satisfied grin.

"At least _he's_ not married," Cilla said in Banastre's defence.

"Why thank you, Mrs. Bordon."

"Would that he was - it might settle him down some," Beth sniffed. "Then again, it hasn't settled Captain Wilkins down any. He used to flirt with me, all the time. Even after marrying Emily," Beth confided.

"Oh, he never did," Cilla gasped.

"I shall smite him with my sword," Banastre said wrathfully.

"Oh hush you," Beth said to Banastre before answering Cilla. "He did. He's a horrible flirt."

"Yes, he is that," Banastre agreed.

"You're one to talk!" she said archly and Banastre affected a look of innocence. He pointed at himself and mouthed '_me?_'. Beth snorted. "Yes, you. You're one of the worst. I don't think you can sleep without a woman in your bed."

"I can't believe we're discussing this," Cilla rubbed her temples.

"I have been sleeping without a woman beside me for what..? Too many days to count!" Banastre protested.

"Because you're filled up with laudanum," Beth laughed. "And because you're too sick to go and find yourself a pretty." He smiled in such a way that even Cilla knew he was flirting with Beth. He did not come out and say _'I've got a pretty sitting on the bed right now',_ but the words hung in the air, anyway.

"I still can't believe that Emily had an affair with Farshaw," Cilla said.

"I don't condone it," Beth began, "but why should Emily receive a beating for doing what James himself does? And don't you go prating the vows, Ban, because James vowed the same as her. To be faithful. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. The only difference is, the goose is a damned sight stronger than the gander and he can do what he likes to her. She can't hold him down and smack his backside the way he did to her that time."

"Hypocritical," Cilla sniffed in agreement. "After everything Emily has told me about him, I have found myself liking James Wilkins less and less every day." She cut off sharply when a shadow filled the open doorway. Seeing James standing there, she blushed crimson.

"Mrs. Tavington," Captain Wilkins said, voice cold as he deliberately ignored Cilla. "May I have a word with you?"

Beth slowly uncoiled herself and rose from the bed, then padded out of the room.

"Oh, Banastre, you don't think he heard me do you?" But Banastre was unable to answer her for he was holding his stomach and laughing too hard.

"Oh, what wonderful timing you have, Cilla," he managed to wheeze.

"Beth is right, you are horrid," she said.

His ridiculous grin was banished immediately, his laughter silenced so quickly, it echoed in the chamber.

"She never said that!" He stared at her, looking remarkably like a gaping fish. He added uncertainly, "did she?"

Feeling she had scored a point, Cilla laughed. Banastre Tarleton was so good for her - since falling sick and suffering her awful loss, she still found herself laughing whenever she visited him. It felt good - truly good - such a wonderful release. There was healing in laughter, and as she began to banter with Banastre, she embraced those wonderful sensations that had been so long denied to her.

Simple mirth and good cheer.

* * *

Beth followed Wilkins down the hall, the stairs, through the house, all the way to her father's office. His back was ram rod straight, his stride a marching clip. He entered first, and when she closed the door behind them, he whirled around to confront her.

"Just who the devil do you think you are?" He snapped, glaring down at her She blinked up at him, shocked. He was taller - taller even than William and Bordon and just then, he used his height to his full advantage, towering over her. Bordon had told her she looked ridiculous when she drew herself up to her full height in an effort to intimidate, and so she did not bother with such tactics now. Still, she was having none of it - she was the Colonel's wife, that's who she thought she was! And another Colonel's daughter. And not to mention a member of two high ranking families!

"Just who in the hell do _you_ think _you_ are?" She snapped back, folding her arms across her chest. "You needn't think that just because you've put 'Captain' in front of your name, you'll get far with speaking to me like that, James Wilkins!"

"Did you, or did you not, allow the entire bloody camp of women beat my wife?" He bellowed, his voice rebounding from the walls.

"Oh," she lowered her hands to her sides, irritation draining from her. Earnestly, she said, "no, James. I did not."

"How can you say that?" He ground out. "I was told that Colonel Tavington ordered Emily be punished, and that the leader of the women - that's you," he pointed out, his gaze fierce, "chose the manner of it."

"No…" She shook her head, then rubbed her temples. Lord, but his yelling had given her a headache - his voice was so loud! Like a lion roaring… "Can we please sit?" She suited her words by taking one of the arm chairs and gestured for James to sit opposite her. Ignoring the offer, he stood straight backed, his fingers curled into fists at his sides. She sighed. "I did not have the choosing. I never would have had Emily birched! Indeed, I begged William to rescind the order, but he would not. James, William has taken the responsibility of the camp women from me. He thinks it was too much for me, he wants me to rest more and…" She trailed off, not wanting to disclose more than that. That they were trying to conceive a child and were eliminating the causes which might be preventing them, was none of James' business. "He passed the responsibility on to Mrs. Andrews. She is the one who executed Emily's punishment."

"Mrs. Andrews, hmm?" James quivered from head to toe, bright spots of colour flushed his cheeks. "Mrs. Andrews felt free to have my wife birched. Thanks to the command that Tavington gave her," James said, his blue eyes flaring as if on fire.

"James -"

"He handed her over to a flock of bloody drudges!" He threw his arms wide, his face twisted with rage. "My wife, treated like rubbish! Has he forgotten who she is? Who her family are? Who her _husband_ is?"

"I doubt very much that William has forgotten her standing, James," Beth said patiently, hiding her astonishment. She'd expected James to be wroth - but with Emily, not with William!

"We've had this argument before, you know!" He ranted. "Back in Charlestown, when Colin didn't want Miss Jutland coming to his wedding. I tried to tell Bordon then, that our aristocracy is every bit as important as his! Honestly, a common drudge, at Colin and Mary's wedding? It's no wonder they eloped to avoid it! And now, my wife is beaten, by a bunch of low born wenches, and all because of Miss Jutland! Because of Bordon's bloody whore!"

"James!" Beth gasped, her hand at her throat. "How could you say such a thing? I thought you liked Harmony!"

"More than my own wife?" He shot back. "When your husband had Emily birched for gossiping about Bordon's whore, do you know what Tavington did?"

"No," Beth shook her head, wide eyed.

"Tavington shit all over my standing is what he did! Taking the side of a common strumpet, who was doing precisely what Emily revealed her to be doing! It's not as though Emily were lying - Harmony _was_ rutting with Bordon again! Yet Emily gets birched for speaking of it? Now, I like Harmony well enough," he ground out, his nostrils flaring. "But she's not one of us, is she?" He asked pointedly. "Her family is of no consequence at all! No, she's not like you and me - and she's certainly not like Emily, whose higher than us both! She was a Simms, damn it! And this is how she's treated? Handed over to a pack of sluts, her chest bared for the world to see, and birched right there in the middle of the camp!"

Beth valued Harmony's friendship and loved her like a sister, but she had been raised to the higher families of the colonies and she understood, intrinsically, the sentiment behind James' words. There was a distinction between the greater and lesser families in the Colonies, just as there was in England. The only difference was, one could rise higher, even one from the lowest families, if one earned enough wealth to do so. They gained respect with that wealth, their name became valued by those around them, their peers. Emily had been treated with anything but respect, and her treatment could only bring great shame to both the Simms and the Wilkins, and all because of Harmony. Beth did not agree with James, but she understood him.

"Emily broke the rules of the Regiment," she said, though with great uncertainty in the face of Wilkins' arguments. "She caused trouble for the other camp followers, which you yourself punished her for. She was warned not to do it again, but she ignored that warning when she repeated what she knew too Farshaw."

"You believe that, do you? That she deserved it? The birching?" Wilkins asked, voice snapping. "You just told me you pleaded with your husband to overturn his command!"

"I did. And no, frankly, I do not believe she deserved the birching. What Farshaw did to Harmony, his complete loss of reason, can be laid his own feet. Emily didn't ask him to do what he did. She didn't tell him in the hopes he would do it. However, Colonel Tavington is my husband, I must support him. And Major Bordon is my cousin's husband and -"

"Hells teeth!" James threw his weight down into one of the chairs, forcing it back onto its two hind legs. The chair settled back down with a thump. James was agitated, shifting about, tugging at his jacket. "Major bloody Bordon! I don't care if he is your family now - that doesn't make his actions innocent of wrong doing! He's had it in for Emily for months now!" He pinned Beth with a stare as shrewd as it was hard. "Tell me honestly, if Emily had over heard a conversation regarding some other woman, and if she went on and told that woman's husband, and if that husband beat his cheating wife for her infidelity, would Richard bloody Bordon have been bothered by it? Would she have been birched for it? No! He wouldn't have given two figs about it!"

"Um…" Beth blinked, astonished. Beth had already had her misgivings about how Emily was handled, but now James was making her consider Emily's side even deeper than she already had. Remove Harmony from the situation and place some other woman, some other camp follower, one barely of his acquaintance. Would Richard have cared? "I… Yes, James, I believe you to be right in your thinking."

"Thank you. He goes and screws around with Harmony, after her husband comes back to claim her. And he expected that Farshaw wouldn't learn of it?" James spluttered. "Christ, the clock was ticking from the moment their affair began! So, it was Emily who revealed it. What of it?"

"I said the same. Emily didn't know of Farshaw's violent nature. Harmony and Richard on the other hand, they both knew. They both knew what they were risking, what they were courting," Beth said. "Harmony did not deserve what Farshaw did to her, but she knew he would do it. Emily had no idea."

"Do you think Emily deserved even half of this punishment, just because Farshaw chose to beat his wife bloody that night? No. It's not Emily's fault. It's Richard's damned fault Harmony's husband beat her, as you said. And it's Harmony's too. Certainly not Emily's!"

"James," Beth said gently, a little worried that what she was about to reveal might change his way of thinking. She wasn't particularly well disposed toward Emily, she never really had been, really. But she didn't want to cause more trouble for her. Still, James had to be informed. "Have you been told about… Well, about…" her voice grew even softer, the words dragging from her with reluctance, "Emily and Farshaw?"

"Yes, yes," he waved his arm dismissively. "I know. Bordon took great enjoyment in detailing it all to me in that letter he bloody sent. And never mind that the messenger might have been intercepted, the letter read by any bloody rebel and the news of my wife's infidelity spread across South Carolina! He didn't even have the decency to couch his words in code! He took equal enjoyment in telling me that Emily was to be punished, the manner of that punishment and - get this - he wrote that if I dared to complain I would be evicted from the Regiment! The gall of it!" He glared blindly at a tapestry on the wall. "And all because his bloody whore was slighted."

"Well, it was because she was beaten, James," Beth said.

"You just said yourself that it was nothing to do with Emily. You need to choose your side and stick to it, Beth," he spat, exasperated. "If you're feeling even slightly confused, allow me to ask you a question. Did Emily hold Farshaw's arm?"

"No," Beth said.

"Did she guide his punches?"

"No."

"Was it her fist that beat Mrs. Farshaw?"

"No."

"Was it Emily's boots that kicked into her, was it she who caused those bruises?" James snorted, infuriated.

"No," Beth said again.

"That Farshaw is bloody mad. Everyone knew what he was capable of, and still, Bordon goes and courts Farshaw's wrath by fucking his damned wife! If he didn't want harm coming to her, he should have kept his damned hands off of her! And now I can't even deal with Farshaw myself - I can't demand he be disciplined, because Bordon's gone and done that already! And for his own selfish reasons. I didn't even get to witness it! And how can those punishments fit, Beth? Farshaw gets thirty lashes for beating his wife. And my wife's back is ripped to shreds, for spreading gossip? Gossip that was true! Why should her punishment have matched Farshaw's, when their crimes were worlds apart?"

"I… I agree, but… what do you mean, selfish reasons?" Beth asked, confused. James had her head spinning with the twists and turns of his arguments.

"Yes, as I said, bloody selfish! Bordon did not demand Farshaw be whipped out of loyalty to me. He didn't do it because Farshaw screwed my wife. He was not seeking justice on my behalf. No, Bordon wanted it done because of all Farshaw has done to Bordon's damned whore, but Bordon knew he couldn't touch Farshaw for any of that, or O'Hara would have had his head! So he uses me to see the job done, instead! Any excuse would have done! And now I'm deprived justice - I never got to witness the flogging or any of it!"

Beth heaved a sigh. "James… I don't know what to say. To be honest, I'm surprised at you. You treat Emily with such indifference and you are… well…" She hesitated, blushing, then continued, "you're not exactly, ah… celibate in your dealings with… ah… other women…"

"So, you thought I wouldn't care? That Tavington and Bordon could do whatever the hell they liked with _my wife_? It doesn't matter how high or low I regard her, any insult to her is an insult to me. Jesus. One does not simply hand a woman from the higher families over to a bunch of damned drudges for punishment! Last time she caused trouble, Tavington let me deal with it discreetly, out of respect for me. Has his respect gone, then? For him to have taken the matter in hand in such a flagrant and public way? He should have waited for me and I would have dealt with her again!"

"What would you have done to her?" Beth asked, curious. "Let us say you arrived back here, you were told Emily gossiped about a camp follower, which in turn caused the woman's husband to beat her. What would you have done too Emily?"

"Emily lives to gossip," James said passionately. "It's what she's always done! I would not have punished her for that, nor would I ever place the blame for Harmony's beating, on Emily. No. I would have punished her for once again drawing to her the ire of my Commander. A few strong words, perhaps. I don't think I would have even used my belt this time though, not like last time. What she did last time was far worse - hiding her own necklace and pretending Harmony stole it, to deliberately cause trouble. This time, she was just revealing to Lieutenant Farshaw, the trouble Bordon and Harmony herself were causing; she was revealing the truth, that he was being cuckolded! Gods, any man would want to know that! Emily should not have been birched for it!" He was pacing like a lion; his eyes cause Beth's astounded face. "I know what you're thinking. That I was cuckolded and had a right to know, too. That it was Farshaw who cuckolded me. And you're right, but that's another thing entirely, and it was for me to deal with in any case. Only Bordon has taken it completely out of my hands! Emily repeated facts, is what she did. And she was birched for it. They stripped her bare and they beat her bloody for it. All those sluts, each taking a turn. Half of them spread their legs for money - believe me, Beth, I bloody know," he sniffed, thinking of the women he'd screwed down in camp. "They had nothing to do with any of it, yet they were all allowed to participate. Well, they will enjoy my coin no longer! And Tavington is the one that gave Emily over to them! He has treated the wife of one of his Captains with such…" James' lips twisted as he tried to think of the right word. "Derision! This slight… I can not ignore it. O'Hara had the decency to announce only that Farshaw was being flogged for insulting a superior Officer; if only to protect me from the humiliation. But did Tavington think to do the same? Did Bordon? No. They strip my wife bare and birch her for the entire camp to see!"

Beth watched as Wilkins continued to pace.

"Tavington gave the command, he is responsible!" He said crisply. "He gave Mrs. Andrews free rein! He never should have handed her over to the camp followers to begin with! He should have waited for my return. I would have dealt with her and I would have sent her directly to Charlestown right after! Bloody discreetly! Now it's all over camp, every blasted bastard I passed on the ride in here knows of it!"

"What will you do now?" Beth asked after a moments silence. "Will you go to Emily?"

He nodded curtly. "I am going to see O'Hara," he said, voice firm, his mind set. "I will lodge a complaint against Tavington and Bordon both," - Beth drew in a sharp breath of chagrin, which Wilkins ignored. - "I will not deny that Harmony was treated dreadfully after her husband learned of her affair, but that was hers and Bordon's to worry about. They knew what they risked and they did it anyway, despite him having beaten her before. As for Emily, she should have been treated in accordance with her station. Her true crime here is that it was _Mrs. Farshaw's_ affair which Emily revealed. If it had been any other women, Bordon and Tavington would have done nothing. What occurred as a consequence of Emily's revelations were entirely outside of her control, and I know for a fact that she was extremely disturbed by the beating Mrs. Farshaw received. Emily had not meant for any of that to happen. If Bordon wanted to protect his lover from her husband's wrath, he should have kept his cock out of her."

"Oh, James, please," Beth rubbed her temples again. "All this talk of 'stations' and us being better than those of Harmony's level and yet you're using such language fit only for - as you put it - a common drudge! Am I a common drudge, for you to say such things in my company?"

"You're quite correct," he replied, instantly contrite. "Forgive me, I have shown you disrespect. I didn't mean too, I'm just so angry, Beth," James said.

"Please don't make a complaint," she begged. "William has been through pure hell with O'Hara and Cornwallis lately -"

"And all because of Major Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw!" James threw his arms up, frustrated. "All of it - Tavington and Bordon's fall from grace, can all be laid at Bordon's feet! They conspired together. They abused their authority. Bordon's obsessed with his damned mistress. Then he goes and falls to pieces when she was forced to return to her husband. He disgraced himself! All of it, because of Mrs. Farshaw. Yes, your husband has managed to claw his way back into Cornwallis, and O'Hara's, good graces. But then he goes and sides with Bordon - again - and over Mrs. Farshaw - again! And now they have treated my wife abominably, all because of their affection for Mrs. Farshaw. Always Mrs. Bloody Farshaw! And now I'm supposed to tolerate it all, to protect your husband? To save him and Bordon from O'Hara's wrath? Damn that to all hell!"

He whirled away from her and strode from the room without a backward glance.

* * *

Encountering Arthur Simms in the hallway, James nodded once, and Arthur fell into step beside him. They strode through the house, servants and soldiers alike had to leap out of their way.

"What did she have to say for herself?" Arthur asked, an edge to his voice.

"It wasn't her," James replied, voice curt. "Tavington has put that Mrs. Andrews in charge of the camp followers."

They stepped out onto the back porch and began to make their way to the stables, where more of Wilkins' unit was mounted and waiting.

"She didn't know anything about it?" Arthur sounded relieved. James realised it was important to him, that Beth had had no involvement in what had been done to his sister. They'd known one another a long while, Arthur had almost been engaged to Beth once, when his parents set their sights on the girl as a marriage prospect. They were friends, and Arthur had felt quite betrayed when he was told that 'the leader of the camp followers' - whom they had assumed was Beth - had organised for all of the camp women to beat his sister with a birch.

"She knew, but she begged Tavington to not do it. She was ignored. She is on our side, she agreed with everything I said," James replied. Dark clouds gathered over head, it would be an unpleasant ride if it began to rain. Hell, it would be an unpleasant ride anyway. He mounted with one graceful leap and the unit rode out. He'd only been back at the plantation for a short time, and his first port of call should have been to Tavington. Well, screw that. He'd go to see O'Hara instead. And then, he'd pay a short visit to Farshaw…

* * *

"And O'Hara?" Calvin asked Fallows. "He's not making me leave here?"

The pair were in Fallow's office, the Major had guided Calvin backward until the Lieutenant was pressed up against the desk. He draped his arms around Calvin's shoulders, leaned in to kiss Calvin's neck even as he aligned their crotches to blissful perfection. He circled his groin against Calvin's and could feel the erection growing within his Clerk's breeches. "No, he is going to indulge me, just as I promised you he would," Fallows replied, his lips moving along Calvin's skin. He felt Calvin's hands come about his waist and Fallows was delighted. "When we leave here, you're to come with me." His lips drifted up Calvin's neck, along his jaw, toward his lips. "And you'll _come_ with me, _again and again and again_." The lad didn't like to kiss, Fallows understood this only too well, and he didn't force the issue. He drew back from Farshaw's mouth, his lips returning to his exploration of Calvin's neck. "Ahhh, yes," he whispered. "That's it, lad," Fallows breathed, as Calvin met his slow groin gyrations. As the heat and intensity grew, they began humping faster now, harder, hard enough to force Calvin up onto the desk. "I'll never let them hurt you," Fallows promised, his voice thick, grainy with need. "I'll never let them touch you. Gods, Calvin. Let's fuck like animals," he cried out softly as Calvin's hands cupped Fallows' backside to force him hard up against his crotch, the two humping and grunting, indeed like animals.

* * *

Fallows lay back on the chaise, waking from his doze. Dry humping Calvin through their clothes had left him feeling drowsy, he'd laid on the chaise beneath the window in the thin, weak sun and was soon slipping in and out of a wonderful, light sleep. He was waking again, and he did not need to open his eyes to know that his lover was still there. He could hear the Lieutenant working, his quill scratching across the parchment.

His heavy eyelids finally drifted open and his gaze settled on Calvin, sitting at the desk. Gods, but he was handsome. Those eyes, such a brilliant green, his features so finely chiseled. He was all man, was Calvin Farshaw, and Fallows couldn't turn his gaze away. He stared now as he had the first time his eyes had landed on him.

Several days had passed since he had begun sharing Calvin's bed and Fallows was so entranced, he did not think he'd ever tire of the lad. He'd never be able to get enough. His thoughts drifted to their first time, he'd had to be careful of Calvin's sore, battered, bruised body.

Lord, but the lad was… well, everything Fallows had hoped for and more. Farshaw had proven a reluctant but oh so adept lover. Fallows would never force himself on an unwilling lad, but he was himself adept at coaxing pleasure from another. Under Fallows' careful persistence, Calvin had been unable to deny his baser instinct and evidence of his desire had spilled three times before Fallows finally withdrew from the chamber, exhausted.

"Do you recall our first time, Cal?" He asked lazily and Calvin glanced up.

"Oh, you're awake," was the reply.

"It was magnificent, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Sir," Calvin was answering by rote.

"Lord, you're too afraid to admit it, aren't you?" Fallows said wisely. "I've seen this before, Cal. It's understandable, I suppose. We're taught from the earliest age that loving between your own sex is wrong. Buggery," he curled his lip, "is wrong. I've no idea where such a silly concept came from -"

"Ah, the Bible?" Calvin asked.

"Oh, but the Bible touts so many things that many choose to ignore when it suits them. Do not commit adultery - yet men and women down through the ages have done so, with barely a thought to that being wrong. Bedding a married woman does not carry the same weight of disgust as does two men loving one another."

"I received thirty lashes for bedding a married woman," Calvin said.

"You received thirty lashes because Bordon willed you to receive thirty lashes," Fallows corrected. "And I was unable to prevent it."

"You were fuckin' unwilling too," Calvin shot back.

"When you dangled the promise of fucking when you were merely stringing me along, yes," Fallows said. "I was protecting you, I was doing my part while you were just pretending you wanted to do yours. A demonstration was necessary, and can you say you truly regret it?"

"Regret receiving thirty fucking lashes? Yes, Sir, I do regret that," Calvin frowned.

"My lad, I am speaking of the pleasure of the promised fruit," Fallows said. "But let us not quibble. What was I saying? Oh, yes. While many did not approve you screwing Mrs. Wilkins - and that includes me," he sniffed, "none of them looked upon you with the same level of disgust as you can expect two male lovers to receive. It's really quite ridiculous. I'd like to know who decided that one is wrong but amusing, while the other is wrong and devastating. My career would be over if anyone discovered my preference. But none would give a care if it was a married woman I was bedding." He shrugged, frustrated. "It is so ingrained in you that even though I have bought you to blissful climax over and over again, you still feel shame. Embarrassment. Mortification. You still think it's wrong. Did you feel any of those things, while you were bedding Mrs. Wilkins?"

"No," Calvin replied.

"Yet, that is as much a sin as the other," Fallows sighed. "When you start viewing the two sins as equal - or better yet, viewing what we do as not a sin at all, only then will you truly find peace. In the meantime, you will enjoy it when you're at the height of your pleasure, only to torture yourself in the long hours between. It's not good for you, Calvin."

"Yes, Sir," Calvin replied and Fallows shook his head. He rose and crossed the room to stand behind his clerk. He began kneading Farshaw's shoulders gently, being careful not to disturb the man's sore back.

"Do you recall," he whispered in Calvin's ear, "the first time I knelt behind you. Your beautiful cheeks, as pale as the moon, as you presented yourself. My fingers, working the oils into your tight canal," Fallows shuddered. Calvin was stiff but he was listening, Fallow's heard his new lover's breath hitch. Again, he was fighting his arousal, and he would continue to fight it, until he could no longer. And then… Lord, what a beast the lad was then. "I pushed in deep, my middle finger, all the way in. I thought I would come without ever entering you, for your arse had closed around my finger as tight as a vice. You understand now, I imagine, how exciting it is, the feel of a nice tight arse?" When Calvin gave no reply, he continued, "I wiggled my finger gently, driving deeper until I found that exquisite spot deep within you. You never even knew that existed, did you?"

"No," Calvin breathed. He closed his eyes, sweat popped along his forehead, his groin began to ache.

"Now why, my little rabbit, would Our Lord Above see fit to bestow upon us such a gem as that, and not intend for it to be plundered?" Fallows asked. "And you never even knew about it - because it takes another man to show you. I have given you the sort of pleasure a woman never can, and never will. Lord, your cock was so hard. Your arse was so tight around mine, I thought I'd die when I was only half way in. And when I _was_ all the way - God, I couldn't move, for fear I'd spill too soon. My pelvis, hard up against your beautiful soft cheeks, my cock in your canal as far as it would go and when I reached around with my hand and wrapped my fingers around your achingly hard-as-marble shaft, what did you do, Cal?"

"Sir…"

"Don't be ashamed, Calvin," Fallows whispered, his lips on Calvin's neck. "What did you do when my fist began to pump you? When you pushed back on my cock, squirming to make the end of me hit that precious spot inside you?"

"I begged you to fuck me," Calvin whispered.

"That's right," Fallows said. "I'm hard, Calvin. I need… Did you bring the oils?"

"Yes, Sir," Calvin swallowed hard.

"Where are they?"

Wordlessly, Calvin reached for the drawer, several small glass vial clattered against one another as he opened it. Fallows reached down past Calvin's chest to his groin, he nearly fainted to feel Calvin's cock was as hard as his own.

"You never fail to disappoint," Fallows murmured. He pulled his hand away, began working the laces of his breeches. Calvin was rising, doing the same, freeing his cock. He took up position over the desk, his breeches around his knees, presenting his arse to Fallows. Fallows came to stand behind Calvin, he unstoppered a vial and began pouring it over Calvin's anus. Calvin shuddered, holding his breath expectantly as Fallows began to take up position behind him, his cock nudging at Calvin's slick opening.

"Sir!" Someone knocked on the door and the two men leaped apart, both jerking up their breeches. His heart beating wildly, Fallows began crossing the chamber, tying his breeches over his aching cock as he walked. When he reached the door, he glanced back to Calvin to ensure he was decent again before unlocking it. The Lieutenant was seated red faced behind the desk, a quill in his hand not a vial to be seen. Fallows unlocked the door and stepped out.

"Sir," a red coated soldier saluted Fallows as he stepped into the antechamber and closed the door behind him. "Sir, Captain James Wilkins has sent me to find Lieutenant Farshaw. Do you know where he is?"

"Farshaw is not available," Fallows replied, hoping his voice sounded normal. His heart still beat wildly, from desire and from the fright of the sudden interruption. He hoped his face wasn't as red as Calvin's was. He stood in front of the closed office door, no one would enter without going through him. The Major had to keep up his end of the bargain; so, when James Wilkins and several Officers strode into the antechamber clearly looking for trouble, Fallows drew himself up, preparing to flay Wilkins with his tongue.

"Where is he?" Wilkins asked, stopping short in front of Fallows.

"I beg your pardon, Sir?" Fallows bristled from head to toe. To be addressed in such a manner by this, this buckskin boy! A damned Colonial, one of the Planters who dared to pretend to the Gentry! This so called Officer was naught more than a militia Captain, while Fallows had been assigned the rank of Major by His Majesty King George himself! This worm was _nothing_! Fallows said nothing more, he held himself erect, his nose twisted as though he smelled something unpleasant. James paused, his face flushed. He had over stepped, and had only just realised it. If he wasn't such a stupid ingrate, he would have realised his mistake before he made it!

"Forgive me, Major Fallows," Wilkins began his apology, his tone far more polite and respectful than a few moments ago. "I forgot myself. I have been to see General O'Hara, and will soon return to Fresh Water. I wish to speak with Lieutenant Farshaw, who I believe to be in your command?"

"He is indeed in my command," Fallows replied. "And as such, if it is your desire to speak with him, you certainly will not do so without my express permission."

James paused, uncertain how to proceed. Lord, he wanted to get his hands on Farshaw, him and Arthur both. He shared a quick glance with his brother in law, together, they had indented to pummel Farshaw to pulp.

"Sir," James said, trying to temper the harshness from his voice. Permission? Christ! "May I have a moment to speak with Lieutenant Farshaw in private?" Speak with? There would not be much talking, that was for certain.

"You may not," Fallows snapped, not even bothering to be polite to the Captain. "If you'll excuse me," he turned on his heel, opened the door, and strode into the office. He caught sight of James' astonished expression before shutting the door in the pretend Captain's face. He locked it for good measure, then turned into the room. Calvin sat behind the desk, the quill crushed in his fingers, his face as white as snow.

"Don't worry," Fallows said, his voice smooth now, gentle. He rounded the desk, came to a halt before Calvin. "I told you I'd protect you, didn't I? What do you think he wants from you?"

"I fucked his wife," Calvin said. "He probably wants to kill me."

"Such a long list of men who want to kill you," Fallows shook his head slowly. "Don't they understand," he said as he placed his hands on Calvin's thighs to guide them apart so he could kneel between them. "What a delight you are?" His face was level with Calvin's groin, Fallows began tugging at the laces holding the breeches closed over Calvin's crotch.

"Is he gone?" Calvin asked, making no protest as Fallows worked to free Calvin's member. Astonishingly, it was still erect from what they had started a few minutes earlier. "He'll beat me, if he gets me alone."

"He won't get you alone," Fallows breathed, licking his lips as he stared down at Calvin's erection.

* * *

Major Fallows was in absolute heaven. He did not even mind that Calvin's fingers where twisted sharply around a clump of his hair. The Lieutenant barely seemed to notice his hold, his eyes were closed and his mouth slack as he bucked and spasmed before Fallows, pushing his cock deeply into Fallows' mouth. Calvin's harsh grunts were music to the Major's ears. And his milt, now that was -

"Nectar of the Gods," Fallows said as he swallowed it down.

Calvin's cock had slipped from Fallows' mouth. The lad's fingers relaxed, releasing that agonising yet sweet hold on Fallows' hair. He was now collapsed back into the chair, his legs splayed to either side of Fallows body, who was still kneeling over Calvin's crotch, his fingers still stroking Calvin's shaft gently.

Calvin's eyes were closed, his breathing still laboured as Fallows climbed to his feet. He began unbuckling his belt and unlacing his breeches. By the time he had his member free, Calvin had recovered himself. The dazed look slowly disappeared and reluctance began to return.

"Fair is fair," Fallows whispered, his fingers stroking his own member now as he gazed down at Calvin. "But I'll give you the choosing."

Calvin appeared to be considering his options. He could use his hand, he could present his rear, or he could… At length Calvin stood before him, cupped his face and gave Fallows the most devastating kiss of his entire life. And it seemed to last a lifetime, his knees went weak, feeling Calvin's tongue stroking his own. Minutes past, Fallows heart beat as wildly as a hunted deer. Calvin broke away and then, to Fallows' absolute joy and delight, Calvin slid to his knees to kneel eye level to Fallows' groin. Heart pounding so hard Fallows feared it might burst, he slowly slid his cock into Calvin's open mouth.

* * *

Calvin closed his eyes and did as Fallows had done to him, as so many women had done to Calvin before Fallows. He sucked, swirled his tongue, sucked again until his jaw and mouth began to ache and all the while, Fallows pushed his cock in and out of Calvin's mouth, making those guttural noises and whispering his appreciation.

Calvin hadn't wanted to do this. Fallows had tried to encourage him, but he'd had to draw the line somewhere. No fellatio, unless he was the recipient. And no kissing, no matter what. Fallows did that occasionally, the kissing, but Calvin was so discomforted by it - was so unwilling - that the Major never did it for long.

And now Calvin had felt he'd needed to give up his other stipulation. He knelt before the Major, the Major's cock fucking his mouth, because the Major had stopped Wilkins from doing whatever it was Wilkins had come to do. For the first time since agreeing to fuck Fallows, Calvin realised how grateful he was. For, if Fallows hadn't had such a keen interest in him, if Fallows hadn't suggested this arrangement, then Calvin would not have had anyone to hide behind. No one to protect him. No Fallows equalled certain death. What would have become of him, if Fallows hadn't helped him? Tavington and Bordon would have tried again, to kill him. And now Wilkins would try, also. Calvin engulfed Fallows rod in his mouth and began to suck, as deeply and as hard as he could. Fallows was almost weeping now, the fingers of one hand holding the back of Calvin's head, the others digging into the desk, his knees appeared to be weakening. Again, Fallows had protected him from a certain threat and Calvin felt an increased and desperate need to keep the Major well pleased.

Fallows was right, it did shame him. Everything they were doing with one another. The pleasure Calvin gained from it. _Especially_ the pleasure Calvin gained from it. But if he hadn't had his very own Major to hide behind, then Wilkins, Bordon, Tavington; all of them could have at him in any way they chose, for O'Hara would have sent Calvin packing back to Fresh Water long ago. If Calvin had Fallows speaking on his behalf. He doubted he'd survive a beating from Emily's husband even if he was in full health. But the wounds on his back were only just beginning to knit, and his ribs were still bruised to hell; he was certainly not in the best of health. Calvin dug his fingers into Fallows' backside as the Major continued to fuck him.

How the hell his body could betray him so, was utterly beyond him. It repulsed him, disgusted him. But without this, he'd be a dead man.

"Ah, simply wonderful," Fallows breathed. He was stroking Calvin's hair back across his scalp, Calvin glanced up to meet the Major's eyes, his mouth wide around the Major's cock. "Ah, lad," he whispered, staring down at the sight, of his rod in Calvin's mouth, drinking it in. "I doubt you're ready to appreciate my nectar as I do yours. How about you bend over the desk for me to finish, hmm?"

Calvin rose, obedient to Fallows will, surrendering completely. He stood before the desk, his breeches still around his ankles. Fallows reached into the drawer for the vial as Calvin braced himself, fingers digging into the desk for purchase. He felt the cool oil dribble down his backside and despite himself, his cock began to twitch and stir. Fallows positioned himself, the head of his cock began inching in to Calvin's now slick anus, as Fallows' hand reached around Calvin's body, to bring him back to life.

"Ah, Calvin," Fallows breathed in his ear when he felt that Calvin was already hard. "You'll be my undoing," Fallows whispered. He edged in until his pelvis was hard up against Calvin's cheeks, his cock buried deep. Calvin began to pant as Fallows' hand worked his shaft and that spot deep inside him was stimulated by Fallows' cock. Within moments, Calvin was lost again, he bucked wildly back onto Fallows' shaft while he fucked Fallows' hand until a tornado tore through him and he exploded, his seed jetting out to cover the papers on Fallows' desk.


	98. Chapter 98 - A Cabin in the Woods

Chapter 98 - A Cabin in the Woods:

Laying against the pillows in the too hot room, Banastre kept his gaze fixed on the empty doorway, waiting. He heard shouting, Captain was tearing strips of Beth and Banastre ripped the covers back, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and that was as far as he'd gotten. Though he wanted to rush to Beth's side - for how dare that damned Captain scream at her? - just as soon as he tried to stand all the blood in his body had rushed to his bed and he'd swooned like a bloody lady.

"Sweet lord, lay down!" Cilla gasped, reaching for him as he began to topple to his knees. "What's come over you?"

Banastre gripped Cilla's arms lest he fall, and she wrapped hers around his chest. He was far too heavy for her to support, she was not much taller than Beth and was still quite sick herself. She half guided, half dropped him back into the bed, and the momentum pulled her down with him. He lay panting as she extricated her entangled body from his, and was panting just as heavily as she stood by the bed, patting her hair back into place.

"That was mad!" She scolded, shooting him a quelling look. They'd been laughing a few moments earlier, but then the shouting had started and… Oh. Cilla understood, then. "You're worried about Beth," she said even as she began pulling the messed blankets back up and over the Colonel.

"…No right," he muttered, wiping a hand over his sweaty brow. "…To be yelling at her…"

"I could not agree more," Cilla resumed her seat with a hearty sigh; helping Banastre back into the bed had taken it out of her. "Listen… It's stopped now."

"If he starts again," Banastre ground out breathlessly, "you're to grab the first Officer you can find, and you are to tell him that, by order of Colonel Tarleton, Captain Wilkins is to be arrested."

Cilla was stunned for a moment, her dark eyes wide on Banastre's. She blinked, then a bubble of mirth rose up and she scoffed. "Heaven's above. I didn't realise a fellow could be arrested for shouting at Beth…" She giggled even while he glared at her.

"She's a Colonel's wife," Banastre reminded her coolly. Cilla sobered.

_Oh. Yes, she is too… _Cilla nodded agreement. "Still, she can more than handle her own, Sir. If you ask me, the shouting stopped because Beth pulled a pistol on him or something."

Banastre laughed despite himself. "Yes, you're probably right. Still, my command holds, Cilla. If he starts again -"

"I'll find the first Officer and have him arrest Captain Wilkins," Cilla finished for him. "Now, as I was saying, before we were rudely interrupted; yes, Beth often tells me how horrid you are."

"She does not."

"She says you're an awful flirt."

"That I am, I suppose," he smiled proudly.

"And persistent to a fault. You're like a dog with a bone, she said."

"Hmm… I don't see anything horrid about either of those character traits," he objected.

"It is when you're an innocent girl and you've got some fellow like you flirting and pursuing you…" Cilla sniffed primly.

"Some fellow like me?" He asked, eyebrows arch, grin widening. "Do please explain, what sort of fellow am I?"

"Well, you know…" Cilla blushed to high heaven. Lord, she could not tell him what she was thinking, that he was quite handsome and it would be very difficult for any girl not to swoon, if he were in pursuit of her. Rebecca gushed over Banastre Tarleton and Cilla quite understood why. When he turned that smile on you, with his dark eyes all melting… She shook her herself. "Some women would say you're handsome," she said. "And if you turn that flirting and persistence on those women, why -"

"They wouldn't stand a chance!" Banastre finished for her with a bright laugh. She rolled her eyes heavenward. His eyes narrowed, becoming shrewd. "Tell me, do you think I'm handsome?"

"I think you're horrid," she replied and he laughed.

"And Beth - does she think I'm horrid because she thinks I'm handsome, too?"

"Now, I never said that," Cilla warned. Believing he had his answer, Banastre settled back on the pillows, a pleased grin on his face.

"Beth is rather handsome," Banastre sighed. "Beautiful, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, I'd say she's really very beautiful," Cilla agreed, then teased. "I'm often mistaken for her, you know."

Laughing, Banastre nodded. "I do know. I have made that mistake myself. You are really rather beautiful also," he waited while she blushed, then he hit her with, "in a Beth sort of way."

"A Beth sort of way!" She protested. Banastre threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh, it's always been fun to twit you," he chortled. "It's so easy to do."

Cilla tried to maintain a glare, but found herself smiling also. They'd known one another before, back in Charleston. She had not liked him much then, for he was a Lobsterback British bastard Officer; and all of those were to be despised. Hadn't Major Bordon proven that it was true? She had not despised Banastre, but had not approved of the attention he'd showered Beth. For back then, she'd known his intentions toward her cousin were far from virtuous. But he'd been charming, he'd tried to win Cilla over back then and she did remember him teasing her quite a bit, also. He wasn't so bad, she thought upon reflection. Not like those other two…

"Hmm," she harrumphed noncommittally. "So. A Beth sort of way, is it?"

"Every attribute I love in her, you have also," he said, unashamed of admitting his feelings for a married woman. "You're hair is as golden as hers. Your eyes are the same deep brown, your cheekbones as high and… Honestly, you are as alike as twins. And you are every bit as beautiful."

"Is that why you kissed me? Because I'm beautiful in a Beth sort of way?" she asked, hoping that was not the case.

"Not at all," he replied with a warm smile. "I kissed you for you. Because we had shared a wonderful evening together, and I felt it was a wonderful way to finish it. I do hope you agreed."

"I did," she replied, blushing furiously. Sweet Lord, this fellow knew how to compliment a woman! No wonder Rebecca had fallen in love with him so easily. Silly girl.

"Besides, there are enough differences between you, as well" he continued, listing her traits as his eyes perused her. "You have a freckle just here, did you know that?" He reached out to caress her neck and her blush deepened. "It's really rather sweet. Your skin is so smooth and pretty, you've absolutely no need of powders…" Cilla could not speak to save herself, even as Banastre's gaze lowered and he began to eye her from her waist upward. "You carry yourself so regally… Your figure is very fine," his eyes raked higher, to the top of her bodice, where two half crescents threatened to spill over the top. A smile that could only belong on a philanderer quirked his lips, "and what I can see of your beautiful rotund globes suggests -"

"Sir!" Cilla squeaked, her hands flying to her bosom to cover those perfect globes from his view. Her face was beet red now and Banastre lay back chortling, clutching his side. Very deliberately, she jerked her shawl around her shoulders, closing it over her front. "Horrid and rude," she said primly.

"No, no, I mean it," he wheezed. "Every word…"

"I'm certain you do," she snorted.

"So fun to twit you," he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and she rolled hers.

A commotion on the stairs sobered them both and they shifted their gaze toward the door in time to see Beth suddenly appear on the landing, before turning and striding toward her own room. Banastre and Cilla shared a startled look.

"She's reporting to Tavington, I suspect," Banastre replied to her unspoken question. "Do you think you could…?"

"Listen at the door?" She finished for him. "Gladly."

Cilla had risen then, and hurried from the chamber. She was gone long enough that his eyes closed against their will and he began to drift. Eventually, he blinked his eyes open again to see Beth filling the doorway. He pushed himself up as she walked toward him. Not Beth, he suddenly realised his mistake as Cilla sat down beside him.

"Wilkins is angry as we'd suspected he would be, but with William and Richard, not with Emily," she informed Banastre, looking astonished.

"Oh?" Banastre gasped, surprised. "Is that right?"

"Furious. Beth had a hard time waking Colonel Tavington, he'd taken some laudanum and was hard to rouse. She didn't send me away when she saw me standing in the doorway, either, so I heard it all. She told Tavington of the entire conversation," Cilla pulled her shawl close, not because she feared Banastre would stare at her breasts again, but because she was uncertain how she felt about the things Wilkins had said about Harmony Farshaw. Cilla was not jealous of Bordon and Harmony's love, not in the slightest. She did feel quite confused by it all, however. She suspected they had resumed their affair yet again and she did not care, as long as he was discreet about it. If he was in Mrs. Farshaw's bed, then it meant he wasn't in hers. And that was a good thing. Still, Wilkins had some very strong points. Bordon cared so much about his mistress, that he'd had a woman from a very distinguished family handed over to the camp followers and beaten. How could he possibly be discreet in his love for Mrs. Farshaw, if those were the lengths he'd go to for her? What shame would it bring to Cilla, that every person on the Santee would discover her husband would defend his mistress so? Banastre asked her to repeat all she heard, as best she could remember, and she did so now.

"Beth begged him not to go to O'Hara," Cilla finished. "But he refused and marched on over there anyway. Beth was quite upset, she told Tavington that she was worried that O'Hara would become angry with him again… I suppose we'll find out shortly."

"Oh?" Banastre frowned.

"O'Hara is in there now," Cilla said, huddling in her shawl, dread twisting her stomach. "He came over straight away. He shooed Beth and I out and then closed the door… Oh, I'd love to be a fly on the wall right now…"

"Lord, I thought I'd only slept a few moments!" Banastre said, shocked.

"No, it's been a good hour since I left you to go and listen to Beth…"

"Hells teeth," he muttered. "Well. I wonder what O'Hara is saying now, hmm?"

Cilla nodded, wondering the same.

* * *

O'Hara politely and firmly commanded Mrs. Tavington and Mrs. Bordon to leave, then he closed the door behind the retreating pair. Tavington sat on the edge of the bed. Though he was not dressed in his formal attire, his long dark hair was newly combed and tumbled down his shoulders. He was freshly shaven. The Brigadier General sat in the chair Mrs. Tavington had been occupying on his arrival. Tavington looked drowsy, he'd been woken prematurely and was still feeling the effects of a dose of laudanum.

"How are you feeling?" O'Hara asked.

"I'm past the worst," Tavington replied, his voice slightly slurred. He closed his eyes, then forced them open. "No more laudanum," he said. - O'Hara cocked his head, then realised Tavington was not saying that there was no more laudanum, for there was plenty. He was saying he would take no more of it. - "I can hold down my victuals, I can stand for longer durations than before. This afternoon, I might have the horses saddled; Beth and I can go for a ride. I'll like to see how far I can get."

"Before you fall out of the saddle?" O'Hara arched an amused eyebrow. Tavington smiled weakly in return.

"You're looking well," Tavington said. "It's odd, how the fever spreads to so many, but not to all."

"I'm grateful for it," O'Hara said. "I'm not eager to discover how horrid this illness is. Captain Wilkins came to visit me."

"My wife warned me he would," Tavington said, looking perplexed. "I must admit, his reaction has surprised me. This is not Mrs. Wilkins first time meddling - she has done it before, when she colluded with Mrs. Salisbury who helped to hide Mrs. Wilkins necklace among Mrs. Farshaw's belongings, to make it appear that Mrs. Farshaw stole it. I saw right through the conspiracy and I told Captain Wilkins to administer his wife's punishment in private, to save him from embarrassment. I warned him then that I would not suffer further meddling from his wife. He agreed with me, he vowed he would keep her under control. Yet here I am, having to deal with more trouble from her. And instead of supporting my decision to punish her, he goes running to you?"

"Considering the nature of her punishment in relation to her crime, I do not blame him in the slightest."

"I beg your pardon?" Tavington asked, astonished. He fussed with tying his banyan closed at the front, then took a few experimental steps toward the window. "A woman was beaten because of Mrs. Wilkins. You believe that I shouldn't have had his whore of a wife punished?" The Colonel asked, pale blue eyes flashing as he stood before the casement. He turned to the still seated O'Hara. "Have I not gained back command of my Legion?"

"You have," O'Hara agreed gravely.

"Then I do not understand why you feel the need to discuss this. The woman meddled constantly. Out of boredom, out of spite and jealousy, who knows what drove her? All I do know is that her constant tampering caused a great deal of trouble with the other camp followers." Tavington gripped the curved handles and pulled the window up to let in some fresh air. He began to walk about the chamber, stretching his legs, encouraging blood flow. "Now, I don't normally bother with the troubles of the women, but this was beginning to effect the soldiers in my Legion and I took pains to ensure that the offender was punished, in such a way that it would deter other camp followers from doing the same, if they were ever so inclined."

"Which soldiers was it effecting, Colonel?" O'Hara asked and Tavington paused, his mouth working. "How many?"

"Ah…" He was still far too unwell to even consider being deceitful, he was able only to tell the truth. "One. Major Bordon," he admitted.

"It was effecting Major Bordon," O'Hara repeated. "I see. So. You had a woman birched - by many other women - on the bare skin of her back and rump, because the information she repeated effected one soldier. Major Bordon."

"General, because of the information Mrs. Wilkins revealed, Farshaw beat his wife so badly that - well, you saw her yourself!"

"Yes, _Farshaw_ did beat his wife," O'Hara agreed. "Because he has a vicious temper and because his wife was having an affair."

"Yes. If Mrs. Wilkins hadn't told him -"

"Or if Bordon hadn't entered into the affair to begin with…" O'Hara cut William off.

The sentences started differently, but ended the same. Mrs. Farshaw would not have been beaten.

"Mrs. Wilkins has caused trouble in the past," O'Hara agreed. "She hid the necklace, hoping to have Mrs. Farshaw ousted from camp. I agree, that sort of behaviour is not to be tolerated. However, in this instance, Mrs. Wilkins has revealed what was true. In this instance, it was Major Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw's behaviour, that should not be tolerated. Mrs. Wilkins was not spreading malicious and false gossip. Farshaw beat his wife because she was having an affair with another man. With Major Bordon. Now, I pride honesty, above all else. And here you are, handing a woman over to camp followers to be birched, for revealing what was true."

"General… Mrs. Wilkins intention was not an innocent one, despite the truthfulness of her information. She repeated what she knew to Farshaw, for the sole purpose of causing trouble."

"And why do you think that? Because she was not on your side. Or Bordon's. She was on Farshaw's side. She repeated to her _friend_," O'Hara curled his lip with distaste. "That he was being betrayed. You would consider her actions to be noble, if it was to you that she revealed these truths, if it was you that was being betrayed. If you were not on the side of those who were doing wrong."

Tavington drew a slow, deep breath and tried again. "The repercussions of that honest speech -"

"Were Major Bordon's and Mrs. Farshaw's to be concerned about. Not Mrs. Wilkins. They knew the risks they were taking, they certainly should not be crying foul, when the worst comes to past. And you, Colonel Tavington, should certainly not be punishing the messenger. Honesty is usually prided above all else, Colonel. Unless you're the guilty party. Only then is honesty deplored. It is not Mrs. Wilkins revealing of the affair that you should be wroth with, but the affair itself. Why didn't you punish Bordon, for causing trouble among the soldiers and camp followers?" He held Tavington's gaze. "For that's what he did, isn't it? A soldier was effected by Bordon's trouble making. Calvin Farshaw. Bordon caused trouble among the camp followers. Mrs. Wilkins, who was birched for telling the truth. Mrs. Farshaw, who was beaten. Bordon actually conducted the affair, which led to that beating. He caused this trouble. And he got… nothing. _Yet again_." His voice hardened, his eyes became narrowed and sharp. "You helped facilitate the affair," O'Hara reminded him. "Knowing that Mrs. Farshaw might incur her husband's wrath. Where, then, is _your_ punishment? And Mrs. Farshaw's? Why aren't either of you accused and punished for trouble making among the soldiers and camp followers?" Tavington stood stock still, saying nothing as he held O'Hara's gaze. O'Hara's voice grew deep and thick with fury. "I am getting heartily sick and tired of you. I'd thought the removing of your authority would make you think twice about abusing it again, I thought you had learned your lesson, yet here we are!"

"You believe I have abused my authority?" Tavington lifted his chin, trying to hide his dread.

"Yet again," O'Hara confirmed. "Just as you were earning your way back into my good graces, you proceed to gain revenge on a woman you dislike, for tattling on a woman you do like, by using your authority to have her birched by every other woman in camp!" He glared up at Tavington. "Do not deny that this was revenge, Sir. As Captain Wilkins pointed out, if it had not been Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Farshaw involved, you would have taken no interest in this matter. If it was some camp woman revealing the affair of some other camp woman to that woman's husband, and if that husband beat her for it, you would done nothing." Tavington turned his back to stare out the window. "And if you had have done, if you did believe it was worthy of your attention, if you do care so much about the camp followers that you would intervene when one is causing trouble for another, would it have been the truth speaker you punished? Or the adulteress? For surely it's the latter, who was truly at wrong?"

"Mrs. Wilkins actions were not innocent," William repeated but O'Hara could hear the uncertainty in the Colonel's voice.

"Your affection for Mrs. Farshaw has blinded you to where the true trouble makers lay," O'Hara announced. "Major Bordon. Mrs. Farshaw. Yourself." He saw Tavington's shoulders slump. "I understand that you dislike Mrs. Wilkins. But what you did… you allowed your judgement to be clouded, yet again. You wielded your authority as a blacksmith does a hammer, when you should have used the delicacy of a surgeon. For this situation was delicate indeed. Politically. You handed the beloved daughter of Mr. Simms over to camp drudges, who birched her, by your command. _Mr. Simms_," O'Hara repeated sharply. "Who has done more for His Majesties army, and has been more true, than any other Loyalist in South Carolina. What will his reaction be, do you think, when he learns of this? You already lost us Mr. Tisdale. Will you lose us the Simms, as well?"

"Mr. Tisdale?" Tavington asked, turning to O'Hara.

"When you bedded his wife, he was so outraged, that he abandoned his Loyalties. We have since discovered that he began colluding with Putman's spies, when Putman fled the city. Tisdale himself has fled now, to where we do not know. He was a Loyalist, William. Until you cuckolded him."

Troubled, William turned back to the window. Vera Tisdale was pregnant, it could very well be William's child. Or Banastre's or Mr. Tisdale's, but still, it could be William's. Tisdale had turned, because of William's actions. He'd lost Colin Ferguson too, because of his bedding of Mrs. Tisdale - and for other reasons. As O'Hara's accusation began to sink in, Tavington found he could not look the General in the eye.

"You need to stop treating Loyalists as though they are nothing. With so few allies, you must cease treating them as inconsequential. We need them, William. And you are losing them for us. Captain Wilkins, Arthur Simms, Michael and Marcus Middleton, have all requested they be transferred out of your Legion. I cringe to consider what Mr. Simms will do, when he learns of this - not to mention Lord Cornwallis! Or do you think he will condone the birching of a daughter of an influential and distinguished family, one of our greatest allies in South Carolina, the family whose patriarch Lord Cornwallis calls _friend_?" he paused and let the words sink in. Tavington licked his lips, looking quite uncertain. "You handed her over to the women of the camp, whose pedigrees are questionable at best. You - let - them - beat - her." O'Hara paused again while studying the Colonel's face intently. He saw a muscle jump above Tavington's eye. "You have already fallen in Cornwallis' graces, I've confided to you how he feels about your wife and what lengths I've been going to, to convince him that Mrs. Tavington is not a spy. There is already trouble between yourself and Cornwallis and now you go and court even more? For Bordon and his _mistress_? Have you gone mad?" O'Hara tossed his head. "You might have stood by your convictions before, William, but mark my words, there will be trouble from this - it did not end with the last swing of the birch. This is going to cause you trouble. Cornwallis will learn of this and he will be less than pleased to have a fellow he considers a friend to be so thoroughly insulted by one of his Colonel's. You are causing offence to those at the highest levels of Loyalist Society and I wish for it to stop!" O'Hara snapped, becoming angry. "Almighty above, you birched a woman for speaking the truth about Bordon _fucking_ his whore!"

Tavington stared in shock down at a livid O'Hara, the General who never resorted to such language.

"Your punishment of her was nothing more than pure indulgence! It was not justice! You were not making an example to keep other camp followers under control! You were indulging yours - and Bordon's - anger and need for revenge! And Bordon! He raped a woman, and you protected him." Tavington's gaze fell to the floor. "He killed Sumter in cold blood, almost destroying our reputation and that of Colonel Tarleton! Yet you protect him. And then he enters into an affair with a married woman, and when it all falls apart, you protect him again. And you punish Mrs. Wilkins, because the information she gave bought about the beating of Mrs. Farshaw when we both know that if was any other woman who was beaten, you would not have done a damned thing!"

The silence stretched between them, Tavington was deathly quiet. O'Hara rose to his feet and stood eye to eye with the Colonel.

"You had her birched, you say, for she was meddlesome and the trouble she was causing was effecting the soldiers of your Legion," O'Hara said. Tavington knew better now, than to answer. "Well, I must admit to having that exact same problem. I find you - and Bordon - to be quite meddlesome indeed. And the trouble you both are causing, is effecting the soldiers in His Majesties army. It is, therefore, that I do indeed feel the very strong need to remove from you your command again." He stared daggers at Tavington, who was staring back with growing panic. He continued crisply, in a voice filled with frustration. "However, I do not have the time for it, I have more than enough to deal with, with this sickness sweeping through our ranks. Major Ferguson is up in North Carolina, in Gilbert Town, sending out challenges to the rebels that will surely come to conflict. Cornwallis is in Charlotte, preparing for our advance into North Carolina. I am told he is mildly affected with some ailment or other, but I fear that he's far more ill than is being let on. Burwell, Sumpter and Martin are harrying our forces here in the South. I've more than enough on my plate without piling your damned mistakes on top of it. Therefore, you shall continue to shoulder your duties, you will remain in command of the Legion. But you will clear your head, William. You will begin to act with the delicacy your rank requires, or by God, I will see you removed from it permanently!"

"Yes, General," Tavington said, relieved and ashamed at once.

"I am giving you a reprieve. You will, in future, think of the consequences of your actions, before you decide that punishing a patrician is a most excellent decision, because of a slight given to a damned light skirt!"

"Yes, General," Tavington said.

"I have decided to accede to some of Captain Wilkins demands. I've allowed that he will take the men of his unit - those who wish to remain under his Command - away from Fresh Water. He will quarter at his own Plantation a few miles from here. I've allowed for him to have a hiatus from your command, he needs time away from you to allow his temper to cool. I have told him he will serve under Major Wymess for the time being," O'Hara drew a steadying breath, even Tavington could see he was controlling his temper by a hair. "As for Mrs. Farshaw. Frankly, I am just as pleased she is gone. You maintain that Mrs. Wilkins has caused you trouble, but I trust you'll agree Mrs. Farshaw has caused her fair share, merely by being here. I believe Captain Wilkins to be correct in his summation, that if it had not been Mrs. Farshaw so aggrieved, you would not have punished Mrs. Wilkins at all. Tell me, Tavington. Do you know where Mrs. Farshaw is?"

The question was so sudden and unexpected, Tavington drew a sharp breath. He thought briefly of lying, but then realised it was foolish to attempt it.

"Yes," he replied.

"I'm going to pretend you answered 'no' to that question, Sir," O'Hara scoffed. "Did you assist her in leaving?"

"No," William answered honestly.

"That's better," O'Hara replied.

"No, I mean it," William insisted. "Yes, I do know where she is now, but I vow that neither myself nor Bordon knew she had left her husband until you summoned us to question us."

O'Hara stared Tavington directly in the eye for several long moments, before deciding he was speaking truthfully.

"I'm pleased to hear it," O'Hara said. "I do not believe there is any more to be said here. Good day to you, Colonel."

"Good day, General," Tavington whispered.

O'Hara quietly left the chamber. He turned the corner and strode along the corridor, and saw that Banastre's bedchamber door was open. He could see the Colonel propped up on pillows, with Mrs. Bordon sitting in a chair at his bedside. And sitting on his bed, was Mrs. Tavington. O'Hara tightened his lips as he strode down the length of the corridor toward the chamber. Stupid girl. And Tavington took exception to Mrs. Wilkins causing trouble! His own wife was sitting on another man's bed! The two Colonel's had already fallen out over the girl, and there seemed to be no mend to the rift in sight. Oh, he was certain Mrs. Tavington was merely being naive, but honestly! When he filled the doorway, all three of them turned toward him and Beth jumped off the bed with a gasp and a blush. She did have some understanding of lack of proprieties after all. She sidled past her cousin to stand by the window.

He nodded his head to the two women and bowed low. "Perhaps it might be prudent to bring in a second chair, Mrs. Tavington." He suggested, voice flat.

"Yes, General," she breathed, her face blazing crimson. O'Hara nodded, satisfied that he had dealt that with that situation at least.

"Colonel," he addressed Tarleton, who was looking only marginally better than he had when he first arrived a few days ago. "How do you feel?"

"I believe I'm on the mend, Sir," Banastre replied. The women turned two identical frowns on him.

"Oh, look," Beth said, pointing out the window. "One of the soldiers just sprouted wings and is flying away," she waved out the window. "Good-bye flying soldier," she called.

"Ah… Have you been sipping my wine, Mrs. Tavington?" Banastre frowned. "You know it's spiced with laudanum."

"No. I just thought that if the General believed such a ridiculous statement, he would believe anything," Beth folded her arms across her chest.

"He's not well then?" O'Hara asked her.

"He tried to stand up before," Cilla replied for Beth. "And almost fell flat on his face…"

"I see," O'Hara said gravely, eyeing Banastre; who was glaring daggers at the women. "I will not have you being brave, Sir," he told the Colonel. "If you are ill, you are ill and you will rest until you are back to full health."

Banastre inclined his head. O'Hara thought the Colonel looked rather relieved, and that alone was enough to indicate to him how ill Banastre really was. The fellow could rarely sit still for more than three minutes at a time; his need to be in the saddle, chasing after rebels and distinguishing himself above his peers was a strong one. He stayed and chatted for a few minutes longer before taking his leave.

* * *

Denied his target, James set a hard pace for the cabin. He knew its location, Bordon had informed him in that damned letter. He galloped hard, Arthur and several others hot on his heels. The cabin was not far from Fresh Water, a run down shack hidden amidst a copse of trees. Several tents had been erected, at least Tavington had not left Emily here all alone and unprotected. That was something, at least. He dismounted and tossed the reins over to a soldier who came forward to greet him.

Arthur followed him into the single room cabin. Wilkins bristled. What a place to quarter his wife, what a fucking bastard Tavington was. This run down pit, the roof appeared ready to fall in on his head! There were gaping holes, where the grey light of day filtered in. Rain would pour into the cabin as though the roof were not even there! A woman stood at the inglenook, stirring a large pot. Wilkins recognised her - Mrs. Salisbury. The outcast woman curtsied, and kept her head bowed. Wilkins ignored her, his eyes searching the chamber for his wife. Who lay on a cot in one far corner. James approached, and to his dismay, he saw she was unwell. Sweat coated her forehead and she tossed and turned.

"Yellow fever," Mrs. Salisbury said and Arthur gasped.

"Jesus," James muttered. "Does Tavington know?"

"Word was sent the other morning, Sir," Salisbury replied. "As soon as we realised she was sick. The fellow we sent returned, without so much as a drop of laudanum nor any other medicine. No doctor, no assistance at all."

James froze. If Tavington were before him just then, he would have slammed his fist into the bastard's jaw, Colonel or not.

Emily, hearing his voice, opened her eyes. Seeing her husband standing over her, she blanched and cowered back into the bed, her flushed face draining of colour. Her eyes flickered toward Arthur and James saw relief flare across her face. Surely with her brother there, James would not beat her? He shook his head, sighing. Christ, but he was angry. Furious. Not so much for the infidelity itself, but for being stupid enough to be caught.

"James," she whispered. "Please, don't beat me. I'm so sick and my back, it's so sore. They hurt me, those horrible women and…" She began to cry. She curled into a small ball, her back to him, and wept.

"I'm not going to beat you," he sighed. Feeling a hundred years old, he lowered himself slowly to perch on the edge of her cot. While she lay there, he pushed back the coverlet and eased up her shift to view the damage himself. Arthur, though embarrassed by his sister's nudity, could not make himself look away. He winced to see the horrible streaks crisscrossing her flesh. Her back was covered with them, all the way past her buttocks, marring the backs of her thighs with deep, angry looking welts.

And all because she'd revealed Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw's affair.

"Have these been cleaned?" James snapped at Mrs. Salisbury, fury firing him. He felt the urge to lash out, and she was the closest to hand. "These are becoming infected! Have you done anything except sit on your fat arse since you were thrown in here together?"

"I've helped her!" Salisbury protested. Fat arse? Bloody bastard! "How in the world am I supposed to keep them clean? That fire and that small pot are all I've got to boil on, and I have to do cooking as well as washing, and I don't have bandages or cloths to wash the wounds and dress them and - just what in the world did you expect me to do? I've done what I can, I don't want to be here any more than she does!"

"Alright, alright," he said sharply, breathing deeply to calm himself. "Damn and blast it to all hell," he muttered, rising suddenly. He strode outside, spoke quick instructions to one of his men, then turned back into the cabin. "Emily," he crooned. "You have to stop crying and listen to me."

She sniffled, but although she did not turn to him, she did stop weeping.

"I've sent Private Johnson to fetch a carriage. He'll return when he can and when he does, I will escort you home."

"To Charlestown?" She asked weakly.

"No, Charlestown is too far. We'll go to Doux Ruisseau, Sarah too," like hell would he leave his sister at Fresh Water. Not after this. No, she would reside at his Plantation with Emily. "I'll send word ahead, everything will be in readiness for when we arrive."

"And then?" She winced as she turned her head - keeping the rest of her body in that secure ball. She met his gaze.

"And then…" He shrugged. "And then you'll get better."

"Will you quarter here?" She asked. "At Fresh Water, I mean?"

"No," he said, voice sharp. "O'Hara has detached my unit to Major Whymess and is willing to allow me to establish myself at Doux Ruisseau."

"Why?" She asked, blinking up at him, confused. "Why are you taking me there? Why aren't you setting me aside? Why aren't you beating me bloody? You must know I was unfaithful."

Gesturing silently, he indicated to Arthur that he wished to be alone with Emily and the lad ushered Salisbury outside, shutting the door behind them both.

"Why Farshaw?" He asked her when they were alone, honestly perplexed. "Of all the men in the bloody world, why him? He's nothing but bilge water! Base born scum! Why the devil would you choose him?"

"Initially, it was because it was because he was that whore's husband," she began, blunt with her honesty. "I despise Mrs. Farshaw and, well, it amused me to bed her husband. But as you say, Calvin is quite… Rough around the edges. I'd never kept company with his sort before and he… intrigued me."

"Intrigued you," he scoffed, tossing his head. "Well, I suppose I understand - I've been intrigued by the lower sort myself a time or two. As for beating you bloody, well, I'll do no such thing. Perhaps I would have taken my belt to you like I did with the necklace, but you've been beaten more than enough, I think," he pulled her shift back down and replaced the covers over her body. He sighed heavily. "So. You told Cilla I was never the best of husbands, did you?" He asked and she twisted to look back up to him. "I overheard her talking. Beth, too. They both think I'm a hypocrite. Cilla said you told her all about me and she finds herself liking me less and less every day."

"I'm sorry," Emily whispered. "Cilla and I have become very close. I've never been able to confide in anyone before, but she's as miserable in her marriage as I am, which gave us common ground. We spoke at length, of many things."

"Such as?" He sat down on the floor, settling in beside her. "Your misery at being my wife? Tell me, Emily. What sort of things did you confide to her?"

"You want to know? Fine, I'll tell you," she said, soft voice filled with pain. He wasn't certain she had the energy for a lengthy discussion but she began to speak, starting with her contentment at being married to James Wilkins, to the horror of their wedding night. After that came so much more - his continual disdain for her chasing her into the arms of her first lover, learning that there could be joy in coupling after all. "A thing you should have taught me," she said. "It's something I should have learned from you. Instead, you mistake my fright of waking up to you standing over me, for reluctance, when in truth, I'd been waiting for you, for hours and hours, excited and anticipating what was to come. You ruined it all, from the outset, and I do not understand why. Why, James? Why have you treated me like that?"

James was quiet for some time. He ran his hand over his face, wishing he had bought a flask of whiskey. For a moment, he stared blindly, grieving what might have been. "Do you remember the Brunson's, who lived near Dawson's Parish?"

Emily nodded, wide eyed.

"Well, Mrs. Brunson…"

"Oh dear Lord, you can't have been in love with Mrs. Brunson."

James laughed despite himself. "No, don't be absurd. It was…" He sighed. "Well, you'll think this is every bit as absurd, but… Mrs. Brunson had a maid, her name was Alice Parks…"

"A maid…" Emily whispered. She was too tired, and feeling far too ill, to make any nasty comments about him falling in love with a maid. Besides, he was speaking to her, finally, as a husband should speak to his wife. She was not about to ruin it with scathing comments now.

"A maid," he agreed. He stared, looking quite haunted. "I wanted to marry her. I had never been in love before and when I was struck with it, it was so strong… But my father…" He tightened his lips. "He said he would disinherit me. I don't know. I sometimes wonder if I should have gone ahead and married Alice anyway. I wouldn't have had my father's fortune, but I would have had my connections. I could have built my own wealth up again… Perhaps we could have built a life together. The Lord knew she didn't have much to begin with, she would not have missed wealth she never had…"

"Was she upset with you, when you didn't propose?" Emily asked.

"Very," James replied. "And when I told her I had to end it, and marry the woman my father chose, she wept and…" James choked off, he looked away, his jaw working. Emily waited patiently. "It broke my heart, to do that to her. She accused me of not loving her. That my abandoning her just because my father asked it of me was proof that I did not love her…"

"That must have hurt," Emily replied.

"It damned near killed me," he admitted. "She would have no truck with me after that. No matter how often I begged to see her, begged for forgiveness and understanding, she refused me. I married you," he met her gaze and she stared back solemnly. "She married someone else," he said woodenly. "A young man with barely twenty acres to his name. They eked out a living on his God forsaken farm. I visited her there several times, each time I had hoped she would take me back, that she would be my mistress. And each time, she turned me away. She was married, she said, and she would not forsake her vows. She begged me not to return, but I always did. Until that last time…"

"What happened?" Emily asked, thoroughly drawn into James' tale.

"Her husband met me on the road with a babe in his arms. I had known she was pregnant, and she'd already birthed him twins, as well. They were hanging off him - those two, they must have been two years old and the baby didn't look more than a few days old… I asked where she was - I'd made no secret of my feelings for her in the past. He told me I'd find her in the church burial ground, six feet down. Bastard," James cut short, his voice was hoarse when he continued. "She died in child birth, bearing him the baby he'd been holding in his arms…"

"I'm sorry," Emily whispered. "James, none of that is my fault."

"I know. It's just… Some wounds heal slowly, you know?"

"I do know," she agreed, a rush of anger at old, unhealed hurts, flooding her. "I've been hurting for three years now," she turned away from him, tears welling again. She stared at the wall, her vision watery and blurred.

"I'll admit I haven't been a particularly good husband…" He ventured

"No, you haven't been," she replied, fighting to keep her ragged emotions under control.

"Well. Yes. But that doesn't mean that I'll allow anyone to treat you with such contempt. What Tavington and Bordon did to you…" He paused, fury whipping his words away. "They should not have done that. You are my wife, Emily."

"So you're the only one who can treat me with contempt?" She asked, eyes fixed on the wall.

"No. Not anymore. I think we've hit quite a low, don't you? Perhaps it's not too late though. Neither of us have been innocent, and we've each wronged the other," he paused as he considered exactly what he wanted from her, and from his marriage. "If you vow, here and now, to bed no other man, I'll forget this business with Farshaw and your other affairs," he promised. "I understand you were lashing out, you were probably trying to hurt me."

"I wasn't trying to hurt you, James. I was trying to feel alive."

"Oh," he said, lowering his eyes.

"But you are right, we've hit rock bottom, I think. But if you're willing to try, then so am I. I will keep to your bed only," she paused, again meeting his gaze, "as long as you actually _come_ to my bed, James. I'm beautiful, I've been told so my whole life. Why can't you find me desirable? I don't know why you've despised me so, I had nothing to do with your Alice… I never made you end it - that was your father. It's time to stop blaming me for everything. If you are serious about it not being too late, that is."

"I'm serious," he replied. "I don't want us to sink any lower. I'm grateful that O'Hara did not publish why he was flogging Farshaw, if not for that, the Wilkins would have been the talk of the countryside…"

"I've been more discreet than you have been. There's not a man in the British Legion who doesn't know you spend more time with whores that you do your own wife," she pointed out. She noticed that he had not promised to be faithful, and she doubted he would promise it. He was the man, the husband, and he would do whatever he pleased, whenever it pleased him. "Just don't blame me when I don't give you a child, because you're busy wasting your seed inside the quim of every slut on the Santee," she said, her tone showing her asperity.

"I suppose I deserved that," he had the grace to look ashamed. "I'll try to station myself at the Plantation and I will come to you more often."

No promises to be faithful, just as she suspected. She shrugged, she'd expected no less from him. "If you don't want the Wilkins name to be mud, you must stop your carousing." She cocked her head. "Or at least be more subtle about it."

"I know. You're right," he nodded. "You should get some sleep. It'll be a long journey when the carriage arrives."

"Sarah will come with us?" She asked hopefully. Doux Ruisseau would be utterly tedious without proper companionship.

"Just as I said," he replied grimly. "I'll not allow her to stay at Fresh Water, with Tavington and bloody Bordon."

"What of Rebecca? And what of Cilla? Will she be able to come? She's going to despise being there without the other girls and I."

"I doubt Bordon will allow his wife to come, Emily. He despises you, remember? And by the time I'm done, the rift between us will be far too great. But I believe Rebecca will come, I'll have to speak to her brothers for their permission."

"Alright," she sighed saddened that she might not be allowed to see Cilla again. Beth, she would miss also, but nowhere near as much as Cilla. The girl was far too headstrong and she encouraged friendships with women far too low than was correct for her standing.

After James had left the cabin, when it was too late to call him back, for she realised she'd forgotten to tell him that Linda Stokes was one of the women who had beaten her. Linda Stokes, with her stomach increasing - no doubt with Tavington's child. She wished James had not fled so quickly, for surely Beth needed to know that Tavington's mistress was still in camp, and he was - without a doubt - still screwing her. Poor Beth, her husband was being unfaithful right under her very nose. She deserved to know…

Emily's back was afire with pain, days after the beating. And all because she had revealed to Calvin, Mrs. Farshaw's dalliance with Major Bordon. She should tell Beth the truth, she knew. Then again, she thought as she tried to will away the pain coursing along her spine, her rump and thighs, perhaps she would be better off keeping her damned mouth shut. Beth was a friend, but Emily did not believe she could survive yet another birching…

* * *

"Remind me to give Wilkins a gift, will you?" Marcus asked Michael as he continued shoving his clothes into his saddlebags.

"Hell yes," Michael agreed, packing his belongings also. "Jesus, I thought I would go mad! What a poor way to utilise us… I mean, with all the training they have given us all these months, they go and shove us on guard duty."

"In the protection of, wait for it, Major Bordon's consort," Marcus sniffed. "A grand and noble mission indeed. Father would be so proud."

"Wouldn't he though? Well, it's done with now," Michael glanced around the chamber he shared with his twin. Having already packed their meagre belongings at the Turnbull's, they were finishing the job at Fresh Water. The twins had cared enough for Major Bordon's orders to ensure that two other Dragoons had replaced them at the Turnbull's, but they themselves had scampered at the first opportunity. As soon as Wilkins suggested it, they had leaped up and raced to their chamber and thrown their belongings into saddlebags. Wilkins was over at the Ferguson's now, speaking with O'Hara to ensure he received new commands, that would see Michael and Marcus reassigned to his unit. O'Hara was far higher in rank than Bordon, and he had reason to smooth Wilkins ruffled feathers, by granting the Captain almost anything he wanted. And what he wanted, was for Michael and Marcus to be placed under his command again, and to be stationed at his own plantation, Doux Ruisseau. O'Hara had no reason to deny Wilkins his requests, and every reason to grant them. And the twins could not have been more joyful.

"A new carriage, do you think?" Marcus asked, suggesting the most expensive, most extravagant gift he could think of, to show his appreciation.

"Oh, no - a new pistol!" Michael gushed. "A nice new flintlock, all engraved with fine scrollwork, and his initials…"

"That's a good idea!" Marcus crowed. "We'll write to father at once. Nothing is too good for James, I vow it!"

"Was it so bad as that?" Arthur laughed as he strode into the room.

"Tedious to the point of nausea," Marcus muttered. "I've never been so bored. The Turnbull's don't even have any pretty daughters to chase!"

"I was just saying to Marcus, what was the point of all that training, only to be put to pasture? That's how it felt. Guards, for Bordon's bloody mistress," Michael added.

"He's not still on with her, is he?" Arthur asked, leaning back against the closed door.

"It's supposed to be a grand secret but yes, of course he bloody is," Marcus muttered. He threw the lid of his chest shut with a loud clatter. "And here he is, with a wife as fine as Cilla Putman… Damned fool, is what he is."

"Oh well, we're done with it all," Michael plonked himself onto the edge of the bed. "What's all that bawling about?"

"That, my fine Gentlemen, is your sister and the other women, howling because she is being forced to leave," Arthur said. "Well, the other women are upset, but it's actually only Rebecca doing the howling."

"Because she's being forced to leave Colonel Tarleton," Michael huffed, finding another reason to be annoyed. "Of all the men to become infatuated with…"

"I wonder… If we informed our dear sister of all the women the good Colonel has poked around inside of, would she still be taken with him?" Marcus asked, eyebrow raised.

"Probably," Michael shrugged. "Women are a bloody mystery."

"They're damned bloody stupid, if you ask me. Look at my sister - honestly, having an affair with Farshaw, of all people…" Arthur blew out a sullen breath.

The twins offered him a sympathetic glance.

"Well, I'm just damned glad that Sarah had the sense to tell James that Rebecca fancies Tarleton. I mean, my God, I was just about ready to indulge Becky, when she begged me to let her stay here," Marcus folded his arms across his chest. "To be with Beth and Cilla, she said. Gods, it was to be with Tarleton, the little fibber."

"Hell's teeth, what a disaster that would have been. She's been at Tarleton's bedside, caring for him… who knows what might have happened when Tarleton found himself well enough to, well, you know…" Michael trailed off. "I like the Colonel well enough, I do, but honestly, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. Not where my sister is concerned."

"Like as not, he would've started seducing her as soon as his strength began to return," Arthur agreed. "She would have been primed and ready to fall into his bed, as soon as he was recovered enough to actually do anything…"

"Jesus, I feel like we've dodged a bullet. Do you feel like that Michael?" That from Marcus.

"Hell, yes, Marcus my lad. I certainly do. She can howl all the way to Doux Ruisseau for all I care. She's coming with us and she'll never see Tarleton again if I have my way. Can you imagine father's face, if Becky got herself seduced by Tarleton, under our bloody noses?"

"Bloody noses is right, they'd be right bloody after father was through with us," Marcus agreed.

"We need to get her good and married, is what," as one, both lads turned to study Arthur.

"Don't look at me," he threw his arms up in the air. "I like Becky well enough, but I sort of fancy Sarah…"

"You've already got a connection to the Wilkins family, through your sister and James!" Marcus argued.

"Just think on it, would you? You'd be doing us a grand favour, we'd feel much better if Becky were safely married. And you'd be our brother then!"

"I'm already your brother, Michael," Arthur pointed out. "Brothers in arms, remember?"

"You'd be our brother in truth, though," Marcus argued again.

"You'll find someone," Arthur laughed. "Or your father will. I don't think it'll be me, though…"

"Listen to it, would you?" Marcus bemoaned. "Oh well, blast him. We'll find someone better for Becky."

"Won't be hard," Michael chuckled.

"Jesus, you two!" Arthur frowned. Whatever he was about to say next was cut off when James tried to shove the door open. Arthur, who'd been standing against it, went sailing forward, arms flailing. He looked ridiculous and the twins began to laugh. Their mirth was cut off as if it had never been, when James stormed into the chamber.

"You ready?" he asked, voice clipped with fury. He'd been speaking in that same tone all day, ever since fetching the twins from Pembroke.

"We are, Captain," Marcus saluted.

"Good. We will leave shortly. O'Hara has given his permission for me to escort the ladies to Doux Ruisseau. As soon as they are settled, we are to join Major Wymess, until further notice. We are still Green Dragoons, O'Hara would not remove us from the Legion, but we take our orders from Wymess. We will be travelling with Wymess until we're told otherwise, and we will be stationed at Doux Ruisseau."

"Does that mean that O'Hara is allowing it?" Michael asked, rising. "I mean, does O'Hara's command include us, specifically? We can leave with you, we won't get into trouble with Bordon?"

"Fuck Bordon," James spat.

"Really, Mr. Wilkins, you should be more quiet," Cilla glided into the chamber and shut the door behind her. "The door is open, for heaven's sake! Everything you say now will be repeated to Colonel Tavington as soon as he returns, you must know that. The halls and walls have ears…"

"Thank you for the warning," James said. "But it's unnecessary. I don't give a pigs fart what Tavington has to say about any of this. Bordon, either. Leaving Emily alone and sick in that cabin without sending someone to tend her! They didn't even allow her her maids!"

"While I am not a particular advocate for Tavington," Cilla began, adding _'or Bordon' _to herself. "I have some news there, if you will hear it."

"Pray tell, I shall hear it, you have my undivided attention, Mrs. Bordon."

_Gods, I hate it when people call me that. _"I spoke to Beth before she rode out with Tavington and she asked me to pass on a message to you. She learned that a messenger did ride up to the house the other morning. He was not admitted to see Colonel Tavington, because Colonel Tavington was sick. He was not admitted to see Major Bordon, for the same reason. Instead of asking to see Beth, or seeking out General O'Hara - people who could help him - he went down to camp in search of the doctors there. None of them would come away with him, not without a direct command from O'Hara and not when they have their hands so full with the sick down there. Beth asked me to tell you that the fellow was not sent from here empty handed deliberately. It was not a malicious move on Bordon's or Tavington's part. The fellow clearly did not know who else to speak too, and so he left."

"What else can you expect from the lower ranks?" Arthur asked, gaze on James. "He was given the menial task of guard duty for a reason…"

"Hey! So were we!" Marcus gasped. "Just what are you trying to say?"

"Shut it, Marcus," Michael said, jutting his chin at Cilla. Considering who it was the pair were guarding, Marcus did indeed snap his mouth shut and his face blazed crimson, too.

James drew a shuddering breath. "Very well," he said crisply. "Would you please pass along my thanks to Mrs. Tavington, for this information. I will take that one off my very long list of grievances that I have complied against your cousin's husband."

"Leave it on there, I hardly care," Cilla shrugged. "How was Emily?"

"Sick, deathly ill," he said, though he made an effort to quell his anger and speak to her in a reasonable tone. None of this was Cilla's fault. Indeed, Cilla was caught in a very difficult situation, having learned that her husband had punished Emily for slighting Cilla's husband's mistress. He wondered how Cilla felt about that. "The welts on her back are becoming infected. Do you have something I can take with me, to help her?"

"Lots of things, I'm sure. If you'll give me a moment to gather them," she said. "Will you please pass my best wishes on to Emily, let her know I am thinking of her?"

"I will. And thank you," he replied. There was nothing more to be said, Cilla slipped from the chamber, leaving the men alone.

"I want to be away as soon as possible," James said, voice crisp and firm again. "Have those chests loaded with the rest of the baggage. I've already packed Emily's belongings, and my own. We'll leave just as soon as Mrs. Bordon gives me some medicines for Emily."

"Have you been to see Tavington or Bordon?" Arthur asked.

"Only Bordon," James snapped. "But he was sleeping like the dead. Tavington and Beth went out riding, I have no idea where. I wish he was still sick, the damned yellow fever can carry them both to hell, goddamned bastards."

The lads exchanged worried glances. Finding it prudent to be silent, together, they began carrying the chests and other bags from the chamber.


	99. Chapter 99 - Colonel Charmer

Chapter 99 - Colonel Charmer:

Major Bordon lay as still as the grave, bleary blue eyes staring up at his wife.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Cilla asked awkwardly.

"Why have you come?" He asked in return. Cilla spent most of her days elsewhere, he never knew where. All he knew was that she was rarely in the chamber with him, except at night, for she had to sleep some place.

After pondering Richard's question, she decided to tell him the simple truth.

"You and I know this marriage is a farce," she said. "But others aren't supposed to. I don't want anyone thinking it odd that I did not spend much time tending you. Or commenting that I spend more time at Colonel Tarleton's bedside, tending him, than I do you. And so I'm here..." She shrugged.

"You do, do you?" Bordon asked, arching a surprised eyebrow. He was not entirely certain how he felt about that. While he was certainly not jealous, not even slightly, it would not do to have people begin gossiping. He certainly did not want people suggesting that Cilla and Banastre were having an affair. Then again, Banastre did need a woman tending him, and who better than Cilla? Especially now the other women were gone. He decided to let it go, certain that when Banastre was recovered, he would have no further need of Cilla and no gossip would come of it.

"And so you've come here to keep up appearances?" He guessed. She shrugged again. "Well, no. There is nothing you can get me. If you intend to play the dutiful wife, then it would be best if you spent equal time with me as you do with Colonel Tarleton, to stop tongues from flapping. I suggest you bring sewing or a book to occupy yourself next time."

"So we don't have to talk?" She scoffed derisively, there was not a trace of humour in it. "Yes, I quite like that idea."

Bordon decided to let the comment pass.

"How are you?" He asked her solicitously.

"You care, do you?" She shot back.

"Always ready to attack," he shook his head. "I'm too tired and too bloody sick for it, Cilla. I have been concerned for you, whether you choose to believe it or not."

She studied him closely and at length, she realised he was speaking truthfully, he had been worried for her. The understanding did nothing to ease her immense dislike for him, nor did it soothe her fury over past wrongs. She wondered if it would always be this way. She could not imagine the day when she would not despise him, nor could she imagine her anger ever ebbing.

_This is why clergymen council toward forgiveness,_ she thought. _Fury and hatred like this can eat a person until there is nothing left of them._

Her own Reverend had droned on and on the subject for hours at a time, whenever a dispute arose amongst his parishioners. He had even gone so far as to intimate that it was sin, to not forgive a person who had wronged or hurt you. For didn't Their Great Lord Above forgive those of his flock, when they passed on and went to heaven? If you expect your own sins to be forgiven by God, shouldn't you be prepared to forgive others, theirs against you? But after the horrible things Bordon had done to her, how could she ever forgive? How could she put aside her fury, how could she stop despising him? Would there be nothing left of her then, if she did not stop?

Another sin she was committing - this despising of her husband... Hadn't she sworn to cherish, honour and respect him? Before God, she had said those words, though they were not from the heart. Surely that alone made the oaths void - she had been forced to say them after all. Circumstances had forced her - her uncle had forced her. She wished she could get council from a clergyman she trusted... But Reverend Premmon was of the British Legion. Perhaps she could devise a way to see Reverend Oliver? Surely Patriots here about's would know where he was, and would tell her. But then she would have to tell him all of the horrid details of what had happened to her, the full truth and that, she did not believe she could bring herself to do. She could not even tell Beth, left alone a Reverend she barely knew.

It was strange to her, the discovery that her husband did not despise her, as she did him. She could feel his eyes on her, his stare was piercing.

"I'm well," she said finally.

"You're not," he snorted softly.

"I'm recovering slowly," she frowned, unsure of his meaning. "And I tire easily. I don't feel like sleeping as much as I did, I can keep down food, I don't constantly feel as though I'll faint... I'm much better than I was."

"That's not what I meant," his lips tightened as he stared up at her. He seemed to be gathering himself for something and after another moment, he said, "I'm sorry, Cilla."

"Oh," she said, understanding now. "It's not your fault the baby is gone," she gazed out the window with a far away expression. The plantation fields expanded before her eyes, she could see men in the fields - Benjamin Martin's people and those of Charlotte Selton who had remained. They looked like small spots dotting the landscape as they toiled away, harvesting tobacco and the other crops. There were not many signs of the British encampment on this side of the house. The occasional soldier, standing sentry. One coming out of a cabin, others standing about, flirting with the maids. At length, she continued softly, "I took sick... It's not unusual for pregnant women to lose their babes when they take sick." She could not meet his eyes, he had no right to be so sympathetic! If she began to cry now, would he try to soothe her? She could not abide the thought, and nor could she dismiss the possibility. He'd confessed to caring and she imagined him putting his arms around her... No, she would not have it. She would not cry, not if it meant he would touch her!

"I know you're distraught," he said softly, and she heard that damned sympathy. "I know you are grieving."

She hung her head, her moist eyes on the bed clothes where they reached the floor. Her fingers wound together in her lap, her knuckles white.

"There's something I wish for you to ponder, Cilla," he said gently.

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow, trying like hell to distance herself from her grief. Trying to embrace anger instead. She would not cry now!

"This baby... It was the only thing we had to bring us together, you and I," he said, his voice growing grave. "We are going to be together, for the rest of our lives," he said as though that were the worst thing possible. His voice seemed to reflect her own feelings. "For the rest of our lives, Cilla," he repeated with strong emphasis. She cocked her head to one side, trying to discern what he was trying to bring himself to say. Suddenly, her breath caught as understanding hit her like a hammer blow.

"You want to try again!" She accused, voice shrill.

"I made promises," he said, voice firm. "I renounced my authority and right as a husband. But we already had a baby growing - it never occurred to me we'd be faced with this situation. You were already carrying my child and I thought there was no need for us to... Be together as man and wife... To couple," he said. "I don't want to break my promise, Cilla. But now..."

"You'll rape me again?" She breathed, her eyes widening.

"I would not hurt you again," he said gently. "Coupling doesn't have to hurt, some people even do it for enjoyment."

"Do you think I could ever enjoy it with you?" She asked, stunned.

"I… I suppose not," he said. "But Cilla, even if you get no enjoyment from it, I would make certain you would find no discomfort, either. You wanted this baby, I know you did," he said, forthright, prodding her with his words.

"It was the only thing that might have made this marriage tolerable," she admitted, surprising herself. She had not expected to confide any such thing to him.

"For me too," he agreed and she lifted her chin, feeling a little offended by the remark. "You know that Mrs. Farshaw is going to bear me a child. Do you want for _your husband's_ only child to be the one his mistress provided?"

Cilla drew herself up, her eyes so wide, the whites showed around the brown.

"I didn't think so, it would be a matter of pride, I think," he said. He continued, painting a dreary picture for their future, "but even without that. Can you imagine it, Cilla? Just you and I. For the rest of our lives! Could you tolerate it? Us not having our own children? Could you imagine it? For I surely can't..." She lowered her eyes. "Just think on it, would you? I wouldn't hurt you again, you know, during," he said earnestly. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily. He was utterly exhausted, completely wrung out and feeling dreadfully sorry for himself. Confused and conflicted too. What was he thinking? Making such a proposal to Cilla… Harmony would have his balls!

"Just think on it?" She repeated, eyebrow arched. "Are you giving me a choice then?"

He was silent for so long, she thought perhaps he had not heard her. When there was still no reply forthcoming, she was certain he'd fallen asleep. She had barely been able to keep her own eyes open when she was at her sickest.

"I'm not going to force myself on you," he said finally. The suddenness of his voice, when she'd thought he'd fallen to sleep, startled her. "But nor am I going to have a childless marriage. I am giving you the opportunity, to see things as I do, to come to terms with what what we both know must be done, if we are to avoid such an unhappy fate." All resolve now, he opened his eyes, met hers. "I doubt it would take longer than fifteen minutes - such a short time, to secure some happiness in our future. Fifteen minutes of intimacy, that our house might be filled with a child's laughter. And maybe we'll only have to lie together the once, and we'll have made that child," that was how it had happened the last time - he'd only spilled his seed inside her once for a child to be conceived. "Either way, you need not fear it. It will not hurt you, Cilla, I vow it."

"You vow it?" She gasped, tears stinging her eyes. "How can I believe anything you say, when you're speaking of going back on your word? Will you take my inheritance to, after all? How can I believe it won't hurt, when it was excruciating and humiliating, the last time?"

"I am sorry for what I did to you, Cilla," he reached out and seized her hand. Aghast, she tried to pull her fingers from his grasp but he was surprisingly strong for one so ill. She gave up tugging and glared at him through tear filled eyes, her hand still held securely in his.

"I don't want to hear an apology," she ground out through clenched teeth. She stood over him, like one of Odin's Valkyrie. Like an angel of vengeance. "I'll never forgive you!" She hissed. Spittle flew from her lips. "You say you are not a monster? You are, you are the worst demon from hell. You say you're sorry? You aren't capable of it and even if you were, I'll never forgive you! In a hundred years, I will not!" she whirled from him and fled from the chamber.

She had no where to go. There was no Sara, no Rebecca, no Emily. There was only Beth, and Beth, Cilla knew, was in her husband's chamber. Servants gazed at her with concern as she struggled to compose herself, rubbing the heel of her hands into her eyes to quell the crying. Somehow, she found herself outside Tavington and Beth's chamber. She was so desperate for her cousin that, without even thinking that perhaps Beth and her husband might need privacy, Cilla pushed the door open and flew into the room.

Beth was in there but she was in no condition to speak with Cilla. Because Beth was on all fours and completely naked on her bed, with her husband kneeling behind her. Beth's hand gripped the end board for purchase, her hanging breasts jiggled as her husband, she panted as her buttocks slapped into Tavington's front as he rutted her from behind. Tavington's fingers were digging into Beth's waist, urging her on. Beth saw her first, her eyes widened - sheer joy shifted to mortification in a moment and she pulled the end of a blanket up to cover her breasts. Tavington's face slipped from ecstasy to fury. "Get out!" He bellowed without even breaking stride.

As if she needed to be told! A moment was all it took to take in the scene and Cilla was already racing out, Tavington was shouting at a swiftly slamming door.

Cilla's face flamed red with embarrassment, shame, chagrin. Lord, she'd walked in on them while they were coupling! Lord…! _Gods, that's how he took me_, Cilla thought frantically. That was what Bordon would make her do with him again! Cilla had seen her cousin's face before she'd rushed out, Beth had been in pure ecstasy. God, it was too much to take in. She stumbled down the hall, again ignoring servants, until she was in Banastre's chamber. She closed the door behind her and stumbled deeper into the room. Banastre was sleeping but he jerked awake as soon as the door shut.

"Beth?" He called.

"No," Cilla gasped out a sob.

"My darling," he said hoarsely. "Are you weeping?"

His concern - for Beth, not for her, made Cilla cry all the harder. Everybody loved Beth - even Cilla did. But only Beth loved Cilla. There was no one else in the world.

"Cilla, you poor thing," he said and she gasped, shocked that his concern was for her, after all. He held his arms out to her, she could see as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the chamber that they were outstretched toward her, beckoning. She came forward slowly until she was close enough that he could reach her hand. She stared at him in utter, utter shock, as his fingers wounded around hers and he tugged and guided her, indicating she was to lay down beside him. "Come, Cil, I'll just hold you until you stop crying."

_Oh God_, with a desperate sob, she threw herself into his arms.

"There, there," he whispered when she was laying along side him, her head tucked beneath his chin. His arms cradled her, the fingers of one hand moved up and down her arm lightly. She felt his chin move, he kissed her hair, and then settled in, pulling her close again. It was so warm, it felt so good to be held. How long she stayed there, she did not know. Banastre fell asleep again, dozing lightly, his arms still holding her. She shuffled closer to his warmth, her arm on his chest. Lord, she had forgotten what it felt like, to be sheltered in such a protective, loving hold.

Despite her recovery from yellow fever, the events of the last half hour had drained her, she had no strength left. As if they had a will of their own, her eyes drifted shut and she drifted, and was assailed of dreams of Banastre kissing her at the ball. Banastre kept turning into Bordon, who had her sit astride him, the way Beth had sat astride William…

* * *

It began as kissing. When she awoke, her eyelids had fluttered open and there was Banastre, staring down at her. Without a word, he's bent his head to her and as they did the night of the ball, they began to kiss. As time went on, it became so much more than that. They were doing so much more. There was a deep seated pain between her legs. No, not pain. It was exquisite torture, it made her want to gasp. Just as Emily had described. The pleasurable sensation of deep arousal was being coaxed from the tips of Banastre's very adept fingers. She held tight to his shoulders, her lips moving with his as his fingers continued to explore her sex.

"We shouldn't," she whispered, though she made no move to move away from him. She could, he was not holding her down, as Richard had. She could simply rise and leave him laying on the bed. He grinned down at her.

"Why shouldn't we?" He asked her, leaning in close to brush his lips across hers.

"I'm married…" Gods, she could not move - those fingers pinned her to the bed more effectively than manacles of iron. Those sensations, so strong and sweet, held her trapped. Her skirts were bunched up around her waist, she could feel the warmth of the fire on her stockinged legs. It was such a blatant, provocative pose, she wondered at herself for allowing it to begin in the first place. She thought of pushing her skirts back down. Instead, she remained still, glorying in the wonderful feeling.

Emily was right, Gods, she'd been right about all of it.

"It seems it has become my mission to cheer you, Cilla, and I accept the charge with all my being," Banastre's voice, so smooth and warm, his breath hot against her ear, his nose nuzzling, his lips brushing. Lord, she'd never felt anything like it. His voice was as enthralling, as hypnotising as the sensations his fingers were drawing forth from between her legs.

"Dear God, I'm dying," she whispered.

"Not yet you're not, but you shall be," he chuckled. "Tell me, Cilla, are you not cheered?"

He was taunting her, fishing for compliments. He wanted her to tell him she desired him, that she wanted to bed him. But Cilla was too innocent, too new to the ways of lovemaking, to know this. Instead, she asked, startled and breathless, "you're doing this to cheer me?"

"And myself," he chuckled as he circled his fingers around her clitorus, his sweet breath tickling her cheek. He caught her lips with his, the kiss sent chills along her spine. "Are you enjoying yourself, my sweet Cilla?"

"God, yes," she admitted, gasping. Her face blazed crimson at the boldness of her reply. He chuckled again. As Cilla bit back a gasp, she finally understood why Beth had moaned out loud, that time Cilla had listened at the door. She finally understood Emily's despair for her, when she declared she would never couple with a man again. This was what Emily did not want Cilla to miss out on. And Gods, she'd been so right.

"Don't hold it back like that, Cilla," Banastre said, cajoling, instructing, even as his lips moved along her jaw to her neck. "Now is most definitely the time not to hold back, considering..." He wiggled his forefinger against her womanhood.

"Oh!" Cilla gasped. As if they had a life of their own, her hips pressed up against his finger tips, seeking, searching instinctively for what, she did not know yet. "You're in love with Beth," she rasped out, unable to comprehend why he was doing this with her. "I know you are. Why are you doing this with me?"

"I'm in love with Beth," he agreed. "But I can't have her anymore, and I will not be celibate. Besides, I already consider you to be a lover - we've enjoyed one another's embrace before, have we not?"

"This is much more than kissing," she whispered.

"Yes, Cil. It's much, much more than kissing," he chuckled. His fingers dipped lower and she sighed with disappointment at the loss of pleasure, she'd liked them just where they were. "Up here then?" He asked knowingly, voice teasing as he slipped them back up to her clit. The sensation returned in full force and she melted into the bed, relieved to have it back again. She nodded quickly, encouraging even though she knew she shouldn't. He smiled against her neck. In an almost conversational voice, he continued, "only a fool would refuse such a beauty as you when she slips into his bed. I think you and I could enjoy each other, as long as no one ever learns of it."

Cilla said nothing. Unless a long 'mmmnnmmmmm,' could be considered something. Lord, that feeling. Her body strained for more, it was just divine. She was utterly enraptured. His other arm cradled her head and he reached around to cup her face. He began to hum under his breath as he deepened the kiss. That he was enjoying her as much as she was him, swelled her with passion. She groaned as he parted her lips with his, nudging until she realised he wanted her to open her mouth. His tongue entered, her eyes flew open wide when his tongue stroked hers. It was unexpected, it was shocking, it was wonderful, sweet Lord above. She trembled in his arms. He continued, his voice gaining intensity with each passing moment, "we'll tell no one. I know, we are betraying him and he is my friend, but right now, I am beyond caring," this was whispered fervently between ever growing passionate kisses. Cilla was scared, fascinated, entranced.

"I think… I… I think I'm beyond caring, also," she admitted hesitantly, voice hoarse. He grinned against her lips, and she began kissing him as deeply as he did her, learning from him and enjoying it as she never thought she could. She did not love him, why was her body responding so fiercely? Lord, that sensation between her legs, it was growing, spreading… Sweet Lord above! She began exploring him, her fingers gripped his forearms while her lips drifted from his to brush along his neck, as he had done to her. Her heart was pounding, blood roaring through her veins as she was spun around and around in a whirlpool of delight. Her womanhood was agony now, a lovely ache that his fingers was easing even as they caused the sensation to increase, to swell, until she felt she would explode… She arched her back and whimpered, fingers curling into his nightshirt.

"That's it," he whispered. His cock was raging; Lord, but he was on fire. It'd been days since he'd last been with a woman! His fingers still stroked her clit, his lips and tongue exploring hers, his body in constant movement with hers as he rubbed his crotch against her restless thigh.

She grabbed him, her fingers gripping his hair as she bucked her hips up and down. Throat thick, she began to pant. Lord, what the devil was she doing? She didn't care anymore, her body wouldn't let her care anymore! "Oooh!" She could not help it, the gasp exploded from her.

"Those are the sounds I love to hear," he pulled free of her grasp. He removed his hand from her womanhood - why was he removing his hand?!

"No! Why are you stopping?" She felt a moment of panic, for he was moving away from her. He'd stopped pleasuring her and he was pushing himself upward and away! She needed… Needed… She didn't know what but she did need it, and desperately. Why was he moving away from her? Where was he going? And why the devil was he laughing?

"Patience, sweet Cilla," he chucked. The dark shape of him had not gone far, he'd only lifted himself up and was now kneeling beside and over her. His fingers returned to that delightful place and she sighed with relief and mounting pleasure - he had not stopped. He would continue, thank heaven above. His other hand was guiding her thighs to part and, astonishingly, he leaned down over her and now she felt his breath on her quim. The ends of his hair tickled her thigh. "I'm not stopping, sweet Cil. I think you'll like this very much," he whispered and then his fingers were replaced by his tongue.

"Oh my God!" She gasped, writhing as he explored her. He was making strangling noises, his body tense as though he was waiting for something…. more. More from _her_. A moment later, she knew what that thing was, as her entire body reached a precipice and she exploded, shattering, falling, blazing with heat. The heat lifted her, she was spinning in ecstasy - it left her breathless, speechless, to be seized and held in such unheard of joy. Slowly, that magnificence began to abate. She lay still, panting, a small sated smile quirking her lips.

_Now_, she knew - now she finally understood, what had driven Beth to moan loud enough for Cilla to hear her through the door. And what drove Emily to her many infidelities. So dazed was she in the fullness of that completion, that when Banastre moved between her parted thighs, she was not quite aware of it. She did not realise his destination or his intentions, even as he lowered his body atop of hers.

"I've needed this for so long," he whispered in her ear. He kissed her deeply, and she felt a nudging between her legs, realised it was his manhood. For a moment, she was cast back to the dungeon, pinned down on the table, Bordon pushing his member inside her, causing her pain, determined to make her scream. She froze and made a terrified sound, a gasp as she cringed back. "Cil?" And just like that she was in the present again, and it was Banastre's body on top of hers, it was Banastre's member hovering just at her entrance. He had advanced no further; indeed he was beginning to draw away and she had room to breathe again. "If you don't want to, I understand," he said. He made no further move away from her but nor was he as close as he had been.

"You won't…" She trailed off, feeling confused.

"I won't what?" Banastre asked, a smile tugging his lips. "Be utterly disappointed? Discontented? Crushed?"

"Force me," she said. His eyes widened, his smile slipped away.

"No, never that," he replied. "Oh, Cil. I'm sorry, lass. When you marry, it has to be consummated, though I am aware that at times, the new wife might not be so willing. It wouldn't be like that. I'm not your new husband under pressure to make his marriage binding. I'm your lover, Cil. Or I would be, if you'll have me."

What Bordon had done to her had nothing to do with their wedding night, but Cilla had no desire to explain this to Banastre. It was enough to see the kindness in his eyes, the sympathy that came with the understanding that her first time was not what she would have wished for it to be. He was offering to back away from her, though she lay vulnerably beneath him, her skirts around her waist, her legs open, him between them, ready to take her. She was defenceless but despite how easy it would be for him to force this activity, he was prepared to leave her be.

She stroked her fingers along his cheek, winding his auburn hair around his ear. "It'll be different, with you?" She asked. "Because you're my lover."

"As different as day is to night, especially now that I know you need me to be," he said gently. His phallus had begun to soften but her question had set his pulse to raising, the blood surging through his body to flood into his most vulnerable place again.

"Alright." Feeling safe now, she smiled up at him. "I wouldn't want you to be disappointed. Discontented. Or crushed," she teased and he laughed. It was already far different, there was laughter and warmth here with Banastre, where there had been neither with Bordon in the dungeon.

"Instead, I shall be in ecstasy. Contentment. Joy. And you shall be too," he resumed his kissing of her as he lowered his pelvis again to hers. This time, she did not stiffen or freeze, did not shy back or sound terrified. Instead, her hands were moving down his back to his buttocks and back again, her kisses were as deep as his and when he nudged at her entrance, the little sound she made was one of encouragement. Gone was her terror, and returned was his need. He began to whisper it to her, how beautiful she was, how desperate he was to join with her, to show her how magnificent it could be. Her fear was entirely gone even as he began to advance inside of her. He did it so very slowly, and astonishingly, there was no pain. None. He glided in, like a warm knife into butter. In awe, she gazed up at him, wide eyed.

"It didn't hurt," she murmured and he smiled down at her.

"Has no one told you? Only the first time does," he said, his lips drifting along her cheek to her ear. "And I prepared you quite well, didn't I?"

"Prepared me?"

"With my fingers." He was fully inside her now. "With my tongue. All this," he lifted back, his phallus withdrawing from her slick cavern, only to advance back in again. "Is all you. I prepared you. You are so beautiful. Sweet. Warm and dripping like honey…" he trailed off for a moment, in rapture. She studied his face so close to hers. He looked to be in rapture. His arms trembled, he struggled to bear his own weight. He sobbed a gasping sob, holding himself completely still lest he finish too quickly. Cilla remained impaled on his phallus for several long moments before he continued to thrust. Even then, it was gentle, no pain.

"Cilla," he whispered, his lips again on hers. Her arms, heavy and languid, draped around his neck. He thrust his hips, she felt his member filling her and moving out, filling her again. Within moments, he was done, shuddering on top of her, she could feel the puff of his breath across her cheeks. Still inside of her, he collapsed to his elbows and held her, kissing her gently and with love. At length, he withdrew, she felt the warm liquid of their arousal - the preparation he was speaking about - seep from her body. As he began to move off from her, he started to apologise immediately. "My sweet Cilla, after I promised you'd be in ecstasy too, I've given quite an embarrassing show of myself." He said, chagrined. He lay alongside her and kissed her gently even as he defended himself. "I'm still sick, you know... I'm not up to my usual prowess…"

"It was perfect," she smiled, turning onto her side to face him. He lifted his arm for her to lay on, and she settled against his chest again.

"Next time," he promised her, "I promise it'll be better next time, when I'm well enough. If you'll allow there to be a next time." There was a questioning tone in that.

"I think I will," she found herself saying. "I've never known anything like it… It's really rather astonishing! And embarrassing!" She lifted her head from his chest and gazed down at him, laughing. "I don't know what you must be thinking of me!"

"I'm thinking you're beautiful and passionate, and - wait, what do you mean, you've never known anything like it?" He frowned up at her. "Cilla, you spoke of your wedding night and I know it wasn't what it you'd have liked for it to be, but… Surely Richard is… Taking care… of you?"

Her smile slipped, turned a little sickly. She did not want to be taken care of by Richard. Banastre snorted, misinterpreting her reaction.

"No doubt he's spending more time with that mistress of his than with you," he tightened his lips. "Damned fool of a man. Well, his loss is my gain. If he won't take care of you, I most certainly shall!"

"His mistress?" Cilla frowned. "You mean, you know too?"

"Oh," Banastre said, chagrined. "I'm sorry, Cil. Yes, I know."

"I suppose everyone does," she heaved an unhappy breath.

"No, I do not think so," Banastre shook his head. "I believe they are being discreet this time."

"I hope so and frankly, that is all I care about," she said. "As long as he is discreet, he can do whatever he likes," she brightened and ventured shyly, "and as long as we're discreet…"

"We can do whatever we like?" He finished for her with a bright smile.

"If you'd like to… I did enjoy this. So very, very much!" She giggled, feeling reinvigorated, renewed.

"You are a passionate thing!" He cupped her face, bought her down to kiss him.

She nestled against his chest. "I didn't know I could be, until you… well, until you did what you did. It was precisely what I needed. All of it. Thank you, Banastre. For showing me how wonderful it can be. Right now, you are exactly what I need."

"As you are for me," he stroked her nape and stared up at the canopy over head. "I won't be here forever, though," he felt it prudent to set some boundaries now. They could have their fun, discreetly, but he could not have her falling in love with him, then accusing him of making false promises when he left her. That had happened before. He much preferred loving a woman for as long as they were together, and having fond memories of her when he departed. The only woman who had held him ensnared was Beth, and she might never be his again. He understood how those other women felt now, the ones who loved him and couldn't let go…

"I know," she said. "And you know? I think I might even miss you when you go."

He laughed, her head bounced on his chest from the force of it.

"Can I ask you something?" She said, lifting her head again.

"Anything! And you know? I might even answer you!" He grinned.

"You said you couldn't have Beth 'anymore'," she said, and she saw his smile begin to fade. "What did you mean?"

"Slip of the tongue," he shrugged. She cocked her head to one side, studying him.

"You're lying to me…" She guessed and heard his quickly indrawn breath. "What did you mean, Ban?"

"Ban," he smiled, trying to divert her. "You realise you've never called me that before? Banastre, when we're alone. Colonel. Or Colonel Tarleton. Perhaps you've even called me a Lobsterback bastard - that's a common one among you rebels… I do so like the way my pet name drips from your tongue. Like honey. I'm going to make you say it again, when I'm buried inside you. Later though. Much later," he laughed. "I'm too exhausted to attempt to coax it from you now."

She arched her eyebrows. He'd tried to divert her with his long speech and it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. He could not have meant what she thought he meant… Could he? _'I'm in love with Beth. But as I can't have her anymore, I will not be celibate.'_ Had he had an affair with Beth, before she married Tavington? Did Cilla really want to know if Beth had? She decided that, right now, she did not. Besides, he did not have any desire to discuss it so she let the matter drop and settled back against his chest. It felt nice - so nice… To have shared such an enlightening and intense experience, and then afterward, relax through the glow in one another's arms. She'd never known anything like this. When Tavington had ripped Bordon from her during the rape, there had been nothing but pain and humiliation, fear and helplessness. She'd scurried off to a corner where she'd huddled, crying, her knees pressed to her chest… Cilla shuffled even closer to Banastre now, she wished he'd tighten his hold on her…

"I think Michael and Marcus were right," Cilla stretched, her entire body felt so relaxed. Languid. She settled against him again. "They were certain you'd seduce Rebecca with ease and now I'm thinking you could have. With ease…"

"Of course I could have. So, they discovered her infatuation, did they?" He guessed. Surprised, she shifted her face upward to meet his gaze. He shrugged. "Any blind fool could see it… And I'll admit I considered it… but you know, I didn't want the bother of her brothers chasing after me. And I sensed that Miss Middleton would not have been the type of girl to let me go easily… No, I don't believe I would have tried with her. But I've no doubt I would have succeeded," he laughed.

"You're so modest!" She giggled. "Lord, the arrogance…"

"What can I say? Women love me," he said truthfully. "Rebels and loyalists alike…"

"Hmm," she mused, thinking it was probably true. She was not in love with him, but she lay in his arms quite willingly…

"Why were you crying, Cil? When you came in before. What had you so upset?"

"Well, I was crying because… Because everyone is gone! I'd grown very close with Emily, she spent more time with me than anyone. But Sarah is gone too, and Rebecca. Beth barely has time for me, she's busy with… well, with other things," she felt he might be hurt, if she told him that Beth was busy with Tavington mostly. "I miss my mamma, I'm so worried about her, I don't even know where she is. I miss my father - him most of all, I think. He was killed and I'll never see him again." She sniffled and Banastre tightened his hold, whispering softly. It helped to calm her. She missed her child, too, though she felt certain if she spoke of that, she would truly fall to pieces. Instead, she fell silent and let herself be soothed.

"I miss home too, you know. Does that help?" He asked her. "To know you're not the only one grieving for what is so far away, for things you might never have again?" She glanced at him in askance. "I'm only human, you know," he admitted. "I have a mother who loves me - I'm her favourite child, you know, though I'm a constant cause of disappointment to her…"

"You!" She gasped, raising onto one elbow. "I don't believe that. You've risen through the ranks on merit alone. From - Cornet, wasn't it? And now you're a Colonel! Not that I like the British army particularly well, but I guess I like you. I sort of have to now, don't I?" She smiled.

"Yeh, I reckon you might have to," he smiled back. "Anyway, you were saying?" He prompted. She'd been stroking his pride quite nicely and he wanted more.

"Well, I just don't see how your mother can be disappointed, that's all. I'd have thought she would be proud. Surely they write of your accomplishments in the newspapers over there? She must receive praise every time she steps out onto the street… why should she be disappointed?"

"Because I love to gamble and," he laughed as he flipped her over onto her back in one smooth move. "I love women. Far too much for her liking."

"Oh," she nibbled her lip as she stared up at him. His eyes were as dark as hers, she'd never noticed that before. He was quite handsome, with a finely shaped face and full lips… those lips descended on her now, caught her own, nudged them apart. His tongue slipped in to trace hers and she felt herself melt into the mattress.

"I'm exhausted," he whispered between strokes of their tongues. "Or I'd be inside you again right now…"

"It was divine," she draped her arms around his neck with a contented sigh. "What you did… you know, before we coupled…" There was a question in that, she bit her lip and blushed.

"Richard doesn't do that to you?" He asked, shocked. "Jesus, he's a neglectful husband. Oh well, you've got me for that now…"

"Until you leave. And then what am I to do?" She asked, feeling playful. Lord, he was taking her through a vast range of emotions, from passion to melancholy to pleasure, to playful… It astounded her, his affect on her.

"Get yourself a lover…"

"Can you recommend someone?" She giggled at his expression.

"Not from my own experience, no," he said primly, though he laughed at her implication too. "I -"

The door began to open. Banastre lurched off from her and Cilla hurtled from the bed into the armchair like a shot, faster than a bullet blasting from a rifle. They could see Beth clearly in the open doorway haloed by light behind her, she was still blinking, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim chamber. Cilla swallowed hard; sweet Lord, that had been close. Banastre was still pulling the blankets up to cover himself, and she could feel his seed sleeping from her body to pool between her thighs and onto her petticoats…. Beth could see none of that, and she shut the door quietly, in case Banastre was sleeping. She edged toward Cilla, and Banastre decided it would be prudent to pretend to sleep, to add to the illusion of innocence. He gazed up at her through half slit eyes.

"Cilla, are you alright?" Beth whispered, laying her hand on her cousin's arm. "I'm so sorry. Lord, I can't believe you saw -"

"It's alright, though you really should lock your door next time. It might have been someone else walking in on you while you were -" Cilla paused, her eyes darted to Banastre, who she knew was not sleeping. To save his feelings, she changed what she'd been about to say, "…getting dressed…. believe me, you'd be even more mortified! I'm alright now. I just needed to calm down…"

Beth also shot Banastre a quick glance. He appeared to be sleeping but still, she was grateful that Cilla did not declare what she had really seen Beth doing.

"What upset you? Come, let's go for a walk. We don't want to wake Ban. Is he alright? I've been so worried about him."

Banastre tried not to smile as he basked in her words.

"He's alright. Strong as an ox, I reckon," Cilla said and he forced the smirk from his lips. She was a clever thing, was Cilla Putman-Bordon. He was going to enjoy her. And he wouldn't feel the slightest shred of guilt, either. A friend Bordon might be, but he was neglecting his wife, so it was his own damned fault that she felt the need to look elsewhere for what he should have been giving her.

"I'm glad to hear it. He's been sick for too long. And he was worse than the others too. I've barely slept, with fear for him," Beth admitted. "And for William too," she added quickly, but Banastre ignored that. She'd said it only because she had to, he was certain. She was a dutiful wife, and too damned good for William. The two women slipped from the room, and Banastre stretched, smiling contentedly, and finally gave into a much needed sleep. How he'd managed to perform for Cilla, he still did not know. But he was determined to do it again.

* * *

In case they had any more unwanted visitors, William locked the door before returning to the bed. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, slanting across Beth, bathing her in glorious light. She held her arms up, beckoning him back to her. He grinned down at her, took hold of the blankets, and threw them back with one sweep of his hand. She giggled and he stared down at her, laying on her back in her short shift. He loved seeing her like this - a short shift that showed far more than it revealed, her hair a tumble around her shoulders, the full scope of her bare legs - he was the only one that could see her like this, and he loved it. She tilted her head on the pillow and gazed up at him with a smile. He did not fall into her embrace - instead, as he stood over her, he began edging the bottom of her shift even higher up her thighs. Her smile turned knowing and eager as he began caressing the inside of her thighs. He knew she loved this, the soft caresses, and he remained doing it for some time before gliding up to the other place she loved to be caressed. Beth closed her eyes and sighed, her smile fading as she closed her eyes and settled in to enjoy his touch. He did lie down alongside her then, to kiss her as his fingers explored her sex. She did drape her arms around him now and he relished the little heavy breaths she panted into his mouth. He slipped two fingers up inside her and she shuddered beneath him. He moved his fingers back and forth inside of her and as her moisture increased, he withdrew his fingers for he liked to see her arousal glistening on his fingers. It gave him such a thrill, to see the evidence of how he effected her.

As he glanced at his fingers, he gave a start, for her cream was not clear, but tinged with pink. What the devil? It took him a moment to realise what it was, and when he did, he was unable to control his disappointment.

"You're bloody bleeding again!" He lurched up and glared down at her. Another month had passed. A month full of hope and coupling. All dashed, for yet again, this month, Beth's courses were upon her.

"What?" Beth gasped, lifting up onto her elbows.

"You see?" He shoved his fingers under her nose, showing her her blood slick cream. "Damn and blast it, Beth! Another bloody month and nothing to show for it. You've got your menses again!" He pushed away from her and threw his legs over the bed. Standing abruptly, he jerked one of the drawers open, reached in, then threw the rectangles of cloth onto the bed between her legs. "Looks like you'll be needing these again." He spat. "Shall I get the maids to making more? How many more months of them will you need?"

"I… William, I'm sorry. I… I don't know how this keeps happening!" Beth said. She pulled the blanket back up her body as she pressed her knees to her chest. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry. You were sorry last month, and the month before that! How many more months are you going to be sorry for?"

"I'm as disappointed as you," she said, feeling wretched. "You said… It could be the responsibility. I don't have to look after the camp followers anymore but still, I've been run off my feet looking after everyone and managing the household. Maybe next month will be different -"

"You said that last month," he snapped.

"But this time it will be," she said. "Everyone is starting to get better, there will be less work and worry for me, now. Everything will settle down now, with you back on your feet."

"You're blaming me?" William spat. "Because you had to look after me? I was sick, Beth!"

"I'm getting really tired of this!" Beth shouted up at him, guilt, frustration, shame, all rolled into one. And anger. "Why are you always blaming me? Why can't you be to blame? The problem could lie with you!"

William scowled. "There's no bloody way that the problem could lie with me," he spat.

"Oh, that's right," she spat. "You have two bastards."

"Perhaps I'll need to send for them, they might be the only heirs I ever get," he was dressed now. Beth gasped in a furious breath.

"How dare you say such a thing! Of all the horrid - where are you going?"

He unlocked the door, jerked it open.

"Where are you going?" She shouted. He saw her rising, but as she was only in her shift, it would be some time before she could follow.

"Don't wait up for me," he snapped, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

William's child was growing in Linda's stomach, while Beth's stomach was still empty. Linda had been bedding him exclusively since the end of May. Now, she was four months along. Within only a few weeks of bedding William only, Linda had fallen pregnant. Yet just over three months of marriage to Beth had yielded nothing, her stomach still hadn't quickened. Was she barren? Were they fated to have a childless marriage? He was going to be a father, but his wife would never be a mother.

"How is the baby?" William asked Linda. He was seated on the stool, she was standing before him and he cupped the swell of her stomach with both his hands.

"I can feel it move," Linda replied, her eyes shining bright with joy.

"Really? By God. What does it feel like?" His hands moved over her stomach, trying to feel the baby within.

"Little flutters, as if a butterfly was trapped in there," she laid her palm on his face. "Much like it feels whenever I think of you."

"Linda," he laughed softly and shook his head.

"Do you want to tell me why you're so angry?" She cocked her head, amusement made her eyes dance. "Or perhaps you'd like me to use your belt on you - and we can talk afterward?"

"Jesus," he laughed again. It had been months since he'd needed her to abuse his flesh to calm his rage. Just now, with his nasty little fight with Beth, William found he had no where to go. No one to speak to, no one too confide in. Not anyone he trusted, anyway. There was Cilla, but he and she had never warmed to one another, he knew she blamed him for much of what had happened in the dungeon with Bordon. And for not punishing his Major, for his assault against her. There would never be common ground there. Bordon was not available to him, sick as he was. And Banastre, well Banastre was the last person William would confide any of his woes to now, especially the marital sort. Harmony was in Pembroke and he wasn't about to go all the way there just for someone to talk to. Which had left Linda Stokes, his former mistress. And the woman who would bear him a child, where his wife might not.

"You don't need to use your belt on me," he said honestly. "You've calmed me already."

The naughtiness slipped from Linda's face, shifting into hope and love. She lowered herself to her knees before him, looking very serious indeed. She took hold of his hand, removed it from her stomach to kiss his open palm. "I knew you'd need me," she whispered.

"I guess you were right," he smiled down at her. His smile disappeared as she leaned in and laid her lips on his. The kiss was familiar, warm, and heartening. He allowed it for several long moments, before drawing back and shaking his head. She did not pursue him, she stared up at him, waiting for him to decide what his next move would be. Resume the kiss, which both knew would lead to so much more? Or reassert the barriers she was trying to smash down? "Do you have any cards?" He asked, choosing the latter.

He saw the brief flare of disappointment cross her face, but then she was moving back and searching among her belongings. She turned back to him with a deck of cards in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Laughing, he nodded approval. "Perfect," he said. "Faro, I think," he said as he slid off the chair to sit cross legged on the straw covered floor across for her. Linda laid out a large plank of wood between them - that was their table, and she began to deal the cards.


	100. Chapter 100 - Silk From Tobacco

Chapter 100 - Silk From Tobacco:

_End of September 1790 - Fresh Water_

Beth wandered around the mercantile looking at the wares, finally coming to a stop before the bolts and folded squares of cloth. Mrs. Campbell followed her about, chatting idly about this and that, not truly trying to sell Beth anything. Beth's eyes landed on a swath of velvet - it was a deep blue so dark it was almost black. William would look very fine, in a suit made of this. They'd had a horrid fight a few days back, one she worried would be repeated every single month for the rest of their lives. She didn't want to think about it now, didn't want to become angry and frustrated over her memories, Mrs. Campbell would wonder what was wrong with her if her mood suddenly darkened. But honestly, to become so immediately angry with her, to march out on her and not return until the small hours of night, reeking of whiskey and - by then - good cheer, while she lay in bed bristling with anger… He'd tried and failed to apologise to her, to make it up to her. When that didn't work, he'd fallen asleep snoring while she lay there, sleep alluding her. She'd had to sleep in the next day, to make up for it. William did his best to soothe her when she finally rose, though in truth she was still too angry and frustrated to forgive and forget so easily. And ashamed and worried. She had her menses, again. What was wrong wit her?

At least they hadn't lasted as long as usual. And there hadn't been as much blood as usual, either. Where she normally had to swap out the linen between her legs every few hours, this time she had the some one there for most of the day and didn't even bother the following night. By morning, it was gone entirely, it did not linger for the week like usual. She'd been overworked with all the sick in the house and had been eating rather poorly, that was probably the reason why. Next month, she thought now, she was likely going to be in for it. Not only would the fight repeat all over again, but next month she would be in agony as her body doubled the heaviness of her courses, to make up for the lack this month.

"…My brother sent it down from Kingstree," Mrs. Campbell was telling Beth, who was now stroking the bolt of red silk between her fingers. "He doesn't have anyone there 'bout's who can afford such as this," the woman said, "not with the war. No one ventures out much either, these days. I thought I'd show it to you. It really is rather nice, isn't it?"

Beth nodded, a small smile quirking her lips. It would be quite nice indeed, there was enough of the silk for her and Cilla both to have dresses made. She chanced a glance up and met Mrs. Campbell's eyes. The woman was being very friendly. Not the 'I need you to buy this silk' sort of friendly, either. Why? The woman was a Patriot through and through; she should despise Beth. She should run Beth out of her shop! Instead, she'd brewed a pot of tea - an infusion of herbs and dried fruit, then sat down to chat with Beth. The bolt of silk had only come into her head a short while later; she was not merely smoothing up to Beth to make the sale. Why?

It was a puzzle; Beth sat mulling over it for a while, noting Mrs. Campbell's friendly smiles and pointed stares. Suddenly she realised the 'why'.

"Oliver told you!" Beth cried, cutting Mrs. Campbell off mid sentence. She threw her hands wide and the silk glided from her fingers to slide back onto the table.

"Shh!" The woman warned, peering past Beth to the Dragoon guards waiting for Beth outside. "They'll hear you."

"I told him not to!" Beth fumed. "I told him! He'll get me into such trouble!"

Mrs. Campbell's gaze became piercing and eager. She leaned forward and whispered, "do you have any news for us? Anything at all?"

"This is what I was afraid of," Beth ground out, rising abruptly. "I can't be a spy for you, Mrs. Campbell. I won't! My husband trusts me and I've betrayed that trust too often as it is. He'll drag me over burning coals for this!"

"He won't find out," the older woman pleaded.

Yes, that was easy for her to say, she who didn't have to take the risk! Beth knew her husbands temper, and for this - for spying - that temper would be magnificent and dreadful to behold.

"Five bushels of tobacco," Beth snapped, pointing at the bolt. "For the silk."

Mrs. Campbell blinked up at her. "You really won't tell me anything?"

"Five bushels and not a leaf more," Beth folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. Mrs. Campbell sighed, disappointed.

"I can't except any less than eight, I'm afraid. Not for cloth of this quality. Look at the sheen… It's just beautiful. Eight bushels, Mrs. Tavington."

"Done," Beth was already turning away. "If you could deliver it to Mrs. Turnbull's, I'll be there for the next hour or so. I'll have the tobacco delivered to you by tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," Mrs. Campbell said, all politeness. She watched the bristling girl storm away.

"Well, that was disappointing," Nathan Martin emerged from a room out the back of the shop, where he had been waiting quietly. "I really thought she'd tell you something."

"I'm sorry, lad. It seems her act of Patriotism was to be a singular one," the woman replied. She began folding the bolt of silk.

"Well, she did help to save the Reverend," Nathan said, folding his arms across his chest. That had to count for something. He had neared the window and was watching his sister stalk her way across the street, Dragoons trailing a discreet distance behind her. "She's looking well… We were frightened for her, with everyone sick at Fresh Water."

"Yes, she's remained untouched. Your cousin is much better though."

"Yes, thank you for asking about her just now. We've been as worried for Cilla also."

"Perhaps if a loved one is directly threatened, Mrs. Tavington will help," Mrs. Campbell soothed the boy, who was still disappointed that his sister would not spy for them. "I do have to agree with her, however. If her husband discovered she was helping," she shuddered. "Wife or not, Tavington would drag her over burning coals."

"Her own stupid fault for marrying a Lobsterback," Nathan muttered. "Of all the ridiculous…" He trailed off, turning away from the window. He spied the silk Mrs. Campbell was still folding carefully. "Eight bushels of my fathers tobacco, for that," he stalked closer, eyes narrowed. "It's not worth six!"

"I take it your sister was in no mood for haggling, or I'm certain she would have driven my price back down again. She can bargain like a fisherman's wife that girl," Mrs. Campbell replied. She seemed pleased to have gotten the better of Beth this once, and did not even have the grace to look apologetic.

"Tavington should be paying for it, not my father," Nathan ground out, glaring at the bolt. Mrs. Campbell had finished folding the silk and she proceeded to wrap it in muslin cloth, which she tied off with a pretty ribbon. On impulse, Nathan picked up the package and to Mrs. Campbell's shock, he said, "I'll deliver it to her."

"You might be caught!" She cried, reaching out to stop him.

"Someone has to deliver it - to Mrs. Turnbull's, that's where she said she's going, isn't it?"

"Mrs. Turnbull is a Loyalist who has not hesitated to give the British information as soon as she has it. She'll recognise you immediately and she'll tell that Dragoon guard! Don't be a fool, boy!" Mrs. Campbell tried to reason but Nathan was not listening.

"I want to see her," he said. "I want to speak to her. We did not part on the best of terms, I don't want unpleasantness between us."

"Then you should have revealed yourself while you were here, while it was still safe to do so!" Mrs. Campbell said but the door was already closing, cutting off her words mid sentence.

Parcel safe under his arm, Nathan pulled his tricorn hat low, he peered from beneath the brim as he trotted down the steps and onto the dirt road. He kept his head down and tried to keep an eye on the Dragoons, without appearing to be keeping an eye on them. He had not entered Pembroke alone of course, he'd come with several other militiamen, hardened men who usually kept company with his father. These were striding through the town unmolested, except for the occasional question thrown at them by a British Dragoon.

"Oh nay, I ain't no militiaman. And aye, I'm Loyal," Nathan heard Rollins saying to the two Dragoons questioning him as Nathan walked by. "Long live the King, I say. You know, I'm heartily sick of these damned rebels," Nathan's father's friend continued. "And that damned Ghost. Benjamin Martin, ain't? Where is he, I ask you? Why ain't you out there lookin' for him, aye?"

Nathan hid a smirk as he continued on, leaving Rollins to demand that Benjamin Martin be bought in and justice dealt to him, as if Rollins wasn't behind half of Benjamin's schemes. While he was striding along, he chanced a glance over his shoulder in time to see that Rollins was being let go. Nathan turned to the front again and almost cursed in shock as he tripped over a woman standing in the path. He nearly bowled the woman over, nearly sent them both hurtling to the ground.

"Heaven's above, watch where you're going!" Beth snapped as she righted herself. She glared at Nathan and then, recognising him, the blood drained from her face. He stared back, lips working, speechless. Suddenly he was gripped by his shoulder and hauled about.

"What the devil is wrong with you?" A very tall, very broad Dragoon towered over Nathan, he gave the slighter boy a rough shake. "Do you know who this woman is?"

"It's alright Phelps," Beth said, finally finding her voice. She laid a gentle hand on 'Phelps' hand, fingers her sliding beneath his, trying to prise his hand from his hold on Nathan.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Tavington. I'll give the lad what for, smashing into you like that!" Phelps ground out, menacing.

"No, Sir, you will not," Beth said coolly. "Please unhand him. It was an accident, I'm sure. I know this boy's family and I know he meant no harm."

Phelps gave her an uncertain glance. She could see in his eyes that he wanted to take Nathan aside and pummel him. He was caught between his desire to beat the hell out of Nathan, and his obligation to obey his Commanders wife. More Dragoons were closing in, ready to join him. Beth hoped none of them recognised Nathan from before he escaped Fresh Water.

"What's that you've got there, Mr. Ah.. Pike?" Beth asked a little weakly.

"Mrs. Campbell sent me to deliver this to you, Mrs. Tavington," Nathan replied, taking his cue from Beth and trying to act with the deference a woman of Beth's station deserved.

"Oh, well then… you see, Lieutenant?" She asked Phelps. "He was looking for me after all. Don't worry, I'll chide him for his careless walking…" She took Nathan by the shoulder and began to walk him down an avenue. Nathan saw his father's carriage was left there outside the Turnbull house, with Old Lucas sitting up on the driver seat.

"Mr. Pike?" Nathan muttered as she led him along. "Was that the best you could do?"

"Yes," Beth whispered back. "I saw those pikes up the road there and it was the first thing to pop into my head."

"Stupid name."

"What's stupid, you damned fool, is you coming into Pembroke. What the devil are you doing here? How did you even get through the pickets?" She was smiling for all she was worth - with that false smile; Phelps and his companions could not have known she was giving Nathan a blistering as they walked along.

"I wanted to see my sister," he said, eyeing her sidelong. Startled, she tripped and he reached a hand to steady her. The Dragoons were quite a few paces back now, they could not hear a word. They did not see the consternation cross over the face of their charge, nor did they see her sudden tears.

"You did?" She almost swayed from the force of emotions racing through her. "You really did?"

"Of course. I've missed you. And we've all been really worried," he said, then he added with an insolent grin, "you stupid little fool."

She choked out a sobbing laugh. Old Lucas had seen Nathan by now, and his jaw was hanging open, eyes bulging.

"You'll catch flies," Nathan joked up at the old servant. Old Lucas snapped his mouth shut.

"Oh god, I've missed you all too," Beth was blubbering. She wiped her fingers across her eyes, her gloves came away damp. "How is everybody? Oliver said they were all fine…"

"They are," Nathan replied. "We are. And papa, he's in North Carolina. He's gone a huntin'."

"Oh? And which redcoat is his unlucky prey?" She asked, understanding fully well what her father was hunting.

"That Ferguson fellow… A Scotts' man I believe."

"Oh, I've heard of him - he made a bunch of threats to the rebels," Beth sniffled. "O'Hara thinks there might be trouble from it and we've heard of militia's forming up that way."

"And did O'Hara say what they intend to do about it?" Nathan asked, voice hard and direct, demanding she confide information to him.

"Damn you," Beth muttered, glancing at her guards, who were now more interested in a game they were playing, than they were in her and her 'assailant'. They were squatting down in a circle, mostly with their backs to Beth, throwing a dice across the dirt and making bets. She really should not tell Nathan anything… "No, if it comes to a battle, he doubts there is much they can do," she said finally, eyes still on the Dragoons. "William is sick, Tarleton also. They can't get out of bed to lead the Dragoons. Cornwallis is suffering the same in Charlotte. His adjutants are trying to downplay it, but O'Hara thinks Cornwallis is as sick with the yellow fever as anyone ever was." She finally met Nathan's eyes, and he smiled proudly, pleased that she would do the right thing after all, when prodded by a loved one.

"Thank you. That yellow fever... Providence is shining down on us, surely."

"Oh, is it?" She spat. "My husband has been deathly ill, Nate. Is Providence shining down on me?"

"Perhaps not," he said, chastened.

"He won't go to Ferguson's aid if the Major needs it, because - while he has recovered somewhat - he is still too _sick_," she ground out, "I see nothing providential about that."

Nathan sighed heavily. "I get it. Would you let it go?"

She sniffed again, trying to rein in tears and anger both. "Did you really want to see your sister or did you just want to get information out of me?"

"I wanted to see you, Beth," he replied. "Though the information is damned handy."

She heaved a sullen breath. "How are you?" She said, finally.

"Grand. I don't have to stay in Gullah with the little children, papa is relying on me more and more. I can deliver messengers real quick, because I know all the trails and he even got me a new horse. She's wonderful, Beth. She's even better than Shadow Dancer."

"There is no horse in the world better than Shadow Dancer. How do you avoid the sentries?" She asked tiredly, not even bothering to expend the energy to argue that perhaps being a messenger for their father was not such a healthy or safe occupation.

"I do well enough," his grin broadened, "this one time, I was trying to get away from a British guard. They were suspicious and were going to take me into custody, but then I told them I was your brother," he started to laugh. "That got me right through real quick." She glared up at him and he rushed on. "But for the most part, I try not to let them catch me."

"That's the better way to do it, boy," Old Lucas advised.

"Where are Gabriel and Thomas?" She asked Nathan.

"Now, I don't know if I can answer that," Nathan said shrewdly. "You know, giving the enemy intelligence and all. I might be accused of giving away too much information… You might get me into trouble…"

"Shut it," she sniffed. It was hardly the same thing. The her Patriot brother was demanding she share information with them, when she'd promised William she would not. She didn't like to think what it would do to their marriage, if he discovered she was complying. No, it was hardly the same thing at all.

"They are both with papa," Nathan said. Then he grinned, "and Colin Ferguson has joined the militia up there too."

"He has?" She gasped. "I thought he wanted to stay out of it?"

"Changed his mind," Nathan shrugged.

"I hope William doesn't find out - he'll know Colin was a spy for sure, then."

"He might think Colin turned coat? Either way, it don't matter, Colin is well out of his reach, now."

"Perhaps, but I'm not. I kept Colin's spying a secret, remember?" Beth heaved a breath. "How are Mary and Lucy?"

"I don't know," Nathan shrugged. "Father didn't mention them in his letter."

"I should have known. Men never ask for the important information," she huffed.

"I'm sure they're fine. I wonder if Thomas will make some excuse to go see Lucy before they head back from North Carolina? He'll be a fool if he does, he'll find himself engaged or something…"

"Well, they are promised," Beth smiled weakly. "Perhaps I'll be invited to their wedding, at least."

Nathan heard the bitterness in her voice. "Gabriel's wedding was quick and… well, not like a real wedding at all. It wasn't even in a church. Gabriel couldn't even get out of bed - Anne sat at his bedside, they said the words and it was done. No reception afterward or anything. Just a nicer than usual dinner."

"I should have been there," Beth said pointedly. "I'm his sister."

"It was your choice to marry a British Officer, Beth," Nathan said bluntly and Beth ground her jaw. He handed her the parcel, "here, I wasn't lying. This is the silk you bought from Mrs. Campbell. With eight bushels of father's tobacco… He won't be happy to hear about this, you know. That Lobster's your husband, he should be providing for you."

"William does provide for me," she wondered if she should tell him about the disposition of Fresh Water - that the Plantation had been seized by Clinton, and handed over to Beth's husband. Closing her eyes, she gathered her courage and told him. When she finished, Nathan gaped, then hissed a stream of curses. "I've made him promise that everyone will be provided for, I won't have papa homeless because of some edict Clinton made. As for the crops - William is selling them at a good price, which will be shared among the family. If we don't do anything about the fields, the crops will just die anyway. This way, we all benefit. I am papa's daughter, after all. I don't see why he would frown upon my husband taking care of the property when he is away…"

"Because your husband, sweet sister, is the bloody Butcher. Besides, it seems he's doing more than looking after the property - he damned well thinks he owns it!" Despite the rancour in his words, Nathan leaned in and kissed her cheek. After ensuring they were not being observed by her guard. He also hugged her briefly and warmly. "I have to go…"

"Tell them I love them," she clung on to him for a scant few moments, then let him go.

"I will," he said. Tipping his hat to her and to Old Lucas, he trotted off down the street.

"He is a damned fool for coming here," Beth shook her head as she watched Nathan until he disappeared around the corner at the end of the lane. "I'm sure he thinks this is all exciting. A great lark. But if he's caught… There won't be anything I can do for him."

Old Lucas pulled his pipe and began filling the bowl. She watched him for several long moments but he would not meet her gaze and it became clear that the old servant did not agree with her. Heaving a sullen sigh, she handed the package of silk up to him and headed toward the gate. She hoped Mrs. Turnbull hadn't been watching from a window. Nathan's back had been to the house for the most part and he'd been wearing his hat, so he shouldn't have been recognised. Still, Mrs. Turnbull was sure to find it quite curious that Beth had been chatting to, and then embraced, some fellow. Oh well, she'd be inside requesting to see Harmony in a moment, and she'd find out soon enough.

* * *

"It just surprises me, is all," Cilla was saying as Banastre kissed the tip of each of her fingers. "I was certain that I'd get the most horrid looks from your men. For a whole week, I've been sharing your bed, but they almost seem to think of it as an adventure, a great joke, they have taken to guarding your door with great amusement, but when they speak to me, there is not a trace of disrespect."

"Nor would they dare any such thing," Banastre lay Cilla back onto the mattress. He tugged at the drawstring and pulled her shift open, revealing her beautiful, round, pale breasts. She coloured and squirmed as he bathed in the sight of her. He laughed softly. "You've been in my bed a week now, my sweet Cil, and still you're modest?"

She coloured all the more, she had no answer for him. She was unused to being so blatantly nude before any man, though she'd been married for some time now. At length, she shrugged. Banastre bent his head to her and began suckling gently on one dusky nipple, sending shivers of delight through her. His tongue on her nipple felt glorious. The things he was teaching her, the attention he paid to the parts of her body she never thought she would expose to any man… And he had been teaching her to do the same to him. He would lay back and guide her; the first time she'd wrapped her hands around his hard phallus, she'd been is such a state of awe and fear and embarrassment. She'd immediately snapped her hand away as though the touch of his cock burned her palm. He was patient with her though, and now, touching him there, her fingers gliding over his member, only occasioned a slight blush and soft nervous giggle.

The first time he'd coaxed her to do the same with her tongue… Cilla shuddered, both with delight and shock at her daring. She'd done it, kneeling between his legs, bent over his groin, his quivering phallus deep in her mouth as he shuddered before her. It was all really quite shocking, the things couples did when loving one another. Things she'd never thought to dream of. His hand was moving down over her stomach, his fingers dipped between her thighs, and all the while he paid the most exquisite attention to her nipples, she was soon sighing softly, modesty forgotten. It was like that, she had come to realise. She was all embarrassment and shame when she climbed into his bed, but once he got started, all shame, worries and fears fled from the torrent of encroaching pleasure. Just like Patriot soldiers fled from Banastre's dragoons… Not the best comparison for her to make, being a Patriot herself. He was growing slightly stronger now, coupling was not quite as exhausting as it had been. He soon had her panting for him, and as he moved between her legs, she welcomed him by stretching hers wide.

The fleeting thought that, perhaps, she would give Bordon a baby after all, entered her mind just as Banastre began to enter her body.

"Oh, sweet Lord, Ban," she whispered, reaching down to dig her fingers into the fleshy cheeks of his backside. He kissed her harshly, passionately, as he began to plunge. She met him thrust for thrust, as he had taught her to, as her body instinctively told her. They were soon sweaty, hair intermingled, dark eyes blazing pleasure, both whispering quiet words of fondness and encouragement, until the inevitable and wonderful climax exploded and they began to float with the stars, unable to speak or even to breathe. Slowly, they descended together. Sweat slicked Banastre's face as he smiled down at her. She reached up to stroke his cheek, her tender smile shifting to concern.

"I worry that I'm tiring you," she said softly,. She had such need for him that she came to his chamber regularly and they almost always ended up coupling. Twice a day sometimes, and at least once at night… It was a wonder that Beth did not suspect anything. Then again, she seemed so distracted of late. And grateful that Cilla was tending Banastre, which left Beth free to do... Whatever it was she was doing...

"Not at all," he said, though his voice was heavy and tired as he withdrew from her body and collapsed alongside of her. "I'm as fit as a bull, remember?"

"I said 'ox'," she smiled, remembering that he had been pretending to sleep their first time, when Beth had almost caught them together. "I'm just worried… You are getting better, but too slowly. I worry that I'm taking the energy you need to -"

"Hush little one," he soothed, kissing her. "I'm certain that all this pleasure is helping me to recover, not sapping me of strength. I haven't felt so invigorated in an age. That said," he dropped back against the pillows with a very great yawn. "I do believe it's time to get some sleep."

Taking that as her cue to leave, she made as if to rise, but he pulled her back down again. Startled, she arched an eyebrow as his arms encircled her. He nudged his nose against hers. "Private Ambridge will come in and wake you before Bordon notices you're gone," he assured her, settling in beside her. She smiled and snuggled in, happy to be going to sleep in her lovers arms.

* * *

"You're back, are you?" Bordon asked tiredly, he'd just awoken to find Cilla curled up in the chair beside the bed.

"Banastre is sleeping," she replied. "And Beth is out."

"Where is Beth -" He paused and gave her a quizzical frown, head cocked. "wait, _Banastre_? That's awfully familiar, isn't it?"

"In Pembroke. And not for the shopping, or she would have invited me to go with her," Cilla said crisply. She was embarrassed of her slip - what had she been thinking, calling Banastre _Banastre_, to her husband? The same colour she knew must be heating her cheeks rose in Bordon's also.

Richard hesitated, suspicions of Cilla and Tarleton melting from his mind. Beth, Cilla was suggesting, was visiting Harmony in Pembroke. "I don't know what you mean," he said, embarrassed.

"Yes, you do," Cilla curled her lip.

He draped his arm over his eyes. "I'm too tired for this."

"So go back to sleep," Cilla shrugged. "We won't have to talk, then."

"Well, you're here, so you might as well tell me what news you have," he said.

"What news… Well, Wilkins reached his Plantation without any trouble. Emily does have yellow fever, I'm not certain how she's fairing. "Wilkins has been riding about with that Wines fellow -"

"Wymess," he corrected absently.

" -and has no intention of returning. Have you been told that O'Hara let him detach out of the British Legion?" She asked. Bordon had been sick for days and was only just showing signs of recovery. He was still very weak. She realised now that he likely hadn't had much news of the outside world. "He wants nothing more to do with you, or Tavington."

"Ah, he's offended now is he? Well, too bloody bad. His wife got what she deserved."

"Oh, yes, you take that stand now," Cilla couldn't help being amused. "But that's because you are not aware of _O'Hara's_."

"What do you mean?" Richard frowned.

"O'Hara. Your General. Whose good will you and Tavington must court if you wish to advance. Or at least, not be demoted. Right now, he is utterly wroth with both of you."

"Who told you that?" Richard snapped.

"He did," she said. "He invited me for dinner last night. When mentioned that I was none too pleased at Emily's treatment, he launched into quite the tirade about you and Tavington. It was wonderful, I truly wish you could have been there."

Richard stared at her, disturbed both by her news and her evident glee. The latter was understandable, he doubted Cilla would ever stop despising him. But from what she was saying, it seemed O'Hara wasn't about to, either.

"We had every right to act against Mrs. Wilkins as we did," Richard said. "It wasn't the first time she'd caused trouble for other camp followers," he stumbled but managed to leave Harmony's name out of it. "Because of her, Mrs. Farshaw was beaten horrendously!"

"Because of _her_, was it?" Cilla lifted her eyebrows, a look of innocence Richard did not believe for one moment. "It's all Emily Wilkins fault? You and Mrs. Farshaw had nothing to do with it, did you?"

Richard's lips twisted in a thin line. "What did he say?" He asked harshly.

With what Richard could only describe as a joyous smile, Cilla began. Of Tavington and Bordon's terrible decision to have a woman birched for daring to be honest, of speaking the truth. Of Richard placing the blame entirely on Mrs. Wilkins, when Richard knew precisely what risk he was taking, when he resumed his affair. If they hadn't committed adultery, the cuckolded husband would have had no reason to beat his wife. That while O'Hara did not condone the beating of Mrs. Farshaw, nor did he condone the beating of a woman who had revealed Richard and Harmony's betrayal to Lieutenant Farshaw, the husband who had a right to know. Richard's face grew darker with every word.

"You look annoyed," Cilla said, cocking her head. "When you should look worried."

"Worried!" Richard gasped. "Why, what else did O'Hara say?"

Cilla told him. Of O'Hara's discussion with Tavington, which was repeated to her by O'Hara. Of O'Hara's disgust that Tavington and Bordon had used Harmony's beating to exact revenge upon Emily Wilkins and that it was indulgence, not justice. Which was how Mr. Simms was going to look at it, and how Cornwallis certainly does.

"Cornwallis knows?" Richard breathed, dread stirring in his stomach. It hadn't occurred to him that others wouldn't see things as he did or that his superiors would be more outraged on Emily's behalf than on Harmony's.

"Unlike Tavington, O'Hara sees no particular reason to protect you," Cilla said. "He wrote to Lord Cornwallis days ago and a letter was received yesterday, in which Cornwallis expresses disgust. There was talk of a demotion…"

Richard's cheeks drained of colour, he stared at Cilla in horror.

"Cornwallis said he will write to the war office, to suggest it. Either way, you can expect to face a disciplinary council of some sort. Tavington too. O'Hara is heartily sick of Tavington protecting you. He is sick of Tavington's - and yours - disdain for the Colonial Royalists, who have freely given their help and loyalty. Mr. Tisdale was mentioned in the discussions…"

"God," Richard ran a weary hand over his forehead.

"But you were the main focus," Cilla went on. "Your treatment of me was mentioned, too." She said, voice hard, dark eyes fixing on his. She held his until he looked away. "You'll never be forgiven for it, Richard. Not by me. Not by O'Hara. He'll never forget it. And each time you misstep, it's like you're hammering yet another nail in your already closed coffin."

Richard was silent for so long, Cilla knew he wasn't going to answer her.

"Tavington facilitated your affair with Mrs. Farshaw. You participated in the affair. Yet you blame Emily and say it's all her fault that Mrs. Farshaw was beaten by her husband? O'Hara blames the two of you far more than a woman who was, after all, stelling the truth. It wasn't as though Emily were making up lies again and causing trouble that way. No, she was repeating what you were actually doing and why shouldn't she? What Loyalty did she owe _you_? None. If you didn't want Mrs. Farshaw to be beaten by her husband, who you knew to be capable of doing such, then - as O'Hara said - you should have left her the hell alone."

"O'Hara said that?" Richard asked. "Word for word?"

"Word for word, Richard. And so much more. But that's alright, you hold to your stance that Emily was wrong and you were right to have her birched. Even as the ship is sinking with your career aboard, you hold to that stance." She said it sarcastically, tauntingly.

"You've done your duty," he snapped. "Tongues won't wag about us. Go do… whatever it is you've been doing, Cilla. I want to go back to sleep."

"O'Hara apologised to me, quite profusely, you know," she baited.

"For what?" Richard frowned.

"For his part in my having to suffer a husband such as you," she said. "He was there that day, he encouraged me to accept the match, if you recall. Now, he regrets it wholeheartedly, for he can see to the heart of man I was saddled with."

"Word for word?" Richard said tiredly and Cilla nodded.

"Ours might be a facade only, but we are married. It reflected quite poorly on your wife, your defending of your mistress for all to see and hear and gossip about. O'Hara told me that at times, he thinks perhaps I would have been better off, choosing to leave Camden without marrying you, that the ramifications of an unmarried woman having a child out of wedlock would have been an evil, but far less an evil than being forced to marry such as you."

"Dear God," Richard whispered. "He thinks so low of me."

"That he does," Cilla agreed. "And so does Cornwallis. And so do I."

Richard stared hard at her, before turning over and pulling the covers up.

She grinned at his back. Taking that as her cue to leave, she stepped into the hallway, where she decided to obey him to his last word. Banastre would welcome her happily. She slipped into his room and she saw to her great joy that he was already awake.

"Lock the door, darling," he said, pushing himself up onto one arm. The ends of his auburn hair tickled the pillow. "And get yourself over here."

"Richard kicked me out," she couldn't suppress a giggle as she glided toward him. She deepened her voice in imitation of Bordon's, "he said, 'go do what ever it is you've been doing, Cilla'. His exact words," she giggled. "I could have told him how much enjoyment I'd get from that order!" She said as she slipped into the bed beside him.

Pulling her close, Banastre laughed until his sides hurt.


	101. Chapter 101 - Kings Mountain

Chapter 101 - Kings Mountain:

_7__th__ October - Kings Mountain, North Carolina_

In North Carolina, Major Patrick Ferguson lay awake on his blankets, with his sleeping Virginia's twined around his body. Ferguson was trying to estimate how far away reinforcement must be by now. Ferguson was en-route to Cornwallis and the British forces at Charlotte; it was not far, Cornwallis must have received the first of Ferguson's missives by now. All Cornwallis needed to do was send a few detachments to join Ferguson on the road and escort him safely into Charlotte. He lay there, calculating how soon the General would have sent these reinforcements, and how many miles a horse could travel in a day. He was certain that the worst scenario was that he would encounter Cornwallis' reinforcements on the road late the following afternoon.

The help was close - it must be. Major Ferguson was certain of it. If he had not have been, he would not have risked making camp the previous evening. He would have pushed his men through the night, storm or no storm, toward the safety of the British forces at Charlotte. He had reasoned that, if he was not willing to shift his force during such a storm in the darkness of night, then his pursuing enemy would not be willing to shift theirs either.

This decision showed how little Ferguson understood of his enemy. For as he lay awake listening to the deafening torrent driving against the canvas roof above, his enemy was marching directly for him.

He had misjudged them. Their resolve, and their hatred of the British. Their yearning toward independence. Their fury and indignation, that he had threatened them and their families with fire and the sword. The fellows who were ignoring the discomfort and dangers of the storm as they marched toward Patrick Ferguson, were of Scottish and Irish descent and not a single one had forgotten the persecution they had suffered at the hands of the British in their native Countries, before their migration to America. Some were first generation Americans, and the memories were vivid. But even those who were second and third generation remembered. It was in their blood, the fire and the hatred, as passed down to them by their forefathers.

Colonel Shelby demanded much from his men, and they gave it to him willingly. Rain poured from tricorn and great cloak. Boots slipped in the mud. They were almost blind, travelling in the darkness of night, but still their legs ate the intervening distance between themselves and Ferguson's camp. The night was so wild, that only the mad would be out in it. The mad, and the Over Mountain men.

Benjamin Martin drove his militia right along with Shelby. At some point, after a brief discussion, the nine hundred strong force broke into three units in order to approach Ferguson's camp from three different directions. Daylight broke and still the storm raged. By midday, the storm had stopped but it was too late for Major Patrick Ferguson. The Patriot forces had reached Kings Mountain, and British reinforcement had not. Ferguson had no escape and the Patriots quickly found the place where the Major had unwisely stopped to rest his men the night before.

A mistake he would regret, Colonel Benjamin Martin knew. If the fellow lived to be able to regret it. If the Major had continued on through the deluge as Benjamin and Shelby had, he and his force could have won free to Charlotte by now. Instead, they were holed up in the middle of the forest, in the centre of the large clearing which was quickly becoming surrounded by the Patriot forces, and their camp site would soon become their graveyard.

Dark clouds hung over the battlefield, threatening rain but holding for now. The day was grey, dark, stunk of peril, fear, and the acrid tang of gun powder.

"Fire!" Benjamin screamed again and fifty muskets clapped all at once as balls exploded from the barrels. Smoke puffed in the air all around them. Shelby was screaming an order, Benjamin could hear him somewhere to the right. "Reload!" Benjamin bellowed and his fifty began pulling balls and shoving them down the barrels, priming their weapons. Gunpowder was poured onto the pan. "Fire!" He commanded again, and again, he was surrounded by the claps and smoke.

Beyond the smoke, in the centre of the melee; men on horseback and others sheltered by pickets, answered their fire. A ball whizzed by Benjamin's head. The reminder that this battle meant death, caused him to fret for his sons. He quickly searched for Thomas, to make certain the lad had survived the battle thus far. Thomas was mounted further back, his rifle levelled. He'd shot down his fair share of Tory's in the last few moments. Benjamin could not have been more proud, nor more worried. His child, for heaven's sake. Thomas could be dead before this was over! He wished fervently that he had not come to Shelby's aid. What the devil had he been thinking? Had he been so bored in South Carolina, that he'd gone looking for entertainment elsewhere? Stupid fool of a man. He shoved the condemning thoughts away and searched amongst the enemy in the clearing. They all wore the same clothes of either homespun or tartan shirts, none wore the typical British Redcoat. He had no way of divining regulars from militia, or Officers from soldiers, or which of them Major Ferguson was, or where. Someone was blowing a whistle someplace close by, a furious high pitched wail that reached the rebels ears. The clash of swords, the clap of rifles, the screaming of horses, and still that whistle persisted.

"Charge!" Shelby shouted and Benjamin, cursing, took up the command. His men, both on foot and on horseback, surged forward. Mark Putman was one of the first to burst forward, the first to clash with the Torys. His face was grim as he laid waste all about him with tomahawk and short sword, just as Benjamin had taught him. Fired with fury and frustration that his daughter was forced into a marriage with Major Bordon, Mark seemed hell bent on destroying as many British as he possibly could. Blood lust drove him to a berserkers rage. It was as though each Tory he encountered was wearing Bordon's face, for all the violence and wrath Mark put behind each blow. Far calmer than the rage filled Mark, Benjamin pulled his tomahawk free of its loop and raced into the throng, slashing at Torys all around him. Blood dripped from the blade but he raced on, ignoring the gore and the devastation he left in his wake. There was no malice, no anger. It was a job that needed doing. His boot slammed into something soft and he glanced down to see a woman sprawled there in the bracken, her glazed eyes open, her face slack in death. Forcing down pity, he stepped over her. Another woman on horseback was screaming someplace close by.

"Let her through!" Shelby shouted and those men there stopped firing, opening a path for the lass. The woman, sobbing incoherently, galloped on through. She thought she could pass by unmolested, but soon realised her error when Shelby grabbed the bridle and pulled the horse to a stop. Benjamin stood at his side, tense. He never allowed his men to indulge in the attacking of women, they were not allowed to rape or pillage. But the command was not his, it was Shelby's. What did he want with the girl? He was pulling her off her horse, and she could barely breathe from terror.

"Where is Ferguson!" Shelby shouted down into her face. The girl shook her head, tears streaming. Shelby shouted at her again and again, she refused to speak. "You see her over there?" Using his pistol as a pointer, Shelby indicated the body laying in the dirt. "Do you think I won't kill a woman?" He ground out. "It's your life for his. Where is he?"

The girl, spluttering and sobbing, finally relented. "Red hair. White frilled shirt," she stammered. "Red stripes."

Shelby released her and she stumbled away. "Let her pass!" He yelled even as he began searching for Ferguson in the press. "There, I've got you now, yeh bastard," Shelby smiled and pointed his pistol at the fellow he'd spied, the fellow with bright red hair, white frilled shirt and red stripes… he pulled back the hammer, the ball flew and the red haired fellow dropped from the saddle. The Major's crazed horse bolted toward them, dragging Ferguson's body along the sodden ground. The Major's foot was stuck in the stirrup and as the horse drew nearer, other enraged militia began firing at the Officers body. It was a gory scene, one Benjamin did not approve, and he kept his own flintlock lowered.

Soon later, the firing began to die down. Major Ferguson had fallen; the Tories were either in retreat by now or being rounded up and captured. Although it was far from silent in the woods, the absence of the constant rifle fire was deafening. Benjamin's ears still rung now, and probably would for the rest of the day. Abandoning Shelby, Benjamin went in search of his sons; he needed to ensure they were both well. Soon later, he spied Gabriel on his mount riding slowly amongst the trees, herding Tory prisoners like cattle. Captives. They'd have quite a few of those from this little skirmish. Gabriel was fine, and so he continued on, searching for Thomas. Who was also alive and unwounded, though he was far from fine.

"You mustn't, uncle!" the youth was shouting and trying to push Mark away from a man laying prone on the ground. "He's down, he's surrendered! You can't kill him!"

"The hell I can't!" Mark screamed, trying to shove the boy off of him. Thomas persisted, the two pushed and pulled at one another as the wounded Tory stared up them both with eyes glazed from pain and fear both.

"What's this?" Benjamin asked, voice tight. He pushed through his watching men and strode up to the pair.

"Uncle Mark has gone mad!" Thomas whirled to face his father, inadvertently releasing Mark; who dashed forward, short sword raised high. Before Benjamin could bark the command to stop Mark, Watson darted in and shoved Mark back.

"Damn and blast it!" Mark screamed pure frustration and venom at Nicholas Watson. "He's a god dammed tory, let me bloody go!"

"Save it for Bordon and Tavington, Mark," Benjamin snapped. "Get a bloody hold of yourself." Mark gave him a mutinous glare and Benjamin's voice snapped out again, "that's an order!"

Finally, Mark was quelled. He drew several long, slow breaths, his face dark and wrathful.

A great cry went up deep in the woods and the men raced toward the noise. Expecting to find a late attack, they were stunned to find the Over Mountain men, gleefully gloating the capture of Ferguson's body. At least five of them stood over the bullet riddled Scotsman, all of them with their cocks hanging out from their breeches as they pissed on the poor fellow's body. Benjamin shook his head and turned his back on the scene.

"Gather the men," he commanded Billings. "We ride out now."

Striding away, he found his horse wandering through the trees, and without a backward glance, he mounted and rode away.

* * *

_11__th__ October 1780 - Ferguson Plantation, South Carolina_

The hall was packed, high ranking Officers taking up every single seat at the table in O'Hara's council chamber, while yet more Officers lined the walls. O'Hara had delivered the dreadful news, leaving his subalterns reeling. From his position at the head of the table, as the General glanced at them, he saw their discouragement. He was looking rather tight around the eyes himself.

To his left, and to his right, sat Colonel Tarleton and Colonel Tavington. For a brief moment, the astonished Officers met one another's eyes across the table, the news was such that for that brief flash, they both forgot the animosity between them. The moment passed quickly and both Officers looked away again. Sitting beside William was Major Bordon, still weak though he was recovering. Bordon shifted on his chair, agitated.

"The way into North Carolina is closed to us," O'Hara was saying. "The Over Mountain men, hold it securely. Cornwallis has decamped his force at Charlotte and has rushed down from North Carolina, back into South Carolina. The reason being, his men are still very ill, he barely had no tents for them and very little rum, the weather has been horrendous, and his forces were exposed, for the rebel militia had cut him off from the rest of us. Having no choice but to do otherwise, he has returned to Winnsboro. We suffered a devastating defeat - we lost nearly one thousand men." He glanced around the room, letting the gravity of this statement settle upon them all. "One. Thousand." He repeated. "With sickness sweeping through our Battalions, we have no answer for it. The rebel militia have closed off all possible advancement into North Carolina for the foreseeable future. Cornwallis has decided that we shall winter here, in the south. We shall recoup our strength. It is said that the winter months are the best cure for the fevers assailing our ranks. In a few short months, they shall be a thing of the past - we will recover, in health, strength, and determination. And we shall deal these rebels a mighty blow!"

Instead of the 'huzzah' he was hoping for, there was a general grumbling around the chamber, for the defeat was devastating and had worked to demoralise them all.

Major Ferguson was dead, many of his men were killed and taken prisoner. The Loyalist militia force which had been riding with him, was decimated. Almost three hundred of their number, killed. Almost seven hundred, taken prisoner. The numbers were staggering. The wounded and stragglers had been filing into British camps all across the country. And there were still other Loyalists out there, who had simply deserted. Perhaps they were still running, several days after the battle. In a single hour, the Major's force had been bought to its knees, and then broken completely. Perhaps those Loyalist deserters, who had been filled with fire at the beginning of the campaign, would return to their homes and try to live a quiet life. William was certain about one thing; after such a slaughter, those men would not be roused to fight again.

"This is a disaster," Banastre whispered, wide eyed. "An utter disaster."

Bordon nodded gravely. After two weeks of being bed ridden, he'd finally felt well enough these last two days, to return to his duties. But with news of this sort awaiting him, all he wanted to do was repair to his bed and stay there. Others in the council chamber clearly felt the same, Bordon wasn't the only one nodding agreement to Banastre Tarleton's sentiment.

"It's a blow, to be sure," O'Hara said, voice crisp. That was putting it lightly. But his men were becoming despondent and it was time to raise their spirits. Low moral was one of the main causes for failure in any battalion and it was one of his duties, to ensure his Aides and Officers did not become morose. "Fate was certainly not on our side. Not all is lost, however. Delayed, but not lost. North Carolina shall be ours and then it will be on to Virginia. We shall conquer America and bring His Majesties subjects back into the fold. For now, we shall continue our campaign against the filthy rebels that still plague the South. I've heard reports of Benjamin Martin's involvement in the battle," his voice hardened and he deliberately kept his eyes away from Tavington, Colonel Martin's son in law. "I shall take great enjoyment in that man's capture."

The stories which had reached O'Hara of late had been worrying; stories of Martin's prowess in battle, his ruthlessness and his very clever tricks and snares. The General had seen brave, stalwart Officers go a little white around the mouth when they spoke of 'The Ghost'. Soon, his notoriety would be such that fully grown men would throw down their weapons and run from their positions, terrified, if they learned The Ghost was about to descend upon them. O'Hara needed to denounce the man's growing reputation and remind them all that Colonel Martin was a man like any other and as such, could be defeated with ease.

"I doubt half the rumours are true. I suspect that the Patriots of South Carolina are exaggerating Martin's involvement in order to swell his already over bloated reputation," he said.

"I seriously doubt he killed fifteen men with his bare hands," Tavington scoffed under his breath. That was one of the stories which had reached them, of a man as tall as a giant and resembling something more like a minotaur than an ordinary being. This behemoth had torn through Ferguson's ranks, tearing the heads from the bodies of British soldiers as though they were nothing but playthings. The things people believed...

The Major snorted agreement.

"Nor is he such a devastatingly accurate shot, that he was able to fire once and kill three men with the same ball," Bordon sniggered. "Martin's idiot countrymen believe him to be Our Lord Almighty made flesh," he laughed aloud, then said, "Not only is he a minotaur and the best marksman alive, but it seems he is a wizard also. For there was one fool who claimed of Martin that, with a wave of his hands, our own Kings soldiers fell to Martin's knees, right there in the dirt. Can you imagine? Good Kings soldiers, turning their allegiance to Martin for a mere wave of his hand." While most remained silent, a few of the Officers laughed at this, including Tavington and Tarleton.

"That's 'lobsterback bastards', if you don't mind," Banastre said to Bordon with a grin.

"Ah, yes, forgive me," Bordon slapped his forehead. "With one wave of his hand, the great Patriot wizard Colonel Benjamin Martin waved his most magnificent and powerful hand and one hundred lobsterback bastards fell immediately to their knees and -"

"Turned their allegiance to the 'Most Wonderous and Glorious Cause for Freedom'," Banastre cried out. More Officers joined in the laughter this time. All around the chamber, eyes were becoming lighter, the fear seemed to be fading as amusement chased it away. Not a few of those fellows had been believing the impossible, that perhaps Martin was some powerful being, not entirely human. Still others took heart in the words in another ways, as amusement chased away despondency. O'Hara had been about to call the meeting to order, for it was unseemly and such antics could quickly get out of hand, especially where Colonel Tarleton was concerned. But glancing at those smiling and laughing Officers, he decided to let Tarleton's and Bordon's amusing diatribe do what it would to restore the Officers spirits.

"Ah yes, I do like that. These peasants would fall for that one," Bordon lifted his chin, readying for a speech of his own. "One hundred of His Majesties own Lobsterback bastards, falling to their knees in answer to the Ghost's call, for his is the hand of God! It was a miracle to behold! The Ghost shot fire from his eyes, and canons from his arse!"

"Canons from his arse!" Banastre wheezed, holding his ribs.

"If His Majesties own can turn their allegiance and follow the Ghost, so Sir can you!" Bordon pointed at Banastre, as though he were recruiting this would be 'back country frontiersman'. Always the consummate actor, Banastre recovered quickly and assumed a slack jawed expression.

"Ah, me, Sir?" He said, pointing an unsteady finger at himself and making his voice high and simple sounding. "But I, Sir, cain't even read!" He paused as laughter rebounded from the walls, Officers slapping their thighs and nudging one another. When they fell silent, Banastre continued, "I cain't even piss straight!" More laughter, Banastre had to shout over them to be heard, "My da always tells me, 'boy!' he says, 'Stop pissing all over the floor like! Yeh gettin' it all over yeh trousers! Piss in that there pot, would yeh? And ya know, I just cain't do it! Can yeh teach me how to piss straight? Huh Mr. Martin Ghost Sir? Will yeh help me make my da proud?"

Even O'Hara laughed along with the rest of them. Tarleton kept up his slack jaw expression, he even weaved dangerously in his chair, somehow managing to make his eyes seem vacant, devoid of anything resembling sense.

"I end up getting me piss all down me buckskins!" He shouted, as Officer's wiped tears of mirth from their eyes.

"Better put rifles in all their hands after all then," Bordon said, chuckling. "If none of them can piss straight, I doubt they can shoot straight. The damned fools will shoot each other, they'll do our work for us!"

O'Hara let the joviality continue, for this was exactly what his Officers had needed to lift their spirits. At length, he called the meeting to order to continue to plan and discuss what they could expect next.

* * *

_11__th__ October 1780 - Henrietta Rutledge's, South Carolina_

The last time Henrietta Rutledge had seen Thomas Martin, he'd come to warn General Burwell of Banastre Tarleton's approach. She shivered, hoping that his sudden arrival did not portend another British invasion of her home. Lord, Thomas Martin, he was like a changed boy. No, a man. He was definitely a man now, as tall as his brother, Gabriel. She cast her eyes away from the two brothers. Her little boy would never reach manhood now… She sniffled, the grief of her loss was still too near.

"The house isn't being watched, if that's what you're asking," Henrietta answered Benjamin's question. She sat in the weak sunlight, drinking a glass of cordial. Benjamin, Gabriel, Thomas and Mark Putman were taking up seats around her parlour, while yet more stood sentry at various points on her property. She was also introduced to Nicholas Watson, a British Officer turned Patriot. He stood at the window, seemingly alert, as if worried his old comrades might come by.

Henrietta tried to avoid making eye contact with Mark Putman, for while Benjamin Martin still had her respect, her cousin by marriage most certainly did not. She was relieved to know the fellow was alive after all, but considering the things her cousin Christopher Middleton had revealed in his letter, Henrietta was most distinctly uncomfortable in the man's presence. Allowing for his wife and daughter to bed British Officers, even in the name of gathering information for the Patriot Cause, was repugnant to her. And that Mage and Cilla - Henrietta's own cousins! - would be willing to do it. And now his daughter was pregnant and had been forced to marry Bordon, because of it. She wondered if Benjamin knew. For the same reason Christopher Middleton had revealed the truth to her, Henrietta wondered if she should take Benjamin aside and reveal the same to him. Perhaps he would not be so inclined to associate with Mr. Putman, if he knew what use the man had put his wife and daughter to.

The again, the Martin family was already caught up in their own scandal, perhaps they should not be burdened with more? Besides, Christopher revealed what he had in confidence, and Henrietta was not one to engage in gossip. She would need to think on it, there was time to decide yet. Avoiding Mark Putman's gaze, Henrietta looked to Thomas again, who sat so proudly beside Gabriel Martin.

"You've grown," she smiled at the youth. "And I don't just mean you're taller. You've _grown_… Matured. That uniform suits you well."

"Thank you, Mrs. Rutledge! I think so too!" Thomas said, sitting up straighter under her approving gaze. "It was about time papa let me join!"

"Well, I hope you are doing both Colonel Martin and the uniform proud," she said, thinking that Mr. Putman certainly was not.

"I'm trying," Thomas preened. Henrietta shared a knowing smile with Benjamin.

"Have you been forced to entertain any more British?" Benjamin asked her.

"On occasion. If there's a detachment passing and if they need shelter for the night, they use my home as if it belonged to them," a hard edge entered her voice. "But for the most part, I am left alone here."

"I'm pleased to hear it," Benjamin said.

"Cousin, I need to make contact with Cilla," Mark said and Henrietta shuddered to hear him address her as such. They were not blood related - only through marriage, thank goodness. But even that was too close for her now, she wished they could not even claim that connection any longer. "She needs to know her papa is still alive, the poor girl has been tormented with the belief of my death for long enough. I can't extricate her from Fresh Water cleanly or easily. But I'll not leave her grieving for another minute."

"I do not know how I am supposed to help you with that," Henrietta said at the exact same time Benjamin said, "risky, revealing that."

"Not your choice to make," Mark said shortly to Benjamin. Henrietta's eyes grew wide as she stared at Mark Putman, shocked by his rude, snappish tone. "If I can get a letter in to her, perhaps she'll be able to get one out. And maybe she knows where Mage is."

Henrietta twisted her lips. Just fleetingly, before smoothing her expression. She drew a deep breath, then said, "Mrs. Putman." - Like hell would she call Mage cousin now, even if she _was_ blood kin. - "Has reached Gullah and is with Mrs. Selton," Henrietta said and Mark whirled, looking shocked.

"How did she come to be there? Did you speak to her yourself? Is she well?" Mark asked, thirsting for news.

Henrietta shifted with discomfort, uncertain how much she should reveal. Confront him for putting her cousin in Bordon's bed? Two cousins, counting Cilla. Did Mr. Putman care so little for the Middleton name? Should she tell him that Mage had been living with Christopher until he learned of her affair with Bordon, when he set her out of his house and sent her on her way? Christopher had done the right thing. If Putman knew, then he might take exception to Christopher's decision, it might cause trouble for her cousin. Mage was his sister, and turning her out might earn Mark Putman's resentment.

She spoke carefully, deciding it was not her place to reveal what Christopher asked her to keep silent. She still might reveal it to Benjamin if she felt the need, but she most certainly wouldn't tell Mark. If Mark wanted answers, he would just have to go and see Christopher. And perhaps apologise, for putting two Middleton daughters to such awful use. Not that they hadn't been willing, according to Christopher. Henrietta did not like to consider that, however. It made her feel as though her entire blood line were somehow dirtied.

"Yes, Mr. Putman," Henrietta began. There would be no more of that cousin rot, not now. "I have spoken to Mrs. Putman. As for where she is, young Mr. Martin, Nathan that is - escorted her to Gullah. She is well enough but she's grieving you - you'll have to let her know you're alive. She told me she went to Mrs. Selton at Drakespar only to find that burned to the ground and Mrs. Selton gone. And she couldn't go to Fresh Water because of the fort. So she came here for my help." Would that she hadn't, considering. "Mrs. Putman was still quite determined to see your sister, and so I sent word out to discover where Mrs. Selton is, for I knew she was no longer at Fresh Water. Soon after, Nathan Martin and his companions arrived. She left with young Nathan, who escorted her to Gullah."

_And if you want to know anything more, you'll have to ask your wife or Christopher,_ Henrietta said, finding the entire subject distasteful.

"Thank God," Mark breathed and Henrietta was surprised to see real concern in Mark's face. How could a man who clearly loved his wife and daughter, set them to the task of whoring for information? Cilla was pregnant and had to marry Bordon so she would not bear a bastard! She shook her head, then buried her stunned surprise in the act of taking a long sip from her glass.

"How did she get out of the city?" Mark asked, firing questions at Henrietta, who begged off giving the answers by pleading ignorance. And still, those questions came. _Who escorted her? Why did she leave Christopher's? Was Cilla with her?_ \- That, Henrietta could answer, she told Mark that Mage left Cilla behind when she left Christopher's. "But why?" Mark said, "it doesn't make sense. Why would she leave Cilla? And if Cilla stayed with Christopher, how on God's green earth did she come to be married to that Lobsterback bastard?"

Now that, Henrietta was most certainly not up to answering. It made her feel faint, even considering doing so. _'Cilla, my own cousin, fell pregnant from the union you - her own father - encouraged. Christopher, wanting nothing to do with any of it and rightly so, took her to Camden and left Cilla and Bordon no choice but to do what they could to salvage their reputations and prevent the child from being born a bastard.'_ Instead, she shook her head, pretending that she did not know.

"All I can tell you -" _all I am willing to tell you_ \- "is that your wife is alive and well at Gullah and that your daughter is alive and well at Fresh Water. How they came to be there, you will have to ask them."

"Something bad must have happened. Why should she leave Christopher's, and leave Cilla behind?" He asked, trying to make sense of it. "Unless… did Mage leave before or after this abomination they are calling marriage?"

Henrietta arched an eyebrow. "Your wife left her brother's at least a month before Miss Putman married Major Bordon."

"Oh," Mark frowned and returned to the puzzle at hand. He seemed to be thinking hard, then realisation transformed his face. "Celeste! She must have been making Mage feel so uncomfortable that she decided to go and live with Charlotte, instead! We were engaged once, long, long ago. But Celeste's family made her marry higher - I was not good enough for them, apparently."

_Did that prove untrue? _Henrietta thought. _Were they wrong?_ _It might have been Celeste, instead of Mage, that you put in Bordon's bed. Frankly, as it turns out, you weren't good enough for the Middleton's either. Celeste's family most certainly made the right decision for her. _

"Celeste and I were in love back then. I was heartbroken when we couldn't marry. But Mage… when we married, I found out what love truly is. What I felt for Celeste pales when compared to what I feel for Mage," he looked on the verge of tears. "She turned my head, my wife did," he managed a smile. "I don't think Celeste ever stopped loving me, though."

It would have been a nice enough story, had Henrietta not known that Mark had encouraged the wife he loved into the arms of another man. Henrietta's Edward loved her, as deeply as any husband had ever loved a wife, she was certain. And he would never, ever, compromise her virtue for the sake of the Patriot Cause.

"Celeste has always been jealous of Mage. If she was awful enough… Yes, that could have sent Mage fleeing her brother's Plantation for my sister's. But to leave Cilla behind… That's what I don't understand," Mark said.

Henrietta could have explained to him, but she was not going to.

"Perhaps relations between Mrs. Middleton and Mage were sore enough for Mage to chance the roads for herself, but not for Cilla," Benjamin mused. "She must have known how dangerous it would be, perhaps Mage left Cilla where she was safe, if she was not being treated as poorly as Mage was, there would have been no reason to move her. Or perhaps she intended to reach Drakespar, and then summon me to collect Cilla and be her escort, keep her safe… You just don't know. And you won't until you go to Gullah. Which, I think, is precisely what you should do now. Mage doesn't know you're alive, it's time to end her grief."

"Yes. The only people I can get answers from are Mage, Cilla and Christopher," Mark said, feeling utterly helpless. "Christopher is all the way up past Camden. To reach him I would have to cross enemy lines several times, the risk of being caught is far too great. Cilla is just there at Fresh Water but she might as well be on the moon for all I can reach her. I'll need to go to Gullah," he said to Benjamin, who was nodding. "I need to talk to Mage. And I need to know how in the world did Cilla come to be married to Bordon. But no, Mage won't have the answer to that, will she? She left well before this abortion of a marriage." He thought furiously for a moment, then said, "No, I'll make contact with one of my men at Fresh Water, I'll give someone a letter for Cilla. Even if I go see Mage this very moment, she won't be able to tell me about Cilla and her marriage," he spat, furious. "I'll write to Cilla - she'll tell me."

Benjamin was nodding. "If that is what you prefer. If Cilla does not reply within a day or two, you head down to Gullah. You should go anyway, spend some time with your wife."

Mark nodded agreement. Henrietta cocked her head as she eyed Benjamin thoughtfully. Was the Colonel trying to rid himself of Mark? This was the second time in moments that he proposed the idea of Mark leaving for Gullah. To spend time with Mage - or because he could no longer stomach the man? _Perhaps he knows more than I realise…_

"Sir," Watson entered the chamber. "There's a fellow outside requesting to see you. Reverend Oliver, he says his name is."

"Then send him in, son, send him in!" Benjamin cried, clapping his hands together. Oliver was soon escorted into the chamber. Nathan Martin came with him. Benjamin crowed with delight, he embraced his son, then the men greeted one another like the old friends they were. Oliver already knew Mark, though not very well. Other introductions were made and soon, they were all seated and Benjamin was regaling them all with the battle at Kings Mountain in North Carolina. A great Patriot victory.

"I'd slipped into Pembroke to retrieve some papers," Oliver began regaling Benjamin with a story Henrietta had already heard several times before. "And wouldn't you know it, I found a small pouch of tea I'd concealed away. I decided to enjoy a sip -"

"Not very Patriot of you," Mark arched a disapproving eyebrow. Tea had become a symbol of all things British, and Patriots disdained it more often than not.

"I do quite enough 'Patriot' things," Oliver rebuked. "I don't think anyone could really take a clergyman to task for enjoying a cup of tea. Well, as I was saying, I decided to brew myself a cup. I would leave shortly later, there was no danger in it. Or so I thought. Until wouldn't you know it, but Miss Martin rode into town with a full escort of Green Dragoons in her wake." He studied the men carefully, enjoying their suddenly cold, hard stares. Nathan was grinning for he knew the story complete, but the others did not. The Reverend would tell them the best of it soon, but it amused him to see Benjamin stew for a few moments. The man had a ridiculous sense of humour and had always got the better of Oliver. It was nice to turn the tables occasionally.

"Did she now?" Benjamin asked, voice soft but cold. "A full escort of Dragoons." He gulped back a large amount of whisky.

"Yes. She said her husband feared many things and never let her leave the plantation alone."

The whiskey flew from Benjamin's mouth as he began coughing a spluttering. Mark, Thomas and Gabriel looked stunned. Watson wandered over to the window, he gazed outward, struggling. He'd been so infatuated with the lass when they were back in Charlestown, when he'd been attempting to court her. What did he feel for her now, he wondered? He didn't know. It disturbed him to hear her name, it disturbed him that she was married to Tavington…

"You spoke to her?" Benjamin squeaked in a high pitched voice. This was the reason why his whiskey had exploded from his mouth; he was stunned to the quick.

"Indeed," Oliver laughed. "Here now, calm yourself. I'll tell you what happened. As I was saying, I had just made my cup of tea and was quite enjoying it, when I heard someone moving about in the hall. I went to see who it was and there was Miss Martin, standing at the pulpit. She was as stunned to see me there as I was her. We chatted, she'd just learned a piece of news from Mrs. Turnbull, who expected her to deliver the news to Tavington. Beth was most disconcerted, which is why she came to the church - she needed to be in a place of calm… though in truth, I feel it was His Lord Above, guiding her. For you see, the news Mrs. Turnbull had discovered was when my next sermon was to be held; the whereabouts, the date and even the time. She told Beth in the hopes that Beth would tell Colonel Tavington. She passed the warning to me, instead."

Benjamin stared, face unreadable. Gabriel and Thomas shared a grave look; but Nathan sat there grinning.

"I asked her what she'd have done, if she had not encountered me, if she had not been able to impart this warning directly," Oliver paused for effect, quite enjoying himself, then he continued gladly, "and she said she'd have paid a visit to Mrs. Henrietta Rutledge."

After a startled moment, Gabriel and Thomas both laughed, just as Oliver had. Henrietta wore a fixed smile.

"She said that, did she?" Benjamin asked.

"And then I met with her," Nathan said, taking up the retelling. All eyes turned to him, then. "On the street right under the Dragoons noses. I asked her if she had any information for me and she admitted that with all of the British forces all sick, that no one would be able to reinforce Ferguson, should he need it. I sent a message to you straight away, did you get it in time?" Benjamin shook his head. "Drat." Nathan said. "Oh well, it doesn't change the fact that she willingly gave me information!"

Benjamin nodded slowly, he understood his son's meaning. Nathan wanted Beth to redeem herself after marrying Tavington, and in giving him information, he felt she had done that. And yes, not receiving the message did not detract from Beth's willingness to pass along the information. But Benjamin had already suspected that no reinforcements would arrive for Ferguson, for he had known from Gabriel that the Legions were sick.

"This is good," Mark said, nodding in approval. "She's at the Great House… Imagine the sort of information she can provide - she has access to Tavington's journals, the letters and missives that cross his desk, the conversations over dinner! This is perfect, I'll have my spies in the camp make contact with her at once."

Henrietta gave him a cool stare of disbelief. First his wife and daughter, and now his niece? It was a surprise to her that he could not sense her disgust. At least he would not be whoring Beth for the information, she would be getting it from her husband.

"Mark, we've discussed -" Benjamin began but Nathan piped up, speaking right over him.

"I've met with her several times since," Nathan said proudly, "always at Pembroke. From her, we learned that the local Tory's had started sending provisions from their own farms to Fresh Water, to help feed Tavington's Legion. One was being delivered that afternoon from Mr. Drysdale's, Beth said. We were able to intercept it. A wagon load less vegetables for the Lobsterbacks!" Nathan said proudly; Gabriel and Thomas shared a grin, as pleased about Beth's willingness to spy as Nathan was. The lad was about to launch in to yet another incident of 'bumping into' Beth, who gave him the most recent information she'd learned, when Benjamin cut in with a cool and very grave question.

"Nathan," he said softly. "Do you love your sister?"

Nathan stopped short, his mouth hung open. "Do I love… Of course I do!" He said, aghast.

"I'm glad to hear it," Benjamin said. "I have another question for you. Will you be there to protect your sister - who you love - when that husband of hers learns she's been passing information to his enemy?" He paused, watching his son's face carefully. Nathan's jaw worked, his blue eyes were large. "Information that her own brother - whose love and approval she is clearly desperate for - pressed her for. Information he _encouraged_ from her, without ever a thought to her safety." All of his sons looked quite chastened now, their mirth and pleasure gone. Benjamin held up his hand. "As for the information itself, it was all a bit useless, wasn't it? We already knew the British weren't coming to Ferguson's aid, why should Beth have risked her skin to tell you?" he shrugged. "And so we got a few extra horses and a wagon load of cabbages. Tell me, was it worth her risking her neck for that small gain?"

Nathan hung his head, his fingers fiddled nervously in his lap.

"The information might not have reached you in time to be of use," Mark argued. "And you might deem the rest to be inconsequential," he continued. "At some point, however, the information Beth provides us could give us the ability to strike a massive blow to the British!"

"You once spoke of how the Patriot women have other weapons at their disposal, and aren't afraid to use them," Benjamin said to Mark, who nodded agreement. "And you weren't afraid to use those weapons. You're right, Mark; our women are not cowards. However," his voice hardened. "War is a man's game and women have no place in it. It is our responsibility to protect our wives and our daughters. I'd never encourage them to put themselves at risk - I'd rather treat the women I love with honour and respect, not as weapons to be used in a man's war."

Mark's eyes widened at the implication that, as he hadn't hesitated to use his wife and daughter, he had no honour.

Henrietta had her answer. Not only did Benjamin Martin know what use Mark Putman had put his womenfolk to, but he also clearly, deeply, disapproved. She decided she would take him aside, speak to him alone later, to see if he knew the full extent of Mark Putman's depravity. Setting his women to spy was one thing - but to put them in the beds of those they are spying on? That was another thing entirely. And Martin, Henrietta decided, needed to know. If he did not already.

Benjamin ignored Mark's look of outrage, for he still had his sons to deal with.

"I know you want her to be Loyal to us," he said to Nathan. "I know you want her redeemed in the eyes of our fellow Patriots. I know you want them to see the good in her, for her being Loyal to us. But I do not doubt that Tavington is capable of beating her, Nathan. He'd beat that girl bloody, and there would be nothing anyone could do to help her. Certainly not you, the one who demanded all of this from her in the first place. She only gave that information to you because she loves you, Nate. Because she misses her family, because she's feeling apart from us in a way she's never been before. She'd do anything to impress us now, anything to be welcomed by us. She's conflicted and confused. Do not use any of that against her _ever again_, do you understand me?" Benjamin's voice was hard now. "If you want no harm to come to your sister, do not place her in that situation again."

Nathan nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, papa."

"No doubt you thought it a great lark," Benjamin drew a sullen breath, he breathed it out slowly, trying to remain calm. "No doubt you wanted everyone to think of it as her redemption. _'You see all you Patriots? My sister is good after all!'_ And Gods, here you are, bragging about it, making sure our fellow Patriots know," he gestured grandly about the room. "That your sister is still on our side. That she isn't the turncoat they consider her to be. But none of them will be there to help her either, if Tavington learns of this… She could be in danger yet."

Nathan's cheeks coloured and Benjamin tightened his lips. He wanted to clout his son across the back of his damned fool head. Damn and blast the boy.

"You better hope he doesn't hear of it," he ground out. "Next time you happen to 'bump' into Beth, you don't ask her a damn thing, you hear? You tell her you love her, and that she doesn't have to risk herself for that love, and that in future, you're going to leave her the bloody hell alone. Jesus bloody Christ." He slumped back into his chair.

Even Oliver was chastened, he did not have the heart to chastise Benjamin for his profanity. He tried to think of how many men he himself had told. He hadn't meant to cause harm, indeed he had believed he was doing the Martin family a good turn, helping to restore the family name amongst the Patriots. Now, though, he realised he had erred and he was as worried for Beth as her family were.

"I do not want her to risk herself," Benjamin murmured, unable to hide his pride and worry both. "She's a good girl, Oliver," he said to the reverend. "At heart, she is."

"Of course she is, Ben," Oliver replied.

"That's damnably frustrating though," Thomas folded his arms over his chest and stretched his long legs before him. "I'm not saying she should continue, papa, no need to glare at me so. But just think of the things we could learn from her? She's the Colonel's wife!"

"No, she's not," Benjamin said, his voice ice. Thomas scoffed under his breath. Lord, his father was a fool - if he continued to insist the girl to be unmarried, then he would have to consider her to be ruined, for she sure as hell wouldn't be a virgin anymore! Damned stubborn fools.

"Well, seeing that you've both seen her, you can at least tell me how she is," Benjamin said, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

"Beth is well," Oliver replied, speaking of Beth. "She looked healthy, she's eating well. She seemed in fairly high spirits."

"Is she happy?" Thomas asked and Benjamin growled at him to shut the hell up. Thomas scowled. "You're not going to be able to deny she's married when her belly is big with his child, papa," he said bluntly, then danced out of the way when Gabriel threw a punch at his arm.

"Shut it, Tommy," Gabriel said. "Christ, you just don't know when to shut up."

"I disagree with you," Mark said, finally challenging Benjamin. "This is not just a man's war - our women and children have to live in this country, they have a stake in this."

"You do as you wish with your family," Benjamin snapped. "And I'll do as I wish, with mine."

"Do you think they've discovered what happened at Kings Mountain?" Gabriel asked as a means of changing the subject before the men began to argue. They'd been doing that a lot lately, Benjamin and Mark.

"I certainly hope so," Mark said, pleasure warming him. What a victory that had been. Balm to his bruised soul, that's what Kings Mountain had been for him.

"We're here, aren't we?" Benjamin asked pointedly. "Word would have flown ahead of us. Yes, I'm fairly certain the British know exactly what happened to their Tory force by now."

* * *

_Fresh Water Plantation, South Carolina_

Banastre lay on his back, with a very naked Cilla stretched out alongside him. Her head rested on his shoulder, their fingers caressing. There was no chance that Bordon would come looking for her. They'd risen from their bed at the same time, but he had ridden out while Cilla had padded her way down the corridor, for some early morning delight with Banastre. As for Bordon, he was with Harmony Farshaw. At least, that was where Cilla suspected he was spending his time these last few days now that he was better, when he left the house and did not return for hours. He was visiting Pembroke, where Cilla knew Mrs. Farshaw was residing. It did not matter to Cilla, it freed her to visit Banastre's room without the remotest fear of discovery.

"I could almost wish you were still sick," she said. "Then you would not have to leave."

"I know," he agreed. "I wish I could stay here forever," he said. "I also wish I'd recovered a week ago. We never would have lost that battle, if I'd been there with the Dragoons."

Cilla said nothing, for she wasn't as sure of that as he was. Tarleton had been in no condition to answer a summons to reinforce Major Patrick Ferguson, nor had any of Cornwallis' other forces; they'd all been too damned sick. But if Tarleton had have been there, she wasn't so sure the outcome would have been victorious for the British. Not with her uncle reinforcing the Patriots of North Carolina. It might have been a Colonel _and_ a Major, who died in the battle that day. The council meeting was two days ago now, two days since O'Hara had passed along the news that the British had been defeated, the Loyalists had fled or been killed, and Cornwallis was en-route now, trying to rush from his now precarious position in Charlotte in order to reach the safety of his forces still stationed in South Carolina. Two days later and those at Fresh Water Fort were still reeling with disappointment.

And Cilla was reeling with disappointment, for in just a few more hours, her lover would leave her; to join Cornwallis.

"Will you miss me?" Banastre asked her.

"Yes," she said and he smiled down at her.

"That's what I like to hear…"

"You've such conceit," she laughed. "I despise conceited people but I find it endearing in you. How is that possible?"

"Hmm. Perhaps it's because I'm so damnably handsome. Or maybe you're willing to overlook my conceit, because of the pleasure I give you."

"Hmm, you do that. Lord, Ban, I don't know how I lived before… How will I get by now?" She asked. "You've opened this whole new world to me, and now you're leaving it!"

"I'll be back this way," he promised. "And you'll be welcome to slip into my chamber whenever you wish."

"That's true. Probably not wise, but true," she said.

"Not wise?"

"Well, we've taken some risks, haven't we? And it's not really right, what we're doing."

"Ugh, well, if Richard can be so neglectful of his husbandly duty, how could he blame us?" Banastre said loftily.

"I'm just as pleased he's not doing his husbandly duty," Cilla laughed. "Though it might be that I'll have to one day. He wants to have a child, you see."

"Well, it's probably a good thing your courses have begun," he said, for her bleeding had started during the night. Cilla hadn't been certain how Banastre would receive her, with her menses, but it was starting out light like it always did, and he wasn't even slightly perturbed. The only concession he'd made, was to not pleasure her with his tongue. "You've been in my bed almost daily since I got here, I could so easily have gotten a child on you," Banastre said. "You would have had to lure him to your bed, then, to make him think it was his."

"You're scandalous," she laughed. "I will miss you terribly, Ban. Will you miss me?" She asked, sidling closer. She laid one slim leg across his hips.

"Most certainly," he tipped her face back and kissed her nose.

"I'm glad to hear it," she smiled. She sighed, she really would miss him…

"So great a sigh," Banastre was shifting, she felt his phallus swing against her leg. He was ready again, and he began to kiss her, his hands moving over her body. "One last time, my love?" He whispered.

"Hopefully not the last. One last time _for now_," she amended with a smile, opening herself to him. She shifted onto her back and he moved across her body, entering her in one smooth move. She wrapped her legs over his, just as he'd taught her, and began meeting his thrusts. They were both soon sweaty, panting, kissing in a frenzy of passion as his cock pinioned in and out of her. At length, Cilla arched her back and cried out, her fingers digging into his fleshy sides. She gasped and panted, bucking wildly through her orgasm. When they were both replete, she smiled up at him and fingered his auburn hair from his face.

"Oh, yes, I'm going to miss you," she giggled. He smiled back, and for an answer, he kissed her deeply, slipping his tongue between her lips.


	102. Chapter 102 - The Tavington's in Tatters

Chapter 102 - The Tavington's in Tatters:

"Well, I have to say that I think you're doing a wonderful job," Beth was saying to Mrs. Andrews. "I'm sorry that the responsibility has fallen to you, I do wish my husband hadn't insisted on removing it from me."

"His concerns are quite valid," Mrs. Andrews replied. "The less strain you are under, the higher the likelihood of his seed taking."

Beth nodded and hung her head. Could she trust this women, could she confide in her? Mrs. Andrews was older and wiser, she would be able to advise Beth, who no longer had an older woman to turn to in times of crisis.

"I… Part of the reason I came down here," she said, deciding to confide in her. "Is because I… Well, that is, my husband… We get along grandly most of the time," she rushed to explain, to defend William. "He is so very good to me, and I know he loves me, so very much. We hardly ever quarrel, but I… well, we've been married over three months now yet always, around the twentieth of the month, I… I get my courses." She drew a ragged breath, almost in tears. "Today is the thirteenth and… I only have a week and I just… I'm so worried it'll come to me again and William, he'll be…"

"He'll be what, Beth?" Cilla asked, voice sharp. Beth's eyes filled with tears and she drew a shuddering breath.

"Angry," Beth breathed.

"Angry!" Cilla gasped.

"Oh, don't think poorly of him, he just wants a child so very much. He gets frustrated when I get my menses and then we quarrel. We always make up," Beth tried to smile. "Making up is the fun part. The argument never lasts long but it's always so horrid, I'm so worried that my bleeding will come upon me again. Mrs. Andrews, isn't there something you can do for me?"

"Not truly," Mrs. Andrews replied. "I can give advice, but there's no simple answer that will result in you getting with child."

"The problem could be him," Cilla said. "It could be his fault you're not yet pregnant."

Beth lowered her eyes and gnawed her lip - that William had had sired bastards was not something she had wanted to reveal to her cousin, or to anyone else, for that matter. "Did Major Bordon get angry with you?" She asked and Cilla drew back, startled.

Cilla's bleeding had started during the night; it was light enough that she did not need to be house bound yet, or she would not have accompanied Beth on this visit to Mrs. Andrews. Of course Bordon wasn't angry with her for getting her courses - he'd be furious if she hadn't, for it would mean she was carrying another man's bastard! She sometimes forgot that Beth did not know the truth about her marriage, Beth was under the assumption that Cilla was bedding Richard, as Beth was bedding Colonel Tavington.

"No, he didn't," she replied a little faintly. "But it's not the same thing. Who says the problem doesn't lie with Tavington? Your mother had eight children, Beth."

"And our aunt - her sister, had none," Beth reminded Cilla, speaking of Charlotte. "And her brother, your father, only had one."

"It doesn't matter. His seed might be weak," Cilla said, furious. "He might not be able to sire children. He's got no right to be angry with you for it."

"You're right, it doesn't matter," Beth said, still unwilling to tell Cilla how she knew the problem did not lie with William. She turned back to Mrs. Andrews, who appeared quite uncomfortable. Had Beth been too frank? And had Cilla added to Mrs. Andrews' discomfort with her anger? "Any advice you can give, Mrs. Andrews. Mila, my maid, has been helping me but perhaps you know things she doesn't. All I know, is that Mila's advice hasn't worked."

"Tell me what Miss Mila has advised," Mrs. Andrews said, starting from there, and Beth began to repeat to the woman all of Mila's suggestions.

* * *

Linda was walking with Miss Amity Cordell when she stopped dead, her eyes fixed and narrowed. "What's that bitch doing here?" She curled her lip as she watched Beth, with her cousin, chat with Mrs. Andrews outside the older woman's tent.

"Oh, God," Amity breathed, "God, I thought she wasn't supposed to come down to the camp anymore? What if she sees you?"

"She thinks I'm Mrs. Merry, remember? The other one might recognise me though," Linda said, glancing at Cilla Putman Bordon. "Another little bitch. Two little uppities, trying to steal our men. Well. It didn't work very well, did it?" Linda laughed softly. "Bordon's back in Harmony's bed where he belongs and William…" Linda left it hanging, glancing at Amity with unconcealed pleasure. The younger girl flushed, her face reddening. "I'm going to my tent, I'll talk to you later," Linda said, turning on her heel and striding away.

* * *

Linda hovered just inside the entrance of her tent, peering out between the flaps, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Andrews tent. Mrs. Bitch Tavington was in there, with Mrs. Bitch Bordon. Miss Cordell had gone in there too. Linda had been watching for the last twenty minutes, waiting for the uppities to come back out. She wasn't sure why she tortured herself but she always felt such a need to watch Mrs. Tavington whenever they came into vicinity of one another. When Beth had been matron and she came down to visit the camp followers, Linda would follow the woman's every movement with her eyes, dwelling on how pretty she was, how pretty her dresses, how graceful her movements. All the things that had captivated William, the things that made him be faithful to her.

Linda's eyes were peeled on the tent, willing the women to emerge so she could get another look at her rival, before the bitches returned to the Great House where they belonged. Why were they even here? Hadn't William put a stop to his bitch of a wife coming down to the camp? On the pretence that Beth was under too much strain, with all her duties. He'd confessed to Linda that he'd had another reason for this decision - it was so Beth did not discover Linda in camp, because if she did, there was not a force on earth that would stop her leaving him.

Linda had so little of William now - oh, he had started visiting her frequently since his illness, but never too couple with her. They played cards and drank whiskey in her little tent for a few hours a few days a week. She supposed she should be grateful to be getting this much of him, he was taking a great risk for her. His whore of a wife had told him that if she ever heard so much as a rumour of him bedding Linda, then there was not a force on earth that would make her stay with him. William did not want to risk that.

Yet he still came to her. Linda smiled at the tent as if the tent were Beth. Despite the risk that Beth would find out and leave him, he still came to Linda. Oh, he did not bed her, he hadn't even let her kiss him again, not since that first time. But he still flirted with the risk. For her. That had to mean something, didn't it? It was only a matter of time; William would be hers again.

The tent flap stirred and Linda's breath caught, she wished those passing by would get the hell out of the way so she could see better. Beth emerged and Linda suppressed the urge to weep - the girl was just so beautiful. Mrs. Bordon, Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell followed and the four stood in the circle, chatting. Linda did not take her eyes off Beth, she seethed, wishing she could pull the little bitches hair out. Miss Cordell was smiling - Linda despised that, too, how dare her friend enjoy Mrs. Tavington's company too? Linda glared at Miss Cordell, though the younger girl knew it not.

"…Colonel." Someone nearby said. People were passing by or working outside their tents, Linda hadn't tried listening in on any one conversation, until she heard that one word. Colonel and William would intrude on her awareness, no matter how occupied she was. She glanced in the other direction and sure enough, there was William, stepping off an intersecting avenue and walking directly toward her tent; coming to visit her again. Linda's heart leapt as she opened the flaps wide, she returned his broad smile, intensely aware that only a few yards to her left stood Mrs. Tavington. Did he know? He mustn't, he would not be visiting Linda, if he knew his wife was in camp.

_'She told me that there is not a force on earth, that would make her stay with me, if she thought for one moment that you and I were having an affair.'_

If Beth thought William was sharing Linda's bed, she would leave. Her heart pounding faster than a galloping horse, she stepped out to meet him.

"Hello my darling," she said, eyes on him and only him. He stopped before her, swept her a bow and she laughed. "It's a little early, but I'm up for a tickle and a play."

William laughed down at her. To her joy, he reached out to brush a lock of hair back up into her mob cap and she leaned into the touch, soaking into the feel of him. "How about cards and whiskey, instead?"

She pouted at him. She darted her eyes toward the group of women - without looking directly at them she could still see that all four of them were facing her and Tavington, four pairs of eyes on her.

_Time to see you on your way, you little bitch. _Linda lifted herself up to the tips of her toes, she wrapped her arms around William's shoulders and brushed her lips across his cheek. "We'll spend our time however you wish, my darling," she whispered, before settling back on her heels. He shook his head slowly, as if exasperated by her constant advances. She'd risked his wrath, being so forward in public, but he was still smiling and that was all that mattered. She took hold of his hand and, knowing Beth was watching, placed it on her stomach, she splayed his fingers over the swell, her hand on top of his. "Our baby says 'hallo papa'," she said playfully. Beth would not be able to hear the words, but the gesture was unmistakable. To Linda's delight, William played along by leaning down and addressing her stomach.

"Hallo, little one," he said to her stomach and Linda giggled.

Still holding his hand in hers, she turned back to the tent and lifted back the flap. With her back now turned to Colonel Tavington where he could not see the interaction, she deliberately glanced at the group of women. She met Mrs. Tavington's gaze - Gods, the look on the little bitches face was perfection - Linda flashed Beth a quick little smirk; she shrugged to show Beth that she didn't care that Beth had caught them, then made a show of tugging William forward into the tent.

* * *

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Andrews," Beth said. Gods, Mrs. Andrews knew so much about birthing and pregnancy, t was such a relief to have the woman's reassurance. A load off her mind. "I'll do exactly what you said, starting the moment I reach the house."

"We need to go, Beth," Cilla said, "or we won't get a chance to say goodbye."

"To Tarleton? Yes, I know, I know. Not that William approves me speaking to him," Beth gave a soft laugh. "But yes, we do need to be going." The women began to file out of Mrs. Andrews tent, Miss Cordell held the tent flap open for Beth, Cilla and Mrs. Andrews. They stood just outside, in a small circle, the cool breeze stirring their capes and skirts. "And when I do fall pregnant," Beth said, feeling quite confident of that outcome now that she had Mrs. Andrews to advise her. "You'll be my midwife, won't you?"

"Of course I will!" Mrs. Andrews said. "I wouldn't have it any other way. However, in future, I will attend you at the Great House, Mrs. Tavington. It'll be easier to examine you in a bed chamber than it is in a tent and besides, the paths are at time treacherous, and will be double so in the coming months. A woman's balance can be compromised during pregnancy and a fall could spell disaster for the baby."

"Oh, alright, of course," Beth rushed to agree, for she wouldn't want to harm her child or put her pregnancy at risk. "We can organise that, if you don't mind traipsing through the awful weather - and it's definitely going to be that soon. I can feel winter biting at us already."

"As can I," Mrs. Andrews agreed. "And of course I do not mine traipsing to the Great House - itls what I am here for."

They continued to make small talk for a bit, until Cilla began to make impatient noises. Beth knew she had developed a friendship and a fondness for Tarleton, but Cilla was being almost rude in her need to return to farewell him.

"Oh no," Cilla groaned, pointing. "Now it's going to be even longer before we leave. I might just head back by myself."

Beth glanced in the direction Cilla was pointing, her eyes landing on her husband. He was walking along an avenue - she saw him between the gaps in the tents. He emerged onto the same lane Beth was on and she expected he had learned she was in the camp and was coming to find her. She waited for him to look her way and was preparing to wave at him to get his attention. For now, he was looking straight ahead. From the corner of her eye, Beth saw Mrs. Merry emerged from her tent.

Cilla drew in a sharp breath but Beth made a shushing gesture with her hand - she'll have a quick word with her husband and they'll return to farewell Banastre. It wasn't as though Banastre would leave without saying goodbye.

William stopped to speak with Mrs. Merry - he was being polite, no doubt. Beth waited, he would join her soon enough. Even from that distance, Beth could see the woman's face light up with a welcoming smile that stretched from ear to ear. As their happenstance meeting stretched, Beth began to feel uneasy. She had known Tavington knew the woman - he had helped her to settle her on the Turnbull's when her husband died, though she'd returned to camp for some reason. Beth had known that her husband had shown the woman some charity but surely a quick 'hello' now would suffice? Why in the world was he smiling at her like that? He swept her a bow and Mrs. Merry laughed, the two started to chat.

William laughed at something Mrs. Merry said. And then he was tucking a lock of Mrs. Merry's hair into her mob cap and she moved her cheek against his finger, leaning into his touch. Beth grew still all over, she turned to Cilla, whose mouth was hanging open, she looked utterly outraged. Beth turned back to Mrs. Merry. Who wrapped her arms around William's shoulders and laid a kiss on his cheek and whispered something in his ear.

Cold sliced up Beth's spine, her heart began to pound. Cilla gave a soft gasp. Mrs. Merry ended the embrace, but then she was taking hold of William's hand and she placed it on the swell of her pregnant stomach.

They looked like expectant parents, taking joy over their as yet unborn child.

"Oh my God," Beth breathed. Mrs. Merry's hand on top of William's, on her stomach. He leaned down to her stomach and his lips moved, he appeared to be speaking to the child within. Mrs. Merry laughed down at him. She turned to the tent, lifted back the flap and tugged at his hand.

As he began to follow her in, Mrs. Merry glanced her way, she looked Beth straight in the eye, and she smirked. She gave Beth an insolent shrug, then she tugged William's hand, drawing him into the tent behind her.

Beth's stomach roiled, her heart beat furiously, awful palpitations that made her vision blur. Thoughts crashed through her skull. William and Mrs. Merry. It couldn't be - she never would have believed anyone, had they told her. But it was true. Right there in front her, she had seen it for herself. It explained Mrs. Merry's hostility toward her. She stared at the tent flap, silently willing for it to all be a dream - a nightmare. Willing for William to come back out, now, before anything could take place between them. Gods, William and Mrs. Merry.

"Beth," Cilla said and Beth turned to her cousin. "You do know who that woman is, don't you?"

"Mrs. Merry," Beth breathed. "Gods, William and Mrs. Merry."

"Mrs. Merry? Beth, dear heart, no. That woman is Linda Stokes," Cilla said, outraged.

"No," Beth whispered. She shook her head, denying it. "No, no, no. Please, no…" She turned to Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell, waiting for them to deny it. But Mrs. Andrews seemed ready to faint and Miss Cordell was clutching her skirts and staring at the ground. They were not denying it. Beth stared at them both, then she turned on her heels and began to run, her legs carrying her swiftly away from the tent, where her husband was about to rut his former mistress. They were still together. William and Linda, they'd never parted ways, he was with her, he was bedding her, he'd been bedding her all this time. Beth ran, tears burning her eyes, making it difficult to see as people leapt out of her way to keep from being trampled. She ran until her sides hurt almost as much as her heart. She was finally forced to slow, where she stood, heaving for air as great sobs burst from her chest.

Cilla reached her first, then Miss Cordell and Mrs. Andrews. Beth seized Cilla's arms, needing something to hold on to, she felt she would collapse right there in the dirt.

"Beth, oh Gods, Beth, I'm so sorry," Cilla said, pulling Beth into her arms. "I'm so sorry. Let's get you back to the house, you need to sit down."

"It's Linda," Beth panted and sobbed, still struggling for air. "Linda. Oh Gods, he never stopped. He's been with her all this time," she wailed and Cilla nodded sagely, calmly, though she looked on the verge of tears also.

"Come, Beth, let's get you walking again," Cilla said as she turned Beth back to the trail, her arm around Beth's waist, her free hand on Beth's arm, holding her, helping her to walk as Beth put one foot in front of the other.

"Mrs. Tavington, I'm so sorry," Miss Cordell was hot on their heels. "Please, I never meant -"

"To betray me?" Beth gasped back a sob as she whirled on the younger woman. Miss Cordell stopped dead and hung her head. "You knew that that… whore, that doxy! You knew who she was all along and you said nothing!" She pointed at Mrs. Andrews, who had also followed. Her face was red and she was panting with effort after the mad run. "And nor did you. This is why you were so insistent on coming to the Manor just now, instead of me coming here! You weren't afraid for my wellbeing at all!"

"That's not true, I do care, Mrs. Tavington!" Mrs. Andrews said between breaths but Beth had already turned and was again walking away. Cilla was at her side with the other two women trying to keep up, pleading for Beth to stop, to let them explain. Beth was desperate to put as much distance between herself and the tent as was possible and with her quick pace, she was succeeding.

"Linda Stokes," Beth spat as she walked. "All this time, he's been bedding her, Cilla! He's been lying, for months! How could he? Why would he? Why marry me at all? Gods." She stopped dead so quickly Miss Cordell almost trod on her heels. "Could it be? After all this time, was he truly only after my money?"

"I don't know," Cilla said, panting slightly from the mad dash away from Mrs. Andrews tent. "I'm so sorry, Beth. You're going to have to ask him."

"And what am I supposed to say? Oh my God, he is with that whore, right now, he is rutting her!" Beth pointed back the way she'd come. "How could he do this to me? I thought he loved me!" Tears stung her eyes. Frantic with the need to get away, she continued on.

"Mrs. Tavington -"

"You have lied to me, both of you!" Beth rounded on Mrs. Andrews, who'd dared to try to speak. "My husband is still having an affair with Linda Stokes and you all knew of it!"

"No, I don't think he is," Mrs. Andrews said. "I don't think it's like that -"

"Silence!" Beth roared, taking a full step forward, her fingers twitching as though she might slap Mrs. Andrews across the face. The older woman blanched and fell back a step, almost tripping over Miss Cordell who huddled behind her for protection. "I will not hear another word from you. I've tried to be your friend! I cared for you - all of you!" She shot at Miss Cordell, letting the girl know she was as much to blame. "That's why she didn't let you stop to speak to me that day outside the Turnbull's, isn't it! You sided with her, you let her drag you along! You never revealed her! I thought you were my friend, but you never were," she accused Miss Cordell. "You have both played me for a fool!"

Mrs. Andrews - shockingly - began to weep as hard as Miss Cordell. Mrs. Andrews, one of the strongest women in camp, broke down and sobbed. Beth's mind had moved on, however, and she barely noticed the woman's distress. With utter horror, she remembered that day when Mrs. Merry - no Miss Linda Stokes - ushered Miss Cordell away down the lane, outside the Turnbull house.

After just having visited with Harmony Farshaw.

The memory hit Beth like a hammer blow between the eyes. She grunted and Cilla was suddenly at her side again, but Beth hardly noticed. Agony pierced through her, her heart constricted. The pain was terrible, almost as awful as discovering William's betrayal.

"Even Harmony," Beth breathed, shocked by the extent of their treachery, the depth of the conspiracy. She turned to Cilla. "Harmony knew. All along, she knew. It was _Mrs. Merry_ who got her away from Fresh Water in the first place. And _Mrs. Merry_ visited her at the Turnbull's, I saw her there. I saw her leave. Harmony even gave me an explanation about her, she called her _Mrs. Merry_ too, and said -" she choked off, unable to give voice to repeat what Harmony had said - the explanation Harmony had given Mrs. Turnbull, about Mrs. Merry's husband recently dying and Tavington taking care of her because her husband was one of his soldiers. All lies. The explanation hadn't been for Mrs. Turnbull, it had been for Beth. To divert her from suspecting the truth. Tears stung her already burning eyes. Even Harmony was involved… That hurt, oh God, that hurt. She searched Cilla's face as though she might find the answer there, "is it not enough that William has betrayed me? That he has been unfaithful? How could Harmony do that to me? I thought she was my friend," her voice broke then, the tide surged. "I-I thought they all were."

"Mrs. Farshaw is a damned bitch and a whore," Cilla said, furious with the woman for betraying Beth. "As for Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell," Cilla continued, eyeing the women sternly, "well, the both of you should be deeply ashamed, helping the Colonel keep his mistress here in camp! Hiding her and cosseting her, when Mrs. Tavington has done so much for you! She has shown you so much kindness!"

"It wasn't like that, Mrs. Bordon," Mrs. Andrews whispered, voice weak. "Please, if you'd just listen -"

"And she's pregnant," Beth wailed, silencing Mrs. Andrews. "Oh Lord, did you see her put his hand on her stomach? And he was playful, talking to the baby!" The full implications hit her and she felt her knees begin to give way. She gripped Cilla's sleeve and her cousin threw her arms around Beth's waist to steady her. "Oh, it's his! The baby - it's William's!" Beth turned to Mrs. Andrews. "It's William's, isn't it?" She asked of the woman, who nodded, for she did not have it in her to lie. Not now. Beth buried her face in her hands, choking sobs escaping her. Cilla pulled her closer, she held her for the longest time, until Beth felt able to stand on her own. She gathered herself, cheeks wet but head held high. Her lip quivered, but she tried to force the tears to abate. Tried to tamp it down, to rid herself of the horrible, heart crushing agony. Unfaithful husband, William had been unfaithful all along! How could her heart possibly still be beating? How could she possibly live through such pain?

Beth was unable to keep still, she was striding again, with the others still in pursuit. She had the awareness to remember how little notice the two had been given by those passing by - Miss Stokes had kissed William, right there in front of her tent, and no one had battered an eyelid. Did he visit her so frequently then? Dear Christ. Just how deep was this conspiracy? The entire camp knew about it, but not a single person there had thought to tell her. Oh no, not a single one of them warned her. They all gave their allegiance to William, each and every one of them. She was a fool, such a goddamned fool! He'd been unfaithful in Charlestown, what in the world had made her believe he would be faithful to her now?

"What a fool I've been," she whispered, slowing down to catch her breath. She clutched Cilla's arm for support.

"It's not like that," Mrs. Andrews said, trying again. It was difficult for her to speak through her tears but she felt desperate, she had to try. "He sent her away. She came back of her own volition and we hid her. I'm sorry for doing that, I truly am -"

"She stayed with Mrs. Turnbull," Beth said, interrupting. Linda hadn't been in camp all along for she'd spent some time at Mrs. Turnbull's. "Why did she come back? Had enough time passed that William thought it safe to begin the affair again?"

"No, it's not like that either, I swear! He did not know - we were hiding her from him, too, because we all feared he'd send her away again and the poor lass is pregnant and we could not send her off to her fate."

"Stop lying to me! He is in her tent at this very moment!" Beth shouted.

"I'm not! I'm not lying. I vow on my honour that if I thought for one moment that they were dallying, I would have told you immediately," Mrs. Andrews said, wringing her hands.

"You're trying to tell me you didn't know he was visiting her tent?" Beth asked incredulously, clearly disbelieving.

"I knew he'd started visiting her, but I do not believe they are dallying -"

"Then that makes you either a liar, or a damned fool," Beth hurled at the older woman. "Well? Which is it? A liar, or a fool?"

"I guess I am a fool," Mrs. Andrews said quietly.

"Well, that makes two of us," Beth said. She turned to continue on, then stopped and whirled back, this time to confront Miss Cordell. "And you," she snapped. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm so sorry!" Miss Cordell cried. "I wanted to tell you, I vow I did! It's so awful, they should not… he's married now, he should not be bedding her!"

"At least you're willing to admit that he is!" Beth shouted. "Though it's too little, too late!"

"I'm sorry," Miss Cordell stuttered. "I'll tell you everything. Miss Stokes r-returned sometime late July. Or early August. A-and we hid her, for the b-baby. M-Major B-Bordon discovered she was here -"

"When?" Beth barked.

"Mid September," Amity replied. "and… And then Major B-Bordon t-told Tavington. And Tavington came down to camp and he l-let her stay and he asked us not t-to t-tell you. He said you wouldn't understand and you'd want her sent away and he was worried for the baby."

"His baby," Beth breathed, swallowing hard.

"His baby," Miss Cordell confirmed.

"When did my husband learn she returned?" Beth asked, finally opening her eyes.

"Mid September, when Bordon did. Bordon told him straight away," Miss Cordell said miserably.

"Mid September," she shifted her gaze to Cilla's, whose eyes were bright with outrage. "Around the same time that he removed the responsibility of the camp followers from me. He said my duties were to blame for me not giving him a child. But that was never his true motive! That was never the case! He was using it as an excuse - he made me feel like a failure when all along, he was really just trying to stop me from coming here, so I wouldn't discover _her_."

"That bastard," Cilla breathed. "That conniving, worthless bastard."

Beth turned back to Miss Cordell. Drawing a ragged breath, she forced herself to ask, "did he start bedding her straight away?"

"No. Not straight away. Before he got sick, and then again when he was better."

"I don't think that's true," Mrs. Andrews said.

"I'm not lying! Miss Stokes told me, Mrs. Andrews," Miss Cordell said and Mrs. Andrews eyes bulged.

"What did that whore tell you?" Beth ground out, fury rising.

"I saw that he was coming to visit her more and more often and I didn't like it, he's married to you and I didn't…" Miss Cordell closed her eyes and she caught her bottom lip with her teeth. "I'm sorry, I know I should have told you but I couldn't, I didn't know what to do!"

"What did that whore tell you!" Beth snapped, fury in every word. Amity Cordell nodded.

"I think it was about three weeks ago, Miss Stokes said… she told me that he has finally come back to her, that she is bedding him again, like she'd always known they would. Then he got sick and she couldn't see him, but they started again, as soon as he was well enough to come back to camp."

Beth swayed, her legs felt so dreadfully weak. "I'm alright," she lied to Cilla. She stepped back when Cilla tried to envelop her again. "Everybody knew," she whispered. "Except me. I'm the only one who didn't know." She looked Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell in the eye, first one, then the other. "You've both betrayed me. You're both false friends and frankly, the sight of you sickens me. Please, return to your tents and do not try to speak to me again." Beth commanded and both women, looking miserable, turned away. Cilla and Beth were almost to the end of the lane when Beth saw Patrick Brownlow leaning back against a tree, standing guard over his horse, and Thunder. The carriage was a little further along the lane in the other direction, but Beth made directly for Brownlow. He saw her, and his welcoming smile became quizzical, then concerned when he saw Beth's tear streaked face.

"Did you know?" She said to him, fair quivering with rage. Holding his gaze, she spat, "about him and Linda. Did you know?" His face blanched, much as Mrs. Andrews' had. The same as Miss Cordell. Beth curled her lip, nodding once. Another conspirator. She reached up and seized Thunder reins and to the Cornets astonishment, she mounted in one swift leap up. Thunder knew her well, the battle trained horse did nothing to dislodge the weight of the Colonel's wife, who frequently fed him apples and pears when she visited her own mount, Shadow Dancer.

"Beth!" Cilla cried out as, like the wind, Beth and Thunder leaped forward, people scattering in their path.

* * *

Thunder reared, Beth pulled the reins so hard. He skidded to a halt and she leapt from the mount and was running up the porch steps, shouting for Mila before she even reached the front door. She strode quickly up the stairs, still shouting. Mila met her in the corridor above.

"Go to my chamber and begin packing. Everything you can fit into saddle bags quickly, things I'll need for travelling," Beth commanded of her. Mila, who usually teased Beth when they were alone, whirled and raced down the hall to do her mistresses bidding.

Drawn by the commotion, curious Officers were emerging from Banastre's bed chamber, where Banastre had been packing his belongings. Dalton, Banastre, Whitty.

Bordon came out of his bed chamber.

"What is it Beth?" Banastre asked, approaching her. She spared him a glance, then locked eyes with Bordon.

"Did you know?" She snapped out the same question she had to Brownlow. Richard's jaw dropped, and that was all the confirmation she needed. As if there could have been a doubt. She barked a bitter laugh. "What am I saying? Of course you bloody knew!"

"Knew what?" Banastre asked.

"William never stopped his affair with Linda Stokes; she is in camp, they are in her tent at this very moment," Beth announced, voice crisp. Tears threatened to fall again as heartache swelled. She embraced the fury that was still surging, letting it give her the fire she needed. She could not dissolve into a heartbroken mess on the floor. She'd never be able to get herself up to leave the house, if she succumbed to that. She met and held Banastre's eyes, testing him, and she saw very real astonishment cross his features. She felt such vast, bone deep relief, that she almost fainted. He hadn't known.

She still had one friend in camp. Two, including Cilla.

"The devil take him," Banastre breathed, closing the distance between them. "That goddamned son of a bitch."

"Indeed," Beth said still holding his gaze. Like a person drowning she held on to the only branch she had, holding Banastre's eyes, as she struggled to hide just how close she was from sinking to the bottom.

"Dalton, Whitty, have the house cleared of soldiers and servants," Bordon commanded in an attempt to keep what was coming as private as possible. Nothing particularly damning had been said so far but Bordon strongly suspected that that would change shortly.

"That will not be necessary, I'm leaving," Beth said, already turning for her room. Despite her declaration, the two Officers leapt to obey, they began searching the chambers for any unnecessary eyes and ears. Bordon moved toward her, hand extended in supplication, readying to play peace keeper.

"Now see here, it's not what you -"

"Major Bordon," Beth cut him off in a ringing voice. "Please inform Mrs. Farshaw that I will have nothing further to do with her. Our friendship is at an end. I will suffer no more false friends."

Richard's face twisted with grief - for his beautiful Harmony was going to be heart broken. He implored, "please, I beg of you, try to understand. She was placed in a terrible situation - I asked her to hold her tongue and it has not been easy on her -"

"At least you're not trying to deny it anymore. I've no doubt _you_ asked it of her," Beth laughed bitterly, half crazed. Bordon was shaking his head in denial and trying to speak but she would not let him get a word in edgewise. "You and William, always watching one another's backs. You know, I always admired that about the two of you, such a good strong friendship you have! Yes, I admired it - until now," grief twisted her voice, "I never thought you would band together against _me_!"

"He is my dearest friend," Bordon said, "he asked me to keep Linda's presence a secret and yes, I did. But there was no harm in it, he was only -"

"Fucking her," Banastre said, passing Bordon to stand above him on the top step at Beth's side. "Yes, I see no harm in that at all."

"Banastre, he wasn't fucking her!"

"Tell that to Miss Cordell, who admitted to knowing all about it," Beth hissed. That whore has been bragging about it - she's been boasting all over camp."

"Miss Cordell said that?" Bordon looked taken aback, gaping down at her. "That they are bedding?"

"Miss Cordell was very clear, Miss Stokes has been boasting of it to her. Besides, even if she hadn't told me, I am not a fool! I saw them myself, Bordon. I saw that bitch kiss husband, I saw her hold his hand, I saw her invite him into his tent! I saw him accept it. Do please tell me again how I have it all wrong?"

"I…" Bordon was finally at a loss for words.

"You knew it," Beth said, voice low and furious, "all along -"

"I knew she was back," he said, now speaking as fast as he could in order to get his words in. "I knew she was pregnant. I knew she needed help and we all knew you would have apoplexy if we tried to give it. We kept that from you, but that only."

"Only," Beth laughed, glancing at Banastre and scoffing. "What's a few lies between friends, hmm?" He shook his head, lips tight, looking as furious as she felt. She shifted back to Bordon. "Harmony was always friends with Linda. She chose her side," Beth said, a judge pronouncing a verdict. "And you did also. You and I are finished. Harmony and I -"

"Please don't say it, she needs you. Please, Beth," Bordon begged. He could deal with the brunt of Beth's fury. Even if she never spoke to him again, as horrid as it would be, he could bear it. As long as Harmony was spared. "Please, Beth - you and Harmony -"

"- are finished," Beth continued harshly. She leaned forward, her head craned to glare up at him. This once, she did manage to seem the taller. Softly, voice thick with sarcasm, she said, "but never fear, she has _Linda_." She began walking backwards toward her chamber, her arms stretched wide. "You have Linda. Harmony has Linda," her voice grew louder and she laughed - maniacally - while pointing at Dalton and Bordon, and while thinking of Brownlow, who had also kept the secret. "You all have Linda! And right now, this very moment, _William_ is having Linda!"

"Come Beth," Banastre whispered, fearing she was unhinged. He took hold of her arm to lead her. "Come along now."

They reached her chamber when they heard galloping hooves grow louder, then thunderous, suddenly stopping outside the house. Beth did not wait, she hiked up her skirts and bolted into her chamber, Banastre hot on her heels. She waited only long enough for Banastre to enter, then she shut and locked it behind them. She turned to Mila, who had obeyed Beth's command and was shoving clothes frantically into saddlebags.

"Quickly now, what have you packed for me?" Beth asked Mila.

"BETH!" She heard William bellow from downstairs.

"Oh, ah…" Mila's hands began to shake. "I don't know what you need! Where are you going?" Mila wrung her hands, frantic now.

"Money, I need money," Beth said, moving to her chest. She threw aside the remainder of her clothes and pulled out a small but heavy pouch, filled with coins. "I'll take what I can and I'll buy what I need," she said, pushing the pouch into her pocket.

Advancing boot falls grew closer outside in the hall.

"Beth!" William had not stopped bellowing her name all the way up the stairs and now he was at the door, rattling the bolt. It was locked. Bordon had told him Beth was in there with Banastre and that drove him to his own sort of madness. Christ, she knew about Linda. And she was in the bed chamber with Banastre. "Open this door!" He roared, banging on the door.

"Don't worry, I'll do it," Beth said to Mila, having to pitch her voice higher to be heard over William's yelling. Her hands trembled as she buckled the saddlebags, but she was calm, focused, a hunter siting her rifle. Banastre took up position by the door, keeping an eye on both Beth and the door at once.

"Where will you go?" Mila asked, looking on the verge of tears.

"With me," Banastre folded his arms across his chest, he met Beth's eyes. She paused, considering her options. Aunt Charlotte and the children were in Gullah, Nathan had said. Banastre could help her leave the Plantation, he might be able to help get her to her family. They stared for several heartbeats. Then she nodded once, agreeing. She would leave with him. Satisfaction such as he'd never known welled up inside of him.

Having heard Banastre's suggestion through the door, outside the chamber William screamed, "she's not going anywhere with you!" Standing in the hallway, he pounded and pounded, the wood almost splintering under the force.

"She sent Mila to pack her belongings," Bordon said as he came to stand beside him. Cilla had followed too, she was breathing hard from the effort. "As much as she could fit into saddlebags, she said," Bordon continued.

"Did she now?" Tavington breathed, meeting Bordon's eyes with an odd calm. Richard was not fooled - it was the sort of calm that preceded the storm. Therefore, he was not surprised in the slightest when William lifted his knee high and slammed his boot into the door, shattering the lock. The door flung open and slammed against the wall, he placed his hand out to stop it from slamming toward him again.

Banastre lowered his arms to his side and as he turned to face Tavington, he stepped his boots apart, a defensive stance, ready for fighting.

"All this time!" Beth shrieked at William, pushing past Banastre to stand before her husband, in between both men. William gazed down at her with a grave expression. "You've kept her here! Screwing her every time you went to camp!"

He gazed down at her, drawing long slow breaths, struggling for calm. Jesus Christ. How was this happening?

"It's not what you -" He began, only for Beth to cut him off.

"I've heard that too many times to count today, _thank_ you very much!" She yelled, spittle flying from her lips.

"Beth, I visit her on occasion, but nothing happens!"

"For several hours, several times a week!" She shot back. "What could you be doing for several hours, several times a week?"

"Playing cards and drinking whiskey," he replied, and although it was the absolute truth, even he knew how preposterous it sounded.

Beth stared at him a moment, then she shared a look with Banastre. As one, they both threw back their heads and laughed.

"Gods, William, even you can do better than that," Banastre said at the same time that Beth chortled, "oh, of course you do!" She returned to her packing.

"Banastre, leave," he snapped. "I will discuss this with my wife alone."

"The hell I will," Banastre's arms were folded over his chest again.

"Do I look like a Goddamned fool to you?" Beth shouted and William was forced to try to ignore Banastre's presence.

"Beth, if I were you, I wouldn't believe it either! But on my honour, I vow it's the truth!" Tavington tried to say

"You drink and play cards with Bordon, William! With Brownlow, Dalton! You don't drink and play cards with your whore! Unless you've got the business of fucking out of the way first!" She shouted. She stalked up to him. "Is that what you do, William? Is that why you can vow it to be true, _on your honour_? Because it's absolutely true, you do play cards and you do drink whiskey with your little whore. But not until _after you've fucked her_!"

"No, not after I've fucked her."

"Before then," she hissed and Banastre laughed softly.

"No, Beth. I don't fuck her at all," William said, ignoring Banastre.

"Liar," she spat, turning away again. "I saw her hugging you, kissing you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. What did she whisper to you, William?

_Hello, my darling_. Gods, he couldn't repeat that, it would only reaffirm what Beth believed.

"What did she say, William?" Beth spat and when he still said nothing, she scoffed. "I guess it was something innocent, yes? Something like, 'let's go into my tent and play cards and drink whiskey'." Beth laughed. " 'Right after we fuck. Or maybe before.' Whatever your honour dictates to you under such circumstances!" She spat. "I saw you, your hand on her stomach, taking joy in the bastard she is carrying for you!"

"Gods, Beth," he ran his hand over his hair, even he knew how the whole thing sounded. And the raw pain in her voice, that he would welcome his child from Linda, cut him deeply. "I'm sorry, I… The child is mine, it is a part of me."

"Well, it's none of me. But I don't care, for I shall be burdened no further with any of this. I am leaving," She continued to pack. "I don't ever want to lay my eyes on you again."

"I will not allow you to leave," he said but Beth ignored him and continued her work, spitting vile and venom as she packed.

"As soon as you found out she returned, you removed the camp followers from my care," her hair was coming loose from her dust cap, it framed her face. She seized a pair of stockings from the drawer and threw them into the saddlebag. "Not to reduce my workload in the hopes that I'd give you a child! But because you didn't want me to discover that bitch was in camp and carrying your child! You shame me into feeling like a failure when all along, you were just trying to cover your tracks! Deny that, William!" She shouted, a shift dangling from her fingers. "Vow on your honour that it isn't so!"

William closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath.

"Yes. Just as I thought," she said, throwing the shift into the bag. "Gods, you disgust me. Using my lack of pregnancy against me to hide your strumpet!"

He opened his eyes and stared at her gravely - he could not deny it, he'd reduced the strain on her in the hopes that she would fall pregnant, but no, he could not deny that reducing her chance of learning Mrs. Merry was truly Linda Stokes had certainly held an attraction.

"I knew it," she said, curling her lip. "I can't even understand why you'd bother. Why not just be with her? Why did you marry me, William? For my money, after all? God knows, you have none!"

"Beth!" He gasped, offended.

"You needed to support your doxy somehow, though, I suppose," she pointed an accusing finger at him. "My mother's money is not for her!"

"I -" he cut short, for this was another thing he could not deny. Beth already knew - and had reluctantly accepted - that he intended to give Linda one thousand pounds. And as he did not have that sort of money, it would have had to come from Beth. Beth had only been willing, if it meant getting rid of Linda for once and for all. But now Linda was returned, carrying William's child. He would give her a stipend now, a maintenance to look after his child. And yes, that would come from Beth's inheritance, also.

"It's for me, William," Beth said, rounding on him. "For my children. My future. I can assure you, Sir, that when she sat down and discussed the amount with my father, she did not _fucking_ factor in Linda _fucking_ Stokes and her _fucking goddamned bastard_!" She held his eyes and then turned away. "Banastre, will you pack those for me?" She pointed across the bed to the side table where Banastre was standing. On top were perfumes and other assortments, a brush and mirror. Banastre began gathering them all up. William had almost forgotten he was there - Bordon was standing in the doorway too, keeping Cilla out and keeping watch to make sure Banastre did not intervene. Mila huddled in a far corner, too terrified to move.

"You're just creating work for Mila," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "She's just going to have to unpack it all again."

"The hell she will," Beth spat.

"I know that you are angry," he began, and ignored her snort of derision. "I would be too. I know how all of this looks, how it all sounds. But Beth, we've been married over three months now, you must know how much I love you. Just give me a minute, just a single minute - just listen to me, let me explain." She shook her head, refusing to look at him as she stuffed a petticoat into the bag. He would not be able to reach her, to get through to her, if she would not look at him. He took a hold of her wrists and tried to turn her to face him but she jerked out of his grasp, glared, and returned to her saddlebags. "I did not send her away when I discovered she had returned. I did not tell you about her or the child. You have every right to be angry for those but Beth, please, I have not lain with her. I've been trying to convince her to marry one of the men in my camp -"

"Oho! Married to one of your men, so she'll be right where you want her, whenever you want to screw her! Just like Richard was doing with Harmony! Now I know where he got the idea from!"

"No matter what you say, she's just going to turn it," Richard said. "She's too angry to see reason now, William."

"See reason? See reason!" Beth shouted at Richard. "Do you think I'm being _fucking unreasonable_?" She screamed loud enough for William's ears to hurt.

"No. I just think that trying to explain anything to an angry person is much the same as trying to explain to a drunk person. It's a useless undertaking and William should abandon it."

"In that, I could not agree more!" Beth said, turning to William. "Don't bloody bother, William. It's useless for you to try any more lies on me, for my eyes are open to you now!"

Out of patience, William seized her arms and shook her so hard, her head lolled like a ragdoll and her teeth rattled inside her skull, "I AM NOT HAVING AN AFFAIR!" He screamed down into her dazed face.

Banastre pelted forward, pulled back his fist and slammed it into William's jaw. William's head snapped to one side. As if she weighed nothing, William shoved Beth onto the bed, then smashed his fist into Banastre's face. The smaller man stumbled backward to slam bodily into the small chest of drawers, sending all of William's personal effects crashing to the ground. Cilla cried out in chagrin, Bordon shouldered her out when she attempted to get past him again. Banastre, wearing a filthy look of fury on his face, was struggling to rise.

"You hurt her, you damned bastard!" Banastre screamed from the floor. "I'll kill you!"

"If you get up, I swear, I'll beat you so that your own mother won't recognise you," William threatened, meaning every word. "You are leaving, and she is bloody staying. Do I make myself clear?"

"Gods, you bastard, you force her to marry you and then this is how you treat her? If you'd had any integrity at all, you'd have stood aside for me, that I could have married her - she would have been treated far better then!" Banastre finally gained his feet. He fingered his jaw, his gloves came back bloody from a cut on his mouth. "She is coming with me, and then everything will be set to rights!"

William stood over him, ready to beat him silly. "You deluded bastard. She is my wife, Banastre! In a house of God, we exchanged our vows! That's far stronger than some silly attachment you imagine having! I am the one she married!"

"In a house of God, we exchanged our vows," Beth agreed, climbing off the bed. "But that does not mean either of us told the truth that day."

"What are you talking about?" William asked.

"You didn't tell me about your bastards or that you'd bought Linda all the way up from Charlestown so you could continue your affair after you and I were married. And I," Beth rounded the bed, she wanted so very much to hurt William right now. "Never told you the truth about Banastre and I."

"Beth," Banastre whispered, shocked to his core that she would reveal herself what they had both agreed should remain secret.

"What do you mean?" William said warily even as Beth said, "I gave myself to him."

William recoiled as if slapped.

"I gave Banastre my virginity, William."

"No," he shook his head in denial.

"On our wedding day, Bordon said that we were to reveal it if there was anything we were keeping hidden that would stop us from being united in holy matrimony. Well, you kept your secrets, William. And I kept mine."

"You and Banastre… " William breathed.

"I was scared to tell you, because I was scared to lose you. But now… I find I simply do not care."

"When?" He asked her, trying to make sense of it. She did not answer and so he screamed, "WHEN?!"

"When Hanger found my brothers and I in the woods. When Banastre took me to Mrs. Rutledge's. After the dinner. We were both drinking. He escorted me to my room and when he made as if to leave for his, I invited him to spend the night with me, instead," she said, watching his face carefully, searching for a reaction.

"We are in love with each other, William," Banastre said. "You made her marry you, you stole her before I could -"

Everything happened so quickly. William's fist caught Banastre's jaw and this time, when Banastre slumped to the ground, he did not get back up. Cilla screamed and dropped to her knees beside Banastre's side on the floor. William seized Beth by the wrists, his grip crushing as he threw her face forward onto the bed. She screamed and writhed to no avail, as he lifted her skirts up, baring her rump. He used his legs to keep hers pinned in place even as he reached for one of his leather belts. He chose the thickest, knowing it would inflict the most pain. He fold in half, the two ends in his fist. He lifted his arm high and sent it sailing toward Beth's buttocks.

"This, for not telling me!" He shouted, "For fucking Banastre! For telling Burwell of my plot! So many times you've betrayed me! I committed treason for you!" Each accusation was met with the crack of the belt across her backside; Beth howled and screamed and kicked her legs but could otherwise do nothing as William beat her.

Bordon beckoned to Mila, who ran past her mistress and master. Cilla was on her feet again, rushing around the bed to stop William. Bordon seized her and who forced both Mila and his screaming wife from the chamber, keeping the door shut with his foot. He left Banastre where he was, on the floor unconscious.

"I loved you! How could you do that to me?" His arm did not falter, the belt sailed for Beth's skin again and again, red weals appearing and then blurring into one another was no flesh was left untouched. "You took him into your mouth!" He screamed, recalling Beth's expert touch the 'first' time she'd done it to him. He'd thought it was her first time with anyone, but now he knew the truth. "You knew exactly how to do it. You licked and sucked me so well… And you call Linda a whore! You let him lay his hands on you! You gave yourself to him! By Christ, you gave him your virginity! And you never bloody told me!" The belt slapped her flesh with every accusation. "You are no proper wife!"

Beth's teeth sunk into his arm and he yowled with pain, he released her hands and pulled, trying to release his arm from her bite. She let go, then reared up, her full arm slap twisting his face to the side. Pain exploded in his cheek and the next thing he knew, he was fighting with her for the belt which she damned near pulled out of his grasp. Tears burned her eyes, scorched her cheeks, her fingers squeezed the belt in on itself in an attempt to seize it from him.

"As if you are any better!" She shouted at him, her fingers tightly closed over the belt as she grappled him for it. "Beat me, will you? Who then will beat you?" When she found she could not wrest it from him, she slapped him hard across the face a second time. "You unfaithful bastard!"

"You've forgotten how hard I can hit you!" He shouted, seizing her by the shoulders and shoving her hard up against the wall. "I slapped you once and you ended up on the ground! Do you want me to do that again?" He prevented her attempts to kick him even as he fended off her hands, which came up yet again in an attempt to slap him. "You damned slut," he snapped, ignoring the blazing sting on his right cheek. "I married you in good faith and you were naught more than a whore!"

"At least I'm not an adulterer! If I was strong like a man, I'd be beating you now!" She shrieked up at him.

"For a crime such as heinous as what you did to me, I do not doubt it," he shot back. "Here I am, trying to explain myself, to a damned bloody whore!"

He threw her back across the bed, this time he held her down with his hand on her back, keeping his aching arm far back from her teeth, he flipped her skirts back up and resumed the belting. How many had it been before? Ten? Fifteen?

One hundred was not enough.

"Stop it, you bastard!" She raged. "You've done so much to hurt me! And now I get this, for not being a virgin?" Then it cracked across her flesh again and the pain swept any further words away. She tried to kick but he shoved his leg between hers, the belt stung like fire with each bite to her flesh.

"And for not bloody telling me!" He replied.

"Yes, because you've been so forthcoming!" She shouted over her shoulder, glaring through her tears as he raised his arm back again. "You let her return, pregnant with your child!" She cursed at the sudden pain. "And you've been screwing her ever since! You unfaithful bastard!"

"Wife," he laughed bitterly, "you have no idea of how ignorantly you speak."

"I should have been born a man!" She spat viciously.

"And I never should have married you," was his very cold reply. His arm was aching and his strength drained from him. He had no further stomach for this. He tossed the belt aside and stumbled back from her.

"And for that very reason, I wish I had told you!" She shrieked, stung by his coarse speech as much as by the belt. "I would not have married you either, if I'd known you'd sired those bastards! If I'd known you'd bought that doxy with you! I would not have married you. But we both know you would have married me, William. How else could you have gotten your hands on my inheritance and my father's Plantation and all my land!" She pushed herself up from the bed, saw that the belt was no longer in his hands, and she looked for it. Seeing it on the floor, she snatched it up and sent it sailing toward him with all her mite. He raised his arms and took the full force of the blow across his wrists. As she was lifting the belt for another blow, he seized her wrist and pulled the leather strap free of her fingers.

"You damned whore," he spat, still holding her wrist, his eyes ice and cruel and completely lacking anything approaching human. "You should have told me," he hissed down at her. "If you had told me you'd spread your fucking legs for Banastre, I never would have taken you for my wife!"

"Another lie! You would have married me if I'd fucked Banastre and all his men! Otherwise you would not have been able to secure my fortune!" She spat. Christ her bottom was hurting, the belt had bitten her skin and she could feel that her cheeks were glowing red and smarting. "You're a goddamned liar!"

"As are you, and you're a whore!" He spat right back. "Doxy! Did you think you were pregnant?"

"Don't be such a God kissed fool!" She hissed, outraged. "I married you because I loved you!"

"Not enough to tell me you'd already fucked another man first." He stared down at her - she was always challenging him. Always defiant. She was not properly subservient and nor would she ever be. Her buckskin peasant father had raised a little wild cat, she was not a proper lady at all. A bawd - a doxy who had already sampled the pleasures of the flesh well before marrying him. "How many others were there, before Tarleton?" He asked her cruelly and had the satisfaction of seeing her recoil with shock.

"None!" She gasped; horrified, aghast.

"It is I who was the fool," he spat. "And Tarleton too no doubt. You probably offered up your quim to that Watson fellow, and to Arthur Simms for all I know."

"There were no others, William. Not like you. Mrs. Tisdale and how many others! And now Linda, right under my nose!" She curled her lip in disgust. "And now you've sired another bastard - there's three of them, who can own to the Tavington name! You're siring bastards all over the place! And you call _me_ doxy."

"The appellation suits you well," was his retort, insulting her to the highest degree.

"Ho!" She cried lifting her arm back to hit him but he seized her wrist before the low could land. "I swear, William, you will not be able to sleep soundly at night! I'll slash your throat in your sleep!"

"I thought you said you were leaving?" He taunted to show he no longer cared if she did.

"I am. I don't ever want to see you again."

"I'll think of you often," he leaned down to her, his eyes cold and hard. "I'll think of the very first time you dropped to your knees for me, right in this very room. The first time with me, but not your first time," he said, voice low, soft. "Whore," he whispered in her ear.

"Cunt," she whispered in his.

He snapped back from her, startled. Gazing down at her, it was disconcerting to see his contempt reflected back at him.

* * *

William took several steps back from her, his hands ready to deflect if she came at him again. The belt, he had secure hold of, he wasn't about to let her get hold of that again. To his left, he saw from the corner of his eye, Banastre's arm braced on the edge of the bed as he pushed himself up.

When he was on his feet, Banastre stared at the two, clearly trying to understand what he'd missed. His eyes landed on Beth's bright red and tear streaked face, how hard she was breathing, the pain etched in her features. How she clutched at the wall as if for something to hold on to. And the skirts that were hitched up all wrong. Then he saw the belt in William's fingers.

"You bastard," he breathed.

"It's over," William said. He had lost count of the amount of times he'd whipped her flesh. Her backside, those half crescents he'd loved so much, were now striped a livid red. He'd struck her so many times, he could not see where one weal ended and another began.

Beth shoved her skirts the rest of the way back down but she stayed where she was, not quite leaning against the wall. Her legs were weak, she could barely stand, but the very idea of sitting down… She was in too much pain to sit on her rump. She remained there, half leaning against the wall, glaring at her husband through her tears.

"As if you never did those thing with your whore," she gasped, wishing she could stop weeping. How dare he reduce her to this? And how dare he look at her like that? How dare he make her feel dirty?

"Not after I married you, no matter what you choose to believe," he replied.

"I was the one who was faithful, William!" She cried.

"No, Beth. You were not," he said. "You defiled yourself with him and then kept it secret from me. I married you in good faith, only to discover I married a whore."

Beth growled something inarticulate, her voice strangled with outrage and her tears.

"Tell me one thing," he said to Banastre, voice cold and hard. "Did you screw her here, in this house?"

Banastre had no wish to provoke William to more violence against Beth, violence he would be sore pressed to prevent. For answer, he replied, "now how could I? I've been too sick to get up to piss in the chamber pot, let alone have relations with a woman."

"Don't test my patience, Tarleton, you'll find I'm quite at the end of it," William threatened. "I was referring to your time here before, as you damned well know."

"Don't try to protect me from him, Banastre," Beth said. "Our marriage is over and I'm finished with all the lies. Yes, William. We had relations in this house."

He quivered. "Did you bed him after we were married?"

"No. You have called me many things just now, but you can not add adultery to the list. That stays well and truly within your own domain."

"You little fool," he said. William turned from her to Banastre. He could see the fellow was drained, there was an ungainly heaviness in his limbs, his usual grace and power gone. William wanted to truss the fellow up and drop him out the window. But his strength was draining from him; he tossed the belt onto the floor and pushed past his rival, without even looking at his wife.

"Take her," he snapped over his shoulder, contempt ringing in his voice. He recalled Beth's threat to slash his throat while he slept, and he wasn't entirely certain that she had not meant it. "Get her out of my sight or one of us will not live the night," he said, feeling every bit as wrathful. He could not imagine sleeping along side her, threats against his life or not. He was as likely to murder her as she was him. There would be no peace for either of them, not now.

"I fully intend to," Banastre replied. He watched William warily. "Don't think to come after us, William; I'll not give her up to you easily."

"You won't have to," William scoffed. He turned back to Beth, his lip curled as he stared down at her. Where once he saw the woman he loved when his eyes fell upon her, now all he could see was yet another whore with Banastre's cock shoved in her mouth. He could barely look at her without feeling utter disgust. "I want you gone from this house," he announced and she bristled, furious that he would think to evict her from her own families home. She was about to give him a blistering but he continued, "even if you beg on bended knee, I'll not take you back."

"Beg you?" She asked, trying for dignified calm. She held her chin high; tear streaked, blotched face notwithstanding. "On bended knee? You must be mad."

"I don't see why that would surprise you, you seem to quite like being on your knees," William shot back cruelly. Banastre tightened his lips and Beth quivered from head to toe - such an insult! Finally, he said, derisively, "And you call Linda a whore." He shook his head, and for a moment, she honestly thought he'd spit at her feet. But then strode toward the door.

"I'm leaving because I can not stand to even look at you!" She shouted as he reached for the broken bolt. He did not turn back. "Betrayer! I'd not take you back if you begged! Kick me out of this house, will you? I'm going to write to Clinton. I'll inform him of your betrayal, you only have this house through me, and I'll make sure he knows our marriage is at an end so he will remove it from you!"

"Yes, Beth, do tell Clinton that you spread your legs and offered up your quim to Banastre before marrying me, because that doesn't reflect poorly on you at all!" He scoffed.

"And I want my money back!" She screamed, ignoring his insults. "Every damned penny, you'll not spend my inheritance on your whore! Do you hear me!"

Of course, that was something he wouldn't reply too - William stepped out of the room and the door shut behind him. With the closing of that door, the weight of everything seemed to descend upon her at once and she sat heavily to the bed, only to jerk back to her feet when the sudden increased flare of pain almost caused her to faint. Banastre came to stand before her, his face filled with love and commiseration.

"I'm not a whore," she whispered to him. The horrid insults had stung as much as the pain of William's belt. "I'm not…"

"Shh, of course you're not," Banastre wrapped his arms around her. She was a quivering mess against his chest, gasping in huge breaths. He gently stroked strands of golden hair away from the tears coating her face. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began trying to clean her.

"He beat me," she whispered, fingers curling into his jacket. "Oh, my Lord, he beat me."

"Come now," he took her gently by the shoulders and pulled her close. She hissed as her shift and skirts slid across her rump, brushing across the livid, painful weals. She could barely stand and had to lean heavily on Banastre, who could barely stand himself. He managed to support her with one arm and to scoop up her saddle bags with the other, then he guided her toward the door.


	103. Chapter 103 - Not one to Judge

Chapter 103 - Not one to Judge:

Richard closed his bed chamber door behind him. Cilla was standing with her back to him at the window; though there was nothing left to see, Beth and Banastre were no longer in view. Richard lowered himself to the small table and dropped his head to his hands.

"I told Mrs. Ambrose that Beth has gone to her sister after receiving word that she is sick. Word will spread from there, everyone will believe Miss Margaret has taken ill and Beth has gone to sit by her bedside."

"You don't even know where her sister is," Cilla said. Her arms were folded, her back ramrod straight. She did not turn to look at him. "You should have stopped him from beating her," Cilla said.

He laughed softly. "Stop my Commander from beating his wife for bedding another man and not telling him before marrying him. Yes, I would have every right to stop him."

"There is no need for sarcasm," she snapped.

"I think I'm under quite enough strain without you adding accusations to it! She is his wife, I have no right to interfere."

"You interfered readily enough in Farshaw's marriage," Cilla shot back, whirling to face him. "You felt you had the right to, with them!"

"That's completely different and you know it."

"Two husbands have beaten their wives for roughly the same transgression," Cilla said, rounding on him. "When it's Tavington, you ignore it. Yet Farshaw had to be visited by doctors, after you were through with him! You're always making the rules up as you go along!"

"The differences are night and day," Richard argued. "Tavington used his belt on her backside, which is a punishment administered to children, for crying out loud!"

"Not the way he did it!"

"While Farshaw beat Harmony black and blue, until she could barely walk or talk, one eye was almost swollen shut! He kicked her repeatedly; her ribs, her legs, he was not at all discerning where, as long as his boot connected and it caused her agony, that was all he cared about! Besides, Farshaw was in my command, whereas I am in Tavington's!"

"And you're in love with Harmony," Cilla spat. "Let's not forget that ulterior motive. With that comes a whole level of protection my cousin can never anticipate from you, despite how you call her friend!"

"I'm not bothering to discuss this further with you," Richard heaved a breath. "You're not going to listen to reason any more than Beth was going to earlier. I tried to tell William not to bother," he shook his head. "To wait until she calmed down."

"So that's what you'll do with me?" She challenged. "Wait until I've calmed down?"

"If you need to shout at someone, then fine. Shout away. It's not going to change a damned thing though, Cilla."

"She was never going to stay," Cilla said, throwing her arms wide. "There was never going to be some conversation between them that would sort this whole sordid affair and result in them having a lovely afternoon and a nightcap before bed! _He had an affair!_ She's so furious she doesn't even care that he knows about her and Banastre now."

"Did you know about her and Banastre?" Richard asked, incredulous.

"I suspected, I knew nothing for certain. What difference does it make? She's gone, I doubt she's ever going to come back," Cilla began her tirade with righteous fury but this last was choked out on a sob. "Half the reason I could accept marrying you was because she was here. She was my only reason for being here and now she's gone and he has gone and they've all gone and Gods, I have nobody!" She turned back to the window, her hand over her mouth, fingers wiping her eyes as she cried.

"Jesus," Bordon pushed the chair back as he rose from the table. Though her words had stung, he crossed the room and placed one hand on her back, uncertain how she would receive the gesture. With revulsion? Or solace? She stiffened but did not jerk away from him. She was so damned stiff though. Still; like a marble statue. He did not rub her shoulders or take her into his arms as he would have Harmony, he just rested his hand on her back, awkward and as still as the grave. She accepted the handkerchief he was holding out to her and began dabbing her eyes.

At length, she stepped away from him and he let his hand fall to his side.

"I'm sorry, I just…" Cilla whispered. "I wish she wasn't gone. And I wish, I really, really wish, he hadn't beat her. That was just so… awful."

"I can understand - you must have found it very distressing," Richard sat on the edge of their bed, gazing up at her. "I am sorry I did not resolve the situation the way you would have liked me to. There was not a hell of a lot I could do - not against Tavington. Maybe if he wasn't my superior, I would have handled it differently. Maybe if she hadn't… Gods, what was she thinking, giving herself to another man and then marrying William without even telling him?"

"Don't you judge her," Cilla warned. "You've done far worse than Beth has ever done -"

"I know, I know," he held his hands wide, as if in surrender.

"And so has Tavington," Cilla bit out. "Because he never even punished you for it. You force yourself on me and you get nothing, yet Beth wrongs him and he belts her for it. Neither of you are worthy judges of a woman's character."

"I'm not for one moment suggesting I am worthy of anything at all. I'm just saying that what she did was… Provoking…" Richard said, his hands still wide.

"What he did was provoking, also," she said.

"Yes, and I'd very much like to get to the bottom of that," Richard took a hold of her arm and gently tugged. "Will you sit down? You're craning my neck."

"You're craning your own neck," she said, though she allowed him to pull her down to sit beside him.

"I'm not judging her for it, Cilla. As you say, I've done far worse things and I did those things to you. How can I possibly cast judgement on Beth, while looking you in the eye?"

"You can't," she replied, lowering her eyes to the floor.

"Cilla, I… We've been married for long enough now, you've gotten to know me a little, I'm sure. Enough for you to know I'm not a monster. At the time I… Gods, how do I say this," he shook his head and closed his eyes, as if trying to find the right words. He opened his eyes again. "I felt… Vindicated. That I was doing the right thing. I was so filled with rage and I just… I took all of it out on you, an innocent. Except for spying on Brownlow and Dalton, you were innocent and I know that now, I know you did not deserve what I did to you -"

"You're apologising to me?" She asked incredulously, shocked to her core.

"I am. Well, I am trying…" he said. "I can not tell you… Words can not express… how ardently sorry I am, Cilla."

"It means nothing to me," she said, shaking her head. "Your words, they mean nothing to me, no more than the braying of a donkey!"

"Cilla!" Richard gasped, offended.

"What you did - it is not something that can be forgiven!"

"I know. But it is something I can be sorry for doing," he said softly. "I can be remorseful, I _am_ remorseful. Every day… lately, I mean. I wasn't at first. For so long, I wasn't sorry. And I'm sorry for that, too. For I should have fallen at your feet and begged forgiveness from the first moment. I never should have done it in the first place. I just… I'm so sorry."

Cilla rose and went to stand before the window again, arms folded across her chest. He stared at her back, watched her as she struggled with his apology.

"I'd hoped…" he began, feeling every bit the fool. "That if I said the words… that if I told you how sorry I am… perhaps it will bring you some solace."

"Solace," she said, and he saw her wiping her eyes. She'd begun weeping again, though quietly enough that he hadn't noticed with her back to him. "I do not want to hear an apology, for no mere words could ever encompass, or amend, the horrors you put me through."

"I know," he said wretchedly. "You have to live with what I did to you. And I have to live with the remorse."

"You locked us in that dungeon, Richard. And we're never getting out."

He blew out a long, slow breath. They were both silent, Richard didn't know how long for. As he sat there on the bed, he thought how this was the first time she'd ever called him by his name. Richard. He couldn't think of why that mattered but to him, it did. He stared at her back, noticed that her shoulders had stopped shaking some time ago, she'd stopped dabbing at her eyes. She was no longer crying.

"Will you come and sit with me, Cilla?" He asked, not taking hold of her to guide her down to the bed as he had earlier. Her shoulders slumped and she turned back without meeting his gaze, she lowered herself to the bed beside him. She lifted her head to the ceiling and closed her eyes.

"We're discussing Beth and Tavington, not what you did to me. I don't want to talk about what you did to me."

"Alright," he said, a little disappointed to lose this opportunity to continue his apology. Cilla was calming down, she was even sitting on the bed next to him, not quite touching but only inches separating them. Anyone seeing them would almost call it companionable, their nearness. But no, now was not the time to push her, just because he was feeling the need. Perhaps one day she would warm to him, but that would not be today.

"Can you please tell me what happened down there? Beth said Miss Cordell told her that Linda is bedding Tavington. I honestly… I can't imagine that he is - he would not keep something like that from me, especially when…" he paused and glanced at her, then changed what he had been about to say. "Especially when we're such good friends."

"Oh, Richard, how stupid do you think I am?" She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I know that you are bedding Mrs. Farshaw and I know that Tavington knows - and that Beth knows. I have spoken to her about it, so don't pretend she didn't. Tavington is keeping it all secret for you… that's why you'd expect him to confide in you - because he knows you're doing the same."

"Oh," Richard hung his head, feeling like the naughty boy who was finally caught stealing a cherry pie. Should he apologise to his wife for having an affair, when he was not sorry? Should he deny it? Or vow to never let it happen again? All would be lies. Better just to move on - no point discussing this, either. "What happened down in the camp?"

Cilla told him. From drinking tea with Mrs. Andrews, to Miss Cordell joining them, to their parting. "I saw him first," she said and continued on, describing the scene she'd witnessed. Of Tavington stopping before a camp follower, of Cilla's astonishment as she recognised the woman as Linda Stokes. As a clearly pregnant Linda hugging and kissing him, right there in front of everyone and no one was even slightly surprised. Of Linda taking Tavington's hand and leading him to the tent. "She glanced our way, and she saw Beth. The look in Miss Stoke's face - she was like the cat who ate the cream. She wore such a smirk and then she shrugged, like she just didn't care. And then they were in the tent…" Richard was frowning, shocked by the account Cilla was giving. She continued, telling him of Beth confronting Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell, the former denied that Tavington and Linda were dallying, but the latter… "Miss Cordell said that when he found out Miss Stokes was back in camp, the affair didn't start straight away. But at some point it did begin again. Miss Cordell said he started visiting several times a week, for several hours, and that Miss Stokes confided to her that he had finally returned to her bed."

"Dear God," Richard sighed. He dropped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "Perhaps he was embarrassed, maybe that's why he didn't tell me," he said. "Tarleton, Hanger and Whitty lit into him when they found out he'd bought Linda along to be his mistress. He was scraping the bottom of the barrel, they said. You don't take a doxy and make her a mistress, because while you've elevated her slightly, in doing so you're lowering yourself. You take women other men can be jealous of, they said."

"Colonel Tarleton said that, did he?" Cilla asked, surprised and somewhat pleased. "That he would only ever choose a woman that other men would be jealous of?"

"The men would be jealous of the man for having her, not of the woman herself," Richard said. Cilla realised he thought he was correcting her when in fact, she quite understood. She also understood that Banastre had chosen _her_, and she began to feel warm inside. Richard continued, "not one they've all already had for the price of a couple pennies."

"Is that what Mrs. Farshaw is? A mistress to make other men jealous?" Cilla asked, arching an eyebrow down at her husband.

"Harmony is not a trophy," Richard said. "I am in love with her, Cilla. I will not flash her about like some pretty new jewel I bought."

"Good," she said shortly. "You must be absolutely discreet, if we're not to end up in the same scandal Beth and Tavington find themselves in."

"You really don't care, do you?" He asked, pushing up and sitting beside her again.

"So long as you're in her bed, you're not in mine," she shrugged.

"Cilla…" he trailed off, shaking his head. He was about to remind her that one day they would need to bed one another if they were to have a child, but abandoned it for now. Instead, he said, "Harmony said the same, when she realised Farshaw was having an affair. She said that as long as he is in that other woman's bed, he wouldn't be plaguing her to do her duty. That is how much she despised him, how little she wanted to do with him." He paused, turned to her, met her gaze. "Is that how you feel about me?"

"Yes," she replied, gaze unblinking. He stared back gravely.

"She sees him as a monster," he said. "And I guess you see me the same." She said nothing, made no empty reassurances to the contrary. "I can expect no less," he wrapped his fingers over her cold hand. "But Cilla, there is one glaring difference between me and Farshaw."

"And what is that?"

"I - am - sorry," he said each word crisply, holding her eyes, hoping she would read the truth there. "And I am _capable_ of being sorry." He added. "I will never hurt you again." He gave her unresponsive hand a squeeze. "Just one time, Cilla. Just once."

"And if the baby doesn't take?" She asked, knowing exactly what he was speaking of.

"Then once more," he shrugged. "One time, once a month after each bleeding, until your belly quickens. Just think on it, would you?" She closed her eyes, blew out a slow breath.

There was a knock on the door and at Richard's answer, Dalton entered. Cilla and Richard were seated on the bed as Dalton walked across the chamber to address them. While Dalton sketched a bow for Cilla, his eyes flickered to their joined hands, Cilla pulled her fingers away and placed her hands in her lap.

"Sir, Tavington has ridden out with the Dragoons."

"To where?" Richard asked, seeing Cilla's frantic gaze. She feared Tavington was chasing Beth down to drag her back, after all.

"Scouting," Dalton replied. "He said he does not know when he will return. He said you have the command."

"Very good. Thank you, Ensign," Richard said and the Officer withdrew.

"Scouting… Do you think he's gone after her?" Cilla voiced her fears.

"No. I think he is letting off steam. The mood he's in, you'd better pray for your rebels, wife," as he rose, he groaned, as if his body pained him.

* * *

Beth had held Banastre's arm all the way down the service stairs, but she released it before they reached the door below. Lifting her chin, her expression became stone as they stepped outside. There, many of the dislodged servants were waiting to be allowed back into the house.

"Mrs. Tavington," Mrs. Ambrose rushed forward. "I'm so sorry to hear about Miss Margaret. If there is anything I can do…"

Beth wanted to shout at the woman, the cook who'd served her family for decades. She wanted to scream that William had had an affair, that she was leaving because her husband was an adulterer, and that her sister was perfectly fine and the swiftness with which Richard had thought up that excuse for her departure was proof at how well those two were at covering for their misdeeds.

"I have taken medicines," she said instead. "I will tend her myself. All will be well, Mrs. Ambrose, please don't fret for Miss Margaret."

"But… He said it is the yellow fever," Mrs. Ambrose said.

"I don't think the symptoms match," Beth replied. She needed to leave but did not want her staff worrying unnecessarily. "I will send word back to let you know. I really must be on my way, if you'll excuse me?" Beth continued to walk onward, agony she did not show flared with every stride.

Banastre did not feel that was explanation enough. Why would he escort her, and not her husband? It was, therefore, how the Colonel of Tarleton's Legion, the son of a prominent and very wealthy merchant, who would never condescend to explaining himself to servants, prepared to do exactly that now. For, Mrs. Ambrose and the others would repeat his words and before long, people far and wide would believe his explanation as though it were truth.

"Lord Cornwallis' summons was quite timely, it seems. I am to attend him up north. By Colonel Tavington's request, I shall escort Mrs. Tavington to her sister's bedside. It is along the way and will only be a short aside from my journey," he glanced at Beth, who glanced back at him, startled. He made a gesture and at length, she nodded.

"Yes, indeed he did. And time is of the essence," she added, a pointed reminder to Banastre to get on with it.

Banastre began to walk Beth through them, he nodded grave thanks when he was hailed as a Gentleman, for offering to escort Beth to her family who needed her. A general murmuring erupted behind him, as the servants began expressing their worry and fear for the small, sweet child. It would be that story that was spread across the countryside, not the truth of the Tavington's marital disruption. In order to keep Beth and his own name clear of the mud, Banastre was forced to keep William's name clean also. It was a small price to pay.

In the stable, Shadow Dancer was saddled and the bags Mila had packed were strapped on. The mare pawed at the ground with her hooves, excited when she saw Beth. Shadow Dancers would be able to run now, and she quivered with the wanting. Beth stroked the mares nose absently. Banastre was still at her side, he had not let go of her on the walk from the house.

"I can't," she said, glancing up at him. "The saddle. I can't… It's going to hurt so much… Can't we go by carriage?"

"It will only slow us down," he told her, commiserating. He kissed her brow. "A carriage will take an age to travel, I need to cover as much ground today as possible, if I want to reach Cornwallis by tomorrow. I know it will be hard on you but I vow, when we stop for the night," he tilted her chin up to him when she looked away, "I'll rub a salve into those weals. But for now… we must go." Beth sighed and glanced away.

Banastre helped her to mount, she hissed and gasped as soon as her rump contacted with the saddle, and she leaned forward as far over Shadow Dancers neck as she could, changing her usual seat in the saddle as much as possible to keep her bottom from contacting as little as possible. Banastre kept his horse near to hers, keeping a close eye on her in case she faltered. Her every wince cut through him like a scythe. He led the way from the stable to the corral, where the horses of his Dragoon escort were kept. His Dragoons were mounting, having received the command to leave immediately.

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Harmony," Richard rubbed his beloved's back as she wept. It had not been a pleasant interview, and it had been with great reluctance that Richard informed Harmony of the end to her friendship with Beth. Harmony stood by the fire, one hand clutching the mantle for support, while Richard stood behind her, rubbing her back.

"I knew..." She whispered between sobs. "I knew... It was wrong... Should have told... False friend she calls me... I never should have listened to you!"

"Harmony," Richard's hand stilled, he stared at her, startled by the venom in her voice. She was weeping, yes, but he realised now that half her tears were of frustration and fury, not only of grief.

"I should never have!" She cried, spinning to face him. "How could you put me in that position? I told you and William both, from the start, that it was a mistake. That Beth should be told that Linda was in camp. I told you that, yet I'm the one who is blamed!"

"I know," he sighed.

"And did you listen? No. Did William? And no Beth calls me false friend and I will never see her again! She hates me, because she thinks William had an affair and that I helped to keep it secret from her! Oh, why did I listen to you? Why did I let you rope me into this! And now she's gone and I can't even speak to her, I can't tell her my side, I can't ask she forgive me! I can't tell her I'm not a false friend, I can't -" She choked off and buried her face in her hands. Richard sighed and when he pulled her close again, she did not pull away.

"I'm sorry," he said, whispering it in her ear. He wrapped his strong arms around her and rested his chin on her head. The two stood there, by the fire. At length, Harmony put her arms around Richard's hips, needing to envelop herself in his nearness.

"How badly did he beat her?" Harmony asked, raising her head to his. He thumbed away her tears.

"A strapping with his belt," Richard said. "She won't be sitting comfortably for a few days, to be sure. But it was nothing like what Farshaw did to you. In truth, considering what she'd just revealed to him, I think William showed restraint."

"You think he should have beaten her worse?" She asked incredulously.

"No, that's not what I mean. And no, I am not judging her, before you accuse me," he said, recalling his conversation with Cilla. "It's just… She bedded another man and did not tell William - she married him, with him thinking she was a virgin. Lord, I was shocked when she told him, I can't imagine what he was feeling. Knowing him as I do, I am surprised he did not do worse to her. She should not have kept that secret, she should have told him, when I gave them the opportunity to reveal all, during the ceremony."

"Yes, that was the perfect time," Harmony scoffed. "How could she have told William, Richard? How could she have looked him in the eye and told him she'd been with another man? He'd have gone mad. Lord, he did go mad! She did not want to risk losing him, that's why she never told him. He would not have married her. She went through pure hell before they were together again, she was at her lowest and then Tarleton swoops in, gets her howling drunk, shows her a magnificent time and when she - in a moment of very soused weakness - offers more than she should have, he accepts it greedily. He took more from her than he should have - he's the older, the wiser, he's far more worldly than she is! "

Richard frowned down at Harmony, surprised by how knowledgeable she was regarding the more intimate details. His eyes widened, eyebrows climbing his forehead.

"You knew!" He accused, stunned.

"Of course I bloody did," Harmony snorted. "Beth isn't only my closest friend, Richard. I am hers, too. We had no secrets, none at all. Well, except Linda being in camp, a secret I never wanted to keep from her! Are you sure they were having an affair? Linda keeps telling me how frustrated she is, that he doesn't bed her when he visits her. Surely she'd tell me. Gods, she'd have been crowing about it from the rooftops!"

"She was; well, she told Miss Cordell at least."

"Miss Cordell? That makes no sense. Why wouldn't she tell me, as well? Richard, are you certain Beth had the right of it? I just…" Harmony shrugged. "The more I think about it… William wouldn't keep such a secret from you and God knows, Linda is more the type to boast of it, than conceal it. Do you remember how quickly she revealed it to Mrs. Salisbury?"

"I do remember," Richard frowned.

"And that was just to escape her workload…" Harmony said. "If they were having an affair again, she'd be even more compelled to reveal it now, to save face."

"But she did reveal it," he said. "To Miss Cordell."

"But not to me. She would have told _me_, Richard. What did Mrs. Andrews have to say of it?"

"She said she had agreed to not reveal Linda's presence in camp for the trouble it might cause, but that she would never agree to helping them keep an affair hidden."

"So..? Did she say William and Linda were not having an affair?"

"Yes," Richard replied.

"There's something not right here," Harmony shook her head slowly as if to clear it. "Sit with me. Tell me everything - all of it, the whole encounter as it was told to you."

"That would mean mentioning Cilla," he warned her as he lowered himself to the chaise at her side. She stiffened, her face closed over, but she nodded for him to continue anyway. Richard began, he repeated all Cilla had told him earlier, almost word for word.

"Beth can not visit camp without the other camp followers learning she was there," Harmony said, still frowning as if she were working on a puzzle.

"No, it would have been known to the other women that Beth was there."

"And Linda's tent is across and down from Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell's…"

"What are you driving at?"

"That Linda knew Beth had come and…" her face turned white as the blood drained from it. "And using that knowledge, she acted on it as soon as she saw William."

"Harmony…" Richard sighed. "Miss Cordell said he was going down to Linda's several times a week, for hours at a time!"

"Yes," Harmony spat, turning to face him, she was sitting on the very edge of the chaise. "And Linda expressed to me over and over again how frustrated she was, that William only ever wanted to play cards, drink whiskey, and talk." She jabbed her finger in Richard's chest. "That's what she told me, Richard. Me. So, who was she lying too? Me? Or Miss Cordell? She knows how close I have become to William, Richard. If Linda confided to me that they were having an affair, I would have given William the rough side of my tongue, make no mistake."

"Maybe William himself told her not to tell you, for that very reason."

"Richard, we are talking about a woman who blurted out to Mrs. Salisbury - for all to hear, that she was William's mistress - despite his telling her not to reveal it!" Harmony said, voice becoming heated. "Now, she was mighty embarrassed when he sent her away from camp. She despised slinking back, she worried what the other women were thinking of her, the Colonel's discarded mistress. She's a proud one, that one. If you ask me, it was Miss Cordell who was being lied too. Linda wanted to save face - she never would have revealed to the other women that William was visiting just to chat and pass the time. And she's obsessed with Beth," Harmony said, pondering. "Linda told me that whenever Beth came down to camp, she would hide herself in her tent and watch Beth's every move. Her tent is across from Mrs. Andrews and just a little further along. She would have been in it, watching and waiting for Beth to come back out. When she saw that William was coming…" Harmony drew in a sharp breath. "That's when she did it! William did not know Beth was there - but Linda knew. She would have seen him approaching. She would have seen Beth and the others had come out. And then suddenly William is there visiting Linda and Linda flew into action, throwing her arms around him and kissing him and making a show of putting his hand on her stomach. You even said it - she turned to look, she met Beth's eyes and she just smiled and shrugged!"

"You think she did it all on purpose," Richard breathed.

"I _know_ she bloody did," Harmony spat.

"He kept saying to Beth, _if you'd just let me explain_," Richard said, realisation dawning on him as well. "As if he did have a rational explantation. And he maintained his innocence, from the start of the argument to the finish. Even when all was lost and Beth revealed she'd bedded Tarleton, even then, he did not change his story. That would have been the time to do so, if he'd been lying."

"He was not lying. Linda has confided to me every single time I've seen her, complaining how she tries to seduce him and at most, he let her kiss him once, but he wouldn't go any further and wouldn't even do that again, no matter how hard she tried. She may have given Miss Cordell an entirely different account, but that was to save face, Richard. They were not sporting with one another in her tent, they were playing cards and drinking whiskey and talking, just like Linda complained to me they were doing."

"That bitch," he gasped, staring Harmony in the eyes with growing horror. "

"Linda kissed him, embraced him, whispered in his ear. She encouraged him to make a display over the baby, she took his hand and invited him into the tent," Harmony said pointedly. "Knowing that Beth was standing right there, watching all of it."

"She was hoping Beth would jump to conclusions," Richard said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"When she looked at Beth and smiled and shrugged, that was her showing triumph, Richard. She saw her opportunity - Beth and William in camp at once! - and she seized it!" Harmony hissed, furious. "She has caused all of this, and now she'll likely offer to give him the comfort he'll need - between the sheets, of course, now that she's gotten Beth out of the way! You must return to Fresh Water and tell William at once, you need to tell him immediately."

"I can't, he isn't there, he gathered up the Dragoons and rode out," Richard said. "I will tell him, as soon as he returns."

"Damn and blast it. Richard, no more bringing her here. Bring Miss Cordell instead, she can come fetch me here from Mrs. Turnbull's. She's destroyed William's marriage. She has destroyed my friendship with Beth. What she's done… I don't even want to look at her."

"To be honest, I doubt Linda will be in camp for much longer. When I tell William all this, he will evict her, child or not."

"Well, if she does, you tell her not to come crawling to me. She's made her bed, she can damned well lie in it."

* * *

"We shall have our lunch soon, I'll send someone up shortly to let you know when it's ready. For now, I'll leave you to settle in."

"Thank you, Mrs. Kent," Linda said as the farmwife withdrew from the chamber. Linda closed the door, then turned back to the chamber, delighted. Her belongings were already put away, into drawers and chests. Atop one small table sat the cards and a bottle of whiskey. Linda stalked briskly across the chamber, picked up the cards and threw them into a drawer. They would not be needing those anymore. The whiskey could stay, however.

Kicking off her shoes, she went to test the bed. She spread herself across it, her head on the pillows, and sighed. So comfortable. So much better than straw on the ground. And Gods, it was warm! A small fire burning on the grate. The room was delightful - all whites and pinks and greens, damask wallpaper coating the walls, a large window overlooking the Kent's land. There's was a little plantation, but it flourished, Mr. Kent said, because of it's close proximity to Fresh Water and the Martin family. Linda hadn't cared to listen to his story, not when he began with that. It was clear they weren't doing too badly - the house was large and pretty and so damned comfortable. William had chosen well for her.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. It was all like a dream - from the moment she'd thrown her arms around William's shoulders and kissed him right there before his stupid wife. Linda had hoped her little display would send Beth packing and Gods, it had worked out so much better than she ever could have anticipated. She had no idea what had gone on up at the Great House - no one seemed to know the details of that. But what she did know, was that Mrs. Beth Tavington had felt a sudden and pressing need to visit her family and Linda herself was being packed up and sent to the Kent's, where Tavington would visit as soon as he returned. That's what Corporal Carr had told her, when he and several others began packing her belongings - at Colonel Tavington's orders.

He had thought of everything, he'd even sent word to the Kent's well before her arrival, to anticipate their new lodger. The Kent's weren't nearly as stuffy as the Turnbull's, they had been told to expect Tavington later and they hadn't batted an eyelid. All there was left to do, was wait. And Linda was good at waiting, hadn't she been doing so for months? She waited through lunch, then had a nice long bath, after which she took special pains to make herself as beautiful as possible. She dressed in her best, and had one of Mr. Kent's few negroes dress her hair. She waited through dinner and well into dark, was still waiting while the rest of the family put themselves to bed.

At long last, riders approached the house and Linda's swelled with joy. She leaped off the bed, fixed her hair by candlelight in the mirror, poured herself another glass of whiskey and this time, one for William too. There were footfalls in the corridor and Linda could barely keep still, her heart pounded as she waited for that wonderful knock. When it came, she called softly, "come."

The door opened and there he was. He barely acknowledged the slave who'd guided him, the negro who now closed the door behind him. William removed his great cloak, set it over the side of a chair, grace and beauty in his every move. She sighed as she watched him, when he straightened and then approached, his long legs and smart march as he crossed the room to her. She gazed up at him, into the face she loved so much, the very air swept from her lungs. He stared down at her, she recognised the dark look on his face, in his eyes.

Smiling, she wrapped her fingers around his glass, lifted it up in offering. He took it, drank it back in one gulp.

"Remind me, Linda, what is your safety word?" He asked, the glass still in his hand as he traced one finger along her cheek. Her and a thrill shot along her spine.

She licked her lips and struggled to form words. "Scarlet," she whispered, swallowing hard.

"Very good," he said. He set the glass down with a thump and then seized her arms, pulling her up swiftly to meet his lips.

* * *

The hour was late. When Richard slipped into his bed chamber, he expected to find Cilla sound asleep. However, as he opened the door, she sat up immediately and wiped her eyes. It was not sleep she was wiping from her eyes, but tears.

"Oh Cilla," he sighed. He went to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. This time, he did put his arms around her as he would if she were Harmony and to his astonishment, she did not pull away or even stiffen. Instead, she clung to him and wept. "Here, I've been thinking," he said. "About what you said, about being alone here now without Beth. Maybe without Tarleton here, Miss Middleton might be allowed to return?" He asked and Cilla jerked her head up from his chest with a look of hope. "Would you like that?"

"I… Yes, I would," she replied, nodding. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and sniffled.

"I'll see what I can do," he patted her back. Giving her one last squeeze, he removed his arms from the embrace, for he wasn't entirely certain if it was welcome or not. Better to urge on the side of caution. He remained sitting right before her, however. She pulled her knees up to her chest beneath the blankets and stared up at him gravely. Fearful that he would press her about trying for a baby? To put her at her ease, he said, "it's late, how about we try to get some sleep?"

She nodded and he adjusted the blankets around her as she slid back down the bed. Richard undressed, cursing the cold as he did so. The fire had almost burned itself out - he placed a few more logs on, then continued pulling off his boots. His fingers were ice within his gloves, he pulled them off and held them out toward the fire.

"It's damned cold out there," he complained, wiggling his toes within his socks to get the blood flowing again. He continued to dress down to his small clothes, folding his breeches, waist coat, shirt and Dragoon jacket with great care as he did. He went to his side of the bed and stared - his side was still made, the blankets crisp beneath the pillow, only billowed slightly up toward the centre of the bed where Cilla made a tent of them with her body. His side looked so damned cold, he was not going to enjoy getting in between the sheets. Cilla's side however - she looked so warm and cosy, curled on her side with her back to him, snuggled down beneath the blankets.

He always kept a space of a foot between them just the way she preferred, but now he longed to lay his body alongside hers. It was damned cold, her heat would warm him just nicely. He pulled back his blankets and climbed in, hissing as his cold legs slid down the freezing sheets. Without even considering her reaction, he shuffled along the sheets until his body was alongside hers, crossing over the imaginary _one foot at all times_ barrier.

"What are you doing?" She gasped, lifting her head and shooting him a glance over her shoulder as his body spooned into hers.

"I'm damnably cold, Cilla. And you're damnably warm," he said into her hair. He pulled the covers up higher over them both. "Please, Cil? My fingers are freezing, everything is freezing and you're just so warm. I'm not going to do anything, I vow it." She stared at him and he wondered if she would demand he retreat to his side of the bed. "Seven weeks, we've been married. Seven weeks, we've been sharing this bed. Do you still not trust me?" He asked, quite shocked.

Cilla was biting her lip in thought. Then she heaved a sigh and relaxed.

"Just keep those frozen feet away from mine," she warned.

"I'll keep my chilled toes away," he promised. He slid his arm along the bottom of her pillows, when she laid down again, her neck and head were supported by the pillows and his arm. He suddenly didn't know what to do with his other hand, he reached out to place it on her waist, then thought better of it. He laid it straight down the length of his own body, but that felt too strange. In the end, he did place his hand on her waist and when she made no protest, he relaxed his body against hers. "This is so much better," he sighed as her warmth began to seep through him.

"For you maybe. You're very cold, Richard," she said.

He laughed softly. "When my body heats up, it'll be warmer than yours. You'll see, come winter, you'll be snuggling into me, not the other way around."

She grunted. The two fell silent, and to Richard's surprise, Cilla was soon snoring softly. He took it as a sign, perhaps she really was finally beginning to trust him. She never ceased to remind him of what he did to her - not that he could ever forget - but still, she did not appear to despise him as much as she had. Nor was she afraid of him anymore. At least, he hoped that was the case.


	104. Chapter 104 - A Question Worth Consideri

Chapter 104 - A Question Worth Considering:

A great peel of thunder boomed overhead, shaking the windows in their casements. Cilla shuddered, she'd always hated storms. Rain lashed at the windows, a gale was whistling past the house. Despite sitting as close as she could to the fire, those sounds chilled Cilla to the bone. How was Beth fairing, riding in this? Would Banastre consider Beth's health, would he stop and take shelter to keep her out of the driving rain? Or was he in such a hurry to reach Cornwallis, that he'd force Beth to travel in such weather? Cilla hoped not. This was the sorts of weather that only the bravest would dare to attempt. The bravest, most hardy sort of men.

And the most dedicated _armours_. Richard had ridden out in this weather - not because he was brave or stalwart, but because he was desperate to fall into bed with his mistress. Cilla ran her fingers through the silk in her lap. She was making a cravat from it for Richard. Not because she was a devoted wife, or was even trying to pretend to be a devoted wife. But because she'd started to make it for Banastre, only he was gone now.

Might as well give it to Bordon, instead.

She heaved a sigh and dropped back into the chair, losing all interest in the half made garment. Beth was gone. Banastre was gone. She was not certain which she wept for more - her cousin or her lover. Four days now. Four days since she'd last felt his touch, since his wonderful hands had slid along her body, setting her aflame. She missed him, missed their intimacy, their stolen and joyous moments, the love and the warmth. Oh, they were not in love with each other, but Cilla felt a strong attachment all the same.

Broken, now. She was alone. Except for Bordon. Their new shared custom was to sleep side by side now, spooning, to share heat with the weather getting so much colder. The first time Bordon had pressed his body to hers, she'd almost shouted at him to get the hell away. But then he'd asked her that question. That damned question that his conduct toward her thus far, forced her to consider.

_"Seven weeks, we've been married. Seven weeks, we've been sharing this bed. Do you still not trust me?"_

Did she trust him? Seven weeks, they had been married. And not once had the monster from the dungeon emerged.

But that did not mean it wouldn't.

Bordon had done what he had done to her, because he had felt provoked by events entirely outside Cilla's control. What if he ever felt provoked again?

She did not feel constantly under threat, she did not feel constantly afraid. She did not feel entirely unafraid, either; for the monster had emerged once, who was to say it would not again? But with each passing day, the danger felt less and less.

No. She did not trust him.

But nor was she constantly suspicious of him, either. And Bordon was her husband now.

She found herself missing so much about Banastre and his touch that at least, now, she was able to recapture a shadow of what she had lost - when she snuggled down in her husband's arms, she imagined they were Banastre's. It wasn't intimacy. It was a pale shadow of what she had shared with Banastre. Richard was strong though, strong like Banastre, whose arms had cradled her often, but never would again.

And Richard was warm, far warmer than Cilla. It was like having a furnace in the bed, beneath the covers, and she knew that their new custom would make her winter nights far more tolerable.

Still, as she sat by the warmth of the fire, sewing Banastre's cravat to give to Bordon, she mulled over the question. Seven weeks, they had been married. How did she feel about it now?

Not terrified, at least. Richard and Cilla had slipped into a routine - one that was highly reliant on avoiding each other. He went scouting with the Dragoons, and he went to his mistress. Cilla had spent her days with Beth, Emily, Sarah and Rebecca, and later with Banastre as well. Then she took sick and it was two weeks before she was recovered. And then Richard took sick, and another two weeks passed before he was recovered. And when he did finally rise from his sickbed, it was to return to his routine - of scouting with the Dragoons, and bedding Harmony Farshaw, while Cilla slipped into Banastre's room, and spent her other free time with Beth.

When had she ever spent time with Richard? Certainly, they had been married for seven weeks just as he had said. But they hadn't spent a single moment of that time working on their marriage. No, they had fallen into a routine, that only saw them bought together at night.

Still, she was not frightened anymore, she could stomach the sight of him now, and even allowed the physical contact for it provided her warmth and for those moments before sleep, she could pretend he was Banastre.

Her question, how did she feel about being married to the person who had attacked her so brutally, remained unanswered. She did not like to remember that awful hour in the dungeon. When she did, she felt such a welling of hatred and fury toward Richard Bordon, the force alone should have smote him dead. All other times, however, she was just… herself. She still had enjoyment of life - Banastre had given her that. During the course of the last seven weeks, she found she could speak to Richard without wanting to stab him in the chest.

She had no choice but to just take each day as it came.

And the days to follow might well be the hardest yet. For while Richard had returned to his routine of bedding Harmony, scouting and sleeping in Cilla's chamber, the people who had filled Cilla's daily routine were gone. All of her companions had left her, there was not a soul left to speak to. Rebecca might accept her invitation to return to Fresh Water, but how long would it be before she arrived?

Left alone with her thoughts, she'd been unable to think of anything else besides Tavington and Beth. Tavington, that damned bastard. It was all his fault. His and that whore, Linda Stokes. Christ. They'd caused so much heart ache. Because of them, Beth was gone. Cilla's eyes filled with tears as she remembered the look on Beth's face when Cilla revealed that the woman, Mrs. Merry, was actually Miss Linda Stokes. How could Tavington do such a thing? After all his professions of loving her. What a damned lying bastard.

She was so glad Tavington was away from Fresh Water. She didn't think she'd be able to hold her tongue if the storm had kept them both confined to the house. She doubted she could form two civil words to say to him. It was just better that he was gone. Richard, also. Despite his professions of remorse and sorrow, despite his vows not to hurt her, she still preferred that he was well away from her. Threading her needle, she bent over the white silk in her lap and began her work. How long she was at the task, she could not tell, but she'd sewn at least half along one length when the parlour door opened and a Redcoat entered. She despised Redcoats - well, excepting for Banastre. Still, despite her hatred of all British Officers, her mouth dried when her eyes landed on this one. Tall, ebony hair, finely chilled features and the most brilliant green eyes she'd ever seen in her life. He was remarkably handsome, she could not help staring at him.

"Mrs. Bordon?" He asked and she nodded mutely, despising the need to do so. She wished she could tell this Redcoat _'no, my name is Miss Putman!'_. She doubted she would ever resign herself to the name everyone insisted on calling her. Mrs. Bordon. She shuddered. He bowed low, then he shut the door behind him and stepped deeper into the chamber. His boots were wet, though he must have worn a great cloak over his uniform, for the rest of him was dry.

"Have you come from my husband?" She asked. Perhaps to tell me he's dead and that I'm a widow?

"No, Mrs. Bordon," the fellow smiled. Cilla's heart skipped a beat, she felt she might swoon, he was so very comely! "I come from your father," he said.

The blood drained from her face, her attraction to the fellow vanished. She stared up at him for several long, speechless moments before finding her voice.

"How dare you?" She asked so softly, he had to step forward to hear her over the driving rain outside. When he discerned her anger, he made to defend himself.

"No, madam, you do not understand -"

"How dare you! Is this some new way to torment me?" She yelled up at him. "My father is dead, as every one damned well knows! Get out! Get out of my sight -"

"I can't do that, and please stop yelling!" The fellow cast a worried look over his shoulder, but no one was rushing toward the parlor to discover what had upset the Major's wife. "It's all true, I vow it!" The fellow squatted at her knee and began speaking furiously. "Your father was shot but Nicholas Watson - who was once a Redcoat but is now on our side - saved him by pushing him out the window and into the Cooper. They swam for a smaller byway and there, hid themselves until they could find a boat. Up the river they rowed until they found an old woman who was willing to help them. She tended your father's wounds, Mrs. Bordon, I swear as God is my witness, that he is very much alive. It's all in this," he reached inside his coat and pulled out a letter.

By the time the fellow finally fell silent, all Cilla could do was gape with astonishment and stare down at the parchment in his hand.

"It's from your father; you recognise his handwriting, surely?"

She certainly did. She stared at her name - Miss Cilla Putman, as it was meant to be written - across the front of the letter, in her father's own hand. Her eyes welled up with tears, she could no longer read her name, her vision was blurred. "Who are you?" She asked in a voice choked with emotion.

"Lieutenant Calvin Farshaw," he replied and she drew in a sharp breath.

This was Calvin Farshaw. The fellow she'd been told so much about. Harmony's husband, who'd raped her, beaten her, could have killed her. The fellow who probably would kill her, should he learn where she was and whose child she was truly carrying. This was the monster, the foul and violent beast. She leaned back into her chair, trying to create distance. For the fellow had no love lost for Richard, none at all, and she was Richard's wife, and they were all alone in the parlor.

"Have you come to hurt me?" She asked softly, terrified. He blinked at her, surprised.

"What? No!" He said, pulling a face. "I came because your father bade me. To give you the message that your father entrusted me with. To deliver this and to tell you he is alive."

"Why… why would he entrust such a task to you?" Her mind was whirling, she'd never been so confused in her life.

"Because I was a Continental before and I'm a Continental still," he said, voice firm, implacable with resolve. "They can make a man change his coat, but they can't change what's in his heart, ain't it true? I was a Lieutenant before I fell at Savannah, you see," he explained. "I got many scars from that battle. I was left for dead in the mud and when they realised I was alive, they tossed me in the dungeon to finish the job. Must have had a change of heart or somewhat because they ended up giving me a choice, die there or turn coat. Perhaps I should have stayed in the dungeon," a far away look came across his features as he stared blankly past her. "But I found I didn't want to, you know? To die. So I put on the Red, but I was never one of them. Not in my heart, anyway. And there's others here like me, I'm not alone, you see. When I came here to search for that…" He paused and drew a sharp breath, then laughed it out. "My lovely wife," he spat bitterly, "I was forced to join Tavington's Legion. We'd be far, far from here by now, if not for that. Anyway. Once here, I was visited by Jack Statton, cousin to the spy they hanged. Banksia. You know about that?" He asked when he saw Cilla give a start. She nodded, wide eyed. "Well, here he was, wearing the Redcoat, too. I was surprised at that, because I remembered him to be a Patriot like me. After posing some real careful questions, it turned out he still was. Jack and another fellow were placed in the Legion by your father," he lowered his voice and cast a look over his shoulder toward the door, to ensure no one else could hear. Then in a conspiratorial voice, he said, "spies. You know. The ones Tavington didn't discover and hang. They were working for Trellim -"

"Oh my God!" Cilla covered her mouth with her hand, shocked. "Trellim?"

"He and Banksia. Both hanged. They were your da's men too," he said intently. She nodded, tears finally spilling over.

"My father…" she stuttered, "he - he organised them. He g-got Trellim and B-Banksia into the G-Green Dragoons. T-Trellim was their… Captain… they g-gathered information and p-passed it b-back to Trellim to g-give my father."

"They still do, Mrs. Bordon. And now, so do I. I wasn't going to join Jack because I thought I'd be gone from here after only a few days, but when Tavington got me stuck here, I thought fuc - ah that is, stuff it. If I have to be here, might as well join Jack and Eric Clayton. I've been reporting things from the Great House at the Ferguson's ever since. I see everything that passes Major Fallows' desk and almost everythin' goes through him before it reaches O'Hara. I even got access to O'Hara's seal and cipher, and Fallows seal too. I've made these clay impressions of both, and I'm going to make forgeries. We can wreak havoc with those - just got to get them to your da, which I'll do as soon as they're ready. For the longest time, we had no one particularly high up to give the information too, so not much was bein' done about what we learned. But now your father is back, and he's organised us again," Calvin said, voice urgent, intent.

She mouthed something but no words would come. Overcome, she buried her face in her hands and began to cry in earnest. Swearing under his breath, Calvin shot a worried glance over his shoulder at the door again. If anyone saw him sitting there, with the young woman crying, it would only mean trouble for him. There was not a soul alive in the camp who was not aware of the troubles Calvin had had with Bordon. If a passerby saw him sitting with Bordon's wife, with Bordon's wife crying… He could almost feel the whip lashing his back again. He had to make her stop, but he could not approach her further, he could not comfort her, or he'd get whipped for that, also. He waited with growing impatience as she struggled to come to terms with all she'd been told. Her tears of grief were slowly turning to joy now, as it began to sink.

"My father is alive?" She stammered out and when he nodded, she choked out a sobbing laugh. "Oh my God! He's alive!" Followed by more sobbing, louder this time. The girl was rocking herself, her arms wrapped around her body, the strip of silk slipped to the floor, forgotten.

"Please," he whispered, casting more glances over his shoulder. "You need to stop crying. I know you must be overwhelmed, and I can't imagine how you might be feeling about it, but you need to calm down now. If I'm caught in here…"

Calvin was worried she'd never recover from her weeping, but she managed to get control of herself. There was eagerness in her tear filled eyes now, eagerness and joy.

"Where is he?" She asked breathlessly.

"He has newly returned with Benjamin Martin, he was up north fighting against that Ferguson fellow the Lobsters are all crying over."

"Oh, he fought in a battle?" She cried, filled with pride.

"He distinguished himself. But they're back here now, they're going to ask Mrs. Rutledge if they can quarter on her land and -"

"Oh, that's only a few miles away! I could go to him! How easy would it be, my husband's not here and -"

"They won't let you leave," Calvin said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but they won't. You know that."

Cilla paused to think a moment, she was so overcome with joy and shock and excitement that for a moment there, she really had thought that she could simply order the carriage and she would be taken wherever she wished to go. That was impossible however, Major Bordon's wife would not be able to leave the safety of the Plantation without two score of Dragoons, which would require his permission to gain. Had he been there, she could have been granted such permission, she could pretend she wished to visit friends. But what would she do when she reached Henrietta Rutledge, with forty Dragoons at her back? They might find her father there, and her uncle, and both would be taken captive. She would not take the enemy within ten miles of anywhere her father intended to quarter.

"There has to be a way," she whispered. "God, I need to see him!"

"I know it's hard," Calvin commiserated. "But there's nothing to be done about it. You know the reason why as well as I do. But it doesn't end here, Mrs. Bordon. Your father has taken back command of the small spy ring here, we have proper leadership now, someone who can give us direction, someone who knows people who can act on the information we send him."

"I don't want him to do anything risky. I've only just got him back, you tell him I said he's to be careful. If I have to stay here forever, then so be it. I'd rather that, then for him to be caught again. I've finally got him back," she laughed softly, then began to sob again.

Calvin waited her out, again casting worried glances at the door. Her fit this time was not as powerful as the one before, and he suspected she would gather herself soon. Although he was not the most compassionate person in the world, even he understood what she must be feeling. The turmoil she must be going through. At length, she sighed and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was ready to speak.

"Did you see him yourself? How was he, is he truly recovered? Is he well?" She asked.

"Yes, he is well. Fighting fit. We have peddler's visiting the camp on occasion. This morning, your father managed to get himself in with one of those. It was a great risk for him to take, and he won't be takin' it again, but he needed to meet with us. I suspect he wanted to make sure he could be certain of me because he don't know me, but Jack spoke up me. We met on the outskirts of camp, and I only spoke to him for a short time before he had to leave. He gave me that letter after I told him I come and go from here often. I was damned surprised to learn you were a Patriot, if you don't mind me sayin'."

"Well. As you say. They can bend us to their will but they can't change what's in our hearts," Cilla replied, eyes on her lap. Calvin cocked his head, made curious by her words, but when she said nothing further, he let it drop.

"He asked that you read the letter, and your reply will be relayed back to him. Do you want me to come back in an hour or two?"

She nodded, that would be more than enough time for her to read the letter and write her reply. "How will you get it back to him?"

"Your da trusts the peddler he came with today, and that fellow is still circulatin' the camp, pretending to sell his wares when he's really gainin' information about the camp," Calvin said. "I get it to the peddler before he goes, your da should have your reply by tonight."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Farshaw," Cilla said, wrapping her hand over his. "For everything. You don't know what this means to me, I know what risk you're taking, coming here in person. Not just because you're a spy, but because of Bordon and Tavington. I know they mean you harm, but you came anyway. I owe you a debt."

"Not at all," Calvin shook his head. "In for a penny, in for a pound, ain't? It's just as dangerous spying here as it is next door. I get all sorts of information at the Ferguson's," he said, though strangely, a blankness entered his eyes, giving him a glazed sort of look, and his face became decidedly pale. Cilla wondered at the cause of it. "Yes, all sorts. Major Fallows," his voice hitched, he stared intently into the fire. Cilla swallowed, seeing a change come over him. His entire body tensed, his fingers clenched, his face was set. It was a little frightening, and she pulled her hand back from his, a little startled. He barely noticed. "Major Fallows - I'm using him, you see. He protects me from Bordon and Tavington. And he trusts me, stupid prick. I see almost every missive from O'Hara, almost every command. Companies being sent out, supplies shipped off and coming in, Cornwallis' intentions for the North… I see it all. I've also made copies of Major Fallows seal, like I said. I'm still working on O'Hara's. When it's finished, I'm going to give them to your da - with a copy of O'Hara's cipher, too. Think of all the chaos he'll be able to cause," Calvin's laughter was grim.

"Lord, what risk, stealing those!"

"Eh. Fallows' was easy enough, I use it often enough when scribin' for him. But yeh, it was a risk I took in getting O'Hara's. But I managed it - the other morning, when they was all in that council and crying like babies over their defeat up north. Stole into O'Hara's chamber, made an impression of his seal in a bit of clay, quickly copied the cipher, and I was back in my chamber before anyone noticed I was up to no good."

"You're very brave," she said, getting the distinct feeling that he was fishing for a bit of praise. Well, after all that, surely he deserved it. "And stalwart. You're right, Lieutenant, my father will be able to cause all cause of mischief for them, thanks to you." He smiled up at her and she found herself melting - Lord, but he was comely.

"I've still got to make a copy of O'Hara's seal from the impression. Damned Fallows has been keepin' me busy, I barely get a wink of sleep," a darkness entered his eyes and Cilla sensed great hatred from the youth for his Superior. "Especially now with the defeat up north. There's missives to be copied and carried off left right and centre. And then I try to make copies of those, copies that Fallows don't know about, they get given to the spies to pass along. Gods, it's so good, knowing those missives are going to end up in the hands of someone who knows what to do with them."

"Me too," Cilla said.

"It's worth it, don't you think?" He glanced at her now and the look in his eyes made her shudder. "Doing things you would never otherwise do…" He paused, clenched his teeth. "It's worth it, ain't? Don't you think, Mrs. Bordon? That it's worth it, for the Cause?"

"Any hardships we endure are worth it for the Cause," she replied. "I understand the hardships we suffer quite well, Sir. And I do wholeheartedly believe that it is absolutely necessary that we endure them. One day, when our country is free, we will remember and we will be proud that we did what we did. We will look at our children, who live in a free world, and we will be grateful that we endured what we did. We will feel pride, Lieutenant Farshaw. For we are brave. We are stalwart. And we will baulk at nothing."

Calvin sat up straighter, taller, prouder than he had before.

"I just want to do my part. And I'm in the perfect position to do it, up at the Great House, surrounded by Generals and the like. It'd be wrong of me to avoid my duty when I'm in such a prime position to do it."

"I could not agree more and I want to do my part too," she said.

"You do?" Calvin frowned. "How?"

"I am my father's daughter," she said, leaning forward, eying him intently. This was the perfect thing - her new routine! She needed something to fill her days now, with Banastre and Beth gone. She might as well make her hours worthwhile, she would be helping the Cause! "I know his tricks. I helped him in the city - I got all sorts of information from Tavington's men, just by having conversations with them. And now, I'm in an even better position to learn more. My husband is not careful of his tongue around me, none of them are, despite my betraying them before. They think I've got no one to report to now, that's why. But there's you, and the others. I have access to Bordon's journal, Lieutenant Farshaw! My bedchamber is the second one along, at the rear of the house. On the window sill, there is a pot plant, I keep it there to get the sun. Have an eye kept on the windowsill, Sir, and when it is placed to the far right, you or one of the other spies are to find an excuse to see me, for I will have information for you."

"I don't think…" Calvin licked his lips, his green eyes were wide. "I don't think your da would approve, Madam."

"My father is the one who set me to spying in the first place," Cilla replied. "You say you are in a strategic position to gain information? Well, Sir, so am I. You'd be a fool to reject this offer, Sir."

He gaped at her, utterly astounded.

"I am his daughter, I do know what I'm doing," Cilla said. "I won't take unnecessary risks. I'll show more caution than a deer hiding in the brush. Bordon leaves his journal in our bed chamber, right under my nose. I hear conversations all throughout this house, and if I'd known there were spies near to hand, I'd have sent that information down to them long since. Now I know, I will not be denied. I tell you now, that if I put the plant to the right and none of you boys make contact with me, I'll head straight over to the Ferguson's and ask to see you there."

"Jesus, don't do that!" Calvin cried, "that'll just be begging for trouble - for both of us!"

"So, I have your agreement then?" She said, arching an eyebrow. She felt she'd won a battle, but she would not gloat. She would not! "You, or one of the others, will attend me to receive whatever I discover? You will report it back to my father?"

"Yes," he replied sullenly as he rose. "Here, I better be going. You read your letter and I'll be back soon for your reply."

"Thank you," she said again, then she broke the seal and began reading before he even reached the door.

* * *

Beth stood at the opening of the tent with her cape clutched about her shoulders, watching as lightening lit up the night sky. It was a spectacular sight, one she usually enjoyed as much as other people loved the theatre. Now, as the white flashes lit up those billowing, black clouds, all she could think about was how well the storm matched her emotions. There was turmoil within that blackness over head, and it matched the turmoil raging in her heart. Thunder roared overhead like canons exploding, touching a cord deep within her. Nearly two full days had passed since leaving Fresh Water yet somehow, she'd survived. She had somehow managed to continue breathing, to continue moving through the endless agony. Her mind was twisted around the same heart stopping subject, that of William's affair with another woman.

She felt empty in a way she'd never known before. It was not loneliness, this was a different sort of loneliness, as though she were nothing but an empty vessel moving throughout the world, unseen, devoid of life. A soulless creature eating, drinking, sleeping and breathing only when she's told to, like some mindless machine. William had become her life, and that life was over now; what was left for her now? She barely felt alive now. She was naught more than an abiding numbness in an empty shell.

It was getting too cold to stand there any longer, and there had not been a lightening strike for some minutes now. Perhaps that part of the show had stopped. The rain was still relentless, it had been all day. That morning, when they set out from the plantation they had spent the night in, it had only been a light drizzle. By the time they reached Winnsboro in the late afternoon, it had become torrential.

Sitting at the table with the remains of their meal before him, Banastre beckoned to her. She managed to muster up a smile for him, for she knew he was worried, and as she approached, he rose from his stool and placed his arms around his waist.

"Are you cold?" He asked her as he nuzzled his nose against hers. "Your nose is freezing..."

"I'm alright," she replied. He was becoming increasingly concerned for her, and so she forced herself to add, "I think the lightening has stopped."

"Finally! You'll catch your death standing out there in that chill," he scolded her. His warm fingers cupped her face, his thumbs moving over the soft skin as he tried to transfer that warmth to her.

"I'm fine, truly I am," she said the words by rote but her voice was flat, her shoulders slumped. His strong hands did feel nice though and she leaned into his touch, the glow of heat soaking into her cold skin.

"Are you hungry?" He asked her, resting his head to her forehead. Their lips were quite close, just a bit closer and they'd be touching. Beth shook her head - no, she was not hungry - and she took a step back, out of his embrace. "Beth, you barely ate a bite," he pointed out.

"I'm just not hungry," she said, shrugging. Banastre gazed at her in disappointment as she glided away from him to sit in a chair by the brazier.

"The rain is stopping, will my tent be erected now? I'd like to lay down."

"Would you like a cup of mulled wine?" He asked.

"How about some warmed milk?" She replied, showing some amusement.

"Did you just joke?" He asked, ecstatic to see her smile become more genuine. "Did you? Let the Heaven's rejoice! She did!"

At this, she even laughed softly. "I'm not going to let you get me drunk again, Banastre Tarleton."

"Why not? We had so much fun the last time," he quipped. She smiled and laughed that soft laugh.

"Milk," she said, voice firm, though she was still smiling and that was all that mattered to him.

"Spoiled sport," he accused fondly.

He went to the tent flap and spoke to a guard outside. A short while later, three women entered the tent. Banastre was standing at Beth's side as they came in and he felt her entire body stiffen. He glanced down at her in the chair, startled, to see her glaring, face dark, at the women. Why should the sight of camp followers cause such anger? Two of them began clearing away the plates and other utensils, while yet another - Electa Alden - a stunningly beautiful young woman Banastre frequently sported with, approached. Electa was carrying a tray with the warmed milk. Face like stone, Beth took the cup and she waggled her fingers at Electa, a haughty gesture of dismissal. Beth did not thank Electa, she showed no gratitude whatsoever. Beth was high-bred, but still it startled Banastre to see her behaving it. She was always polite to her staff and servants. Banastre was quite dismissive of servants and had always found it quite strange that Beth would be so friendly. To see her acting according to her station was a stark change in her.

Electa did not seem to know what to do; she stood there with the tray in her hands, startled. She'd been in Banastre's bed often and she enjoyed being there. The downside to being the sometime lover of the Colonel, however, was that she had to endure it when he took other women over her. This was not the first time she was forced to watch him pay court to a favourite. But to be treated like a serving girl by his new lover? She'd never had to endure that with any of his women before. She stared down at Beth, her blue eyes becoming flinty.

Beth did not appear to notice, she had her head buried in her milk. Electa looked on the verge of speaking - and it was sure to be something unpleasant - but Beth got in first.

"Banastre," she said as she gazed up at him, ignoring Electa thoroughly. She complained, "I did ask for warm milk." With that, she put the cup back on the tray, still full. Only now did she meet Electa's gaze. Beth's eyebrows were arched, as though she were waiting for some sort of stammered excuse or apology. She was sitting and Electa was standing, however Beth managed to appear as a queen on her throne, chastising one of her subjects.

"I did warm it, Sir," Electa said, throwing Banastre an incredulous look. Her fingers tightened on the tray, she seemed ready to take up the cup and pour the contents over Beth's head. It was Banastre who reached for the cup, however, and he tasted the milk himself. It was barely lukewarm, but still, for Beth to take Electa to task like this was completely out of character.

"It's cold," he said, voice blunt, taking Beth's side. The other women were still clearing away the dishes, pretending not to watch. Banastre poured the milk into a pot and set it atop the brazier. The message was clear, while he did have a slew of lovers within the camp, none of them were of equal rank to Beth. And if a servant could not tend his consort as befitted her, then he would be forced to do it himself.

Still glaring at Electa, Beth leaned back in the chair with an air of triumph.

"Sir, if you don't mind me askin'," one of the women - this one just shy of middle years who reminded Beth of Mrs. Andrews, said to Banastre, "we 'aven't been introduced to the... lady," she said with doubtful emphasis as she darted a glance at Beth. Banastre was stirring the simmering milk with a spoon, it was at the perfect temperature now, and he poured it back into the cup. In a gallant display which showed both his affection and respect for Beth, he handed her back the cup, then waited for her approval.

She took a sip, then smiled warmly up at him. "It's perfect now, thank you Ban."

The women were watching this, too, nothing was escaping them.

"Well, as you appear to have everything in hand, I shall leave you to it," Electa said to Banastre, a bite to her voice. She strode from the tent, abandoning her companions.

Banastre tried to ignore Electa's defiance. he turned to Mrs. Simmons, ready to answer the question asked of him.

"My guest, Mrs. Simmons, is Mrs. Tavington," he began in a crisp tone. He would need to have a stern talking to with Electa, but for now, he would settle the other camp followers back on their heels. "She will be traveling with me for the foreseeable future. Any request coming from Mrs. Tavington is to be carried out with alacrity." This pronouncement caused more startled looks and eye widening from the women. "My Lady will require a maid - young Miss Nancy, perhaps. Yes, she will do perfectly fine. Inform Miss Cavanaugh that she is to attend Mrs. Tavington first thing in the morning."

"I see," the one called Mrs. Simmons said, eyes on Beth. It was not unusual for Tarleton to take a lover, but she was always from amongst the other camp followers and never received any particular preferential treatment. And if she was unwise enough to try to lord it over the others, she was soon made to remember her place, for none of the other women would put up with it. This, however, was entirely new and different and not at all to Mrs. Simmon's liking. She was forced to reexamine her original assessment of Tarleton's new lover, a woman she had assumed, initially, to be just another doxy trying to lord it over the others. The difference with this one was, she had the Commandant's backing, he was ready to tend to her himself as he expected the other women to tend her. Mrs. Simmons glanced at Beth's red dress, at the bodice and skirt. While both were covered in dirt, they were of the finest cut and the best quality silk. Her heeled shoes, peeking out from the hem of her petticoats, looked to be quite new. The buckles were bejeweled, the shoes embroidered with flowers. Such finery was not to be found amongst any of the women in camp. She was well-born, this one, accustomed to wealth and it's trappings. Mrs. Tavington, though? Mrs. Simmons thought. If this was Tavington's wife, what was she doing in Banastre's camp? Even if the woman was high-born, and she clearly was, if she had run off from her husband to be with Banastre, then she was still just another harlot. If she was Banastre's latest lover, then she was as much of a hussy as any of the doxies in camp.

Still, Mrs. Simmons forced herself to curtsy, filthy homespun and patched skirts spread wide. For, even if Mrs. Tavington was a bawd no better than any of the other women in camp, Banastre Tarleton clearly thought her to be something special, and Mrs. Simmons was most reluctant to overstep with the Colonel. The other woman, seeing Mrs. Simmon's curtsy, followed suit. This one looked as though she'd bitten into a lemon, though.

"If there is anythin' I can get for you, Mrs. Tavington, please send Miss Nancy to me," Mrs. Simmons offered, voice tight. "I'll make sure she's obeyed by the others, as befits any requests comin' from you."

"We understand one another then?" Beth asked primly, eyebrows arched, appearing as haughty as a Baroness. Mrs. Simmons, momentarily taken aback by the question, inclined her head in agreement. "Good. You may leave us now," Beth continued arrogantly and the women bristled. How dare she take the role of dismissing them from the Colonel's presence? They served him, not her. Neither said a worst of protest, however. Almost as an afterthought, Beth added, "I wish to retire for the evening. See that my cot is made up in my tent and inform Miss Cavanaugh that I shall _interview_ her tomorrow."

Mrs. Simmons, startled now, cast a confused glance at Banastre.

"Interview?" Banastre asked, frowning.

"For the position of abigail," Beth explained. "You needn't think you will choose my maid for me, Banastre. I will be the one to decide who serves me."

"Alright," he drew out slowly. "Ah… about the tent…" he continued apologetically. "I enquired of the Quarter Master earlier, he explained that there is none to be had. The camp is quite overcrowded, you see."

"Ban," Beth paused, she frowned up at him, "you promised me my own tent."

"That I did," he said, voice still apologetic. "But this weather... All of the tents are in use, we are lucky to have a tent at all."

"_You_ are lucky to have a tent, you mean," she said, sharpness entering her voice. "Not _we_. And I believe your rank had more to do with that, then luck. You made me a promise, Sir."

"I did," he replied, a little taken aback. Beth had risen from her chair and she bristled from head to toe. He had promised, but he'd hoped… Oh well, there was no help for it. He went to the tent flap and spoke again to the guard outside, instructing him to have a tent - of which Banastre had plenty - erected alongside his for Beth's use.

He turned back into the tent and met Beth's flinty gaze. Had she caught him out in his lie? He hoped not.

"That will be all," she said to the camp followers who, until that moment, had been exchanging puzzled glances. Now, at Beth's command, all expression drained from their faces. Banastre could see what Beth was doing - she was making certain the women understood that she was not one of them. She was something more, someone higher. It was important to establish from the outset that she was of equal rank to Banastre, in the women's eyes at least.

And so she resumed her seat and sipped delicately of her warm milk, gaze averted from the women, as if they had already obeyed her and were already gone. She did not even acknowledge their curtsies. Banastre inclined his head to them as they left the tent.

"That one," Beth snapped, jutting her chin toward the opening of the tent flap. "That Electa. How many times has she been in your bed?"

"Christ, Beth," he sighed, running a hand over his bound hair. It was a boyish gesture, showing embarrassment and discomfort.

"Don't deny it," she scoffed bitterly. "And that Avril, too. That one was just about ready to fall at your feet, her bottom lip was dragging on the ground as she was leaving. Have you bedded this Miss Nancy Cavanaugh, also? If you think I'll take one of your former lovers as my maid, you can think again."

"Well... my dear... That might make it a bit difficult for me to find a lass for you here in camp," he said, flashing her a youthful grin. She blew out a vexed breath and turned sharply from him. "Come now, Nancy's a good sort. She isn't in love with me or anything, she won't give you any trouble. She has had her eye on one of the soldiers, an infantry man. She snared him and they are engaged now. The last time I flirted with her, she told me that she wasn't going to come to me anymore. I gave her thirty pounds as a wedding gift and wished her well. She prattles on a bit and is more than foolish, but I think you'd like her."

"Yes, I'm certain," Beth spat. Only a fool could miss the sarcasm. "So, you intended for me to quarter in your tent, all this time. Don't deny it, you've been trying to get me to bed you since we left Fresh Water yesterday morning. Now that we're here, I'm to be the queen of your harem, am I? Your favourite concubine?"

"Beth," he soothed. He knelt at her side and took a hold of her hand, "I wasn't lying about the tent," he lied. "With the weather as it is, there's not a single one not in use. However, with just a bit of shuffling, one is being freed for you. As for being queen of my harem," he went to kneel before her, he plucked the cup from her fingers, placed it on on the table, and enveloped both her hands in his. "My love, you are quite correct, I have been making my desire known to you and for that, I shall not apologise. I love you, I have done since the first moment I laid eyes on you and yes, I do want - so very much - for us to return to the way we were. But harem? Lord, no. It will be you," he brushed his lips against her fingers, a long and lingering kiss. His heart was in his voice. "And only you." He kissed again, closing his eyes and leaning into her fingers as though they were her lips.

Beth heaved a sigh. "If we do return to how things were, Ban, we will do so discreetly," she emphasised. "There will be no avoiding camp gossip, but I will not be blatant and nor will you."

"Anything you desire," he said, his voice filled with such boyish hope, she could not help but to laugh. He delighted to hear it. "Your tent will be right next to mine." He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps, with a little ingenuity, we can fashion a side entrance in yours and a side entrance in mine, and we can position them so that we can visit one another without anyone ever seeing us leave our tents."

"Your men will know where you are though. Those who stand sentry," she said, jutting her chin toward the entrance to the guard standing outside.

"They know better than to gossip, I'd cut out their tongues," Banastre replied. "And your maid would know as well, but I promise you, Miss Nancy is a good sort. She will give you her utmost loyalty, if you let her."

"Loyalty?" Beth snorted, bitter. "There is no such thing, not among camp followers."

There was nothing he could say to that, not after the women back at Fresh Water betrayed her so completely.

"Here, will you please try to eat now?" He asked, rising and pulling toward her a plate of cheeses, bread, corncakes and fruit. She nodded and began picking at the food.

As she ate, her tent arrived and Banastre began flittering about with his men, discussing his requirements. Being Colonel came with some privileges, Banastre's tent was no exception. Tarleton's Legion would be camping near to Winnsboro, a few miles from Cornwallis' battalion - for some time and as such, Banastre intended to live out of his command tent - so much larger than the simple A frame tents his soldiers used. It was three times larger, high enough for tallest of men - Captain James Wilkins would be able to stand up straight beneath its roof. The roof was an A frame but the walls were vertical. Beth's tent - a similar design but smaller, was placed hard up against Banastre's and his soldiers worked to create a connecting door in the two sides. When they finished, the soldiers withdrew and Beth joined Banastre to admire their handiwork. The adjoining door in the side of the tent - a canvas flap - was at that moment lifted back. Within was a brazier - already burning. A cot, a small table with two chairs and a lantern, and in one corner was Beth's saddle bags.

"It's perfect," she said, linking her arm through his. She kissed his cheek and then laid her head on his shoulder. "I really am quite tired and that cot looks awfully comfortable. Would you mind terribly if I retired now?"

"Not at all," he turned to her and pulled her into his embrace. "My love, how are you feeling, are you still quite sore?"

"Yes," she said.

"There's still plenty of that salve left," he offered.

Yesterday, after leaving Fresh Water, they had spent the entire day in the saddle, stopping finally at the house of a Plantation owner not of Beth's acquaintance; they had travelled many miles and she was further north than she had been in years. Banastre had arranged for her to have her own chamber there. When she retired, Banastre had rubbed his miraculous salve into the weals caused by Tavington's belt, drawing the pain from her bottom. It had been no easy thing for him, that sharing of intimacy, with the restraints she was putting between them. She'd fallen asleep before he had, and he had chosen to spend the night in her chamber rather than his. He'd awoken with the woman he loved laying beside him, he'd kissed her and touched her in her most tender place, his phallus straining with morning need made worse with having her at his side.

He'd found no relief then, but perhaps he'd find it now. Perhaps, with just the right coaxing, Beth would become ready...

"Would you mind terribly?" She asked.

"Would I mind? Not at all," Banastre grinned.

He guided her through the door from his tent to hers. The previous night, when they had stopped at the plantation house, he had helped her to undress. The precedent had been set, and Beth did not object when he began to help her again now. She was soon down to only her shift, with her long hair unbound, hanging loose down her back. Banastre helped her to lay down face forward on her stomach, and after shucking off his boots, he laid out along side of her, his head propped on one arm. His fingers combed gently through her golden tresses and traced her spine over her shift. She allowed it for some time, before lifting her head and turning to him. "The salve?" She asked. He grinned, then rose to fetch it from his tent. She settled back down, her head resting on folded arms. She made no move to stop him when he began edging her shift up over stockinged calves, past her thighs, baring her two crescents.

"Gods, the weals are purple now," he muttered. He knelt on the floor beside her. "I want to run that bastard through with my sword." He ran his finger gently along her damaged skin, close to the crevice between her cheeks, following the path of those long, purple bruises. "Does it hurt?" He asked when she shivered. She shook her head no and made a muffled reply, which he took as a sign to continue. Dipping his fingers into the salve jar, he set to work, gently rubbing the substance into the angry weals. Returning the lid to the jar, he continued to massage the damaged skin until the salve was gone from his fingers. Beth still lay before him, completely compliant.

It was time to push the boundaries again, time to press her for more, and see how far he could get. Abandoning all pretence, he caressed her more boldly now, his fingers gliding down the fissure separating those crescents he so loved to touch. He was touching her purely for the pleasure it would give her, and they both knew it. Still Beth remained still, his caresses raising goosebumps in her flesh. His fingers glided downward to the tops of her thighs, along the back of one leg, then back up and over her bottom. The next time he glided back downward, he gently pushed one finger down between the very top of her thighs, inserting it in such a way, that he was able to massage that highly sensitive dip that was her opening. He heard her breath hitch, and although she still lay perfectly still, he had the distinct feeling she wanted to push against his finger. Encouraged, he pushed down further, hoping she would part her thighs and roll her hips upward, allowing him access to her clitoris. His phallus strained against his breeches again, as it had that morning, as it had the night before when he'd massaged the salve into her buttocks. He could feel her moisture building, surely she was as aroused as he? He placed his free hand on her spine to caress her along her back, and he leaned forward to brush his lips on her cheeks, moving downward to her thighs. If she parted them, he'd be able to do so much more... Beth continued to lay frozen for several long moments as the tip of his finger explored her, trying to reach for her womanhood, gliding back up to massage her opening. She began to move and Banastre - breathing heavily - felt a thrill of hope. She was opening herself to him, finally, she would allow him to take her...

Beth rolled onto her side to face him, her thighs stayed resolutely closed as she began tugging her shift back down. He remained kneeling before her as he met her gaze, letting her see the stark desire in his.

"Is there truly any need for me to sleep on my cot?" He asked her, voice thick. "We shared last night. And it's very cold tonight. We'll be warmer in the same bed - we don't have to do any more than you feel you're ready for."

After considering a moment, Beth sighed. "No, there's no need," she said as she shuffled over to make more room for him. The cot was narrow, but with him on his back and her on her side, they'd be comfortable. He undressed quickly, though he left on his small clothes, and she lifted the blankets for him as he climbed in beside her. Laying on his side, he placed his hand on her stomach and gently urged her onto her back, even as he began kissing her softly. Again, she allowed it for some time, enjoying the closeness and the warmth. His hand began to edge downward again, heading toward her quim, and she knew he would press her for more yet again. Instead of allowing herself to succumb to his caresses, she turned onto her side and edged him back onto his back. Once he was laying with his head on the pillow, she nudged his arm aside and settled against her, her head on his chest, his arm looped around her shoulders.

"Good night, Ban," she said softly, letting him know they would go no further. He heaved a great sigh of disappointment, kissed the top of her head, and held her as she fell asleep.


	105. Chapter 105 - Mystery at Headquarters

_WARNING: Last explicit encounter between Calvin and Fallows, around mid chapter._

Chapter 105 - Mystery at Headquarters:

_Mid October - Gullah:_

Mark and Nicholas followed their guide past the rude cabins and the wary Africans that occupied this particular Gullah Island. The guide pointed and Mark caught sight of three women, two of them he would know anywhere. Golden blonde hair gleaming in the cold sun. Mage and Charlotte, he knew before he could even make out their features.

The third woman was dark haired Anne Howard - Anne Martin now. He could see the gentle swell of her stomach, she and Gabriel were already expecting their first child. While Charlotte's figure was exactly as it always had been, Mage's had undergone a massive change in the months since he'd seen her last. Her stomach was bulging, heavy with child. He stared at his wife, his very pregnant wife, and he did a quick calculation, trying to determine how far along she must be. When was the last time they laid together? Months ago. Before Tavington took over his house and threw him in the Provost. His stomach roiled, thinking of that place. Of the awful things done there. Not only to himself, but to Cilla.

Months.

His face grew hard, some of his joy dissipating. Three and a half months since the Provost? Nearly five, since the last time he'd laid with Mage. She must have been pregnant well before he fled the city, for she looked much further along than five months.

Pregnancy was dangerous for a woman her age, which was why she shouldn't try running. Not in skirts. Not with the dainty shoes she was sure to be wearing. But she was, running toward him, a shifting amble, as fast as her clumsy body would allow. He picked up the pace, saw when he was closer that she was weeping as she lurched toward him. He pulled sharply on the reins when he was almost on top of her and he leapt from the saddle. As carefully as he could, he seized Mage by the shoulders and pulled her hard up against him. She sobbed into his neck, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, an awkward hold with her so full of child. She was pregnant. Gods, he'd stopped praying for another child, so very long ago. When Cilla was born, and Mage's stomach could not be filled again. Was it his though? Was this one of his greatest concerns, about to unfold?

"Please tell me it's not his," he whispered in her ear and he heard her gasping sob.

"It is yours. I am certain it is yours," she replied, just as softly, no one else could have possibly heard them. Mark blew out a breath of sheer relief. He kissed her, tasted salt on her cheeks, then dropped to his knees before her. His hands cupped her stomach, moving over the bodice, as he gazed up at her wonderingly, his mind a whirl as he tried to grapple with what was right before his face. Another child. He was to be a father again! Mage bit her lip and cried even harder. Mark shoved himself to his feet and gathered her to him.

"Oh my love, my joy. I'm so sorry," he cupped her face, tilted her head back to meet her gaze. "You must have been desperately upset for this child, thinking I was dead. That he would grow and never know his father." He laughed softly. "Or her father. Gods, Mage!" His arms were around her again, he stood there holding her, savouring their reunion. How long he stayed there, holding his weeping wife, he did not know. Benjamin and Elizabeth's children surrounded him, little Susan smiling up at him. And Margaret - Gods, could that really be little Margaret? Just when did she become a young woman? Even William appeared several inches taller. Surely Mark had not been parted from the family for that long. Charlotte was hanging back on the outskirts of the small group. She was staring at the ground, her face as red as beets. He beckoned and a smile split across her face as she stepped up to him and kissed his cheek.

"I'm just so pleased to see you - alive and well," Charlotte whispered as he freed one arm from Mage and wound it around her shoulders. "I can't begin to tell you what I felt, when I was informed of your death," her voice faltered and broke and then she was crying in earnest also.

The joy of another child still warmed Mark's stomach, but it was slowly being replaced by fear. Mage was not young anymore. She was forty-two, far too old to bear a child. It was too dangerous to even consider it. But here she was, stomach swollen. There was nothing he could do about it, except worry.

"When we were told you were alive…" Mage laughed softly, it held a note of hysteria to it. She couldn't stop touching him, as if she was certain this was a dream she might wake from."I didn't believe it," she said, shaking her head.

"I could barely believe it myself," Mark said. His fingers twined through Mage's. "After the dungeon," no more needed to be said, they fell silent.

"Come, Mark. And Ensign Watson," Charlotte said, inclining her head to him. "Let's go to our cabin. We can talk…"

* * *

Mark sat on the straw strewn floor, holding his wife in his arms, waiting for her keening to subside. The hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life, was tell the mother what her beloved daughter had been through. Mark had told his tale to Charlotte and the children earlier in the day, he and Nicholas spoke of John Sumter's betrayal, of leaping out the window into the fast moving Cooper, of Nicholas dragging Mark bodily through the water to safety. Of stealing a small boat and rowing down a byway off the Cooper and into the healing arms of an empathetic old lady who lived there.

They both spoke of their journey from there, Mark's recovery, their travels to join Burwell, and then to Benjamin. Of the battle at Kings Mountain, finally coming to an end when they reached Rutledge Plantation. He did not speak of Cilla, not once. That was a discussion he would need to have with Mage, alone. The news that Cilla was now married to Bordon would devastate his wife - especially if she knew what Bordon had done to her.

Mage had not.

Mark had waited until they were in one of the rude little cabins, alone. Mage had told him her tale then, in full. She'd touched upon it earlier but had left out the reason why she had left Christopher Middleton for Charlotte. It was not because she hadn't been getting along with Celeste, as Mark had assumed. It was because Christopher had learned about Mage's affair and Mark's compliance

With Bordon. Everything seemed to come back to Bordon.

_Not for much longer, _he thought grimly as he rubbed Mage's back. _In not much longer, he'll be dead. _

"H… how c…could she n…not tell me," Mage whispered. "H…how c…could I have not known… She c-carried this. This thing, this awful, foul, loathsome thing for months and never told me!" She lifted herself up from his chest, he gazed down into her ravaged face. "I could have helped her, Mark! I am her mother!"

"I know," he said. "I doubt it's something she could ever have spoken about."

"She was so quiet. Withdrawn. I just thought… I just thought she did not want to spend time with me!" Mage wailed. "I thought she was still angry with me!"

For bedding Bordon.

"I thought… because she was… she was so mad. And then she wouldn't talk to me and she was so quiet and Gods, I should have known!" Mage sobbed. "I am her mother!"

"I know darling," Mark whispered. "I wish… I wish I had revealed Camden sooner. My sacrifice, she said. I should never have allowed her to make it. My fault. It's all my fault."

"His fault," Mage spat between sobs. "His fault. Gods, when are you going to do it, Mark? I want him dead. Dead! I want my daughter freed - I want her to come home…" she trailed off on a wail.

"I know, dear heart, I know," Mark cupped her face and held her as carefully as he would a bird. He leaned in and kissed her gently, tears burning his own eyes. "Soon. I swear as God is my witness, I will find a way. I will have her free of him my love. Soon."

"Every hour of every day that she is with him, he is torturing her. Our baby. Our life. Oh Gods, I can't stand it." Her hands were shaking and she moved restlessly, unable to sit still. He took hold of her arms and began making soothing noises, kissing lips, her cheek, her neck as he promised to rescue their daughter and kill Bordon.

Soon.

* * *

"It's safer for us here," Charlotte argued in the fresh morning sun, her hair whipped out from under her bonnet, which nearly flew off her head from the incessant wind. Mark slapped his hand against his face to kill a mosquito and glared at her.

"You're dying here, Charlotte!" He cried, throwing his arms wide. "All of you are! This place is not fit for a dog, let alone my sister, my wife, my family! Look at it!" He pointed at the rickety old cabin - it was clumsily made - all of them were. The door hung half off its hinges. The wooden logs had massive gaps in them. If he was standing inside, he'd be able to see the view outside quite clearly just by looking between them. No need for a window, no need at all. "We're a month into winter and it's chill enough. By Gods, it's only going to get colder. I'm not leaving Mage here," he said, finality in his voice. "And I'm not leaving you here either."

"Benjamin has not given me leave to remove them from here," Charlotte said.

"Screw Benjamin," he spat, fury flaring. "After the way he's treated with you, he should be damned lucky you've stayed to look after the children at all."

"I'm doing that for Elizabeth," Charlotte said, lifting her chin.

"Yes and do you think Betsy would want them living like this?" Mark asked and Charlotte paused, her mouth opening and finally closing. "Her children, Charlotte. No. Our sister's children do not live like this. What a joke. Of all the places he could send you to keep you out of British hands, he sends you to a damned freedman's colony. I'm surprised any of these negroes took you in." He glanced around at the Africans, men women and children who walked about, worked, or played. None of them had cause to like white Plantation owners. Not a single one of them.

"Our welcome derives from Abigail," Charlotte said, pulling her cape closer about her body, feeling the chill wind cutting into her like sword blades.

"Yes, well, you'll have a far more comfortable welcome from Mr. Singleton," Mark replied. "He is a widower, his children are grown and gone. He's not far from here, he won't attract British attention any more or any less than these freed folk here will. Get them packing, sister. We leave immediately."

Charlotte heaved a breath. Just then, there was a commotion in the distance, screaming African's bolting about at the waters edge. Mark and Charlotte watched until word came down about an alligator almost snatching a child. Charlotte gave a great shudder. That was one thing she'd never be able to reconcile herself with this place - all the damned alligators. And sharks, only a few spans into the surf. Mark was right, for so many reasons, he was right.

"Very well."

"Don't worry, I'll tell your _fiancé_ where you and the children are," he said grimly.

"Mark…" Charlotte lifted her fingers to her temples, already feeling a headache coming on. "I do not believe Benjamin and I are engaged any longer."

"But he hasn't said, either way. He'd left you hanging. That's what you said last night. You don't know either way. Too many people know of your engagement for him to end it easily, I reckon that's why he hasn't done it yet. It would cause him embarrassment." He said this with fury, his top lip curling. He'd known for years that Charlotte and Benjamin were intimate with one another, and although it had always bothered him, he'd never broached it with either of them.

For he'd always thought that eventually, Benjamin would do the right thing. And he finally had, he'd proposed, but then…

Bordon. Mark began to grind his teeth until his jaw hurt.

"Everything I've done, I've done for him," Charlotte shook her head. Her voice became determined. "No more. Embarrassing for us or not, you can tell him that I have ended it with him."

"I will do no such thing," Mark replied. "All these years, he could have gotten a child on you -"

"Mark!" Charlotte hissed, eyes darting left and right, panicking that someone had been close enough to hear. No one was.

" - And all this time, I thought he would do the right thing. He hasn't, and so when I see him again, that is what we shall discuss. Damned bastard thinks he can use my sister like this? He'll see his error soon enough," Mark had already turned and was still speaking as he strode away.

* * *

After a short boat trip back to the main coast, Mark rode at the side of the wagon that had his family piled on top. He led the way to Mr. Singleton's, who owned a sprawling coastal plantation, and a great house that had enough rooms for each of Mark's family to have their own. He knew the children would share with Charlotte, but still. Mr. Singleton had the space for them, and when they reached the gentleman's home, he was only too happy to open it up to them.

Mark spent some time introducing his friend and seeing his family settled, deciding to accept Mr. Singleton's invitation to stay for lunch. Mark was not going to lodge there, he needed to get back to the Santee, back to his daughter, as quickly as possible. But first, he sat at his wife's side, urging her to eat when it seemed she would not. She hadn't eaten breakfast either, nor had she had any victuals on during their travels to Mr. Singleton's. Her face was pale and wan, her cheeks sunken, her eyes dull instead of their brilliant blue.

"I wish I hadn't told you," he said, wrapping his hand around her nape and pulling her near so he could kiss the top of her head. The others were chatting - Charlotte spoke with Mr. Singleton and Nicholas Watson, the children were behaving themselves but were still quite vocal as they talked their nonsense. Mark could speak privately with Mage, despite being at the table with the others.

"She was pregnant," Mage whispered, placing her hand over her own stomach. "And now she's not. Lord, how painful… to miscarry a child born of rape, and to grieve it." Her eyes lifted to his, he could see hers were filled with tears again. "She must be so confused. So hurt. And he's likely hurting her, every minute of -"

"Please, Mage, you mustn't torture yourself," he whispered back, giving her neck a soft squeeze. "I should never have told you."

"I needed to know."

"Yes, but she's still with him and there's nothing you can do but worry. And I won't be here to help you through this, so there's nothing I can do but worry about you both. And about the baby," he said, dropping his gaze to her stomach.

"Worry won't kill us," she said softly. "Just get her free, Mark."

"I will," he took hold of her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Just eat, will you? Please, Mage. I'm begging you -"

"No. Don't," she picked up her spoon and dipped it into the casserole in her bowl, then put a generous helping into her mouth. He could see she had to force it down.

"Thank you," he kissed her cheek. "Five or six more of those, alright?"

"Alright," she heaved a sigh.

"It is mine, isn't it Mage?" He asked her again, pressing his forehead against her cheek.

"Yes. It is, I am almost certain of it."

"Almost certain? That was the one thing I was worried about most, you falling pregnant."

"If it isn't…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't know what to say," she paused, looked him in the eye. "It was so important to me too, before. Now… with all Cilla has been through and where she is now… It doesn't seem to matter all that much."

"Easy for you to say," he said. "You know the baby is yours."

"There's nothing I can do about it, Mark. Either way, there is not."

"I know, dear heart," he said, kissing her cheek again. "We're in this together, either way."

"I'm sure it is. I think it is yours."

"That's good enough for me," he said, smiling. "Five or six more, my love."

Mage made a noise, a sigh of resignation. She stared at her bowl, stirring it with her spoon for so long that Mark took it from her fingers and scooped up her next bite for her. He would have fed it to her too, but Mage drew the line there. She took it back and swallowed down what it held, and did it another four times more, until he was satisfied.

* * *

They'd said their farewells, Mark and Nicholas, to Mark's family and Mr. Talene and Mr. Singleton. It was time to go, Nicholas was already mounted and waiting.

Mage cupped Mark's face and stared earnestly into his eyes. "You get back our girl."

"I will. I am going to kill Bordon and Tavington, and I am going to settle with Christopher, he has so much to answer for."

"Don't kill him," Mage said. "He is my brother."

"I won't kill him, but by Gods, he won't will answer for what he has done. He knew, Mage," he said, and she nodded. He had shown her Cilla's letter, where she had revealed so many things, such Christopher not believing her at first, he hadn't believed she was raped until Bordon was confronted right there in front of Cornwallis. "He knew, and he made her marry Bordon anyway."

"He didn't care how she came to lose her virtue - all he cared about was that it _was_ destroyed," Mage replied grimly. "All I am asking is that you don't kill him, Mark. I'm not asking you to be gentle with him."

He nodded, understanding. "I love you."

"I love you, dear heart. Forever and always. Get our girl, and come back to me. I want this child to know its father."

"He shall," Mark kissed her one last time, before leading her back along the porch to the others, who were waiting quietly. There would be no more farewell's. All that had to be said, had been said. Except, "look after her, sister," he said to Charlotte as he handed his wife over. "Make sure she eats. Divert her, as much as you can. Please?"

"I will," Charlotte put her arm around Mage's shoulders.

Mark hadn't told her the half of it - all she knew was that Cilla had been married off to Bordon. That, to Charlotte, was devastating enough without her knowing any of the rest. She would be thinking that Marge was feeling the same. Devastating at her daughters choice of husband.

And that was all she would know, sister or not.

Mark embraced the children one last time, and his sister. He kissed Anne Howard's hand - Anne Martin, now, and therefore his niece in law. He doffed his hat, thanked Mr. Singleton one last time.

"Look after them, Mr. Talene," he said to Charlotte's overseer.

"That I shall, Sir," Mr. Talene inclined his head.

Mark mounted, gave his family one last searching gaze, met Mage's eyes, tried to smile and failed. Then he kicked his heels into his horses flanks, riding away with Nicholas by his side.

* * *

_20__th__ October - Ferguson's Plantation:_

Calvin's fingers curled around the head board of his narrow bed. On all fours, his knees dug into the straw mattress beneath both his weight and that of the man on top of him. With the help of their oils, Major Fallows' phallus glided quickly in and out of Calvin's back passage, his pelvis struck Calvin's backside repeatedly, making a slapping sound with each deep plunge. Calvin bucked back, meeting Fallows' thrusts, squirming to guide the Major's cock to stroke that exquisite place deep inside him.

"Aren't you going to jerk me?" Calvin panted, frustrated at the lack of stimulation. His cock was hard, his erection slapping his stomach. Usually, Fallows would reach around under Calvin's body in order to stroke Calvin while he was being rutted from behind. Calvin could do it himself but it always felt better when someone else did. Fallows barely heard the question, he thrust in deep and cried out softly and Calvin bit off a string of curses; for the Major was finished, but hadn't finished Calvin.

Slowly, because the exit hurt as much as the entry, Fallows pulled out his cock and dropped his trembling body onto his back, his bare legs spread wide, his arms over his head. The picture of contentment. Still on all fours, Calvin glared down at his Superior, whose face was covered in sweat. He was panting, Fallows was.

"Don't be grumpy," Fallows grinned, tapping Calvin's nose. "You know I'll always take care of you, Cal. Do you want my mouth or my arse?"

"You've sucked me already. Come on, get turned over so I can fuck your arse."

"Oohhh yes, fuck my arse," Fallows whispered as he began to turn over. The two shuffled their positions, Fallows on his knees with his hands braced on the headboard as Calvin lifted himself into position, also on his knees, behind Fallows. Fallows was presenting, he was already holding his backside at just the right angle and pushing back against Calvin in invitation. "In all my years, no lover has made me become erect again so quickly as you can," Fallows released one hand from the headboard to stroke his hardening member as he turned his head back over his shoulder, to watch Calvin's entry.

"Oil," Calvin said, waggling his fingers. There was a set of drawers beside the bed, within easy reach. The vial of oil sat on top. Fallows released his cock for long enough to hand Calvin the oil, before resuming his stroking, and his watching of Calvin's progress. Calvin dripped the last drops from the bottle onto Fallows' opening then tossed the spent bottle to the floor. It was enough, the way was a little dry but Calvin began to push his cock into Fallows' rectum anyway. When Fallows made no protest, Calvin gripped the Major's sides as his cock edged in deeper. "You're fucking loving this, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Jesus," Fallows whispered. "Aren't you?"

"You're so fucking tight," Calvin groaned, closing his eyes, warmth pumping throughout his body in time with his quickening pulse.

"I wish you could suck me and fuck me at the same time," the Major said.

"You'll have to settle for your hand," his cock was already buried deep, Calvin's pelvis hard up against Fallows rump. "You ready?"

Fallows drew a ragged breath, then he nodded. Calvin's fingers dug into Fallows hips, he lifted his hips back until his cock almost slipped from Fallows' anus, and then he slammed back in. The Major gasped and whimpered, making incoherent noises of pain and pleasure. One hand worked his member furiously and the other gripped the headboard to stop from being driven bodily into the wall by Calvin's thrusts. The Lieutenant's fingers held tight to Fallow's hips, he bared his teeth and rutted until his eyes began to blur. He was distantly aware of Fallows' climax, of when the Major cried out and shuddered, concentrating as he was on having his own. He was getting close, he released Fallow's hips and laid his chest along Fallows back, reaching out, his hands joining Fallows' on the headboard. The Major shifted restlessly beneath him, meeting his thrusts and squirming. Thrusting into that tight arse, fingers digging into the headboard, Calvin closed his eyes and panted against Fallows' ear. He was so lost he was only distantly aware that he was sucking and kissing Fallows' neck and shoulder, an intimacy he only ever surrendered to when he was at his height and barely aware of who he was fucking, let alone kissing.

"Need more oil," Fallows gasped. "Stop. Getting dry."

"Fuck no," Calvin whispered, barely coherent. "You wanted this, you're always wanting this. I ain't stopping." Instead he thrust faster, his hips a blur of movement, his climax so near. He buried his face in Fallows neck, his body hunched over the Major's, his knees between Fallows', his cock aching with the need for release. His penis began to convulse, his groin tightened; he gasped, pushing in deep and squirming as his seed jettisoned from his cock, the heat was so strong he felt like he'd put his cock in a furnace. Released, Calvin's full weight fell heavily across Fallows' back, his entire body relaxing. "Jesus, that was good," he whispered, eyes still closed, face still buried in Fallows' neck, cock still buried in Fallows' arse. He could not move, not yet, his body was to leaden, too heavy. Fallows - still on all fours - was as still as a statue beneath him. "Don't be grumpy," Calvin laughed softly in the other man's ear, thinking the other man was annoyed. "There was no point stopping, I wasn't that far off."

"Calvin?" Fallows asked, sounding alarmed.

Calvin lifted his head from Fallows' neck. He was still breathing heavily, still dazed, as his eyes landed on what Fallows was holding.

"I was just looking for some more oil," the Major said, sounding bewildered. The drawers were pulled open - all of them. While Calvin had been busy rutting away in Fallows' canal, the Major had reached into the drawers in the search of another vial of oil to moisten the way. Calvin stared in horror at the items in Fallows' hand. "My seal," Fallows said. "And O'Hara's. And his cipher… Calvin…" Fallows shifted his gaze from the counterfeit goods, he turned his head over his shoulder to meet Calvin's eyes. "Calvin, what are you doing with these?"

Calvin's mind whirled, he barely knew what to do when Fallows dipped his hand back into the drawer, this time coming away with several papers. Calvin watched as Fallows sifted through them. They were letters, and copies of letters. One was written by O'Hara, the other by Fallows, and the last two were perfect copies of both, written by Calvin. "You copied these. You're practicing copying my hand. And O'Hara's. Good God, Cal, were you going to betray us?" Fallows breathed, turning again to meet Calvin's eyes. "How could you do this to me?"

"To you? I did nothing to you," Calvin replied. He knew he should get off, just pull his cock out and start gathering up his clothes. He should be running, that's what. But for the life of him, he could not move. He wouldn't get to the front door of the house, if he tried.

"You were a Continental once," Fallows voice was becoming accusing, now that he was past the shock and confusion. "Calvin, have you turned traitor?"

Calvin met Fallows eyes. There was no other possible explanation for him to posses the items Fallows had pulled out of the drawer. There would be no talking his way out of this. Fallows, as much has he loved to rut Calvin, and had perhaps been falling in love _with_ Calvin, would not suffer a traitor in his ranks. He could see it in the Major's face as his expression shifted from horrified disbelief, to determination.

"Lieutenant, remove yourself from me," Fallows snapped, his voice commanding. He was a Major, he expected to be obeyed. He honestly thought Calvin would, that he would remove himself from the Major's body, that he would sit tight and wait for the Major to dress, before summoning the guards to arrest Calvin. "Get. Off. Me!" Fallows barked the command. Calvin stared down at the Major, driving toward a decision. Fallows, taking matters into his own hands, began to buck like a bull, trying to force Calvin off him. Calvin was younger, stronger. He threw himself forward over Fallows heaving body, pinning the older man down. He gripped the back of Fallows head and shoved downward, forcing his face into the pillows. Fallows' could barely move, though he was trying. His shouts were muffled by the pillows, he thrashed uselessly. Remembering his hands, he let go the contraband and planted his hands into the mattress, trying to use his arms to push back up even as he continued bucking in an attempt to dislodge Calvin's weight. Calvin ended the deadlock by shoving his dagger into the side of Fallow's neck. He jerked it out, stabbed again, again, again, until the Major's strange, frantic sounds were silent and the man himself grew still. Calvin placed his hands on the Major's back to push himself upward, leaving a bloody handprint on the man's skin. He dropped his head back, fingers gripping the Major's hips for purchase as he gasped for air. It had been a struggle with the Major putting up a fight. Calvin finally caught his breath. He lowered his head and stared down at his Superior. His face was pressed into the pillows and blood smeared his back.

Calvin pulled his knife out of Fallows neck, wiped the blood from the blade on his pillow. He set it aside, then he gripped Fallow's hips and began easing his cock from Fallows' body, as if still being considerate of how painful the exit. He stumbled to his feet and stared down at the man on his bed, Fallows still on all fours, he was a little slumped now but he was still on his knees and elbows with his arse still in the air. Blood smeared his back and hips, it pooled from the gaping wounds on his neck to soak the pillow.

Pouring water from a ewer into a bowl, Calvin washed his hands until the water was a deep red. There was nothing he could do about the body - it was far too heavy to lift, he could not carry it off somewhere, he could not hide it. Instead, he dressed, combed his hair, then began packing his belongings. He cleaned his knife and pocketed it. Retrieving the seals, cipher and letters, he packed them all except for Fallows'. The Major had reached into the damned wrong drawer. It had only been unlocked because Calvin had been working on creating a copy of O'Hara's seal from the clay template when Fallows had unexpectedly knocked on his door earlier. Calvin had shoved the whole lot into the drawer, pushed it closed, and, unable to immediately find the key, he'd let Fallows in, not thinking for one moment that Fallows would have any reason to pull open that drawer.

Fallows seal was already replicated. Calvin sat down at his table and, ignoring the dead body on the bed still in its bestial position, he pulled out a new parchment and began writing his own pass in Fallows perfectly replicated hand. The seal added a little authenticity. He should be able to remove a horse from the stable, then pass every check point all the way out of the camp, with this.

Unless Fallows' body was discovered first.

Nothing he could do about that. There was nothing he could do about the fact that Fallows would be found there, in Calvin's bed chamber, as naked as the day he was born, his arse up in the air after just being fucked in it. To try to do anything about it would almost certainly result in Calvin being caught and arrested, both for murder - and for sodomy. People would know precisely what he'd been doing with the Major - it was Calvin's chamber, after all. But Calvin planned to be far, far from this place before that could ever be a problem for him. Pulling on his boots, he threw his bag over his shoulder, then strode out into the hall. He locked the door behind him, then strode from the house.

* * *

Thank the Lord above, it had finally stopped raining. Tavington and his small guard rode the last leg of their journey - through the dark woods until they reached Fresh Water Plantation. Tavington was tense the entire way, it was not until he could see the firebrands and lights of the fort on up ahead that he finally began to relax. Martin was out there somewhere, but for the life of him, William could locate him. The man was everywhere, it seemed. There were reports and sightings placing him a mile from Fresh Water and then not an hour later another would arrive, placing him one hundred miles away. So many false reports. After a few days of this, Tavington had grown tired of chasing after these sightings, but he could not ignore reports of the man's raids. There had been two just over a week ago, Bordon had still not returned from riding out to investigate one of those.

This latest - the worst William had come upon yet - had dragged him out of Linda's bed so early, it had still been pitch black and there had not been even a single bird awake. He'd ridden from Fresh Water and he'd found the site of the attack only four miles away. Though he had not been able to find the rebel himself, William had seen the devastation first hand. The dead bodies of the caravan the enemy Colonel had attacked.

In grim silence, William began to descend down the last part of the road, his eyes fixed on the lights ahead. The Legion's camp sprawled before him, the many pinpricks of light showing a camp still awake. This was not unusual being early evening, no later than six o'clock. Linda would still be awake at the Kent's home, she would be waiting for him as she had awaited him every night this past week. He hadn't returned to Fresh Water since Beth left it, he'd filled his days and most nights with scouting and routing rebels, returning to Linda on the nights he was close enough to visit the Kent's. When he did, they retired to her bed chamber - though the Lord only knew what the Kent's thought of that. Tavington found he really could not have cared less.

No doubt they assumed he was having relations with Linda in her bed chamber, and in a sense, they would have been right. Nearly a week, since Beth had left. William had visited Linda three times now, he'd languished in her bed, allowing her to soothe him with her massages and her kisses, taking what comfort from her that he could. However, for some reason he could not entirely understand himself, he had not allowed any further sport than that. He did not bed the lass, when he came to her bed. Why that was so, Tavington could not have said. Especially when she persisted more strongly every evening. Linda was becoming impatient with him, he sensed her frustration strongly. Still, he resisted stepping over the line and joining with her in that sense.

He'd been faithful to Beth in his marriage, and to be accused of adultery was... Cutting. It was an indignity of the greatest extreme. Perhaps that was why he had not coupled with Linda - so that he could still, with absolute righteousness, declare that he had been faithful. There was no stain on his character, no matter what his wife believed. And there still was not, even with Linda's trying. Which was far more than Beth could say by now, William did not doubt. Not after seven nights of being in Banastre Tarleton's company. William's wife would have been unfaithful to William by now, probably ten times over. And she can accuse him? William's face darkened, it matched his mood well.

He had ridden closer to the plantation, closer to Linda. For the first time since his wife left him, he wondered if he should bed Linda properly, as she clearly wanted. Beth probably had her legs splayed wide for Banastre at that very moment...

Gritting his teeth in a snarl, William began to steer Thunder toward the pickets, readying himself to turn off the road. He would go to Fresh Water first, for a change of clothes and to hear reports from Bordon, and then he would leave again, to spend the night in Linda's bed. He halted, however, when he saw riders approaching from the opposite direction, carrying firebrands and riding hard toward him. He waited until they came abreast of him.

"Colonel," the Sergeant, the leader of this company, saluted from the saddle. "Thank the Lord, that was excellent timing! O'Hara has summoned you, and with respect Sir, you are to come immediately."

"Am I just?" Tavington huffed a sullen breath. Christ, had Martin struck again already? He pushed thoughts of Linda and her miraculous fingers aside, he would just have to wake her up for a massage later. His muscles seemed to cry out in protest. "Return to the General immediately and inform him that I am coming."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," the agitated sergeant whirled his mount and the unit galloped back the way they'd come. Brownlow and Dalton looked to Tavington, both awaiting his command. Instead of releasing them to take their enjoyment, he gestured for them to follow. They rode for the Ferguson Plantation, and as they approached it, they saw that all was in uproar. Far more light flooded the front yard than was necessary, and there were many soldiers rushing about. Gone was the usual orderly precision of a British camp, the place was a kicked anthill. Tavington was escorted immediately into the house, but rather than being taken to the sleeping quarters upstairs, he was taken down a long corridor on the ground level, to a small chamber at the rear of the house. Servants quarters, these. Or apartments for very low ranking officers. O'Hara was just outside in the corridor, surrounded by his adjutants and several men William recognised to be doctors.

"That was certainly quick," O'Hara said to Tavington as soon as he saw him.

"I met your man on the rode," Tavington explained. "What is it, what has happened?"

"It's a grizzly sight," O'Hara wrinkled his nose. "If you have a soft stomach, I suggest you don't look."

Tavington gave O'Hara a 'look', one which spoke volumes. Soft stomach? Him? He snorted.

"Lead the way, Sir."

"Just in here," O'Hara opened the chamber door and Tavington followed him in. He stopped dead as soon as his eyes landed on the bed, for there was the grizzly sight. A peculiar sight, also. Tavington frowned, trying to understand why Major Fallows bloodied body was naked and on all fours, his bare rump in the air. His head was turned on the pillow, his eyes wide open and staring. The side of his neck gaped open where he'd been stabbed.

"Jesus," Tavington whispered, drawing closer. He could not peel his eyes away from the sight. "Why… this position…" Tavington gestured, trying to understand. One thing was clear, however. "He was murdered… in his own bed!"

"Not his," O'Hara said quietly, voice grim. He drew a shuddering breath, and as if forcing himself to continue, he said quietly, "this is Lieutenant Farshaw's."

Tavington twisted his head up and his startled eyes met O'Hara's.

"This is Farshaw's chamber?" Tavington asked, incredulous. "What was Fallows doing in Farshaw's bed? Naked? In this position!"

"Those questions are worth a thousand pounds just now, but I believe we can deduce the answers easily enough," O'Hara twisted his lips in distaste. "Fallows has been championing Farshaw for some weeks now. He sanctions me almost daily. He can not do without his Clerk. I must not send him back to you, for he'll never be able to find a replacement with as fine a hand as Farshaw," O'Hara heaved a breath. "Clearly, he was speaking with a double meaning. Whenever I mentioned sending Farshaw back to you, Fallows would be in here, begging and pleading on his behalf. He even broached me several times about advancing Farshaw. He was wasted as a Lieutenant, Fallows said. Deserved to be Captain. In that, I absolutely would not yield, however, for I knew Farshaw's history entirely too well. I'd rather have seen him gone from my ranks entirely, than have him promoted. But Fallows was dogged, so I allowed him to keep Farshaw in his command. I thought it was to be his clerk but now… Now I suspect I know the true reason why," he jutted his chin toward the corpse on the bed, "he was clearly receiving favours from Farshaw for his protection and patronage."

"Jesus," Tavington said again. This time, however, he couldn't help but to laugh. "I'm sorry, Sir," he apologised. "This is not amusing, I'm just so… shocked! Jesus!" Again he laughed and O'Hara nodded gravely.

"I understand. I've lost a damned fine Major, you know. But to think of what he has been doing all this time," O'Hara folded his arms across his chest. "I just can not imagine it. Honestly, Fallows? I never took him to be…"

"A ganymede?" Tavington said coarsely. His eyes landed on the small drawers beside the bed, where several vials were sat atop.

"Quite," O'Hara sighed heavily. "For how else did Fallows come to be here, naked, in Farshaw's bed? There is evidence of coupling, the physicians have inspected him closely and they all agreed that these spots are… well, you know." O'Hara was pointing at several wet patches on the bed. And although it pains me to direct your attention here, you will see…" He pointed at Fallows' rear, where milt had pooled, then seeped down the inside of Fallows' thigh. "Judging by the position of the body, I would say that Farshaw took Fallows from behind. I would also say that this… distasteful union… has been going on for some time now. I wouldn't touch those," he cautioned as William went to pick one of the vials up. "We found them in the drawers." When William looked at him in askance, O'Hara said, "they are filled with scented oil."

"Gods," William jerked his hand back, understanding precisely what the oil must have been kept there for. "Well, that clinches it then. They're both ganymedes."

"I can see I do not need to explain what the oil is for. Good. Yes, I can only conclude the same as you - they are sodomites. There are more of those vials in Fallows' office, and God knows the two spent a large portion of their time in there with the door locked. I assumed it was because of the sensitive nature of the missives that crossed his desk - "

"No, it was the sensitive nature of Fallows bending Farshaw _over_ the desk," William scoffed.

"Please, Colonel," O'Hara ran a weary hand over his brow. "As if this is not bad enough. I do have to conclude that it is true, however, the two were indulging in buggery. The question is, why did Farshaw kill Fallows? Fallows had my cooperation, I was letting him have little… clerk. Perhaps it's because I refused to advance him to Captain?"

"You haven't questioned him?" Tavington asked, startled.

"No. He has fled," O'Hara spread his hands wide now. "He did this and then, he vanished. Barely two hours ago, he was seen leaving the house for the stables. I have since discovered he used a pass that Fallows himself wrote, to get himself through the pickets. Why Fallows would write it… How Fallows wrote it," O'Hara added, sounding incredulous. "Perhaps he wrote it not realising Farshaw's intentions. Perhaps he wrote it before they started… But why do this - why bed Fallows, then kill him?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but that is when my guard is at its lowest," William said, still somewhat amused. "I could probably be murdered during the throes of passion and not even feel the blow coming."

"Hmm. I have no desire to entertain such thoughts. I believe Farshaw has perhaps a half an hour start on us."

"On me, you mean?" William asked, sensing they had come to O'Hara's true purpose in summoning him.

"If you would be so kind," O'Hara replied dryly.

"I'll leave immediately," Tavington promised, ignoring the pang in his stomach that told him he'd already missed the dinner time meal… "Who found him here?"

"A Private. I sent for Fallows and when he could not be found, the Private knocked on Farshaw's door. When there was no answer, he tried to open the door but it was locked. He would have left it at that, but he said he felt an itch… something warning him. An instinct. Now there is a lad worthy of advancement. Instead of walking away, he worked the door open and found… This."

"I trust he will be discreet?" William asked.

"So I've requested."

"Very well. I shall leave you with this unpleasant task," William pointed at Fallows, bowed to O'Hara, then left the chamber.

* * *

"…fine at Mr. Singleton's," Mark was saying, justifying his decision to move the children. Benjamin sat across from him, his lips tight. "Look, there are more things to fear than the British," Mark said. "Did you see those hovels? Gaps as large as my hand - how the devil would the children see winter out alive, living in those? You can't heat them! And while I was there, a child was almost attacked by an alligator. I heard there's been lots of attacks, not all of them ending as well as that one did. You want little Susan being dragged back into the surf by one of those beasts -"

"Alright, alright!" Benjamin raised both his hands in surrender. "Fine. So. Mr. Singleton's, is it? I never heard of him."

"He's a good man. A gentleman planter, he is a good friend and he took in mine and yours in with no question. Anne, too. They'll be safe there, Ben. Hell, at least they'll be warm and well fed."

"Alright. I'll send him a letter to thank him and I'll send him money too. I won't have anyone saying I can't pay my way."

"No one is saying that," Mark said. "Everyone knows you're honourable. Which is why I'd like to know, for once and for all, if you're going to marry my sister, Ben."

"What?" Benjamin gasped, eyes narrowing.

"Jesus. You're my brother and I love you like one, but by Gods, you try me. You did the right thing by Betsy but you can't bring yourself to do the right thing by Charlotte. I know you've been bedding her."

Benjamin's mouth worked, a slow red flush spread across his cheeks.

"Yes, you'd do well to be embarrassed," Mark scoffed. "As you should be. I've known for a long time, but I never took you to task for it because I knew you'd do the right thing. And finally you did, you proposed, but now I don't know anymore. Are you going to marry her, or not?"

"It sounds like you know more than most," Benjamin finally found his voice. "You know she bedded me. Do you know who else she bedded?"

"Oh aye, I do. Bordon," Mark spat. "None of us are going to have to worry about him much longer. I'm going to kill him, Ben. Him and Tavington both. I'm going to free our daughters, God strike me down now if I am telling a lie. But you…" He shook his head, his lips tight for a moment. "You need to make a decision about Charlotte, who you should marry after all these years of having your little affair. What Charlotte did… It happened, that thing with that wretched bastard happened, and it was all his fault - "

"She seduced him, not the other way around," Benjamin's voice was hard.

"It was to save you! All for you, Benjamin. It isn't a big deal - it doesn't matter, it's over and done with."

"You might condone such tactics, but I do not," Benjamin said and Mark lurched back as if he'd been struck. Benjamin did not apologise, made no attempt to take the words back. It was a dig at Mark, to let him know that Benjamin knew that Mark had allowed his own wife to bed Bordon. And Cilla too, it seemed. In truth, he'd been struggling with doubts regarding Charlotte for some time now, ever since she confronted him when he came to move her and the children from Mrs. Billings. He knew she hadn't meant for it to go so far, he often found himself wondering if he could forgive and forget, for he loved her and missed her and desperately wanted things to return to how they were before bloody Goddamned Bordon.

Mark opened his mouth to retaliate - or perhaps to justify his actions - but then the door was opening and Gabriel came sauntering in.

"There's someone floundering out there, looking for our camp," he said and all thoughts of Charlotte flew from Benjamin's mind.


	106. Chapter 106 - To Capture a Colonel

Chapter 106 - To Capture a Colonel:

Calvin approached the first sentry cautiously. Although it had stopped raining earlier that evening, the trails were still wet, the trees above still dripped enough that it might as well still be raining. He'd travelled far in only a short time, and he'd done it as quickly as possible. It'd been a terrifying flight, as though the hounds of hell were on his trail. And they were on his trail, he knew. He'd seen the firebrands from a hoard of horsemen from the higher vantage of a hill, when he'd stopped for long enough to chance a glance back toward the Ferguson's. A shiver had coursed his spine for it was Tavington's lot, he had recognised the uniforms.

Now he was well onto the Rutledge Plantation, and after giving the house a wide berth, he was entering the forest where he knew that Benjamin Martin had quartered his men.

Had he been careful enough? If the tracks of his mad dash bought Tavington to this place, Martin was hardly likely to thank him for it. He was certain he'd lost the Dragoons in the swamps, however. Still, with no fresh rain to scour away his tracks, there was a very real possibility that Tavington might be able to pursue him, even up to Martin's doorstep. Worried about what he'd left behind, and even more worried about what lay before him, Calvin approached the sentry.

The man was nothing more than a dark shape squatting beside another dark shape, that of an old walnut tree. The fellow was very still, as though he thought if he remained frozen, he would not be noticed. But Calvin knew he was there, and when the lad continued to approach, the fellow rose, and leveled his rifle.

"I'm here to see Colonel Benjamin Martin," Calvin began quickly, lest he be shot before saying his piece. "And Mr. Mark Putman."

The man had been listening, Calvin - his eyes adjusted to the gloom - had been able to see the stern set of his features. There had been murder in that man's eyes, but now his face smoothed, became more amiable.

"Who you be then, to be asking for them?" He asked.

"Lieutenant Calvin Farshaw of Colonel Clement's first division of infantry, 2nd Regiment of the South Carolina Continentals," Calvin said, giving the rank he'd once held as though he were still a Continental. He sat a little taller in his saddle, he felt pride for the first time in over a year, for it had been that long since the battle which had destroyed his Company, and turned him into a prisoner. He'd almost died in that battle, and he'd been reborn as a Redcoat soldier. But that had been forced on him, he'd had no choice but to turn coat. He had been an Officer in the Continentals before, didn't that mean he still was now? It was time to reclaim his former life, and the very idea put mettle in his spine. His gloves creaked as he tightened his fingers on the reins.

"Ah, well then," the fellow, astonishingly, saluted to Calvin - an Officer of the Continentals - giving the youth the respect he duly deserved. Heat swelled in Calvin's blood, his face flushed with it. Lord, it felt good to be himself again. The sentry continued to speak as he led the way into the bushes. Calvin had to dismount and lead his horse by the reins, for the branches were too low, the brush too thick, to ride through. Even if Tavington did follow his tracks all the way here, he would not be able to find him in bush so dense as this. Still, he'd better warn the Colonel, he thought.

They slogged through the woods for a very long while, Calvin lost track of time, it must have been at least a half hour. And then there was a swamp land to negotiate around, the paths of which seemed well known to Calvin's guide. Without the sentry, Calvin would have become lost long since. His boots and breeches were soon coated in mud. He slipped twice and only his hold on the reins stopped him from falling flat on his face. It was tough going, in the dark. He glanced over his shoulder for signs of pursuit, but all he could see was darkness all around, and stars high above. The great house was well and truly gone from sight now, he had no way of knowing if he'd led Tavington to Henrietta Rutledge's doorstep. Then again, the Dragoons might have lost his trail long since. One could only hope. At least another hour, he was about to ask his guide just how far away had Martin made his camp, when they came upon more woods. The fellow whistled, a trilling sound which belonged to no bird Calvin could identify. A few moments later, the call was answered in kind. Another sentry answering the predesignated calls. The two were let through, to continue their way through the woods this time. It was still too dense for riding, and the footing was most uncertain, with the roots and forest debris coating the hunting trails. He decided it was better not to bother asking how much further - they would get there when they got there.

After walking for what felt like miles, the two entered a large clearing and finally, they were amidst Colonel Martin's men. The soldiers had made their home beneath lean to's made of branches, some slept while others sat around fires. A make shift cabin had been erected, no doubt built by Martin's men. It even had two windows, though it sported only one chamber. Lantern light glowed from within, smoke trailed lazily from a chimney. The soldiers had done well, it was a fine, if small, construction. The sentry had been challenged several times since nearing and then entering the camp proper, and he was challenged again before they reached the house. A disciplined camp, this. A soldier came forward and relieved Calvin of his procured horse, after Calvin removed his saddlebags. Another trooper came forward to carry those for him, for he was an Officer and they respected him as such. Lord, it felt good to be amongst his own again.

Martin had been alerted and the Colonel himself was waiting on the doorstep. Calvin had never met the fellow before, but he had no doubt that this was Colonel Benjamin Martin. Though middle in years, he was strong of build and fair radiated a slow burning strength and power. And keen disapproval. The man stood with lantern light to his back, giving him a halo of sorts and adding to his authority.

"Farshaw," he said by way of greeting, voice stern. "You're a long way from where I need you to be, son."

Calvin had been afraid of this. He'd known when he set out that he might not be welcome, for he was disrupting Martin's carefully laid plans. Putman's, too. But with Cilla in the heart of the British Fort, surely they would not feel the lack of his absence? Much of the information they had received this past week had come from her, not only from him. And much of the information Cilla had gathered, had not differed much from Calvin's own efforts. He truly was not needed there at the Ferguson' House any longer. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I was discovered."

"Damn and blast it, are you well?" Benjamin gasped, reaching out as if to pat Calvin down for bruises. His very real concern was touching.

"I am, Sir."

"How did it happen? How did you get away?"

"Well, I… ah…"

"Perhaps if you let him into the cabin, where it's warm, he'll be able to tell you," yet another man said, from just inside the doorway.

"Yes, you're right Gabriel," Benjamin said, taking hold of Calvin's arm and leading the way forward. "There's broth and bread inside too."

Calvin was seated in a surprisingly comfortable chair, with a bowl of hot broth on his knees and bread in his hands. The chamber was large, and boasted many chairs at this end by the fire, a large table in the centre, which served as a petition for the other section of the chamber, where there were cots all lined up in a neat row. Martin was not using this chamber solely for himself, it seemed. There were youths in the room too, Calvin had been introduced to them a short while earlier. Nathan, Thomas, Nicholas who had once been a Redcoat, Gabriel, and finally Mark Putman. They were all seated by now and Calvin was handed a bowl and some bread.

"Sir, I have to tell you, I think Tavington is on his way," Calvin warned even as he began shovelling spoonfuls of broth and bread into his mouth. "Gods, this is good." He sighed. "I tried to shake him, but I don't know - he has excellent trackers and I'm worried I left a fairly obvious trail in my haste to get away."

"Tavington is coming after you himself?" Benjamin said, sounding surprised.

"I'm an Officer and a traitor," Calvin shrugged. "It's definitely him. I'd know that bastard a mile off, even in the fuc - ah, that is, even in the dark. I saw him a few miles from here - from the other side of Rutledge Plantation, I mean. He's out there, close by."

"He won't find us, if that's what you're worried about," Martin said. He turned to yet another fellow who had joined them. "Rollins, head out to make sure, will you? See if you can discover Tavington's position."

The rough looking militiaman nodded, and strode from the chamber.

"My daughter, how is she?" Mark pressed now that the warning had been imparted.

"I need to question this young man about how he was discovered, Mark," Benjamin said.

"And I need to question him about my daughter!" Mark snapped, whirling on Martin. Calvin stared at the two, shocked. Then he remembered that they were family. Sure, Benjamin Martin's reputation made him seem larger than life and had even Calvin Farshaw in awe. But Martin's own family would see the man as he was - just another man. "Is she well?" Mark said to Calvin, clearly determined to control the conversation. Benjamin leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. When he made no protest, Calvin answered Mark instead of Martin.

"She was well when last I saw her," Calvin replied between mouthfuls. "She was right happy to learn you were alive, Sir. When she stopped crying, I could see she was real happy. Have you been receiving the letters she's been writing you?"

"Yes, I have. That doesn't stop me from worrying, however," Mark was working his jaw, his face was blotched red. He was struggling to keep himself together, though Calvin could not understand why. The other men - his family - watched him with grave concern. Calvin began mopping the last of the broth up with the bread.

"Well, Sir, Bordon ain't even there and no one else is hassling her. And she never has anything bad to say about her lot when she gives me information to send on to you." Mark looked suddenly wary for some odd reason, his eyes quickly darting to Benjamin Martin's.

"And what information would that be?" Benjamin Martin asked, voice hard. It was to Mark Putman he asked the question. Mark straightened in his chair. Calvin looked back and forth between them.

"I'm sorry, did I say something I shouldn't have?"

"My brother in law was not aware that some of the information we've been receiving from Fresh Water, has come from my daughter," Mark replied and Calvin gasped.

"I'm sorry - I really am. I didn't mean to cause any trouble -"

"Think nothing of it," Mark said, waving him down. "Benjamin, there is nothing I can do about it - she's undertaken this all on her own. She's organised the spies to stand watch on her window and when she moves the planter from one side to the other, she is signalling she has information. She then passes it on to them, and goes about her business. I did not ask her to do it."

"But you haven't forbidden her, either!" Benjamin snapped.

"As if it would do any good! I'm not there to forbid her anything!" Mark said hotly. "Besides, she's my daughter, not yours! You just worry about Beth, Goddamn it!" Martin snapped his mouth shut, looking furious. Mark turned back too Calvin. "Continue."

"Ah, where was I?" Calvin began warily. "Ah… Oh yeh, I think she's alright. She's being looked after."

"Thank you," Mark's strain lessened somewhat, he slumped back in his chair and ran a weary hand across his brow. "It's one thing, her telling me that in her letters. It's another thing hearing about it from someone whose actually seen her."

"Do you mind if I question him now, Mark?" Benjamin asked scathingly and even Calvin, who did not know the man, heard the edge to his voice. Mark tightened his lips and nodded. Benjamin turned those hard eyes on Calvin. "What happened, son?"

"I…"_ Gods, how much of this am I going to be able to keep secret? _They'll know soon enough that I killed Fallows… Hoping the Patriots did not learn the rest of the details elsewhere, he began. "I finally had a moment to myself, and I was in in my chamber, working on making O'Hara's seal from the clay indent I'd made. My door was locked - I've been so careful, ever since I lifted the cipher and the letters… I thought Fallows was in some council meeting but the next thing I knew, just as I sat down to work, he was banging on my door. He knew I was in there because I'd coughed just before he knocked. So I quickly shoved everything back into my drawer and closed it, but then I couldn't find the damned key. I found it later, it was on the floor but at that time, I couldn't find it and I was taking too long to open the door. I figured there was no reason for Fallows to go into the drawer - he was likely just summoning me back to work, he probably wouldn't even come into the chamber. So I opened the door a bit, stuck my head out to see what he wanted. Next thing, he's pushing past me and into the room, and he's talking about how O'Hara passed me over for promotion. I don't even fucking - sorry, I don't even want it. I suppose it might have been helpful for us," he gestured about the room, the 'us' were his fellow Patriots. "Maybe me being a Captain would mean I'd have access to greater information but I don't think so - I'd still have been Fallows clerk, doing the same job I was doing. Anyway, I thanked the Major for trying - pretending I was all grateful for his effort and disappointed by the rejection. I thought he'd go, then, but the next thing, he was pulling out his pipe and then patting down his coat for his pouch. 'Have you any tobacco?' Fallows asked and before I could even answer -"

"Oh, no," one of Martin's sons groaned - Thomas.

"- he pulled open the damned drawer. He just sort of stood there at first, staring at the clay indents in confusion. But I'd done Fallows' seal a while ago and that was sitting there - with the clay indent I'd made of it, he recognised it right quick. He pulled it out, along with O'Hara's cipher and the letters I'd stolen, and the forgeries I'd made to practice Fallows' and O'Hara's hand writing. It was all there and when he asked for an explanation, I couldn't give him one. For the world of me, I couldn't think. What could I say?"

"What did you do?" Benjamin asked softly. "You're here… how did you get away?"

Calvin shifted under that weighty gaze, wondering if Martin was able to pick the truth from the lies. And now - to admit he'd killed Fallows. How well would that go down? _He was just another a Britisher,_ Calvin thought. _He was the enemy_. Quiet and grave, Calvin said, "I murdered him."

Benjamin's eyes grew wide and he drew back slightly.

"I know, you're shocked," Calvin said. "Sir, I just… I reacted. He was about to shout - the guards would have come, I would have been carried off. Questioned. Hanged. I didn't want either. If I'm to die, I'd rather do it fighting. Not hanging like a criminal after revealing everything to my interrogators. How do I know if I'd hold up under torture? It would have been a disaster - the other spies might have been revealed, Mrs. Bordon…" he said, including Putman in his gaze. Putman nodded gravely. "I'd like to think I wouldn't have disgraced myself but that's just it, I don't _fucking_ know. I never fucking been through it. I had secrets I didn't want them digging for and yeh, I didn't want to hang, neither. I don't want to die like that. So I… I killed him."

"How?" Benjamin asked. His voice was gentle, everything about him had softened. Commiserating. Gods above, Calvin had murdered a man. Who'd have thought he'd find commiseration?

"There was a knife on the table," he reached down and pulled it out of his boot now, he turned it over and over, then placed it on the table. "This one. I… I stabbed him in the neck. I don't know how many times."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"Nathan!" Martin barked and the youngest of his sons shrunk in on himself, embarrassed.

"Still," the oldest of the boys - Gabriel - was dazed. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Can we just stop that? The cussing. Just… enough. Jesus fu -" Benjamin caught himself just in time. He was reeling, utterly shocked. "Well…. What then. What did you do? How did you get away?"

"I spent all that time learning O'Hara's and Fallows' hand. Now, Fallows' will be useless to us, with him dead. But I was able to use it, in this at least. I locked the door and I sat at my desk and Gods, you're going to think me mad," Calvin paused, realising himself how unhinged it all sounded. "But I had too. I had to get away. I replicated Fallows hand in a letter that would secure me a horse from the stables and passage through the pickets. I used the replica seal to close the letter. Then I packed it all - and my belongings, and I walked out. I locked the door behind me but I guess it didn't take them long to go looking for him, or to find him, seeing that Tavington has pursued already."

"You're not just a spy now, son. You're a murderer too," Martin said.

Calvin lowered his eyes, his heart pounding as he waited for Martin to pronounce his judgement. Surely the Patriots would not hang him for killing the enemy?

"Which means they will never stop looking for you," Martin explained. "We'll need to get you away from here, maybe get you a place in a militia in North Carolina or somewhat. We've got connections - we'll be able to hide you," Martin said and Calvin's head came up. "Don't worry. We'll protect you, son. As much as we're able. I can't promise you'll live to see the end of this anymore than I can promise that to myself or to my own boys. But I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, Sir," Calvin breathed, stunned.

"Grow a beard," Mark suggested. "Get your face covered. There's nothing we can do about your eyes though, there's not many with that green you've got; they're a dead give away. But yes, I agree, if he's up north with Colin Ferguson," Mark had turned to Benjamin. "He'll have a fighting chance."

"And he'll have a chance to fight," Benjamin said. "I'm assuming that's what you want? If not, lad, there's no harm in it. I'll find you someplace quiet to wait out this war -"

"I don't want to hang if I can avoid it but I ain't no coward," Calvin said. "And it's about time I was back in the saddle, fighting for the side I actually want to fight for."

"How did you become a Redcoat?" Nathan asked and Calvin launched into his explanation, about fighting at Savannah and being left for dead.

"I didn't know how to get away from them," he finished. "But I never wanted to fight for them. When we were lined up against the Patriots, Sir, I always aimed low. On my honour, I did."

"What do you mean?" Nathan was frowning.

"He means he levelled his rifle downward, so the shots went into the ground, not into the ranks facing him," Martin replied and Calvin nodded.

"Now that I'm back where I'm meant to be, I won't be fucking aiming low, that's for damned sure," Calvin ground out. "My honour on that, too."

Martin nodded gravely. The door opened and a militiaman entered.

"It's Tavington," he said and Martin rose with such abruptness that his chair toppled onto its back.

* * *

Calvin was in the saddle again, this time with a full force of two hundred men at his back. He'd been given a place at the front of the line, which enabled to him to hear all of Martin's commands. Some fifty Dragoons bearing firebrands in the darkness of night were easy to spot, when one knew where to look. Which Martin had. Now, they needed to draw the Dragoons down a path of Benjamin's own choosing. The Company came to a halt.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" Martin asked Calvin.

"Yes, Sir," Calvin said, trying to still his beating heart. He could very well die tonight, he was risking his life.

"Alright, lad. Here, no heroics, alright? You just make sure he sees you, then you ride like the wind. Keep out of firing range but don't lose them."

"I'll draw them into the trap, Sir, I won't fail," he replied. Martin had nodded.

This was Calvin's chance to prove himself; his bravery, his mettle, his worth to the Company. He swallowed hard, then began to ride on alone. While he left the militia behind to bed into the bushes on either side of the trail, Calvin made his way toward the Green Dragoons. It was tough going, just as it had been earlier. The moon lit the way somewhat, a soft silvery glow allowed him to avoid the worst of the ruts in the trail. He made it out to the main road and he continued on toward the fire brand wielding Dragoons. They were someway off, and he could see it when the entire lot of them began turning off onto another road. That was not the way Martin wanted them to go. Setting his heels to his mounts flanks, he raced forward, throwing all caution to the wind. Just as the last of the Dragoons began turning off the road behind the rest of the detachment, he came within ten yards of them, and then stopped and cursed as though shocked to see them there. He swore loudly, drawing the attention of those at the end of the line.

"It's him!" A Dragoon shouted. More shouts were raised, muskets levelled. Calvin's horse reared, he bought it about so quickly.

If he was going fast before, he was flying now. His mounts hooves struck the earth; the sound was drowned by the full detachment of Green Dragoons thundering after him. He ducked low, trying to make himself a small figure, as more shots rang out through the night, bullets whizzing past his head. Good; with the fools firing at him, their weapons would already be spent when they entered the ambush. He just wished they wouldn't aim the damned things at him.

It took time to load a rifle. A packet of powder needed to be pushed down the barrel, followed by the ball. A soldier needed to be standing still to do it. With many of these fifty already having discharged their weapons, they would have no chance to reload when Martin's men began firing into them. A few of the Officers might have loaded pistols, but that was a poor answer to some two hundred rifles.

Tavington was shouting, Calvin would recognise that voice anywhere. It sounded triumphant. Calvin smiled. He thundered past the place he knew Martin's men to be, his smile widening by the moment. With only fifty Dragoons, Tavington's lot would soon be completely enveloped by the two hundred still concealed Patriots. Calvin raced past the last of the Patriots, then he wheeled his horse around to watch the show, and to level his own rifle. The lights from the firebrands grew closer, soon Calvin could see the outlines of the men and horses, then he could discern details of their uniform. Tavington was at the front of the line, with Brownlow and Dalton. There was no sign of Bordon. That was disappointing, he'd hoped Bordon would have joined with Tavington by now. The ball waiting in his rifle had been intended for Bordon's chest; damned bastard, making off with Harmony and hiding her. He knew Bordon was protecting Harmony. He just knew it!

Calvin did not dare to look at the bushes to either side of him, though he did hear a man - or a boy, Nathan Martin, he thought, curse, followed by a shushing noise from a comrade. The sounds reassured Calvin. He'd known they would be there, but to hear them was heartening.

Calvin could tell the moment Tavington saw him. The Colonel reined his horse in sharply, he raised his fist to slow his men, then he himself edged closer. Seeing Calvin's rifle, he shook his head and laughed. He must look a sight, a lone gunman turning to face fifty Dragoons, when he should have still been running for his life. That alone should have roused the Colonel's suspicions but he was a cocky bastard, and all he could do in that moment, was gloat.

"You're a little outnumbered, I'm afraid, little ganymede," he drawled. Calvin froze in the saddle, the blood draining from his face. _He_ was the ganymede? Fallows had forced him, threatening to remove his protection, threatening to let him be handed over to Tavington and Bordon. It was their fault - Tavington's fucking fault that he'd chosen to be buggered over being fucking beaten to death. Fuck, he wanted to kill Tavington so bad just then. He sited, looking down the barrel, aiming for Tavington's chest. The other Dragoons were still coming, thundering into the ambush. "Come now," Tavington said, voice hard and cold. The Butcher, to his very core and never mind that there was a killing shot aimed and ready. "Don't be a fool. Put the rifle down and come along quietly."

"I'm not going with you, Butcher," Calvin said, green eyes shining in the firelight.

"You will answer for the murder, Farshaw. And for those other things you did," Tavington looked amused when he said that, and Calvin knew he was referring to the crime of buggery. He pulled the trigger. Another shot rang out right along with his, light flashed from the trees. Tavington jerked back in the saddle. Calvin wasn't sure if it was his ball which hit Tavington, or the one fired from the woods.

"Fire!" Martin screamed and all at once, shots rang out, light flared from the bushes to either side the Dragoons along the length of the road. Horses screamed and reared, toppling their riders. Others galloped every which way, trying to win free of the melee. And Calvin calmly reloaded his rifle, ready to take another aim at Tavington, who was on his feet, standing by his horse and clutching his shoulder. Brownlow and Dalton stood to either side of him, their horses giving them some cover as they aimed their pistols and fired into the bushes. It was all happening so quickly - men surged from the bushes with tomahawks, their rifles spent. It was close quarter fighting now, Calvin's rifle was useless. He could not fire and risk hitting one of his new comrades. Instead, he pulled his knife and raced forward, rushing toward Tavington. The Colonel had his sabre drawn and stood in a small three ringed circle back to back with Dalton and Brownlow. They were protecting each other, sabres sweeping deadly arcs over their heads, stopping anyone from closing. Other Dragoons fought likewise, Tavington had taught them well. Calvin could not close without risking his head.

"Cease!" Martin bellowed from the saddle. His men were as well trained and disciplined as Tavington's. Almost to a man, they stopped fighting, though they kept their weapons held in such as position as to defend. A few were still mid battle, but these pulled apart, and men on both sides - breathing heavily and eyeing one another warily - paused to await commands. Calvin's finger twitched on the trigger, he'd reloaded and he wanted - oh so badly - to pull it. Tavington was vulnerable, Calvin could kill him with ease now. He stayed his hand, however, obeying Martin's command.

"Surrender, Tavington!" Benjamin demanded. "Or this will be a slaughter."

His pistol was loaded, and aimed at Tavington's head. The Colonel's sabre was nothing against that. Tavington stilled, assuming a rigid stance, and he looked back at his Dragoons. It was obvious he was outnumbered four to one; the odds were even less in his favour now, for many of his had already fallen. Tightening his lips, he met Benjamin Martin's gaze.

"You offer terms?" He asked, his voice loaded with frustration.

"I adhere to the rules of war, as you well know. Your men will be blindfolded and escorted away from here. All of those wounded will be given medical aid. You, however, will accompany me," Benjamin urged his mount closer, until he was barely a yard from Tavington. "There are a few things I'd like to discuss with you, Butcher."

Tavington smiled. With a bullet hole and blood spurting from his shoulder, with his men stacking their weapons behind him, ready to be escorted to who knew where, his own fate uncertain, he smiled. Scoffing, he gave Martin a mocking bow.

"If you adhere to the rules of war, then you will allow me two companions, as befits a Gentleman Officer," Tavington said, his voice not showing even slight pain. "I choose Brownlow and Dalton."

"So be it," Martin said. Ignoring Tavington as though he no longer existed, he approached Gabriel, who happened to be standing close to Calvin. When he was close enough, Martin reached out and calmly placed his fingertip on Calvin's rifle, slowly but firmly forcing the youth to lower it. "They've surrendered," the Colonel said, and Calvin nodded curtly. He slipped the rifle into a loop on his saddle, without once taking his eyes off Tavington.

"Pity you didn't disobey orders," Tavington said, taunting Calvin Farshaw. "I'd like to see Martin stripe your back." Calvin's fingers twitched, he was near to drawing the rifle again.

"It's not his back that will be striped tonight, Butcher," Martin said, a cryptic reply which made Tavington's eyes widen. There was no further time for talk; Tavington, Brownlow and Dalton were made to mount their horses, while the other Dragoons were herded into a large group and ushered away on foot. Their mounts were seized by the Patriot militia, as were their arms and ammunition. The wounded were to be carried off with the Dragoons, to someplace else. The dead, Martin commanded, were to be left on the road. While some of his own men had taken wounds, none had died in this small skirmish.

"I want you kept out of sight," Benjamin had walked off into the night, to speak to his brother in law who was waiting well outside of the circle of light. Having nothing else to do, Calvin had followed him. Benjamin continued, "go with Rollins."

"I want him dead, Ben," Mark ground out. Calvin was surprised by the venom in Mark's voice, he seemed to want Tavington dead as much as Calvin himself did. Was he the one who pulled the trigger just after Calvin? "This was not the plan."

"I say what the plan is, Mark," Benjamin said, voice firm. "And I never agreed to one that saw Tavington dead. I will deal with him as I see fit. He will not see the morning unscathed, but I will be the one to decide what to do with him. I want you kept out of sight. The spies back at the fort need someone to report to, and they can't do that if Tavington suddenly knows you're alive."

Mark tightened his lips, staring daggers past Benjamin at Colonel Tavington.

"Are we going to have a problem, Mark?" Benjamin asked with an undertone of threat. Mark shook himself, then tossed his head curtly. "Good. Now you," the Colonel said to Calvin, who startled with surprise. Benjamin cocked his head to one side as he studied the young man. Tavington had called the lad a ganymede; was it true? Was Calvin a sodomite? It was hardly a question he could pose now. He drew a ragged breath. "You will go with Mr. Putman. I want you both as far from Tavington as possible."

"So we don't kill him?" Mark challenged. "He should be hung, Ben!"

"You will leave this to me, Mark," Benjamin said, voice firm. "Go with Rollins, take Watson - and Farshaw - with you."

There was no room for argument, Colonel Martin was resolute and the others had no choice but to obey him.

* * *

_At least they are letting me ride, _Tavington mused, though with his hands bound around his back, he wasn't certain he could keep himself in the saddle. It was one indignity on top of another, the blindfold Martin had forced over his head. He'd surrendered, hadn't he? Martin truly was a savage, he had no idea how to behave as a Gentleman. The horse moved beneath him, Tavington could feel the muscles bunching and it was only his many years of horsemanship which helped him to stay astride, by using his thighs alone. He did not bother to speak, to Martin or his men or even to Brownlow and Dalton. There was no point speaking, and it would drain energy he didn't have. Christ his shoulder hurt. Martin had seen to a rudimentary field dressing, the bleeding had slowed. His left shoulder, thank the Great Lord Above. His sword arm was still good, not damaged at all.

_Sweet Jesus, Farshaw… _He laughed softly. The damned bastard. Committing sodomy and murder. Deserting to Martin, and then leading Tavington's men into that trap… Farshaw could not take credit for _that_ part, he knew. That had been Benjamin Martin's very clever plan. He wondered if Benjamin Martin knew just what type of man he'd welcomed into his ranks? A sodomite. He considered warning the enemy Colonel to watch his back - or more accurately, his backside… He laughed again.

"I don't know what he's got to laugh about," he heard a young man's voice whisper somewhere to the left of him.

"I reckon he's gone mad," another youth said. Martin's son's, unless Tavington missed his guess.

_My brothers in law_, he thought. Then laughed again.

"What do you mean, 'gone'? He was always as mad as a march hare," the first one said.

"What do you think papa is going to do to him?" The second one said in even lower tones. Tavington strained to hear, a curl of foreboding slithering along his spine. Though he tried hard to hear the answer, it was lost to all the other noises surrounding them - the horses hooves, and men's quiet talk. He sensed there were not many, perhaps only ten or fifteen. Why Martin had split from his force, Tavington could not discern, but he knew he was amongst a much smaller Company than Martin had before.

The ride was taking its toll. A hasty bandage covered his shoulder, but he could feel the blood slipping through it and down his chest. That was going to be painful, having it dug out. If Martin allowed him proper medical care. That would be one way to solve the enemy Colonel's dilemma, he had never approved of William's marriage to Beth. William's death would be the perfect way to see it ended. Despite the loss of blood and the weakness that was slowly overcoming him, he did his best to sit erect in the saddle, refusing to allow his enemy the pleasure of seeing him slump.

_Damn and blast it,_ he lamented as he rode. _I should be sitting by the fire, cosy and warm, with a nice full stomach. Lord above, are you so set against me then? How the devil could this happen? Farshaw's fault. If I hadn't had to come out after him... I'd have been in bed with Linda by now. Just when I decide that I'll start bedding her again. Punishment, I suppose, _he laughed grimly, then gave a wince as he rolled his shoulders.

It was hard to judge the passage of time, when denied the sight of the moon and the stars. It was not a short journey, that much he was able to discern. Unless they were going around and around in circles, to confuse him. Hours and hours of circling the same woods, for all he knew. That was something Martin would definitely do.

At long last, the horses finally stopped for more than the ten minute breaks Colonel Martin had allowed so far. They must have been miles and miles away from the battle sight, by now. Or perhaps they were still on Rutledge Plantation, he laughed to himself. Finally, his hands were unbound, and he was allowed to remove the blindfold. He blinked at the sudden light, the glow from firebrands hurt his eyes. He was on the plantation of a lesser farmer, with a small two room cabin and only two outhouses. A glow emanated from the cabin windows, men milled about, some seeing to the horses and others striding in and out of the house. Only twenty, he counted, roughly the amount he'd thought. Brownlow and Dalton were likewise unbound and they hesitantly walked over to him, while glancing about uncertainly. The Colonel kept up a calm facade, as the two junior Officers came to stand at his side.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Brownlow asked quietly. Except for several of the rebels keeping a close eye on the prisoners, they were mostly ignored by everyone else. Martin was several yards away, speaking to his sons, all three of them. Nathan, the youngest one present, glanced his way several times, which Tavington took as confirmation that he was the topic of the discussion. All three of them looked stone faced, and each one nodded agreement with whatever it was their father was saying.

Finally, Martin turned toward him. "String him up," he commanded, jerking one hand toward a post. Tavington had seen it earlier, a whipping post. The farm was not very prosperous now, but once, it must have boasted at least a few slaves. The post used to discipline those slaves was still there, jutting upward from the ground in the middle of the yard. Tavington's jaw dropped, this was beyond improper. Two particularly burly rebels came forward and seized his arms, they began to jerk him forward; the pain in his shoulder was phenomenal.

"Wait!" Brownlow cried, rushing forward. He raced toward Benjamin, while Dalton tried to grab one of the rebels holding his commander. He might as well have been pulling on an old, thick oak branch, for all the effect it did. The fellow's grip was not even slightly dislodged. "Sir!" Brownlow shouted at Benjamin. "I must object! On whose authority do you do this! You said you will abide by the rules of war, where is the Colonel's trial? You must cease immediately!"

Tavington's jacket, his Green coat, waistcoat, shirt, all of these were torn from his torso by his two burly captors. Dalton was on the ground by now, with yet another rebel restraining him. Brownlow was the only one still free, for all he'd done was voice a verbal remonstrance, he had not tried a physical attack.

"I will abide by the rules of war," Benjamin Martin began, voice firm and filled with authority. "But this has nothing to do with the war, boy."

"What are you talking about! You've made Colonel Tavington a captive, you must treat with him as his rank merits! He has broken no rules since his capture, therefore this is… it's illegal is what it is! Please, I implore you, stop this at once Colonel Martin!"

"Colonel Martin is not punishing a prisoner," Gabriel Martin said, coming to stand beside his father.

"He is! He's ordered him.. Oh God," Brownlow glanced over his shoulder and saw that William's hands were bound again, and his arms were being raised high over his head. He was half lifted to the balls of his feet, his arms high above his head, with the rope binding his wrists hooked over a nail in the post. His long black queue hung down his bare back. "Please, stop this," Brownlow begged, all his fire from before gone. "It isn't right. He's wounded. He needs medical care! Please, don't do this!"

Benjamin Martin stepped forward, coming to a stop in front of Tavington. The British Colonel dangled there before him, his almost expressionless face registering only some of the pain he was in. As fast as a striking snake, Benjamin's hand snapped out and he seized William's jaw, his fingers digging in hard.

"You beat my daughter," his words were clipped with fury.

"I beat my wife, as is my Goddamned right," William shot back, defiant. He showed no surprise, he'd already discerned what this farce was about.

"You have no rights over Beth. As her father, she was under my authority. She still is, for I never relinquished that authority to you," Benjamin shook his head. His voice was calm, but those eyes… Lord, those were enough to chill a normal man's blood. William, however, had more mettle than most. Benjamin continued, "I did not give her away to you, I never sanctioned that damned union. You took her without my blessing or permission. You attacked my daughter, and this offence must be addressed. It is not as a Colonel that I punish you, nor are your crimes relating to the war. It is as a father that I execute this punishment - for your unlawful assault against my daughter."

William tightened his lips. When Benjamin stepped around to the back of him, William did not turn his head to try and watch the man. He stared blankly directly ahead, into the darkness beyond the firebrand. There were shapes out there; trees, no doubt. He fixed his gaze on those, ignoring the rebels surrounding him, ignoring Brownlow's protests - the lad seemed near to tears now.

"Pass it over," Benjamin said calmly, and William knew he was speaking of the whip. He braced himself as best he could, determined not to make a goddamned sound. A crack split the air, shattering the sudden silence and William held his breath, bracing himself. But no blow landed. Benjamin Martin was one for theatrics, it seemed. His hands high above his head, William curled his fingers into fists and clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt. Another crack shattered the night, then a whistle; this was it - he held himself rigid and then the tip of the whip lashed into his skin. Pain exploded in his back, every bit as immense as the bullet in his shoulder. His skin was torn open from that strike, he could feel it. Martin was not going to hold back. Brownlow and Dalton cried out - but William did not. Another sliced through the night, more pain erupted in another part of his back. Blood trickled down his skin, he dropped his head forward to the post and tried to breathe. Lord, he'd never been whipped before. It was indescribable. The skin of his back; split open by inches. He could not see Martin, but he didn't need to. He could hear him, the laboured breathing, his feet shuffling as he braced himself to put as much strength behind the blows as possible. Three more times he struck, the lash biting into and splitting open flesh with every blow. Then it was over, or at least Tavington thought. He hadn't uttered a sound, though someone was weeping openly by now. Brownlow, he suspected. Dear lad. William allowed himself to slump now, all of his strength had gone into keeping from crying out. It was over now, though he did wonder why Martin was letting him off so lightly. The whipping was beyond painful, but he'd expected at least thirty lashes from the enraged father, not just five.

"Gabriel," Martin barked, and William heard more feet shuffling in the mud. He stared at the post just before his eyes, suspicions gnawing… He remembered Martin speaking to his three sons before the whipping began. He'd wondered why the beating was so short. And now he knew why. He did not turn to look, but he could hear everything.

"Just stand back here," Benjamin was saying. "That's it. Hold yourself like this, now raise your arm back. You're in the right position, you don't even need to worry about aim from this angle. You'll get his back, don't worry. That's it, go."

So. It wasn't only the father, but the brothers, who would take out their wrath. William braced himself again. The blows did not have the same strength behind them; Gabriel was inexperienced, and it showed. It was still damned painful, all the same. Thomas was next, and although he was inexperienced, he had righteousness and energy on his side. Beth had always said that of all her brothers, Thomas was closest to her. Clearly Thomas felt the same. These ones from Thomas hurt almost as much as his father's had and they left new, devastating gashes down his back. Lastly, Nathan. Tavington would have laughed if he weren't in such agony. The whips coming from that child would be like butterfly kisses, in comparison. The message Martin was delivering was clear - that if one thought to hurt Beth, then the perpetrator would be faced with all of the men in her family to answer for it. If Samuel, and the youngest son, William, had been there, no doubt Martin would have placed the whip into their hands also.

"I don't want to do this, Papa," the boy Nathan said. His voice sounded queasy. No doubt he was looking at the ruin of Tavington's back, it took a certain type of man to mete this sort of justice, especially to someone already wounded.

"Then don't," came the reply. "I'll not force you. Pass it here." Tavington braced himself again, fearing that Martin meant to take Nathan's allotted five. A terrible thought occurred to William, perhaps Martin would take Samuel and William's share also. But then: "Cut him down. Bring him into the house. Billings, get the bag."

Tavington's muscles seemed to scream with agony as he was cut from the post and his arms were finally lowered. Blood traced his back and his chest, his legs felt so weak he didn't think he's be able to walk an inch. Somehow, he made it unaided, jerking his arm away when one of the rebels offered to help him. Beth's brothers waited by the steps, then they fell in behind him as he strode up onto the porch, and into the house.


	107. Chapter 107 - The Colonels Have a Chat

Chapter 107 - The Colonels Have a Chat:

"There are rules!" Brownlow said, frustrated. Standing by Tavington's bed, he tossed his head in disgust and threw a glare over his shoulder at Colonel Martin, who was leaning back against the wall, entirely at his ease. "This was against the law! You say you follow the rules of war but this was… I've never seen such an abuse of authority! This is an outrage unprecedented!"

"Unprecedented?" Benjamin arched an amused eyebrow. He looked at his sons. "A Redcoat, seeking to preach to me about what constitutes an outrage. A Redcoat!"

Gabriel laughed under his breath, Nathan and Thomas nodded agreement.

"Cornet Brownlow is absolutely correct," Ensign Dalton declared.

"Cornet Brownlow should be thankful that he wasn't strung up to the whipping post himself!"

"Me!" Brownlow gasped.

Benjamin pushed himself from where he'd been leaning again the wall and strode over to Brownlow. He stopped shy of walking straight over him. Brownlow held his ground, he lifted his chin and glared up into Benjamin's angry blue depths.

"You," Martin snapped. "If it's not enough that I've got that damned lobster back sniffing about one of my daughters," he pointed at Tavington. "There's you sniffing about yet another! Margaret is only fifteen, Brownlow!"

Brownlow took a full step back, his face draining of colour.

"Surprised that I know, are you?" Benjamin barked. "She wrote all about it in her diary, you damned fool! She fancies herself in love! And you want to preach to me about what constitutes an outrage?" He shouted and Brownlow lowered his eyes, feeling wretched.

"What's this?" Dalton asked. Brownlow refused to look at him.

"He went slinking off with my daughter on her damned birthday," Benjamin ground out. "Gave her her first kiss. I vow, if you gave her any more than that -"

"No, Sir, I vow I did not," Brownlow said.

"Patrick!" Dalton hissed. Brownlow shot his friend a quick, embarrassed glance, then turned back to the enraged father.

"It was innocent; just a kiss," he said, knowing how empty his words were.

"A kiss is enough to get a couple engaged!" Benjamin shot back. "Is that what you want? Do you seek to force marriage on my daughter, the way that bastard did?"

"No -" Brownlow began but was cut off.

"You want her inheritance, the same as the Butcher wanted Beth's?" Benjamin asked, challenging.

"What inheritance?" Brownlow cried, throwing his arms wide. "I don't know anything about an inheritance! No, Sir, I do not!"

"Her land? It's not for you anymore than Beth's land was for him! I didn't fucking spend hundreds of pounds securing my daughter's future, for the likes of either of you!" Benjamin's flailing arm took in Brownlow and Tavington at once.

"For the likes of me?" Brownlow shouted, suddenly furious. "And what would be so bad about me being your daughter's husband? There's nothing wrong with me, I'm a gentleman, I have honour -"

"But no money, I'd wager, just like him! Besides, you are British and that's enough for me. So you just keep your Goddamned hands to yourself!"

"No money, hmm? You believe whatever you shall!" Brownlow drew a deep breath, struggling to keep himself under control. The father was enraged, and he had every right to be. "I should not have done it. I showed Miss Margaret disrespect and I apologise."

Martin appeared taken aback. "Well. You damned well should be," he spat.

"At least he did apologise," Thomas said. "That's more than Tavington's ever done."

"And Tavington has done so much more," Martin said, glaring past Brownlow at the prone Officer on the cot.

Dalton stood at Tavington's feet, allowing enough room for the so called militia surgeon to work on the Colonel's torn flesh by the dim glow of candlelight. The fellow looked as shabby as the rest of the rebel rabble; his hands and fingernails were filthy, his instruments looked dubious at best. He was as like to kill the Colonel, as he was to heal him. Yet Martin had called him a very skilled doctor… That remained to be seen - Dalton and Brownlow highly doubted the claim. After shooting a furious glance at Brownlow - Gods, he'd kissed Margaret Martin?! - He shifted the subject back to Tavington's whipping. He jerked a finger at Martin. "This will not go unanswered. A captured Officer of Tavington's rank, whipped like a common criminal! You just wait until one of your own is captured, Sir. Or perhaps O'Hara will take this extreme outrage out on one of your higher ranked Officers who are already in our custody. I assure you, you've made the life of one of your own comrades a living hell. He will be whipped, to make an example."

"I have said it once and I shall say it again. This had nothing to do with the war, boy," Benjamin said, as stoically as the first several times saying it. "This is a family matter."

"You used your Regiment to capture an enemy Colonel, in order to settle a family matter? You are splitting hairs, Sir," Dalton snapped. "O'Hara shall not see this as you do. There will be a reckoning, of that I vow."

William groaned on the cot. He lay on his stomach, his ruined back in full view of all in the cabin. His fingers dug into the mattress, his teeth clenched down into the pillow.

"Why won't he faint?" Brownlow whispered as the surgeon continued to work; dressing the deep cuts. The sight made Brownlow gag. "It would be so much better for him, if he would just faint."

"Water," William whispered and Brownlow quickly fetched some, he attempted to spoon it into the Colonel's mouth. Sweat slicked William's face, his pale eyes were glazed, as though he were not entirely cognisant.

"This is outrageous," Brownlow whispered, the heat draining from his voice. He glanced over at Benjamin again. "You should be ashamed, Sir."

"I should be ashamed? I should be ashamed. That man steals my daughter from me. He marries her against my wishes and then he enters into an affair with another woman! Some doxy he bought up from Charlestown! And if that is not bad enough, when my daughter - who must finally see the light by now - tries to leave, he beats her for it!"

"…Was not… having an… affair!" William managed to grind out. So. He was aware after all. Brownlow was regretful of it, he'd hoped that the Colonel's mind was someplace else, someplace he would not feel the pain of the surgeons ministrations.

"Lord, listen to it would you?" Benjamin barked at Gabriel. "Damned lying bastard. Should hitch him to the post again."

"You'll have to kill me," Brownlow said, voice grim. "And me," Dalton agreed. Both Officers stepped closer, side by side, a human barrier with the doctor and Tavington at their backs. They would not be able to do much if Benjamin called the other men in, but they were fairly certain they could hold Benjamin and his sons off.

"No one is hitching anyone to anything," Gabriel said, shooting a glance at his father. "He belted Beth and he's been punished for it. It's done. We do not recognise this marriage - none of us do -"

"Don't speak for me! I recognised it when it was Bordon who married them and since then, a proper clergyman's done the job too," Thomas said. "It's beyond foolish to deny it now."

"Shut it, Tommy!" Gabriel snapped. "Tavington hurt our sister when he had no right. With the authority of a husband, he took his belt to Beth, but he never had such authority. She is not his wife," Gabriel looked Brownlow in the eye. "Even if we did acknowledge this marriage; if he thought she was unprotected, he was greatly mistaken. We will always be there, always looking over his shoulder and if he ever thinks to beat her again, he'll suffer tenfold worse than he did this today."

"What my son is trying to say, Cornet, is that as Tavington has received his chastisement, there will be no further reprisal from us," Benjamin paused for a moment, then added, "until the next time."

The doctor continued to work on Tavington's wounds, the Colonel was forced to lay on his newly dressed back while the doctor worked at the bullet wound with a crude looking implement that had even Tavington screaming in pain.

The hour was late when Thomas and Nathan sought their blankets, the youths laid themselves out on the wooden floorboards in front of the fire. Gabriel kept the water over the fire burning, at the doctors orders. Dalton and Brownlow assisted the doctor; by keeping the candles lit, ensuring there was clean, boiled water in the basin, and even helping to hold Tavington while the doctor worked at the bullet hole to dig out the ball.

Tavington did faint several times, no man could stand up to such pain without losing consciousness. He continued to rouse, however, and after the third time, Brownlow begged Benjamin Martin for laudanum.

To his great shock, his request was granted and Benjamin Martin handed him a bottle. Brownlow took it from the Colonel's fingers and stared at it suspiciously, laudanum was not so easy to come by that soldiers would be found carrying bottles of it in their saddle bags. This was loot from one of the British supply trains Martin had attacked. He met the enemy Colonels arch gaze and after a moments silence, decided to say nothing of it. If he was entirely honest with himself, he had to admit he was just grateful he had something powerful to take the Colonel's pain away. And it was going to be used on a British Officer, after all.

At long last, the doctor finally finished his grisly task. The bullet in his shoulder had been dug out - thank the sweet Lord Tavington had been unconscious for that. It was stitched closed. Brownlow and Dalton helped the unconscious man to sit for the doctor needed to bandage his torso, which required William to be in an upright position. When this was accomplished, Brownlow and Dalton lowered him back to the cot, on his side. Wrapped all around with bandages, William lay unconscious, with Brownlow and Dalton sitting on the floor against the wall. At some stage, even they succumbed. Although they had been determined to stand sentry over their fallen commander, both Officer's surrendered to fatigue, their chins dropping to their chests as they began to snore.

* * *

"You're quiet this morning," Banastre observed as he rubbed Beth's shoulders. She sat at the small table, staring over the cup of tea held clutched in her hands. He stood behind her, his fingers working at her shoulder muscles beneath her shift. He knew how good it felt to be massaged, he knew she must be enjoying it. She should have been rewarding him with relaxed, breezy sighs. Instead, she was utterly silent. He kissed the top of her hair. "You don't regret last night, do you?"

For he surely didn't. What bliss it had been, to join with her properly again. She certainly had not seemed to regret it at the time, but then again, she had enjoyed quite a few wines with him earlier in the evening. Perhaps this morning, as the cold light of day stole over their fifth night in camp, waking them to throbbing, wine soaked headaches, she had come to remember she was a married woman. She might feel ashamed of her actions, he worried. He was certain that was why she had refused him every evening when he tried to seduce her. Almost a week of resisting him, she'd finally succumbed and was now feeling somewhat ashamed. She was a good lass, he knew, a virtuous one. It would cause quite a conflict within her, this backtracking of her oaths.

"No, of course not," she said softly, lifting her head up and back to gaze up at him. She wore a weak smile, a mere shadow of her usually joyful grin.

"You're certain?" He asked, fretting. She nodded, and he leaned down to brush his lips across hers. "I love you," he said. Her smile deepened somewhat and she nodded, murmuring something that he took as a reply in kind. "Until tonight, my love," he whispered against her lips. She nodded again. After fixing his sword to his hip, he left her there in their joined tents alone.

He strode out into the cold winter air, the rushing waters of the Wateree River to his right. His men fell in beside him, the Dragoons began mounting up to ride out. The bulk of the Legion were to remain encamped, while Banastre took out his Dragoons and an infantry company to scout the area and to recruit from the local populace, for the British Army were in a sorry state. The Lord General himself was sick - Banastre had been shocked to see with his own eyes, how ill Cornwallis was, lying in his sick bed as though he might die. Command of the army had fallen to Lord Balfour. All was in chaos, the Royal army had contracted her lines, with so many of their number still suffering yellow fever, the army had settled into a defensive position at Winnsboro. It was imperative that Tarleton keep up these daily scouting missions - not only to rout the enemy, but to deter them. To make the British Army appear stronger than it actually was. They could not risk having Burwell and Gates suddenly decide to descend upon them, as they had tried at Camden. This time, they might bring the Over Mountain men who defeated Ferguson at Kings Mountain. Martin might join them again. With such a large force attacking, the British could be decimated.

Hence the daily rides from camp, Tarleton trying to give a show of strength. It was most unpleasant work and all Banastre wanted to think about was his warm tent, and his even warmer mistress awaiting him. And after last night, he had even more enticement to return to her. However, he managed to keep his attention mostly on the task at hand, though he did let a part of his mind wander to Beth as he rode.

Perhaps he should not have given her the wine - he felt a pang of guilt, for knew that she was susceptible when inebriated. Wasn't that the reason she had offered her virginity to him that night so long ago? For her inhibitions had been swept away on a tide of alcohol. His feelings of guilt increased, for he'd deliberately acquired the wine, with the hopes that Beth would be more easily seduced. He'd been trying to coax her to bed him and after nearly a week of her resisting, he'd become desperate. But, he argued with himself, he'd done it for her own good. She had been holding herself back from him; she was confused, conflicted, unsure. But in the end, she had enjoyed his touch as much as he had. Her back arching as he plunged inside of her, softly crying out as she dug her fingers into his arms, her body writhing beneath his, her orgasm sweeping through her. And not just once, either. They'd spent many hours between the blankets, exploring one another, renewing their intimacy.

Now that the ice was broken between them, there would be no more lamenting, no confusion, no fears. With the foundation laid last night, she would accept him again tonight. He would not ply her with spirits or wine, for there would be no further reason for her to refuse him. Which was a good thing, for his pockets were empty, he could barely afford to purchase himself new shirts, let alone more bottles of wine. He cringed as his mind turned to his debts, most of which he had acquired through gaming. The damned cards called to him, they sung his name with the sweetest of tunes… How many times had he written to his family, begging for loans to cover his debts? He had lost count long since. His mother was heartily tired of it, it seemed, for in the last packet he received, he had found only a keg of ale - and a chastisement - lovingly written - but a chastisement all the same. His beloved mother implored him to mend his ways, to cease his vices. He could not hope for more financial assistance from that quarter, not now. How would he continue on, on his small pay? And he had a mistress to care for now, and they were expensive to keep…

Beth did not demand silks and other trappings, however. She would be able to subsist on the pay she would receive as a camp follower. She was not like other mistresses, who held out their hands and only smiled when silk scarves or gold chains were draped over across their palms. Still, it was worrying. He would need to provide for her above and beyond what she would receive from the Paymaster General… Especially if the Paymaster discovered that Beth did not lift a finger to assist with any of the duties, not even the sewing. Perhaps he should speak to her about it later, he mused.

If only his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel would be made official, he could sorely use the pay increase. But being a field assignation only, he received only half the pay that rank was entitled. It still heated his blood whenever he thought of Tavington being promoted and in a formal capacity, while he was left to languish. How galling! After everything he'd done for the Crown - how difficult would it be, to just make it official? So that he might return to England with full honours, and not to a damned demotion. For when his brevet appointment was revoked, Banastre would have to fall back on his official rank - that of Captain.

While William Tavington was a Colonel.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Banastre struggled to control his bitterness. Now was not the time to think of such things. He had Beth again, fully and completely. He would not let anything gloomy dull the joy. His bitter expression shifted to a smile of pleasure as he imagined returning to her that night, of holding her in his arms and slipping inside her soft and willing body. Now there was a joy to make the very cold day seem warm indeed.

* * *

With a soft groan, Cilla awoke and blinked up at the dark figure climbing into bed beside her.

"Sorry I woke you," Bordon said quietly as he slipped beneath the blankets. "Christ, it's cold out there."

"Mnnn," she managed to reply. "What time?"

"Just after four," he replied into her.

"Richard! Oh my God!" She gasped, jerking away from him. "You're cold as ice!"

Richard dropped back onto the pillow, howling with laughter. "I told you it was."

"Go warm up by the fire before you get into bed!" She said, drawing away from him. She was sitting up now and she stared down at him in the candlelight, watching him laugh. It was strange - she went through the motions of their marriage every day, taking each day as it came. Yet Richard, he seemed far more invested, as if he saw her as his wife in truth. For weren't these the sort of moments true husbands shared with true wives? His laughing slowly to chuckles and she shook her head, a soft laugh passing her lips.

"Did you just laugh?" He teased her, sitting up beside her. "Did you, Cilla Bordon? Did you just share a moment of hilarity with your husband? Hmm?"

"Hardly that," she said, denying it. "It was a cough, that's all."

With a chortle, he dropped back against the headboard. He began blowing on his hands and she knew he was trying to warm them so as not to give her such a sudden jolt of cold when they settle back down again.

"Where have you been? You've been gone for days," she asked..

"It took some time to find our quarry," he replied, speaking of the rebels he'd gone in search of after an attack was reported to the west. He'd discovered the men only yesterday, miles from Fresh Water. He'd wasted no time in executing each one of them - their bodies hanging them from the nearest trees, but the journey back had taken some time. "What news here?" He asked her as Cilla shoved back the blankets. She shivered, then forced herself to get out of bed. It became clear why a few moments later when she disappeared behind the screen, and he heard a liquid tinkling sound. She returned after relieving herself and climbed back into bed. He was still blowing on his cold fingers and shifting his legs beneath the blankets to work warmth into them.

"Major Fallows, from next door?" Cilla began reluctantly. As much as she'd rather keep this secret for poor Farshaw's sake, the fact was, it was the talk of the camp. There were not many who had not heard the tale, and Bordon would find out soon enough. She might as well tell him honestly from the start. "He was found dead in Corporal Farshaw's bed, naked as the day he was born. There were stab wounds in his neck."

"Oh my God!" Bordon gasped, his attempts at warming himself forgotten.

"I know. It's quite a scandal. There was evidence of coupling," she said, a little squeamish. Everyone appeared to believe that Farshaw had killed his lover for not advancing him to the upper ranks, Cilla felt certain it had been for an entirely different motive. She remembered the haunted look on Farshaw's face when he spoke of Fallows.

Richard screwed up his whole face and shuddered with disgust. "It doesn't even bear thinking about!" He said, trying to push the vision of two men in a passionate embrace. And Harmony's husband! Who would have thought it? "Christ above; all this time, Farshaw is nothing more than a ganymede!"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Cilla said primly.

"It must be so! It explains much - his treatment of Harm… ah… that is… his wife. Mrs. Farshaw, that is," he said, covering himself quickly. She gave him a knowing look, then laughed.

"Oh, _that_ Mrs. Farshaw," she sniggered. "Not your mistress, _Harmony _Farshaw. Wait, are they… No, it can't be - they're not…" she gasped theatrically, her hand over her mouth and everything. "The same woman? Richard, are they?" He tightened his lips, but the look he gave her was rueful. "You know that I know you're sharing her bed," she scoffed. "I don't know why you keep tiptoeing around it, as if you think that maybe I don't know after all and am too stupid to puzzle it out."

"I don't think you're stupid," he said. "I'm the stupid one. Anyway - he was a real bastard to her and maybe that was why. He never had a fondness for women, it was men he liked all along!"

"He can't have liked Fallows all that much to kill him," Cilla said tartly, reclining back against the headboard at his side.

"After coupling with him, by the sound of it," Bordon snorted.

"Oh God, I shouldn't have raised it," she despaired, for she now had images in her head that she did not want there.

"Well you did and now I won't be able to stop thinking about it. Why couple, and then kill him? You say Farshaw was upset because he wasn't being promoted?"

"_I_ didn't say that," Cilla replied hotly. "I'm merely repeating what _others_ are saying. That he'd wanted Fallows to advance him. No one knows for certain, Richard."

"It makes sense though, doesn't it?" He asked, excited by the puzzle. "That's why he screwed Fallows first -"

"Oh, Richard," Cilla winced, turning her head away.

"Well, it's what happened, isn't it? And then he would've asked Fallows, afterward, if he was to be promoted. When Fallows admitted it was not to be, Farshaw flew into a rage -"

"You weren't even there!" She gasped.

"No, thank the great Lord above - that's not a sight I wish to see!" Bordon chuckled darkly. "So Farshaw flew into a rage, and slit Fallows' throat!"

"Or perhaps Fallows was forcing himself on Farshaw. Did you think of that?" Cilla asked, voice hot. Bordon shied away from such talk, it was not a thing he wished to discuss with Cilla, a woman he had forced himself on. "No, I'll wager you haven't. But I think it's far more likely. Farshaw was _married_! He had an affair with Emily Wilkins - as you very well know! Clearly, he preferred women. What if Fallows was forcing Farshaw, who had no way of fighting back? The only way out was to kill Fallows!"

Bordon arched an eyebrow. He lay back on the pillows and stared at the canopy over head. Finally, he said, "perhaps…"

"Questions should be asked," Cilla said. "Talk to the other men, those favoured and put forward for promotion by Fallows. You might find a very different story emerges, if you do."

"No one will admit to being buggered, Cilla," he replied.

"I did," she shot back and Bordon recoiled, as if slapped. "When push came to shove, I admitted it," she ploughed on despite his discomfort.

"You've always been forthright, though," he said softly, not quite meeting her eyes. "There's not many people like you, Cilla."

Was that a compliment? Cilla frowned, caught off guard. He finally met her eyes; she drew a sharp breath, hoping he did not start in on his apologies again - she did not want to hear them.

"Besides, you had reason to admit it," he said. "Your uncle and aunt sitting there saying you bedded me willingly and your virtue was destroyed through your own doing. Nothing that happened that day was your fault; it must have been galling, to be looked down upon by them, after suffering that attack from me."

"It was," she said, sudden tears springing her eyes.

"Cilla, your situation…" he paused, closed his eyes, then added more strongly, "_our_ situation, it's completely different. You were pregnant and being accused of low virtue. Therefore, you had no choice but to admit to the thing that I did to you. You needed for them to know that it was my fault, not yours, and that you were still as virtuous as you always were. The men you think might come forward to speak against Fallows? Why would they? If that were happening, I'm sure none of them would come forward and admit it, just as you would not have done, if you hadn't had to." Cilla had become so quiet, so completely withdrawn. He placed his hand on her shoulder and was relieved when she did not recoil.

"You're right, I would not have admitted to any of it, if I hadn't been forced to. And I would not have been forced to, if I hadn't fallen pregnant."

"Cilla, I -"

"I think Fallows was forcing himself on Farshaw," she said, to stop him from apologising and to steer the subject away from what had occurred between them in the dungeon. "Anyway, Farshaw has escaped the Ferguson's and -"

"Escaped!" Richard gasped. "I'd have thought he'd be in irons!"

"No, he fled. Tavington went after him. That was late last night," she frowned. "Not tonight just gone, I mean the night before. A whole day has passed since and most of tonight."

"Christ. No word from Tavington since?" Richard asked.

"None," Cilla replied. Richard frowned. "It's been more than twenty-four hours since anyone has heard from him. Unless O'Hara received a message after he left me yesterday."

"O'Hara came by in person?" Richard asked, surprised. She nodded. "To visit you."

"Yes," she nodded again. Richard looked impressed, and then thoughtful by turn.

"I should go and speak with him," he said after a moment. "Find out if Tavington has sent a messenger."

"Good Lord, you can't mean now! Let the poor fellow sleep!" Cilla admonished. "This has been a very trying time for General O'Hara. I don't think he got a wink last night. I mean that night before. His eyes were dropping from his head. Surely the morning will do… If it's anything pressing, you'll be sent for."

"Perhaps you're right," he replied. The General probably would not appreciate being woken at that hour, merely to answer Richard's curiosity.

"I'm going back to sleep," Cilla yawned. She slid down the bed, turning over onto her side beneath the blankets.

Richard did likewise, he slid down the bed, turned toward her onto his side. He usually put his arm out and she would lift her head and push back into him, for warmth. They'd been making great strides - in his opinion anyway. But now he held back, unsure.

"Cill," he said. "Can I come closer? Or would you rather..?" would she rather he keep that one foot between them again, as she had in their early days together.

"Well, are you warm?" She said, lifting her head to glance back at him and he gave her a great smile of relief.

"I'll let you be the judge," he put his arm beneath her head and pressed his body up alongside hers. "No hisses and chastisement," he quipped. "I must be warm enough."

"Go to sleep, Richard," she said but he heard that soft laugh again and it made his heart soar.

He draped his arm over her waist and it suddenly occurred to him that her bleeding would be well and truly over by now. And it had been some days since he'd been with Harmony.

Harmony. Gods, what would she say if he did begin bedding Cilla, to get a child on her?

Besides, would Cilla welcome his advances?

Five minutes after touching upon his attack of her in the dungeons… Richard heaved a breath and decided to let sleeping dogs lie. He settled for holding her close, though this time he did do something new. He nudged her leg with his until his was in between hers, their legs intertwined. He could feel her sudden but slight tension, but then she eased back down and did not pull her legs away.

As Cilla slipped back into sleep, Richard's thoughts soon shifted from his wife, to the problem of Farshaw. What would it mean for Harmony, was she in danger, would he need to move her? No, he thought. She was safe where she was; not only did she have guards on her at all times, Pembroke was under the control of the British, there were pickets where people needed to prove who they were to enter the village. Farshaw - a deserter and murderer - would not dare show his face within a hundred miles of the place.

Harmony was safe - finally safe! He exulted, what he wouldn't give to jump in the saddle right at that moment and rush to tell her. But no, he could not. It was freezing out there and the Turnbull's would be less than impressed, should he show up banging on their door an hour before dawn… And he was so tired. He began to ponder Cilla's theory - that perhaps Farshaw had been forced by Fallows, as sleep washed over him, pulling him under.

Some hours later, he and Cilla were awoken once more. A young Corporal who Bordon had noticed was showing some promise in the field, stood over them hesitantly; he'd been cautiously, gently, shaking Bordon awake, while trying not to wake Mrs. Bordon. Who was still asleep in Major Bordon's arms. As he awoke, Richard was suddenly grateful that he'd cozied up beside Cilla, if the shared intimacy was to be witnessed by Corporal Carr. He and Cilla both wanted people to believe that theirs was a true and proper marriage, and accidental moments like that would go a long way to bolster that image.

"I'm sorry for waking you, Sir," Carr began, then he saw that Cilla was awake also, blinking up at him drowsily, "and Mrs. Bordon. Forgive me. Sir, O'Hara has summoned you, you're to report to him immediately."

"What's happened?" Bordon asked, thoughts of keeping up appearances with his wife fleeing. He threw back the blankets and jumped from the bed.

"Ah… I do not think anything has happened, Sir," Carr replied. "I believe he merely wishes for you to attend him."

There was something in the way Carr said this that sent prickles down Bordon's neck. "Is there something you're not telling me, Corporal?" He asked and Carr's face exploded with a flare of red.

"I… ah… that is… the Corporal he sent over with this message is quite officious, Sir, and a bit full of himself, I think. He is somewhat of a favourite of O'Hara's - I've dealt with him before and I know he thinks he is in line for advancement. The way he talks and struts, you'd think he'd already been promoted. Anyway, he said…" Carr paused and Bordon lifted an eyebrow. "Sir, he was quite smug; he told me that O'Hara didn't have anything nice to say about you. He spoke to me like I'm rubbish and never mind we're of the same rank. I think he feels free to strut with the Officers under your command, because of O'Hara's attitude."

"Attitude toward me?" Bordon asked and Carr nodded. "When you say that O'Hara doesn't have anything nice to say about me - did this Corporal elaborate?"

Carr lowered his eyes, clearly embarrassed as he shuffled his feet. "Yes, Sir. He was only too eager to," his eyes flickered toward Cilla. "I can repeat the entire conversation if you like - in Colonel Tavington's office, perhaps?"

"Yes, please wait for me there," Bordon said darkly. Carr bowed and left the room. Bordon dropped back onto the pillows, his heart pounding wildly. "Two months, we've been married," he said too Cilla. He shifted his head on the pillow to look at her. "Two months. Can he not see that I am doing my best by you, Cilla?"

"I'll talk to him," Cilla said. He blinked at her, surprised. "Well, I'm your wife now. I rise with you, and I fall with you. I've been faced with the threat of falling, and didn't much like it. I'd rather rise, if I can help it."

"That's just it - that's what I'm surprised about. I know you'll defend our marriage, Cilla - you being one half of it. It's the idea that you can help it. You say it like it's nothing, you'll just '_talk to O'Hara_'. Is your acquaintance so easy - do you have such influence over him?"

"I think so," she said. "He despises you for what you did to me, Richard."

Richard snapped his mouth shut, then he broached carefully. "And you? Do you despise me?"

"I try not to think about it," she replied honestly. "But those times that I do…"

"You despise me," he sighed. "We've been making strides though, haven't we?" He asked and she nodded.

"We have. I'm more comfortable with you now. Like I said, I try not to think about it," she said and he lowered his eyes. "But perhaps O'Hara will start being more amiable with you, if he takes into account how you've been treating me."

"Is that what you have done? Taken in to account how I've been treating you?"

"What else can I do?" She shrugged and he heaved a sigh.

"Oh, well. Thank you," he said. "The things he's been saying to this Corporal… Does he say those things to you too? About me?"

"All the time, Richard," she said, meeting his eyes. Richard drew in a shuddering breath and dropped back onto the pillows.


	108. Chapter 108 - The Colonel's Accord

Chapter 108 - The Colonel's Accord:

Morning sunlight filtered through the windows; William lay on the bed as one dead, with Brownlow standing beside him. Benjamin and his sons - except for Nathan - were sitting at the small table, wolfing down some breakfast.

"You've been idle for too long, Colonel. It's not good for you," Brownlow was saying, voice wretched. "We need to get you stretching or your back will heal tight, your wounds will tear open as soon as you try to move. I know it hurts, but it's time to get you exercising. To keep your skin loose."

"My skin is quite loose enough," William replied in a pain filled voice.

"I meant supple," Brownlow said. "It's been too long as it is; we've been carrying you but now we've got to make you walk about a bit."

"It's time to get your stomach full too. Eat up, boy," Benjamin advised, pointing with his spoon to the bowl of… something… Tavington could not discern what - on the small table at the side of the bed. William pulled his eyes away from the thick soup - that's what it looked like to him. He was not going to eat it, and give Benjamin the satisfaction of vomiting it up all over the floor when Brownlow and Dalton finally worked up the courage to 'make' him walk about. He was certain the pain of that would have him bringing up the entire bowl, should he eat it first.

"I have the honour to be… Colonel William Tavington… of His Majesties British Legion… and the Green Dragoons," William ground out, concentrating on forming those words rather than on the pain firing along his back. The damned laudanum had worn off again, he was due for another dose. "You will address me as such… you will not call me boy."

"That's a bit of a mouthful. Boy is much shorter," Martin laughed - he laughed! The damned bastard. "Get him up," he said to Brownlow and Dalton. "Have him walk over here that he can dine with the rest of his _family_."

Gabriel and Thomas both scoffed. Brownlow and Dalton ignored Benjamin - they were not his to command. The rebel Colonel, who was rarely baulked when he gave an order, frowned. "Do it, or I'll have a few of my men come in and do it. Your choice, lads."

Hearing the threat in Martin's voice, the two Officers stopped short. They exchanged a cautious glance, communicating silently. At length, they came to unspoken agreement that, if they did not do as they were told, the rebels would be far rougher about it. They helped the Colonel to his feet, with William biting back hisses and groans and what the Officers knew must be curses. They walked with him across the cabin the short way to the table, with him leaning heavily on them both. Brownlow held Tavington while Dalton fetched a stool - one with no back - for the Colonel. He was helped to the seat and he fell heavily onto it. William closed his eyes against the pain, weaving slightly where he sat. He heard a 'clink' and when he opened his eyes; he saw that Brownlow had placed his bowl and a heel of bread on the table before him.

"You've been too long without food, so best eat it slow, or you'll be sick," Benjamin advised, "eat it slow, but eat it all. You'll need your strength to heal." He'd watched the Colonel's slow and painful walk across the cabin dispassionately.

"You are naught more than a savage," William said weakly but with spirit. He closed his eyes, swayed, then opened them again. "A buckskin bush fighter. A baseborn peasant."

"Yes, I am all of those things," Benjamin said lightly.

"You're as low as a damned Indian," Tavington accused.

"Nah," Benjamin said, shrugging. "I'm worse than any Indian. And I suggest you don't forget it. Boy."

"Have you even offered my men food? Water? Or are they to starve and die of thirst?"

"Christ, this one eats more than my three sons combined," Benjamin said, pointing at Brownlow, who blushed crimson. Benjamin shoved some bread into his mouth and, as if to prove William was correct about his manners, he spoke around the mouthful, crumbs dropping from his lips. "They breakfasted an hour ago, while you were having your little sleep in." He mumbled around the bread.

William closed his eyes and sighed. The man was a hayseed. How in the world he'd managed to acquire such wealth without manners, William would never know.

Lord, it hurt. To breathe, to move, to live. The pain was there, never abating, no matter what he did. In his shoulder and all down his back. Laying still on a cot or forced to walk about the room, it made no difference. Unless he'd had laudanum. That was his only relief. And it would be weeks before he was healed. Injuries such as this did not heal easily or quickly. And if infection set in… He shuddered. Beth might well be released from their marriage quite soon after all, she might be a widow in a matter of weeks.

"No wonder Beth is so damned wild," he whispered, his pain filled voice threaded with disdain. "With you for a father, she honestly had no hope of being a proper wife. None at all."

"You accuse her?" Benjamin frowned, immediately furious. Beth's brother's tensed, both glaring at William. Neither uttered the insults they wished to hurl, for Benjamin was still speaking, "you think she's not good enough for you, because of the way _I_ raised her? She's good enough, boy. Better than you deserve. You're not good enough for her - you're a damned adulterer!"

"I was not unfaithful!" William bellowed, pushed beyond his limit. A wave of pain crashed over him and he wished he hadn't yelled. It was several moments before he could speak again, and when he did, he proceeded in a fury filled whisper. "She got it wrong! The damned wildcat went off into a bloody rage, she wouldn't listen to a thing I had to say. I was faithful to her, from the moment we married!" William hissed. "I never visited another woman's bed. I loved her, the damned fool that I am. I didn't want to be with any but her!"

"Then how did this whore get pregnant?" Benjamin asked forthright. "Or do you claim the child isn't yours?"

"No, it's mine, but Linda was already pregnant before I married Beth," William ground out. "Though I was not aware at the time. If you must know the story, then do try to be quiet Sir, so I that I might tell it!" He said crisply. Benjamin inclined his head, he flung one arm across the back of his chair and leaned forward, feigning attentiveness, a look of mock interest on his face. William didn't care, as long as the stupid buckskin was silent. "Linda was my mistress before," he admitted. "Back in Charlestown. And when I left the city, I bought her with me. She had been travelling with the Legion, she had her own tent -"

"Which you visited often, I assume," Benjamin curled his lip.

"Oh yes, do tell me Sir, how faithful to your late wife's memory you've been all these years," Tavington spat. "You've been celibate, have you? You haven't taken a single woman to your bed, I'm certain," his voice was thick with sarcasm. Benjamin's lips tightened. When he made no move to defend himself, Tavington laughed softly. "Just as I thought. And you look down your nose at me for sharing a woman's bed." William noticed Gabriel and Thomas exchange of glances, and the way Benjamin refused to meet his sons eyes. "Come now," Tavington laughed at them all. "Your father is only human after all. Flesh and blood. Most men thirst after quim even if we're too polite not to talk about it. So I had Linda waiting for me in camp, what of it? I was unattached. Beth had left me and she was engaged to bloody Burwell, _if_ you recall." His face darkened. Benjamin was still quietly taking William's story in, so at length, the Colonel continued, his voice softening, "when I came upon Beth at Pembroke, I knew there could be no other. Not from the moment we were reunited. And so we married immediately - she was quite willing, I will not have any more foolish accusations about forcing her to marry me! Once we said our vows, I knew I would not be unfaithful. As soon as the Legion began to arrive, I rode out - with Beth, mind you! - To meet them on the road. I sent Linda away before she ever set foot on the property. I gave her money and placed her in the home of a Loyalist family, for her own protection. I was ending our affair but I did not want her to be harmed by my enemies on my account, which was a very real threat, when John Sumter was still alive. I promised her a stipend, as a Gentleman should when ending an affair with a mistress. I never knew she was pregnant. Not until Bordon found her. While I had settled into Fresh Water with Beth, Linda… disappeared from Pembroke. I received word that she was… gone. I had no way of discovering where she went, I had any clue how to find her. I decided if she wanted to leave, I would not pursue it. Imagine my surprise when, weeks later, Bordon informed me that he'd discovered her in our camp, where she'd returned weeks _earlier_, and had been living there under a different name entirely. The other camp women - who would not abandon her, for she had once been one of them and was now pregnant, had been helping to hide her. I was informed and I would have sent her away again but by then, I knew she was with child and I knew it was mine. I could not do that. I could not send her and my own child off to their fate. And so I allowed her to stay, where she and the babe would be safe. I know what you're thinking," he accused Benjamin, whose mock expression had slipped to a more genuinely attentive one. The man was listening. "I should have told Beth. You wonder why I did not?" He asked. "Because, when Beth first learned that Linda was en-route to Fresh Water with the Legion, she told me that if she told me that if I was ever unfaithful to her with Linda, then there was not a force on earth that would make her stay with me. So you tell me Sir, what your daughter would have said, if I had told her Linda had returned to camp? And carrying my child at that. Look me in the eye and tell me that she would have been reasonable about it," William challenged.

Benjamin paused. Somewhere along the line, his attentiveness had become unfeigned, his interested look was no longer mocking. He exchanged troubled glances with his sons. Thomas, heaping a spoonful of deer into his mouth, laughed grimly.

"She'd have been as mad as a kicked badger," he said, swallowing his food.

"Just so," William snapped, tightening his lips

"If it's true," Thomas continued as if William had not spoken.

"You doubt it, do you?" William drawled, recovering some of his usual aplomb. "That's my child Linda is carrying. I'm not a cad, no matter what you choose to believe. I will provide a maintenance for it and for its mother. If Beth had discovered Linda's presence, however, she would have demanded I send her away, a request I would have refused. After that, she would not have been fit to live with!"

"Hmm," Benjamin murmured. "Very well. Let's say you're speaking truthfully. Just for arguments sake. You never had an affair. Beth got the wrong end of the stick, so to speak. She was unreasonable -"

"Unreasonable? She was worse than a damned wild cat," William muttered. "A demon from hell would be calmer than she was. She was utterly irrational. Wouldn't listen to a damned word I had to say. Screamed at me, at Dalton, at Bordon - for keeping Linda a secret. A conspiracy, she called it. As though I'd ever set my men against her…" He shook his head, lips tight as he remembered her that day, in all her rage.

"Fine. She was worse than a kicked badger," Benjamin said, using Thomas' description. "Tell me how it is that you ended up belting her, Butcher? Why did you do that?"

William snapped his mouth shut, his lips became a very tight, thin line. He glared at Benjamin, and gave no answer. As the minutes ticked by, it became clear he had no intention of providing one. Although he was bitter and furious with his wife, William would not tell this man the truth of what she had done. To tell her father that his daughter had lost her virginity to another man? Unthinkable. Beth loved her father, and it would destroy her if he were to became ashamed of her. Benjamin sat back in his chair, he steepled his fingers, elbows on the table.

"I want to know why you beat her, Butcher, and I mean to have an answer from you," he said, voice firm. William stubbornly kept his mouth shut. "You got angry with her, perhaps? Because she wouldn't listen," he based his assumption on all that William had told him thus far. He thought his way through, trying to puzzle out what had happened. "That would have been frustrating for you. You tried to tell your side of things, but she refused to co-operate. I know my daughter, Tavington. She would not have wanted to stay with you while she believed you'd been unfaithful. Did she try to leave you?"

William drew a shuddering breath, and Benjamin felt he was on the right track.

"Is that why you did it? Because she wanted to leave you and you were trying to stop her," he asked, watching Tavington's face carefully for clues.

"That doesn't make sense," Gabriel mused. "Why would he have to beat her to stop her from leaving? A simple command would have sufficed. Tarleton could not simply have made off with Beth - not without Tavington permitting it. She could not have fled the plantation - Tavington must have let her go…"

Startled, Benjamin realised it must be true, Beth could not have stirred from her bed chamber, let alone the property, if her husband had not permitted it. Especially when her husband was the Commandant of the British Legion and had full control of the fort at Fresh Water.

"Why would you let her go? With Banastre Tarleton at that. Surely you must know he wanted to marry her, once?" He asked, puzzled. "You let her to go off with him? What the devil is wrong with you? Surely you realise how devastating such a thing would be - not just to you, but to Beth? To us all? My daughter, off with Banastre Tarleton!"

"It's all completely innocent," Tavington managed a mocking smile. "Your daughter, Miss Margaret, is sick. I have allowed Tarleton to escort my wife to her bedside."

"Don't push me, boy," Benjamin warned. "If my Maggie were sick, I'd hear of it well before you ever did. Why the devil would you do that? You damned bastard! You caused all of this and now we all must suffer and -"

Tavington punched his fist down on the table with all his might, completely forgetting the pain until it flooded his body. He pushed past it and replied hotly, "she wanted to bloody leave! Getting Mila to pack her bloody bags with everything she owned, locking herself in the bed chamber with Banastre, locking me on the outside! I had to kick the door down to get to her! Yes the evidence was stacked against me, she saw me with Linda and if truth be told, I would have jumped to the same conclusion! But I would have listened to the damned wench - I'd have given her the benefit of the doubt! How could she think it? After all we've been through since marrying, how could she honestly believe I'd be untrue to her? I showed her how much I loved her, each and every goddamned day! And she can't even give me the chance to explain myself? She just packs her bags and says she's leaving? If she'd just listened, everything could have been set to right again! But no, she had to go off like a bloody cannon ball, flying into me, into Bordon, Dalton, everyone in her path! And then Tarleton… That Goddamned son of a bitch," William laughed grimly, bitterly. "Offering to take her away, like her own bloody white knight, swooping in to save her. Oh, how he would have loved that," again that bitter laugh, "he was always sniffing after her, biding his damned time! And she accepts! She says 'yes, I'll go off with you', and never mind that he's in love with her and she knows it! She never even paused to give me the courtesy of five minutes to explain! My own wife, so ready to believe the worst of me, so ready to bloody leave me for him!"

Benjamin sat back in his chair, his mind working furiously. With this outburst, he finally began to believe that Tavington might be telling the truth. He finally felt as though he were getting to the bottom of it. There were still unanswered questions, however.

"There is something you're not telling me. You would not have sent your own wife off with another man. You don't want to be an object of ridicule, any more than I do. The damage to your name, the tarnished reputation… a man of your standing… no, it just doesn't make sense. She might have wanted to leave, and Tarleton might have wanted to take her. The question I want answered now is, why did you let them go?"

Benjamin was not going to let the matter drop. He would continue to press and press until he got his answers. William had wanted to protect Beth from her father's disgust, as even a back country corn picker like Benjamin Martin was sure to be. And Tavington was tired, so damned tired. And in so much pain. Not just the agony of the whipping and being shot, but the far more deep seated pain of his wife's betrayal. He suddenly found he did not want to bear the burden alone, he suddenly wanted Benjamin Martin to understand fully why he'd done as he had. Why should these people continue to believe he was the villain? When Beth had disgraced him so utterly. With a silent nod, he signaled for Brownlow and Dalton to leave the cabin. Benjamin tensed, if the two Officers were not to hear William's next words, then they would be unpleasant indeed. Tavington glanced at Thomas and Gabriel, but he did not command them to leave. He had no authority there. He met Benjamin's eyes, and the other man nodded at his sons. Both rose and followed Brownlow and Dalton out the door.

"If you decide to tell your sons, that's your decision. It all came out on the morning of our fight, when she thought she'd discovered me with Linda," William said, the fight gone from him. His voice was soft now, as he remembered. "Beth, hurling accusations. Banastre, taunting me. I grew frustrated. Gave Beth a shake - it was hard. I shouldn't have shaken her like that. Banastre and I brawled over that. Over her. Afterward, Beth said…" William stared down at his now cold stew, there were lumps of deer and vegetables floating in the gravy.

"What did Beth say?" Benjamin asked, foreboding leaving a cold trace along his spine.

"It was in response to Banastre. Banastre said I should have stepped aside for him, so he could marry Beth. That he would have treated her better, and that he was taking her with him. I can't remember, it's all a blur, I said something about her being my wife, in a house of God, we exchanged our vows. Then Beth…" William shook his head, as if dazed. "She agreed, in a House of God, we exchanged our vows, but she added that neither of us told the truth that day. She reminded me that I hadn't told her that I was still having an affair with Linda or that I'd bought her with me to the Santee," William lifted his ragged gaze and met Benjamin's eyes. The father was listening, hanging on to every word, his breathing was laboured and his hold on his cup, crushing. "And she said how she never told me that she'd bedded Banastre," William finished. Benjamin sucked in a deep breath, he blew it out slowly.

"When?" He asked, his voice as ragged as William's had been. "Where? How did this happen?"

"Beth said," William replied. He swallowed hard, trying to keep control of his emotions. "That it was the day Hanger found her in the woods and took her to Banastre. That they went to Rutledge Plantation. They got drunk. Banastre hosted a ball for her, invited several of his Officers and as many camp followers. Lots of dancing. Lots of drinking. When the night came to a close, when it was time to retire for the night, she invited him to spend the night with her."

"Dear God, no," Benjamin muttered, eyes haunted.

"She admitted it," William said, gaining back some of his strength. "No, she didn't admit it - she threw it up in my face, like it was a weapon, to deliberately hurt me. When she told me, I slammed my damned fist in Banastre's face and he was out cold. Then, I dealt with Beth," he met Benjamin's eyes again; saw the man's face was looking quite grey. With asperity, William continued, "I was not going to reveal this to you, but you had to push and push, didn't you? As angry as I am with your daughter, I do love her, and I didn't want you to know this about her. But you finally have your answer for all the good it does any of us. I will not apologise for beating her, Martin. I took up my belt, I pushed her face forward over our bed, and I strapped her bare backside raw. My wife lost her virginity to another man before she came to our marriage. And had neither the honour or the courage to tell me, before marrying me."

Benjamin seemed frozen for some time; he was as still and cold as granite. Then he pushed himself away from the table and marched from the cabin.

* * *

As though his boots were weighed down with lead, Benjamin trudged back up the steps and into the cabin. Tavington was sitting on the side of his bed, his shirt off while Brownlow wound bandages over the newly dressed wounds. Crossing the room, Benjamin was aware of Tavington's eyes following him as he sat down and poured himself a rum. He drank it down, poured another. That was how he intended to deal with the news Tavington had given him - he would get good and bloody drunk.

Ever since he received Cilla's letter informing him of Tavington's affair and Beth's departure, the lack of certain details had bothered him. Cilla had been quite forthcoming, she had witnessed Tavington with his mistress, had been there to see and hear much of the argument following, including the beating. But it was the beating that bothered Benjamin the most. Not only because it had been done to his daughter, but he'd wanted to know why. Why would Tavington beat Beth, when he was the one who'd had an affair? Benjamin supposed that perhaps the Butcher was even madder than everyone thought, but it still didn't sit right. It didn't fit.

Now, he knew. He wondered if Cilla did too, if she'd deliberately left that part out.

_She must have known, if she'd heard the entire argument_, he brooded, sipping at his rum. He put the cup down, pulled out his pipe, loaded it with tobacco. He lit it from a candle, leaned back in his chair and drew in a deep breath of smoke.

Brownlow was finished, Tavington pulled his shirt down and the Cornet helped him to rise. Once on his feet, he did a few experimental stretches to keep the skin subtle, so it didn't grow back tight. Then he sent Brownlow out, cross the chamber, and sat opposite Martin.

Benjamin poured a rum, pushed it across the table to Tavington. "Do you have a pipe?" He asked. Tavington nodded and Benjamin rose to rummage through Tavington's saddle bags - under the Colonel's guidance - until he found it. He handed it to Tavington along with his tobacco pouch.

"She was a good girl," Benjamin said. Both men stared into the fire, neither wanting to meet the others eyes. "Her mother… She was the gentlest of women. A true gentlewoman. She'd have put half of those duchesses of yours to shame, with her manners. She was raising my girls to be just like her - regal," Benjamin said, a small smile quirking his lips in remembrance. "She'd have Beth sit up at the table, both of them wearing their prettiest dresses, only Beth couldn't have been more than eight years old. She'd instruct Beth how to hold a tea cup, how to cut her cake into the smallest portions. Then I'd come in and grab up a full handful and shove the whole lot in my mouth, I'd let half of it fall in crumbs to the table and the other half I'd smear all over my face. How Beth laughed… Her mother, well, Betsy did have a sense of humour. She was not all prim and proper. But she'd send me on my way and restore order right quick," his amusement turned to self condemnation. "Maybe I never should have interfered in those lessons. Maybe I should have left her mother to do what she could with Beth. Maybe, in some way, I undermined what Betsy was trying to do with Beth, you know? Because I took it all as a joke, maybe Beth did too. After Betsy's death, that's when I really should have reigned Beth in. She went a little wild, just like you said. But you know, I had to let her off the leash!" He finally met William's eyes. "You've been here for what - four, five years?"

William nodded.

"Then you know what it's like here. Damned Indian's raiding settlements. Brigands and thieves doing the same. It's a harsh world here, it's not like your genteel England," Benjamin said, spreading his arms wide. "Charlotte said I was letting Beth run too free, after Betsy died. I didn't agree - she was with her brothers; what harm could there be? She was learning things that might save her life one day - or the life of someone she loves. I'm glad she knows how to use a pistol, I'm glad she can shoot a rifle. If some brigand or savage comes running at her, they won't have much time to regret it before she pulls the trigger. She can hold her own if she ever finds herself stranded in the woods, she can feed herself. And that isn't so far fetched as one might think. With all the homes being burned down and families evacuated, refugees are out there, starving in the woods. Beth knows what is safe to forage and what is not. How to hunt and cook, she and hers won't go hungry," Benjamin sighed heavily. "But still. I shouldn't have let her run as wild as she did. I certainly should not have made a mockery of my wife's lessons. I did the same thing to Charlotte, when she tried to take over Beth's education after Betsy passed. Beth knows how to act like a noblewoman, but she finds the whole thing a grand joke. I just… I can't believe she did this. To bed another man… Lord. My wife would be turning in her grave."

Again, William nodded.

"Agh, damn and blast it all to hell," Benjamin muttered. He lifted his glass, took a healthy swig. Tavington did likewise. Both men needed it.

"It's not your fault," Tavington said, setting his glass on the table. "Beth is wilful. She's head strong."

"Yes, but I thought she was _principled_," Benjamin replied fiercely. "Wilfulness has nothing to do with what she did with Tarleton."

"Yes, well," Tavington trailed off. He shrugged, for there was no other way to finish his sentence. They drank in silence for a while.

"What are you going to do now?" Benjamin asked. "You've had time to think about it. What are you planning, are you going to divorce her?"

William laughed bitterly. "Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. And I should, really. But Christ… I've gone and written to my mother, my brothers, my sisters. I've told my whole family all about Beth, like the stupid lovesick puppy I was. I told them about our marriage, I made a request to my mother and sisters that they write to Beth and get to know her. Their letters will start arriving any day now. My mother has, by now, told everyone of her acquaintance that I'm married. If I divorce Beth, how galling will it be for my mother, to have to report that? Especially after ending my engagement to be with her. I was engaged before, did you know?"

"I'd heard," Benjamin nodded, remembering what Charlotte told him.

"Miss Eleanor Price," William laughed bitterly. "Everyone thought I was a fool when I wrote to her, ending our engagement. Perhaps I was a fool. And her family must be livid. I'm yet to suffer the repercussions of that, but I'm certain that will come. But I didn't care back then, I loved Beth…" He paused, spread his hands wide. "I'll admit I would not have married her if she didn't have money, but so what? Most marriages are established between couples for mutual advancement, and I needed to marry well in order to help my family. That doesn't mean I didn't love Beth. And I was leaving off my wealthy fiancé for her, which will have caused great tension between my family and Eleanor's. I did that, knowing the trouble I'd be causing, because I loved Beth. I couldn't imagine being married to Eleanor, not after falling for Beth. But now… Christ. If I divorce her… I'll bring shame on us all. What hope would I have of advancement, being a divorced man? And then I have to consider my family; who would have the Price's sneering at them whenever they are in company. And that won't come only from the Price's, either. My mother would have to endure those sneers from all quarters. Her son, ending his engagement to a gentlewoman, marrying a Colonial, only to end up divorced three months later? No," William shook his head. "Divorce is not the answer. If that is what you're hoping for, then I am sorry Sir but I can not indulge you."

"I'm glad to hear it," Benjamin said, voice thick with relief. William quirked a curious eyebrow and Benjamin explained bluntly, "if this gets out, we are both undone." After a moment of surprise, William nodded agreement. Benjamin had just as much to lose as William. Benjamin continued, "I never approved of you, and you forcing the matter by marrying Beth anyway has not helped me to come to terms with it. From the day you married her, I have wanted nothing more than to see this marriage annulled. But now, it seems I am forced to reevaluate my position. Now, I would much rather see her married to anyone - even to you. Christ. As if marrying you wasn't bad enough. Can you imagine how it will reflect upon me and my entire family, if it became well known that my daughter had lost her virginity to yet another British Officer weeks before her marriage to you? And then is cast off from her British husband because he found out… No, it's not something I have any desire to endure. So. No more talk of annulling from me or divorcing from you. No more trying to wrest her from you. She's safely married now, and I'd rather she stayed that way and sweet Lord, I can not believe I am saying this."

William scoffed softly. They both drained their glasses and Benjamin filled them again.

"So, we are in accord," William mused. "I shall remain married to your daughter, with your blessing."

"Yes. At least she can pretend to be an honest woman, then," Benjamin said bitterly. "Hells teeth, you think you'll look bad amongst your folk back home? And amongst your superiors here? What of mine? My daughter - the girl of a Continental Colonel - is seduced by one British Officer, then ups and marries another. The daughter of a known Patriot, in bed with the British," he laughed softly, it sounded half mad.

"I can imagine it won't sit well with your superiors or with your men," William tilted his head to one side.

"You've hit the nail on the head. They know nothing of her and Tarleton," Benjamin's lips twisted. "If they did know… I'm fairly certain my resignation would be requested shortly after," he paused, then asked, "have you suffered the same? From your men or your superiors?" Benjamin asked, curious to hear William's side of it.

"Only a few know of my recent troubles with Beth. Bordon, Brownlow, Dalton. We managed to convince O'Hara that Banastre was escorting Beth to your daughter, who he believes too ill. Marrying her was not an issue with those above me, Clinton liked her well enough, believing her to be a Loyalist in a rebel's family. But Cornwallis has become a problem, ever since he learned that Putman had his daughter spy on Brownlow and Dalton. Because of that, Cornwallis now believes her marriage to me to be some masterful plan that you concocted, in order to gain information through your daughter."

"Those are Mark Putman's tactics, not mine," Benjamin snorted. "If I did stoop to such as that, it would have been a whore I put in your bed, not my own daughter."

"Well, there has been no convincing him. Because with my marriage to Beth - and because of Putman, his wife and his daughter, I have lost the Lord General's trust. Or at least, Beth certainly has."

"Hmm," Benjamin found himself sympathising with the enemy Colonel, he understood only too well his son in law's position. Christ, his son in law. Well, there was no help for it now, he had to accept the marriage, or be faced with a destroyed family name.

"Was that your only objection to my marriage with Beth?" William asked bluntly. "That I am an enemy Officer, and how it would reflect upon you? The distrust it would cause amongst your men and those above you?"

"Hardly," Benjamin snorted. "Your actions in battle have not helped me to form any grand opinion of you. They do not call you Butcher for nothing. Your conduct in your personal affairs has not endeared me to you. Mrs. Tisdale… This whore - Miss Stokes. The way you treated my daughter. You tortured my brother in law. You burnt my sister in law's home to the ground, you slapped her across the face," his voice grew dark with remembered fury. "You threatened to hang my son, you took them captive!"

"And what would you have done with a spy - how would you have questioned him? Would you have tickled answers out of him?" William tossed his head. "I am well aware that you have interrogated spies in the past. As for your other accusations; Mrs. Selton gave a different name, I did not know who she was - I would not have burned down her house if I'd known and damn me for admitting such a thing. My duties should not be compromised because of my relationship with Beth. Mrs. _Cambridge_ was hiding prisoners. I was acting in accordance with the orders I'd been given, just as you do on a daily basis. Your sons were traitors as well - hell, I didn't even know Thomas was your boy when I had him taken captive. After changing my mind from hanging him, I might add."

"You and I would be having a very different conversation just now, if you'd done that," Benjamin said darkly.

"My point is, I showed mercy to a woman who was clearly in rebellion, when she begged it of me. I'm not the monster you think I am."

"I suppose," Benjamin agreed, though it was hard not to take the actions personally, it was hard not to vilify Tavington for doing the things he'd done, not when his children had been caught up in it. And Charlotte… her beloved home. His heart was heavy, he still had to sort out his feelings for Charlotte Selton. And then there had been Thomas and Gabriel, who Tavington had taken prisoner… "Too much has happened," he said softly, "too many injustices. I can't exactly shrug it all off. Can't say water under the bridge, you know."

William shrugged. "They are only injustices because they have touched you personally. You have done the same, all over the county. Loyalist homes burned, British soldiers killed." William leaned forward, fixing Benjamin with his gaze. "I find your actions every bit as deplorable as you find mine. Or have you forgotten how you earned the epithet of the Ghost?" William asked. "You killed twenty of my men, to free seven yours. You set up an ambush. You had the greater numbers, you knew you could easily overwhelm the smaller force. Yet, you did not announce your presence and offer terms. You waited until they were in your snare, and you attacked."

"They had my sons."

"Oh, easily justifiable then. You used a tomahawk, Martin. A tomahawk. Those who did not die outright, took days to do so. Days of agony and nightmares and terror. Don't you accuse me of lacking valour in battle. With my own two eyes, I have seen the devastation you've wrought. Pray, do not judge me by standards you are unwilling to aspire to for yourself."

Benjamin's eyes widened. Softly, he said, "you're right. I'd just hoped that Beth would do better in a husband than my Elizabeth did."

William laughed. He held his glass up as though silently saluting Benjamin, then he drank deeply.

"She feels quite the same, no doubt," he swallowed hard. "We've reached an impasse, Martin. I've declared I will not divorce her. You have voiced your preference that I don't. Neither of us have stopped to think of what Beth will do. There is nothing stopping her from divorcing me."

Benjamin began to laugh, he slumped back in his chair and wheezed from it. "Beth, divorce you?" He chortled. "There's not a magistrate in all the Colonies who would let her. There's not a single clergyman who would indulge her, not even Reverend Oliver."

"When she left, she warned me she was going to do exactly that. She has convinced herself that I married her solely for her fortune. She said she would divorce me, so that I will have to relinquish my right to her property - her inheritance and her land."

"Did she now?" Benjamin's mood darkened. "I will not allow a divorced woman beneath my roof, and Beth would have no where else to turn."

"She has Banastre," William said, voice bitter. He took another pull from the glass, it was warming his insides, the warmth spreading to his limbs. "With her inheritance and her land, she won't need you."

"She will, boy. She'll always need her father," Benjamin laughed again. Then he glanced at Tavington sideways, "I do believe, however, that all of this discussion is moot, while she is off traipsing about with Tarleton."

"It certainly is," William agreed.

"And with you keeping that whore of yours at the Plantation," Benjamin continued pointedly.

William gave a belligerent shrug.

"So, how can we fix that, do you imagine?" Benjamin prodded, eyebrows arched.

"What do you want me to do?" William snapped, suddenly irritated. "Write to Beth, beg her to return? I'll do no such thing. I told her I would not take her back if she begged on bended knee, and I meant it. She told me the same."

"Then what the devil do we do?" Benjamin frowned. "You say you won't divorce her because of the shame it'll bring to your family back home, and the trouble it will cause with your superiors. But don't you see? Leaving her with Tarleton will have the exact same effect. She must be taken away from him."

When William held a stubborn silence, Benjamin became frustrated. In a voice he usually used when commanding his own sons, he said, "lad, you need to get Beth back. That should be your first move. Your second move should be to get rid of the whore."

"What for?" William scoffed - Benjamin thought he detected quite a lot of self pity in his voice. - "Beth has been in Banastre's bed for days now."

That reminder was the last thing Benjamin needed just then. It bought up images he was ill prepared to deal with.

"And whose fault is that?" The older man snapped, taking his irritation out on Tavington. He wanted to shake the man. He could not repair the damage William and Beth had done, not all on his own. He needed William's co-operation, and now was a hell of a time for the other Colonel to start acting like a spoiled brat. It was time for a few home truths, Benjamin felt. "You sent her off with _Tarleton_," he said, his pointed voice edged with fury. "You are her husband and as such, it was out of her power to stir from that house without your consent! You sent your own wife off to be with another man. To become mistress to her former lover…" Though he hated saying those words, he forced them out. He paused a moment and let it sink in. "You should not have let her leave that house, Tavington. That was the most foolish thing I've ever heard of any man doing, no matter how his wife has wronged him."

William's face darkened, but at length he nodded, agreeing that he had erred when he allowed Beth to leave.

"See here, lad, this needs to be remedied. For all of the reasons we've discussed and more, it's imperative that this be resolved. You and I need to come to some sort of accord; right here, right now. Now, I'm not saying that either of you will be happy - Beth will certainly behave like she's got a burr down her shift, probably for years to come. But I could not care less what sort of bad mood this puts her in. Lock her away in her chamber and leave her there, for all I care. For all of me, you can take whatever measures you find necessary to make her do her duty. But for now, just get rid of the whore, get Beth back home and while you're at it, kill that fucking Tarleton fellow because by hell, if you don't, I bloody well will!"

William laughed despite himself. "Yes, I'd like to wrap my fingers around his neck and throttle the bastard, and I'd smile while I did it too," he laughed again, a dark chuckle as he imagined his fingers around Banastre's throat, Banastre's eyes bulging, his face turning purple… Quite a satisfying thought, that. Sobering, he met Benjamin's eyes square on. "I have no desire to see her, Martin," he said in a grave voice. "I meant what I said. I will not write to her, I will not request or demand that she leave Tarleton. I agree that she does need to be extricated from him, but I will not see her when it's accomplished. I will not live under the same roof as her."

"Well," Benjamin sat back in his seat, feeling the strength drain from him. "That does present us with a pretty problem then, doesn't it?"

"I won't divorce her," William shrugged. "And I'll pay Linda off and set her aside for once and for all, for I agree with you there, too. But I can not play the role of a contented husband, not now. If she is in the house with me…" He trailed off, gave a great shudder. His eyes became piercing and in a soft voice, he said, "it would not be safe for her there."

Benjamin immediately understood William's meaning, he felt the threat toward his daughter's person keenly. Yes, it would be far safer for Beth, if she was far away from her husband.

"_I'll_ pay Linda off, you mean," he said to fill in the silence. Discussing Linda Stokes gave him some much needed time to consider what was to be done about his daughter. "We've still to discuss this nonsense of Clinton giving you my property."

William looked stunned. "How do you know about that? Did Beth tell you?"

"No. And no, I will not reveal my source," Benjamin replied. It had indeed come from Beth, but it was Nathan she told, and it was Nathan who passed it along to Benjamin. That was how Benjamin knew that Clinton had passed ownership of Fresh Water to Tavington. "I built that house for my wife, Tavington. And for my family. Not for you. And those crops of mine that you've been selling - that's my money in your pocket."

"Under any other commander, those crops would have been destroyed," William said bluntly. "As for your property - you're the enemy and your plantation has been seized in accordance with His Majesties' wishes. Clinton saw fit to issue the house to the husband of your Loyalist daughter. Me."

"Loyalist, daughter my arse," Benjamin snorted.

"If I hadn't taken control; your crops, your house, everything would have been fired. I've managed to save the farm, Martin. I've turned quite a profit - and yes, I have allowed myself an income from it, but I've not forgotten you. Christ, your daughter would not let me forget you. Before all this trouble started with Beth, I gave my oath to her that should you and your family be in need at the end of the war, that I will ensure you are provided for. The house and any profits from the crops will be placed at your disposal. I'll have Beth's three hundred acres, it's not as though I need Fresh Water. We shall all benefit from my possession of it at this time." He shook his head. "Gods, without it having been ceded to me, _there would be no Plantation_."

"I see," Benjamin murmured. His gaze was thoughtful as he studied his son in law. Christ. His son in law. That was going to take some getting used to, that. He had to accept it however, or all was lost. They would both be undone. "You're a continual source of surprise for me," he said, then added tentatively, "William." William looked as startled as Benjamin felt. It was a strange thing indeed, using such a familiar form address for the man he'd commonly called 'Butcher'. Benjamin sighed, then explained, "I have to become accustomed to it, don't I? We can't dig ourselves out of this mire separately. We must work together now, and we will do it as family. And so, William it is."

"Well, it is my name," William said faintly, before adding his own tentative, "Benjamin."

"Damned hard, wasn't it?" Benjamin laughed. He held his hand out, a demanding gesture, fingers waggling toward the much needed bottle which was now on William's side of the table. "Give me that."

"Manners, Martin," William scolded, handing him the rum.

"So. How much did you get the for tabac?" Benjamin asked. "And that indigo, it was a damned fine crop. If you got anything less than three hundred pounds, then -"

"Five hundred pounds," William cut in. The older man's eyes bulged. "And three hundred for the tobacco."

"That's… ah… yes, that's good," Benjamin spluttered. "That's damned good! Who'd you sell it to?"

"I have my connections," William replied mysteriously.

"Well, keep your secrets if you must. That's a damned fine return, on both. How much will I see of it?" He asked shrewdly.

"You'll receive a decent share, as I promised," was William's prim reply. He warned Benjamin, "I dare not give any of it to you yet. But at the end of the war, I will certainly release a large portion back to you."

"I look forward to it," Benjamin said. "If I am killed in the coming months, make sure it's split up fairly amongst the boys, will you? Especially Gabriel - he's got a child on the way."

"I will," William promised.

"And when you leave Fresh Water, will the property still be a fort?" Benjamin asked.

"Yes, it will remain a fort, but as it is seen to belong to me through my marriage to Beth, it will be respected. I can not promise it will remain unmolested if it ceases being a British fort - your own Patriots might swoop in and take it apart nail by nail, then."

"No," Benjamin shook his head. "The Patriots in the County acknowledge my ownership of it. As you say, no one outside of us needs to be aware of our arrangements. They believe the property has been usurped, and they will continue to believe it. When the British are gone from it, they will protect it, if I am not here to do so myself."

"Then we both win," William said.

"In this, yes. And a damned good thing it is too. Something good has to come of all this."

"I couldn't agree more. The bottle is empty," William pointed out when Benjamin handed it back to him. The older man announced he had another, and he went to fetch it.

"Right then," Benjamin twisted his lips as he resumed his seat. He had no desire to return to the unpleasant topic of Beth but there was much to discuss and they had resolved only a little. "So. I shall give you some advice, whether you wish to hear it or not," ignoring William's arched eyebrows, he continued, "give that Linda some money and send her on her way. To ensure she doesn't cause you any problems, have her sign a general release of sorts, freeing you of all obligation to her. Offer to send her an annual stipend, to help with further expenses for the baby. If it's a boy, he'll need to be educated as befits the rank of a Gentleman's bastard. And if it's a girl, she'll need a governess, someone who can teach her the ways of a lady - which that doxy of yours will certainly not be able to do. Unless you want your daughter to be a whore like her mother?"

"That I don't," William said fervently. No child of his issue should have such a fate.

"As for Beth… You really can't see yourself living beneath the same roof as her?" Benjamin broached carefully.

"I most certainly can not," William's voice was firm, as hard as iron. "And neither will she want to. I beat her, she's not likely to forget it anytime soon. And she is still labouring under the belief that I was unfaithful. If we are thrown together again now, I can not imagine we shall be anything but brutal to one another."

Benjamin sighed. "Very well. For the moment, it is still believed that Beth is with her sick sister. And so that is where she shall be taken, as soon as we can wrest her away from Tarleton. As you are refusing to write to her, I will do it myself. You needn't fear further misconduct from Beth bringing any shame to you, for she will be amongst the women of my family. Charlotte and Mage will serve as her chaperones."

"Mrs. Putman is with Mrs. Selton, is she?" Tavington arched an eyebrow. "You consider those two to be decent chaperones for Beth? Gods, didn't those two have the teaching of her these last two years? And you blame yourself for how she turned out." He scoffed. "One spreads her legs to gain intelligence for her husband, you do know about that, don't you?" Benjamin gave a curt nod. "The other does the same to win time for you to get away. They aren't decent chaperones for your younger daughters, let alone my wife who has already shown that she will stray from my bed with another man."

Benjamin drummed a beat on the table with his knuckles. "Well, what am I supposed to do then? Where else can I send her, with you unable to have her with you? Betsy's aunt lives in Rhode Island but that's a damned long way a way. No, it's either to Charlotte and Mage, or back to you. Choose, William."

"Mrs. Selton and Mrs. Putman it is," Tavington replied. "And where would that be?"

"As if I'll tell you where they are," Benjamin scoffed. "Never you mind that."

"I still don't know why they felt the need to flee the Plantation, they were not in any danger from me, Benjamin," William said. It still felt staring, using the man's given name.

"The way Charlotte and Nathan told it, they all were in grave danger - from that Captain of yours - Gordon. The one that's sinking his hooks into Samuel. Where is my son, William?"

"With Captain Gordon who was detached Rawdon in Camden. I didn't know Samuel was gone until Gordon was. I wrote to Samuel, requesting that he return, but he refused. I believe he is enjoying the lessons Gordon is giving him."

"That's what bothers me. When is Captain Gordon going to be recalled to your Legion?"

"Now, that would be sharing information and that, I will not do," William said. "But, if you would like for me to try again for Samuel's return, I shall do so."

"I would like that," Benjamin said and William inclined his head.

"I can't very well do that as your prisoner…" he said. Benjamin held his gaze, letting the silence stretch until William himself felt moved to fill it. "You spoke wisely earlier - suggesting Linda sign a release and all the rest. You've given me some sound advice and I thank you for it."

"Will you take it? Will you get rid of the whore?" Benjamin replied. "I'm doing the rest of the damned work to fix this, but I can't do that. And all my efforts will be for naught, if you don't."

"I will. It is time to set my playthings aside and get on with more important matters," William admitted ruefully. "I do not want to be a mere Colonel forever and I will not be considered for further advancement if my superiors do not believe I can keep my personal affairs in order. So my wife will be reined in, Linda will be sent on her way, there will be no more women to damage my reputation."

"Good thinking. Besides," Benjamin laughed softly as he bought his glass to his lips, before drinking, he said lewdly, "you've always got your hand."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," William closed his eyes and sighed. It truly was the world's grandest joke, being saddled with a back country buckskin for a father in law. He'd bantered with Bordon and Banastre in this way, but this man was Beth's father, not a comrade of old. "Perhaps I'll consider divorce after all, to shed myself of you," he opened his eyes to find Benjamin grinning broadly. William complimented him with, "that was quite clever, the little ambush you set for me. Sending Farshaw in to draw me directly to where you wanted me to be. I've never under estimated you, I try to be careful because I _don't_ underestimate you. And still you managed to snare me, as well as if you'd snared a rabbit."

"Hmm," Benjamin smiled. "Well, don't expect me to reveal any of my secrets to you. This new found understanding between us does not extend that far."

"I didn't expect that it would," William scoffed.

"Jesus, you don't have any trouble keeping up, do you?" Benjamin asked as he poured rum into William's empty glass and into his own.

"I can drink you under the table, old man," William replied and Benjamin snorted.

"We'll see about that. Would you care for a round of chess? It'll be some time before we can pit ourselves against one another on a real field of battle. It'll be interesting to see who's the better commander."

"It's one way to pass the time," William agreed. The rum was starting to hit him now, he was becoming quite soused which was good for it helped to dull the pain. Benjamin fetched a well worn chess board, he placed it on the table and set up the board with the pieces. Soon, the two men were beginning the opening moves.

"Will you tell me about Farshaw?" Benjamin asked as he placed his pawn. It would be good to get another point of view of the Corporal. Benjamin was still quite uneasy about the fellow, despite what Mark had told him. "Why did you call him a ganymede that night?"

"Because he is," William smiled. "You've saddled yourself with a sodomite, Benjamin." The new form of address came a little more easier now that he'd used it a couple of times. Or perhaps it was the rum making him freer.

"How do you know this? What proof do you have?"

"The proof is in the naked dead man who was found in his bed," William replied, savouring Benjamin's look of shock.

"Major Fallows?" Benjamin asked.

"Oh yes? He's told you that much, has he?" William asked.

"Farshaw told me Fallows came into the room and -" here, Benjamin would need to embellish a little bit, or O'Hara's seal and cipher would become useless. "He accused Farshaw of spying." Which was true. "It turned out Fallows was right in thinking it, Farshaw had decided to turn coat. Farshaw said he stabbed Fallows in the neck so the alarm couldn't be raised."

"Fallows came into the room," William repeated. "And he was fully clothed in Farshaw's account, was he? And they were not in his bed?"

"It never even came up. It never entered my mind to ask such a thing."

"Well, I can tell you now, Farshaw left out some fairly glaring details. I saw it for my own two eyes, Benjamin. Fallows was found naked, in Farshaw's bed, with multiple stab wounds to his neck. There was signs of coupling."

Benjamin shuddered, the vision Tavington conjured was highly offensive to his sensibilities. However, although he found the whole thing distasteful, he was a fair man and he always tried to look at things from all sides. He did not like to jump to conclusions about anything or anyone.

"Perhaps Farshaw was raped?" He asked. "Did you consider that? Perhaps that's why he killed Fallows. Perhaps the Major was forcing himself on Farshaw and Farshaw felt he had no other way out."

William was startled for a moment, then he blew out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. "Alright, it seems I need to describe the scene in deeper detail, though I have to tell you, I am not well pleased at being made to do so. It was not a pleasant sight to witness, let alone to repeat. Drink," he commanded, picking up his own glass and drinking it back. Benjamin, realising William thought they needed to fortify themselves against what he was about to describe, followed suit. "Alright. This is what I saw. O'Hara led the way to the bed chamber. I went in, it was mostly undisturbed, no one in there except the dead Major on the bed. Fallows," William leaned forward over the chess board, their game was all but forgotten. "Was naked, on all fours, on his knees and elbows on the bed; his arse bared, as though he'd just been rutted from behind. The same position as a woman assumes when being taken from behind -"

"Yes, thank you William," Benjamin ground out, for William was Beth's husband and Benjamin did not want to know if William had done that to Beth.

"I told you it wouldn't be easy," William said. "Anyway, he was in that position. His arse that was in the air - that was the position he died in. Farshaw sodomised Fallows, I know this because there was milt in Fallows entrance and all over his arse -"

"Agh, Jesus, do you have to?" Benjamin groaned with distaste.

"I do, I have to dispel your illusions that this was rape, Benjamin," William said quite seriously. "Farshaw wasn't just the receiver, he was the giver. And he kept several vials of oil at his bedside, they were in his drawer. Some of them were empty. _Farshaw's drawer. Farshaw's bed. Farshaw's chamber._ They were equal participants. Fallows reached orgasm, we know this because there was milt on the sheet beneath him and across Fallows' stomach. And Farshaw, he came in Fallows arse, which we know from the milt that had dribbled out and dried there. I do not know why, but he then he stuck Fallows in the neck repeatedly with his knife." William's glass was empty, he drank straight from the bottle now, not wanting to wait for the time it would take to pour it - he wanted the rum down his throat _now_. "And we know it was Farshaw that did it, because it was his chamber that the Major's naked body was found in. It was all done in Farshaw's bed. If you ask me, they've been sodomising each other for weeks. O'Hara said that when they were working in Fallow's office, the door was ALWAYS locked. He'd assumed it was because of the sensitive nature of the information crossing his desk. However, there were empty vials found in the drawers there, too. Which would indicated that they'd been having relations behind that locked door. That part of his story, that Farshaw killed Fallows? I'd say that's the only truthful part of what he told you. He wasn't about to admit the rest to you now, was he?"

"Jesus," Benjamin ran a hand over his hair. He met William's gaze. "You're not lying to me, are you?" He asked. "You obviously despise him. You're not making it all up, are you?"

"I vow, on my gentleman's honour, on everything I hold dear, on my very life - hell, I'll vow it on my own mother's life. That everything I just told you is the absolute truth." He picked up a piece and moved it on the board.

Benjamin made a countering move. "You don't believe Fallows discovered he was a turncoat?"

"What, in the middle of rutting? I don't know about you, but when I'm about to reach climax, I don't start shouting out about being an Officer in His Majesties army," William laughed. He took his turn and moved a piece. "Maybe Farshaw did turncoat. Well, clearly he did, to end up with your lot. But I shall present you with an entirely different motive to the one he presented you. General O'Hara told me that, for weeks now, Fallows has been trying to push Farshaw forward for promotion to Captain, but O'Hara would not indulge him. I'll tell you another thing," he said as he watched Benjamin deliberate over the game board. "Fallows was protecting him. O'Hara has wanted to send Farshaw back to my ranks - he is trouble, that one, and O'Hara wanted to be done with him. But that was the last thing Farshaw would have wanted, to be under my command again. And justifiably so, what I wouldn't give to get my hands on the little bastard and give him the thrashing he deserves. Farshaw knew it and so did Fallows. That might be how the whole thing started. Farshaw must've started offering up his arse to Fallows, in return for protection. And advancement. Maybe," William gasped, having a moment of revelation. "Clearly, something went wrong. Maybe they were fucking, and when they finished, Fallows told Farshaw the bad news - that he was not gong to be made Captain. Maybe Farshaw got so wild with anger, that he killed Fallows, removed his cock from Fallows arse, then packed up and ran!"

"I don't think I'll make the mistake of drinking with you again," Benjamin closed his eyes and shook his head. "I think I prefer the gentleman to this… this… the rum as made you abandoned."

"Farshaw was the abandoned one," William laughed. "It's your move."

"Yes, yes… give me a moment."

"If this was a real battle, you'd be dead already, Martin."

"And it makes you cocky," Benjamin said. "The rum does."

William grinned. "Anyway, Farshaw is your problem now. I'd suggest you tell your men to be careful of their _rears_," he laughed softly as he placed a piece to keep Benjamin's in check. "A good soldier is always careful of what might be coming off behind him."

"Droll," Benjamin sighed, though he too laughed softly, finding some amusement in William's jest. "What makes you think he'd react with such violence, just for being told he wasn't going to be promoted?" Benjamin frowned; both at the board and at William. "There's two types of people that would resort to such extremes. One that's been cornered like an animal - which Farshaw would have felt, if Fallows had discovered Farshaw had turned coat -"

"And I can fathom no reason for that to become known at that moment, while they were rutting."

"Or," Benjamin spoke more loudly than William, over-speaking him. "He has to be a particularly nasty type of person." Jesus, that was a hard sentence to get out - it was becoming particularly difficult to speak. Perhaps William would drink Benjamin under the table after all.

"You can ask Mrs. Farshaw how nasty her husband is," William said wryly. "I doubt she'll ever be the same again after the vicious beating her gave her."

"What is this?" Benjamin's eyes were as wide as they could go.

"He beat her. And not just a few stripes with his belt like what I gave to Beth. I mean, he _bashed into her_. With his fists, he punched. With his boots, he kicked. Even when she was on the ground, curled into a ball and trying to protect her unborn child, he kicked and punched and stomped as much as he could reach. She was unrecognizable, after. She was covered all over with blood, her eye swelled shut, her bruises lasted weeks. And it was not even the first time he's used such force against her. She lost a child to him once before, after he beat her. So the special type of person you speak of? He weren't no cornered animal, Benjamin. He _is_ a fucking animal - he can _easily_ resort to such extremes. And he's in your ranks now. If you want my advice - get rid of him as quickly as you can. After what he did to Fallows, I'd say he's ready for the madhouse."

"Damnation," Benjamin breathed, shocked to the core.

Tavington continued to speak of Farshaw, and none of it was good. Benjamin listened quietly, as William relayed Calvin Farshaw's ill use of his wife, as he whored her to Colonel Clement's. Farshaw's affair with Mrs. Emily Wilkins, and his other crimes. He tried to keep an open mind but Benjamin found much of Calvin Farshaw's actions to be atrocious. Even if William was exaggerating - and there was no proof yet that he wasn't - Farshaw still appeared an entirely unpleasant and untrustworthy sort of fellow.

With the subject of Farshaw exhausted, and some decisions made about Beth's future, talk turned to other topics as they played at the game board, until William grew exhausted and pled the need to lay down. His healing wounds took up much of his energy, and the rum had left him soused. When Benjamin emerged from the cabin, he saw that Brownlow and Dalton were still waiting outside, though hours had passed since he'd commanded them to leave. Their loyalty to their Commander often took him by surprise, this was just another example of it.

"He needs your help to put him to bed," Benjamin slurred, swaying like a corn stalk in the breeze. He stumbled back into the cabin and after pulling off his boots, he fell front forward on his own bed.

_I won't make the same mistake with Maggie and Susan_, he thought sleep reached up and began to surround him. _I'll keep them both locked in their damned rooms and if anyone thinks to go near either of them, I'll take their damned scalps._

Brownlow's face - blood dripping down his cheeks from the scalping - floated across Benjamin's vision. Other images; of what he would do to those men should they try to steal his daughter's virtues, followed him down into a fitful sleep.


	109. Chapter 109 - Guns Blazing

Chapter 109 - Guns Blazing:

"Do you honestly think Tarleton will give her over to you, just for the asking?" William asked Benjamin. The words formed around the pipe stem stuck between his lips. Smoke wafted about him and Benjamin both.

"I've got to try, don't I?" Benjamin replied. "Seeing that you bloody won't. You're going to continue to be a damned stubborn wool brain fool, I take it?"

"I'm not writing to either of them, and that's an end to it," William's voice was as strong as iron.

"He could not ignore a demand from her husband, William," Benjamin frowned. "Nor could Cornwallis. You could send a letter to the General and Tarleton would be forced to release Beth to an escort of your choosing."

"Admit to the General that Tarleton is off screwing my wife? I hardly think so," William tossed his head.

"Very well. I shall gain her back myself, you leave me with no choice. I'll take her to Mrs. Selton but Christ, William, you must know that you'll have to live beneath the same roof eventually."

"A problem for the future. I am not ready to see her, Ben," William averted his gaze, hoping Benjamin hadn't heard the despair in his voice.

"You know, you've never spoken about how all this is affecting you," Benjamin said and William realised his hope was in vain - Benjamin had heard it. "Well, I do know how it affects us - our reputations, our standing. All that. But you've not spoken about what you're going through deep down."

"I'm not drunk enough for that," William replied grimly. They were sitting across from one another, at the table by the fire, this time with cards spread out before them. Almost a week ago, William had begun teaching Benjamin how to play Faro, a card game the older man had never bothered to learn before. He'd proved quite adept, William had been losing as many rounds as he'd won.

"Or perhaps you don't feel that you can confide in me?" Benjamin asked. William was silent. "Very well. I'll confide in you, instead," he said and William glanced up from his cards, startled. "Mrs. Selton," Benjamin explained. "Frankly, between you and me, I've got no fucking idea what to do about her."

"You're asking me?" William asked, surprised.

"Why not? You're going through much the same thing as I. Our situations aren't quite the same," Benjamin twisted his lips. "But they're similar enough. Both our women bedded other men. Not only did Beth lose her virginity to another man, but she didn't reveal it to you, and both are unforgivable. And Charlotte, Gods, we were _engaged_… I know why she did it, I know she was trying to stall for time, to protect me. I know it went too far, but that's just is, isn't it? She could have stopped it at any time. When she said 'it went too far', I know she what she really means is, she began to enjoy it so much she was unable to stop it from happening. She was flirting and kissing and carrying on, to stop him from coming after me. But then it got past that tipping point and she was then doing it purely for the pleasure of it, I doubt I was even in her mind at all, then. My fiancé enjoyed being _fucked by another man_. Jesus," Benjamin jerked back from the table, he crossed the room and to William's astonishment, he seized a bottle from the shelf. Martin never drank with William in the mornings - they only ever got soused in the evenings. But here he was, pouring for them both.

Well, it was that sort of conversation, wasn't it? William knocked his back and waggled his fingers at Benjamin to pour another.

"You've seen her since that night?" William asked.

"Once. When she left Fresh Water with the children, I came for them. Took them to where they are now. We spoke of it only the once, when I first arrived. We barely spoke again, after."

"What did you say to her?"

"It's what she said to me," Benjamin said, drinking back his second glass. He poured a third round. "I came to move her and the children, but she said she wanted to leave - to go to Rhode Island, where she has an elderly aunt. Prudence has been asking Charlotte to come and live with her for years, but Charlotte stayed. For me. I asked her to stay - to look after the children. She'd removed them from Fresh Water, and yes, I do think she did the right thing - that Gordon fellow…" Benjamin scowled. "But she also removed them from their sister, and therefore, they no longer had a chaperone. I asked her to stay, to look after them." Benjamin sighed. "She told me that everything she has done since her husband died, she has done for me. That she would do anything for me. She did not go and live with her aunt, despite Prudence constantly requesting it. I snap my fingers, and she comes running to Fresh Water to be with me. She sacrificed her virtue to be with me, bedding me outside of marriage, because she knew I wasn't ready to commit to her. She risked that she might fall pregnant, all for me. She listed all the sacrifices she's made for me, even that last - of defiling herself to protect me. She said she would do - and has done - anything for me, but I can't do the one thing she wants - I can't forgive her for that night. Her entire existence revolved around me, she lost her house and was slapped by you, in the protecting of my children. She gave me everything and I give her nothing. That's what she said. And then she told me," Benjamin paused.

"What did she tell you?" William asked.

"That she would do it - she would stay and look after the children, but she would do it for _them_, because they are her blood kin. She would not do it for me. She would never, _ever_ do anything for me, ever again."

William made a sound of acknowledgement, but he had no idea what to say.

"That was the last time we spoke, even though we were in each other's company for hours the rest of the day. And she was right. She was the one doing everything for us and I wasn't doing much of anything. She wants me to make up for that lack by forgiving her, but how the hell can I do that?"

"I don't know," William shook his head. "Are you still engaged?"

"I never declared it to be over, and nor has she. So yes, I suppose we are - technically. Too many people know about the engagement for me to end it without gossip. I was hoping it would just… go away. Over time."

"You are hoping that people will just forget you're engaged to her?" William laughed. "You're Colonel Benjamin Martin, former Assemblyman, famed far and wide across South Carolina. If anything, news of your engagement will be _increasing_ by the week, people won't be forgetting it anytime soon."

"So I need to acknowledge it has ended," Benjamin said. "Is that what you're saying? I have to get it over with, and suffer the talk that follows. Is that it?"

"If you're not going to marry her, then yes," William replied.

"Eh," Benjamin grunted. "Alright then, I've confided to you… your turn."

"No, you didn't," William waved his hands in objection. "You told me of your dilemma, you didn't tell me what you're going through_ deep down_."

Benjamin was silent a moment, deep in thought as he considered what it was he was feeling - and if he should tell this man sitting across from him, the cards in his hands forgotten. They were family now, they'd spent hours together every day for days, getting to know one another and finding common ground. But they were still enemies. He decided to take the leap. "Deep down? Confused. Angry." He paused, then continued softly. "Embarrassed." He avoided William's eyes when he admitted that. "And lastly, heartbroken. I do love her, you know." He drank deeply, set his glass on the table. "There. Your turn."

William was solemnly quiet for sometime. "I was shot in the chest and I was whipped bloody. At times, I'm not sure which is the greater pain - the agony of my wounds, or the loss of my wife and the woman I thought her to be."

Benjamin nodded, commiserating. "That, that just about sums it up for me, also."

"Hmm. Anyway," Tavington sloughed off his grief, he would not give in to that now. That was for the dark hours of night, when he'd drunk his full and was soused, and lay upon the bed, alone with his thoughts and heartbreak. Now, now was not the time to give in to it. "By the time your 'eventually' comes and I'm forced to live with her again, I will own a mansion - something close to a palace, perhaps. I will reside in one wing, Beth in another - on the furthest side of the house, as far from my own apartments as possible. Days could pass before either of us are forced into one another's company."

Benjamin allowed the mood to shift to a more jovial one. He almost fell off his chair, laughing. "I'd like to see this palace of yours," he chortled. "I suppose there'll be fairies doing the work of the maids, pixies to look after the gardens?"

"Do stop that guffawing, won't you? It makes you look like a madman," William snorted.

"Christ, he calls me the madman! A palace! Hells teeth. Twenty years of laying claim to Fresh Water and of stealing my crops won't provide you with enough to build yourself a palace, boy," Benjamin said, still spluttering laughter.

"I do have money, you know," William replied primly.

"Yeh, Beth's inheritance," Benjamin scoffed.

"With that amount in this country, I'll have my mansion and will be treated as a nobleman besides."

"You're planning on settling here, then?" Benjamin asked, becoming serious again.

"Where else? I'm not going to subject my lady mother to Beth and the tatters of our marriage. Mama will know immediately that something is amiss - there would be no fooling her. I have no desire to be the cause for her grief. No. I will return to England for short sojourns when the need arises - and will bring back all that I need to furnish my home. But I have no intention of ever allowing Beth and my mother to be in the same room together."

"You're still angry, lad. That will change in time," Benjamin soothed.

"If I gave you the same advice - would you believe it?"

"The difference is, my staying angry with Charlotte does not affect you. Not directly. You staying angry with Beth will have marked consequences for me."

"They are?"

"No grandchildren!" Benjamin said. "By God, I want grandchildren!"

"It's a good thing you have such a large broad of your own then, isn't it?" William asked, insolent. "Seven other children to provide you with the grandchildren you desire. Besides, Gabriel's already gone one on the way for you."

Benjamin sucked on his pipe for a few moments, taking the time to study Beth's husband before answering. "What do you think this palace is going to be like, without children in it?" He asked. William's eyes widened. "Empty, is how it'll be," he supplied the answer. "Empty and cold. Oh, you can have fires roaring in every room, you can have every chamber filled with furniture you bring in from England. But it'll all be for naught, without children climbing all over it and racing through the halls, raising merry hell. As I said, you and Beth are going to have to come to some accord eventually. At the end of the war, when this palace is built and your wife comes home to it. You'll have to get on with your lives then, somehow. She will have to provide her husband with children. "

"And if I have to stoop to violence to reduce my wife to her duty?" William asked pointedly, reminding the older man that Beth would not be willing.

The older man shrugged. "You do as you must," came the shocking reply. "She's your wife." The words had a finality to it, as though that was all there was to it.

William's eyes bulged. If Benjamin said "she's your slave", William could not have been more shocked. Such an answer! Was this the same man who had whipped William's back raw, for daring to take his belt to Beth, his wife? And now that same man indicates that William should do _what he must_?

"You should be put into a madhouse," his voice was soft, his eyes still wide. "My wounds are barely healing, I'll be scarred forever - because you took exception to me punishing my own wife. And now you say 'do as you must'? You, sir, are certainly mad."

"Mad at my daughter, certainly," Benjamin agreed, swiftly changing the interpretation of William's statement. "I'm not crazed. I am _angry_. She has comported herself in such a way… I do not believe I shall ever defend her again. Not to her husband, in any case. Now, I want grandchildren, from ALL my children," he pointed at William with his pipe, "and you want children. And Beth, my lad, will do as she is bloody told."

"Hmmm," William murmured, hiding his astonishment. And his irritation. "If only you'd known she had given herself to Tarleton earlier - I might not be obliged to suffer the immense pain I am in now."

"Probably not. I don't think I would have whipped you for taking your belt to her, if I'd known that," Benjamin admitted. "Well, done is done. Neither of us knew and here we are. The only way is forward, son. Nothing else for it."

"Son?" William cocked an eyebrow and Benjamin shrugged.

"Don't think nothing of it, I call everyone son."

"Of course you do," William laughed softly. "I suppose it's better than being called _boy_." Benjamin was right about one thing, there was no point dwelling on what might have been.

"Eh. I knew that one was upsetting you," Benjamin chortled. "_Boy_."

"Jesus," William muttered and Benjamin laughed again.

"Your wounds still paining you, _son_?" Benjamin said.

"Each day is better than the previous," William said, now that he was forced to admit it. "Moving is still excruciating, but not quite as excruciating as a week ago. Why are we still here, Ben? Why haven't you shipped me off to a prison camp yet?"

"Your wounds, I didn't want to move you and do more damage."

"So it's off to prison camp when I'm well enough to be moved? You could just set me free, you know."

"I could, could I?"

"Or are you worried I'll attack you? Perhaps it's as the old saying goes, if you catch a lion by the tail, for Christ's sake, don't let it go."

"Won't you? We're on opposite sides in this, William. We're enemy Colonels, we serve a greater authority, we have men under our command. Our duty is clear, we fight until one of us is caught, dead, or the war is over. I do have the lion by the tail, and yes, I would be a fool to let you go."

William heaved a breath of frustration. The two men had made some great strides these last few days, ever since William finally confessed why he'd beaten Beth. Benjamin had even encouraged his sons into William's company, to get to know their brother in law better. He never told them the truth about Beth and Banastre, but he'd let them know that he wanted them to develop an association with William. And they were making the effort, as well. And so was William. Had it all been pointless? What was the use in them bonding as they had, if it was going to amount to nothing?

"Having said that," Benjamin continued stoically. "That is exactly what I am going to do."

"What?" William breathed, stunned. A thrill of hope shot along his pain riddled spine.

"This does not go past the two of us," Benjamin leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing, intent. "I sent an anonymous tip to General O'Hara, letting him know where you are. O'Hara redirected Bordon, who had resumed your search of Farshaw. And in a few more hours, he'll be here."

William blew out the breath he'd been holding. "I'll… your men. I'll tell Bordon to stand down. And when he comes, I won't take you or yours captive."

"I'm glad to hear it," Benjamin said, some of his tension draining. "However, I'm not sure how you'd explain to that one, why you letting us go. No, William. I've already sent my men out - on various errands here and there. There's only me and your brothers here now."

William drew back, astonished. "Brownlow and Dalton -"

"Are out there, whispering to one another, discussion how weak my position is and whether they dare to stand up to me. Right now, they only have Thomas, Gabriel and me to contend with - Nathan is too young to be much of a threat to them. The way they see it, it's three against two, and those are the smallest odds they've had all week. Their issue, of course, is their lack of weapons, while me and my boys are walking about with rifles and me with my tomahawk. They know what I'm capable of, with that in my hand. They know I'm really worth three men, and that ain't no boast. They're out there though, whispering, bolstering one another's courage and working on the best way to divest us of our weapons and take us captive."

"You know they're plotting this?"

"Of course," Benjamin laughed. "I've been a soldier for decades longer than you - you were still sucking your nurses nipple when I was killing savages and Frenchmen. And I've been a militiaman before that and ever since. I know when someone's about to attack me, son. And those two lads are considering doing exactly that."

"Promise not to hurt them, when they try?" William asked and Benjamin threw back his head and laughed.

"I'd hurt that Brownlow, for messing with my daughter," Benjamin said. "But he's been growing on me lately. When I say this is between you and me, I mean it. At this very moment, Nathan is up a tree watching where I've told him to keep watch - overlooking the trail I know Bordon will take to get here. When Nathan sights riders approaching, he'll come running and my boys will come bursting in here to tell me Bordon is on his way. I'll act all surprised and when I'm with my Company again, I'll tell them how Bordon discovered us, somehow, and we had to flee like demons were chasing our tails."

"So much could go wrong with your plan, it's not even amusing to contemplate," William said. "If it goes wrong -"

"My plans rarely do and this one won't either. Having said that," Benjamin pushed the stopper back into the top of the bottle. "I believe I'll need my wits about me." He rose and put the rum in his saddle bags which, William noticed for the first time, were neatly and fully packed. As were those of his sons.

"Why are you letting me go?" William asked, lifting his eyes to Benjamin as he sat back down. "You know that I'll begin hunting you and yours as soon as I'm with my men. Besides, aren't you committing treason?"

"Yes, well, that's why this is between just you and I, yes? As for why…" He was silent for a long time. "I whipped you bloody. My sons whipped you bloody. Because you took your belt to Beth. Who, it turned out, had given you provocation that even I can not ignore. I think our family has taken enough blows, don't you? We need to start recovering from all this. Sending you to prison camp isn't going to help with that recovery. This is your father in law, showing his son in law good will. Perhaps it will go some way to making up for giving you a whipping you did not deserve nearly as much as I thought you did."

"I see. Well. Thank you," William replied, uncertain what else he could say. Both men returned to their cards, smoking their pipes and talking about this and that, nothing so deep and meaningful as before. Bordon could be along at any moment, there was no point going into the deep and meaningful now. William won the round and Benjamin began dealing again.

"If I die, you'll look after them won't you?" Benjamin asked.

"Just like we discussed," William agreed. "Even if you don't die."

Thomas entered with victuals he and Gabriel had prepared outside, he sat at the table to share the meal with them.

"Deal me in," he said between bites. William did so, he'd been teaching Thomas Faro too, though the lad was not quite as adept as his father. He watched Thomas from the corner of his eye, silently urging the lad to eat as much as he could, for he'd be in the saddle soon.

It still sounded weird to him, this calling Beth's brothers by their Christian names. It was too familiar, too intimate. But they were his brothers in law, they were his family. And they were calling him William, now. The barriers between them had been broken down. Alliances needed to be formed, the war would not last forever and one day, they would be relying on one another for survival. And so he called Gabriel, Gabriel. And Nathan, Nathan. And Thomas, Thomas.

And Benjamin, Benjamin.

"Gabriel is alone outside with Brownlow and Dalton," he said to Benjamin, a warning in his voice. "Perhaps I should have a chat with them?"

"Yeh, alright," Benjamin said. He rose, called both Officers in. As soon as they entered, Tavington could see that Benjamin had been right, the Cornet and Ensign were tense, like drawn bows, arrows ready to fly. He took both into a far corner, away from the table.

"Don't attack," he whispered. "This will all be over soon."

"Sir?" Brownlow breathed, tension easing, the bow loosening.

"Just… heed my command. When the time comes, you'll understand. And when that time comes, let them go."

The Officers exchanged glances, but William was already turning away from them. He'd given them their orders, they would obey him. They stepped outside, William nodded at Benjamin, and Thomas continued shovelling food into his mouth, completely unaware.

"Are you playing or not? It's your turn, William," Thomas said.

* * *

A half hour later, Gabriel joined them at the table, he was still learning Faro and he lost several shillings to Brownlow, who won the next round. Dalton was with them too, William ignored the Ensign's side long glances and laughed along with the others, when Thomas twitted Gabriel for being the slowest learner among them.

_"Papa! Dragoons!"_ Nathan's warning scream from outside. Dalton shot William a glance, William gave him and Brownlow quelling ones as the Martin men jumped up, Benjamin making a show of cussing and cursing his surprise. The door burst inward and Nathan - clutching his sides and heaving - stumbled in. "Papa, there's so many of them, five score and not a man less!"

"Jesus. Get your bags, quickly now!" Benjamin commanded of his sons. He turned to face William, who was still sitting. His eyes darted to Brownlow and Dalton, both seemed on the verge of rising.

"Sit down," William commanded and both Officers slowly sat.

Seeing the two Officers would not try to restrain him or the boys, Benjamin hefted his saddlebags onto his shoulder. "Well, this isn't a good time for a prolonged farewell, so," he tipped his hat. "If I see you again -"

"You'll kill me?" William smirked.

"Nah, and don't interrupt your elders, especially when they're trying to be clever."

"The boards are yours," William inclined his head.

"If I see you again, it'll be too soon," Benjamin said and William laughed.

"You'll miss me, you all will."

"Gods, never that," Benjamin said. Gabriel paused, his saddlebags hanging off his shoulder.

"We just going to leave him here?" he said, pointing at Tavington.

"There's a hundred Dragoons coming for us, Gabe. Yeh, I reckon we'd just better leave them here, don't you? Get to the horses, go on, get out," Benjamin snapped, giving Gabriel a shove toward the door. The boys followed their father and brother. William rose slowly and with Brownlow and Dalton, he followed them outside. He stayed on the porch while they threw saddle bags over their mounts back and worked the buckles.

"Can't you move any faster?" Tavington snapped, he could hear the sound of the Dragoons approach. "They'll be here before you get gone!"

"Worried for us, are you?" Gabriel arched an eyebrow. He was shoving his rifle through a saddle loop. "You're growing soft, brother."

"There's no need, we'll be gone real quick. Well, I will be anyway," Thomas was laughing. He was furthest away amidst the body of horses. It wasn't until he was in the saddle and began peeling away from the group that William realised what he was laughing about.

"Thomas!" He shouted, taking a step forward. "Get the hell off my horse!"

Thomas chortled, he lifted his hat. "I'll leave you with Buttermilk, she's a fair trade!"

"Buttermilk is not a fair bloody trade!" William was on the steps but Thomas was already galloping away.

"Damned fool can't take anything seriously," Gabriel muttered.

"We'll send Thunder back to you," Benjamin promised, though he was crouched over laughing too.

"And nor can you, father," Gabriel said.

"Damned little…" William seethed. "Just get you gone, you damned fools - he's almost on top of you."

The three were in the saddle now. They wasted no more time on farewells, except for Benjamin who met William's eyes.

"Just get into the woods; as long as you're out of sight, I won't need to explain why I'm not sending him after you."

Benjamin inclined his head, tipped his hat, and twisted his horse in the direction his sons had taken.

"And send me back my damned horse!" William shouted as Benjamin began to gallop for the trees. Benjamin lifted one arm in acknowledgment before he entered the trail, he was lost from sight within moments. He'd chosen well, Bordon's entry point and Benjamin's exit. The Martin's were gone from view for two minutes before Bordon and the Dragoons burst into the clearing.

"He knew Bordon was coming," Brownlow said as he watched the Major - full of determination, do a double take when he saw William and the two Officers waiting patiently on the porch.

"He told O'Hara where to look," William said, meeting Brownlow's eyes.

"He let you go?" Dalton breathed, shocked.

"He let us go," William confirmed. "And it goes no further than the three of us. We'll tell Bordon, I suppose," he lifted his arm in greeting to the Major, who was trotting over, carefully scanning the trees for signs of attach. "But no others." He lifted his voice. "It's safe, Bordon. Martin and his men are gone - long gone," he added, with a glance at his two Officers, who knew that Bordon could catch them easily if William had spoken truthfully.

"Yes, long gone," Brownlow said. "And we should be too."

A very hard faced Bordon galloped up to the small house.

"So you finally decided to rescue me, did you? Took your sorry time about it," William said. Bordon's face split into a grin.

"Sorry for the delay, thought you might have wanted to spend some more time with your family," he mocked.

"How thoughtful of you," William laughed softly.

"What happened to you?" Richard asked, concerned. He'd seen the Colonel wince with pain and his voice sounded full of it.

"I was shot," William replied shortly and pointed. "Here in the shoulder."

"Jesus," Bordon whistled under his breath. "Has it been seen to?"

"I've had the best of care," William scoffed softly. "I'm fine, Richard, stop worrying. A bullet in the shoulder is not enough to bring me down." - Brownlow and Dalton kept their mouths shut. The whipping was between him and the men of Beth's family - _his_ family now; it was not to be made public knowledge. He'd tell Bordon in due course but there were too many Dragoons milling about for it to be revealed now. - "Now, tell me where we are, exactly, how far are we from Fresh Water?"

"You don't know?" Richard asked. When William shook his head, he revealed their location and told the Colonel that there was at least twenty miles between them and Fresh Water. William sighed, it would be a very long journey home - long and painful.

"Are you in any condition to ride?" Brownlow asked softly and William shook his head.

"There's no help for it though," he said. "Damn Thomas for taking Thunder. Saddle Buttermilk, would you?" He said. He eyed the mare as Brownlow worked to saddle her while Dalton went into the cabin to gather their belongings. It was time to leave and William stepped down from the porch and approached the gentle mare.

"I can't believe he stole Thunder," Brownlow muttered.

"Perhaps it was for the best," William said softly. "Riding this gentle lass rather than my spirited boy."

Brownlow nodded. With Dalton on one side of him and Brownlow on the other, the two Officers helped William to climb up into the saddle.

* * *

Nicholas leaned back against the large oak, whittling away at thick stick with his knife, as if merely passing the time, as if that was all he cared about in the world. In truth, he was keeping an eye on Calvin Farshaw, who squatted before the small fire and stabbed at the coals with a twig.

"…Bordon is worse, if ye fuckin' ask me," Calvin Farshaw was saying to Peter Scott, who was listening avidly. "But Tavington, he ain't far behind. Mr. Putman is right to hate 'em like he does. I hate 'em too. We should all be hating 'em. You would too, if they'd done half to you as they have to us…"

In truth, Nicholas had plenty of reason to despise Tavington and later, he despised Bordon for helping to torture Mark, though Bordon hadn't done anything to Nicholas directly. Still, he'd seen the evidence on Mark's chest, he'd helped to bathe and bind Mark's wounds, for weeks until Mark finally recovered enough to travel. The two commanders were ruthless and the Patriot Cause would certainly fair better if those two were taken out of the action.

But something wasn't right with Calvin Farshaw, either. The way he looked at the others, these side long glances. And the way he spoke. Oh, not the cussing, Nicholas didn't care about that though it did indicate a lesser type of person, a man of simple intelligence and poor breeding. That didn't bother Nicholas either. It was the effect Calvin Farshaw was having on Mark, that bothered Nicholas Watson.

A week ago, Calvin Farshaw escaped to the Patriots, begging help and insisting he was one of them. Tavington was on his trail, and Farshaw ended up being instrumental in Tavington's capture, and the capture of fifty Green Dragoons.

A victory, for the Patriots, they were still buoyed by it a week later. Ten of Martin's men - including Martin and his sons, had taken off with Tavington to God only knew where, while another detachment of Martin's men took the Green Dragoons to a rebel prison camp. Mark Putman was given half a score of men and had retreated back to their camp on the outskirts of Rutledge plantation, Nicholas included.

As was Calvin Farshaw.

For a week now, they had settled in, supplied by Henrietta Rutledge. They received missives form Cilla Putman, which Mark sent on to whomever could best act on the information - usually Captain Billings, seeing that Benjamin Martin was in hiatus with his sons and Tavington.

For that entire week, Farshaw had been… working on the men. That was the only way to describe it. He told dark stories of his ill treatment at Tavington and Bordon's hand and while Nicholas couldn't fathom why the lad would lie, somehow he knew he was. Or at the least, he was telling half truths, or not both sides.

For the entire week, Mark Putman had been listening. Nicholas had had to watch as the men - especially Mark - grew darker in their moods, more focused, more deadly. Because of Calvin Farshaw, and because of Mark Putman, who'd suffered as greatly or more so, than Farshaw ever had.

Mark and Calvin were constantly plotting, tirelessly, unceasingly. They would draw Bordon out. They would torture him, and they would kill him. Tavington too; him, they would get off Benjamin, if Benjamin Martin didn't have the stomach to kill him. The discussions were never quiet, never alone, with heads bent together. No, they were loud, they spoke at the camp fire and loud enough for all to hear. Mark spoke of his torture, of hot pokers and pincers and knives. He showed his chest and back, and the men stared in horrified awe. Farshaw spoke of being beaten so brutally by both Tavington and Bordon, that he was left for dead and only survived because O'Hara had taken pity on him. He spoke of being whipped, for the crime of having an affair with another man's wife. Yet, Bordon was having an affair with Calvin's own wife, and where was his whipping? They spoke of atrocities committed by both, Calvin fanned the flames of Mark's fury, which was descending Mark into a spiral of anger and hatred the like of which Nicholas hadn't seen before.

Mark had mentioned wanting to kill Bordon and Tavington before - on many occasions since the interrogation. But Nicholas had thought it was just talk. He'd thought that when or if Mark ever did get his hands on either, he'd take them into custody and hand them over to Burwell or Martin.

Until now. With the influence of Calvin Farshaw working its part on Mark, Nicholas had the terrible feeling that Mark wouldn't spend the time or energy on taking either man captive. He would kill them outright. In fact, he had tried to kill Tavington - the night Calvin lured the Butcher into that trap. Martin had been quite specific with his order - to capture the Dragoons, not to kill unless absolutely necessary. Yet Mark had fired his rifle, a few inches to the left and Tavington would be dead. As Mark had intended. He'd lamented to Nicholas since then, at his missing the Butcher. At the Butcher still being alive.

And he'd been seething, ranting at Benjamin taking Tavington away. He should have been strung up in the trees, hanged and left there. Nicholas listened gravel to Mark's complaints, he let the man speak his piece, before reminding him gently that Benjamin Martin knew what he was doing, Mark had to trust his brother in law. There were rules, the rules of war, and they could not be circumvented merely for revenge.

Not so Calvin Farshaw. He did not listen serenely before giving sound, wise advice. No. He was a firebrand, declaring that the ten of them should march right up to Benjamin Martin and demand justice, they should seize command and hang the Butcher, and then they should go after Bordon. They could use the same trick, Calvin didn't mind. He'd be the bait again, he'd risk himself - his very life, if it meant getting hold of Bordon. This impressed the ten men - he was quickly becoming a Messiah, in their eyes.

Not so in Nicholas'. He was becoming more uneasy by the day. What they were proposing - it not only went against the rules of war - it was murder.

Murder.

Was Mark really willing to do murder?

He almost had, the other night, when he opened fire on Tavington…

Nicholas pushed himself off and away from the tree, feeling the sudden need to pace.

"Riders!" A sentry barked and Nicholas whirled in the direction of the call. The men squatting around the camp fire hanging on Farshaw's every word all lurched up, reaching for their rifles. Nicholas dropped the stick, sheathed his knife and pulled his pistols.

Only to relax, when Benjamin Martin and his sons rode up into camp.

The relief was overwhelming. And not because it could have been Bordon or the Dragoons or another Company of British entirely, but because Martin was here. Nicholas hadn't realised how worried about Mark he'd become until he saw Martin dismounting and striding toward them. Finally, someone who could take charge, someone who could set things to right. The heavy weight he hadn't realised he'd been carrying lessened as he walked toward Martin to greet him.

* * *

Nicholas bided his time, waiting for a quiet word with Martin. The opportunity was a long time coming, with everyone wanting Martin's attention, and with Martin explaining what had happened - Bordon falling upon their hideout, his fleeing with his sons in the nick of time. And then there was the fight between Mark and Benjamin, when Mark learned that Tavington was now free again. That he'd been whipped instead of hanged like he aught to have been. Lots of yelling, then, Gods, Mark had been angry. So angry. These days, he was never not angry. It had Nicholas worried, and he told Martin so when he finally had a chance to get the man alone.

Relatively alone, anyway. Gabriel and Thomas were there too, but Nicholas had judged it to be fine, raising his concerns in their presence. Mark was their family, their uncle. They were not outsiders in this - Nicholas was the outsider. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, unable to hide his unease, as he laid out his concerns to the Colonel.

"…Farshaw," he said, voice soft. "He's behind much of it. I know Mr. Putman was already tense but with Farshaw here, under his influence… Mr. Putman was a burning torch before. Now he's a bonfire. I don't know, maybe it's a good thing - that fire."

"But you don't think so," Benjamin said and Nicholas shook his head.

"No, Sir, I don't. Not like he is now - he never speaks about anything else, now. And that argument you just had - because you didn't hang Tavington. As if you would hang an enemy officer of Tavington's rank! You don't have the authority for that, you can make that decision on your own. It makes me worry that Mr. Putman would do exactly that, not caring that he hasn't the authority. Besides, it's bad practice - you capture Officers, you don't hang them. Militia, yes. The law does not protect them. But Regulars? It's like he just doesn't care anymore, about any of it. He wants blood, he's thirsting for it. Now with Farshaw here… He's just about frothing at the lips for it."

Gabriel and Thomas shifted restlessly, uneasily.

"He fired at Tavington that night," Nicholas confided. "Mr. Putman is the one that shot him."

"We all started shooting at the Dragoons," Benjamin said. "It was an ambush, it's what you do in an ambush. The first volley, sometimes people die."

"Yes, sometimes they do. If I am in battle and fighting the enemy, I take sight on the first enemy and I fire. I don't seek out any in particular for a personal vendetta. But Mr. Putman was deliberate, he was trying to kill Tavington that night. All I'm trying to say is, your agendas do not align, Sir. Where you will try to capture, he will try to kill. I feel that he will use the confusion of battle to commit murder, no matter what you order to the contrary."

Benjamin gazed at Nicholas thoughtfully.

"You know this can't be easy for me," Nicholas said, troubled. "I don't like to speak against him. It's just that… with Farshaw here… I think Mr. Putman would have been redeemable, before. Perhaps he could have been reasoned with. But under Farshaw's influence…. The other men you placed under Mr. Putman are listening to Farshaw's every word, they're being influenced too. Which would be fine, if not for this niggly feeling."

"And the feeling is telling you not to trust Farshaw?" Gabriel asked.

"I have the distinct feeling that he isn't speaking the truth. Or that he is, but only part of it. They whipped him, he says. They beat him and left him for dead, he says. Perhaps both are true, and he's using it to rile the men, without ever saying why he was whipped or beaten. I'm not saying that Bordon and Tavington should've done those things, but perhaps there was a very strong reason for both. We don't know Farshaw. That's what I'm saying. No. I don't trust him."

"You're right not to trust him. I've been informed of a few truths about the lad, some that would curl your toes," Benjamin said and Nicholas gaped. Benjamin lifted his voice, calling out to Mark. Stiff with tension, Mark strode over, clearly still angry after confronting Benjamin about Tavington. "We have to talk," Benjamin said.

"Done enough of that," Mark spat.

"That was shouting," Benjamin said mildly. "It's about Farshaw."

"What about him?"

_Lord, he is in a mood_, Nicholas thought. He waited for Benjamin to stay laying Nicholas' concerns out to Mark, and was surprised when he took a different tact entirely.

"What do you know of his conduct back at Fresh Water?"

"He told me some of it. Cilla told me some also," Mark said, shrugging.

"So you know that he beat and raped his wife," Benjamin asked. Nicholas whirled to Benjamin, stunned.

"How can you call it rape? She is his wife," Mark shrugged again. "Besides, she was having an affair," his eyes narrowed, his lips became pinched. "With Bordon. I don't blame him for beating her."

"You didn't beat Mage," Benjamin pointed out. There was a collective gasp among the youths; Nicholas, Thomas and Gabriel averted their gazes, looking anywhere but at the two men. Mark shot them embarrassed looks, to have what they all knew bought out into the light and discussed so blithely. "I didn't beat Charlotte," Benjamin said, voice strangled. "Though I suppose you'll justify their actions of having a purpose and therefore, we should not be angry with them. Farshaw, on the other hand, had good cause to almost beat his _pregnant wife _to death."

"The child isn't even his," Mark hissed, casting a swift look over his shoulder at Calvin Farshaw, who was sitting beside Peter Scott, chatting. That was another thing Cilla had told Mark, though the information hadn't been shared with Calvin yet.

"He beat a pregnant woman almost to death," Benjamin stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "And prior to that, when he served in the Continentals under Colonel Clement, he forced Mrs. Farshaw into Clement's bed, gaining coin in return. He whored his own wife, Mark."

"You don't know that that's true."

"I remember rumours," Gabriel said. "I remember hearing Francis Marion discussing it - he did not like that Clements was paying to bed the wife of one of his men. It would be it would be simple enough, to discover if the woman was Mrs. Farshaw."

"I do not need to discover it, I already know it for truth," Benjamin said. "He whored his wife to his Superior for personal gain. He beat her then and he beat her now. I will not have a man such as he in my command, Mark."

Mark drew back, his eyes widening. "He is a Corporal in the Continental establishment."

"Only if I decide he is. He switched sides, giving up all rights to his rank -"

"They forced him!"

"They gave him a choice and he chose. It was a hard choice, to be sure. But he made it. He also chose to turn traitor within the British ranks, but that does not automatically entitle him to his place among the Continentals. A man who would beat his pregnant wife - no matter who had the siring of it, and no matter what the provocation - is not a man I will welcome in my Company."

"Then he will serve as a militiaman, in mine," Mark said, lifting his head.

"Your company is my company," Benjamin leaned in close. "Never forget that, Mark. You are a Captain in my chain of command. If I decide he is gone, he is gone and that is an end to it."

"Why send him away when he's so damned willing?" Mark snapped, furious.

"Because he is a sly little bastard," Benjamin replied. "From the moment he came to us, he has told us half truths and all out lies. And he has shown a propensity for violence toward women which I abhor."

"Yet you tolerated it from Tavington, when you should have hanged him!"

"Fifteen lashes is hardly tolerating his beating of my daughter. We discussed this, do not seek to use it as a distraction now. We are discussing Farshaw and his lies."

Nicholas eyed Benjamin warily, hoping the Colonel did not call upon to speak his concerns. He had no evidence of Calvin's conduct, he only suspected that Farshaw had been speaking half truths and lies.

"He said they beat him nearly to death?" Benjamin asked Mark, who nodded. "That was because he beat his wife. He took her roughly against a tree and when he was done, he beat her some more. Kicked into her repeatedly, full force, what ever part of her he could reach. That was why he was beaten."

Nicholas stared at Benjamin in horror. His sons did not look surprised, clearly they already knew all of this.

"What of it? She is Bordon's whore. Farshaw has every right to discipline his wife as he sees fit," Mark shrugged. Clearly, he knew of it too.

"Ah, I see. Cilla told you, did she? And it doesn't bother you at all."

"He is a worthy member of my Company and he -"

"Is a sodomite," Benjamin said, folding his arms across his chest. Nicholas' eyes bulged.

"He was raped, Benjamin," Mark whispered, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Farshaw again. "Raped! Major Fallows forced himself on him - Farshaw confided in me!"

"Hmm, he is more cunning than I thought - confessing that, knowing it would come out eventually, he covered his tracks before it could. Fallows did not rape Farshaw, Mark. When Fallows was found, he was in Farshaw's bed, still on all fours, there was evidence that he had been rutted from behind. Tell me, did he somehow force Farshaw participate in their relations?"

Mark's face paled, his breathing slowed, became deep.

"He told us that Fallows came into the room, that beyond Farshaw's imaginings, he opened a drawer and found the seal and cipher. So Farshaw had no choice but to kill him. But that was not what happened. The Major was in Farshaw's bed, Farshaw was a participant in their coupling."

"Then why did he kill him?" Mark said, folding his arms across his chest. "Why did he stab Fallows to death, if he was willing?"

"Fallows had been speaking for Farshaw to O'Hara, trying to put him forward for promotion. O'Hara continually refused. Realising his future would not advance with the Major's help, Farshaw killed him," Benjamin shrugged. "I find it very easy to believe of him."

"And where did you get this information? Tavington?" Mark spat. "You would trust Tavington's word? Gods, I hadn't thought I could think lower of your actions, letting the damned bastard live. Now you believe his word, as well? You don't know what happened, you weren't there. Tavington doesn't know what happened, he wasn't there. Farshaw was there, however, and I have his testimony! You say he speaks in half truths and lies? What choice did he have but to do exactly that? He couldn't admit he was being force by the Major -"

"Yet he admitted it to you," Benjamins said. "To gain your sympathy and to cover his tracks, knowing that news about his perfidy would eventually spread."

"Think as you will, I know a tortured soul when I see one," Mark said. "You weren't there any more than I was. You don't know what position the body was found in, or if he was naked or clothed. Tavington spilled his lies all over you, as a means to get at Farshaw. And it worked, by the sounds of it!"

"Alright, tell me his side of it then?"

"It happened exactly as he told us. Fallows walked in on him, opened the drawer, discovered evidence of his spying. Farshaw killed him. He admitted to me, when he confided what was being done to him, that he found the decision to kill Fallows quite an easy one, considering," Mark said. "He told me he had no one to turn to, no one who would have believed him, much less helped him. He had to suffer Fallows attentions for weeks, he was helpless to do anything about it. Would you really turn out one of your soldiers because he was raped by his Superior?"

"If he was raped by his Superior, I'd hang the Superior and do whatever I could for the soldier," Benjamin said. "But I do not believe that is what happened. As I do not trust the one person who was there to tell of it, I will not release him because of his - liaison - with Fallows. I will release him for the beating of his wife, for I will not have a man like that in my ranks."

"Gods, half these men have likely beaten their wives. They'd never tell you though, not their _Holier Than Thou_ Colonel Martin," Mark curled his lip. "I will inform Farshaw that he is not be returned to his previous rank as Corporal, he is not to be made an Officer, despite risking his life to help us capture Tavington who you were so gentle with, you might as well have not taken him at all! I am keeping him in my militia, however. Will you argue this?"

"I will not."

Bristling, Mark made to turn away.

"And Captain?" Benjamin said, turning Mark back. "If you ever question my actions or my command again, I will have you flogged and your rank will be revoked. Do I make myself clear?" The Colonel held his Captain's eyes, Mark's growing wider by the moment. Benjamin did not blink, his face was cold and hard, the Colonel in every sense of the rank.

"Yes, Colonel," Mark saluted, then turned crisply on his heel and strode away.

"Dear Lord, that was… unpleasant," Nicholas said. "I wish I hadn't bought it up."

"It was a conversation that was coming," Benjamin said. "Watson, you are in my chain of command, but I know you are loyal to Mark, I respect it and would not for one moment try to persuade you from it. Just… Keep your eyes open, will you? Keep them on Mark and on Farshaw. Keep your level head, first and foremost. I'm not asking you to betray him but if it gets bad enough, I do ask you to inform me. Can you do that, son?"

"Yes, Sir. For Mark's sake, I most certainly can," Nicholas said. "A sodomite?" He asked. "Are you sure Tavington wasn't lying?"

"I know which version of the story I would believe," Benjamin said grimly. "And it definitely is not Farshaw's." He met Nicholas' eyes. "He was keeping vials of oil in his drawer, Watson. They were used to… to… make the entry… smoother."

"Eh," Nicholas grunted.

"Did Fallows force Farshaw to keep those, too? Did he force Farshaw to take up position behind him, to participate in buggery, which Tavington knows was done for there was a man's milt pooling in Fallows arse hole -"

"Enough," Nicholas lifted a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. He heaved a breath, met Benjamin's eyes. "That whole thing you just described, that might never have happened, Sir. It all depends on whose story you believe. Tavington could have been lying to you about the entire thing - the vials might have been added to make it more believable."

"I know a lying bastard when I see one," Benjamin said, a mockery of what Mark had claimed earlier. His eyes were on Mark and Farshaw, who were on their feet and walking away from the others. "Tavington was not lying, Lieutenant. I'm sure he's not above it, but in this, he was not. Keep an eye on them, will you?"

"I will, Sir," Nicholas promised.


	110. Chapter 110 - Trouble at the Mercantile

Chapter 110 - Trouble at the Mercantile:

The window was such a comfortable place to sit by, the sunlight streaming through the glass bathed Harmony's face. Her toasty position by the fire helped to create the illusion that it was actually warm outside. She would be accompanying Mrs. Turnbull for a walk to the mercantile soon, and because of the sun, had considered venturing out with only her light cape. However, upon seeing the people walking by her window huddling within their thick wool capes and overcoats, she realised what a mistake that would have been. With the sewing in her lap forgotten, Harmony watched the brave souls who would risk the temperature merely to be out in the sun again. The weather had been atrocious, so much rain! And winter was still a month from beginning. She sighed. Oh well, she did not intend to venture out much herself, even though she was free to do so now. Calvin had freed her, by murdering his superior officer. Although she felt pity for the poor murdered Major Fallows - and equally disgusted and intrigued by the manner of his death - she could not help but feel vast relief. No chance in hell could Calvin come and make some demand that she leave with him, not even if he did manage to discover where she was. Why, Richard was so certain of this, that he'd removed the two soldiers he'd had stationed at the Turnbull's and sent them back to their duties. Pembroke was held by the British and if he dared to show his face there, he'd be seized before he passed through the first check point.

She was safe. She and her baby. Finally, assuredly safe.

She placed her hand protectively over her rounded stomach, blinking back the misting in her eyes which made those people passing by appear fuzzy. Every time she thought of it, the relief welled up so strongly, she felt dazed by it. The worst chapter of her life had been slammed shut, it left her reeling to have everything change so abruptly.

She'd laid in Richard's arms at the room he hired at the tavern, both so shocked that they spent the entire time discussing Calvin, they did not even sport with one another. Calvin, engaging in relations with another man. Richard told her some of the awful details people were mulling over - how long their buggery had been going on for, that vials of oil had been found in Calvin's room, Fallows' room and his office. They had sported in all three chambers, it was believed. Richard had asked her about it, if she'd noticed that deranged strangeness in Calvin before. What could have driven him to bed another man?

Harmony hadn't been able to tell him. Even days later, she had no idea. She agreed with Richard - it must have been for advancement. Calvin always was an ambitious bastard, jealous of his position in life.

In the days that followed, when she and Richard met upstairs in their secret paradise in the room above the tavern, they did not waste their time speaking of Calvin. Harmony smiled, remembering her handsome lovers haste the first day - he'd gone too long without coupling and had almost torn her clothes from her.

He was gone now. He had sent Miss Cordell with news that Colonel Tavington had been captured by Benjamin Martin. Richard was deployed by O'Hara to resume the search for the murderer Farshaw.

If Richard found Calvin, Harmony doubted her husband would survive to see his trial and his execution by O'Hara. Richard would likely see to the hanging himself.

Richard was also sent to question any potential rebels as to William's whereabouts, for he, Brownlow and Dalton were missing. It had been reported to O'Hara that Martin had captured some fifty Green Dragoons, but according to one informant, Tavington, Brownlow and Dalton had not been among those who had been taken to a Continental strong hold or prison camp. Nor had they been killed, the information told O'Hara.

The question, therefore, was - where was Tavington?

Richard was to do his damndest to find out, he was also to do his damndest, to find Calvin the sodomite and murderer. While Harmony worried for Tavington, especially because he might be in Martin's hands, she could not help but glow. Calvin was gone in such a way that he could never return; she was finally free and her baby was finally safe.

It didn't matter to her if Calvin was ever caught, Harmony did not care anymore. Whether he lived or died, she was free of him. While she was under the protection of the British, he would never be able to touch her again.

"We're free," she whispered to her baby, her sing song voice breaking. She was on the verge of tears again, for even days later, she could scarcely believe it. After all she'd been through, and all the worrying for her baby should Calvin get his hands on her - and worse, if he'd discovered he had not sired the child… She'd made herself sick with the worrying, not sleeping a wink some nights.

And just like that - as though with a click of one's fingers - it was all gone. The dark threat that was Calvin bloody Farshaw. Simply gone. She laughed softly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. How surreal. She wished she had someone to share her joy with. But Richard was away and she had no idea when he would return; who knew how long it would take him to find Calvin, and word of William?

She could not visit Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell, because the walk from Pembroke would leave her exposed on trails were rebels could be lurking. Without Richard to ask it of her, she could not approach the sentries at Pembroke to escort her - they might help Mrs. Farshaw, perhaps, for her affair with Richard had been quite well known. But as far as they were concerned, it was over now that he was married. For her to up and announce that she was Mrs. Farshaw would be as good as telling them why Richard frequented Pembroke so much. They would know that she was still in an affair with Richard and Gods, the damn would burst then.

Besides, what would Mrs. Turnbull say if she suddenly realised that 'Mrs. Campbell' was not Mrs. Campbell at all? That she was Mrs. Farshaw… She remembered the day when her name came up between Beth and Mrs. Turnbull, the awful things Mrs. Turnbull said about her, that Harmony had to pretend not to care about. Because she was Mrs. Campbell, wasn't she? And Mrs. Campbell wouldn't care that Mrs. Turnbull was calling Mrs. Farshaw a damned whore and doxy.

No. There was no hope for it, she would have to wait for Miss Cordell to return before she could gush over her good news to one of her friends. And she most certainly would not turn to Linda - not for anything. After what Linda did, Harmony had no desire to ever see her again.

It was quite saddening, the realization that she didn't really have any real friends to speak of.

Not even Beth...

She'd written to Beth, but despaired of ever receiving a reply. She tried to reach out to her friend, to mend the devastating breach between them. And more recently, she'd written to inform Beth of Calvin's crime, and what it would mean for Harmony. With the weather being what it was, they might take a long time in reaching Beth.

_Would she even open them? _Harmony wondered, biting the inside of her lip. Would Beth believe Harmony's apologies, if she did? Would she respond? Would Harmony like the response, if Beth did? She sighed, despairing over what might be the fate of her correspondence.

The distance between herself and Beth was almost as unbearable as that between herself and Richard. She missed her friend desperately. She missed having a friend at all. Letters were one thing, but this was the sort of giddy news that she wished to discuss over and over, with her friend sitting by her side and not caring one bit that Harmony was repeating herself for the one hundredth time. Would Beth rejoice with her, though? Would they ever sit together again over tea - or whiskey, as they had several times before? Would things ever be as they had been? Perhaps not, Harmony thought.

Even with this breach, Beth would rejoice that Harmony was safe from Calvin, even if the lass was angry with her. For Beth was not cruel, she did care for Harmony. She just needed to remember that. And if she knew how sorry Harmony was for keeping William's secrets, Beth would forgive her immediately, to put Harmony out of her misery. She was not a cruel lass; she'd been ill used and betrayed, even by her closest friend. Harmony closed her eyes, wishing all over again that she had been honest with Beth from the start. She should have told her that Linda had returned, and she should have assured Beth that William was not bedding Linda. Such a simple thing to reveal, it seemed utterly absurd that none of them had done so, especially in light of the damage the secret had caused.

Beth would have been indignant and would not have wanted Linda so close by. But Beth was not cruel - at worst, Linda would have been forced from Fresh Water and returned to the safety of the Turnbull's, that would have been Beth's only demand. Would that have been so bad? Harmony considered her own time living beneath Mrs. Turnbull's roof. No, it would not have been so bad at all. Harmony's only gripe with living with the Turnbull's, was that she was rarely able to see Richard. The couple were quite kind and very generous of both their time and their bounty. Harmony rarely wanted for anything. Except some whiskey perhaps. That would have been nice. Mrs. Turnbull would have had a fit if she asked, however. She thought Harmony was a woman as pious as she was herself. Her eyes would bulge from her head, if Harmony should reveal any of her less than ladylike habits.

The parlour door opened and Mrs. Turnbull herself appeared. "Are you ready, Mrs. Campbell?" She asked, using the name Harmony had assumed.

"I am," Harmony rose and, patting at her pockets to ensure her purse was there, she ventured into the hallway where she pulled on her gloves, and drew her cape and cloak about her shoulders. The two departed the house - with two of Mrs. Turnbull's maids trailing along behind at a discreet distance.

* * *

"I'm surprised they let you leave the plantation," Mrs. Campbell said as she poured some hot, spiced water into Cilla's cup. The Major's wife sat with the owner of the mercantile at a small table in a back room of the shop.

"I'm Major Bordon's wife," Cilla replied. "Not his prisoner."

"Since when have wives not been prisoners?" Mrs. Campbell laughed softly, then she waved her comment away. "I understand you, lass. It's just passing strange, having such a high ranking spy closeted with the British. You're Major Bordon's wife! And yet here you are, bringing me news. A Patriot, concealed amidst the Lions -"

"Hardly concealed," Cilla said dryly. "They all know I'm a Patriot. They just don't stop to consider that I might be active in my allegiance. Nor do they imagine that I have anyone to report to."

"Which brings me to my point! You are betraying them, each and every day. Not that I'm complaining, mind. It's just passing strange that a wife would betray her own husband. A Patriot prisoner living among the British, yes. But you're his wife!"

"I'm sorry if this disturbs your sensibilities," Cilla replied, gazing at the other woman earnestly. "I'm quite caught in the middle, you see. I'm a devoted wife, truly," the words almost choked her, but the semblance must be maintained. Reputation was everything and Cilla would allow nothing to tarnish hers. "But my father and his family - they are all Patriots. I was raised that way, also. How can I just shed all that off, when at the alter? I can't do that. I have to help my people as much as I am able - and where I am positioned, I am more than able. I do not betray my husband - not truly. I am faithful to my vows and to our marriage. It's the British I'm betraying. Richard and I… well, we can carve a life for ourselves here in a freed country."

"Do you think he'll change his allegiance, then?" Mrs. Campbell asked, quite curious. "Do you think he'll thank you, if he ever discovered your… activities?"

"Probably not," Cilla said thoughtfully. "To both questions.

"I didn't think so. For you are betraying him, no matter what you might say. Oh, not in the carnal sense. You're not off with some sweet heart, you're not committing adultery. But you are betraying your allegiance to your husband, lass."

"Which should only serve to prove to you my resolve," Cilla said, voice firm. "That I'm willing to go to these lengths -"

"Alright lass, alright. No need to to raise your voice," Mrs. Campbell said, amused. "I'm not judging you any more than I did Mrs. Tavington, when she did the same. I'm quite confounded by it all - I mean, why marry British officers at all? - but I do not judge."

"Thank you," Cilla inclined her head. She blew out a relieved breath, she felt as though she'd just wrestled a bear! It would be a difficult task, maintaining both the illusion of a happy marriage to Bordon, while betraying him to this woman. It might have lowered Mrs. Campbell's good opinion of her. Even though Mrs. Campbell herself was a Patriot and appreciated the information, she might have thought Cilla to not be very devout, or worse, she might have thought Cilla a wicked woman with no morals at all. Now that she had satisfied the other woman that she was the very model of virtue; albeit a conflicted one, she reached into her pocket and handed across the letter she'd written her father.

"I would have given this to one of our boys at Fresh Water, but as I'm here, I thought I could give it to you to pass along instead," she explained.

"I certainly shall, madam," Mrs. Campbell assured her.

"It's not imperative," a wistful smile crossed Cilla's face as she stared at the letter on the table. "There's no deadly important information. He gets that regularly already. This is just…" She shrugged. "A girl writing another letter to her papa."

"I understand," Mrs. Campbell reached across the table and squeezed Cilla's fingers. The door opening in the larger chamber without drew both their attentions. Mrs. Campbell said brightly, "customers! You'll be alright here for a few minutes, won't you Mrs. Bordon?"

"I will," Cilla promised.

Mrs. Campbell disappeared into the main portion of the shop, leaving the door slightly ajar. Cilla could hear her bright, cheery voice greeting her customers. For want of anything better to do, Cilla peered through the open door. She could see three very well dressed women and two plainly dressed Africans. An older woman of the wealthy sort, her two daughters, and their maids. While the African maids hovered nearby ready to assist their mistresses, the ladies themselves were moving amongst the tables, looking at wares as Mrs. Campbell chatted to them. Mrs. Campbell had an easy manner about her, she did not fawn all over her customers to make them purchase from her. Rather, she behaved as though she were in her parlor greeting guests, and she called the women by name. Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters, Miss Claire and Miss Alice, responded to Mrs. Campbell in the friendly manner. They were all so pleasant with one another, Cilla was almost certain the women must regularly spend a large fortune in the store.

The door opened again and another matronly woman entered, followed by a tall, blonde woman and again two African slaves coming in behind. If she'd known Mrs. Campbell would be so busy at this hour, Cilla would have come another time. It was risky, having so many people about, and her with her letter to a dead man sitting on the table where anyone might see it, should they step into the back room. Worrying about discovery, she slipped the envelope between some sheets of parchment.

"And how do you fare this morning, Mrs. Turnbull?" Mrs. Campbell was asking the newcomer. Cilla again returned to her vigil, she stared through the gap to catch sight of the women. "It's rather cold out, isn't it?"

"It's not raining, however," Mrs. Turnbull replied, after bidding Mrs. Reynolds and 'Miss Claire' and 'Miss Alice' a good morning. Cilla sighed, there was a time when she was greeted as warmly by her friends and acquaintances everywhere she went in the city. She'd been quite the popular lass back in Charlestown. Here in Pembroke, hardly anyone knew her. It would take her some time to build friendships. Her cousin, Henrietta Rutledge was nearby but Cilla did not dare go there, for she knew her father was stationed there and Cilla was not allowed to leave Fresh Water without a guard. At that moment, her score of Dragoons waited for her outside, some on the porch and some in the street. And a handful of others at the tavern... She would not take them within a mile of her cousin's house, where they might discover her father. Cilla longed to have friends again, with all of hers gone from her. No Emily, no Sarah, no Rebecca - though she held some hope that she might return. No Mary. No Beth...

"...Staying with me at the moment," Mrs. Turnbull was saying. "It's been dreadful weather of late, or I would have bought her by and introduced her sooner than this. But now is as good a time as any. Mrs. Reynolds, Mrs. Campbell, may I present to you Mrs. Campbell? She is a dear friend to Mrs. Tavington, you know," she said by way of boasting. As Mrs. Campbell gushed and asked the younger 'Mrs. Campbell' if their husbands might be related, Cilla was in the back room, struggling for air. Leaning half bent over the table, she peered through the gap of the door at the young blonde woman and she realised she knew that pretty, heart shaped face.

"Lord above, it's Mrs. Farshaw!" Cilla clamped her hands to her mouth and jerked back from the gap. It was Harmony Farshaw, Bordon's pregnant mistress! Fingers trembling, Cilla pulled over her chair to better position it at the gap by the door where she was able to stare at Harmony, unseen. Mrs. Turnbull was standing at Harmony's side, both were facing Cilla though if they could see that a woman was sitting in the back room, neither took any notice of her. Cilla was free to stare as a nervous seeming Harmony responded to Mrs. Campbell's question.

"Oh no, I don't think so," even Harmony's voice sounded nervous, to Cilla's ears. One hand rested on her stomach protectively, the other was a clenched fist at her side. "N-no, we are from... Where are you from?" When Mrs. Campbell replied that she'd derived from Charlestown itself, Harmony's body loosened and she finally committed to an evasive answer, "Oh, we are back country folk. My husband and I are from up Grindal Shoals way. Campbell is a common enough surname, I do not believe we might be related."

"No, I don't suppose we are," Mrs. Campbell said kindly.

"Then how in the world did you meet Colonel Tavington, if you're from so far off?" Mrs. Reynolds asked, as if in awe. "Are you truly close friends with Mrs. Tavington?"

Again, Harmony hesitated and Cilla's shocked gaze narrowed to a glare. If anyone had less right to call Beth friend, it was Mrs. Harmony bloody Farshaw. After what that woman did to her! If she claimed a friendship now, Cilla would stride out there and kick her!

"Yes, we are very close," Harmony replied and Cilla seethed. She stayed put despite her own assertion, but she seethed with rage. How dare she? After her betraying that friendship, how could she dare still claim to be close? "We met through our husbands, of course -"

"You mean your lovers," Cilla hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes fixed so hard on Harmony it was a surprise that Harmony could not sense the animosity. That stare alone should have alerted Harmony to Cilla's presence beyond the door.

"- my husband enlisted along with the other Loyalist men and he quickly became a favourite of Colonel Tavington's," Harmony's face was looking a little green and her voice was faint and whispery, at least she had the grace to be embarrassed as she spilled her lies all over the decent women of Pembroke! Cilla folded her arms across her chest and huffed out a breath.

As the women continued to chat, Cilla's eyes lowered to the pronounced swelling of her husband's child in his mistresses stomach. Her gaze drifted higher, to Harmony's face. She really was quite pretty, with her heart shaped face and pale skin, her large blue eyes. And with a pretty white bonnet atop her bundle of gold curls. Cilla straightened in her chair, suddenly disconcerted by Harmony's greater height. She was a full head taller than Cilla, she doubted Richard had to bend his neck to kiss her, nor would Harmony have to crane hers, to receive it! Cilla drew a long, slow breath. She was not jealous, as such. She had long since accepted that Richard would keep Harmony as his mistress, perhaps until his dying day. But here they both were, Cilla and Richard both, doing their best to convince people of what an upstanding couple they were, and how happily married; it was a little taxing at times, imagining her husband in this woman's arms.

Besides, Harmony was so pretty!

"...so sorry for your loss," Mrs. Reynolds was saying, now that Mrs. Turnbull had explained that 'Lieutenant Campbell' had died and left Harmony a widow. Harmony nodded and feigned a grief stricken look, lowering her eyes to the ground.

"Thank you," Harmony replied in her too pretty voice.

"Never you mind it," Mrs. Campbell commiserated. "With a pretty face like yours, you'll find yourself another husband in no time, one of some consequence too, with you having such high friends. As soon as you put aside your mourning, you'll have them lined up around the corner."

_She had them lined up all the way through the tavern corridors and out the door,_ Cilla thought snidely, a crude joke though she knew that Harmony had not actually been a doxy. She'd only acted like one by taking a lover and bedding him outside of marriage...

"Mr. Clayton has dyed some of those balls a brilliant indigo," Mrs. Campbell pointed at a table filled with different coloured balls of yarn. "Perfect for knitting that we bairn a few dresses. You just keep looking, I'll be with you soon." With their greetings done, Mrs. Campbell turned back to Mrs. Reynolds. Cilla watched Harmony and Mrs. Turnbull 'oohhh' over a deep purple yarn of wool. She began to brood, for the yarns would be costly and it was her husband's money which would, no doubt, be financing them should Harmony choose to purchase. Oh well, Richard could not touch her inheritance, so as long as Cilla wasn't paying, she should not really care. Still, she sat back and glared blindly, hoping that they would leave soon. She could not risk discovery, she had no desire to enter into an altercation with her husband's mistress, that would be a galling display, one she had no desire for others to witness.

The lady of the house should not have to deal with her husband's rubbish.

The door opened again and as Cilla's eyes were still following Harmony, she saw Harmony glance toward it. She saw it the moment Harmony's smile slipped from her face. Cilla tried to see what Harmony was looking at but her field of vision was too narrow. She could hear well enough, though.

"Mrs. Campbell!"

Cilla heard and she knew it was directed at Harmony, not the real Mrs. Campbell. A woman's voice, sounding both friendly and mocking at once, as though there was a joke shared that only the two of them knew. The way she said the name, it was almost as though she knew it to be false. If that were the case, however, the woman was still willing to go along with the charade and call Harmony "Mrs. Campbell", which meant that the newcomer had to be a close friend indeed. Was Cilla the only person in the world to dislike Harmony, then? How was it that the lass was so damned popular? She'd won Beth over easily enough… Cilla tried to tamp down her jealousy as she continued to study her husband's very pretty mistress.

"Linda," Harmony sighed, turning back to the yarns.

It was like a kick to the guts. Hearing that name, Cilla thought she would faint. This was worse - so much worse! - than any other acquaintance. Linda Stokes - Tavington's whore! Cilla wished the ground would open up and take her now.

"Oh, Harm," Linda said as she finally came into Cilla's line of sight. Her hair was auburn again now, not that horrible muddy dark brown it'd been. The other thing Cilla noticed immediately was the very pronounced swelling of Beth's husband's child in his mistresses stomach. These damned doxies! "Oh, I need to speak with you, right away if you can spare me a moment." She was wringing her hands, her darting eyes were full, she appeared to be on the verge of tears.

"Did you go to the house?" Harmony asked, her voice was stern for some reason, and she did not look welcoming at all. If anything, her face had become as cold as a winter snow storm. Cilla thought that was odd...

"No, no. I was going to, but I saw you from back there on the street but you didn't see me. I saw you and Mrs. Turnbull come into the shop and I didn't want to waste a single moment," as though remembering her manners, she said in a louder voice, "good morning, Mrs. Turnbull. How are you?"

"Mrs. Merry, this is a surprise, we've not seen you in some time. How do you fare?"

"I'm well, thank you," Linda said even as she seized Harmony's arm and began edging away from Mrs. Turnbull, who appeared about to begin a conversation. "If I can just have that private word with you, Mrs. Campbell," Linda was saying, letting the older woman know she was not welcome. Cilla curled her lip - it was clumsily done and Mrs. Turnbull had every right to the insult Cilla saw cross her face. The act of dragging Harmony away from Mrs. Turnbull, bought the pair perilously close to the door. Cilla felt a moment of panic, certain Linda intended to shove Harmony into the back room and what a mess that would be!

Tavington's whore. Bordon's whore. Bordon's wife. It would have been like three cats stuck in a sack together. She sent a fervent prayer of thanks to His Lord Above, for making Linda stop shy of the door. She also thanked Him, for while the whores were still in the main chamber; Cilla remained undetected but now, she was able to hear every whispered word.

"Why is she glaring at me like that?" Linda raged. "She looks like she's got a carrot stuck up her arse." Cilla shook her head, stunned at the doxies complete lack of sense. She'd just utterly insulted Mrs. Turnbull and had no idea she'd even done it!

Now that she and Harmony could no longer be heard by the others, Linda spoke like the doxy she was, dropping all pretence at polite speech. Cilla drew a steady breath, what a harlot Linda was. What a mouth on her.

"Look, those other chits, all dressed in their best, just to visit a stupid mercantile," Linda complained. "This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to them in weeks; I'll bet their husband's are too busy burying their cocks up into those negro slaves to show them another. I'll bet they haven't been mounted for months."

Cilla's jaw dropped, her face flamed crimson. This was even worse!

"Linda," Harmony said, voice firm and disapproving. "Why are you here?"

"Because I was desperate to speak to you. Look, see here, I've got a letter from William," she said. "I need to know where he is, I need to speak to him!"

"Why?" Harmony asked. Linda was pressing the letter on her, so Harmony took the two pages from Linda's fingers.

"He says it is final, we truly are over. He even had this drawn up," she lifted the top page Harmony was holding. "He outlines that he will provide me with a maid and a governess to help with the child. He will give me a settlement of one thousand, but he will continue to pay for my lodging at the Kent's until I marry. He says I must sign it, and in doing so, I'll be releasing him from all further obligations beyond what he's stipulated! What could he possibly mean, Harm? Why take me from the camp and put me in with the Kent's at all, if he was never going to come back to me?"

"You haven't… since moving to the Kent's, you have not," Harmony glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was close enough to hear. None were. She lowered her voice anyway. "Bedded him at the Kent's?"

"He came to me a few times. I thought it would be like the way it was before - before he married that chit. He even asked me if I remembered my safety word." This made no sense to Cilla, who was listening with ears stretched, on the edge of her seat for as much as she could glean from the conversation beyond the door. "I thought he would he'd start coupling with me again, he certainly looked ready to and Lord, I was damned near dripping, it'd been so long since I'd felt his touch," Linda sighed, Cilla could hear the catch in her voice. "I thought 'this is it, he's finally mine again' but he didn't bed me Harmony. He kissed me. He let me massage him. He got good and soused - so soused that he fell asleep in the bed and couldn't do any of the things I'd thought we'd _finally_ be doing! I've been so patient! Lord, I was so frustrated. Having him finally in my bed again, and all he was going to do was drink and sleep? It was the same as the tent, all over again. But, I thought, well, there's always tomorrow night. I thought it was my own mistake, I always have a bottle of whiskey waiting for him so… I thought tomorrow night, I won't. It was all gone, I would not get him another. Only he never came back and he's been gone for days now, God only knows where and then out of the blue, I receive this!"

Cilla was frowning, Linda had spoken so quickly, with such passion, the doxies heart was breaking. Well, too bad for her. The things she seemed to be saying, however… What did she mean - all this talk about 'finally'? And that it'd been so long since she'd felt his touch, so long since they'd coupled. And that she thought it would be like it was before he married Beth? Cilla gnawed the inside of her lip.

"Read it, Harm. Gods, I can't bear to repeat it - just read it."

"Alright," Harmony said. "Dear Linda, hope this letter… yes, yes…" Harmony was reading as though she were skimming through it. "I know promises were made… you had expectations… I blame myself for that, it was I who had your tent packed up, it was I who arranged for you to be lodged with the Kent's." Harmony was reading properly now. "When my wife left, I did honestly intend for you and I to begin our intimacy anew. However, you must know that I was grieving, Linda. When my wife departed Fresh Water, I was in quite a state. The pain of that leave-taking has not lessened by a hair, but my sense has returned to me and I do not believe it would be wise to return to our previous understanding. On the day I married her, I promised my wife that I would be faithful. I know how much pain it has bought you, my keeping of that promise. However, I must be forthright - there can be no more ambiguity - whether Mrs. Tavington is at my side or not, faithful I shall continue to be. I know I have confused you, my intentions have been misleading even to myself and I must beg your forgiveness for causing you pain yet again. While I have broken my promise to keep you as my mistress, I have not forgotten the other promises I have made you. On those, I shall not renege. I placed you in the Kent's household, intending to resume our intimacies. I request that you continue to reside there, though with no expectations of me, aside from the following." Harmony's voice altered somewhat, as if she were now reading a list rather than an intimate exchange between lovers.

"I shall continue to pay for your lodging. You shall receive a stipend of ten pounds a month. When the baby is born, this will be increased to twenty pounds. You will be provided with a maid and a nurse, one with education that can teach my child as befits his station. When grown, I will pay for him to go to university. If it is a girl you bear me, I will set aside for her a dowry. Our child will have my name, that I might legally leave him or her a small legacy upon my death. I will, of course, give you the one thousand I promised - again, I urge you to use this as your dowry. Inform Private Cox that you and I have not had relations after he returned you to camp. If he is aware of this, he should take no issue entertaining the idea of marrying you. If that is what you choose, I will make him a Sergeant, as promised. I understand your reluctance, I know you are in love with me, but there is no future between us, you must reconcile yourself to this for once and for all. Think of your future, yours and our child's. If you marry Private Cox, you will be able to remain with the Legion and my child will know his father."

There must have been more, but Harmony stopped reading. She lifted her eyes, met Linda's. Cilla sat, as quiet as the grave, mind reeling as she watched the pair.

"So. I was right then. You were lying to Miss Cordell," Harmony said. Cilla drew a sharp breath, her hands flew to her mouth to muffle any further noises.

"What? Miss Cordell? Harm, if only I could speak to him, I know I could convince him that this is not the way," Linda said. "Do you know where he is?"

"You boasted to Miss Cordell that you and William recently started your affair again, even though at the same time, you were complaining to me that all he did was drink whiskey and play cards when he visited you," Harmony confronted.

"No, Miss Cordell has it wrong - she must have misunderstood. I will not marry Private Cox, William is the only man I'll ever want! I need to speak to him, Harmony!"

"She did not misunderstand," Harmony bit off each word. Cilla, who knew the truth now, watched quietly, feeling quite subdued. She saw Harmony fold the letter but she kept hold of it, she did not give it back to Linda. "I have spoken with her, Linda. With Miss Cordell. You told her that when William visited you, you were coupling with him. There is no misunderstanding."

Linda's face was colouring, bright blotches of red across her cheeks.

"So? What of it? I wasn't serious -"

"Wasn't serious," Harmony tossed her head.

"It doesn't matter what I was telling Miss bloody Cordell. That has no bearing on any of this; why are you going on about it? I came to you for advice -"

"Beth told William that if she ever heard even a whisper of him having an affair with you again, that it would be over between them. She told me she said that to him, and I know that William repeated it to you, too."

Linda lifted her chin, she was grinding her jaw.

"You knew she was in camp that morning," Harmony said and Linda froze like a startled deer. "You knew she was in Mrs. Andrews tent. And I know you, Linda. I know that you watch her every move when she's down in camp. You would have seen her come out again with the others. So when William came to visit you at that precise moment - for a round or two of cards and a few whiskeys_ and nothing more_," Harmony stressed pointedly, "you decided to put on a show for Beth, didn't you?"

Cilla's stomach roiled, she placed her hand over her mouth, Gods, she felt like weeping. She'd been wrong - oh, so wrong. Beth had been wrong. They'd both believed - on the word and the actions of a whore, they'd both believed. It made her feel sick.

"What is wrong with you?" Linda asked, an edge to her voice. "Why should you care? I love William. Being apart from him has been tearing me to pieces, you know that it has. I've told you what agony it's been. Yet you make it sound as though I have done wrong? Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Not the side of a conniving little bitch," Harmony snapped.

Cilla drew back, stunned. Linda looked as though she'd been slapped.


	111. Chapter 111 - Like Cats in a Sack

Chapter 111 - Like Cats in a Sack:

"Not the side of a conniving little bitch," Harmony snapped.

Cilla drew back, stunned. Linda looked as though she'd been slapped.

"Knowing Beth was watching, you placed his hand on your stomach, to ensure she was left with no doubt who sired the child. You kissed him, led him into your tent, knowing what conclusion she would jump to."

"I did not know she was there," Linda said and Cilla wished she wasn't hiding, she wished she could march out there and confront her. She'd seen it all unfold exactly as Harmony described and she had seen Linda turn to Beth and look straight at her with that horrid little smirk! Luckily, Harmony had already done her research.

"Liar," Harmony laughed. "Miss Cordell and Mrs. Andrews both said you looked straight at her. You smirked at her and shrugged. Then you followed William into the tent. You knew she saw you, you did it because she saw you!"

"So what?" Linda's voice rose but Harmony ploughed on in that soft hiss.

"You knew what she told him - that there wasn't a force on earth that would make her stay with him, if she learned he was having an affair with you. If there was even a whisper of it. So you made certain that that's exactly what she would believe. You wanted to get rid of her, and that's the way you achieved it. And you want me to side with you? You want me to commiserate and sympathise and maybe even tell you you did the right thing? Because, poor Linda was in pain. And never mind the devastation your conniving has wrought two of my dearest friends in all the world!"

The blood drained from Linda's face, she was completely white now. Cilla thought she might faint.

"Am I not your dear friend, also?" Linda asked.

"You were. All three of you were. But iI'll side with the innocents, Linda, and that, you are not. You say you love William? And yet you deliberately sabotage his marriage, knowing the agony it'll cause him, for the sole purpose of lessening your own. Because you wanted your man back - doesn't matter to you if the heartbreak nearly kills him, if there's the remotest chance you getting to fuck him again."

"So that's how you feel, is it?"

"And not to mention my own friendship with Beth - you've destroyed that too, she knows that I kept your presence in camp secret, and she thinks I kept your affair secret too! Only there was no affair, there was no reason for her to go running off, hating me and Richard, Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell, denouncing us and denouncing her husband, because none of it was true, was it Linda? All of that happened, because of you. You caused all this pain, because you wanted to be free of yours. You're a fucking selfish little bitch, a doxy in every sense of the word!"

"Oh, and you're so much better than me, aren't you, Harmony?" Linda spat. Cilla had never seen such a look of pure hatred on anyone's face before, until now.

"I don't think I'm better than anybody," Harmony replied.

"How can you turn against me like this, after all I've done for you?" Linda said. Cilla frowned at Harmony, wondering what it was Linda had done for her. "And how could you call _her_ your dearest friend? What am I to you then? Am I nothing?" Linda accused. "How could you? Ever since the beginning... How could you befriend her, when you knew how much I loved William? That'd be like me suddenly befriending Mrs. Bordon." - Cilla tried to contain her spluttering - "How would it have made you feel, if I visited Mrs. Bordon and spent hours at her side, gossiping over tea? That's what you did with that bloody chit."

"I wouldn't have liked that very much," Harmony admitted though still from a position of righteous anger. "Beth and I grew very close, she didn't care about my lower station, she liked me for who I was."

"I liked you for who you were!" Linda's voice was strangled.

"And she did everything she could to protect me from Calvin. She defended me to the other women too, she never let off Mrs. Wilkins or Mrs. Selton when they made their snide remarks -"

"I protected you from Mrs. Wilkins, Harmony," Linda spat, "I beat that woman's back raw for you! And I helped you escape Fresh Water - I protected you from Calvin too! And yet you choose her over me?"

"This isn't a competition, Linda! I can not choose her - she's gone, she despises me, she'll never be my friend again! I am not choosing her over you. I am choosing to no longer have anything to do with a cheating, conniving little bitch who doesn't care one little bit about the pain she's caused everyone!"

"Lord, if you knew how much I wanted to slap you silly right now, you'd be running back to that Turnbull bitch right quick," Linda muttered.

"Slap me silly? You think I'd ever be scared of you? I'm only dressed like one of these rich chits, Linda. Try it and I'll tear the hair from your scalp!" Harmony drew a ragged breath, she seemed to be struggling to maintain some measure of control herself. Linda changed her stance, both women appeared on the brink of violence. Cilla watched, appalled by the scene. "You're an awful person, Linda. This thing you've done, it's horrid. You destroyed William's marriage - he was happy, goddamn it! Beth was happy too! They loved one another and you destroyed everything! I told Richard that as soon as he finds William, he is to tell him what you did. If this letter is any indication, he does not yet know - he is setting you aside for other reasons. As far as I know, he has not yet been told. But that will change soon, I assure you. For the friendship you and I once had, I will give you this final warning. Run, Linda. Get the hell out of here. For when William returns, the baby in your belly will prove no protection from his wrath!"

Except for a horrible greyness around her lips, Linda's face was as white as the petals on a daisy. Her mouth worked but for the longest time, she could make no sound. Presently, she managed to speak, and her voice was soft yet harsh. "After everything I did for you," she ground out. "After I risked my neck getting you out from Fresh Water and away from Calvin, you've betrayed me to William?"

"Oh, you didn't risk bloody anything getting me away from Calvin - you thought it was a great lark! It was no risk to you at all! And yes, after what you did, you left with me with no choice but to arrange for William to be told. I will not have him labour under false belief in your innocence! You wanted to comfort him through his woes, when you're the one who caused them!" Harmony said incredulously and Cilla found herself nodding silent agreement. "You betrayed your own lover, a man I care for, a man I call friend. He needed to be told."

"He didn't need to be told a damned thing!" Linda cried, not caring if the other women heard her now. "You didn't have to tell him anything, and he never would have known! It was only to Miss Cordell I said those things to, I could have asked her to not repeat them to him! I saved you! That was me, Harmony. I was the one who saw the danger, you probably never would have. Your husband goes and has an affair with Mrs. Wilkins, who had become dear friends with Mrs. Bordon, it was only a matter of time before he learned the truth of the baby." - Cilla frowned as she listened, wondering how the devil Linda knew about her and Emily's close friendship. But that was not important, she pushed her curiosity away and tried to focus. - "After what he did to you, beating you almost to death - you can't deny that I saved your damned life when I tricked the sentries into letting us pass from Fresh Water! I was the one who bought you here, to Mrs. Turnbull! I saved your life, and this is how you repay me? By sending Richard to William! He'll kill me! You know what a temper he has!"

"You should have thought about that before you lied to Miss Cordell about bedding Tavington and tricking Beth into believing it!"

"You didn't have to do that! He'll stripe my back bloody, I'll wish I was that chit Mrs. Wilkins before he is through! After all I've done for you, how could you betray me so thoroughly?"

Harmony's lips were pressed tightly together, she looked confused and, Cilla thought, ready to cry. Before she was able to form any sort of reply, Mrs. Turnbull suddenly spoke. Cilla could not see her, but her voice was close and filled with outrage.

"What is this, Mrs. Merry? You've been lying about having an affair with Colonel Tavington? What a despicable thing to do! I never would have thought you capable of such a thing."

Cilla was watching Linda, whose lips were tight and her face as red as a beetroot.

"It's none of your business," Linda snapped. "You should not be eavesdropping, this is a private conversation!"

"Then you should not be having it so loudly!" Mrs. Turnbull shot back. "You dare accuse me of eavesdropping? You do realise how loud you were speaking?"

Linda tightened her lips and folded her arms across her chest.

"And what of you, Mrs. Campbell?" Mrs. Turnbull asked of Harmony. "You told me you were a widow, yet the way Mrs. Merry is speaking, your husband is still very much alive. And what is this truth about your baby?"

Harmony's eyes darted, she was clearly trying to think of what to say, even Cilla could see that.

"Oh yes, let's hear you try to talk your way out of this one, _Mrs. Campbell,_" Linda sneered.

Harmony shot her a glare, but Cilla could see the panic, she was feeling hunted. "Mrs. Turnbull," she began, her voice was softly spoken again, not raised as if was before. "I'm afraid I have not been entirely honest with you. My husband -" here, her voice grew desperate. " - Is a danger to my child and I. We were not lying about me running afoul of rebels - but we did not tell you that my husband is one of them. A traitor. He has beaten me several times, the first was so bad I lost my baby," tears filled her eyes, her voice became pleading. "He beat me again recently, he would kill me and the baby, if he gets a chance. Major Bordon and Colonel Tavington are trying to protect me."

Cilla wished she could see Mrs. Turnbull's face, wished she could discern how the woman had taken Harmony's story.

Harmony turned to Linda, her voice now lashing like a whip. "No matter what I have revealed to Colonel Tavington about you, that is not a fate you need to fear from him. The beating and the killing of the child you carry. I have not consigned you to that."

"You have no idea what you've consigned me to. You have no idea his anger. By the time he's through with me, I might as well be dead," Linda said. She met Harmony's eyes, then shrugged. "You have betrayed me, why shouldn't I betray you?"

"Linda, there is a big difference between '_might as well be'_ and '_is'_! Calvin will kill me, Goddamn you!"

Cilla was frowning at them both, wondering at this interplay between the two. They seemed to be having a discussion that only they understood. Harmony was more worldly, perhaps she was anticipating a move from Linda that Cilla could not see coming? She slid to the edge of her seat and waited with breath held.

"You chose your side," Linda said. She turned to where Cilla knew Mrs. Turnbull to be standing. "_Mrs. Campbell_… that was the name I gave her. In truth, she is Mrs. Harmony Farshaw, wife to Calvin Farshaw."

Finally Mrs. Turnbull stepped into view, her face was white, her lips bloodless. "Is this true?" She whispered to Harmony, who looked ready to faint. Why? Why should Mrs. Turnbull care who Harmony truly was? And why was she suddenly whispering?

"He did beat her," Linda said. "But why wouldn't he when she's been having an adulteress affair and that child she's carrying is not even his!"

Oh, that was why. Cilla's heart dropped, she was poised and fearful of what Linda might reveal next. Mrs. Turnbull, a good, pious sort of woman, recoiled. There were gasps further back behind the door, everyone in the mercantile was listening now. They likely had been for some time.

Harmony looked as though she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole and Cilla felt no less distressed, she prayed that Linda would not speak Bordon's name. Providence had been shining its wholly light upon her, but it seemed that light was ready to move on to more worthy causes, for Linda was allowed to continue - uninterrupted.

"Surely you read the Banns? Well, Harmony wasn't just engaged to Major Bordon, she's been bedding him for months! All those times I fetched Harmony from your house? It was to take her to the tavern, where Major Bordon was waiting for her, so they could _fuck each other stupid_."

Cilla was on her feet before she even understood what she was doing, or where she was going. Driven by the need to save herself, she threw the door open and marched out into the main chamber before she even knew what she would say. All she knew for certain was, her marriage was being denounced to the ears of some very influential women of Pembroke. And Cilla had not gone to vast lengths to create the illusion of a happy, respectful marriage, to allow this damned whore to ruin it all in a fit of vengeance and spite.

"Mrs. Campbell, please summon to me Corporal Carr, he is waiting just outside," Cilla requested with quiet dignity. Mrs. Campbell, the real one, rushed for the door. Harmony's eyes bulged, she barely seemed able to breathe. Cilla found the idea of standing alongside her husband's mistress abhorrent, but she also knew she had no chance of discrediting Linda, without Harmony's support. She went to stand at Harmony's side for a show of solidarity she most certainly did not feel. Mrs. Campbell stepped aside and Corporal Carr entered.

"Is there something you need, Mrs. Bordon?" Corporal Carr bowed.

The other women had never met her, but they knew who she was now. Cilla ignored their astonished gasps.

"Indeed there is," Cilla replied, voice clipped. "Miss Stokes is up to her old tricks again. She has caused an inordinate amount of trouble between my cousin and her husband by claiming an adulterous affair; and now she seeks to do the same for mine and Major Bordon's. I shall suffer no more of it. She has caused great offence to Mrs. Tavington, to me and to Mrs. Farshaw and I request that you remove her from Pembroke immediately."

"You what?" Linda gasped. "You've got no right, you damned little chit! How dare you - " She cut off when Corporal Carr wrapped his hand around her arm. Her eyes went wide and she spluttered, realising that he would do precisely as Mrs. Cilla Bordon commanded.

"Miss Stokes? Her name is Mrs. Merry," Mrs. Turnbull said, looking ready to faint, for the blows had kept coming.

"Mrs. Turnbull, I assume?" Cilla asked and the woman nodded. "Believe me, madam, there is nothing Merry about this woman, least of all her name. She is Linda Stokes, a doxy who decided to straggle along with the British Legion, though she quickly became the bane of its existence. You should all be made aware of the sort of woman she is, and that is the sort who lays with men for their coin." Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters gasped with outrage.

"What?" Mrs. Turnbull exploded, colour rushing to her face - she looked like a furnace about to burst. "Colonel Tavington told me her name was Mrs. Merry! He dared to place a doxy in my household?"

That was the trouble with not thinking things through clearly - Cilla had erred only a few minutes into this confrontation.

"He felt sorry for her, but he wanted her gone," she explained, thinking fast. "He thought that you might be a good example for her, to help her to remedy her ways, but clearly he was wrong. It is obvious to me now, that she is beyond anyone's help. Not only does she bed the soldiers, but she works at every turn to cause trouble with the other camp followers - my good friend Mrs. Farshaw has not escaped her venom, and nor have I, it seems."

"Your good friend," Linda spluttered. "You… you are stark raving mad!" She cried, throwing one arm wide - her other was being held by Corporal Carr. "You've never spoken two words to Harmony, not ever! And now you're playing at being the grandest of friends? What the devil?"

"Never spoken two words to her? I'll have you know that in the city, Mrs. Farshaw and I were just about glued at the hip! You remember the public dance, don't you?" Cilla said to Harmony, who jerked a nod.

"And the Simms ball," Harmony said weakly.

"Oh yes, Caroline Simms - such an amiable creature. We sat to dinner with her that night, you know," Cilla said to the other women, knowing they would have heard of Caroline Simms, the matriarch of one of the most elite Loyalist families in South Carolina. Of course they'd heard of her. It certainly would not hurt Cilla's cause, attaching herself and Harmony to Mrs. Simms now. "She had some grand advice for us both - I almost feel like she's a concerned aunt, looking out for her young nieces. Don't you feel the same, Harm?"

"I do," Harmony whispered.

"Oh, that was a fun night, was it not? Those fireworks!" Cilla said companionably to Harmony.

"Breathtaking," Harmony said.

"You're both _fuckin_' breathtaking," Linda spat, her face blotched red with fury.

"I'll thank you not to swear, Miss Stokes," Cilla said, voice steady as she deliberately baited Linda into losing her temper. "It's bad enough hearing the men on the docks of Charlestown using such language, it's why I avoid the place as much as I can, I certainly don't expect to hear it in a mercantile! And its most vile hearing such from a woman."

"I'll speak how I fuckin' wish," Linda took a full step closer, her eyes blazing as if on fire. There was a collective gasp around the shop, which Linda ignored. She was too angry, she did not realise she was securing her own doom. "Hell's teeth, another who thinks she's better than me. Yet you married Bordon in an all fire rush, didn't you? You spread your legs for him back in the city, then you found you were pregnant, didn't you?"

"And now she turns her lies to me," Cilla said. "I'd be outraged, if I were not expecting it. You can hurl gossip about all you like but the truth is, you have no idea why I married Major Bordon. None. This once, I shall entertain your unsavoury accusation -"

"Oh, this should be good," Linda replied, greatly amused.

"The last time I saw Major Bordon before marrying him, was in Charlestown. I bid him farewell on the first day of July. If I married him because of some indiscretion that led to pregnancy, I would be three and a half months along by now." Her heart twisted, for indeed, _she would have been that far along by now_. Still, she spread her arms wide and glanced down at her very flat stomach as if it did not kill her that her baby was gone. "Do I look nearly four months pregnant to you?" She asked in a mocking voice, managing to hide her agony well. Her stomach would not be overly large at three and a half months pregnant, but it most certainly would not be as flat as it was now. There would be that wonderful, joyous swell to her figure, instead of the awful flatness there was to it now. "You're clasping at straws, Miss Stokes, trying one last vain attempt to wreak havoc. I do not know what Colonel Tavington and Major Bordon did to you to earn such enmity -"

"You little bitch -" Linda's voice rose and therefore, so did Cilla's.

"But it is clear to me that you have a vendetta against them both -" Cilla continued even as Linda did, the two trying to over speak the other, voices rising to be heard over the other.

"I see what you are doing -" That from Linda.

"But you have been caught out in your lies - everyone here heard you admit that what you told Miss Cordell about your supposed affair with my cousin's husband to be untrue -"

"You _fucking_ bitch! -"

"You were not having an affair with Colonel Tavington. Do you honestly think these good women will believe anything else you have to say, after your confession -"

"I couldn't care what these stupid bitches think of me!" - More gasps and outraged glances from the other women. - "You're trying to discredit me -"

"By admitting that you lied about you and Colonel Tavington, you have discredited _yourself_," Cilla said, "and now we all know you for what you are - a doxy _and_ a liar!"

Linda's fist was curled, she seemed ready to launch toward Cilla with a flying punch, but Corporal Carr was keeping her in check. "Yes, oh yes," Linda said, barking a laugh. "I am both of those. But that doesn't mean I can't speak truth, when it needs to be told. And I am telling you -"

"Do you have the slightest idea what trouble you are in, Miss Stokes?" Cilla shouted, taking a full step toward her, her face livid. Linda cut off, suddenly mute. "You said you did, but I honestly don't think you do. Colonel Tavington is going to be _livid_ when he learns of the lies you told Miss Cordell!"

"I'm just relieved that Mrs. Tavington has gone to her sister's sickbed. It's a mercy - she has no idea any of this is happening," Harmony said, speaking up for the first time. Cilla shot her a stunned look, then swiftly became co-conspirator with Harmony, for that line of quick thinking was a very good one. She inclined her head in agreement.

"Just so," Cilla turned back to a white faced Linda and snapped, "you have already incurred Colonel Tavington's wrath, and now you court Major Bordon's! And you tell me _I_ should be in a madhouse!" She stepped back to Harmony's side and deliberately averted her gaze from Linda, nose wrinkled. "I shall not engage in any further discussion with a whore," she announced. "Return her to the Kent's, Corporal Carr. Colonel Tavington will wish to discuss with her the foul rumours she has been spreading about him. And now that she has started on my husband, Major Bordon will wish to do so, also. Thank you, Corporal."

Corporal Carr began pulling Linda's arm. When she made to reach for the letter Harmony was still holding, Cilla plucked the pages from Harmony's fingers and began tearing them to shreds.

"What are you doing?" Linda cried, making another grab for it, only to have Carr jerk her back. "What did you do that for, you fucking bitch!"

"You came here for my advice, Linda," Harmony spoke up again. "And I shall grant it." She took a step forward, towering over the shorter woman. "Leave. Get as much distance between yourself and here as you can, before Colonel Tavington and Major Bordon return. Because if you are still here when they do…" Harmony shook her head. "Well. Even I will pity you, then."

Linda's knees buckled and she seized the side of a table for support, almost pulling it over. Corporal Carr and two other soldiers carried her out of the shop. Cilla followed them, she closed the door after them, then she dusted off her hands.

"Well. That was… unpleasant," Mrs. Campbell said. Cilla crossed the chamber, her arms outstretched.

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Campbell, I am so dreadfully sorry," Cilla clasped the other woman's hands. "Such an atrocious display to unfold in your shop. I can not imagine what you must be thinking of me."

"Of you? I hold you in the highest esteem, Mrs. Bordon, and I always shall. I do not believe a single word that came from that horrid woman's mouth."

"Oh, thank the Lord Above," Cilla closed her eyes, her swoon wasn't entirely unfeigned. She'd worked damned hard just now to maintain her integrity and standing, but she hadn't been entirely certain her efforts had worked.

"I think you did so very well just now, Mrs. Bordon. The way you managed this entire encounter was just… it was exceptional," Mrs. Campbell reassured her. "I don't know I could have maintained such grace if I had been confronted with situation as sordid as this. I'm astounded by your dignity."

"I shouted," Cilla lamented, hanging her head as if regretful. "I was taught never to shout."

"With such provocation! I don't know that I wouldn't have, when pressed to such extremes," Mrs. Reynolds stepped in to reassure Cilla that she hadn't acted below the strict standards of her station. "You did not rise to her, well, except until the very end. You kept your poise all the way throughout. You did magnificently."

"Well, I just hope it's the last we see of her," Cilla said. "Though the things she has said… We're the only ones who know she was lying - us, in this very room, we're the only ones who heard her admit they were lies. But if she persists in saying such awful things, other people might well believe her? How poorly will that reflect on me? And on Mrs. Farshaw," Cilla included Harmony because she had too. "And Mrs. Tavington? My poor cousin doesn't even know any of this is going on! You were right, Mrs. Farshaw," Cilla again included Harmony, if only to be seen being cordial to the woman. If they behaved friendly toward one another and if they together denied Linda's claims, not many people would believe that Harmony was having an affair with Richard. "It's such a mercy that my cousin isn't here at this time of turmoil. Lord, I feel wretched for her - her sister is so very ill, she must be so worried! And then, she'll have to deal with this when she returns!"

"There won't be anything for her to deal with," Mrs. Campbell said. "We all heard what Miss Stokes said, we all heard her admit to lying about having an affair with Colonel Tavington, and we will all speak out should it be necessary to do so. Won't we, ladies?" Mrs. Reynolds was nodding emphatically, as we're her daughters. All four were caught up in the fervour and were ready to agree to anything. Curiously though, Mrs. Turnbull was hanging back, away from the group - and she had put distance between herself and Harmony, also. All of the women turned to Mrs. Turnbull, who gave a sickly smile and a weak nod. A thrill of foreboding shot along Cilla's spine.

"Oh, can you believe her?" Cilla said to Harmony as she beckoned her over. Harmony dragged her heels but at least she appeared to understand that it was necessary to present a united front to dispel any rumours that might come of Linda's accusation. "Suggesting for one moment that marrying so quickly was as a result of… well, I won't even repeat it. What a horrid woman." To the others, she said, "I do understand that marrying without publishing the banns would occasion some talk, but I honestly never thought anyone would think that!" Cilla gasped. She raised this point for a very specific reason - she knew the women might be wonder about it later. And she knew she would need to provide them with an explanation, before they went their separate ways this day. "This is a time of war, and unfortunately, my father chose to side with the rebels, as I'm sure you've likely heard." She was pleased she chose this tack, for several of the women nodded. "Before he died, he was captured by the British and his holdings were seized. Where before I was a wealthy young woman in the city, suddenly my prospects were very small indeed. When the opportunity presented itself, I did what I could to secure my future." The older women were nodding. She was not presenting the most romantic story, but she knew the women understood and respected the idea of marrying for mutual advantage. Marrying for love was something only the lower sort were free to do. "We are at war. If I'd waited three weeks for the Banns to be read, one each Sunday, Major Bordon might have been killed before the end and then where would I be? My cousin and Colonel Tavington did precisely the same as my husband and I, for precisely the same reason. I knew it would raise eyebrows but I had no idea that such a creature as that whore would twist my circumstances so awfully."

"She's gone now, Mrs. Bordon," Mrs. Reynolds laid a hand on Cilla's arm. "All will be well now, you'll see. Don't you worry."

"Thank you," Cilla said, heaving an unfeigned and very relieved sigh.

"Why don't I get on a pot of tea," Mrs. Campbell said and the group began to walk to the back of the shop to sit around the large table there. It did not take her long - Mrs. Campbell always kept a large pot of water simmering over the coals, ready for her to make her fruit and flavoursome tea. She began setting cups and saucers on the table. Cilla continued to speak, after patting the seat beside her for Harmony to take up. United front, at all times.

"Was she trying to suggest that we weren't friends?" Cilla asked Harmony with an incredulous laugh. For a brief moment, a furious glare flared over Harmony's face, but it was quickly stifled.

"I think she was ready to say anything at all to further her cause," Harmony replied woodenly.

"Well, as I said, she's gone now," Mrs. Reynolds said. "And Colonel Tavington and Major Bordon will settle her back on her heels swiftly enough. I can't imagine either will allow her to remain in the camp - they are bound to evict her."

"Certainly they will," Cilla replied. "I'd demand it myself but I do think the gentlemen should chastise her first, so she doesn't spread further lies with her wherever she goes." Cilla drew a deep breath, held it, making a show of trying to bring herself to order. "Oh, enough about her." Mrs. Campbell began ladling her fruit tea into a jug, which she bought to the table. As she sat, Cilla continued. "None of us have been properly introduced! That's the great injustice here. That I have been presented to Pembroke Society in such a manner! It must be rectified immediately."

Mrs. Campbell gave a soft laugh. "I shall do the honours. Mrs. Bordon," she began, and Cilla suddenly realised that she was being addressed first because, as Major Bordon's wife, she was the most senior woman in the room - and never mind she was the youngest. May I present Mrs. Reynolds. Her daughters Miss Claire and Miss Alice."

"How do you do," Cilla curtsied from the waist up. The women smiled and did likewise.

"And this is Mrs. Turnbull."

Cilla inclined her head toward the woman, who also did likewise.

"And lastly, well, she was presented to me as Mrs. Campbell but I now know she is -"

"Mrs. Farshaw," Cilla took it up from Mrs. Campbell. She was trying to lead the women to believe that she and Harmony were friends. Therefore, it was for her to present Harmony. Who gave a weak smile and squirmed in her seat. When Mrs. Campbell filled her glass, Harmony held it to her lips, as if trying to hide behind it. "Do you live in the village, Mrs. Reynolds?" Cilla asked, directing the conversation to safer waters. Mrs. Reynolds began to chat about where she lived, on her husband's small plantation. Talk turned to the girls - Cilla realised she was not the youngest after all - Miss Alice was only eighteen. They continued to chat until their cups were empty and Mrs. Reynolds had secured a promise from Cilla that she and Harmony would visit that afternoon. Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters bid the women farewell, and Mrs. Campbell rose with them, she escorted them back into the shop to assist them with their shopping, which had been interrupted with the unpleasantness of earlier.

When the door closed, Mrs. Turnbull rounded on Cilla and Harmony.

"You," she pointed at Harmony. "Are no longer welcome in my home."

Cilla and Harmony grew very still, frozen to their chairs.

"Out of respect for you and your position, Mrs. Bordon, I will not reveal the facts I know to be absolute truth in front of the other women, for I am well aware that it will reflect poorly on me as well, to have housed not one loose woman in my home, but two! Nor will I continue to be played for a fool by Bordon and Tavington. They have both used myself and my husband quite ill, they have shown a complete lack of respect, dispensing upon us two women of low morals and claiming them to be good and honest. You claim to call her a friend and that I find quite concerning, coming from a woman of your standing. And Mrs. Tavington's. It reflects poorly on you both, sharing your company with this woman."

"Mrs. Turnbull -"

"I will be frank," Mrs. Turnbull cut Cilla off. "My cousin owns the tavern that Mrs. Merry -" Mrs. Turnbull paused, closed her eyes and twisted her lips. "Miss Stokes," she bit out. "Said Mrs. Farshaw frequently visited your husband."

"Mrs. Turnbull, Miss Stokes was lying -"

"She was not," Mrs. Turnbull snapped. "And you either need to be told this here and now, or you know it already. I hope it's the former, Mrs. Bordon. I do hope you have not been colluding with this woman. I am aware that learning your husband is indeed having an affair will cause you great pain, but I would rather that. If it is the latter, then it means you have lied to us every bit as much as Miss Stokes did."

Cilla snapped her mouth shut, her eyes wide.

"My cousin told me that every other day, Major Bordon hires one of the private rooms above the tavern. In that room, Major Bordon has been meeting with Mrs. Farshaw. I never did associat _Mrs. Campbell's_ and _Mrs. Merry's _walks with Major Bordon's visits, but I think it would be no hardship to prove the correlation. Would you like me to investigate this for you, Mrs. Bordon?"

"No," Cilla breathed. Harmony was as rigid as a statue at her side.

"My cousin keeps a meticulous account of his visitors in his ledgers - the ones he rents rooms to. And I have a meticulous memory. I believe, if I took a look at his log book, then if there are any connections to be made between Mrs. Farshaw's walks and Major Bordon's visits to the tavern, I will be able to identify them with ease. Are you certain you would not like me to investigate this for you? No?"

"No," Cilla repeated.

"I see. So. You are quite aware of your husband's affair with this woman and you are trying your hardest to keep it discreet. I quite understand the need for that. You said you married him out of desperation -"

"I did not say that -"

"You did, Mrs. Bordon," Mrs. Turnbull snapped. "You married him for security - and I do not condemn you at all. I understand that you must not be in love with him, that you might not care overly much if he has a mistress. You likely value discretion over fidelity, especially given that you have no choice in the matter. And as I said, I shall not be your undoing. But nor will I involve myself in any of it. While I would not challenge you before others, I will not stay silent now. Gossip of Mrs. Farshaw and her antics reached my ears well before this woman was introduced to me as Mrs. Campbell. If I had known she was indeed Mrs. Farshaw back then, I would have turned her away. More importantly, my husband would have refused her lodging, despite what Major Bordon or Colonel Tavington desired."

"Mrs. Turnbull, you can not turn Mrs. Farshaw out," Cilla said, there was a pleading quality to her voice. "Her husband truly is a danger to her. She is safe here with you but if you set her out, she will be exposed to him. He murdered a man, Mrs. Turnbull - he stabbed Major Fallows in the neck repeatedly. Mrs. Farshaw has no where else to go. If you set her out and he gets hold of her, that would be as good as signing her death warrant."

"Mr. Farshaw beat Mrs. Farshaw because he discovered she was having an affair with Major Bordon, is that not so?" Mrs. Turnbull asked, eyebrows lifting. "Yes, Mrs. Bordon, I heard all about it. And Miss Stokes," again that twist of her lips, "mentioned the child - that if Farshaw found out the truth about the baby…" Mrs. Turnbull leaned in close, eyes fixed on Cilla's. "It is Major Bordon's, isn't it?"

Cilla released a long, slow breath.

"Even if I was inclined to help a woman of such dubious virtue - and that is a very big if," Mrs. Turnbull said. "My husband most certainly would not. This is Major Bordon's mistress. And Major Bordon's child. They are Major Bordon's responsibility, and none of mine."

"Major Bordon is not here," Cilla bit out.

"Mrs. Farshaw will not be returning to my house, Mrs. Bordon, except to gather her belongings," she held Cilla's eye, letting the younger girl know she was not moved in the slightest "I'm sorry to incur your wrath, child. But frankly, your husband and Colonel Tavington have both incurred mine."

"You are determined on this course of action? You will evict Mrs. Farshaw?" Cilla breathed, it was her worst nightmare. Almost as bad as the women believing that Harmony was having an affair with Bordon.

"I am left with no choice - my husband will demand it, even if I wished for her to stay," by her tone, it was clear that Mrs. Turnbull had no such desire. The woman rose and, without another word, she strode back into the mercantile.

"Oh my God, what am I going to do?" Harmony gasped, her fingers splayed across her stomach. "I can't… I can't leave Pembroke! If I do, I risk putting myself in Calvin's reach and he will kill me!" Harmony pushed back her chair and began to pace. Cilla stared blindly at nothing, her stomach churning. "I know. I'll go to the tavern. I'll pay for a room. I have money, enough to pay for lodgings for weeks. Months. I can work there, if it comes down to it. And Richard will be back soon. Mrs. Turnbull - that damned bitch. Richard paid for my lodgings and she just turns me out? I'm going to get his money back, every penny of it!"

"I'm not certain you'll be allowed to stay in the tavern," Cilla said softly, still staring blindly. Harmony rounded on her, astonished. "He is Mrs. Turnbull's cousin," Cilla said with a shrug.

"Do you think she will… Oh, of course she will," Harmony gripped the back of the chair, as if for support. "She won't allow her cousin to be lumbered with a doxy like me." She was quite a moment, thinking furiously. "I'll… I'll speak with the soldiers here. I never revealed myself but now… I'll tell them I'm Richard's mistress, they will help me -"

"You most certainly will not," Cilla snapped. "Besides, if you present yourself to them with such a story, do you think they'll believe you and Richard have resumed your affair, not five minutes after Linda Stokes was marched from the village for saying precisely that?"

Harmony's face drained of colour. "But it's true!"

"They will not believe you, Mrs. Farshaw," Cilla snapped. "And if I am wrong, if they did believe you, you most certain can not tell them! Lord, can't you see how damaging such a move would be for all of us? After we've gone to all these lengths to convince those women you're not having an affair with my husband, you're going to tell the soldiers otherwise?"

"So what am I to do? Become homeless to protect yours and Richard's reputation?" Harmony asked, aghast.

"Your reputation too," Cilla murmured. "And no. That will not do, either. It would hardly be protecting all of our reputations if I let you be set out on the street when it's within my power to assist you. I've gone and told all of them that we're the dearest of friends, therefore I have no choice but to assist you. There is no hope for it," Cilla met Harmony's eyes. "You'll have to return with me too Fresh Water."

Harmony gaped. Then she laughed derisively.

"Yes, I'm certain you'll allow that."

"I just said I would, didn't I? Besides, think of Richard's reaction, if I did not do this. Knowing that you have no where to go, knowing that the soldiers here won't help you after Miss Stokes eviction from the village, knowing that your husband is a murdering abusive madman who will kill you as soon as look at you. If I did not do my damndest to protect you, what would Richard say of it? _I know _that Farshaw will hurt the woman Richard loves _and his baby_ if Farshaw gets hold of you, and if you leave the safety of this village, Farshaw could very well get hold of you. That is not something I want on my conscience nor do I want to invite my husband's wrath. When it comes to you, his vengeance can be… formidable," she shuddered. It might even be enough to bring the monster back out, the same as the last time Richard's mistress came under threat. "I can't leave you," she whispered with heavy realisation, fear creeping along her spine, fear of what Richard would do to her, if she abandoned Harmony. "Besides, I know what it feels like, to be chased off with no where to go," she said softly. "Come," she said, rising. "Let's go get your things."

When Harmony baulked, Cilla seized her arm and tugged.

"You're not serious," Harmony said, still shocked even as she let Cilla pull her along. They stepped back into the mercantile - Mrs. Turnbull was gone. Cilla nodded to Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters and Mrs. Campbell, then she and Harmony made for the front door. Several Dragoons fell in behind them as they began to walk along the street.

"Oh Linda blurted it out - how could she do that?" Harmony wailed. "What sort of revenge is that to take on someone? She knows what he's capable of. William might beat her, but Calvin _will_ kill me! He will hear of it now. He will know he's not the father. He really will kill me. He'll kill my baby. He's done it before."

"Not at Fresh Water he won't," Cilla said, voice firm. Harmony stumbled and Cilla had to haul her up, almost losing her own footing at the same time.

"You weren't serious!" Harmony gasped. "I don't know what you're playing at, but I know damned well you'd never let me set foot at Fresh Water."

"See here," Cilla snapped, rounding on her husband's woman. "I have several reasons for doing just that. First off, Lord," she laughed softly, bitterly. "Richard," she shuddered. "He is not at all reasonable, when it comes to you. I do not like to think what he would do to me if I abandoned you, when it was within my power to help you. Secondly, I damned well talked myself into a corner back there, I can not leave you to live on the streets, when I've announced you to be such a fast friend. Thirdly," she lifted her chin, "I am not an evil person, Mrs. Farshaw, no matter how you despise me. You are with child and you have been evicted. Even Linda Stokes still has a roof over her head at the Kent's. And you shall have one at Fresh Water. When Richard returns, perhaps some other arrangement can be made. But for now… you will come with me. We will go to that damned harridans house and fetch your belongings, then we'll go and have luncheon with Mrs. Reynolds and we'll do our best to convince everyone that you could not possibly be my husband's mistress, by showing them all what fast friends we are."

"I couldn't possibly! What in the world would we talk about? They'll know we're not friends within heartbeats of us sitting down."

"If you fear you might say something unpleasant and ruin the charade, then don't say anything at all. It's a golden rule, one your mother must have taught you when you were a little girl. I want for nothing more than for my family to be noted and respected everywhere for our virtue and honour. Those are what are important. Reputation is everything! I need your help now, if that illusion is to overcome Miss Stokes accusations. This is for you too - you won't be welcome any place if people understood you to be carrying your lovers child. No one in their right mind would believe that I would keep company with my husband's mistress, therefore, they will not believe you are his mistress. So keep company we shall - in public anyway. Now. Will you be able to do this?"

"I can if you can," Harmony said, still sounding faint. "I know what that sort of gossip would do to Richard. I'd walk barefoot over shards of glass for him."

"That's good enough for me," Cilla tightened her lips and got Harmony walking again.


	112. Chapter 112 - The Long Road

Chapter 112 - The Long Road:

_21st October 1780_

The carriage ambled along the muddy road, brilliant sunlight streamed in through the windows. Old Lucas twitched the reins, urging the four horses past the last of the village houses. Corporal Carr and nineteen more Dragoons trotted along, none of the men dared to peek into the carriage at the two women inside. Bordon's wife and, as every single one of them knew, Bordon's mistress. In the same place at the same time.

The same very confined space.

It was enough to make even battle hardened soldiers nervous. The Dragoons kept a firm eye on the forest road, keeping their noses firmly out of the women's business; though several of them had quietly taken wages on what might be occurring within.

What had occurred so far was nothing much. The two women sat as far from one another as they could, though it was difficult to achieve a great distance in the small cabin. By unspoken agreement, they both ensured there was a space of three inches between them, that was enough to make sure that their thighs did not accidentally bump as the carriage ride jostled them. Their skirts, voluminous as they were, did rustle together, and that was more contact than either woman could bare. Harmony kept a firm vigil out the right window, Cilla the left. Both had their arms folded across their chests, neither even trying to conceal their mutual dislike.

"'Often times soft in the head,'" Harmony quoted, her steaming voice finally shattering the tepid silence. Cilla turned her head toward her - their eyes met and locked. Harmony's were blue chips of flint, ready to spark. "Why did you have to say that? And the other things you said. I was so embarrassed in front of those women!"

"What, exactly, did you expect?" Cilla asked coolly. "With you sitting there like a useless lump of nothing. You didn't say two words the entire time, I had to come up with some explanation for your silence. Gods, I can not believe you left me to deal with it all! I thought you said you would walk over shards of glass for Richard? You said you would be able to pretend to a friendship! What rot," the girl huffed.

"It was not so easy as I thought it would be," Harmony admitted, her voice coming out harsh as she forced herself to admit a weakness to the other girl. "I've never much liked being with those sort of women and -"

"What sort of women are you suggesting they are?" Cilla interrupted, aghast, taking Harmony's comment the wrong way.

"The higher sort," Harmony bit out. "The well bred. Those who consider themselves superior. Silk wearing noblewomen, who want for nothing and expect everything. Women like you," she finished, getting in a dig of her own.

"Oh," Cilla returned to her view outside the window, some of her flare fading. She'd thought that this woman - who was no better than a doxy! - Was accusing Mrs. Reynolds and the other women to be as base as her.

"I am not of your station and I've always found it difficult to be myself around your sort. Beth is the only woman from your rank who I could relax with. And so no, I was unable to hold to my end of our agreement, Miss Putman. But that was no cause for you to say such a horrible thing!" Harmony ranted.

"Mrs. Bordon," Cilla corrected, voice firm, eyes again on Harmony. "I am Mrs. Bordon, now."

"I should have been _Mrs. bloody Bordon_!" Harmony snapped, face flaming. She twisted her lips and pulled her eyes away.

"And I should have been _Mrs. Anybody Else_, but here we are," Cilla replied, turning away again. "We make do with what we have. I am married to him and that's an end to it."

Harmony frowned, bemused by the comment. Hadn't Cilla trapped Richard into marrying her, by lifting her skirts and then crying foul when she got with child? It was Richard who should be married to Miss Anybody Else. Or, more accurately, he should have been married to _her_self, Miss Harmony Jutland. If only Calvin had not returned, if only Cilla had not gotten in the way.

"It'll never end," Harmony ground out, voice threatening, challenging, ready to defend her right to Richard with her last breath. "None of this will ever end. Even with all that has happened; I vow, I will not let him go. Not without a fight. I promise you now, Cilla - "

"Who said anything about fighting over him?" Cilla asked, genuinely startled. "Who said anything about forcing you to let him go? If he ever decides to be shed of you, then so be it. But I won't request it - I have my pride you know! - and I certainly won't fight for him." She laughed softly at the vision those words conjured. A vision of her and Harmony, their skirts flying all about them, Cilla's silks getting grubby by the dirt road, their hair flying loose from their dust caps, their arms flailing and fists striking - it was utterly absurd. Cilla would never, in a hundred years, stoop so low.

"He'll never be shed of me," Harmony said with shining confidence.

"I wonder if your Miss Stokes said the same of Tavington? We both know how that ended," Cilla taunted, watching Harmony's face carefully for signs of distress. There were none, if anything, Harmony's lips curved into a knowing smile.

"Richard loves me, there's the glaring difference. William never loved Linda, he always loved Beth," she shrugged.

"I know that now," Cilla sighed. She reached into the bag on the floor between her legs and pulled out a tapestry. She had nothing better to do, she might as well get a few stitches done while on the road. "And I know that Richard loves you and will never leave you. And I don't care, as long as you're discreet. Which you have been. It's a pity you put your trust into that doxy though, what she tried to expose today could have spelled disaster for us."

"Yes, I know," Harmony said, downcast. "I still can't believe it of her. How is that a fair revenge? What happened to an eye for an eye? It might have been a beating on her part, and certain death on mine."

"Clearly, she's a vindictive wench. Be more careful in your friends, in future. If you confide your intimacies to the wrong person, and that person gossips, it won't only affect you," she cautioned, lecturing. Harmony drew a steady breath, trying to maintain calm.

"You called me simpleton," she accused, "but that hardly makes me one. Honestly, how are any of those women to believe we're friends, with you saying such an awful thing?"

"How are any of them to think we're friends when you just sat there like a stunned goose?" Cilla shot back. "You left almost all of it to me in the mercantile and then just now over lunch as well. Well, if you will act like a brainless goose, none of them will think twice at my saying that you are. Besides, I smiled at you and patted your hand when I said it. They thought I was being affectionate and joking fondly with you."

"Wonderful," Harmony scowled.

The two fell silent again, with Harmony glaring out of the window and Cilla calmly working on her stitches. Calmly on the facade, at least. Within her breast, she was all turmoil. Not over Harmony and Bordon so much, though it was irksome that she had managed to trap herself so neatly, and was now saddled with Richard's mistress. It was Linda, Tavington and Beth she was thinking of now. Mostly of Tavington, whom she had felt certain was guilty over every awful thing she could think of. The evidence had been stacked against him, of course Cilla had believed as Beth had, that Tavington had been having an affair!

Only, he hadn't. That strumpet Linda Stokes had made it all up to get rid of Beth. And it worked - Beth was gone.

Beth, who had bedded another man before marrying Tavington, and was now off with him, with Banastre, only God knew where. Doing what everyone knew what.

"So," Cilla sighed, it was like the weight of the world was being expelled from her body. "Colonel Tavington did not have an affair." It was galling to say. Absolutely galling. But she had to get the words out. It needed to be discussed.

Beth would need to know.

"No, he did not," Harmony said firmly. "He was innocent there. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not on his side, not in the slightest. Why, if he were here, I'd kick him in the shins. Damned bastard, asking me to keep secrets from Beth. Never again. I won't do it, ever again. I don't care what trouble it causes between him and I. A line has been drawn, sides are being taken. I chose wrongly before, but I won't do that again. He should have told Beth from the first, the stupid bastard. None of this would be happening now, if he had."

"Well, that's partly true," Cilla mused. "There's another reason for their separation." Not that she was going to discuss it with Harmony Farshaw.

"Her bedding Banastre before marrying William?" Harmony asked and Cilla gasped.

"Oh, Richard told you," she said, her mind working quickly.

"Of course he did." Harmony snorted. "But I already knew, Cilla. Beth confided it to me a long while ago."

"She did?" All the hurt of her arrival to Fresh Water came rushing back - the pain of having to share Beth with Harmony when she'd thought she'd have her cousin all to herself. And now Beth had been confiding in Harmony, as well? She hadn't told Cilla about her time with Banastre.

_To be fair, she likely hadn't thought she could, _Cilla thought. Beth had likely worried how Cilla would react to being told such a thing. She'd likely been worried about being shunned. Just as Cilla never would have confided to Beth, her own affair with Banastre. Beth hadn't held it back because she preferred Harmony over Cilla.

"Beth did wrongly also, in bedding Ban - I mean, Colonel Tarleton," Cilla's face flooded with colour and she hoped Harmony did not notice the slip. She really did have to get used to referring to Banastre in a more formal manner. Banastre... She sighed, remembering... If only he were still with her. "She bedded him, then married Tavington without telling him. Now, don't get me wrong, I love Beth and I don't judge her for it. But as Tavington sees it, and as the Lord Above will see it, and our peers as well, it was a disgraceful act - the loss of her virtue and the deceit after - in not revealing it to Tavington. What I'm trying to say is, Beth and Tavington would likely have been bought to this conclusion anyway, even without that whore Linda Stokes interference."

"Not if she never told him," Harmony replied.

"Are you suggesting she should have taken this to her grave?" Cilla gasped.

"Of course! It's where secrets like this belong. What she did with Tarleton... It didn't make her love Tavington less now did it? And it didn't mean she would be unfaithful with Tarleton later. There would have been no repetition. So why would it need to be revealed?" Harmony arched an eyebrow.

"Hardly noble," Cilla huffed.

"Come now, would you have advised her to reveal it out of some ridiculous need to be noble?" Harmony cocked her head to one side. "Knowing that he'd likely beat her for it? She did what she did in a moment of weakness, when she was at her lowest. Colonel Tarleton took full advantage of her, knowing how much she needed the warmth and love of another living person. He did this, it's all his fault. And he gets nothing - in fact, he gets everything for he gets Beth. He is rewarded for it all!"

"He got beaten," Cilla shot back. "You weren't there. You didn't see Tavington's fist," Cilla made a small fist and punched outward, "strike Ban - Tarleton - on the chin. It slammed him into the drawers! And then later, Tavington knocked poor B - Tarleton out cold! Colonel Tarleton was trying to protect Beth, and Tavington just... Beat him down and then he grabbed up his belt and started beating Beth. It was horrible!"

"I'm sure it was," Harmony said, voice gentle as she pictured her poor friend, prone and unable to protect herself, as her husband raged and beat her with his belt. "Tavington is no innocent, he never has been. He has punished his wife, for things he himself has been doing for years and years. That's why I encouraged her to keep her secret, Cilla. Because he is no better, yet he would have been all uppity about it and would've hurt her. Which he did, in the end."

"Well, I don't know who was right and who was wrong," Cilla, confused by it all, began stabbing her needled into the tapestry. "Whether the secret should have been kept is between Beth and God. But Tavington now... Well, he didn't have an affair after all. Beth will need to be told," she finished, voice reluctant.

"I already have," Harmony despaired. "I've sent so many letters I've lost count."

Deliberately holding Harmony's gaze, Cilla amended with, "she will need to be told by someone she trusts."

Crestfallen, Harmony turned away.

"Don't worry. I will inform my cousin of how remorseful you are," Cilla said, heaving another sigh. "I will inform her that you know you chose wrongly and will always be on her side from this point forward, and I will tell her how you sowed the seeds in the mercantile today, that will go a long way in helping to keep Beth's reputation untarnished."

"You'd do that?" Harmony asked, startled by Cilla's generosity.

"I think that just now, Beth needs to know she does have friends. I don't like you much," Cilla scoffed; Lord, that was an understatement! "But I can see how much this is upsetting you and, well, I don't like to see anyone in pain," Cilla paused, then finished in a mutter, "well, perhaps except for Linda Stokes…"

"Oh," Harmony frowned, feeling a little confused. She could not bring herself to like Cilla either, but she had no choice but to admit that Cilla was not the horrible person she thought she was. Then again, there was the matter of Cilla lifting her skirts for Richard and getting herself pregnant back in Charlestown, and then chasing him down and forcing him to marry her, forever denying Harmony his hand… "Why will you tell Beth the truth?" She found herself asking, feeling suspicious. "You don't seem to like William overly much either. You can't want to see them reconciled."

"I despise him," Cilla agreed. "But it's the right thing to do. He is innocent of wrong doing, I now know the truth of the matter and it would be wrong of me to keep it to myself." She closed her eyes and swayed. "I love my cousin, so very much. I wish I could hold my silence, I wish to spare her this. It is going to crush her. No doubt she feels quite justified in her actions - going off with another man, I have very little doubt she is bedding him again, and all because she believes her husband has been unfaithful... Lord, I do wish I could spare her this, but it would not be right to keep this from her."

"I see," Harmony said, then she ventured, "I love her too, you know. I do wish I could spare her this also." There was another awkward moment of silence; neither woman was willing to trust the other very far. And it was disconcerting, the discovery that there could possibly be something that gave them common ground. Something connecting the two together - their deep affection for Beth. Proceeding carefully, Harmony complimented, "despite the digs you made at my expense, I think you did quite well back there. In the mercantile and again later with Mrs. Reynolds and her crowd. You managed to twist something that is actually true, into appearing like falsehoods, and those women believed you. Linda is discredited. While they will talk about her accusations and even repeat them to others, it will be with utter contempt, they will laugh at the presumption and deny the validity. I don't know that I could have done that. You understood how to speak to them and what to say to make them even less likely to pay Linda's words any mind…" She drew a deep breath and finished with, "it was well done."

"Thank you," Cilla replied, startled. "And of course I know how to speak to them, I am one of them. From the highest person to the lowest, reputation is everything. I think Miss Stokes is just learning that. I mean, did you see how easily Corporal Carr marched her out, on my word alone? The mistress of the Colonel, escorted away because the Major's wife ordered it done."

"She's not his mistress," Harmony said absently.

"Corporal Carr and those others have always thought otherwise," Cilla pointed out. "But he acted on my command, anyway. Miss Stokes has had another lessen today, no doubt. People will always believe an honest woman of virtue, over a woman who has none. She can scream her story to the stars and even though all of it is the truth, there's not a man alive who will take any notice of her at all. Indeed, they will tell her to be silent when speaking of her betters."

"I almost feel sorry for her, we were very good friends once," Harmony's voice was soft, melancholy. "I wonder what will become of her."

"Ah... Have you forgotten what she did today?" Cilla frowned. "Her machinations could have seen you abandoned entirely and back in your husband's hands!"

"And I'll never forgive her for it," Harmony replied. "But still. She's all alone now. Stranded. Where will she go? She can't stay at the Kent's - she can't sit and wait for William to return, for when he does, she won't fare well from it. She can't go back to the camp, there's no one there who would offer her shelter now. Mrs. Andrews and the others would report her presence immediately, now. She'll have to take to the road, and it's dangerous out there for a woman alone. Hell, it's dangerous for anyone traveling, no matter what their numbers. If she sets out with her portmanteaus, I doubt she'll have anything left in it when she arrives to Charlestown, if that's where she goes. There's brigands. There's rebels... What if she falls into their hands, and she's recognised as Tavington's mistress?"

"Well, going by the little I know about Miss Stokes, I doubt she will have to travel very far at all to find protection," Cilla curled her lip. "She'll offer herself up to some man or other, she'll prevail upon him for all that she needs and with the type of currency she uses, the poor soul won't hesitate to give it all to her. Miss Stokes has survived this long - no doubt she'll continue to thrive, no matter what trials she faces."

"You're probably right. Besides, she really did try to feed me to the wolves," Harmony's voice hardened. "Linda won't hesitate to continue whoring herself again, now that she's alone. She knows me though. She knows I never would do the same. She fed me to the wolves, she knew Mrs. Turnbull would turn me out to wander the roads, all alone. How would I have made my way? And if Calvin had gotten hold of me..." Harmony shuddered, her face draining of colour as though she could see her husband before her, reaching our to grab her...

"He really did those awful things to you?" Cilla asked, a mere whisper. Harmony swayed, eyes closed, face like death. She nodded once, a curt confirmation, and offered nothing further. There would be no detailing the event, no confidences shared with her lover's wife.

"I'm going to be sick," Harmony gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Cilla, who did not want the interior of her uncle's carriage soiled, banged on the roof, shouting for Old Lucas to stop. Before the carriage could fully halt, Harmony threw open the door and leaped out. She and Cilla both spilled from the carriage, this shoes slipping in the mud as Harmony bolted for the nearby bushes. Cilla hovered behind the woman as Harmony, doubled over herself, hands pressed to her stomach, began to heave and vomit the delicate cakes they'd eaten a short while earlier in Mrs. Reynolds parlour. Screwing up her nose, Cilla looked away and focused on trying not to gag. The sounds Harmony was making were enough to inspire her to do the same.

"Mrs. Bordon?" Corporal Carr called, he had turned his mount and was coming toward her.

"Everything is fine," Cilla called back. "Mrs. Farshaw is pregnant and, well, it's the baby, you know." Corporal Carr stopped short and left the women alone.

"Yes, it's the pregnancy," Harmony agreed, straightening and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "And Calvin, and Linda and... Everything. It's all enough to make me as sick as a dog. After everything that happened today, I'm surprised you're not retching, also."

"Believe me, after watching that, I sorely want to," Cilla squished her nose in distaste. "If you're done? We need to be back on the road." Cilla turned back to the carriage, leaving a weakened Harmony to follow along as best she could.

* * *

Linda's belongings made a heavy load; a large box in each of her hands weighing her down. She'd had to purchase those from Mrs. Kent, and she'd had to leave behind her portmanteaus. She even carried another bag, looped through her arms and hanging from her back. Within the two cases and the leather rucksack, she had managed to cram all of her worldly possessions.

Now, the long wagon road stretched before her.

Already exhausted from the weight of the heavy load and from the child in her body, Linda stopped and stared.

After purchasing the two cases, she had not spoken another word to a very flustered Mrs. Kent, she had packed belongings and in solemn silence, and she walked out of the woman's home.

Her departure was a far cry from her arrival. There was no triumph now, only the desperate feelings of heartbreak, loneliness, fear and exhaustion. William was shed of her. And as soon as William was told what she had done, he would be on the war path. All things had come to an end between them. Better that she was gone before he returned, for it was quite painful enough without whatever beating he was sure to give her. Not that she had any choice in the matter. That harridan Cilla Bordon had seen to that. And Harmony, how could she turn on her so? Betrayed by one of her very few friends.

The weak sun was high in the sky by now, marking its passage toward mid afternoon. With O'Hara's headquarters in the Ferguson home to her back and Fresh Water before her, Linda had stopped on the road for a rest and now, she could not seem to make herself move on again. Charlestown was such a long way and she was already exhausted. The walk into Pembroke, the argument with Harmony and her humiliating expulsion from the village, the walk back to the Kent's and her departure from there. She was five months pregnant, carrying all of her worldly possessions, and she was so very tired. How would she possibly reach Charlestown at this rate, at this very slow shuffle? On foot - it would take her months.

She had money in her pockets. But could she secure passage on any of the ferries? Were there any ferries left? Many of the boats hereabouts had been targeted and burned by Benjamin Martin's men. Linda might have to walk for miles before she discovered a wharf where the ferry was untouched.

With soldiers striding by and all around her, purposefully going about their own business, Linda could only stand there and fret. The road seemed to stretch on into forever. She was halfway along with her pregnancy, walking such a long way would kill her. To stumble along, day in, day out. What if she didn't make the next village before night fall? Would she sleep in the woods? Would a farmer take her in? Would he expect favours in return for lodging, or would he be content with her money? And the walk itself, what if she turned an ankle? There would be no one to help her. Hell, she was surrounded by soldiers and there was no one to help her now. She was completely alone.

Oh, she'd been on her own before, and even though she'd felt herself in desperate straights before, she had always been able to fend for herself. But now... She was just so tired. And what of the baby? When her time for birthing came, what would she do? She had no husband, and no women she knew to assist her during her lay in. Feeling vulnerable in a way she'd never felt in her life, Linda dropped her boxes to the ground, lowered her face into her hands and began to weep.

Hell, William had shed himself of her, it was over between them, as far as he was concerned. He had been willing to pay her way at the Kent's, but that offer would be whipped away quickly enough, when he was told what she did. William would turn her away if she stayed in his camp.

After beating her senseless.

He probably wouldn't help with the baby, now, either. He would be too angry, and he'd want to punish her to the last degree. The money she had, well, it was probably all she'd see from him, and it probably wouldn't last a year. People with careful management could live on far less for far longer, but Linda had never known how to modify her spending to live on less. When she needed money, she took a man to her bed and when she had the money, she spent it.

But she found she did not want to be a whore anymore. She'd been risen to the status of mistress and it had been… Grand. To fall back on prostitution now… God, she just couldn't. But she could not stay. William would kill her. She had no protection from him whatsoever.

Unless…

An idea began to form, offering her some semblance of calm. Of hope. Linda slowed her weeping. When she was merely sniffling, she wiped her eyes. She adjusted the straps on her arms to make the bag more comfortable on her back, then she picked up her boxes again. She set one foot before the other and began walking. Veering off from the road, she began to wind her way through the camp, past the long lines of tents. She was not welcome there, the women would not take her in, not this time. She had lied to Miss Cordell, who in turn had felt the need to lie to Beth, on Linda's behalf, helping to hide an affair that did not exist. Miss Cordell had been yelled at and shunned, and she was a gentle creature, Beth's rejection of her had affected her deeply. It'd effected Harmony deeply too. Neither cared about Linda though, did they? Linda drew a shuddering breath, she sunk her teeth into her lip to hold back the tears. She was not welcome there, but she continued on through the camp anyway. The avenues here were orderly, although she was not familiar with this section of camp, she could negotiate herself easily enough. She continued on until she came to a more familiar section. There were faces she recognised here; however, she did not stop to speak to Mrs. Andrews or Miss Cordell when she saw them. They glanced at her with surprise, their curious eyes lingering on her bag, the boxes, and her tear stained face. They knew then, Linda could see it on their faces.

William was shed of her.

Before they could step forward to offer comfort, Linda bowed her head and walked on by. Pride pushed her past the women, she could not bear to see her own failure reflected in their eyes. Besides, when Miss Cordell knew the truth… No, she did not stop, she just kept walking.

Tears welled again, it was an end to all things now.

Even when she won William back, it had not been a full triumph. She had not known his touch. And nor would she, not now. Lord, she loved him so much, she felt a splintering within herself, within her chest. How could she live without him?

_I'll take what I can have of you, for as long as I can. _

That's what she'd told him, once. She should have remembered, she should have stuck to that. Instead, in her desperation for more, she'd seized the opportunity to be rid of Beth Tavington, and that had proven Linda's own undoing. Where before, at least she had William's visits and his company, now, she would have none of William.

Except his wrath.

She had to find a way to survive without him; a small part of her, the resourceful part, the part that would not let her lie down in the road and die, made her move onward toward what, she hoped, would be her salvation. She had to protect herself and returning to Charlestown, husband-less and alone and with child, was not the answer. If she could get to Charlestown at all. Finally, a good hour after setting off from the road and walking deeply into the camp, she found Private Cox's tent. He was sitting outside of it. A dirty square of wool was laid out on the ground beside him, with various tools needed for him to clean his musket. When her shadow closed over him, Cox glanced up from the musket in his lap, and he gave a start of surprise to see Linda standing before him.

"I ah… just…" Linda paused, suddenly tongue tied. She stood there feeling very stupid, and knowing she must look it also. The bag strung over her shoulder, the two boxes clutched in her hands. Dirty face streaked with dried tears. She must have looked a sight, standing before him so pitifully. Her hands felt weak, the cases were suddenly too heavy to hold and she dropped them to the ground. The rucksack soon followed.

"Are you alright?" He asked, slowly placing his weapon onto the cloth on the ground and rising to his feet. Linda began to nod, but when tears burned her eyes, she swiftly changed the gesture, furiously shaking her head instead. Eyes squeezed shut, she began to cry.

"I've g-got myself into t-trouble again," she whispered, utterly broken.

"Yes, well," he began, voice cool and guarded. "That's what happens when you take up with married men. Has he set you aside then?"

"I… I…" Linda sniffed, eyes on the ground before Cox's feet. She'd never felt so vulnerable. "I never took up with him. I was hoping he would and when his wife left, I thought he had."

"You haven't…" Cox breathed, stunned.

"No. And now… he'll s-send me f-from camp when he knows I'm still here, and p-probably beat m-me first."

"Jesus," Cox whispered. "Why do you think he'll beat you? What did you do that you'd deserve that?"

Linda was beyond talking just then, she could only keep her eyes squeezed shut and shake her head again.

"Something bad," she said softly when she could find her voice. "He'll n-never forgive it."

"I see," Cox braced himself, he folded his arms across his chest. "What are you doing here then? You should be halfway to Charlestown. I know I would be, if I got on the wrong side of the Colonel."

"I was hoping…" She paused, then finally met the man's eyes. "I've got nowhere else to go. I've got no friends," not even Harmony. Linda bit her lip against the well of anguish rising in her breast. "This thing I did… Everyone is turning their back on me now. William will be lost to me. He won't look after the baby now. I'll be giving birth alone in Charlestown, if I make it that far. No family, no friends," she paused, stared into his eyes and in a begging voice she finished, "and no husband."

"And so you come crawling to me then, huh?" He asked, suddenly irritated with her. Hadn't he tried to court her, for months? He'd been prepared to take her, knowing she had been a whore. He would have taken her, baby and all. He would have done right by her, but she rejected him time and time again, in favour of the Colonel. Now, when the Colonel no longer wants her, she finally comes to him. He hadn't been good enough for her before, but suddenly he was looking like a fine choice now. He felt the insult keenly.

"Jeffrey, please," she begged, stepping closer and placing her hand on his chest. He drew a sharp breath and turned his head, his lips tight. He could not shut out her words, and he felt himself moved by them. "I've got no one else. I know I led you along, I should have married you back when you fetched me from Pembroke. But I was in love and I was stupid," she choked off, for she was still in love. And she was still stupid. She should be halfway to Charlestown by now, just like he'd said. But it was so far. And she was so alone. "I've got no one else," she said, forlorn. "No husband to protect me. And I'm going to need that, I think, when William… when he comes back. I can't leave here. Honestly, I just can't! Charlestown is so far and I'm so tired. I'm five months pregnant, I can't walk all that way. It's not safe - not on the roads and not on the rivers. But if I stay… he'll find me and he'll…"

"What did you do that riled him so bad?" Cox asked again.

"Does it matter?" Linda dropped her hand from his chest.

"Yes," Cox said. Linda sighed. Bowing her head, she told him all of it.

"I shouldn't have done it," she admitted when she came to the end.

"No, you most certainly should not have done that," he ground out, astonished.

"And now you hate me to. I've lost Miss Cordell, Mrs. Andrews, no doubt. Harmony," her voice hitched. "William. Him, I've lost for certain. When he finds out… Jeffrey, I have no where to go. I have to stay. Please. Will you marry me? Will you become my husband, will you protect me?"

"I can't protect you from the Colonel, especially for this. You sabotaged his marriage, Linda," he said slowly, considering her words. "Hell, he'd likely whip me in your place, as your husband I'd have to take your punishment."

"He wouldn't do that. I'm thinking that if I marry you like he told me to and if I don't cause more mischief, then he might not punish me at all," she didn't sound very convinced of this, she sounded quite uncertain in fact.

"He told you to marry me?"

"Yes, he said he'd make you a Sergeant, if I did. Maybe he still will. And I'll tell him I'll take the whipping, if he decides that my being married ain't enough. And look, I've got money," she dipped into her pockets and pulled out the promissory notes and coins William had given her. The sovereigns and guineas amounted to just shy of a hundred pounds, and the notes provided her with the thousand - her settlement. "If you're careful, this will last you for years. It'll be all yours, when you marry me. It's better you manage it than me. I'm no good at that. It's a good start, don't you think?"

"One thousand pounds is not something to scoff at," Cox said, reverently taking hold of the notes and staring down at cursive writing on the bank notes. "I was willing to marry you before you had a single penny, Linda," he pointed out.

"And now?" She asked, stepping closer again. "I've led you along, I know it. But I need you now. Surely this will make up for some of it?" She inclined her head to the papers held loosely in his fingers.

"Somewhat, I suppose," he agreed, thinking of how he could surely use such a vast sum of money.

"I think… If we marry, it might mollify him a bit. He doesn't know what I did, not yet. This morning, I received a letter from him, that was when he told me that we wouldn't be returning to what we were before we came here. In the letter, he instructed me to marry you and he gave me that money. He told me to tell you that if you agreed, he'd make you a Sergeant."

"Can I see the letter?"

"No," Linda's shoulders slumped. "Mrs. Bordon tore it up. I don't know why. Maybe she was worried I'd try to blackmail William or somewhat, because he acknowledged the baby in the letter, he said it would have his name and that he'd give me a monthly stipend for it, and a maid and a nurse, though I don't think he'll do those things now. Mrs. Bordon tore it to shreds, so I can't show it to you. But he did say he'd make you a Sergeant and on that, I don't think he'll renege. It's me he'll want to punish, not you. What else will it take, Jeffrey?" She asked, there was a whimper in her voice, she'd been so certain the money would grab his attention and he'd agree to marry her without any further thought. He was quiet for far too long and she began to despair.

"I want you to be a proper wife," he replied, folding the papers. He put them into his pocket and Linda breathed a sigh of relief - he would not be keeping her money if he was not willing to marry her. "Can you live a proper life, Linda? Can you raise this child and mine, do cooking and cleaning, the ordinary tasks of an ordinary wife? Because if you can't agree to that, if you can't make me believe it, here and now, then I'll hand you the money back and you can go your own way. I won't ever ask you to marry me again. When you stopped seeing me because Tavington started calling on you again, I promised myself that I would not. I do have my pride, Linda."

"I just proposed to you, didn't I?" She asked, feeling quite daunted and nervous.

"You did. But it's not enough. I want your word. If you're wrong about Tavington? He changes his mind like the wind, what if he decides he wants you again? I won't have it. You will show respect for me by keeping faith. I won't marry you unless you agree to it. Even for the Colonel, you will be true to me. And no whoring. No being some other man's mistress when my back is turned. Your life won't be as exciting as it's been with him, but it will be far more secure. If he declares you're to be punished, I will take it for you. He is a Gentleman and he can't refuse that request coming from your own husband. But that security will come at a price, Linda. Are you willing to pay it?"

Linda dropped to her knees. Right there in front of Cox, at his feet, the thick sloppy mud wetting through to her knees. Cox gaped down at her, he hadn't expected this. A promise alone would have sufficed, he did not expect it to be delivered from her knees.

Soldiers and women stopped in their tracks, Linda heard the silence fall, and then the whispering. It didn't matter. She would be living among the men in his unit now. They would all be aware that she had once been William's mistress. They would know that more recently, Cox had been trying to court her, of his repeated marriage proposals and of her constant refusals as she threw him over in favour of the Colonel. And now - when the Colonel was clearly done with her - _now_ she would marry Cox? None of them would believe it, all of them would be watching her, expecting her to stray. She would be living among soldiers and women who would be constantly suspicious of her, people who might even be insulting to Cox because of her. She had a price to pay to him, and an oath to make now. She seized his hand.

"I Linda Stokes, do vow to be a proper wife," she began in a clear voice, her eyes alternating between holding his, and darting to those onlookers. "I will tend your hearth, I will be a mother to your children. I will never give you the slightest cause to doubt my fidelity -"

"Until the Colonel returns," she heard some woman whisper and another woman laughed. Linda ignored them both.

"I never will give you that cause for concern, Jeffrey," she repeated, voice firm, eyes on his. "I will be true to you. I'll do the best that I can. To my greatest extreme, I vow it. Until my heart stops beating and -"

"Alright, alright," Jeffrey, convinced now and a little embarrassed besides, helped Linda back to her feet. He picked up her boxes and her bag. "Come inside, you'll need to tidy yourself up if we're going to go speak to Reverend Premmon," he said as he led her into the tent, his large hand on the small of her back. Several of the onlookers clapped, many did not. Cox was well liked, many would not approve of him marrying this particular woman - the Colonel's whore who had used Cox so badly. With a shrug, he left Linda inside the tent to change, while he emerged to tidy his tools and cloth and gun. The crowd had already begun to disperse.

"We'll be all the gossip for a short while," he confided to one of his friends, who'd come forward to speak of what had just occurred. "But they'll find something else to focus on soon enough."

_And when the Colonel returns and demands Linda be handed over for punishment of this crime? Well, I'll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it_, he thought, stifling his worry as he turned back into the tent to see to Linda.


	113. Chapter 113 - Not a Groat More

Chapter 113 - Not a Groat More: 

_31st October 1780_

Dark clouds gathered overhead, billowing as far as the eye could see, shrouding the blue of the sky beyond. The clouds were heavy, with an ominous feel, Beth could smell the rain in the air. She sighed, she'd have to go back into the tent very soon. In order to escape the tedium of the tent, she was braving the chill and reclining in a very comfortable arm chair, covered from her chest down to her feet with a thick blanket. Sitting beneath the awning of the joined tents, she was able to watch the goings on without actually involving herself her quarters.

Camp life, she found after almost two weeks of living it, suited her just fine. Oh, there were some small inconveniences, and it was starting to get quite cold with the march into November**.** And quite boring at times, for she didn't really do very much of anything. There was not much to occupy her time, with Banastre so frequently away, for days at a time sometimes. He'd been gone for two days now and no one could predict when he would return. And she spent her days in idle boredom. She certainly did not lift a finger to help the other camp followers, though by rights, she should. There should be no idle hands when the work load was so heavy, and the hands so few.

Instead of assisting, she watched the camp followers passing her by, the women who served the men of Tarleton's Legion. There was one woman for every unit of ten or so men, to do the cooking, gathering of firewood and wild fruit, to carry water, clothes washing and so forth.

One such woman had her head down against the wind, her shawl ballooning around her. She kept one hand at her breast, clutching the shawl to keep it closed. As she ambled along, she did so on a kilter, for she carried a heavy looking bucket with her other hand. The woman looked ragged and tired, her clothes heavily patched, her hair lank and oily under her dust cap. Another woman, attired much the same as the first, lugged about a heavy basket of wet washing. How she was going to dry those with the rain coming, Beth could not guess. Others were likewise busy; cooking, washing clothes at the river, tending sick soldiers. The list of their chores was never ending, and still Beth sat on her chair, doing absolutely nothing.

She had not tried to mingle with a single one of the camp followers in the two weeks she'd lived amongst them. She did not speak to Banastre on their behalf, she did not try to use her influence over him, for the camp women's gain. She could have, of course. In fact, it was her responsibility to take charge of them and to do what she could to make their lot better. For she was high ranking in and of herself – far higher than any of the women there. And that had nothing to do with being Banastre's mistress. _As_ Banastre's mistress, she could have wrung all sorts of concessions from him for the women, in order to make their lives better.

But Beth did not.

She was done with camp followers. She was done with women completely. Who needed friends, anyway? Not her. They only betrayed you in the end. Scheming, gossiping, and helping husbands to screw other women… Thinking of Harmony, she drew a sharp breath and held it, bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt, and willed her fury to pass. She'd helped Beth's husband in such a way, keeping Linda and William's affair a secret, while pretending to be Beth's friend, accepting Beth's help and giving nothing in return – not even Loyalty which she bloody well owed to Beth!

Just breathe… Breathe… Beth released hers, she uncurled her fingers from the fists they'd formed as soon as her thoughts had turned to Harmony.

A few more ragged looking women appeared on the rough trail, they were walking in Beth's direction. As they drew close, their eyes darted toward her, the Colonel's friend. Perhaps they suspected she was more than that, perhaps they suspected she was his mistress, despite the efforts they had gone to, to have separate sleeping quarters. Friend or mistress, it did not matter - they despised her either way. Each one wore the expression one makes when eating something sour, their lips and nose sort of twisted, as though they had bitten into a lemon. They did not quite glare at her; none would dare to be as bold as that. A word from her – a single word – would bring the wrath of the Colonel down upon their heads. Their glances were fleeting – they did not dare to stare too long, nor too openly, at the Colonel's… _Companion_. Still, their dislike was clear. None of them cared if she was bedding Banastre or not, half of them had spread their legs for him themselves. But the despised her for being the gently reared, well bred woman that they must now serve, because the Colonel told them to. Beth just shrugged, her eyebrows arched. Needing something to hold, she reached for the cup and saucer on the small table to her right. Tendrils of steam rose from the cup, Beth held it up to her nose and inhaled, and she stared back at the women over the rim of her hot tea. With both hands wrapped around the cup for warmth, she continued to enjoy the beverage, while those other women toiled around her.

Her maid - the girl Banastre had given to her - would bring a tray for her soon, with casserole and bread and other assortments for her lunch. Miss Nancy she had been called once, and she was called Miss Nancy still, despite having married her soldier. The newly wed lass cooked for Beth, cleaned for her, combed Beth's hair at night and dressed it in the morning. As she was Beth's maid, she spent a large quantity of her time in the joined tents with Beth, although she was probably yearning to be with her new husband. If it was company she was wishing for, she most certainly did not gain it from her mistress, who mostly ignored the lass. The girl had been with the camp, screwing Banastre, for months. Perhaps years. So what if she had just recently married one of his soldiers? She'd probably lift her skirts and spread her legs for Banastre again in a heart beat given half a chance. Beth refused to trust Miss Nancy, despite Banastre attesting she could be depended upon. She would not trust any of them again, damned camp followers.

The four women had passed Beth by, their heads were bent together now. Whispering, whispering. Talking about her, she did not doubt. What purpose Mrs. Tavington could possibly have in being there, if she was not bedding Banastre. Beth scoffed, unaffected. Gossiping bitches. Let them talk - she had made damned sure that they could not possibly know the truth with any certainty. Beth had been excruciatingly careful to avoid being seen with Banastre intimately outside their tents – to his growing frustration. He seemed to want to show her off like one did a bauble, but Beth insisted she would not be revealed to be another man's mistress. When they walked through the camp, she did not even hold his arm. She was in camp with him because he was escorting her on behalf of her husband. To where he was escorting her, they never bothered elaborating to anyone, except for vague explanations of Beth visiting her sister and her aunt.

Her marriage might be in tatters but that did not mean her name should be, also. Not just the Tavington name, but that of Martin as well. Her father should not have to suffer for any of this folly.

Her nostrils flared as her mind turned to her husband. It did so often, he was all she could seem to think about. Though he was miles away, he plagued her at every moment of every day. The image of his body above Linda's, thrusting and writhing, the sounds he would be making as he surged above her. Of that damned whore bucking, edging him on, holding him, calling him _dear heart_.

Overwhelmed by the pain, Beth choked back a sob. There was a sharp twist in her breast and she quickly drew several ragged breaths, trying to get her emotions in check. Why she did this to herself, she did not know. It was torture. More painful than William's belt ever could be. But she did it time and time again; she imagined him in Linda's arms, she pictured them during their intimate moments, imagined the endearments they were sure to be whispering.

_"…I'm glad she's gone," _he would say and Linda would smile and nod enthusiastically.

_"We can finally be together openly now, no more sneaking around," _Linda would reply. _"She's just a silly girl anyway, my love. I'm a woman grown, it's me you need."_

_"It's you I love," _he would reply. _"Everything I've done, I've done for you and the baby. I could not marry you my love, I needed to marry higher up to appease my peers and I needed to marry a fortune. That silly girl is both of those, but my heart was always with you. But now she is gone and we can live together again now. With her fortune, we'll want for nothing!"_

_"I know it. It's been our plan all along, hasn't it? Dear heart, I'll always love you for the sacrifices you made for our future."_

_"And I'll always love you,"_ he would reply before kissing her again.

This conversation played out in Beth's mind often. Oh, it changed on occasion but for the most part, it was the same. They spoke of their love, of how they'd planned this all along, of how silly 'that little girl' was, and how pleased he was that Beth was no longer there. He did not have to pretend anymore. Sometimes, William stroked Linda's stomach lovingly, he knelt beside her and spoke to her belly button as though speaking to the babe within. And Linda would laugh indulgently and stroke back his hair…

"Hell's teeth," Beth muttered. She sat stiffly in her chair, her jaw clenched so hard it hurt. She was the stupidest person in the world. For falling for William Tavington, of course, but also for dwelling on him in this manner. It was so very hard not to though, thoughts of him consumed her. Of his betrayal, of all the times he'd gone down to the camp, of him fucking Linda while Beth waited at the house, ignorant, yearning for him. Of how much happier he must be now, living with Linda up at the Great House.

It was agony, excruciating torture, and she could not escape it. It was burrowed deeply into her chest. That deep seated pain had wormed its way in there and she could not get rid of it, it followed her everywhere - even to her bed with Banastre. She'd tried to run from it – she'd put a hundred miles or more between herself and William, and still that pain followed. Misery, anguish, heartbreak, it flowed with her life's blood through her veins. There was no escaping it, no running from it, though she'd tried. She'd run from her husband, she'd put a different man into her bed entirely; and still that awful agony persisted. It was like a canker, deep in her soul. It could not be cut from her, it was an awful wound in her heart, a scar that would never heal.

A splash of wet landed on her face; and her mind was snapped back to the world around her. She glanced upward at the brooding clouds and saw that the heavens were about to open.

"Oh, Mrs. Tavington," Miss Nancy had arrived and was carrying Beth's tray. Seeing Beth sitting there, when she'd thought her mistress was inside in the warmth, bought her to a frenzy of panic. Despite the danger she might turn an ankle, she rushed forward even though the ground was uneven and her skirt tangled between her legs with each step. If she fell, that tray would go flying... "Oh, do please come inside where it's warm and dry! Yeh'll get drenched out here in a few more moments, yeh'll catch your death!" She gushed. At only seventeen she was still a girl even if she was now married.

Beth's gaze as flinty when it landed on Miss Nancy. The girl was always so jovial, even in the face of her mistress' obvious contempt. The lass acted as though she had been serving Beth for years, and was as fond of her mistress as she was her husband. She always bustled around the tent, chatting away.

No doubt she was trying to gain Beth's trust, so she could stab her in the back later.

Like Mrs. Harmony Jutland-Farshaw had. As Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell had. Beth had wizened up to the ploys of other women now, and she would not fall for such tricks again. She would not allow any of them to hurt her again.

Peeling the blanket back from her legs, she rose dropped the blanket to the seat, then turned toward her tent.

"Bring in the table, chair and the blankets," she commanded before marching inside. Miss Nancy followed of course, all cheery and happy. She placed the tray on the larger table and then bustled outside again to recover the rest. Beth was already sitting by the warmth of the brazier, at the table, dining on the thick, deer stew. The partition separating her tent from Banastre's was closed, making Beth's tent seem even smaller, but having the canvas down helped to hold the heat in. Nancy lugged in the table and blankets first, then returned with the heavier chair. All of which Beth could have handled quite easily herself, or assisted Nancy with at least.

"Oh, it's so nice and warm in here," the lass chatted as she began folding the blanket. "I do wish I had a brazier in my tent. Though me husband is nice and warm, I snuggle up to him at night, he's like having a furnace right there in the bed."

Ignoring Nancy, Beth glared intently at a jug of milk, though it was Tavington's face she saw in her minds eye. Nancy continued to prattle though Beth's thoughts began to drift again and this time, Linda was in Beth's bed chamber – that's where Linda and William always coupled when the visions assailed her. The whore was dropping to her knees and playfully peeling back the front of William's breeches. He was looking down at her with a fond quirking of his lips, his fingers trailing through Linda's hair. The whore opened her mouth wide, engulfed the purple head and shaft, and William dropped his head back with a very contented sigh. The cold chill spreading from Beth's breast to her every limb had nothing to do with the cold of outside. The rain began, the deluge so loud on the canvas roof, Nancy had to raise her voice to be heard above it.

"There's soldiers wanting to come in!" She said loudly. "They're carryin' something, oh, it's a chest!" She turned to the two soldiers. "Come on then," she said, stepping to one side. Beth cocked her head as the two young men entered, they were struggling with a chest between them. More followed behind, carrying smaller boxes. Beth set aside her spoon.

"From Fresh Water, for Mrs. Tavington," one of them said, knuckling his forehead in salute. Beth felt herself grow cold all over. "There's a letter from Colonel Tavington, too, Mrs. Tavington," the soldier bowed and he handed it over. Beth stared at it like it was a snake he was trying to hand to her.

_Take it, take it! _She hissed to herself, commanding herself to recover from the shock. Or at least not show it to them. She lifted a trembling hand, feeling as though she were moving through cold molasses.

"Thank you," she forced herself to say. The soldiers bowed, then left the tent. Beth stared at the packet in her hand, the oil skinned leather that held a letter from her husband.

"Oh, what do you think is in them?" Nancy gushed. "Can I open the chest? Please say I can!"

"Open it," Beth said, her voice urgent and rushed. She wasn't sure if she were speaking to Nancy, or to herself. Nancy fell to her knees on the dry straw ground and she opened the chest lid. Beth drew a shuddering breath and opened the leather packet.

Dry within was a single leaf of paper, the message was so short it took her all of half a minute to read it.

"Mila has packed for you, as you instructed. Within the chest, you will find two hundred pounds cash. Write if you need anything from the house, or if you need more money."

Beth choked back a sob. He didn't even sign it - except for 'Mrs. Beth Tavington' on the front and 'Colonel Tavington' on the back, that was all he wrote. No endearments, no begging to be forgiven, no words of love. She turned her back on Nancy and struggled not to cry, struggled to gain control of herself.

"Oh, me Lord, would ye take a look at this!" Miss Nancy sighed, a small silly smile spreading across her pretty face as she pulled out an ensemble of clothes that made up one of Beth's beautiful silk dresses that she had had to leave behind. Nancy spread the bodice and skirt out on Beth's bed, her fingers running along the silk with awe. Her mistress, Beth, sat at the small table, quickly dashing tears from her cheeks, before turning to look, her face as cold as stone. "'Oh, 'twill look so fine on ye, with ye smooth skin. Twill compliment yeh eyes, 'twill. Your man will love seein' ye in this one."

"He is not my man," Beth snapped and Nancy startled.

"I'm sorry, I… I shouldn't have said… of course he ain't," Nancy quailed. Beth tightened her lips and looked away. "But, oh Mrs. Tavington, I do want to dress ye up, I do!" She removed more clothing from the chest, two more gowns of equal quality to the first. "This one." Decided, Nancy set aside the dress, she folded the other two, then continued pawing - carefully - through the contents of the chest.

"My husband writes that there should be money in the chest. Is it in there?" Beth asked. Nancy held up a hand - gesturing to wait - then she pulled out a leather wallet and coin purse.

"Here it is, I think," she handed both to Beth, who took them and placed them on the table. Nancy continued to rummage in the chest, finding shoes, stockings, petticoats, shifts, jewellery, a brush and mirror.

Nancy soon got to the other boxes and found they contained blankets and the like. Mila's doing, Beth was sure. She fingered the heavy purse on the table before her, idly toying with the laces. Some two hundred pounds - more than Nancy and her soldier husband would have earned in three years. Beth did not care about a penny of it. She dwelled over his letter, her dinner forgotten. No words of love, of sorrow or longing for her, of remorse at his horrid treatment of her, no decrying his anguish that he had lost her due to his own folly in keeping a mistress. Eyeing Nancy to be sure the girl wasn't watching, she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Why should she feel such agony, when William clearly did not feel any himself? Why should she feel despair, or heartache? She closed her eyes as waves of both twisted in her breast.

* * *

"I'm so sorry I have to spend so much time away," Banastre cupped Beth's jaw with gentle fingers; he held her with such tenderness, as as would a frail and trembling dove. His lips were so close to hers, his dark eyes warm and intent.

"It's alright, you're back now," she replied.

He caught her upper lip and held it with his, his sweet sigh breezed into her mouth. Releasing her, he caught her lower lip and suckled gently. It meant the world to him to have her in his arms. To be able to hold her and kiss her as he was now. Such a pity she would not let him shout his joy to the world.

He wished he could show her off, for she was his one precious and beloved jewel. A jewel that he desperately coveted for entirely too long. So proud was he to finally have her, he wanted for nothing more than to show off his beautiful jewel. But in order to keep her, he had to respect her wishes, and so they were in her tent, with the flap closed to the world outside, where no one could see and know for certain that Beth was, indeed, his mistress.

His hands remained where they were, cupping her face as he kissed her. Beth's hands were not so innocent. One arm had reached around Banastre's hips, her fingers gently kneaded his firm buttocks. The palm of her other hand gently explored and groped the front of his breeches, her fingers tracing the outline of his thick shaft through the layer of wool. With a shudder, he groaned into her mouth.

"My Beth," he whispered, not moving his lips from hers. "I could not rest. Not day nor night. Until I had you in my arms again. Ah, God, my love."

This speech charmed her as it always did, it eased her fears and doubts and recriminations every bit effectively as his caresses did. Beth pushed all thought from her head, shoved it into the far corner were niggles and doubts belonged. Losing herself to the moment, the nearness of his body, touching him in his most intimate place, it set her blood on fire, the deepest of that heat spreading from her womanhood. She pressed her hips closer to his and though she gripped his shaft tighter, it was she who whimpered.

Hearing the sound of her arousal, the devil entered him. Gone was his gentleness, he picked her up and threw her atop the narrow bed. In a passionate fury, he kissed her with a violence which matched her own. He pushed her skirt and petticoats up her stockinged legs, higher until her bare quim was revealed. Her fingers tore at his belt buckle and buttons, she shoved his breeches down as far as was needed. Barely noticing the hindrance of having his breeches only partway down his thighs, he carried himself over her leg and settled between her parted thighs.

Both already being well warmed, his phallus slid inside her with ease. Beth arched her back and clung to him, her fingers digging into his green Dragoon jacket. With her skirts around her hips and his breeches around his thighs, Beth thrust her pelvis to meet his every stroke. With his pleasant weight on top of her, the two kissed and whispered their ardour, until it grew to feverish heights and it broke, sending them soaring. For several long moments, it was impossible for either to speak; their breaths were stolen in a fit of panting, their ecstasies held them fast. At length, a now weary Banastre dropped his head to Beth's shoulder, his weight was now limp on top of hers, his strength and his sticky seed drained from his body.

* * *

"So he sent you all this, did he?" Banastre said as he threw off the blankets and rose from the cot. A merry fire burned in the brazier, keeping the tent nice and warm. The candlelight threw a soft yellow glow over his pale skin - there no need to clothe himself as he walked across the tent toward the chest and boxes. He glared down at those. "Does he think I can't provide you with blankets?" He asked scathingly.

Beth was still beneath plenty of those, laying on her bed, her head on her pillow. "I believe that would have been Mila's doing," she said. "I doubt he would have thought to send blankets."

"He sent you clothes, though," he said without turning to look at her.

"A good thing too, I was getting tired of wearing the same two outfits," she said.

"Eh. You're happy, are you? To have received all this from William?"

"Ban," Beth pushed the blankets away and rose. She crossed the tent and wrapped her arms around his body, her bare chest to his bare back. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "It's just clothes. You don't need to worry about it."

"Just clothes. It shows that he is thinking of you. It's one step closer to him asking you to return to him."

"Hardly that," she snorted. "And I wouldn't, if he did. I suspect it's more that my dresses don't fit his whore so there was no use for them - he likely wanted to make way for her clothes."

"He sent you a letter, as well?" He asked.

"It was perfunctory, like he was writing to a stranger," she tried to sound as though she didn't care. She lowered her arms and reached for the packet on the table. She'd put the bank notes and coins in the leather packet, she opened it now and handed him the letter. She held it out to him but it seemed to have fled him mind. Banastre was staring at the bank notes, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with awe. "He sent me money too," she explained, noting the direction of his gaze. As he picked one up, she folded the letter and returned it to the packet.

"How much is there?" Banastre asked, astonished.

"Two hundred. It's good of him, to share my inheritance with me," she said, voice thick with sarcasm. Disdain. "I'm to write to him, if I need more. It's galling, that I have to beg, cap in hand, to get my own inheritance."

"Two hundred pounds," he breathed, his wide eyes staring at the pile of notes. He read the one in his hand, that alone was for fifty pounds.

"Have you spoken with your reverend yet?" She asked, folding her arms across her chest. "I do not want to have to ask him for a single penny of my own money. I don't want him spending another groat, not on himself, not on his bawd. I need your Reverend to announce my marriage as void, so I can get a lawyer to retrieve what is mine."

"Pardon?" Banastre said, still staring at the money in his hand.

"The Reverend, Ban. Have you spoken to him yet?" Beth asked, voice clipped.

"Oh, no, not yet. I shall, though. Beth… Gods, two hundred pounds?"

"I have nineteen thousand, eight hundred more, Banastre. I want my inheritance."

"I know, I know. I'll speak with the Reverend. Beth, my love, where do you plan to spend this?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "There is nothing to spend it _on_. Why?"

He ran his hand over his hair and flashed her his boyish grin.

* * *

Beth was sitting at her small table by the brazier with a cup of tea in her hand. Nancy pottered about the tent, doing her chores. Beth ignored her as she always did, only this time it was because her mind was quite preoccupied. The partition separating the tents was open, she could see clear into Banastre's tent, to where he stood with Whitty in a far corner.

Earlier that morning, the paymaster had opened his ledgers; the soldiers and camp followers had been paid, and ever since, there had been a slew of visitors for Banastre. Officers, all. And all of them had come to Banastre - knowing he'd just been paid - with their hands out for the money he owed them. It was a monthly custom, Nancy told her. Banastre's purse had been heavy, for all of ten minutes. Now he was using the money he had loaned from her after flashing his boyish grin.

He'd known he'd need it, to pay his long line of creditors. The money he'd loaned from her was almost gone and the way he was eyeing her purse now, she wondered if he would approach her again for another.

Sweet Lord, wasn't it the mistress who was meant to be kept? Shouldn't he have been lavishing _her_ with silks and jewels paid for from his own pocket? Not that she wanted them, but wasn't that how it was meant to be? She didn't think that, in all her years, she'd ever heard of a woman keeping the male lover!

She watched Banastre speaking with Whitty, and she fretted over his expenditure. She'd told him William's instructions, to send to him if she needed more. Therefore, Banastre knew that it was possible for more money to come, should she request it. But it was not inexhaustible, as large as her fortune was, it could be all used up, if she or William chose to live a lavish life.

_That whore Linda won't be keeping William_, Beth scowled. _William is probably dressing her in silks paid from my bloody inheritance! And now I'm supporting Ban from the same? Lord, at this rate, it'll all be drained to nothing and I'll be penniless in less than a few years!_

It was her money, for her future! As it was, William was providing for his whore from it. Shouldn't Banastre be providing for Beth? That's how it was supposed to be. He was still chatting with Whitty, but he glanced over toward her and she knew his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them. She met his eyes, hers sparking with anger as he approached, stepping through the partition from his tent to hers. Such a gallant smile he wore as he came like a beggar for more money to pay his gambling debts.

"No Ban," she said, voice firm. She spoke before he could even open his mouth. He stood above her, arm behind his back, mid bow. His face startled, he straightened, his mouth falling slowly open. "I will have to write to… him… for more, if you take it," she snapped, not caring one bit that she was embarrassing him in front of Whitty. If she had known this was what Banastre would do with the loan, she would have refused him.

Lieutenant Whitty averted his gaze, he rocked on his heels and whistled as though he were not concerned about Banastre and Beth's conversation at all. The slow flush stealing over his cheeks told her he could hear her every word. She lowered her voice. "I will not write that letter, Ban. For the life of me, I will not!" _He should be writing to me! Begging forgiveness, vowing remorse! I will not be a beggar to a man who does not love me. I won't!_ "I have my pride, for goodness sake."

Banastre circled the table and took hold of her hand. He kneeled before her and kissed her fingers. "My love, two pounds," he said, dark eyes soft as he gazed up at her. "Let me just settle with Whitty and -"

"When will you settle with me?" She asked. Seeing the surprise cross his face, her fingers itched to slap him. He hadn't thought he would have to pay her back! Sweet Jesus! "What I've given you so far, it is a loan, Banastre. You do understand that?"

His smile turned a little sickly. "Of course, my love. A loan. I'll pay you back every pound."

"Very well. Another two to Whitty but after that, no more, Banastre. I don't care how many more Officers are lined up outside, waiting for their turn with you," she lifted her chin, her eyes were flint. Nancy glanced outside the tent flap, and behind Banastre's back, she held up three fingers and to confirm how many were lined up, she mouth the word 'three'. Eyes pinned on Banastre, Beth drew in a long, deep breath. "You spent through five thousand pounds of your own inheritance. You will not spend your way through mine, also."

"There was no need for that," Banastre chided, offended.

"I think there is, Ban. My money is just that. Mine. Two pounds for Whitty," she ground out through clenched teeth, "because I like him." Whitty - face still flushed red - gave her a short bow of thanks. She hadn't lowered her voice as much as she'd thought. "But no more, Ban. Send the others away."

"My love," Banastre turned her hand over and kissed her palm, his lips drifting up to the inside of her wrist. "It will only be another ten pounds for the others -"

"Which far exceeds the pay you received this morning, Banastre!" Beth snapped, too outraged by this revelation to lower her voice now. She jerked her fingers from his grasp. "How did you expect to pay them all with the few shillings and two pounds the paymaster handed to you this morning? Without this, I mean?" She slapped at the packet with the back of her fingers. "If this had not arrived? No. You will pretend it never came, Ban. It's mine, anyway. To pay for things I need, not to pay back your debts. I know this might be quite a novel idea for you, but have you ever considered _not gambling_?" She asked archly.

Poor Nancy high tailed it to a far corner, where she tried to make herself very small. She'd never heard anyone speak to the Colonel the way Mrs. Tavington sometimes did. It frightened the lass to the highest degree, for there was a reason no one spoke to Banastre Tarleton that way. Even Whitty drew a few steps back, waiting for the explosion.

Which never came. Banastre had the grace to look a little ashamed. Some of the red suffusing his face _was_ irritation, however, and as he rose, Beth distinctly heard the words whispered under his breath, "…sounds just like my damned mother."

She ignored his comment. Reaching into the purse, she drew out two pounds - made up mostly of silver shillings, and dropped them into Banastre's hand.

"Not a groat more," she said, very softly, her eyes fixed on his. Surrendering, he nodded once, then walked stiffly over to Whitty.

"Send the others away," Banastre said, using his voice of command, the one which had women, and most men, scrambling. Whitty was no different, he darted for the tent flap, leaving it swinging behind him.

"Miss Nancy, my lady's hair needs dressing," Banastre commanded of the lass, before he himself strode from the tent.

"Oooh, I don't like seeing him so angry. He's ever so mad!" Nancy whispered as she crept forward.

"He certainly is," Beth sighed, her statement carrying a different meaning to Nancy's. He was mad, if he thought she would use her own money to settle his gambling accounts. And without any expectation of him repaying the money to her. Sweet Lord, he was a stark raving lunatic!


	114. Chapter 114 - Two Wives, One Husband

Chapter 114 - Two Wives, One Husband:

_End October, 1780_

The ride back took far longer than it would have done, if William had been in better shape. Twenty miles, he could have easily done in a single day, unless the weather was atrocious. Instead, it was his pain that was atrocious - it slowed them down so that when night came on, they were forced to seek lodging for the Officers, while the men made camp outside.

Every yard in the saddle was agony and they had to keep the pace slow, so as not to increase William's discomfort. He was no better the following day - if anything, he was in worse shape, for his back was unused to such extremes as riding. Each time they stopped to rest the horses, Brownlow and Dalton were at his side, helping him down to reduce the strain on the wounds on his back. They told the men it was because of being shot in the shoulder, and the other Dragoons accepted this - it was certainly true, the bullet hole gave him as much grief as the weals on the back. But only Bordon had been told the truth.

This was hopefully their last stop before entering the fort at Fresh Water, the horses had been rested and watered, the men had relieved themselves. Brownlow bought Buttermilk over to William to mount. And there he stood, his boots sinking in the mud as he stared at the mare, his fingers clutching her bridle, the empty saddle waiting to be filled.

He was working up the courage. As soon as he began, his back would explode with pain and this time, he feared he might end up at their feet in the mud. He squared his shoulders. Bordon had ridden down the line and was watching William with a concerned expression.

"You can do it, Sir," Brownlow said. "We're almost there. Just one more time, and then we'll be home. I'll have a bath drawn for you, and then you can sleep in a real bed again. Just one more time, Sir."

A real bed again. As glorious as that sounded, William baulked. He hadn't slept in his bed chamber at Fresh Water since Beth left it nearly two weeks ago. He closed his eyes as pain of an entirely different sort washed over him. At length he nodded. He lifted his foot into the stirrup, gripped the pommel and as he began to lift, he was lifted by Brownlow and Dalton, who bore most of his weight so he would not have too. He grimaced against the flare of pain, drew several steadying breaths, then nodded down at the men.

"Let's go," he commanded, and they began to move out.

* * *

At the head of the column, Colonel William Tavington of His Majesties Green Dragoons, Commandant of the British Legion, rode toward his triumphant homecoming. Word of his approach had spread and by now, the entire Legion lined either side of the wagon road and William trotted by them, inclining his head to acknowledge their shouts of welcome. Pipers played their pipes, drummers banged their drums, local Loyalist noble women threw ribbons, camp drudges waved and blew kisses to the men. It was a fanfare worthy of his Majesty himself.

William was impatient to be free of it. Unfortunately, they had lined the entire carriageway from the road, all the way to the great house. William grit his teeth behind his fixed smile - Lord, his back was on fire. Oh, damn and blast it to hell O'Hara was there on the steps of the porch, waiting. There would be no quick escape to the bed he longed for.

"Hell's teeth," William groaned, his narrowed eyes fixed on the General. "I should have considered this…"

He blew out a sullen breath. He should have anticipated this; of course O'Hara himself would have come in person to meet William. It would have been an insult, if he had not. Just then, however, William would have welcomed the insult. O'Hara was flanked to either side with no less than eight of his Aides – Gentlemen all.

Cilla was amongst the group, O'Hara was showing his favour of her by having her at his side. Beth, of course, was no where to be seen. It should have been his own wife standing pride of place by O'Hara's side, not Major Bordon's. In that moment, seeing only Beth's cousin rather than Beth herself, William felt the absence of his wife keenly. Though he tried to deny how much he needed her, her absence from his own homecoming was wrenching.

His face set like stone, he trotted ahead of his Officers and stopped before the groom. He nodded to O'Hara to show acknowledgement for now, and then he took a deep breath and gripped the reins, bracing himself for the dismount. He heard someone curse and before he could attempt it, Bordon urged his mount forward to William's right, so that his horse was between William and those watching from the porch. Brownlow and Dalton did likewise, all of them behaving as though it were the most common thing in the world to be doing, even as they covered William so he could wince and curse under his breath all he liked, without his Superiors seeing. They would not be able to hide it should he fall, however.

So, he decided, he had better not bloody fall. While his loyal men were shielding him from prying eyes, he swung his leg over and down, then bent his head briefly to his saddle, his face paling as he drew a ragged breath. It took several moments to recover from the dizziness the came with the explosion of pain down his back. Presently, he steeled himself, and pushed himself away from his mount. The groom was giving him an odd look, but the fellow dared not utter a word. William turned and Richard, seeing William was down and recovered, shifted his mount out of the way. He was soon dismounting and following the Colonel up the steps, with O'Hara trotting down to meet them halfway.

"My word, it's good to see you, Colonel Tavington," O'Hara gripped William's arm with a firm hand, William returned the fond embrace.

"It's good to be home, Sir," William replied, pleased that his voice only reflected a portion of his pain.

"Are you well? I have been informed that you were shot?" O'Hara asked worriedly.

"Yes and I'm healing well, no infection," William said truthfully, though he said nothing of the whipping and the immense pain it still caused him. William gritted his teeth and shook hands with O'Hara's junior Officers, his adjutants which all required his attention and his respect. He took Cilla's fingers in his own and kissed her knuckles, for they were in public, though he was unsure how it would be received by her. She allowed it, she even curtsied. Good, she knew how to behave to become herself and Bordon, in public at least.

Soon later, they were moving into the house, to the parlour, where everyone began to gather. O'Hara announced that a luncheon had been prepared and that they would retire to the dining hall soon. William groaned, it would be some time yet before he could seek the privacy of his chamber where he could die in peace.

* * *

"I can't believe this…" Bordon breathed, flabbergasted. His eyes darted from Harmony to Cilla and back again. Both women appeared somewhat nervous, as though uncertain what reaction to expect from him. And well they might; Harmony had been living in the house for almost days, Richard had just been told. They had had days to stew and worry over what he would say, what he would do.

At the moment, he could not speak to save himself, he was completely speechless. If Cilla had grown a second head, he could not have been more shocked.

They were in the small chamber at the very end of the hall, tucked around the corder, which had once housed Sarah Wilkins and Rebecca Middleton; the chamber which now belonged entirely to Harmony. Richard, stunned, collapsed heavily to one of the two chairs. The women remained standing before him, both watched him as carefully as they would a snarling wolf.

His eyes were on Harmony, soaking her in like the vision she was. He was not certain what to do; a very large part of him wanted to gather her up in his arms and never let her go, to rain her all over with kisses, to whisper his undying devotion.

But he could do none of this, for Cilla - his wife - was standing right there…

"I can see this is a shock for you," Harmony said, voice thick. She longed to sit in his lap, longed to touch his hair and kiss him all over.

But she restrained herself, for Cilla - Richard's bloody wife - was standing right there.

And even though Harmony had told Cilla that she would fight for Richard tooth and nail, now that they were all together in the same chamber, she hesitated to stake her claim, even if she did believe she had the stronger.

"Jesus, that is an understatement," he whispered, scratching his head. He looked so confused, like a little boy trying to make sense of things. It was adorable, Harmony dearly wanted to ruffle his hair. "How… and why..?" His voice began to gain intensity, his gaze fixed on Harmony. "Lord, did Farshaw discover where you are?" Harmony could hear the panic in his voice, she could see it on his face. She shook her head, quickly indicating that her husband had caused her no troubles. "What then?" He asked intently. "Harm, you were safe where you were! Why in the world would you leave Pembroke?"

"She did not leave willingly, I took her away from there," Cilla said and he shifted his confused gaze to her. She straightened her spine.

"You?" He squeaked, incredulous. "Why in the world..? Cilla, I need you to start explaining this, right now."

Harmony gazed down at him with a hurt expression on her face and it took him a moment to understand why. Of course - he had asked Cilla to do the explaining, not Harmony. He opened his mouth to take the question back, to ask Harmony to tell him what had happened, but it was too late, Cilla was already launching into the tale. While Cilla spoke, he gazed up at Harmony, trying to convey his longing and predicament, but her lips were tight now and she was staring past him. Bordon sighed.

"…an altercation with Miss Stokes at the mercantile in Pembroke," Cilla was saying. She preceded to tell Richard all that had occurred, from Cilla listening in the back room, to the point where she was compelled to reveal herself and step into Harmony and Linda's quarrel, in order to protect Bordon's name and their reputation. She told him all of it; of feigning a friendship with Harmony, of discrediting Linda, and finally having Corporal Carr remove the doxy not only from the mercantile, but from the village entirely. Richard listened to the full account without asking a single question, barely drawing breath throughout. He tensed upon hearing that Linda had revealed the child to be Richard's and their ongoing affair, but although he was struggling with mingled guilt and fury, for by rights, he had been unfaithful to his wife, before the end, he was flooded with gratitude and approval toward Cilla for her quick thinking and her determination to protect their good name and reputation. She had denounced Linda and had won over Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters.

He rejoiced, for Cilla's triumph over Linda had protected the Bordon name and ultimately saved Harmony as well.

Harmony was unusually quiet; she made no interruptions or corrections during Cilla's recitation. Which indicated to Richard that everything Cilla had told him was completely and utterly true. The one thing that stood out the most, before everything else, was that Cilla was the reason Harmony still had a roof over her head. Not only had Cilla swept in and protected their reputations, she had protected Harmony as well. She had kept Richard's beloved safe from all the dangers Harmony might have found herself confronted with after Mrs. Turnbull put her out of the house. Lord, where would she have gone? What would she have done? Alone and fending for herself… What if Farshaw had learned that Harmony was loose from the Legion and unprotected? While Richard was off rescuing William! Images of Harmony, boarding in some small tavern, all alone, and Farshaw gleefully striding into her chamber, having learned that she was there – and with Richard miles away and unable to help her!… Richard's stomach twisted, how close they had come to disaster! Such was his gratitude that he rose to his feet, arms stretched toward Cilla. He seized her and hauled her against him. She grunted as she was suddenly propelled forward, and grunted again as his arms came about her, squeezing the air from her lungs.

"Thank you," he whispered against her ear, overcome. By her goodness and her generosity. She had protected his mistress, when she had every reason to see Harmony turned out of their lives. And by her willingness to protect their name. Cilla was investing herself in their marriage when she had every reason to despise it. He drew back slightly and kissed her cheek, then stared down into her eyes, face grave. She'd been about to give him a blistering for hauling her about, he could see it on her face, but her expression softened. "Thank you," he said again. The two words were simply spoken, but he knew that Cilla felt the full depth of his gratitude.

"You're welcome," she said. She did not quite return his embrace, though her hands did settle on the undersides of his arms. She held his eyes, head cocked to one side, "though I could have done without the broken ribs…"

"I'm sorry," with equal measures of amusement, and relief that Harmony was well. "I'm sorry," he said, loosening his hold but not releasing her. Not until he kissed her cheek again. Then he released her and he turned to Harmony and reached for her. Only to find her ashen faced, her blue eyes wide and glaring, her arms folded across her chest. It was the kisses, Richard knew, stifling a groan. He'd kissed Cilla - twice. He'd embraced her, he'd spoken to her with warmth. It was enough to make Harmony hot with rage.

"I'm sure I would have been fine," she spat, eyes as if on fire. "There is no need to fall at her feet in a damned faint!"

"Harmony," he sighed, again reaching for her but she took two full steps back from him and stood apart, glaring at him and Cilla both."I'm sorry," he said, shrugging, feeling terribly confused.

"For what?" Cilla asked, an edge to her voice. "For thanking me?"

"He could have thanked you from across the room," Harmony shot back, voice hot. "He didn't even need to lay hands on you to thank you. And it wasn't as it if was as dire as all that anyway, it's not as if you saved my damned life or anything."

"I distinctly remember you worrying otherwise," Cilla said. Her voice was calm but Richard was not fooled by it. She was fuming, but ladies did not lose their temper. She knew how to keep hers reined in. "The way I recall it, you were near to panic with fear that your husband would not only find you, but kill you and the baby."

"Well yes, he is most certainly a threat to me, but Pembroke is held by the British, those soldiers picketed there are of Tavington's Legion! I could have gone to any one of them and I would have been perfectly fine."

"If that was an option, why didn't you do that then?" Cilla asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"Well maybe I should have!"

"We discussed this, Harmony," Cilla said. "With Linda Stokes being escorted from the village, they would have assumed you were lying also. And even if they believed you, it would have meant revealing that you and Richard are lovers again, which would harm all of us, which brings us back to why I was trying to protect us in the first place."

Richard agreed with Cilla but he did not dare show it.

"I don't care about your precious reputation!" Harmony spat. She whirled away from them both and went to stand in front of the window, her entire body rigid. Richard gazed from one woman to the other, unsure what to do. Cilla was breathing in slowly, out slowly, her eyes closed, very much like someone trying to keep calm. Harmony wasn't even bothering to do that.

"I believe the decision to come here was the right course of action," Richard said.

"Oh well, give her another hug and kiss then, Richard," Harmony said, whirling to face him. "Show her how grateful you again." Her voice rose in pitch and volume, "the only reason she helped me was because she'd told the other women we were grand friends and they would have known that to be lie if she hadn't helped me." She threw her glare at Cilla, "let's not pretend it was out of the kindness of your heart!"

"You know damned well part of it was," Cilla said. "I was showing kindness. And there were other reasons too, as I've already told you," she folded her hands over her stomach, to keep them still, or she'd be waving them all over the place in a show of fury just like Harmony was doing.

"Oh, yes," Harmony laughed, throwing her arms wide. "Because you were scared Richard would spank your bottom if you hadn't didn't! That's all you cared about. That Richard wouldn't get angry!"

Richard gaped, eyes wide, he turned back to Cilla.

"You thought I'd get angry with you?" He asked her incredulously.

"It was a concern. While we were in the mercantile and trying to decide what to do, I suddenly recalled, quite clearly, your retaliation the last time Mrs. Farshaw was put in danger," Cilla said, forthright and crisp as ever. The blood drained from Richard's face.

"Cilla," he breathed. "You can't imagine I'd… did you truly think I would hurt you?"

"You did once," she said with a shrug. "How could I possibly know? This way, I'm glad that we'll never have to find out."

He shook his head slowly, speechless.

"If you're referring to Richard's killing of Sumter, you can't possibly think Richard would have killed you!" Harmony snapped. Richard and Cilla were holding one another's gazes, Richard's lips were bloodless. Harmony stalked forward to confront Cilla. "Sumter deserved what Richard did to him. He locked me away, he made me pleasure him, he intended to rape me! What Richard did, killing him like that, that was retribution!"

"Yes, it was. And it's such a grand thing that Richard would kill a man who would _consider_ raping a woman," Cilla said, not shifting her gaze from Richard's, not even blinking.

"Yes, it is," Harmony snapped and Cilla finally pulled her eyes from Richard's, releasing him so that he could draw breath again.

"There was a third reason for my actions that day, Harmony, though I think you're pretending to forget it," she said with dignity. "You are pregnant, you were alone, you were frightened, and you were in danger and I know _precisely_ how that feels. That was the true reason I helped you that day.

"Oh yes, I do recall you saying, I also recall you saying that when Richard returns, perhaps he can find other arrangements for me. You can't wait to be shed of me, can you?"

"Harmony, enough. Please, stop this bickering," Richard pleaded. Gods, what Cilla had said - it had him reeling. Did she truly think he would have attacked her again, if she hadn't helped Harmony? And she had not been complimenting him for killing Sumter, even if Harmony had taken it that way. In her very quiet, measured way, she was calling him a hypocrite again, for killing a man who intended to do the very crime Richard actually _did_ commit.

Cilla was going through enough, the last thing she needed was his mistress attacking her. But Harmony would not stop, not until she was reassured of her position in his life, a thing he had made her doubt when he'd embraced and kissed Cilla. He would speak to Cilla about their discussion later, but for now - he closed the distance between himself and Harmony and although she tried to pull back from him, he cupped her face with both of his strong hands – but only after backing her to the wall and pinning her there, giving her no room for movement. "My love, I am sorry. I am just so grateful to Cilla for what she did – not only for you, but for me also. Everything she did that day amounts to one thing. She protected us all. My name. My reputation. My _woman_," he said, voice intent, eyes holding hers, searching for signs that she was thawing. She was, he could see. There was a softening around the edges of her eyes and mouth. "I love you," he declared to Harmony - right there, in front of Cilla.

In that moment, he felt he owed both women; he had paid Cilla her due in front of Harmony, it was only fair he did the same for Harmony in front of Cilla. Despite the small advances they had made in their marriage, Cilla would just have to accept that he loved elsewhere.

And despite how much he loved Harmony, she would have to accept that he respected his wife highly; more so with every passing day. And he was just realising now, just how much he owed her, also.

"I do love you," he said to Harmony, voice grave, eyes on hers. He had kissed Cilla on the cheek, and he leaned in now to kiss Harmony on her lips. She was still stiff in his embrace, but she did begin to soften.

Not wishing to provoke yet another argument, he did not prolong the kiss. He drew back from Harmony and resumed his seat, keeping equal distance from both women. Richard was almost fearful of meeting Cilla's gaze, for she was his wife and he had just kissed another woman in front of her.

He needn't have worried at all, it seemed, for Cilla's expression was… Impatient… if anything. He cast her a quizzical look, it was quite disconcerting, her lack of jealousy or concern.

Not so with Harmony who, it seemed, was determined to stake her claim on him. For, after casting Cilla a 'just try and stop me' sort of glance, her chin raised and with her nose in the air, she stalked over to Richard and plonked herself on his knee.

"Wonderful idea, my feet were getting tired," Cilla said as she lowered herself to one of the chairs. She began smoothing her skirts around her legs until she was comfortable, then she placed her hands in her lap, completely unconcerned. Richard shifted restlessly. Harmony glared at him in such a way that he did not dare suggest she sit elsewhere; on the bed, for instance. "After all that stupid pomp and ceremony downstairs… And then more speeches afterward. You British dearly like the sound of your own voices," Cilla sniffed. Richard breathed a sigh of relief that she was still acting as herself, despite the direction their conversation had taken, the undertones that Harmony hadn't heard. "Honestly, just how often did that man need to be toasted? As if he'd done some grand thing… All he did was let himself be ambushed by my uncle," she laughed softly, her face shone with pride over Benjamin Martin's achievement. Richard arched an eyebrow and Cilla turned her laughter into an embarrassed cough.

"Yes," Harmony frowned. She rested her elbow on Richard's shoulder, her forearm draped around his head, her fingers began toying with his hair. "You're the one who did the hard work of finding him… Were any speeches given in your honour at all?"

"My efforts were recognised," Richard said, nodding. "I would have been lauded if I'd managed to find Farshaw," he said, face growing dark.

Cilla stilled, her face became impassive lest she give something away. For she knew exactly where Farshaw was, yet she had no intention of revealing it. Not to protect Calvin Farshaw himself, for she knew now that he was a brutal beast and she owed him no kindness whatsoever, not when he could treat a woman – a pregnant woman – as he had his wife. No, she would not tell Richard for it would risk revealing that her father was alive, and where he and his men were hiding.

Strengthening relations between herself and Richard notwithstanding, she would never betray her father or change her allegiance.

"Would that you had," Harmony said quietly, heaving a deep sigh.

"Enough of him. He matters not, he'll never get hold of you, Harm," Richard's fingers traced her cheek lightly, then he dropped his hand and rested it on the swell of her stomach.

Cilla's eyes widened and her face closed over, she would have been three and a half months along by now.

"That was incredibly well done, Cilla," he said.

Cilla kept her mask in place, her thoughts lingering on her lost baby as he continued to compliment her.

"Incredibly well done. You've protected my honour," he said and as Harmony began to tense, he slipped his arm around her body and his fingers began rubbing the small of her back. She shot him a sharp look, as if she understood fully well that he was manipulating her, but she was much calmer than she had been just a moment ago. All she needed was reassurance, he thought, smiling up at her. When he was certain she would not explode again, he shifted his gaze back to Cilla. "My name is not blackened and Harmony is safe. You were right not to approach the soldiers at Pembroke, for all the reasons you gave."

"Oh, she was right was she?" Harmony asked but without the heat of earlier. "Richard, I would have gone and lived at the Kent's; they took Linda in, they would have taken me in, too."

"And when did you think of that grand plan? Not when we were faced with the dilemma in Pembroke. Oh well, it doesn't matter, off you go then," Cilla waved one hand airily. "I'm certain their house is far nicer than this one."

"Please do not start again," Richard said, voice hardening. Both women saw the warning signs and both of them closed their mouths on further argument. "Harm, it's better that you're here," he said, again firmly, ending the quarrel as far as he was concerned. "Cilla did the right thing. I find no fault in her actions and I appreciate her intervention, from the depths of my soul, I do. I owe her my profound thanks for helping you and for saving my name; and I owe her my respect, for her very quick thinking. And so, my proud little pumpkin, do you."

Harmony tossed her head and twisted her lips. He decided not to press her and instead, changed the subject.

"So Linda…" He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. "She just… Blurted it all out? That the child is mine and that she's been…" He shot a glance at Cilla, looking both guilty and caught. "Helping us to be in one another's company?"

"She did," Harmony said, looking a little dazed by it all. "I can't believe how quickly she turned on me. You know, I can understand that she was angry and jealous that I would take Beth's side, but honestly. She tried to feed me to the wolves. As it was, Mrs. Turnbull turned me out. If Cilla had not been there," she paused, squeezed her lips tight, then forced herself to say, "if Cilla had not been there, I'd have been eaten alive by those women."

"Everything that woman said was designed to ruin Harmony," Cilla began. "Miss Stokes did indeed tell them that she assisted you and Harmony, by pretending to go for an innocent walk, when she was really escorting Harmony to the tavern, where you were waiting," she folded her arms across her chest and arched one eyebrow. Richard squirmed delicately. "I told you once I was not stupid. If you try to deny it, Richard, I vow, I will kick you where you sit," Cilla announced and Richard gave her a rueful smile. He took it as a good sign, that she would threaten him thus, the strides they had made in their marriage were not completely undone.

However, the tone of Cilla's voice gave Harmony a start. And that Richard did not take her to task over it… Harmony stared down at her lover, but his eyes were on Cilla, who continued, "just as I said earlier, she revealed that you are the father of the child. I could not have that doxy ranting that my husband had been carrying on an affair and that his mistress was carrying his child, even if both are true," she said primly, ignoring Harmony's sharp glance. Well, it was true! "I marched out, called Miss Stokes to account, named her a liar and sent her on her way. Well," she laughed ruefully, "Corporal Carr did the actual sending… My point is, we could not have those good women thinking those sorts of things. I managed to convince them, all of them, except Mrs. Turnbull, the stubborn old goat," Cilla huffed.

"Why didn't Mrs. Turnbull believe it?" Richard asked.

"She had heard the name Mrs. Farshaw before," Harmony admitted. "She even gossiped about 'Mrs. Farshaw' to Beth and I, when she thought I was Mrs. Campbell. What she said wasn't flattering. She knew of our early days, when we were travelling toward Fresh Water. We weren't as discreet as we were supposed to be, you and I," she said to Richard, sighing with regret.

"No, we weren't," he agreed.

"Mrs. Turnbull turned on Harmony as soon as the name Mrs. Farshaw was applied to her," Cilla spoke with a clipped voice. "She told me that she had heard plenty of stories about Mrs. Farshaw, and Miss Jutland too, who were one and the same. She would not have taken a woman such as that into her home – her words not mine, so don't glare at me, Harmony," Cilla chided before continuing. "and nor would her husband allow her to remain, now that they knew. Mrs. Turnbull knew that I was trying to cover for us all, but she knew the truth of our situation."

"Damned old bitch," Richard spat. "Did she say it in front of the other women?"

"No, she was discreet, she waited until she was alone with Harmony and I. She allowed me to save us, but she also let me know she was not having a bar of it. Hence Harmony's removal," Cilla glanced at Harmony, "and so I bought her back here."

"I'm not a stray puppy," Harmony ground out through clenched teeth. Cilla wore a small smile, both women knew fully well that Harmony owed her continued safety and preservation to Cilla and Cilla alone. What was more, Richard knew it also. He gave Harmony a small squeeze, again trying to soothe her temper.

"You must not call Mrs. Turnbull that awful thing – old bitch," Cilla chided Richard. "She could have gone to the other women and told them the truth, but she did not. I know this because if she had, we would not be receiving so many visits from them, nor would we be receiving so many invitations to their homes. We've been keeping company with families here about for days now, haven't we, Harmony?"

"Yes, we're most popular with them," Harmony rolled her eyes, she did not sound nearly as pleased about it as Cilla did. "I bet they find it titillating, to be in the company of your wife and your former fiancé. I'm certain they half expect Cilla and I to start pulling on one another's hair. I for one can not wait until the novelty wears off."

"That is not it at all," Cilla protested. "They are our friends, Harmony. You just can't tell the difference anymore, after having that doxy betray you."

"They come to us because they are expecting a spectacle, like you'd see at the circus," Harmony sniffed. Cilla shook her head, incredulous. "We've discussed the possibility of me staying in the camp," Harmony began, but was interrupted by Richard.

"Absolutely not," he said, voice firm.

Harmony smiled at him, her fingers caressing his nape. So protective! "Well, as it happened, we felt the same, for these supposed new friends of ours would question why I was staying with the camp followers, if I was esteemed so highly by Cilla," she shot Cilla another hard look, frustrated that her every comfort had been entirely dependent on Cilla's good will. Well, Richard was back now; she need not rely on Cilla for anything, not now that she had Richard again. Everything would be as it should. "I suggested a cabin out of the main house - the one you and I used to share. But Cilla said it's taken now…"

"It is," Cilla said. "Besides, I did not want to risk gossip. If Harmony wasn't living in the main house with me, I feared it might lead to this friendship of ours being questioned."

Richard's head was swivelling from Harmony to Cilla and back again as each woman took a turn speaking. This was much more pleasant than before, with all the tension between them.

"O'Hara doesn't know," Harmony said. "We decided it was best not to inform him, even though he has always been kind to me."

"O'Hara would never approve of Harmony being here, it would be a major breach in decorum. He might have asked her to leave," Cilla said with no rancour at all, "and without you or Colonel Tavington here, we would have had no choice but to comply with his wishes."

"And so the two of you have been living together in this house?" Richard asked, incredulous. "And so happily too, it seems." This was said in a voice thick with sarcasm.

"We've made do well enough," Cilla shrugged. "We do manage to have some conversations that don't end with Harmony getting into a huff," she said, taunting. Harmony lifted her chin, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I often visit the camp," Harmony admitted. "I spend time with Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell, though I'm always careful to return here when I know one of Cilla's uppities is going to visit us."

"Uppities!" Cilla snapped, offended. "How can you say that? You're such a back biter. They have been so kind to you, they've offered you their friendship, they treat you as though you were their…" she suddenly cut short, a slow flush spreading across her cheeks.

"Their equal!" Harmony snapped back, finishing what Cilla had been about to say. "That's what you were going to say, isn't it? Yet another reminder that I am _not_ their equal, and not yours either. Well, I tell you, miss high and mighty, none of those women would have given me the time of day if not for this ruse of yours."

"That's right," Cilla shot back. "None of them would have looked twice at you, let alone offered you their friendship, if not for me. You should be showing gratitude!"

"As if I want it! Gratitude…" Harmony scowled. "Let us be clear, I am only going along with this farce for Richard; his reputation will be as dust if those wenches learn we've been lying all along! And as for those women - they are only showing me this friendly facade because they don't know me. If they did, they would never speak to me. Don't you look at me like that, as though it's a good thing that they are speaking to me, as though their attention makes me somehow better. I think that it's horrid and false, that they're only nice to me because they think I'm one of them, and the moment they learn the truth, they will drop me like I'm nothing, even after all this time getting to know one another. Look at Mrs. Turnbull and how fast she was to throw me aside. It shows that they don't truly like me at all, they're only being my friend because they are bored and because they think I'm on the same rung as them. That's it. Doesn't that sit badly with you? The knowledge that they aren't truly your friends? They wish to keep company with Richard's wife - Major Bordon's wife; not with you, not with Cilla Putman as you were."

"There was nothing wrong with Cilla Putman as I was," Cilla replied, defending her family name and status, though Harmony's words had struck a chord within her. "My family was of a high enough standing in Society to demand the respect of these women, even without my marriage to Richard." She added absently, her mind lingering on rising doubts. Did those women like her, for her? Were they only visiting her because she was a woman of consequence and, as her marriage to Richard made her, a woman of importance?

"Enough, both of you," Richard held up one hand for silence, the fingers of his other hand rubbing at his temple. Oh Christ, is this what he was in for then? Moments of peace lulling him into a false sense of security and then these sudden explosions as the two women flared up over some perceived insult? Lord, he'd rather be ambushed by Colonel Benjamin Martin, at least he'd know to expect it!

Is this how it would be, having both his wife and his mistress under the same roof? He'd only known Harmony was there for a half hour, and already he was getting a headache. How could the women live together, if they were at one another's throats? Yet how could he send one away, without making every single person within a hundred miles of the fort, rank with suspicion? Hell's teeth, he'd been lumped with what he could only think of as steaming horse shit and a pile of it.

"Enough. You will stop this snipping at one another," he commanded, determined to make both women stop bickering. "You're both worse than a bloody backcountry woodsman taking crack shots from the bushes. We will find a way to bloody live together, by God, or I'll take both of you over my knee!"

As one, both women became astoundingly cold. Harmony withdrew her hand from his nape – which was a great pity for he'd been enjoying her caress, but she folded her arms across her chest, denying him her touch. Her gaze was as flinty as Cilla's, who had her chin raised, her dark eyes narrowed. She also folded her arms across her chest. Both had become as stiff as a buckboard.

"Really now?" Harmony asked, her voice chill. "Over your knee."

"And what would you do, Richard, once either of us are bent over your knee?" Cilla challenged with a prim sniff.

Most definitely a pile of horse shit… Jesus Christ, the women had been at each others throats a moment ago and now they were banding together? To what purpose? To intimidate him? Surely they weren't stupid enough to think they could… No, to unsettle him, he decided. Damn and blast it, he was not having any of this foolishness, not for one moment!

"I'll tan your backsides raw, make no mistake," he snapped, not allowing either woman to gain the better of him. They stared, their sharp eyes on him, but neither said a word. Band together against him, will they? His voice dropped to a deep growl. "I vow, I'll not tolerate this for another moment. You will find a way to live together in peace, for I will not suffer the bickering. Lord, we've been sitting here all of half an hour and I'm getting a damned headache! No more of this, do you understand?"

The two women gazed at one another, studying, but not saying a word. Neither was certain how seriously to take Richard, which surprised him. Surely Harmony knew he would never actually raise his hand to her, and surely Cilla remembered his promise never to strike her? But here they were, considering his words, simply staring at one another, neither offering further insult to the other. Cilla unfolded her arms from her chest, she replaced them to her lap and relaxed back into the chair. Harmony did likewise, and her hand returned to the back of Richard's neck. He thought she would resume those idle caresses and he looked forward to them. But unexpectedly, her fingers wound around his queue, and – her eyes locked on Cilla's - she gave his hair a sharp, painful tug. It hurt enough to make him grunt. The way she was holding Cilla's eyes, the shared smirk between them, Richard could not help but to think that this act of defiance was performed for them both. Banding together… Sweet Lord, he was going to have to tread carefully with these two. With Harmony's own warning given, she began caressing his neck again.

Through out it all, Richard did not say a single word.

Nor did Cilla, she did not have to. She merely arched an eyebrow, her lips quirked with amusement. Amusement! Harmony had almost jerked his damned hair from his scalp, and his wife sat there, amused by it. Well, any little thing that helped to bridge the divide between them, he supposed… Still, Richard knew better now than to allow himself to be drawn into a false sense of security.

"If I'm no longer allowed to take crack shots from the bushes like a… bloody… back country woodsman," Cilla began, stumbling on the word bloody for she was unused to swearing, "then I see no further reason for me to take part in this discussion. I shall, therefore, take my leave of you both." She rose and smoothed her skirts with her hands, preparing to leave.

_I've worked tirelessly to have the sort of marriage I have now, with a woman who doesn't despise me. She already thought I'd hurt her again, it's partly why she bought Harmony here. Have I just ruined it all? _The thought occurred to him so suddenly, Richard felt a moment of panic by it. Had he ruined everything between them, had he compromised her trust again, by threatening to spank her if she spoke out of turn to his mistress? Lord, what a ridiculous thing to threaten her over! As she began to pass him, he reached for her wrist, encircled it gently with his fingers, stopping her momentarily. She paused and glanced down at him in askance.

"I didn't mean it," he said earnestly, his voice reflecting that panic. "That I would tan your hide. I wouldn't strike you, Cilla. My promise holds."

She cocked her head to one side and studied him. "I didn't take it seriously," she said simply.

Richard expelled a breath he had not realised he'd been holding, relief flooded through him, startling him with the force of it. That he could threaten to spank her over bended knee – for the crime of snapping at Harmony - yet they had not suddenly reverted to how things had been at the beginning, when she would cringe in terror, and gaze at him through the eyes of a wounded animal. Things would remain as they were now, they had come a long way and his stupid threat had not ruined everything. His relief was… profound, and it showed on his face. She had come to understand him well enough to read his face and see his turmoil. He released her hand and, as she walked by him, she reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He smiled, grateful for the gesture, and then she was gone, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"I'm not sure I like this," Harmony said, staring at the place on his shoulder where Cilla had squeezed.

"Like what?" He asked. Now that they were alone, he was free to shower her with affection, and he began by leaning into her neck and nuzzling his lips along her skin.

"This intimacy between you," Harmony said, voice very serious. Richard lifted his head and met her grave face. Harmony began toying with one of his gold buttons, not quite meeting his eye.

"Harm," he began in a soothing voice.

"Have you bedded her?" Harmony asked, voice sharp, finally meeting his eyes.

"No!" He cried, aghast. "I vow to you, my love… I mean, we've slept in the same bed so in that sense, yes, but I swear, we've not…"

"Then how do you explain this hold she has over you?" She asked, eyes narrowing.

Richard paused. When his shock began to recede, his mind began whirling for a suitable explanation. For he could not possibly tell her the truth, that he had spent the last few months in wretched perdition for what he had done to Cilla. That was the hold Cilla had over him. But to tell Harmony this… To reveal all that had come before… Harmony would despise him. She'd turn from him and he would lose her forever. It would be the death of him, if he lost her.

"Cilla does not have a hold over me," he lied, voice weak. "We've grown accustomed to one another, is all. I have not bedded her, Harm. I promised you I wouldn't and I swear I have not. I've not had relations with Cilla." He finished strongly.

"Then how do you explain this intimacy?" She asked, on the verge of tears. "You kissed her, you threw your arms around her and just now, taking hold of her hand and her squeezing your shoulder! Explain it to me, Richard!" She half demanded, half cried, voice breaking.

"Oh, my love, it's as I said, we've become familiar with each other, that's all," he said truthfully as he pulled her closer.

"She's had relations with you once, what is to stop it from happening again?" Harmony ground out, voice high with the effort of holding back her tears. She saw Richard's face blanch, it caused him great discomfort discussing what had occurred all those months ago in Charlestown. She knew it, but she needed reassurance and just then, she found she did not care if her words disturbed him. "What is to stop you from doing it again, now you're _familiar_ with her? She acts so prim and pure and sometimes she even has me fooled. But then I remember why the two of you were forced to marry - because a high society bitch lifted her skirts for my man and got herself bloody pregnant by him. And now she's here, in your life, in your bed! "

"My promises to you hold," he said, unable to confess the truth, unwilling to lose Harmony; his love, his life. "I told you I would never be unfaithful to you again. The night we became engaged, I told you I'd never take another woman to my bed. I vow, Harm, mine is a marriage in name only. It's become more than that, I'll own, and so would Cilla I believe, if you asked her. We're trying to make it work. We've reached an accord, we've found a way to make our marriage tolerable," he said thoughtfully. "But intimate? No, my love. What you saw just now, you can not call that intimate. This, my sweet Harmony, is intimacy," he took hold of her jaw with both his hands, pulled her closer and kissed her, deep and sure, his tongue sliding into her mouth without hesitation to massage along hers. Harmony melted against him with a small groan. When he drew back, he was as flushed as she. "This, my love, is intimacy," he scooped her up in his strong arms, and she laughed softly as he carried her to the bed. "This is the difference between you and her," he told her, laying her down gently. He stretched out alongside her, his arm cradling her head and his hand on her waist. Again with no hesitation, for they were lovers of old now and loved one another dearly, he kissed her deeply, expertly, leaving them both panting and flushed. "I pecked her cheek, Harmony," he said, voice thick with emotion. "The same peck I'd give my sister, or my mother. Cilla has my name, Harmony, but you are the wife of my heart."

A soft sob burst from her parted lips. "And you are the husband of mine," she said, feeling wretched. "In my heart, Calvin is dead and there's only you, the only husband I ever wanted."

He kissed the tears from her cheeks, tasting salt, his lips drifting toward hers, calming her with each caress.

"I am your husband, Harmony," he avowed. "I would have been by now, if circumstances had been different. We're married in our heart of hearts, even if we'll never be able to say the words before a holy man. We don't need anyone to affirm what we already know, my love."

She nodded, wishing for more but settling for what she had. It was far more preferable than being without Richard entirely. He drew away from her and he rose from the bed. Feeling a moment of panic, she reached for him, certain he was about to leave her but determined to make him stay. He smiled reassurance, and she knew from that alone that her husband was going no where. She watched his every move as he crossed the chamber to the door.

There, their gazes met and locked. Richard turned the key with an audible 'click' and Harmony's heart beat quickened. Grave faced, their excitement grew though both understood the full import of his actions. He had just locked himself in his mistress's chamber, while his legal wife was just down the hall. Harmony licked her lips, breathing deeply as she waited for him to return to her. He did so a moment later, he was standing at the edge of her bed, reaching down to remove first one tall boot, then the other. All sound from without the chamber began to fade, reality itself swept away on a tidal wave chasing away all other emotions except for one - love, her undying longing for this man. She pushed herself up, threw her legs over the side of the bed, and watched as his fingers moved over the gold buttons of his Green Dragoon jacket. They trembled, his fingers did, and she reached up to cover his with her own, thrilled that he was as affected as she was. He swallowed hard, threw off his jacket and left it in an untidy heap on the floor. Most unlike him, he was always so fastidious and he despised wearing crumpled clothes. Rather than take the time to retrieve it and smooth it out, and even place it on a hanger, Richard ignored it entirely and hastily began unbuttoning his waist coat.

Her lips and cheek still burning where his lips had caressed her, Harmony began to feel haste also. She'd had enough of watching and as if they had a will of their own, her fingers reached up to untuck his ruffled shirt from his breeches. He smiled down at her. Not one to be idle while others worked, he began pulling the pins from her hair, letting loose her cascade of golden locks.

"Who has been dressing you, my love?" He asked, voice deep, thick.

"Mila," she returned. "I have not been neglected, if that is what you're asking," she smiled up at him, it was like the sun shining through a parting of the darkest clouds, it bathed him with its warmth and brilliance. She edged his shirt up along his trunk and revelled in his fine, athletic physique. Richard pulled the shirt over his head, letting it drop from his fingers atop the ever growing pile on the floor. Harmony's fingers drifted along his chest, he leaned in closer with a sigh as her fingertip circled one flat nipple, then the other. Her fingers traced lower, leaving a fiery sensation in their wake as she glided down his abdomen, raising goose pimples along his flesh, feeling his muscles twitch beneath her fingers.

Nothing had changed between them. If anything, their love and need for one another had grown during their time apart. Now they were joined again, and even though it was an imperfect union, with Cilla between them, their reaction to one another was anything but. Nor was it mild. Harmony gazed at a long healed scar, her trembling fingers caressed it, and her eyes misted again.

"This is the body I've missed so well," she gasped, pressing her cheek against his stomach as she began to sob. A spark of grief mingled with relief shot through him, he placed his hands protectively around her head and cradled her there, fingers stroking, pulling through her unburdened gold locks even as they offered comfort with continual caresses.

Harmony drew back, feeling and looking exhausted, she smiled up at him tiredly. His heart gave a lurch, to see her smile with undried tears still coursing her cheeks. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers and whispered reassurance.

"I'm alright," she replied, a heart felt sigh escaping her lips. Recovering herself, she turned her attention to his belt buckle, peeled the front of his breeches open and pulled the pants down his muscular legs. His manhood was free now and standing upright and hard, she gave it a loving caress from the tip to the root. Richard stepped out of his breeches and was now naked except for his silk stockings, and showed no shame at being so. He knelt before her, she caressed his face tenderly as his fingers moved to the front of her bodice, no longer trembling as they began to work the many small buttons along the front. His touch was sure now, claiming. He leaned in close and she half lidded her eyes, breathing deeply at his nearness and his scent. He gave her a quick kiss but his mind was on other matters, which quickly became known to her when his arms snaked around her body and she felt the insistent tugging on the laces holding her stays tight. Their faces only an inch apart, her smile amused. The heavy boning thumped when it hit the floor.

"My lady?" He asked, taking a hold of her hand and standing before her. She inclined her head, accepting his invitation and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. His arms snaked around her waist again, this time to tackle the cord tying off her skirts. He released it, and the one tying her petticoats, the expanse of cloth slipped down her body to pool at her feet. He took her hand again and held her steady while she stepped out of that pool of cloth, and made no protest when he kicked it carelessly aside to join his own clothes on the floor. Richard pulled her in close for a deep, heart-stopping kiss, then released her despite her now wobbly legs. She steadied them, biting her lip as she watched him bunch up her shift and pull it up over her hips, past her waist.

"Lift," he commanded and her arms came up, her shift was pulled free from her body. She stood before him, as naked a he, except for her thigh high stockings. Neither felt the chill from winter's breath outside, however; their close proximity and arousal left them feeling well warmed. The flames burning cheerily in the inglenook certainly helped; if anything, having the fire burning, when their own bodies were afire, left them feeling uncomfortably hot.

He gazed down at her, eyes lingering on her full breasts, a lump forming in his throat as he gazed at the swell of her stomach caused by the child within.

"Do you feel it yet?" He asked, fingertips brushing her rounded stomach with tenderness, as if he were stroking the baby itself.

"I have," she replied, proud and excited, immensely pleased to be sharing this moment with her beloved, the child's father. Who else would feel the same level of excitement and love for the babe, but the father himself? "It was like fifteen butterflies were fluttering about inside me, but now it's more than that. He's getting stronger as he gets bigger."

"He?" Richard asked, amused.

"I feel like he is a he," she replied, her playful tone held a firmness, as though she were daring him to doubt her. "I can feel kicks now. He's going to be strong like his da."

"His da," Richard laughed fondly at Harmony's lower bred speech, a hold over from her Back Country upbringing. "Do you feel him kicking right now?"

"No, my love," she stroked his face, her fingertips easing his disappointment. "He's asleep just now."

"When he wakes, will I feel him?" He asked, hopeful.

"I don't know, maybe."

"Will we wake him, do you think?" Richard asked, teasing.

"Almost certainly," she replied softly, a small smile tugging her lips, her mouth going dry with anticipation.

"Let's see if we can wake him," he chuckled, hauling her close and giving her a heartfelt kiss.

"Now, you can't go driving me across the room," she said, being deliberately crude.

"Darn," he laughed, feigning disappointment.

"But nor do you need to treat me like I'm made of spun glass," she said, tapping his face with her fingertips.

"Good, because I doubt I'd be able to," he leaned in to nuzzle her neck, lips and teeth biting playfully. She assumed he would lay her back onto the bed, and she began to make a move toward it. Richard seized her, his strong hands cupping her bare buttocks and in one swift move proving his impossible strength, he hauled her upward. Her breath stuck in her throat. He guided her legs around his waist, she crossed her ankles at his back to secure them. "If I can't drive you across the room," he said, voice thick with arousal, his phallus bearing hard against her clit, he continued, "how about I drive you up the wall?"

"You already do," she said; a peel of laughter followed, ringing through the chamber. He blinked up at her, startled by her unexpected quip, making her laugh the harder. She shook in his arms from the force of it, making it difficult for him to hold her. "Oh, I couldn't resist," she giggled unapologetically.

"I drive you up the wall, do I?" He growled, feigning ferocity as he carried her to the closest one. Her smooth back was pressed to the roughly textured wallpaper.

"You always have and you always will," she replied archly, giggles still escaping her. Oh, he had stepped into that one quite nicely, thank you very much! "Oh, my Richard, I do love you."

"And I you," he replied sagely, forgiving her moment of mischief. He kissed her until she was breathless, until all amusement was chased away, leaving only arousal and need for him. All the while, he'd been rocking his manhood against her, letting her feel the hard shaft gliding along her sex. Only now, he angled away from her and bent his knees slightly, taking a more determined aim, his phallus began to enter the warmth of her body. She clung to him, one hand grasping his nape, the fingers of her other hand digging into his shoulder, as her quim opened to him, taking him in full and welcoming him home.

Richard gasped against Harmony's lips. His legs felt the strain, after the long ride home and now, the exertion of holding Harmony in place against the wall. His muscles quivered but did not yield to the ache. Heat surged along his veins, with a grunt he slapped his palm to the wall, tried to dig in for purchase, nails leaving deep scores in the paper. All the while he thrusted and panted, Harmony pushed against him, also grasping, both pressing on toward their final favour, the ultimate pleasure that was stronger when coupling with each other, than it had ever been when either had been with someone else.

Sweat making Harmony's hair damp, she threw her head back and emitted a silent keen, her body shuddering. Richard's cock continued to thrust, urging her orgasm on, prolonging it, making it more forceful. It left her speechless, took away her ability to breathe. She struggled to hold on to his sweat slicked skin. He quivered, gasping, his hand left the wall to seize her jaw, his fingers digging in almost painfully as he kissed her, the vestiges of his orgasm breathing into her airless lungs.

"Oh sweet Lord," she whispered, body stilling, hips no longer thrusting. Still impaled on his shaft, she gazed at him, sweaty fingers stroking his cheek. "Sweet Lord."

"Sweet Harmony," he replied, leaning in to her touch. "My sweet girl."

He carried her to the bed, laid her gently down and only then did he withdraw his semi hard member from her body. Movements slow and languid, she glided further over, pulling back the covers for them both and leaving room for him to lay alongside her. She lay on her back, one arm held up to him, ready to take him into her embrace. He fell to her willingly, the muscles in his body turned to water. One last kiss, then he laid his head on her breasts, and one hand on her stomach.

"Did we wake him?" He asked, remembering their conversation from earlier.

"No," Harmony said after a moment. "It must have been like an earthquake for him in there... He sleeps like the dead, it seems. In that, he takes after his da."

Richard snuggled in closer to her warmth. Her fingers moved through his cinnamon locks, damp with sweat. Her touch lulled him, his entire body felt more relaxed than it had in months. Lifting his head for a moment, he took one of her nipples into his mouth, kissing her, before laying his head down again. They lay there, glorying in the warmth, their spent pleasure, the wonderful sensation of simply being together. The world began to intrude once more, where their pleasure had drowned all out a few moments before. Someone bellowed outside, a cart was being driven by, horses nickered, dogs barked. Someone was singing down the hall; Brownlow, Bordon thought. The fire crackled on the grate, and soon Harmony's soft snores joined the cacophony, a far more welcome sound than the rest. He breathed out slowly and, closing his eyes, joined her in slumber.


	115. Chapter 115 - Waiting on Richard

Chapter 115 - Waiting on Richard:

The hallway was empty for the moment; though Harmony could hear voices approaching. She lingered around the corner, just outside her own chamber, the wall sconce above her flooding her with light. Lord, it had been a magical afternoon with Richard, simply divine. A return to the way it used to be; the was it should be. They had made love, twice, Richard had bought Harmony to the height of ecstasy and together they had fallen into oblivion, that wonderful place they shared where no one else could reach them. They had slept, too. And when they were awake and not sporting, they talked. About everything - about the war and William's whipping, about Richard's inability to comprehend how William could possibly reach an accord with his father in law, the enemy Benjamin Martin. That had sparked Harmony's interest, she would certainly require more details about that and the other things Richard had spoken of. They had moved on from the subject to discuss other things more personal to themselves; Calvin for instance, and Cilla. After being in his arms for somewhere reaching four hours or so, Harmony no longer feared that Richard might have broken his vow, she was not suspicious that he might have consummated his marriage to Cilla. The affinity she had seen between the pair had not blossomed from coupling, but by having been forced into one another's company. And Richard had reassured Harmony all over again, that Calvin would never reach her; he would never hurt her again. With the serious topics exhausted, the two had begun to speak of more normal things; Richard's horse - something only a man could deem to be highly important, how the weather was changing, what their immediate future would be. And the babe, of course.

They discussed their child at length, Harmony had swelled with affection when Richard, flushed with joy, was finally able to feel the baby moving beneath his splayed hand, within her stomach. Those incredible moments could not be surpassed.

Unfortunately, however, they could only ever be short lived.

Only too soon, the real world came crashing down upon them; when Cilla herself had knocked on the door, quiet as a mouse, and called to Richard that it was time to begin making preparations for the dinner. A bath was waiting, her muffled voice said, and the carriage would be ready by five-thirty.

Oh, how that had stung. Harmony had watched in morose silence as Richard rose to answer the beckoning of his wife. He dressed, equally quiet, not able to meet her eyes. No, he was not bedding Cilla, but nor was he entirely Harmony's any more. Cilla had a claim to him, she had ties to him now and, as her knocking on the door demonstrated, she would not hesitate to tug them. And he would answer her call, he would leave Harmony's bed to do as his wife instructed.

For she, Harmony, was just the mistress.

Richard would never her treat her that way on purpose, but their circumstances were such - his obligations were such - that that was exactly how she ended up feeling.

The first example of this slap in the face was the soiree Richard had gone off to get ready for - this evenings dinner. A formal affair, where high ranking Officers and Officials would gather together to celebrate the return of their hero, Colonel William Tavington. General O'Hara was hosting. His adjutants, some of them sons of the nobility, if they were not Lords themselves, would be in attendance. Local gentlemen and wives, Loyalists of wealth and substance, were to be privileged guests - British and Colonial aristocracy. Richard was invited of course. As was his wife.

His wife, NOT his mistress. Those good people would be mortified if she were found mingling among them.

This was the part of Richard's life that Harmony should have been sharing in, would have been sharing in, if not for Calvin. And for Cilla. Now, she had to share Richard with Cilla, and she wasn't certain which of them was getting the better half of him. Harmony had the passionate bed chamber Bordon, but Cilla had the public Bordon, she got to be paraded as Mrs. Bordon. Harmony should have had all of Bordon, from his bed chamber to his name, and would have done if not for Calvin and Cilla. This was the part of Richard's life that Harmony would never be able to experience.

All the glitter and wealth, the gentle clinking of glasses, the fine talk and finer clothes. Consorting with men and women of elegance and principals. That was a wife's domain.

That, was Cilla's territory.

And no doubt, being a young aristocrat in her element, Cilla would shine.

Harmony would never be welcome among that kind, the entire lot would be scandalised should Richard take her to such an event. They would curl their lips and look down their noses, and Harmony would feel like a rodent among peacocks. No, Richard's bed - now that was Harmony's domain, that was the place she would shine, a place Cilla could never reach him.

But it would always be behind closed doors, hidden away from the view of the important and the noble; while Cilla, the wife, was shown off to the public like a fine, highly prized and sought after jewel.

It had hurt Harmony more than she cared to admit, when Richard left her to dine with the other Officers, with Cilla on his arm. He could have made his excuses and not gone at all, he could have pled the rigours of his long journey. Such an excuse would have been accepted, understood by those above him. But no. He had been entirely too eager to attend them. He'd been entirely too ready to bounce from the bed of his mistress, to be with those Gentlemen, his wife at his side.

She had sat alone for these last few hours, forlorn, dejected. And bored. But he was returning now, and he would retire with her to her chamber. To her bed.

That, was Harmony's territory. Richard's affections and his intimacy, those were Harmony's territory, and they always would be. She tried to take solace from that, and she brightened when the person thudding up the stairs, finally reached the top landing.

"…Retire for the evening," William was saying as he reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the hall. Harmony peaked around the corner to try and catch sight of Richard. William, she thought, looked no worse for wear despite his recent tortures. The lashes still caused immense pain, Richard had told her, but William refused to let it show on his face. "See that I am not disturbed." He commanded the person behind him. Richard, she hoped.

"Yes, Sir," Brownlow, who appeared after him, saluted. The Cornet headed back downstairs out of sight, no doubt to repeat the Colonel's command. William continued striding toward Harmony, he had not seen her yet. Harmony stared past him, certain Richard was not far behind. The two were always together at these little soirees, one was never without the other. And if William had made his excuses to O'Hara and returned home, then Richard would have also, surely.

"Mary; Mother of Christ!" William cursed, almost leaping out of his skin when he saw her standing there in the doorway. stopping dead when he finally caught sight of her. Harmony shifted her gaze back to him, she stepped around the corner to reveal herself more fully. William's shock was real and true, he was staring at her goggle eyed, jaw on the floor, looking every bit the gaping fish.

Which could only mean that Richard had not shared news of her with William. They'd been together these last few hours, yet Richard had not seen fit to tell his friend that Harmony was again residing at Fresh Water and all of what had befallen her?

"What the devil are you doing here?" The Colonel spat, glancing over his shoulder as if worried about whom else he might see.

"It's good to see you too, William," Harmony said, eyes narrow, voice prim. Why hadn't Richard told William? Was it because he'd been too busy hobnobbing with the other Officers, and he had not wanted anyone to over hear him speak of her? How could he hold such news in? If he couldn't shout it to the stars that she was returned to him, at least he'd take the time to tell his dearest friend, surely? Why hadn't he? The question spun through her head. William snatched her arm and began to pull her toward his chamber, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting to be caught at any moment.

"The servants are aware I'm here, William," she announced, exasperated. He shoved her into his room and closed the door behind them both.

The fire was already lit, of course. Mila's husband had seen to it, Zeke took care to anticipate every one of William's whims. On a side stand was a basin and a ewer of water and on the low boy, a fine silver tray, with a decanter of brandy and a glass. The chamber was tidy, not a thing out of place, the bed made up crisply. That was Mila's doing, Harmony suspected. But it was Zeke who took care of everything else. He'd been beside himself for the week since Harmony's arrival, constantly fearing for his employer's fate.

And therefore his own, Harmony thought dryly. Zeke must have been as happy as a virgin on her wedding night, to have William returned and his own future secured.

"How did you..?" William frowned fiercely. He paused, then spat hurriedly, "bloody Mila. It was her, wasn't it? She's always bloody going behind my back, looking after Beth and now hiding you as well! Hell's teeth, Harm. You must know that you're courting disaster, being here!"

"So. Richard told you nothing then?" Harmony's veins began to warm, the heat of anger flowing through her. "He could not spare five minutes away from the popinjays, to tell you the news?"

"What the devil?" Tavington's face squished, she'd never seen him look so puzzled. With a shrug, she reached for the decanter. Only one glass. Zeke clearly did not expect the Colonel to have company in his bed chamber. How remiss of him. And how remiss of Richard, not to inform the Colonel of her presence. Turning to William, she drained the glass in one gulp, her throat working as she swallowed. She poured a second glass, and handed it to him.

"I'm already bloody well annoyed with you, William, so please stop glowering at me like that. Richard knows I'm here. If you're upset about not being informed, then take it up with him. And with Cilla. She's your bloody cousin in law or something, whatever she is. Richard could have told you at any time during this fancy dinner party," she said, voice thick with bitterness. "Where is he, by the by?"

"Ah…" William frowned, cocked his head. "At the fancy dinner party…"

"I am aware he was at it, William. I am asking where he is now. If you're here, why isn't he?"

"We are not tied to the hip," William said dryly. He seated himself on the bed and stretched his long legs out before him, boots crossed at the ankles. "I had no choice but to go to that damned party, I had to endure it for hours until I could finally make my escape. I waited until enough time had gone by that none could be offended, and then I excused myself. Richard was enjoying the party more than I, however, therefore he stayed."

"Enjoying it, was he?" Oh, that stung. Harmony held out her hand, fingers wiggling imperiously.

Still shocked at seeing her, at Fresh Water, where Richard lived with his wife, William handed her the glass. It was a puzzle that, he was sure, would soon be answered. Harmony would explain herself, when she was ready. For now, William moved over to make room for her and she sat beside him on the bed. She drank back the brandy, William reached for the decanter to pour more.

"I have been here all week," she explained. "Waiting for Richard to return. He was as shocked as you are, to find me here. The why doesn't matter, not right now," she held up one hand when he opened his mouth to ask, "I'm tired William. Tired of repeating the same story over and over. I'll tell you, but Christ, just not now, alright?"

"Very well," he said, brow furrowing. "What was that you said before, you're already annoyed with me?"

"Oh, yes," she said, shifting until she was sitting more fully on the bed, she turned to face him and crossed her legs beneath her. She wore only her nightgown and shift, her long golden hair hanging in loose curls about her shoulders and down her back. Not exactly the most decent apparel to wear in the company of a man not her husband, in his bed chamber at that. It most certainly was not proper. Richard's popinjays - those noblemen he was trying to impress next door, would have a fit. Their wives would likely faint, and never recover from the shock. William however, didn't bat an eyelid. Rather, he angled himself to face her as well, one leg still on hanging over the side, his other hooked before him, he reclined back against the headboard, back supported by soft pillows. "Yes, I am most upset with you," she began, though her voice was lacking the fire it had once held, when she had this discussion with Richard those weeks ago. "Beth," she said, voice hard as a rock.

"Agh, Jesus," William ran a hand over his dark queue. "Don't start, Harm -"

"Don't start? Christ, I've not begun but I tell you, my fine friend, I will not be silenced. You and your bloody conspiracies," she raged. "Did it ever occur to you to just bloody tell the truth for once?"

He gave her a flat look, eyes hard.

"No, I didn't think it had," she snorted. "Instead, you ask me to cover for you. I want it to go on record here and now, that if you had been screwing Linda behind Beth's back, I never would have kept your secrets," Harmony's voice was deep with anger. "But I knew you weren't. I knew you didn't want Beth to know Linda was in camp, because you were trying to protect Beth. You didn't want to upset her. You weren't hiding nothing, you just didn't want her to worry over it. And you were protecting Linda, and the baby. Well I say screw that and screw you. You should have bloody told her from the start. Beth is not so unreasonable that she would not have believed you -"

"Oh, yes, she showed precisely how reasonable she can be. You did not see her that day," William snorted bitterly.

"Of course she was unreasonable by then, when it gets as far as it did and she's left thinking the worst, because Linda set it up for her to think that way! If she'd known from the start then none of that would have happened -"

"She spread her legs and gave her virginity to another man, Harmony." He had expected this coldly delivered speech to silence her, to stop her in her tracks. Harmony was not so easily cowed, however.

"That is another discussion entirely!" She said, warming to her subject. "I am not preaching over who was right and who was wrong. I am saying, William, that you should never have asked me to lie to Beth! Because of you, she does not trust me. Because of you, she thinks I betrayed her! Because of you, she calls me false friend and you have no idea how much that kills me!" Filled with emotion, Harmony's eyes welled and her throat constricted. She had not meant to sob like a child, she'd meant to rage like a firebrand! But here she was, weeping into her hands, all the bitterness and anger she felt toward William, the helplessness and heartache over losing her friend. It did not help that being pregnant always bought her swiftly to the edge of her emotions. "It b-breaks m-my heart, to h-have lost her!"

"Agh, Jesus," William repeated, softly this time. Removing the glass from Harmony's hand, he set it on the side stand. In one smooth motion, he was moving aside and pulling her down to the pillows beside him, his arms around her. Cradling her as she wept, he whispered, "I am sorry. I know I was wrong to have included you. I will not ask it of you, never again."

"Good," she replied, slightly mollified, still sniffling. "Because I w-won't d-do it. I'll d-do whatever you ask when it r-relates to your d-duty but n-never again will I g-go against Beth. I v-vow it, William. I w-will not."

He nodded, eyeing her closely, and thumbed a tear from her cheek.

"She does not deserve a friend such as you," he declared, and he meant it.

"You should have been honest with her from the start," Harmony said, feeling numb now. "If not for that, she never would have fallen into Linda's trap."

"No Harmony," William cupped her chin with his fingers, he stared down at her intently. "_She_ should have been honest with me."

"You're speaking of Banastre now, yes?" Harmony sighed. She pulled her sleeve down over her palm and pushed it against her eyes to dry her face.

"If you will permit me," he said primly, his voice taking on an edge. She had silenced him before when he had raised it. "And this, my dear friend, is where _I_ take _you_ to task."

Harmony lowered her eyes, she knew what was coming and she began plucking at some pilling on her gown.

"You knew about what she had done with Banastre," he said, accusing. "You knew all along."

"Only after you were married," Harmony said sullenly.

"It does not matter when you learned of it. You knew and you did not tell me. You should have told me, Harmony," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"To what end?" She frowned, meeting his pale, cold gaze. "To what purpose? I had no desire to cause trouble and I knew that was all it would cause. You were happy -"

"Our happiness was built on a lie," he shook his head. With Harmony no longer needing comfort, he removed his arm from around her, reached over her for the decanter and glass.

"Your happiness was built on love," she argued. "It is you she loved, William. Not Banastre. Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why she did it?"

"Why she spread her legs for Banastre? I think that much is clear."

"If you're suggesting that she has no virtue, you'd better find yourself a different audience entirely, for I will not suffer it." Harmony said. "Bawdy woman. Loose virtue. Whore. Easy insults to hurl about but they fall remarkably short of the mark. You have no idea what she was going through at the time. Low morals and poor virtue had nothing to do with it. Those are the easy way out. You don't have to face up to your own culpability when you fling those excuses about."

"My culpability?" William gasped. "How am I at fault for her bedding another man and then not telling me?"

"You had a part to play, whether you want to hear it or not. I think she fell in love with you the day she met you and you toyed with her, for days and days. Weeks."

"If you're going to blame that stupid wager on her later actions then I think it's you who needs to find a different audience."

"Not the wager, William. Her spiral downward along the road that landed her in Banastre's bed began the night you took her into Arthur Simms bedchamber and left evidence of your sporting all over the bed," she said. "The fallout from that… Good God, William. When people learned what she did with you, they were absolutely horrid to her. Even her own family. She was stuck here, in this house, with members of her own family who would not even speak to her. Except for Thomas, I think he was still nice. And her sisters. But her older brother? Her father? They did not hesitate to let her know that they were repulsed by her - no," she held up one hand for silence when he opened his mouth. "I need to tell you all of this, I need for you to at least try to see this from a different perspective, you can't hide behind the simple, easy excuses forever. Within her own home, she was ostracised. And when she went out there," she pointed toward outside. "It was even worse. Mothers, steering their children across the street so they would not have to cross her path. I don't know if she told you, but one time at church, every single woman in the congregation rose and walked out. They plotted it in advance and they said they would not return until the Redcoat whore was made to leave. Did she tell you?"

"No, she did not," he breathed.

"William, people can be so cruel. So deeply, deeply cruel. For days, weeks, she bore this - and all because she was so deeply in love with you that she allowed you to compromise her virtue, because being with you was more important than anything else in the world. I know, because I have felt the same, and I feel it daily, with Richard. I know exactly how she felt." He dropped his head back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling, but she knew he was listening. She plucked the glass from his fingers, drank to wet her throat, handed it back. "It was brutal, the way people treated her. Like a pack of wolves, attacking a wounded wolf, to drive it from their midst to protect the rest of the pack. Every day, she faced that. Lord, she was confused, lonely. No one in the world cared for her - not even her own father. Well, perhaps they did, but it certainly didn't show it at the time. Christ, if I was drowning like that, I'd seize the first hand offered to me, as well. Banastre…" Harmony shook her head. "He's a force to be reckoned with, when he puts on the charm. He comes along, with his smiles and his warmth, his feelings unchanged and suddenly she's caught up in a whirlwind of the contact and love she'd been starved for. He hosted a ball for her, William! He showered her with all the affection she'd been craving and here - here is where Banastre Tarleton should be taken to task and if he was here right now, I'd slap his face so hard… William, he got her drunk. Utterly soused. He knew she was at her weakest and instead of being a gentleman, he manipulated her. Pushing, pushing, prodding at her weaknesses, filling her with wine until she would not have been able to say no if her father had been in the next chamber."

William's lips were tight as he listened. "Very well. Let us concede that she was drunk, that first time. Let us just imagine for one moment that I would accept such an excuse," his eyes narrowed, he leaned forward, face intent. "What of the next morning, Harmony. And the following night? And the next few days, in this very house? You can not tell me she was drunk then!"

"Not on wine or ale, maybe. But as I said, you don't know what effect Banastre can have on a woman. Nor do I think you quite understand just how much we need each other. People, I mean. We need to be loved, by our families, our friends, our lovers. And when that love is withdrawn, when contempt replaces it, it's devastating. She was not drunk on wine the following morning. She was drunk on the attention and love he was bestowing upon her, every single moment he was in her company, where everyone else turned away and refused to have anything to do with her."

"I'm liking this argument less and less," he ground out.

"She was like a person drowning and Banastre was the only one that was reaching out to save her," Harmony said. "If you and she had never gone to Arthur Simms chamber - or, if you'd at least cleaned up after yourself, then she never would have been ostracised. She never would have been so desperately lonely that she would fall prey to Banastre's charms. Can you not see that?"

He shifted restlessly, his mouth set in disapproval.

"Besides, I hasten to remind you William, that the two of you weren't even engaged then. You were not promised. All she had from you was the vow that you were coming for her, and she never knew whether to take that as a threat or a proposal!"

"Christ, Harmony really?" He spat, tossing his head like an angry horse. "I was never going to hold to that, I never would have whipped her, though she bloody deserved it for spying and treason! She must have known that!"

"She did not know it," Harmony said, grinding her teeth. "She was afraid the whole time. Desperately terrified that she would never see you again and equally petrified that she would. A whipping with a riding crop is not something to be blasé about. She was afraid of seeing you; without half trying, you could frighten a lion, just with that stare of yours alone. She was quaking, William. The woman you love, _and you had her quaking_."

William paused, uncertain of himself. Her tone was accusing, scathing and he had the decency to look somewhat ashamed.

"She was alone. Completely, even in this house with her family, she was alone. And she was frightened of a lover she had no hope of reconciling herself with," Harmony began ticking off the points from her fingers, pressing her advantage now that she'd managed to push him into a corner. "Heartbroken over that lover, desperately yearning for him. Shunned by her friends - these fucking popinjays Richard is milling about with now!" She curled her lip. "Christ, I hate noblemen, with their hypocrisies! They treated Beth like dirt - men and women from her own parish, turning away from her on the street! Her own family, barely speaking to her. Her virtue was questioned by one and all - because of your actions. And here she was, stuck in this place with everyone being cold toward her, and she with no hope that she would ever be with you! And then in swoops Banastre fucking Tarleton!" Harmony paused, she was breathing heavily by now, her blood truly on fire. "William, I was not joking, if he was standing in this room right now I'd slap him so hard across the face his ears would ring for a month! It's his doing, the conniving bastard. He should have left her alone! He knew she was a virgin! A girl with standing, with so much to lose! Seduction. I'm so tired of you bastards seducing women and reducing us to nothing, and all so you can get your end away!"

William stared at her, face unreadable. Harmony shoved her hair behind her ears, her fingers trembling with pent up fury. He could have taken her to task for calling him a bastard - she'd lumped him in with Banastre and his kind, after all. Then again, he had done his fair share of seducing without a care of how it affected the girl, high or low. "You must assume a certain amount of blame here, William," she said, voice marginally calmer.

"Even if I were to accept all of your arguments, and I will admit that they do have some merit and yes, I can see now that what happened at the Simms was the catalyst for the rest. But she should have told me before she married me," he said stubbornly. "That is what it comes down to, Harmony."

"Are you joking?" She asked. "William, how could she have _ever_ told you? _When_ could she have told you? When you were first reunited? At the wedding twenty minutes later? At what point could she have said 'oh, by the by…'. She was terrified of losing you again, William. Terrified. That's why she didn't tell you," Harmony shook her head. "Should she have told you? It would have been more honest, if she had, but Christ, I never would have either," Harmony snorted.

"You would have lived a lie?" He asked, startled.

"It's not living a lie," Harmony groaned, exasperated. She shifted until she was on her knees with her legs folded beneath her. "She loved you. She never would have betrayed you. She would have gone to the end of her days, honouring you, devoted to you. Living a lie would be if you had married her in good faith only to have her go along and tumble every fellow who cocked an eyebrow at her," she raised her hand, knowing exactly what he was about to say but before he could get a word in edgewise, she said firmly, "the only reason she's off with Banastre now is because her head is all screwed on wrong and everything is all over the place! She thinks you had an affair with Linda, because Linda made sure Beth thought it, and she was able to make sure Beth thought it, because _you_ never told Beth the truth about Linda's return! Agh!" Harmony threw her arms wide and glared at the ceiling. "Men. So damned _stupid_."

William said nothing. Harmony's words troubled him, tugged at his common sense, forcing him to doubt when before, he'd been so certain he was entirely in the right. With just a few well chosen arguments, Harmony had bought him low, detailing how hard it had been for Beth during their months apart - a thing he had already known some of, but not all, it seemed. And the way she described Banastre's part in it… William curled his fingers around the glass, any tighter and it would have shattered. Banastre. He was not a fierce hunter - he was more like a scavenger, hunting weak prey. And Beth had been at her lowest ebb, William was forced to agree Harmony on that score. Banastre had discovered how wounded she was and, like a hyena, he'd chased her down until she was too weak and soused and confused to refuse him. His fury with Beth had not waned in the face of Harmony's arguments, but his rage and bitterness toward Banastre had struck an entirely new peak.

"William," Harmony called softly, seeing his face had gone rigid, a mask of stone. His eyes flickered toward her, but he glared blindly, lips tight. "William, would you have married her, if she'd confessed all of this first?"

The question startled him; not out of his anger, but it surprised him enough that he turned to her finally.

"I would have been too angry," he shook his head.

"So can you understand now why she didn't tell you?" She asked gently. "As I said, it was not honest, her keeping such a secret. But telling you would have meant losing you again and she could not have gone through that again. She chose you over her family, William. Does that not count for anything?"

"I don't know," he sighed, draping his arm over his eyes.

"If she'd told you, and if you'd had time to think about it, would you have married her then? A month later or something," she cocked her head, studying his stony expression. "Or perhaps a decade."

He scoffed softly, though there was no humour in it.

"I do not know, Harmony," he said finally. "I can not answer you. I just don't know."

"You made a dogs breakfast of things back in Charlestown and you and she will be feeling the effects of that for decades to come. Yet she forgave you it all and married you anyway. I would like to think that, had you known of Banastre, and had you been aware of how that came to happen, you would have forgiven Beth and married her, too."

"I just don't know," he shook his head slowly.

"And, I'd like to think," Harmony pressed, voice deceptively soft now, "that now you now I've given you the full account, that despite her very big blunder, you will remember that there was a time when you were not such an upstanding fellow yourself, and you will forgive your wife, as she has forgiven you."

William snorted again. "You drive a man hard, Harm. I can see why Richard can't get enough of you." His tone insinuated, Harmony understood the double meaning.

"Don't you dare start joking and flirting, this is what got you in trouble in the first place," despite her words, a small smile pulled at her lips. "That, and your damned fine looks."

"Now who's flirting?" He asked, eyebrow arched. "And you in my bed, too. What, my dear Harmony, will Richard say?"

"I don't think he'd pay it any more mind than Beth would," Harmony said. William was still seated, but Harmony shifted until she was laying on her side, head nestled on the pillows. "You and I… What is it with you and me, that we can be like this…" She waved around the bed chamber, gesturing toward the closed door, the bed, the decanter of brandy, her night clothes. "With no intentions toward one another whatsoever?"

"Speak for yourself," he grouched. "I recall a time when I wanted you as badly as Richard ever did. I'd tumble you in a heart beat, Harmony, even now."

"Really?" She asked, voice serious, gazing up at him earnestly. He stared down at her for several moments, then heaved a sigh.

"No, I don't suppose I would," he admitted, nostrils flaring as he heaved another sullen sigh. He placed the glass aside, then lay down the same as she was, facing her.

"I knew that," she smiled, triumphant. "Beth has changed you."

He gave a non-comittal grunt.

"Do you miss her, William?" She asked.

"You've seen the table over there, no doubt. That should be answer enough," he replied, voice grim. Harmony pushed herself up onto her elbow to stare into the corner of the room, her eyes landing on the table there. Which held several of Beth's personal belongings, including the small portrait of her. Harmony's lips parted, eyes wide as she turned back to him. He said nothing further, eyes hard and not meeting hers. She laid back down, sensing this was as much of a profession as she was going to get.

"Will you take her back?" She asked, resting her hands beneath her cheek.

"She doesn't want to come back to me, Harmony," he rolled onto his back and stared up at the canopy over head.

"What if you're mistaken? Would you take her back, should she want to?"

"Christ woman, you just keep pressing me!" He barked, his voice echoing off the walls.

"These are things you'll want to think about, is all," she replied. "Beth will know the truth soon. Her whole reason for leaving was based on her belief that you were unfaithful. What do you think she'll say, William? When she realises she was duped by Linda, that you were faithful all along?"

"I suspect it will cut her most deeply," he said, not a trace of pity in his voice. Indeed, he appeared to be smiling slightly. "With her traipsing off with Banastre as she is."

"Linda's doing," Harmony accused.

"It's always someone else's fault with you, isn't it?" He shot her a dark look. "When it comes to Beth. She can do no wrong. It's Banastre's fault. It's Linda's fault. It's _my_ fault. Yes, we are all to blame but she must be held accountable also. She bedded another man, and then did not tell me. And yes, Linda baited us both, but Beth's actions - all of her actions - are her own. Her refusal to listen to me, her screaming down the house, declaring she was leaving me… No body told her to go off with Banastre."

"Yes, you did!" Harmony was so astonished, her voice came out a squeak. "Richard told me! You told Banastre to take her, that if she stayed here you didn't know what you'd do to her! You kicked her from her own house!"

William was quiet for a time, silently contemplating Harmony's words.

"She was going anyway," he said finally. "She was packing her bags while I was trying to reason with her. She would not listen to me. After months of marriage, she just would not… She didn't trust me. When it came down to it, she did not trust me. So quick to believe the worst…"

"You should not have sent her away," Harmony said, gentle now. "She would have calmed down. When she was calm, she could have been reasoned with. A day or two and Linda's lies would have been exposed and Beth would have been here to learn the truth, rather than off disgracing herself with Banastre."

"Perhaps. There was still the matter of her and Banastre's little tryst, however," William said. "We were both too angry to be reasoned with that day."

Harmony stilled, her breath arrested in her throat. She stared, eyes growing wider. She pushed herself up on to one elbow.

"Does that mean," she began, pausing to lick her lips. "Does that mean you've been reasoned with now?"

"Oh, Harmony," William shook his head. "You expect so much from me. You think you can swoop in here -"

"You pulled me in," she said dryly.

"- Speak your fine words, debating for Beth and that voila," he snapped his fingers, "all my anger will just, vanish? That I'll see it from Beth's side, and all will be fixed? It will take me time to consider what you've said, before I could even think of answering that question."

"You will think on it, though?" She asked, pleading voice filled with hope.

"I will," he replied, nodding. "I will."

Smug as the cat who caught the mouse, she nestled into the pillows again.

"Now, will you tell me what happened, how you came to be here?" He asked, impatient for them to cease their discussion about Beth.

"Well, as to that," she began. "I'll give you the cut down version, if you don't mind. It's late and I'm sure Richard will return soon. Besides, I truly am sick of the whole thing… anyways, what happened was," Harmony continued to speak, detailing the events as she and Cilla had several hours earlier to Richard. William's eyes narrowed and his face became hard, when hearing of Linda's part in what had taken place in the mercantile at Pembroke. It took much longer than she thought to get the story out, with William's constant stream of questions. She should have just started at the beginning and told it in full, rather than trying to give him the piecemeal version, for he kept making her backtrack until the full story was told anyway.

"That damned bitch," he ground out, lips white about the mouth.

"Cilla? Oh, I don't like her overly much, I'll admit, but she did help me and -"

"Not Cilla," William shot Harmony a sharp glance, and she understood then.

"Oh. Linda," she said.

"Yes. By Christ," he held up one fist before his face, fingers crushing as though he imagined he had Linda's neck in his grasp. "I will find her. I will hunt the bitch down. She must answer for it, Harmony. All of it. She must -"

"William," she cut in tremulously. "Linda is still here."

He jerked around so sudden, his expression so fierce that she yelped and drew back. "What the devil do you mean?"

"She returned here -"

"You just told me that you told her to leave!" He raged.

"Yes. And she went to the Kent's and packed her belongings, then she suddenly realised she had no where to go. So she went to Private Cox -"

"Ohh, Jesus Christ no," William was shaking his head slowly, there was murder in his gaze. "Don't you dare tell me…"

"She offered him the money you'd given to her; and he accepted it. They were married that very afternoon," Harmony finished, fingers clutching her night robe over her chest. "William? William."

He was staring past her, face a mask of death; one lip curled, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. He was so still, barely moving except for the rise and fall of his chest.

"Look on the bright side," she whispered, trying to ease him. "At least you don't have to hunt her down now."

William's eyes focused on Harmony and a grim laugh began to issue from his lips.

"Yes, you are correct there," he said, voice low and filled with meaning. "I won't have to hunt her down…"

"What will you do to her?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"The same that was done to Emily Wilkins," he replied. "Only with a cat o nine tails."

"Oh, you can't!" Harmony lurched up.

"And why not? After she baited Beth, the destruction she wrought there! Beth is no innocent, but _Linda_! She lied to Miss Cordell about her and I. And she knew Beth was watching when she kissed me and embraced me and put my hand on her stomach. It was a deliberate attack on my marriage. On me! And then she attacked you in the mercantile! No, Harmony, she'll pay for it all!" He bared his teeth. "Why would you of all people argue against her receiving just punishment?" He asked, biting each word off.

"The baby, William," Harmony said desperately. "That's why. Lashing her, and with a whip like that! It could bring the babe on and she's not anywhere near close enough to birth safely. It could die, William. _Your child could die_."

Breathing heavily, he struggled for calm. Eventually, it came to him and he lay back, breathing slowly now, hands folded across his chest. "Very well. The flogging will wait until she has given birth." He expected further protest, Harmony was a gentle woman most of the time and she had Linda had been friends once. She surprised him by saying nothing at all. Time flagged, with only the noises from the camp outside intruding.

"Your child," he said at length. "Can a woman feed two children at once, Harm?"

"Ah… I don't know. What do you mean?" She frowned.

"Never mind," he waved his hand, dismissing the question. "Lord, what an evening, hmm? I should never have left this room. First the dinner and then you. I am utterly wrung out."

"Are your wounds hurting you?" She asked. "The bullet, and the whipping?"

"He told you!" William flared. "I explicitly told him to tell bloody no one!"

"I'm not _no one_," Harmony sounded amused. "Yes, he told me. He's quite confused over you and Martin, you know."

"He can stay that way," William said, put out with Richard for not keeping his confidence.

"You won't tell me about this accord you've reached? That's what Richard called it. An accord with Benjamin Martin."

"We are family," William shrugged. "The accord is that we shall continue to battle on as we have, but when the war is over, no matter who wins, we will not forget that we are family. One of us is bound to be bought low, there can only be one victor. So the victor will help the defeated one to rise. In the meantime, Martin has made it his mission to have Beth removed from Banastre's bed before gossip can take hold and ruin us all. She is to be taken to Mrs. Selton, wherever she is."

"You promised to consider my words though," Harmony reminded him.

"And I shall," William nodded. "Christ, must we always come back to her? No more, Harm. Do not ask about her or her family or anything that might bring us back around to Beth again."

"Very well… How was the dinner tonight?" Harmony broached, careful and curious.

"Boring. Dull. I wanted it to be over," he replied.

"Yes, yes. I got that feeling earlier," she laughed, then sobered. Cautiously, she asked, not quite meeting his gaze, "how well do your superiors receive Cilla?"

William sighed. Pitying Harmony, he wound his fingers through hers. "They've always received her well, Harm."

"They like her?" She sounded hurt.

"She knows how to charm them, she's been born to it. Raised in deportment and giving airs. Using a quiet, soft voice, the illusion of a perfect, soft female. Complimenting them, laughing elegantly at their quips… Yes, they liked her. Stupid fools; they loved her."

"Oh," she looked dejected, but there was nothing William could say to comfort her. She laughed softly, it sounded forced. "I have to say, when I saw her this evening before they left… She looked…" Harmony trailed off, her smiled slipping away despite her attempt at levity. Cilla had looked… Magnificent. All done up in her finery; a silk sack-dress complimenting her form exquisitely… Golden hair elegantly styled, piled on top of her head, covered with a jeweled cap of lace… She had looked so elegant, the perfect image of how a Major's wife should be. Harmony had never realised Cilla's figure was so fine, her face so perfectly beautiful, before that moment.

"Even Richard complimented her," she forced another laugh. William saw right through it. "And you should have seen Brownlow and Dalton, when they came out of their rooms. I am sure their mouths went dry. They never looked at me like that… And I've never owned a dress like that, even with the lovely gowns Richard has had made for me."

"Nor does Cilla own it," William snorted. "That is Beth's dress and when I saw her wearing it this evening, I almost demanded she remove it."

"Oh."

"Harmony, you are not comparing yourself to her, are you? And finding yourself wanting?" William asked, incredulous. "You've looked in the mirror, have you not? Did I not just say how much I desired you, back in the day? You are one of the most lovely creatures I'd ever laid eyes upon."

"Thank you," she smiled, feeling somewhat better. "It's just… I'll never have the opportunity to wear such a dress as that… I'll never be able to match her, not when she's able to wear all that finery. Do you know what I mean? I don't mean to sound vain but I do know I'm somewhat comely. But Cilla, tonight… She shone, William. As bright as the sun."

"You don't need that frippery to shine like the sun, Harmony," he said, the simple compliment making her feel quite a bit better. She smiled and hefted a sigh.

"Old flirt," she laughed. "If you keep speaking like that, I might be tempted by you after all. Oh, why didn't Richard make his excuses and just come home when you did? He could be in my bed right now, rather me being in yours."

"Yes, you were very quick to slip into mine, I think we should question your constancy," he quipped. Before she could give another pointed reminder that it was he who pulled her into the chamber, he continued, "there are quite a few questions I'd like to ask Richard, regarding this evening. Such as, why he failed to inform me you were here, and the manner of how you came to be here. And - most importantly - how he failed to inform me that Linda was still in camp. I will definitely be asking him that, when next I see him."

"Don't damage him too much, I need him intact," Harmony laughed softly. William laughed despite himself.

"I just fail to understand how he could not have reported any of this to me by now. He's had all afternoon to come and tell me…" He trailed off, suddenly realising exactly where Richard would have spent his afternoon. "Oh…" He nodded, understanding now. Richard had been in Harmony's arms, though William had not known it at the time. He had not even known Harmony had returned. "Still," he grouched, "he should have untangled himself from you for long enough to inform me of Linda. I will have words for him tomorrow."

"How much longer do you think he'll be? Did he at least say that he'll come along shortly?" Harmony asked, pining for Richard.

"No, he did not. I believe he will stay until the end," William shook his head. "He can not afford to let this opportunity pass him by, not when it is going so well for him. O'Hara has held quite a high measure of disgust toward Bordon for some time now, but that appears to be passing, as of this evening. Richard will want to push his advantage, he'll want to continue nurturing O'Hara's good will."

"That keeps coming up, you know," Harmony frowned. "That Richard was in disgrace with General O'Hara. While I am glad that has changed, I'd sore like to know what Richard did to deserve it. What happened, William? What did Richard do to earn O'Hara's disgust?" She asked, puzzled.

William gave a start and, thinking of what happened with Cilla in the dungeons below the Provost; he paused, growing suddenly tense.

"It's a military matter, I am not permitted to speak of it," he said smoothly after only a slight hesitation. He could not very well inform Harmony of the truth of how Richard had earned O'Hara and Cornwallis' anger and the things he'd done to Cilla.

"Very well," she said. She would not hesitate to press him in his personal life, but she understood never to press the Officers regarding military matters. William relaxed, the tension easing from him. That confused her, he should have known she would never pester him in affairs related to his duty. "I know you can't tell me what trouble he got himself into with the General, but can you at least tell me how he's managed to gain O'Hara's respect again? Was it because he was sent out to find you, and he succeeded?"

William sat up, took a sip of brandy and handed her the glass. "You may not enjoy hearing this, but the way he was seen to be conducting himself toward his wife this evening has gone along way to restoring him to the General's good graces."

Harmony sat up, eyebrows arched. He was right, she had not liked hearing it. She drank back the rest of the brandy, and the glass had been quite full.

"Really now," she said, giving him a flat look. It was not a question. "Is that because of what you were saying before? That Cilla knows how to charm them."

William suspected there was more to it than that. O'Hara had been watching Richard and Cilla with an eagle eye, both at lunch and then again at dinner. William suspected that the General had been looking for fractures in their marriage, signs that not all was well. He had seen none. The way the pair engaged with one another; no snide comments with pointed barbs, no reluctance to sit with one another. Each listening when the other spoke, the conversation had flowed easily between them and had enhanced the gaiety of the other guests, adding to everyone's enjoyment of the evening. That had certainly come across to O'Hara, who - William thought - must have been quite pleased to discern that Richard was treating his wife well. That was the crux of it. O'Hara was pleased to see a Gentleman Officer in his ranks, who had committed a vile crime against a woman and was then forced to marry her, was treating his wife with respect and even affection. William had seen Richard squeeze Cilla's hand at one stage - though he would not dare repeat this to Harmony now. It was during a moment when the guests attention was drawn to an Officer who was in the middle of an amusing tale and therefore, were not taking much notice of Richard and Cilla. The intimate squeeze was not done for show. It was a spontaneous display of affection on Richard's part and Cilla had accepted it graciously, with no jerking away. William had seen it.

And so had O'Hara. Cilla was a vastly altered creature to the one O'Hara had met all those months ago, the cringing, weeping girl who had begged to not be forced to marry a monster. Then, she had resembled a terrified doe, trembling all over, because she was being forced to remain with the wolf who had wounded her. Now, she had learned to live with the wolf and she was frightened no longer. She was being treated well and while Richard could not be in love with her, he certainly appeared to be respectful of her, even affectionate toward her. Because of all of that - because it was clearly evident that Bordon had been putting hard work into his marriage, O'Hara's anger and disgust seemed to be lessening.

"Yes, Cilla knows how to charm them," William said now, keeping the rest to himself. "I have to admit that she does have a way about her. She had one Officer, a nobleman born, a fellow who despises most Colonials, regaling her with his life story and handing her sweetmeats though he had to rise from his chair to fetch them. The others were the same, falling over themselves just to gain her attention. And as the wine flowed, several of them tried to out do one another by singing to her of her beauty - I could barely distinguish one word from the other but I believe they were supposed to be odes. Richard joined in and honestly, that was when I decided I'd had enough. You know how well Richard sings."

"I would have left too," she quipped and William laughed again. Carefully speaking as though she did not care at all about the answer, she asked, "the others tried to out do one another by singing of her beauty, hmm? And what did Richard sing to her about?"

"Oh, he was singing of the same; something about her eyes being limpid pools of… something… I couldn't make out what," William waved his hand as though it didn't matter. Then he saw how decidedly pale Harmony's face became as it drained of all colour, and he understood the trap he had just fallen into, the trap she'd laid for him. Her eyes welled with tears. Damned vixen, she'd led him into confiding that her lover sang an ode to his wife's beauty. And what a damned fool he himself was, for falling for it. "Damn and blast it, Harmony," he snapped, both irritated with and sorry for her. "I don't know what is between them, but I do know that he is not in love with her. He loves you, you damned little schemer. Leading me in to that…" He drew a deep breath.

"I know he is not," she admitted. "He loves me. But it still hurts, that he'd sing to her of her beauty. He's never sung to me of mine."

"With his voice, you should be bloody grateful," William muttered. Despite herself, Harmony laughed.

It was the sound of the carriage returning, the crunching of gravel and horses hoofs and grooms voices that alerted them that Richard had finally returned. Feeling not very sure of herself at all, Harmony rose from William's bed. She glanced over at the table which William had made into a small shrine for Beth, and she prayed that some of what she had said had reached him. Rounding the bed, she leaned down and kissed his brow.

"Get some sleep, will you?" She said.

"I intend to," he replied, throwing his legs over the side. He would undress now, and climb into bed properly. "I would have been asleep already, had you not barged in here and disturbed my peace."

Harmony laughed softly and padded from the room.

* * *

"…of course I will! First thing tomorrow, I promise," Cilla said to General Hoffman, who had was leaning heavily on his walking stick while kissing Cilla's hand in farewell.

"I look forward to it, pray don't be late," he said.

"I shan't. Thank you so much for this evening. You are all so lovely and jovial," she said to the other adjutants who had come to see her and Bordon off. "I don't think I've laughed so much in months!"

"I don't think you've had much reason to," O'Hara said, his eyes meeting Richard's, who tensed all over. "But perhaps matters are getting better, now. Perhaps we can begin to bury some affairs in the past, bury them deep where they belong." He saw the loosening around Richard's shoulders, some of the tension easing from the Major. "Bordon, perhaps you will come with Mrs. Bordon tomorrow?"

Something eased in Richard's expression, he looked like a child being handed a brand new toy. He bowed. "Thank you, Sir. I would be honoured."

"Well of course he is coming," General Hoffman said, deep voice soused and rumbling as he looked at O'Hara. "I thought that was given."

O'Hara said nothing, he merely held Richard's eyes, silently conveying that it absolutely had not been a given, that Bordon would receive any invitation from O'Hara. It was not lost on Bordon, that O'Hara was personally extending the invitation now.

"You've quite won them all over, wife," Richard said, taking her hand and placing it on his arm. He was still speaking to her but it was to O'Hara he looked at. "It seems if I am to advance, it shall be through you, Mrs. Bordon."

O'Hara nodded a _'and don't you forget it'_, then he kissed Cilla's fingers.

"Until tomorrow, Mrs. Bordon," O'Hara said, his voice softening.

The farewells did not end there - for the next five minutes, Generals and Majors kissed Cilla's hand and traded jokes with her and Bordon, the hilarity picking up again. Cilla was laughing as Bordon handed her up into the carriage. Bordon bowed at the Generals, followed his wife into the cabin, and the door was closed behind him.

Within the confines several lanterns burned in their fixtures, casting a soft glow upon the occupants. Cilla reached past Bordon, waved through the window, still laughing, as the carriage began to pull away. She dropped back again and her laughter dwindled away.

"What a night," Richard said, still quite intoxicated by it all, and not just from the fine wine. He hadn't been welcome in such grand company in a very long time and it left him feeling quite heady, to be welcome once again. And by O'Hara himself! He had had no choice but to invite Bordon to the dinner, decorum had dictated that invitation, not choice. But it was entirely his choice to invite Bordon to tomorrows breakfast. Finally, perhaps, after all this time, things might finally begin to return to normal. And he had Cilla to thank for it, for all of it - this he knew. He turned to her now. "Oh, when he started to sing," he began to laugh, remembering one of the adjutants launched into song - he had been about to jump up onto the table until O'Hara - laughing - called him to order. There wasn't a noblemen or Officer at the party who was not at least a little soused before the night came to an end. That adjutant though - he'd been about to jump onto the table! Richard laughed again.

Cilla made a sound that could have been taken for laughter. Richard's own began to die away, he moved with the swaying of the carriage as he studied her. She was staring at the lantern, the little flame flickering with the glass. Her smile was somewhat fixed, it was not the easy, natural thing he'd seen earlier.

Had it been easy and natural earlier? Was if this, right here and right now, what if _this_ was the truth and her joviality of earlier had all been for show? He put his hand on her arm and turned her to face him.

"Cilla, were you just pretending back there?" He asked, incredulous and a little hurt. "I thought… You were laughing and enjoying yourself… I thought you were. But now… You're so quiet now and… I can't help but think that… it was all for show."

"I…" she shook her head, then averting her gaze, she shrugged.

"Cilla! I thought… I thought you were enjoying yourself!" He repeated, adding carefully, "with me. I though you were enjoying yourself with me."

They hadn't left one another's side all evening, except to pass water. Richard had known Cilla had a sense of humour but he'd delighted in the grandness of it, her little jokes and quips, her timing, she had him and those seated near them laughing until his stomach hurt, and he hadn't been feigning it.

"Back there… is that not… is that not truly us? Is _this_ truly us?" He asked, gesturing to the change that had come over her.

"I don't know, Richard. I don't know what is us. This is only the second time we've ever been together like this at an official gathering." The first was Beth and William's ball and Cilla had only remained at Bordon's side a short while before falling in with Banastre for the rest of the evening. "I just… I don't know what you want me to say."

He stared into the darkness for a while, then turned back to her. "That you weren't pretending for the sake of the others. That's what I want you to say. I really enjoyed myself, Cilla. I thought you did too. With me. I feel like you've lured me into this false sense of security but it was just that, false."

She held his gaze a moment, then turned away.

"Was it a performance? I know you'll do as you must to protect our marriage and make it look like a true one, you've already proved that. But I just… I didn't think I would be duped by your efforts also."

"I just don't know," she said, turning back to him. "I did enjoy myself. When I was there, with the others, and the wine was flowing and the laughter. It was fun, it's been a long time for me."

"And for me," he said. He'd been ostracised and condemned by O'Hara for months now. "Cilla. Do you really think I would have hurt you if you hadn't helped Harmony?"

"I don't know!" She said. "And frankly, I don't think you do, either."

"I'll never hurt you again, I'll never do… that thing I did… ever again. Especially for turning away my mistress, I would not expect you, my wife, to look after my lover!"

"And if my not looking after her had led to her being taken by her husband? Raped? Killed? And if you found out that I had turned her away, that I'd refused to bring her to safety, knowing what might happen to her? What then, Richard?"

"I…" He shook his head.

"You don't know," she said. "There's a monster lurking within you -"

"Cilla…"

"No, there is, Richard. You unleashed it on me once, because my father suggested Sumter take Harmony and you were in a rage because of what was done to her at my father's behest. Who is to say you won't unleash it on me again? You just don't know!" She slumped back into the seat. "And now we'll never know, and I'm glad for that."

"You did not only bring her to Fresh Water because you were worried about what I might do if you hadn't. You did it because you knew how it felt, to be pregnant and turned away and terrified and you could not let another person go through that."

"Except for Linda Stokes," Cilla said with venom.

"Well, she showed a vindictive streak I did not think her capable of. Cil, my point is, you did it because you're a good person. Empathetic, kind. You're amiable, too. You're quick witted, charming, I've been learning so much about you and despite the awful thing I did - the reason we had to be together - I find you are someone I want in my life. And tonight, you really had me believing that I am someone you want in yours."

She opened her mouth but no words came out.

"Perhaps I'm asking too much of you," he sighed. "Considering how we came to be married. I just… I had really thought we'd made strides. I wanted tonight to be real, I didn't want it to all be one big performance."

"It wasn't, not entirely," she said, staring at her hands. "I did enjoy myself, I wasn't pretending. I just… now we're alone, it feels different. When we're in Company, we've got them to distract us from our awful beginning. I can forget it all and have a few wines and laugh along with everyone. And enjoy every moment of it. But then it all comes to an end and we're suddenly alone and… I don't really know how to feel, now."

"Well, we don't have any wine and our company is our own, but we can still laugh, can't we?" He asked her and she lifted her eyebrows. "Maybe, if we share enough happy moments, eventually they will outweigh the awful ones." She looked doubtful and he decided to be playful, rather than morose. "Come on, what about when Major Thomson bumped into the mirror?"

Cilla threw back her head and laughed. "Oh my God, he was so soused, he thought he'd bumped into another person, he said 'oh my, I'm so sorry!' I think he was so drunk, he never worked out that it was his own reflection!"

Richard chortled right along with her.

"And General Stevens spilling his wine all over the table, and then trying to use General O'Hara's cravat to dry it!"

As Richard launched into another _'and what about…'_ Cilla could barely breathe for the laughter

* * *

Harmony took up her position of earlier, standing just around the corridor, peering around the edge, down the dim hallway for Richard to appear. She heard them before she saw them, his deep rumble and Cilla's bright laugh.

"…Did you see that fellow," she was giggling, her words wafting to Harmony from the stairs and down the hall. "I thought I'd die of laughter when he straddled that coat stand to mimic riding and waved General Hoffman's walking stick like a riding crop! He almost smashed poor Mrs. Ferguson's porcelain vase. She got that imported from China!"

"He almost cracked open my head with it," Richard said. "And that was imported from England."

Cilla's laugher chimed down the hall, she was visible now, standing at the top of the stairs, her hands pressed to her stomach. A chuckling Richard stepped up beside her, placed one hand on her back and the other on her arm, and helped her along the hall. Harmony watched, distraught.

"Oh, God, that was funny," Cilla could barely get the words out. "Imported from England!" Another giggle erupted, Cilla dabbed at her cheeks with a handkerchief. Harmony's eyes landed on Richard, who was laughing along with his wife, his eyes bright and merry, dancing in the lantern light. "I never knew until tonight, what a whit you have," Cilla complimented, words still interrupted with laughter. "I am going to be so terribly sore tomorrow. Major Dick," she said this last with a mischievous voice. Harmony froze, a chill working through her. She called Richard Major Dick. That was her name for him!

"Oh, don't you start! I had enough of that from O'Hara's adjutants!" Richard bemoaned and Cilla giggled again. They had reached their door and looked to be on the verge of going in together. Richard was facing the end of the hall, however, and he saw Harmony as she rounded the corner, revealing herself.

"Oh, the first time when Hoffman said it, I didn't understand why the others were laughing," Cilla said, her voice high and merry. "Dick is short for Richard after all but then I realised it also means…" She trailed off, finally noticing Harmony. Cilla's amused laughter cut off so abruptly, as though it had never been. She stopped dead, just outside her chamber, staring at Harmony. Richard's hands dropped away from his wife so swiftly, he looked like a guilty boy standing there, eyes on Harmony, as if he'd done something naughty.

Both women held their breath, waiting for Richard to do something. By rights, he should have opened the door and escorted his wife into their chamber, where he should bed down with her for the night. It was what he should do, and Cilla had certainly been expecting it, until she saw Harmony standing there as if she'd been waiting. Until her husbands hands had jerked back from her as if her touch suddenly burned him. There was a tension to him, an uncertainty, he was poised and unsure what to do. Cilla watched him, barely breathing. Harmony watched him, barely breathing.

Apologetic eyes on Cilla, he bowed low, reached past her to open the door, took hold of her wrist and bought her hand to his lips, then he released her and began to walk toward Harmony. Harmony smiled, she took his arm when he offered it, and the two began to turn around the corner.

"Please, Richard," Cilla called to him, taking a step toward him, all amusement gone. He hesitated, turned back to her. Harmony kept her gaze averted, refusing to look. Her eyes on Richard, Cilla pleaded, "don't stay after dawn? Please? The servants…" She trailed off, knowing no more was needed. He nodded, then continued on with his mistress, leaving his wife to manage on her own.

* * *

Cilla's chamber was warm and well lit. She closed the door behind her and leaned back on it, hands pressed to her aching stomach, it was sore after knowing the joy of laughter for the whole evening. Harmony's appearance in the hallway had put paid to that. Of course Richard would retire with his mistress, now that she was living there. She stared at her bed, wondering what she had thought was going to happen.

Cilla's daily routine had changed drastically with the departure of Banastre and Beth, but her nights had always been the same - she retired to her bed with Richard. Who, two weeks ago, had started to curl up next to her for warmth. She'd found she liked that - the warmth, the touch of another person when she had neither. But with Harmony living in the house, Cilla's nights were to alter too, it seemed.

After all Richard's talk about wanting their strengthening affiliation to be a genuine one. She stared at the bed and shook her head, feeling awfully confused. It had been a lovely evening spent in elegant company, the wine and laughter flowing. Richard had been by her side throughout most of it and she had allowed herself to forget the horrors of their coming together, to enjoy her evening. She had cooled somewhat when they were alone in the carriage but he'd managed to draw her back out, she had been shocked to learn that she could enjoy his company even one on one.

And he had certainly enjoyed hers. He had started the conversation and there was so still much to talk about, he should still be with her now, reminiscing about the evening with her. Climbing into the bed with her, chatting until it was time for sleep. Then snuggling down with her, his arms around her as they drifted off to sleep.

That was their custom now.

She stared at the bed. What had she expected would happen? It never had occurred to her that he would sleep elsewhere, even though Harmony was there and it had been ridiculous to think it. Still, she had thought that Richard would stay with her, Cilla, and that they would lay in one another arms as they had every night for the last few weeks.

But why would he lay with her for warmth, when he could lay with Harmony for so much more?

Cilla pushed herself off the door and began to undress herself.

A knock on the door a short while later proved to be Vickie, coming to help her with her stays and the pins in her hair. Vickie said nothing about the chamber, empty of Cilla's husband, though she would have known Richard had returned. Cilla's face blazed crimson and she said not a word to her maid, not a single word. Vickie moved about the chamber, extinguishing many of the candles, leaving only a few alight. The room was plunged into almost darkness. Cilla climbed into her very cold bed, and pulled the covers over her. She turned her head to stare at the place Richard usually slept.

Before, back in the days when she preferred him sleeping elsewhere, she would take up the whole bed on the nights he was gone from it. And tonight, he was going to be gone from it. Still, she reached over his side of the bed to peel back the corner of the blanket, leaving an opening for him to climb in beside her. She left room for him there, as she laid on her side, with only the memory of his body had curled around hers to warm her now.


	116. Chapter 116 - Tight Rope

Chapter 116 - Tight Rope:

_End October, 1780_

Richard was not certain what woke him. Perhaps it was the dying fire, the embers were no match against the rising chill outside. Or perhaps it was the driving rain, it was loud enough to wake the dead.

Or perhaps it was his internal clock, his own sense of caution alerting him to the hour and waking him. He lay on his side, his bare chest hard up against Harmony's back. She lay on her side, curled back into him, using his arm for a pillow. He gazed down at her in what was left of the dim light from a single candle, revelling in the sight of her. He stared down at her face - as beautiful in sleep as when awake. Lord, it felt so good to have her back again. This time, he vowed to himself, he would not let her go. Not to Pembroke to stay with some family. Not to anywhere else, either. It felt wonderful to be able to protect her again, to have her near to him, in the same house, where he could hold her in his arms, their embrace impassioned for much of the night.

He was not ignorant of his constraints, however. The tightrope he must walk, if he was to have his mistress and keep her, and still foster an outwardly perfect marriage if he was to hold General O'Hara's regard. That his marriage was improving with every passing day would certainly help him there.

It was those social chains which pushed him out of his lover's bed in the dark wee hours that morning. He dressed himself as silently as possible, then knelt before Harmony's fire, placed several small logs onto the embers and used a small bellows to fan the flames. Harmony would not wake in a cold, chill room, he thought as he gazed down at his slumbering mistress again. After pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, he headed for the door. Quietly, he unbolted the door and slipped out into the colder hallway. No servants were up and about yet, not in this part of the sleeping quarters. He could hear someone moving about downstairs, however, and more outside as well. There was no need for a candle to light the way to his own chamber, he'd been living in the Martin house for long enough that he could navigate in the dark. His own chamber door was unbolted, and when he entered, he began to undress again. It was going to be tedious work, this dressing to leave Harmony's chamber only to undress again when he reached his own. Not that he minded that, not one little bit.

Cilla had left several candles burning in their room - considerate of her, that. And her fire was burning more strongly than Harmony's had been. Which meant Cilla had added a few logs to the fire during the night, when she rose to pass water. So he would have a warm chamber to return to? He smiled, thinking it must be so. Cilla might have been a little weary last night, a little confused; but the carriage ride home had worked wonders on her. He was confident now that she would view their marriage as a good one, whether in private or in public, just as he did.

That they no longer had to pretend would lend to their efforts a far more easy and natural feel. Why, before he left this place, General O'Hara would speak well of Major Bordon once more, something he had not done for months. And with those words of praise would come grudging regard from Cornwallis himself, for he valued and trusted the Brigadiers good opinion. And from there… Richard took a moment to stop, to close his eyes and just breathe. To consider how far he'd come, after disgracing himself with his vile actions toward Cilla. It had almost cost him everything. Not only his career, but his freedom, or his life. While Cornwallis and O'Hara disfavoured him, they would never have allowed him to advance one step further, they would have been a brick wall laying across the path of his career. He should have been hung. Or whipped and thrown into jail. He stood there in the chamber, eyes closed; he had never imagined he might be here again, standing at the precipice of a brilliant future. He might be a Colonel himself one day, now. Or perhaps a General. It was all possible again, now.

And after the war, who knew? He might even be noticed by the King himself. He might be lifted even higher, then. Might even earn himself a seat in the House of Lords. He gazed down at his wife, sleeping soundly in their bed. All thanks to her, thought. All thanks to Cilla. His happiness, not only in personal affairs with having Harmony under the same roof and Cilla a willing wife, but in his career as well, all of it had been secured by Cilla. She amazed him at times, more and more so by the day. He gazed down at her with fondness, wondering how there had ever been a time when he'd disliked her. Certainly, she'd had a sharp tongue back when they first met, but that was only to have been expected, considering who her father was. A rebel and a spy. Mark Putman had spewed his disgusting views, infecting his own daughter with his opinions. Of course she had parroted his rebellious words and had even spied for him. She'd had fire back then, she'd been like an angry little wild kitten.

Richard was glad she was getting her fire back again. He was the one who had stripped it from her, after all.

Cilla slept soundly, the covers pulled up to her chest, hair as gold as Harmony's spilling out onto the pillow. He took a moment to gaze at her as he had at Harmony just a few moments gone. Although she was different to Harmony, she was quite pretty. Beautiful, even. And she was a good person, too. Far better than he deserved, considering the manner in which they came to their marriage. Although she'd never actually voiced her forgiveness to him, he strongly suspected she did indeed forgive him. She enjoyed his company now, and she let him hold her when they slept.

He undressed again, lifted the folded back corner, and climbed into bed. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should snuggled against her as had been their habit of late. How would Harmony feel about it? After he'd left her in her chamber to wake up alone. He heaved a sigh, knowing damned well Harmony would not like it much at all, if Cilla slept in his arms where Harmony could not. Still, Cilla was his wife and it was terribly cold on his side of the bed. He shuffled closer, Cilla roused a little as he pulled her into his arms, but did not waken fully as she settled back down beside him.

His entire body felt languid, there was an easiness in his limbs that had not been for months. He felt rested, and exhausted at the same time. It was a pleasant exhaustion. The relief of a tired person finally reaching home after a perilous journey. William was found again, he was rescued by Richard and returned to the Fort. Harmony no longer had to walk a tightrope at the Turnbull's, worrying over every word in case she gave herself away. Nor did she have to worry about Farshaw. She was within his reach again, in a situation that enabled him not only to seek the comforts and delights of her body, but to also keep her safe from her damned bastard of a husband. He was in the General's good graces, he was no longer standing at the cliff edge, waiting to be pushed over into the abyss.

And Cilla had forgiven him.

All was so magnificently right in the world and from here, it would only get better. A Colonel, or a General - they were only the beginning. Thoughts of gaining a seat in the House of Lords followed him in to his sleep.

* * *

_Gods, I must be lonely to be coming here_, Cilla thought as she approached the door to her uncle's office. She closed her eyes, shook her head, feeling every bit the fool. Still, she knocked and a moment later, Tavington called out to enter. She opened the door. The Colonel was on the other side of her uncle's large oak desk, bent over his work. He glanced up and upon seeing her, his expression changed from busy to astonished.

"Mrs. Bordon," he said, setting down his quill. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Mrs. Bordon," she laughed softly. "You called me Cilla yesterday. And last night and this morning at the breakfast," she reminded him. "Keeping up appearances, were you?"

"Cousin then, if you'd prefer," William dropped back into the chair to watch her as she moved about the room, she didn't seem to have much direction to her, though she eventually went to stand in front of Martin's book shelf.

"I don't prefer," she murmured as if distracted. "I don't care either way," she turned back to him. "I just found it interesting, is all. I thought it was just Richard and I trying to keep up appearances. But I suppose you are set to gain O'Hara's good will depending on how you treat me, just as Richard is."

"Is there a point to all this?" He asked, frustrated. Was he that transparent?

"No, not really."

"Why are you come?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I just… I suppose I should not have." She moved about the room, listless.

"You're bored," he guessed, cutting to the heart of it. She turned to him, startled. "You were in company last night and then again this morning. Now you're returned to Fresh Water, Richard has disappeared and you are left to your own devices. You are bored."

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"And desperate too, it seems, to come here," he laughed softly.

"Are you making fun of me?" She frowned, unsure.

"I'm not," he said. "Would you care to sit down?" He gestured at the seat opposite him. She eyed it cautiously, then she took the offer and sat down.

"Richard isn't going to let Miss Middleton come now, because Mrs. Farshaw is here," she said.

"I'm sorry?" He lifted his eyebrows.

"Richard. A few days ago, he said we could invite Miss Middleton to return here, with -" _with Beth being gone_. That, she could not say. "With the house being so empty and me having no company. But just now, he said it wouldn't be wise because she will see that Mrs. Farshaw is back and it will cause unwanted discussion."

"I see," Tavington eyed her carefully. He had heard her stumble, he could guess what she'd left unsaid. Gods, she bore such a resemblance to Beth it hurt to look at her. "Perhaps there is someone else you can invite?"

"For the same reason I can no longer invite my cousin, I can not invite anyone else," she shrugged.

"Are you hoping I can intercede with Richard, to have Miss Middleton bought here?" He asked, still confused over why she had come.

"No. She can't unless Mrs. Farshaw goes, and that isn't going to happen, so… No."

_Sweet Lord, she came here for my company, _he realised, astonished. She truly was desperate. Lonely, probably.

"I've made some acquaintances, they've visited Mrs. Farshaw and I here. I doubt any will venture out today, though," Cilla said, staring out the window. You couldn't see two feet beyond the glass, the rain was so thick, heavy. Earlier, when it was time to head to the Ferguson's to attend O'Hara's breakfast, they'd to pick their way across mud to the carriage that had been parked as close to the house as possible. Two Dragoons had walked at Cilla's side holding a tarp over her to keep the rain off until she was in the carriage. Even then, her beautiful dress got a little wet. "I hate storms," she shuddered.

_Strange. Beth loves them._ Tavington pushed thoughts of his wife away.

Cilla hesitated, then asked gently, "have you received any word from Beth?"

Tavington grew still. He said softly, "No, I have not."

"Neither have I," she felt free to reply, "and I've sent her a dozen letters. Surely some of them have gotten through?"

"Some should have," he agreed.

"Mila is missing her," Cilla mused. "And so am I. Do you think she'll come back?"

"I have discussed this with Colonel Martin," Tavington said, voice crisp. "We both believe it is for the best if Beth is retrieved from…" he paused, face darkening, then continued, "that she is removed from there as soon as possible, for all our sakes. But she is not to return here - she will be placed with your aunt and… oh," he breathed, pale eyes widening. "I never told you…"

"Told me what?" Cilla asked, frowning.

"Your mother. I'm sorry, I… your uncle told me that your mother has reached your aunt. Forgive me, I know that you've been worried, I should have told you."

A little taken aback, Cilla tried to feign surprise. She knew precisely where her mother was, she had known for over two weeks. Still, she managed to fumble through surprise.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner, that was remiss of me," Tavington said.

"Oh, that's alright, you only returned yesterday," Cilla said, frowning. Then she cocked her head and her voice became accusing. "You returned yesterday! And you're only telling me now?"

"I… Yes, again, I apologise. It did not occur to me until just now," he said.

She nodded. It didn't matter anyway, for she'd known where her mother was, she'd sent off a letter to her through her father. Still, it _was_ remiss of Tavington and it did not hurt to take this jab at him. "I'd like to write to her, if I may," she said, because she knew he'd likely expect it. He had to believe he was the only recourse to her correspondence with her mother.

"Well, as to that.. I don't know where she is, I'm afraid," William said. "Martin has finally acknowledged my marriage but he does not full take me into his trust. He would not reveal their location."

"Oh. Well perhaps she knows where I am by now. She might write to me."

"Cilla, I can not allow correspondence between you and your mother," he said, voice hard.

She studied him, wondering if she should hold her ground, demand he allow it, if such a letter came from her mother. Mage and Cilla had both spied on the British, Tavington could not risk that Cilla might return to her old tricks writing letters to her mother. In truth, that was exactly what she was doing, though he knew it not. Perhaps it was better to pretend to be meek and mild in this, rather than press him. It was not as though she were serious. If a letter from her mother ever came, it would not come through Tavington.

"So, Beth is to be taken to Aunt Charlotte and my mother?" She asked and he nodded. "Why? You can't work through your troubles if she is not with you."

Tavington laughed, it sounded bitter. "Work through our troubles," he chuckled darkly. "Good Lord. She left this place believing herself to be betrayed and has since betrayed me every single night, with _him_," he announced. "No, _cousin_. Our troubles will not be easily resolved, if they are able to be resolved at all."

"Perhaps not," Cilla murmured. "What are you going to do about Linda Stokes?" She asked. "You had Emily Wilkins birched for the trouble she caused. Will you have Miss Stokes birched too?" She said it with challenge, though when she continued, her voice was soft and lowered, "you don't seem willing to punish people you care for, no matter how terrible the crime."

Tavington recoiled back into his chair away from her, his eyes growing wide.

"Richard raped me, and you did nothing," she said, though she could see from his reaction that no explanation had been necessary.

Tavington opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, as if he didn't know what to say. In the end, he said softly, "I had to protect my Major."

"Hmm. And now, as his wife, I must protect him also," Cilla said. She cocked her head. "He's quite lucky, is he not? To get away with what he did so cleanly." She relaxed back into her chair - Tavington was staring at her, wide eyed and speechless. "I don't have too, of course. I do have a choice. I could do everything within my power to sabotage him. I could reveal what he did - there wouldn't be very many people willing to remain acquainted with him then. All the Generals next door… there'd be no more of them, if I revealed it. But I choose not to, because I want to try to live as normal a life as possible. And because now, our futures are intwined - as he rises or falls, so do I rise or fall. Of course, I wouldn't need to be in this position if I hadn't been forced to marry him because he _raped_ me… But still, I have a choice, and I have chosen. I will protect him - or rather, his reputation, and in doing so, I protect my own," she leaned forward - Tavington had been studying her warily, his lips parted, barely breathing. She leaned her elbows on the desk, then pointed an accusing finger at him. "You had a choice, too. Punish him for his heinous attack against me, you would have been meting justice to the guilty. Or you can do as you did, and not punish him at all. I have chosen to protect Richard because ultimately - as absolutely horrendous and utterly wrong as this sounds, people can't help attributing blame to the innocent, it makes it easier for them to _shun_ the innocent_ without feeling guilt for doing so_. Therefore, his rape of me would have reflected_ as poorly on me_, as it would on him.. But that is not the case with you. You did not have to worry about your standing, your reputation, your character, your honour. I had to take those things into consideration when I was faced with my choice, but you did not. So why did you do it, Colonel Tavington? Why did you protect him?"

"Because…" William licked his lips, his heart was pounding and there was sweat on his palms. Gods, he'd never expected to be confronted like this. She didn't even look angry. Firm, yes. Curious. As if she were merely trying to get the bottom of a puzzle. It left him horrendously unsettled. "Because he is my Major," he said again. "And he is my sworn friend - though I want you to know, that what he did to you greatly diminished my opinion of him. But to punish him, I would have had to reveal what he'd done," William swallowed to work moisture back into his mouth. "I would have had to discharge him from the Legion. And in doing so, I would have had to distance myself from him completely and utterly, ending our friendship entirely."

"His crime was not worth the ending of your friendship? Huh," she grunted.

"I did not punish him, but I have taken him to task for what he did to you."

"You… have taken him to task…" she repeated, eyes wide. "Do you think that… taking him to task… was enough?"

"Of course not," he replied, scrubbing his hands over his face, frustrated. "No. I do not. Cilla," he said, voice ragged. "I did try to help you but you pushed me away."

"As if I'd want anyone touching me, after," she said, though her voice was devoid of rancour. "So Richard can rape a woman and you'll do nothing, because he's your sworn friend? You just… give him a wee telling off? Did you give him a stern look and waggle your finger at him?" She could see him working his jaw, he did not seem to know what to say.

"Cilla, I -"

"And Linda Stokes, who was once your mistress. Will you do nothing there, also?"

"No, I intend to punish her quite harshly," he said bleakly. "I shall wait until my baby is born, then she is to be flogged. And I will remove my child from her, also. I will raise it myself."

"You'll take the baby?" Cilla gasped.

"I shall. Will you excuse me, Cilla?" He asked, already rising. "I am expecting Private Cox shortly and I must tend… There is a matter I must attend to first," he finished. She rose more slowly than he had, he was already striding for the door as if he could not wait to get away from her. She stepped away from the chair, her eyes landing on the bookshelf.

"Do you mind if I look for something to read, first?" She asked, knowing he was about to kick her out. She'd never seen him so unsettled - his eyes darted to the shelf, then to her, and he gave a curt nod. Pulling open the door, he shut it swiftly behind him. "Must have been something I said," she laughed softly. "Feeling a bit ashamed, is he?" She moved toward the books, but she stopped dead with sudden realisation.

She was alone, in Tavington's office. Her heart pounded as her eyes fell upon the desk.

_Oh sweet Lord_, she thought, her pulse raced as her eyes fell on the desk. She rounding the desk before she even knew what she was doing. She began rifling through the pages, scanning, reading quickly, trying to take it all in at once for she had no idea how long she had.

She doubted he had any matters to attend to, his sudden need to leave was because she'd made him feel uncomfortable with her confronting conversation. Perhaps she had as long as she was in the chamber - he would not return until she left. But she was only to stay long enough to choose a book, which left her with very little time.

She could not linger… She gleaned what she could from the quickly scanned pages, then she began to open drawers. Her fingers moved with lightening speed, she counted the seconds, there was no time to write anything down, she had to commit it all to memory.

She thought back to when she first started spying and how excited she'd been to discover a new lease on life. She felt much the same now, after feeling so lonely and despondent all morning long.

The information she gained was much the same as information she had been gaining since embarking on the world of spying, but it was current and relevant and would most certainly be useful. The movement of the Green Horse, the movements of soldiers, and how much ammunition they were carrying. After memorizing as much as she could in such a short time, she finally stepped away from her uncle's desk. She spent far less time on searching the shelves for a book - she'd seen Robinson Crusoe among the titles and so grabbed it now, and then two others at random.

She stepped into the hallway, half expecting to see Tavington in the corridor waiting for her to come out so he could go back in, but he was no where to be seen. She needed to write it all down now, the information she'd garnered, while it was still fresh in her memory. She hurriedly climbed the stairs - when she was in her chamber, alone, she sat at the small table, reached for parchment, pen and ink, and began to write down as much as she could remember from the missives she'd read.

Her hand was cramping by the time she rose and moved the planter from the left side of the sill, to the right.

* * *

A flash of light flared within the dark, billowing clouds. Two, three moments later, a deep roar boomed above the house. Rain drove hard against the windows; Private Cox worried the glass would shatter. He stood at attention, kept his eyes straight ahead, barely daring to blink. He was too frightened to appreciate the affluent surroundings of Colonel Martin's office, which would have had him gawking like a bumpkin under less strained circumstances. In his chest, his heart beat as loud as the thunder. The Colonel stood before him, ramrod straight, one arm looped behind his back. The Officer's chin was raised, his cold pale eyes stared down his nose at Private Cox. Christ, and Cox had thought Captain DuBose was bad enough, the way the Captain glared every morning at muster or when the unit was on Parade. DuBose had nothing on the Colonel, whose glare, Cox was sure, would make a lion quail. It left the Private feeling like a lad of ten, a naughty boy who'd trampled mud through his mother's house.

And was about to be murdered for it.

In this instance, his 'mother' was the Colonel and the Colonel could do far worse than his mother ever had. Colonel Tavington's eyes… His face… Lord, he was so still, so cold. A boulder showed more emotion.

"I have given the matter much thought," the Colonel announced finally, the suddenness of his voice after being so long quiet, made Private Cox jump as the thunder outside never could. "While I was determined to have that damned slut whipped, I have been informed that in doing so, I might inadvertently cause harm to my child."

Whipped…

Jeffrey's eyes darted, they met Tavington's for a bare moment, then flickered away just as quickly. He swallowed hard.

The Colonel had intended to have Linda whipped. Jesus. After this initial shock came vast relief, for at the surface, it seemed as though Tavington had changed his mind.

Jeffrey quashed the relief. He could not allow himself such comfort. Just because Linda had escaped a whipping, it did not mean she would not suffer some form of punishment.

And he did not dare leap to Linda's defence - though his wife had just been called a slut. It was insult enough that, with any other man, Jeffrey would be offering a fist fight then and there. But this was not 'any other man'. This was the Colonel of the entire Legion. Such a low ranker such as Jeffrey would not dare to challenge the Colonel. Especially _this_ Colonel.

Especially when this Colonel had the right. Linda had transgressed against him, she'd flirted with him outside her tent, knowing his wife was watching, purposely giving the impression that the two were having an affair. Colonel Tavington had every right to call Linda whatever he wished. Jeffrey Cox kept his mouth shut.

"Mrs. Cox," William's lips twisted on the name, he spoke with a sneer. "Not only has she caused me much grief, but she also attempted to bring about great harm to a person I hold very dear. The Major is not well pleased with Mrs. Cox, you can be certain of that. You are not going to find much welcome for your new wife here, Private."

"I will transfer," Jeffrey offered, as soon as he could work enough moisture into his mouth to speak. Major Bordon was wroth also, and with good reason. Linda had told Jeffrey everything. He knew the person Tavington was speaking of, whom the Colonel held very dear, was Mrs. Harmony Farshaw. Two of the most powerful men in the Legion… What had Linda been thinking? Had she been with the two Gentlemen for so long that she'd actually begun to think she was of their rank? Unable to be touched, unable to be punished? She'd been a fool, if that was so. Jeffrey felt a sudden and driving need to get Linda as far away from Tavington - and now Bordon - as possible. "I have promised to raise the child, and I shall. If you will allow it, if you will draw up the papers, I will transfer to another unit and I will take Mrs. Cox with me. You will never hear tell of us again"

"That will be your fate eventually," William replied, voice crisp. "However, your transfer will wait until the baby is born."

Cox blinked, confused. "Ah… Are you worried that the baby might come to harm when we're on the road?"

"I do not want harm to come to the child," William agreed, a narrowing to his eyes. He spoke slowly, softly, a quiet drawl. "The reason behind the delayed transfer does not stem from a desire to protect the child. Your transfer is delayed, Private, for after the birth, my child will not be accompanying you."

Cox went as still as a statue, frozen in place, eyes staring. If the Colonel had swung up his leg and kicked him full force in the stomach, he could not have been more shocked. Mind whirling, he finally grasped what the Colonel was saying. He was taking the child away from Linda. Sweet Jesus.

"I don't understand," Jeffrey breathed, swaying where he stood. "You asked me to raise the child for you."

"My mind has altered since our… discussions," William replied. "I have seen an unanticipated error in my design."

"What error?" Jeffrey asked, reeling.

"Mrs. Cox," William said, snapping the words. "I had asked you to raise the child, not taking into consideration that that woman would have the raising of it also. Therefore, when my child is born, it shall be removed from the woman now carrying it," he appeared to be choosing his words carefully. He did not refer to Linda as the mother, he was implying that Linda had become nothing more than a breeding place for the Colonel's child and as soon as it was born, she would not be allowed to raise it.

"This is to be her punishment?" Jeffrey asked. "You'd be better giving her that whipping! Sir," he began, preparing to beg. He would go on his knees if he had to. Linda was going to be utterly grief stricken.

"My mind will not be altered, do not bother wasting your words," Tavington said bluntly. "This is not her punishment, I am removing the child from Linda for reasons personal to me."

"With respect, Sir, what are those reasons?" Jeffrey asked. Lord, he could barely keep to his feet the news was so shocking. There was a chair near to hand, he wanted to collapse into it. Linda was going to be wretched with grief, how would he tell her this? It left him feeling sick to the stomach.

"I am under no obligation to explain myself to you, but I shall just the same," William said. "My reasons, Private, are thus. The bloodlines of that child are noble. On one side, in any case. With the chaos she has caused, Linda has proven herself to be both devious and unstable. Hardly the virtues of a nurturing mother. Her recent actions have proven to me that no matter how high she rises, she will always have the moral hygiene of a doxy. I will not have that woman raise any child of mine. The only sort of girl that slut could raise is one destined for a brothel. All your doxy of a wife could manage is a pick pocket or a whore," William spat, filled with venom and finally allowing it to show. "Which is quite possibly what the rest of your children will be, Private, unless you prove to have a very firm hand." Jeffrey's face flooded crimson at the insult, but he said nothing in reply. William continued, "no child of mine will be either of those things. That child will be protected from the woman who birthed it. It will never be told who she is; it will be told only that she died in birth or soon after."

Jeffrey filled his lungs, he held his breath. The insults to Linda just kept coming; doxy, slut… And the Colonel suggested Linda would be a terrible mother, one the child needed protection from. Lord, the child was within Linda's body, she had laid beside Jeffrey that very morning, her hand on her stomach, smiling as she felt it moving within. Jeffrey himself had felt the child move, kicking hard enough to be felt against his palm. They had discussed their future at length, they'd become comfortable with what was in store for them, they had been excited for it to begin! Yet it would all be taken away from them, as soon as the child was born? Linda was going to be devastated… He himself felt the blow keenly.

"There is more, of course," William continued, voice mocking now. "Linda, true to her whoring ways, viewed the bearing of this child as an opportunity to live high and well on my money, for I had promised that I would acknowledge and provide for it. Well, I shall keep those promises," he smiled in a twisted sort of way, "though Linda shall not prosper from them."

"Sir," Jeffrey began, soft voice begging. "She cares nothing for the money, she loves this child immensely. This might be the death of her."

William snorted. "She's survived worse. She told me she's ridden herself of children in the past, she has already used the knowledge of herbs that only whores have."

Jeffrey's eyes bulged, this was news to him.

"Now, you begin to see the sort of woman you married," Tavington mused. "The only reason she was bringing this child to term, was because this time, it was a high ranking and wealthy Gentleman who had had the siring of it. It is mine, and she yearned for the rewards and money I would bestow upon the child and on her," he paused, his voice firmed, "when Linda begins her lay in, she will do so surrounded by women I trust. Mrs. Andrews is her midwife; but Mrs. Andrews' loyalty is mine. As soon as the child is born it will be bundled in swaddling and bought directly to me. I will have a nurse waiting."

"You won't even allow her to hold it first?" Jeffrey's face had gone a horrible shade of green.

"A dead woman can not hold a baby, Private," William said, alluding to his plan of telling the child its mother had died in childbirth.

Jeffrey felt a terrible urge to rid himself of the contents of his stomach and was afraid he would vomit on the Colonel's shoes. If the Colonel's face was stone before, it was granite now.

"Hear me well," Tavington said, voice soft. His boots clipped across the floorboards as he approached the quaking Private. "If you try to remove yourself or your wife without my express permission, I will have you hung."

"Sir," Cox breathed, a tremble coursing through his body.

"The child is mine, I am its father. I will view an attempt to leave as theft and you - will - be - hung," William continued in that same voice, filled with threat. "And you will be caught, Private, should you try. I intend to make it almost impossible for you to visit the latrines without a guard. An even stronger guard will be placed on our dear little slut. I know her tricks well, I will not allow her to slip away from the Legion late one night. She can bribe all of the sentries she wants, she can get on her knees and suck off each one of them, but all that will result in is a very sore mouth for her. And a very wet quim, no doubt, she does love to suckle cock," his lips twisted, then he said, voice hard, "she will not leave this place until the child is born, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Jeffrey said, teeth clenched at yet another insult hurled toward Linda.

"Lastly, as soon as Mrs. Cox is recovered from the birthing, she will receive ten lashes to her back -"

"Oh, dear Lord," Jeffrey moaned, realising that Linda would not escape a whipping after all.

"After which you will be transferred to a unit as far from mine as possible," William pronounced. "At this moment, I am considering sending you to Clinton's battalion in New York."

"Please Sir, she's my wife," Jeffrey begged. "If you take the child away, I can't do anything about that. You are its father, it is your right. But the whipping, I beg you to reconsider -"

"I will not reconsider," William said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He had already decided this, well before Cilla's visit to his office.

"I will take the whipping," Jeffrey said. "I promised her I would, if it came to that. I couldn't bear it, Sir. You are not only punishing her, you are punishing me also. She will be in great pain as it is -"

"She has caused great pain, Private."

"I know she has. But a lashing? Please Sir, I beg you not to take away my ability to protect her - that's the right of any husband."

Minutes past as William studied the other man; Cox was sweating before the end. At length, William said, "that is very noble of you. You are far more worthy than she deserves."

"Will you allow it?" Jeffrey asked, voice pleading.

"I will consider it," William replied. "Dismissed."

Jeffrey had no choice but to turn on his heel and leave.

* * *

Cilla hovered in the doorway, staring into the torrent. Would Jack have seen that she had moved the planter in her window, would any of the spies have been standing sentry on a day like today? After writing out all she could remember from Tavington's missives, she had wrapped the parchment as best she could, and placed it under the stone outside. That had required some explaining, why she had ventured out into the rain, for by the time she returned to the house, she was soaked right through. Would the letter even be legible? If Jack had come; would it be only to discover the ink had become wet, her words bleeding into an incoherent mess? She hoped not.

It was late afternoon now, Cilla has spent most of the day alone while Richard and Harmony kept to themselves in Harmony's chamber. Cilla alternated between her bed chamber and the parlor. Back and forth, with nothing much to do. It would be dinner soon. At least she'd have the Officers to speak to then. Richard might even peel himself away from Harmony for long enough to join them.

Staring into the rain was not doing her any good, it was only making her more anxious. And she might be observed there, standing at the back door in the cold. She turned back into the house but when she reached the end of the hall, she stopped. Where to go? To the parlor again? Or her bed chamber. Lord. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go visit the acquaintances she had been making these past days, even if the rain was still heavy. She would not stay cooped up in the house, it was not good for her.

* * *

Samuel was standing slightly behind Captain Gordon, who was being addressed by a Superior Officer. Samuel had been with Gordon's unit for long enough now, outsiders accepted his presence as a given, despite his young age. Outsiders. Those people not in Gordon's unit. Those people who were not part of Samuel's family. He watched and listened in silence as Gordon was handed a missive and was told that the unit were to decamp in order to begin the journey back to Fresh Water Fort, for Colonel Tavington had recalled them to the British Legion.

Samuel had received several letters from Tavington and from Beth, the former requested him to return, the latter begged him too. It seemed Beth would be getting her wish, at long last. He wasn't certain how he felt about that. Had Tavington recalled the unit just to make Samuel return home? Well, he went where the unit went, so if they were returning to Tavington, then so be it. But Beth had better not yell at him for stowing away with Gordon's unit when they left Fresh Water for Camden, she better not think she could tell him what to do anymore. He was a man now, Gordon had told him so. And he'd killed men, in service to the Crown. He might be young still, but he wasn't going to be pushed around by his older sister. He was a soldier now, Gordon said he was a Corporal. Corporal Martin, just like Gabriel was, when he started out in the Continentals. Only Samuel was a _British_ Officer, he would fight to have order restored in his Country, he would do all he could to push out the upstart insurgents who were creating havoc, pillaging and murdering.

Insurgents like his father.

He was doing good, Samuel was, to counter every evil act of his father.

And now, he was going home. What if Tavington told him he wasn't a Corporal after all? What if Tavington forbade him from riding with Gordon's unit, of going into skirmishes? Would Tavington prevent him from doing his good work? And if he was prevented from countering all his father was doing, how could Samuel ever atone for the man he'd killed that day, the man who had once belonged to the family that now accepted Samuel so completely?

These men were his family now. But Tavington was their Superior and Beth was his wife, and she could get into Tavington's ear and just like that, with a click of her fingers, Samuel would belong there no more. His eyes lowered, he stared at the ground, crestfallen.

Gordon turned back to Samuel and the men, his eyes scanning the page from Tavington.

"Are we going home then?" Samuel asked, trying to sound stoic.

Gordon glanced over at the Superior Officer who was now striding away on some other business, Gordon's unit forgotten.

"That's where he thinks we're going," Gordon said, voice low. Samuel and the other men had to lean in closer to hear him. "But this, this is from Tavington, and he isn't recalling us to Fresh Water, no matter what he led that one to believe," he jutted his chin at the retreating Superior. "Tavington needs us in the field," Gordon explained. "Covertly, though. No one else is to know. We're to be his eyes and ears, we'll travel the length and breadth of the county, gaining information, discovering who are rebels and where they are. Anything we think is important, we'll send back to Tavington. His eyes and ears in the field. Sorry lad," Gordon laid a strong hand on Samuel's shoulder. "You won't be going home just yet."

"I'm glad!" Samuel gasped. "I was worried we were going home, I don't want to go there! My place is here with you."

Gordon smiled down at him. "It certainly is."

"Does he mention me, though?" Samuel asked, fretting. "He isn't commanding me to go back or anything, is he?"

"No, son. You're one of us, your place is with us," Gordon said, folding the missive and placing it in his jacket pocket. "You'll ride with us, son, and you'll help us to dig out any and all information about the rebels, anything we can send back to Tavington, that will give him the edge he needs. You're with us, lad, and he knows it."

Samuel's smile was as bright as the rising of the sun.


	117. Chapter 117 - Beth, Ban and Fanny Hill

Chapter 117 - Beth, Ban and Fanny Hill:

_25th November 1780_

For nearly five weeks, Beth had been residing with Tarleton's Legion.

For the first three, she had been stationed a few miles from Winnsboro, where her daily routine was precisely the same as every other day. She bid farewell to Banastre when he left for his forays into the countryside, she welcomed him home and to her bed when he returned. When he was gone, she spent her days occupying herself as best she could - reading books loaned from Officers. Sewing when Banastre's clothes needed mending. But when Banastre was gone, she mostly spent her days working with the charcoal and ink Mila had so thoughtfully sent to her. She drew the camp, the scenery, the birdlife. One day, she sat down at a brook with her parchment on a board across her lap, and she drew the water and the trees.

There had not been much opportunity for that lately, however, for the Legion had been on the move, as Tarleton's Dragoons were sent further and further afield, to wherever he was needed most.

Most recently, he was needed to the south of Winnsboro. Sumter had been sighted by the 1st Battalion of the 71st Regiment of Foot, and Banastre was despatched to reinforce the 71st Regiment, and to chase Sumter down. This required the entire Legion, which meant Beth's tent had been packed away and stowed with the baggage train. Now, she spent her days travelling - in a carriage, not with the other camp followers on their wagons. The jostling and movement did not allow for drawing or writing, she could only sew and read to occupy herself. The baggage train, protected by a Company of Foot, always moved slower as it plodded along, following the same course as the Legion. At times it caught up, when the Legion stopped for long enough for it to do so. At those times, her boredom was broken by time spent with Banastre. But the bulk of it was spent with her own thoughts and apathy.

The day had come to an end, Beth was sitting in her tent, alone except for Nancy. They were not certain if Banastre would return or not, his tent had been erected alongside hers, just in case. Beth sat at her small table, picking at the casserole Nancy had bought in for her. It had been a struggle to eat lately, some foods had become abhorrent to her, but she could not afford to be choosey when there was so little variety. She often felt nauseous and at times, she was certain she must be coming down with some horrid illness. But the feeling passed and she would feel almost herself again, only for it to flare upon her, the awful nausea that had her reaching for her chamber pot and vomiting bile.

She was not feeling sick just now, but the idea of putting a single bite of her casserole into her mouth made her feel like reaching for the chamber pot and retching. When had she developed such a distaste for deer? She had always liked it before but now, looking at those chunks of meat swimming in the thick brown gravy, they made her stomach churn.

Nancy was chatting away as she always did, while Beth's thoughts lingered elsewhere, as they always did. This time, they dwelled on the Reverend of Banastre's Legion, who had informed Beth that under no circumstances would he announce Beth's marriage to be annulled. There was no call for it, he said. She was not duped into marrying Tavington, she herself allowed for the second ceremony to take place, with Reverend Premmon conducting it. She had allowed for the marriage to be consummated, they had lain together for three months before she left him and therefore, she could not plead he was impotent. He had taken his belt to her, yes, but the Reverend refused to consider that just cause for annulment and he certainly would not consider divorce. He was so scandalised by the suggestion that he refused to speak with Beth at all, after that.

Without his assistance, without him declaring her marriage void, she could not demand her inheritance to be returned to her management. Tavington, the Reverend said, was her rightful, legal husband, and he - the Reverend - would do nothing to help alter that. He did not even believe it was possible, what she was requesting.

If she wanted her money, he had dared to say, she would need to return to her husband where she belonged. It was galling, to be faced with such a sure and pointed refusal. She was determined, however. He was not the only Reverend in the world. Perhaps she could somehow get word to Reverend Oliver - there was one clergyman who would not refuse her request. He did not acknowledge her marriage as it was, he was certain to see her free of it. With his backing, she could then enquire after a lawyer to intervene on her behalf, in order to have her inheritance rightfully restored to her.

She just needed a little slip of paper, to have her marriage legally undone. Oliver would provide it, she was damned near certain of it. But how in the world could she possibly make contact with him?

"Oh, yeh would never believe it! Those rebels, they've attacked one of our camps and taken Captain Tynes captive. Did yeh hear?" Nancy said from Banastre's side of the tent where she was tidying. Beth was sitting in hers, dining at her small table. "…was days ago of course, but Colonel Tarleton has gone down to Jackson's Creek to give the rebels another wallopin'. He's goin' to see what he can do 'bout gettin' rid of that Martin fellow -"

"What did you say?" Beth gasped. Thoughts of her inheritance and failed marriage were blown away like a puff of smoke, her spoon clattered to the bowl, gravy splashed over the front of her bodice. Nancy stopped short, surprised by Beth's reaction.

"Oh, don't fear, Mrs. Tavington. Colonel Tarleton can hold his own and you know, he's got my man with him too. They're all real well trained they are. They can handle the likes of that rabble. Though I've heard some real nasty things about that Martin person! I wouldn't want to come across him in a dark alley when I's all by myself. That I would not."

"Colonel Benjamin Martin?" Beth breathed, her hand over her mouth, that imagined churning in her stomach was becoming quite real, now.

"Yeh, that's his name," the lass said, cocking her head.

"Oh, God," Beth gasped again. She lurched upward and glanced about wildly, her insides writhing dangerously. Her father… Lord, her father was here!

"You've gone so green!" Nancy rushed through the partition toward her, concerned. She searched around also, realising Mrs. Tavington had need of a chamber pot. It was under the cot. It only took her a moment to retrieve it, and a good thing too for Beth had already begun. Nancy shoved the chamber pot under Beth's chin. Beth stood there clinging to the sides, the small amount she'd had for dinner expelling in an awful slop into the bowl. The convulsions passed, leaving Beth utterly drained – and quite embarrassed. Nancy, seeing her mistress' cheeks were reddened, rushed to reassure her.

"Don't worry none, it takes most lasses that way, it does," the younger girl said, moving away with the chamber pot. "But it usually only lasts for the first three months. And the tiredness too… 'Twill pass, as the babe grows. Why don't yeh lay down for a bit? I'll fetch yeh some more blankets and I'll go tell Private Hawthorn to stop that awful trilling on that pipe of his. Rest is what yeh need now."

"What?" Beth said faintly, she stared wide eyed at Nancy. "What babe?"

"Why, yeh're with child, ain't?" The lass said, giving a silly giggle.

"I… I'm not pregnant," Beth whispered as she let herself be guided to the pallet. She gazed at her maid again, still feeling wretched and stunned. "I can't… I can't conceive."

"Why in the world would yeh think that?" Nancy asked, head cocked to one side, looking quite confused. Beth was sitting on the side of the cot, gazing up at her with a very vulnerable expression. She looked as though she might be sick again. "I knew somewhat was ailin' yeh," the maid continued, "but it didn't take me long to figure it! Yer so tired all day every day. Yeh went off yer food. Yeh sicked up a few times… are yeh breasts sore, Mrs. Tavington?"

The question was impertinent and was not something a mere maid should ask. But it gave Beth some pause, she resisted the urge to reach up and feel her breasts, she didn't need to anyway. Banastre had not been able to touch her there – her nipples especially. She'd always loved to be suckled there in the past, but now even the slightest brush of his tongue was like razors slicing into her flesh.

"Most women get sick in the mornin's, but that's because their bellies empty out over night and they wake up with nothin' in 'em, and they don't realise they need to eat right off. That's why I always give yeh fried bread and corn cakes first thing," the maid prattled in her usual way. "I thought yeh knew yeh was pregnant."

"Oh my god," Beth breathed, staring blankly across the tent. Her eyes filled with tears and they began to spill. "Oh my God!"

"Oh there, there!" The maid cried, seeing her mistress' distress. "Don't yeh worry none! Yer man will take good care of yeh! Most men are cads, I have to say. Not my man, though. And not yours. Colonel Tarleton, he'll be real choked up! And he's such a gentleman. He'll let the babe have his name, I don't doubt it!"

"Oh my god," Beth swayed, the horrible pit in her stomach dropped to her feet.

Banastre would give the baby his name, but was it his child? Christ. She quickly counted back down through the weeks, trying to determine how long, exactly, she'd been in Banastre's bed. She'd only just finished her courses a few weeks before marching away from her marriage. So who was the father? Sweet Lord above. She was pregnant and she could not even tell who the father of the babe was. Beth burst into wretched tears; Miss Nancy hovered above her, wringing her hands, uncertain what to say or do, for she could not entirely understand her mistress' dilemma.

Beth understood her predicament only too well. What sort of woman had she become, who could not even name the father of her child? Sweet Lord, her mother would be turning in her grave.

And Banastre… what would he have to say of her pregnancy? And here he was, her lover, chasing after her father at Jackson's Creek, to give the rebels a walloping. Was her lover about to kill her father? Was her father about to kill her lover?

And her father… Oh God, her father... What would he have to say of it? To see the disapproval in his eyes... After all the blunders she had made in the last few months, after all the shame she had bought him, this was most definitely the worst.

She curled up in a ball on the cot and wept.

* * *

He is so absolutely certain we can make this work, Beth studied Banastre, seated the other side of the small table, going about business as usual, as though their lives weren't soon about to change absolutely and forever.

He was bent over a pile of papers, muttering to himself as he searched for scraps of parchment, notes and details hastily written while on the road.

General Cornwallis favoured Banastre Tarleton above any other Officer in his Command, but even Banastre was subject to the General's uncompromising demands. A report a day, two if Banastre could manage it, was what the General required; no, expected, from his favourite. The Colonel's quill scratched across the parchment, detailing an attack which had occurred the previous day while Banastre's Dragoons were on their return journey to the Legionnaire's camp. Beth gazed down at the note Banastre was now setting aside. He was such a story teller. A fabricator of little lies, small falsehoods to make him look better in the eyes of his superior. For instance, at that very moment, she clearly read on that note - in Banastre's own writing - that ten rebels, under the direction Colonel Benjamin Martin, had staged an ambush, hoping to snare his Dragoons.

Beth and Banastre had discussed this at length, her father's nearness and his constant and unrelenting attacks on the British forces. He was out there, The Ghost they were calling him now, for his ability to attack and then slide back into the shadows. He was a constant onslaught, an implacable beleaguer and the only answer Cornwallis had for Colonel Martin, was Beth's lover, Colonel Tarleton.

These days, whenever he rode out, it was to pursue Beth's father. She never knew when he left, which one would capture - or kill - the other.

Her eyes returned to the report Banastre was working on now, only to see him write that the attacking force had numbered thirty. He was lying to Cornwallis about the numbers of rebels attacking him. He deliberately wrote the incorrect date at the top of the report, also. Beth sighed. What her lover hoped to gain with such deceptions, she did not know, nor did she understand.

"And why so great a sigh, my love?" He asked, reaching for her hand without lifting his eyes from his report. His fingers closed over hers, even as he continued to write a blending of truth and lies to the General. It astounded her, that he could be so absorbed in his work, yet still be very much aware of her presence. He was in love with her and he never gave her any reason to doubt it, ever.

"I'm pregnant, Banastre," she said, morose. He glanced up at her, his dark brown eyes wide with surprise.

"Beth, are you still worried?" He asked, placing his quill on the table and placing his other hand over hers. "We've talked about this, I thought I'd allayed your fears."

Beth gave a listless shrug, eyes downcast, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Do you still fear I'll abandon you?" He asked, reaching up his thumb to stroke her face.

"I fear so many things," she replied, leaning into his touch, struggling to hold back the tide. The Legion's Reverend had refused to entertain the idea of releasing her from what she told him was a haphazard marriage at best. She had thought to beseech Reverend Oliver on the matter, but with her pregnancy, would he? Would he really declare her marriage as void, knowing it would reduce her to being an unwed mother? Whether the child was William's or Banastre's, it mattered not. Oliver would not declare her unmarried, for that would mean she was an unmarried mother, all hope of saving her reputation would be destroyed.

He would not allow that; if anything, with this pregnancy, he would be forced to declare her married to Tavington after all. He would do it to protect her standing.

How could she possibly gain back her inheritance, without her marriage being declared as void? And without her inheritance, how could she possibly support this baby?

She needed her money now more than ever, but never had it been further out of her reach.

"Well, that should not be one of them," Banastre said, certainty in his voice.

"If you do," she said, finally meeting his eyes, voice wretched. "I'm undone. Completely and utterly undone. I can't even name the father of my child."

"It's mine, Beth. Three months you were in his bed and he did not get a child on you. You've been in my bed for nearly six weeks and only now you're pregnant? It's mine," he said with certainty. "And as such… How can you think for a moment that I would abandon you? Don't you realise by now how much I love you?"

"I do know, but it doesn't stop me from worrying. Ban, you can not know absolutely for certain that the child is yours. What if it isn't? What if it's William's, what will you do then?"

"I do not believe it is," he replied.

"We must be realistic about this," she said. "I mean to see this child cared for, no matter who had the siring of it. I need you to entertain the possibility that you are not its father."

"Very well, let us be realistic. You are pregnant. You are going to have this child. No matter who is the father, you will soon be a mother and I doubt you are inclined to give it up?"

"Absolutely not," she replied, determined.

"And I don't ever want to let you go," he said earnestly. "Which means, if we are to remain together - which I desire most strongly, I must needs care for you both."

"Why would you care for it, if every time you look at it, you see William's eyes staring back at you?"

"Because I love its mother," Banastre replied without missing a beat. His answer was spoken with such innocence, such completely unfeigned honesty - it was like a sabre thrust, providing a mortal wound to her fear. It took her breath away. She could not help but be reassured. His fingers gave hers a squeeze. "He did not get this child on you. I did. But let us imagine he is the father…" he shrugged. "He was a close friend once, close enough that I would have raised his son had he died in battle. That friendship is ashes now, but I will do what I can for the child. And I would move heaven and earth for the mother…"

"Oh, Ban," Beth laughed softly, overcome, tears brimming so that he swam in her vision. "You're too good…"

"Nonsense," he rose, leaned over the table to kiss her brow, then sat again. "I'm no fool, is what. I knew full well that all our sporting would likely result in a child, I will not plead ignorance now that you are pregnant and nor will I shirk my duties. And if the child is his - which I doubt - well, its brothers and sisters will certainly be mine," he grinned at her and she laughed softly.

She and Banastre would be together the rest of their lives; the child she carried now would not be the only child she bore. Beth rose from her stool and circled the table to stand directly before him. She ran her hands over his auburn queue, smoothing and caressing. "Yes, if this child isn't yours, then the next one certainly will be."

"Three months in his bed produced nothing. Half that in mine, and you're suddenly pregnant. It's mine, Beth," he smiled up at her and her heart skipped a beat. It was like a blinding ray of sunshine, that smile. Filled with reassurance and love and anticipation of joys to come. He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer, until his chin rested against her bodice, his head tilted back, his eyes gazing up at her. "But whether it is or not, that all your future children will be mine does sound very grand indeed."

Her hands drifted downward to cup his jaw, her comforting smile faded. She became earnest, introspective. With brutal honesty, she declared, "I should have married you, Ban. I should have waited for you to find a way. I am so sorry that I did not."

His jaw dropped. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought to hear such an admission from her. She'd never voiced regret at marrying Tavington, not until the day she discovered his affair, the day she fled from him. Even then, when she voiced regret, she never said anything about Banastre's own marriage proposal, foiled by her father so long ago. She regretted marrying Tavington, but never before had she voiced regret at not marrying Banastre.

"Too late," she whispered, throat closing. "Too late."

Banastre agreed, it was far too late. His Reverend had been very clear - there was no grounds to annul her marriage. Their circumstances could not be altered, their situation could not be remedied. Even if William divorced Beth, Banastre could not marry her. To marry a divorced woman, even one he loved so dearly as he did Beth, would be the end of him in Society as he knew it. He would lose so much of his standing that he might as well reconcile himself to existing as a complete recluse, on the outside of everything.

If William died, perhaps there would be hope for them; only then could Banastre marry Beth. But unless that occurred, they were forever compelled to live as they were living now; as man and mistress. A man with a mistress as beautiful as Beth would be envied far and wide, giving Banastre a large measure of respectability. Even if William did divorce her, Beth would have to continue on as Banastre's mistress. It was too late for anything else.

It was damned fine to hear her voice her regret, however. Damned fine indeed. In the heat of passion, he lurched to his feet, chair toppling backward behind him. His arms came about her, crushing her to his chest. "I will be your husband in everything but name, until your dying day, my love. And I will be a father to this child, no matter who had the siring of it."

"Oh, Ban," Beth was unable to say anything else, she buried her face in his neck and held tight to his waist. Still beset with unvoiced doubts, she clung tight to the promises he was making her. Banastre was cupping her face tenderly and kissing her, driving those doubts from her soul. As long as you have Ban, all will be well, she thought leaning against the strength of his body, her palm to his chest, feeling his heart race within. He loves you. He empathises with you, there is no blame. He will care for you and the child - and you know, it might be his yet! As long as you have him at your side, you need never fear the future. Ban is all I'll ever need. She sighed into his mouth, feeling her doubts waver and finally break. A smile stole across her face, a relieved sigh escaped her lips. Banastre grinned to see it, he had soothed his ladies fears and doubts and felt proud at being able to do so.

"Where will we live when the war is over?" She asked, surrendering to him so completely, she was finally comfortable and confident enough to plan her future with him and the baby. Banastre was her life now, he was her everything.

"England," he replied without hesitation. "You'd like that, surely? Though you'd never see your family again."

"They won't want to see me," she replied, fighting through the sharp tug of pain. "Even if I tried to see them, they'd refuse me." She wondered if her father knew where she was, that she was with the very Legion he was determined to plague. She couldn't see how he might know it, and prayed that he did not. "I've left my legal husband, I've become your mistress. I'm pregnant and don't know who sired the child. Believe me, when my family find this out, they won't want anything to do with me ever again. It's better that I leave America with you; where my actions can't cause my father shame or bring him and my family disgrace."

"That can't be easy for you," he said.

"It's not. It's also no easy knowing that every time you ride out after my father, one of you might capture or kill the other. None of this is easy. Especially the knowledge that for once and for all, I am no longer a part of them. I lost them the moment I left Fresh Water, even if they don't know yet that I've become mistress to another man… but I made my choice knowing I would lose them. I've made that choice twice now," she realised bitterly and he cocked his head in question. She waved the comment away. "I've finally accepted that I'll never be a part of them again. I love them dearly and I'll always wish them well. I'll miss them until the end of my days, but it is really for the best that I leave. And who better to leave with?"

Heat spread through Banastre's chest, overwhelmed that she would choose him without reservation, without attempting some futile reconciliation which would only end poorly for her. He added to the ever growing list of reasons to leave with him and live in England. "You can leave the travesty of your marriage behind you, also. You can leave him behind you, and start anew with me!"

"Yes, he plans on living here… With her, no doubt," bitterness twisted her words, for a moment she stared past Banastre, her unseeing eyes flashing fury. Then she breathed a deep breath and, although he could see it was a struggle for her, she managed to ease her emotions and calm herself. "Maybe he can be convinced to do the decent thing and give me half my inheritance. That will be better than nothing - he'll have the land, too. And Fresh Water. It will be better this way, much better, if he lives here and we go there. No chance of ever happening upon them…"

"…ruining our happiness with their presence," Banastre agreed, kissing her brow. "Yes, perhaps he can be convinced to give you half your money. I will keep you in a fine house," he continued, laying out for her the life they and the child would have, living together. They could not return to Liverpool - his mother would have a conniption if he took his mistress and the child to live there. London, perhaps. That was heart of England anyway. They could go to the clubs together at night, he would show off his beautiful prize to all his envious associates… He smiled, just thinking about it. "With servants to tend to your every whim. And I will live there with you, and we will raise our child together."

"The child, he will have a teacher, won't he?" Beth asked. "Someone to teach him his letters and how to dance and to speak other languages. I want him to have the best possible start, even if he is..."

"A bastard?" Banastre asked, eyebrow arched. "A child of mine will be afforded the best of everything, no matter the circumstances of his birth. He shall go to Oxford, just as I did," he vowed. "And if he is a she, then she will have a governess and perhaps she'll go on to school, if you can bear to be parted from her. And she will marry a fine gentleman, for that is what her father is," he grinned. "The child will do very well for itself in England, I'll make sure of it."

"We both will make sure of it," she said, draping her arms around his shoulders.

"We both will," he agreed, conceding that - although he was the only male figure - he was not to be the sole influence in the child's life. "And we'll do a bloody grand job, if I do say so myself."

Beth's laughter rang through the tent, Banastre rejoiced to hear it, for she did not laugh very often these days. She was a vastly altered person to the lass he'd fallen in love with, thanks to that damned bastard William. It caused him great pain to see hers. He wished Nancy hadn't bloody told her that her father was behind the continual strikes against the British forces - it hadn't helped Beth at all, knowing he was so near and in danger.

"Colonel?" A voice outside the tent called.

"Whitty," Banastre frowned, a rough sigh escaping his lips. Beth stepped away from him, ending the intimacy. "Our moment of solace is over, my love. It is back to work for me, it seems."

"You've shirked your duties long enough already, Colonel," she chided playfully. "Here you are, kissing and snuggling your mistress when you should have been writing up those reports… Shame on you. What, do you think, would Lord Cornwallis say?"

"Nothing good. And shame on you for tempting me, temptress," he tapped her nose with his finger. As he turned from her, she surprised him with a playful slap on his rump, and he flashed her a naughty grin over his shoulder.

"It doesn't take much at all to tempt you," she laughed. He nodded in full agreement. It certainly did not.

* * *

With Nancy following behind, Beth approached the peddler's wagon. It was surrounded by soldiers and camp followers looking over the merchant's wares, but upon seeing her, they began to part to make room. Holding her head high and keeping her eyes on the wagon, Beth strode down the now empty gap. The peddler, seeing the quality of her dress, his eyes lit up and he began rubbing his hands together with glee. She stopped before him and he immediately began showing her the best of what he had, items he suspected a woman of her station would desire.

There wasn't much. The peddler had bought merchandise for soldiers and poor camp followers he expected to see in camp - and those items were priced ridiculously high. She lifted her lip in distaste; the gall of the man, to be charging five shillings for pins that would surely cost only two in the city. He had his costs to cover, she supposed. He bowed low and then began laying out items she would surely like. A parasol and fan, both of exceptional quality. A snuff box which she disdained, though she did take the parasol and fan. She was pregnant now and needed to consider what she would need for her baby. With that in mind, she purchased lengths of linen and cotton, balls of wool and knitting needles. She chose several books, she even purchased another basket for there was too much to fit into the one Nancy had bought along. Trying to be discreet, she asked the peddler if he would be returning and when he assured her he would, she requested he bring 'the sort of stays that accommodated an expanding waist'. He understood immediately what she was requesting - though, unfortunately, so did some of the camp women. She heard a few titters but ignored them - gossip about her pregnancy would likely spread now, unfortunately. It could not be helped, however - she needed what she needed. She paid the fellow - and although she had haggled like a fishwife, she still had to grit her teeth as she handed over thrice more than she would have, back in the city. She picked up her basket and walked back through the crowd - a line opening up again for her as the red sea opened for Moses. She left Nancy behind, for she had a few items to purchase for herself. She went to stand where she could wait for her maid, the empty gap closing in as she reached the back of the crowd.

There, she came face to face with one Alby Scott, and she stopped dead, her mouth falling open at the sight of him. He came to stand before her, expression solemn.

"What the devil are you doing here?" She breathed, her eyes darting. He could not have been a real recruit - not this man. Just like the rest of the Scott family, he was a rebel, through and through.

"How do, Miss Martin?"

"It's Mrs. Tavington now, as I'm sure you must be aware," she swallowed hard, stunned by the sight of him.

"Yeh, I'm aware. Been wonderin' what ye're doin' here, bein' a wife to Tavington yet settin' up tent with Old Banny."

Beth almost tripped but she caught herself just in time.

"My husband asked Colonel Tarleton to escort me to my family, not that that is any of your concern," she snapped, but not before a flare of shame welled up in her. She knew it to be the thin excuse it was - she had left William early October and it was now the end of November. Nearly two months, in Banastre's camp. It was taking an awfully long time for Tarleton to deliver her up to the place he was supposedly escorting her to. Alby lifted his eyebrows but did not challenge her.

This young man was from her own Parish, the two had sat in Reverend Oliver's small church, listening to sermons. Alby had thrown something sticky into her hair once, when he'd been sitting on the pew behind her. His father had given him a strapping, for that. A boy she knew, a friend to her family, and he was no fool. No matter how Banastre and Beth tried to hide it, it was likely the entire camp believed the gossip about them. Including Alby. "Mr. Scott, it is dangerous for you to be here. I know you're," she glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was listening. They were getting a few odd looks, but no one was near enough to hear the conversation. She lowered her voice further anyway. "My father's man."

"I am at that. Why? You got somewhat to tell me?"

"What? Of course not! Oh, I see," she whispered, shaking her head. Fury flared. "I should have known you'd expect that! It will not do, Mr. Scott, it simply will not. You need to leave here, it is dangerous for you to be here!"

"But it'd be goin' 'gainst what Colonel Martin told me to do and frankly, I take me orders from him, not you."

"You're a damned goose brained fool, Alby Scott," she snapped.

"There's so much I have to tell ye, but I haven't been able to get close," he said, revealing what she'd already suspected, that he'd been with the Legion for some time. "Ye know yer da is here, ain't?"

"I do know now and it makes me sick to my stomach, that he might be caught," she closed her eyes, reeling. "Or worse."

"Ye worried for him? He's worried for you, too. He wants you gone from here."

"He knows I'm here?" she breathed, stunned. Her shame welled tenfold. "Gods, did you tell him?" She gasped.

"No, Miss Martin. He knew before, yer why we came at all," Alby said and Beth's eyes bulged. "Look, there's no time and here ain't the place to tell it all. I need to speak to ye, Miss Beth. Ye need to seek me out, somehow."

"My father came here for me?"

"To fetch ye back home," he confirmed and tears sprang to Beth's eyes. "It's why yer da has been dogging Tarleton's heels. He wrote to Tarleton a bunch of times too, demanding ye be handed over to him."

"He wrote to Colonel Tarleton?" Beth asked, dark eyes wide.

"Colonel Martin wants to take ye away from here and get ye to Gullah with yer aunts, where no further trouble can come to yeh."

No further trouble? Beth's mind whirled through the implications and she realised what Alby Scott did not. Her father wanted to save her from being disgraced. She could barely move, her legs felt as though she were wading through jelly.

"Ye need to seek me out, Miss Beth," Alby said again, then told her exactly where she would find him. "I can get ye out, I can get ye back to him. Tarleton's been ignorin' yer da's letters, the damned bastard. Yer da's desperate to get you out, get you away from the Britishers. It's been right embarrassing for him, ye know, that his daughter went off and married a Britisher." His eyes narrowed and he asked, "and now yer here and I know yer have yer tent so close to Tarleton's that they're touching. Why is that, Miss Beth? What are yeh doin' here with Tarleton?"

Beth stared at him, shocked to the stomach and entirely unable to answer his question. Tell him that Banastre is escorting her to Maggie? As if he'd believe that, with her still in camp after nearly six weeks. Alby's words were a devastating blow. A kick to the stomach. She knew what he was insinuating and when she gave no reply, Alby turned on his heel and strode away, ending the short conversation. Distraught, Beth frantically glanced about for a place to sit for her legs felt weak and she was worried she would faint. But there was no where. She looked back over her shoulder toward the wagon but Nancy was swallowed by the crowd, who knew how much longer she would be?

Seek me out, Alby had said. Gods, for what? More condemnation? He would try to convince her to leave, he would remove her to her father, for more of the same. Disapproval.

It was out of embarrassment that her father had come, she under stood that quite well. To retrieve her, a means to protect his name from the harm she was doing it. Before too many could learn of her affair. From further harm… Is that what he'd written in these letters to Banastre? His demand that she be released, had he accused her? Condemned her? Gods, no wonder Banastre hadn't told her. True to his word, he had protected her.

Seeing Miss Nancy bounding toward her with the basket over her arm, Beth decided it was time to return to the Dragoon section of camp, time to return to Banastre. The man who truly loved her, her lover who had promised to protect her and had now proven his resolve. He had refused to give in to her father's demands, he'd refused to give her up, knowing she'd be condemned, denunciated. She already knew she could trust him, but this was one more confirmation that her trust was not misplaced.

"I got ye some ribbons," Nancy said. "And this book," she gestured to the tatty cover at the top of the pile. "Mrs. Simmons said it is a romance. She recommended it - she said it was exactly the sort of book ye would want to read," Nancy said eagerly, hoping for praise, no doubt.

"Well, Mrs. Simmons could not possibly know my tastes," Beth shrugged, "but I don't have so many books that I'd quibble. Come along, I'm going back now." Back to Banastre, who had not given in to her father's demands.

He was her knight. Her armour. Her shield. Her buffer against the storm. By the time they reached the Dragoon section of camp, Beth was well warmed with outrage and indignation. She took the basket and dismissed Nancy before entering Banastre's tent. Banastre lifted his head from his notes, he smiled warmly - his special smile, reserved only for her.

"What did you buy me?" He asked playfully as she set the baskets on the table. She did not reply. Instead, she threw closed the tent flaps and began knotting them - as good as locking a proper door. Flicking the quill idly between his fingers, Banastre watched, amused and curious, leaning back in his chair, his legs crossed at the ankles. She knelt on the floor to tie the last one, then rose. "What are you doing, love?" He asked innocently, though he could tell full well what she was doing as she strode back to him. She cupped his jaw with her small hands, leaned over and kissed him long and hard. He was breathless by the time she pulled away.

"Showing you how much you mean to me," she said. "My protector. My shield. My knight." He gazed up at her incredulously, her words made no real sense, she knew, and nor could she explain it further, not without revealing Alby Scott.

Banastre might not have known where this was coming from, but he certainly enjoyed hearing her saying such things. He melted beneath her. She lowered herself to sit across his knees, but he protested.

"The chair will break with both our weights on it," he said, the chairs were built for easy transport, not for sturdiness. It was collapsible and could very well fold out from under them. A naughty gleam entered Beth's eyes.

"Shall we see if we can break it?" She asked. Eyes locked on his, she rose again, slowly pulled her skirts up her stockinged thighs, well past her garters, exposing her quim to him. She lifted one leg and climbed across his lap, straddling him.

"Let's see if we can," Banastre breathed, his voice deep with arousal. She began kissing him again, with a seriousness, an earnestness he'd never had from her before. Oh, kissing her was always a joy, but the way she was kissing him now, he suddenly felt as though there had been a little something missing from every kiss that had come before. Her hands were busy on his breeches, pulling at his belt, freeing the clasp. He gripped her waist with strong fingers, groaning against her lips. She pulled the panels aside, dipped her hand into his breeches and withdrew his yard. His lips became momentarily lax on hers as he felt her silky hand move up and down his shaft, her thumb swirling around the head. Gods, he felt he'd die from that alone but then, with her eyes fixed on his and a naughty smile tugging her lips, she thrust her pelvis forward and rubbed her quim along the length of him. Her fingers were placed against the underside of his shaft, both holding it in place and levering it toward her, even as she ran herself along the length of him.

"Christ," he gasped as her warm clitoris and moisture rubbed along his yard to the tip and back down again. She closed her eyes, her head dropped back, he reached up to stroke her bared neck and the arch of her shoulder. She panted, beautiful little puffs of sound gasping from her lips, as she ground against his dick. Her other hand gripped his shoulder, she needed something to hold on to. She was driving him mad. "Beth," he whispered, glancing downward to observe. He lifted her skirts away to watch her rub herself against his shaft, her legs straining, her body tense as she writhed against him. His hand drifted from her neck to her quim, his other still holding her skirts up out of the way, as he prised her lips open to reveal her ripe pink bean, he kept her lips split apart, so her clit would have unimpeded access to rub on his hard length. She was wet - so moist, she left his shaft glistening with it. "I'm going to die."

"Not yet, my love. We've a ways to go yet," she whispered, her lips crashing against his. Her fingers kept his hard length upright, she held his cock in position as she lifted herself higher this time and guided him toward her entrance. A heavy sigh of pleasure breathed from her as she slowly impaled herself, his cock burning with joy as it was encompassed in her velvet warmth. He ground his jaw and tensed, trying hard not to come too soon. The chair began to creak worryingly as Beth rocked on his cock, as he thrust upward into her, both becoming more energetic and urgent with every passing moment. The stool could not withstand such punishment, Banastre felt it begin to topple from beneath him. He seized her waist and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he jerked them both upward, standing, still impaled deep within her.

"You're so strong," she groaned into his ear as she bobbed up and down on his shaft. "I love how strong you are. I love that about you. I love so much about you. God, you make me so lightheaded! Deeper Ban. Gods, you're just so strong!"

"I'll show you how strong," he rasped, determined to impress her further, to prove his prowess. He braced his legs, wound his hands beneath her beautiful firm bum, and thrust into her as hard as he could, while holding her at the same time. She clutched at his shoulders and threw her head back and with a wild gasp, she came on his length. He could feel her constricting and squeezing his shaft and he was so awed by feeling the strength of her climax, that it bought on his own. Shuddering, he spilled his seed inside of her, he continued to thrust through his orgasm, his teeth bared from the effort of holding her and the pleasure burning through his body. It abated, slowly - and his body shook and quivered, like aftershocks after a massive quake. It's how it felt, it'd been a big one, and now his body was jolting and quivering with after pleasure, each jolt and quiver weaker than the last until at length, he calmed. Beth had her face buried in his neck, he could feel her breath panting, fast at first, then slowing back to normal, much as he had gone through himself. He was becoming more aware of himself - and his weakness - by the moment. His legs were straining with the effort of holding her up, he felt he might collapse and drop them both to the floor. And so he lifted her upward and off his shaft, setting her back onto her feet. Both were unsteady now, her legs as weak as his. He kept a tight hand on her arm to brace her, as he reached for the chair and righted it. His legs could hold him no longer and he plopped down onto it, pulling her down onto his lap with him. She slipped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled her face into his neck, her fingers caressing his cheek lazily. For sometime after, they kissed and snuggled, Banastre laughing against her lips, still astounded by her action. To breeze on into the tent, tie the laces, and then climb into his lap… By Christ, he thought he couldn't love her more but now… His heart swelled to bursting.

"Why are you laughing?" She asked, lazy and breathless, one finger drifting over his bottom lip, caressing.

"I've never been happier, is why," he replied, catching her finger between his lips and kissing the tip of it.

"Nor have I," she said, replacing her finger with her own lips. They continued kissing, just light, warm, brushing caresses.

"It was cold outside, I take it?" He teased her. "And you needed warming up."

"And love, did you warm me," she giggled. "You're my brazier."

"Your knight, your shield. Your protector, and your brazier?" He laughed softly. "I don't know what bought it on, sweetling, but by Christ, I loved hearing you say those things."

"I meant every word," she said, shuffling slightly to get more comfortable. He rewarded her with a smile brighter than a noonday sun. "The peddler had precious little, but I did buy you something," she said, answering his question of earlier as she reached for one of the baskets. She sounded tired and sated. Exhausted by pleasure. She rummaged until she came out with a small package. He opened it and his eyes dance with delight.

"Sleeve buttons - you've a very fine eye, Beth. They are perfect."

"They are all he had," she giggled. "But yes, I do have a fine eye," she said as she stroked back his hair, indicating she had a fine eye in men, in choosing him.

"As do I," he grinned, returning the sentiment. "And books!" He said, removing them from the basket.

"There's this one too," she pulled it out of the basket Nancy had carried. "Mrs. Simmons said it was a romance." She placed it in his hands.

"The Memoirs of…" He began to read, then he paused, incredulous, and threw back his head a laughed. "Romance indeed! No wonder you were in such a naughty mood! Christ, which passage did you read to get you so hot and bothered?"

"What are you talking about?" She asked, lifting her head from his shoulder.

"Yes, play the innocent," he laughed again. "But I've read this too, my love, all the way through. Several times," he chuckled. "A right rollicking adventure it is too. I'll read you my favourite passage, and then you can read me the one you obviously enjoyed so much." He opened the book, flipped back and forth through the pages until he found what he was looking for, then he began to read. " 'There, setting her on his knee, and gliding one hand over the surface of that smooth polished snow-white skin of hers, which now double shone with dew-bright lustre, and presented to the touch something like what one wold imagine of animated ivory, especially in those ruby-nippled globes, which the touch is so fond of and delights to make love to, with the other he was lusciously exploring the sweet secret of nature, in order to make room for a stately piece of machinery, that stood up-reared, between her things, as she continued sitting on his lap, and pressed hard for instant intromission."

Beth had grown very still while Banastre was reading, for it became only too clear what had made him laugh, and what sort of book this was. The like of which she had never dreamed might exist. Who in the world would write such things? As he continued to read, Nancy's words came back to her.

'Mrs. Simmons said it is a romance. She recommended it - she said it was exactly the sort of book ye would want to read.'

Mrs. Simmons meant it as an insult. A slight to her honour - Banastre's whore. She understood that now, as Banastre's excited words continued to float about her. A book written about a whore, destined to be read by a whore. Should she demand Mrs. Simmons be punished? Beth didn't know what to do, she sat there feeling numb inside.

Ban sighed, it reminded Beth of the sort of contented sound a pretty maiden would make, when reading of a dashing hero saving the beautiful damsel in distress. Only Banastre's contentment came from the scene in the book which was designed purely to heat a man's blood and harden his most private flesh.

"Which was your favourite, my love?" He asked her, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.

"I'm too embarrassed to say," she said woodenly, wretchedly. On the one hand, it was good that her actions upon entering the tent had some sort of explanation, even a false one. He would have questioned her ruthlessly, for she'd never done such a thing before - to tie off the flap - a blatant display from someone wanting to keep their affair discreet - and then climb into his lap and rub herself against him. She could not tell him the truth, that her burning zeal had stemmed from her deep gratitude that he had refused her father's demands - he had protected her, he'd proven himself to her, but she could explain none of that without mentioning her interview with Alby Scott.

Who was Mrs. Simmons to judge? She thought, becoming defensive. How did she know what the book was? What did that say about her, that she recognised it for what it was? How many times had Mrs. Simmons read it? Why should I care what such a base bawd like her thinks?

"Oh come now, my love, don't be shy with me," Banastre coaxed, voice amused as the tip of his nose drifted across her cheek, inhaling deeply. He was trying to hand her the book. She hadn't denied it, and it was better he thought she'd read some, than wonder about anything else. Especially if it got back to him, that she'd been speaking to some soldier in the camp. For these reasons, she took it and then began to read from where the book fell open. Honestly, did he truly believe she'd walk along through camp, her head bent over such a book as this? He was in quite a jolly mood over it, however, and she began to read out loud. She hadn't read a single word from the book before entering the tent, but surely it couldn't hurt to play along, especially when it pleased him so well. She began to read from about halfway down the page, throwing herself into the story, having no idea of what had come before.

" 'Phoebe, who had more experience, and to whom such sights were not so new, could not however, be unmoved at so warm a scene;'" Beth paused, frowning. That was the trouble with pretending she'd read the scene already and that it'd become her favourite - she had absolutely no idea what was happening; who Phoebe was, and what sights the author was speaking of. Banastre was watching her, brown eyes becoming eagle eyes. She shrugged off her curiosity and continued, " 'and drawing me away softly from the peeping hole, for fear of being overheard, guided me through the door as quiet as possible, all passive and obedient to her least signals.' "

"Lord, Beth," Banastre whispered, as if awed. She could see nothing especial in what she'd read so far, but it certainly affected him, quite deeply. Then again, he'd read the book three times. He likely knew the scene quite well, he could probably tell her what had happened and was about to happen. "Keep going, don't stop," he murmured, urging her in the same voice he used when she was pleasuring him with her mouth. Surprised by how much he was enjoying this, she continued.

" 'Here was no room either to sit or lie, but making me stand with my back towards the door, she lifted my petticoats, and with her busy fingers fell to visit and explore that part of me, where I was perfectly sick and ready to die with desire; that bare touch of her finger…' " Beth trailed off, absolutely stunned. The tops of her ears began to burn, the flush spreading down her cheeks and her neck. She lifted her gaze, met Banastre's, utterly mortified. Two women! Phoebe was pleasuring Fanny! Her hands trembled on the book, her grip loosened, almost dropping it to the floor.

"Go on," he said, as flushed as she, though for entirely different reasons. His voice sounded flushed, if that were possible. Beth gulped. Two women. Engaged in relations with one another. And she - Beth - was reading it, this shameful passage, because she'd led him to believe it was her favourite of the book!

"I… I didn't mean…" She began, voice quavering. She licked her lips, trying to work moisture back into her mouth.

"Don't be embarrassed," he encouraged, sounding urgent. As if they'd boarded a ship and embarked on a new journey he had no desire to ever end. He picked up the book and to her horror, began reading where she left off. " 'That bare touch of her finger, in that critical place, had the effect of fire to a train, and her hand instantly made her sensible to what a pitch I was wound up -' "

"Ban, please," Beth protested weakly.

" '- And melted by the sight she had thus procured me. Satisfied then with her success, in allaying a heat that would have made me impatient of seeing the continuation of the transactions between our amorous couple, she bought me again to the crevice, so favourable to our curiosity.'" He lifted heated, liquid eyes from the book. His lips seemed swollen, as if all the blood had rushed into them. He breathed, "Beth, dear God. You never cease to amaze me. I am learning new things about you, each and every day."

"You don't understand," she protested, ready to explain it all. "I've never read the book, I've never laid eyes on that passage, nor any other! It was a conclusion you jumped to, and you seemed so pleased with it, I couldn't bear to correct you." Even to her ears, it sounded ridiculous. And the smile he was giving her, as one would give to indulge a child.

"Beth," he shook his head, caressed her cheek. "You needn't be embarrassed. I enjoyed that scene very much myself. I read it over and over, I couldn't get enough of Fanny and Phoebe's encounters!"

"You mean there's more of them?" Beth gasped, aghast.

"There's plenty," he said, turning several pages.

"Don't read it," she groaned.

" 'Phoebe lay down by me,' " he began in his deep baritone. Beth could see where he was reading from, she saw that he skipped several lines, and despite her protests he took it up from, " 'she takes hold of my hand, and having rolled up her own petticoats, forced it half strivingly, towards those parts, where, now grown more knowing, I missed the main object of my wishes,' " he paused, intent and excited, and said to Beth, "you see? Fanny has had enough of dallying with Phoebe. She's been in Phoebe's bed for weeks, learning all sorts of pleasures, but now she has come to understand that true pleasure for a woman can only be gained at the end of a man's rod. She's becoming desperate now, to be filled by a man, and she feels empty, laying with Phoebe. Phoebe still enjoys it, however. Let me see… here it is…"

"Ban, no -"

" 'I should have withdrawn my hand, but for fear of disobliging her. Abandoning it then entirely to her management, she made use of it as she thought proper,'" Ban paused, a wistful look stole over his face. "I'd imagine Phoebe was rubbing herself against Fanny's hand, as you did against me, earlier. My love, this is wonderful -"

"Ban, you can't truly think I'd read something like this, much less enjoy it!" It came out a squeak.

"Shh," and he was kissing her again, silencing further protests. Gods, he did not believe her. And nor could she blame him. She'd led him to believe she'd read something from the book, and then she actually read the passage she claimed to enjoy so much. Now he believed she was embarrassed at enjoying it so much. Lord, he thought she'd enjoyed reading of two women together! She squirmed in his arms, half tempted to leap from his lap and run from the tent. "Is that how it feels for you?" he murmured against her lips. "How Fanny describes her climax. Is that how he feels?" He gazed at her so earnestly, his desire to know what Beth felt when she came was so strong. With a sigh and a slow shake of her head, she tried to set this latest mishap from her mind. Two women… And he'd thought she liked it… the world had gone insane.

"Fanny's pleasure was well worded," she admitted, still distinctly uncomfortable speaking of such things. "I think it describes what I feel perfectly." His smile was like a blinding ray of sunshine.

"I make you feel these things?" He asked, boyishly excited.

"Yes," she laughed despite herself. He always yearned for praise and was always so pleased when he received it. "Every single time we lie together."

He laughed, delighted, and kissed her deeply. "I've only ever read this book to myself, you know, in my head," he said. "It's wonderful hearing Fanny's voice come alive, I imagine she must have sounded just like you."

"She's not a real person, is she?" Beth asked, surprised. "The Memoirs… Are they real Memoirs? Of a woman who actually existed?" A woman who actually laid with another woman? Sweet Lord above.

"No one knows," Banastre shrugged. "No one knows for sure who wrote it and the book has been banned -"

"I'm not surprised," she said fervently.

"I'd like to think she was real. I'd dearly love to have met her…"

"Banastre!" Beth cried, finally finding the funny side to all this. She shot him a mock scowl and pushed at his chest, feigning jealousy. Banastre gave her a naughty smile. His eyes were both warm and merry, his cheeks flushed. "Keep reading," he commanded in a thick voice.

"Not that scene," she said adamantly. He laughed and gave her a small smirk. "You are such a cad," she accused.

"In a court of law, I'd certainly be found guilty of that," he opened the book and without any effort at all, he found another scene. He must have read it more than three times, she thought. He knew it back to front! "Maybe this one will be more to your liking."

With trepidation, she read a small portion to herself first, vetting it, making certain it wasn't utterly mad, like the first scene she'd stumbled upon. Finding that Fanny was with a man this time, curiosity got the better of her. As Banastre's hand slipped up her bare thigh beneath her bunched up skirts, she began to read. Her reading out loud continued, but with ever increasing difficulty, and as his fingers began to caress her most critical place - as Fanny had called it - she began to rock against those hard little tips until her voice became too ragged and she could continue to read no more.


	118. Chapter 118 - Beth and Ban

Chapter 118 - Beth and Ban:

_End of November, 1780:_

Banastre stood outside his tent beneath the awning in the freezing cold, wishing he'd thought to put on his great cloak. "What is it, Whitty?"

The Lieutenant leaned in closer and in a soft voice, he imparted, "Sir, there has been a sighting of…" He paused and glanced into the tent, he did not continue until he saw that Beth was seated at the small table deep within, well out of ear shot. Only when he was certain that she would not hear him, did he continued, "you know who, Sir."

Banastre tensed, going to point as a bloodhound catching the scent.

"Where?" He snapped shortly.

"He is establishing his night camp not two miles from here," Whitty replied. "A negro came in a short while ago - a freed slave who happened to skirt close to… you know whose… camp. The fellow was careful to gain as much information about… you know whose… force before coming directly here to report it."

"How big is his force?" Banastre asked.

"Ten men."

"Jesus, ten only?" Banastre paused, his face incredulous then excited by turns.

"Apparently he - the Commander - sent out a detachment elsewhere, likely to cause some mischief or other," Whitty replied. "Our negro saw the men go, leaving you know who with only ten men. Confident bastard, bedding down with such a small guard."

"What devilry has he sent his detachment to?" Banastre asked, whispering furiously. Whitty did not answer, knowing the Colonel was asking rhetorically. "Perhaps he expects them to return quickly, for he would not leave himself unprotected for long. He is weak now, however."

"And two miles is not very far away at all," Whitty said, as excited as Banastre.

"No, it is not. Where have they made camp? What is the lay of it?"

"Heavily wooded," Whitty replied at once. "Which makes it easy for him to conceal himself."

"The woods would only work in his favour if we had not been informed of his location," Banastre boasted, an evilness in his otherwise pleasant smile.

"I agree. They have camped beside a creek. It is still shallow according to the negro, despite this rain. It would be easy for him to ford across, for his escape. We could send a detachment across the creek at this end, to come in at you know whose camp, to be in position to cut off escape," Whitty said and Banastre nodded approval.

"We must have him surrounded completely before moving in," Banastre said, then his eyes narrowed. "If the information from this freedman is correct," his lips twisted somewhat. Although the freed Africans were somewhat useful at times, Banastre could not help but think of them as anything but livestock, to be worked under the guidance of their Superiors - Gentlemen like himself. His family made their living from the slave trade, it was inhumane to stop such a lucrative endeavour. And it was galling that he himself had to enforce it. He could not help but to imagine how much profit his own family might be losing, each time Banastre freed a negro slave.

"I believe it is," Whitty replied, confident.

"We shall proceed with caution, as always," Banastre said, decided and commanding. "Gather the Dragoons - the full force, Whitty."

"All of them?" Whitty squeaked, shocked. "For ten men?"

"For this man?" Banastre replied, "I'd take a thousand if I had it. The entire Company, Whitty, ready to ride immediately."

"Yes, Sir," Whitty saluted. He whirled and darted out into the driving rain. Banastre turned back into the tent. Without mentioning her father's name even once, Banastre explained that the enemy had been sighted and must needs right out on the moment, if he was to capture them. Beth, accustomed to such by now, kissed him before he departed and wished him well. He wondered if she would still do so, if he'd told her the truth of who he was hunting.

Not bloody likely.

* * *

"What information have you, son?" Benjamin asked, hoping that this time, there would be some useful news coming out from Tarleton's camp. Night had fallen rapidly, winter was upon them and the days were much shorter now. He was sitting beneath a simple awning spread out above his head, the lead ropes tied around trees. It snapped in the wind, but held. The ground was sodden, but at least the awning kept the rain off of him. He sat beside a banked fire. The thick woods served to protect them from curious eyes; he allowed only this small fire, which would be dowsed as soon as it was used to boil the kettle and heat the stew. It made him nervous, having so few numbers, but he'd received information that a British baggage train was en-route on a major road a few miles away, heading directly toward Tarleton's Legion to resupply it. As soon as he learned of it, he detached a large portion of his men, to intercept and secure it. He had delegated the command of the detachment rather than head the mission himself, because he had organised to meet with one Abel Rogers this evening, one of his spies in Tarleton's camp. He had sentries in the trees, watching for oncoming threats. If trouble came, he could escape it, and so would his men. He and his men had the cover of night on their side, and the rain as miserable as that was, and an easy escape route across the creek into the woods; should their small force be threatened.

"Not as much as you'd like, I don't doubt," Abel said, looking forlorn at his inability to satisfy his commander. Water dripped from his British Legion infantry cap.

"You've not been able to speak to her?" Benjamin asked a little too sharply.

"What the devil's wrong with ye, man?" Billings asked Abel, voice hard. He leaned forward and stabbed a finger in emphasis. "Christ, Tarleton is gone more often than not. How difficult would it be to get into her tent? Or to just slip the lass a message when walking past her? Or paying off one of the camp sluts to do it?"

"More difficult than you might imagine, Sir," Abel said, morose at his failure. "I'm sorry, but Tarleton keeps guards on Mrs. Tavington's tent. I'm not sure if it's to keep her in when he's not there, or to keep his men out. Either way, I can't simply stride on in and let her know I'm there! And as for walking past her - Lord, I'd have to go through ten Dragoons before I got to her."

"So you wait until she goes for a walk or somewhat," Billings snapped.

"You don't understand," Abel said, voice tight with intensity. "She does not leave. Hardly ever. Mr. Scott had the opportunity to speak to her though." He saw Martin's sudden excitement and he held his hands up to forestall that. "Only briefly, a few days ago when a peddler came to camp. Mrs. Tavington had her maid with her and they looked over his wares. Mr. Scott had gone too, hoping he might bump into her there. He told her you had sent letters to Tarleton requesting that you hand her over, and she was real surprised to hear it. She had no idea that you've tried to make contact with her. He told her to seek him out, so he could tell her the rest. Days ago, that was. Reckon she hasn't been able to leave the Dragoon quarters, because she hasn't gone to see him yet."

"Damn and blast it," Benjamin said.

"I can't even learn anything from the other camp followers either. I tried to speak with Miss Nancy but she's awfully closed mouthed about her mistress. The other women, she never speaks to. Good luck trying to win one of those women over to carry a note in to Mrs. Tavington. They none of them have anything good to say about her, because of her haughty airs and all."

"Haughty airs?" Benjamin frowned. "Is there another Mrs. Tavington, perhaps? We can't be speaking of my own daughter."

"She's changed, Sir, with respect. For she is very cold and rude to the other women. They won't do one jot more for Mrs. Tavington that they don't have to, past what Tarleton has commanded of them. The way they speak of Mrs. Tavington…" He trailed off, then muttered, "it's probably best I don't repeat it."

"It's probably best that you don't," Benjamin agreed, voice hard, tense, outraged. "Damn and blast it. She ignores my letters and now she won't go speak to Alby? So much for her regard for her own father…"

"Sir, as I said, she didn't know you'd tried to get letters through," Abel said. "When Alby told me that, I did a bit of snooping and it turns out that Tarleton has all of Mrs. Tavington's correspondence delivered directly to him. Ever since Tavington sent her clothes and blankets and the like. I'm certain your daughter has high regard for you, and would write back to you._ If she had known you had written to her._"

Benjamin gaped like a fool. "He's keeping her letters from her? That damned bastard!"

Abel nodded agreement. "And just this morning, I learned that Mrs. Tavington has tried to send letters out - but Tarleton only pretends to send them. And letters have come in for her, but she won't ever know it, because they're given straight over to Tarleton. I don't know yet, what he does with them."

"Hell's teeth," Benjamin ground out. "You need to tell her this. You bloody need to tell her this!"

"I… For the reasons I've given already, it's hard to even get close. I'll tell Scott when I get back - maybe she will finally be able to leave the Dragoon camp again and she will be able to go and see him. Sir, there is something else I need to report to you," Abel shifted uncomfortably on the overturned tree trunk, uncertain how Benjamin would take this particular news. The Colonel looked at him in askance. "I ah… well, I heard that… Mrs. Tavington is with child, Sir," he finished all in a rush.

Benjamin froze, ice climbing his spine. His eyes wide and staring into the trees past Abel's head. Beth was pregnant. She was with child. It left him thunderstruck. "Is she certain?" He asked, voice cold.

"Word is, she asked the peddler to return with the sort of stays women wear when they're increasing, the ones that lace at the front? The camp followers are all talking about it. They asked Miss Nancy and although she is loyal to Mrs. Tavington, she isn't the brightest lass in the world. Friendly, I like her. But not bright. She let a few things slip when she was asked so now, they're as certain as can be. Mrs. Tavington is definitely pregnant."

"How far along?" Benjamin asked, voice hard.

"I don't know, Sir. No one does. Her waist isn't as small as it was, but to look at her, you'd think she's getting solid 'round the middle, like. Her pregnancy isn't obvious yet."

"Not far along then," Benjamin ground out.

"Sweet Jesus," Billings whispered, exchanging a questioning glance with Benjamin, both wondering the same thing. Who had the siring of the child; William Tavington or Banastre Tarleton? Nearly two months she'd been with Banastre. It could be either man.

"That will be all for now," Benjamin said to Abel, waving him off. "I'll have instructions for you before you return to Tarleton's camp."

"Yes, Sir," Abel said softly, commiserating. He disappeared into the trees a way, to give Martin privacy.

"Pregnant…" Billings mused, chewing on his own teeth. "So, what do ye think about that, aye?"

"Not very bloody much," Benjamin ground out. "Who will the child call papa, I ask you?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Billings sighed.

"And that's where the problem lies, isn't it?" Benjamin picked up a stick and began prodding at the banked fire; sparks flickered and trailed upward. "My daughter has run off with another man and now she probably can't name the father of her own child. Christ, John, what will Tavington say, when he learns of this? Pregnant. Dear Christ, as if the situation wasn't dire enough," Benjamin tossed his head like an angry wolf. "Mine and Tavington's plans will be dust now. Gods, just when he finally agrees to bring her to him at Fresh Water instead of to her aunts… I won't blame him at all, if he changes his mind back again. I'd made progress with him, he finally agreed that they should be living under the same roof to at least make it look good. But now she's carrying her lovers bastard, I doubt he'll allow it now. Is she determined to ruin us all then? What did I ever do to her, John? Was I such a terrible father, to deserve this?"

"Nothing," Billings replied, voice firm, answer immediate. "You did nothing wrong, Ben. You're a good da, you always were. Ye let her run a little wild, if ye listen to Mrs. Selton, but I say ye did nothing wrong. Miss Martin was a good lass, until she ran afoul of that lot," he said, disgusted, speaking of Tavington and Tarleton. "They did this to yer girl, not you."

"And she did it to herself," Benjamin said, glaring into the dying embers. "She can not be free of blame, she must own to a large measure of it. No one told her to get soused and bed Tarleton back at Rutledge Plantation. No one told her to go haring off with Tarleton when all that happened back home. William was faithful, yet she would not even listen to him. And now he must sustain further punishment, when she comes back to him with her belly full of another man's child?"

"You don't think it's the Butcher's?" Billings asked, using their name for the despised British Colonel. Benjamin and William might have reached an accord, but the rest of them had not.

"Small chance. Beth better start praying like hell that it is," Benjamin said, eyes intent. "It better have black hair and blue eyes, John. For if it doesn't, if it's got Tarleton's red and brown, there will be no going back. I fear of ever having those two reconciled."

"I'm shocked that ye want them to be," Billings said, eyes wide.

"They're married," Benjamin shrugged. "I have accepted that. If I'm forced to admit it, I'd go so far as to say I even admire him, now that I've got to know him somewhat. With her traipsing off with another man and getting pregnant… I think that's going to give William an awful amount of pain, worse than the whipping I gave him."

"If we can get through to her," Billings pointed out. "We've been trying for weeks, Ben. She even knows it now, but she hasn't gone near Scott. Tarleton won't give her up, he won't even reply to your letters."

"Gods, I wish I could storm his camp. But I'd be putting Beth at risk, attacking the very camp I wish to extricate her from. I want to wring her bloody fool neck, but I don't want her to be hurt or killed."

Billings began to laugh, a soft chortle at the incongruity of Benjamin's statement.

"Shut it," Benjamin punched Billings arm lightly, more a cuff than a punch. "Damned little beast, what am I to do with her?"

"What yer planning," Billings replied, sobering. "Get her to her husband, let him deal with her."

"And when he turns her out 'cause her cub is a red-head?" Benjamin growled.

"Well, then, she'll just have to go to be sequestered with Mrs. Selton and Mrs. Putman," Billings shrugged. "It's an embarrassment and all, if the marriage ends, but it wouldn't be the first time it's happened to a great family."

"It's never happened in mine," Benjamin curled his lip.

"No, yer were a saint when ye were giving the widow Selton a good goin' over," Billings challenged Benjamin. "How long was that goin' on for, years? And ye never did marry her."

"Shut it," Benjamin muttered, sullen.

"And now ye're engaged but ye ain't decided if ye'll marry her. Ye could've gotten her with child, ye know. She might be with child even now, ye haven't seen her in so long nor have you heard aught about her, only about your little ones. She could be out here," Billings placed his hands a yard out from his stomach, mimicking a heavily pregnant woman.

"And that could be Bordon's, as much as it could be mine," Benjamin said, fury entering his voice once more. "I do take your meaning, however. I am not a saint, nor have I ever pretended to be. I do, however, expect my children to behave in a manner that becomes them, not to act as I myself have done."

"Ah, do as I say, not what I do?" John chortled again.

"Just so," Benjamin said. "Didn't I tell you to shut it?"

"Twice now. But since when do I take orders from you?" Billings asked, still laughing. Benjamin cast him an incredulous look, which Billings waved off with his hand, "Yeh, yeh, yer the Colonel and I'm the Captain. But I just pretend to take yer orders," Billings said nonchalantly, "ye know, to make it look good. For the sake of the men and all. So ye appear all grand and in command, like, you know, in front of the others."

"Oh, gee now, my thanks," Benjamin said, shaking his head, a small smile quirking his lips. "Remind me not to bring my problems to you next, won't you? You've been no bloody help to me whatsoever."

Before Billings could frame a reply, a "taaaw, taaaw", sounded in the trees, Benjamin could just hear the heron's call coming a few hundred yards away to his left. He placed the stick down and rose slowly, Billings rising with him, all joking thrown aside. Herons were daytime birds, they slept at night. Which was why Benjamin had chosen it as the warning call, so that the sentry furthermost from camp could sound the alarm, without alerting approaching enemy, that their attempt to fall on Benjamin's camp had been discovered.

The call was sounded again, with far more urgency than the first. It sounded from the east this time. The enemy were closing, from two directions at once.

"Abandon camp," Benjamin called, rushing headlong into the rain toward his own mount, not bothering to gather his belongings. "Now, now!" He whispered frantically. To scream at his men would be to tell the enemy that he knew they were there. If that happened, the enemy would panic and rush in all the faster and possibly pen Benjamin in the camp. John and the other men raced for their mounts, even as the call sounded again, this time from the south. Three directions at once. They had been betrayed, they had to have been. But the north was still clear, or Mr. Smythe would have sounded the alarm from his position, also. "Christ," Benjamin muttered as he frantically untied his reins, his fingers slipping on the wet rope. They were surrounded, the only way open to them was north. "Scatter," he commanded as he vaulted into the saddle. "Northward!" His men, including Abel Rogers, began galloping toward the creek, rushing past Benjamin and Billings. They wasted no time themselves, spurring their mounts onward, leaping toward the safety of the north side of the creek. It was easily forded if one was careful enough. Benjamin cursed at the time wasted but the need for caution was great; if Thunder set his hoof even slightly wrong, he could twist his ankle and come up lame.

"And wouldn't William give me fits over that?" He whispered, patting the Arab's mane and speaking soothing words. And then he was across, and the need for cautious footing lessened. He gave Thunder his head, hoping the horse could see better in the dark and sheeting rain than he could himself. He held on for dear life as the Arab vaulted forward into the trees, thundering along trails. Benjamin laid across the horses neck, knowing a low hanging branch could knock him clean from the saddle. He did not stop to see who might be closing in on him, nor did he consider how his position had been discovered. Those were problems for later. For now, all that mattered was getting his ten and himself away and to safety.

Shots rung out all around him; flares of light as if from a hundred sidearms. None of his men had pulled their rifles; that was enemy fire, balls whizzing over head. Benjamin pulled Thunder up short, eyes scanning the darkness all around him. He had not heard Smythe sound the alarm, no heron call had sounded from the north, therefore Benjamin had assumed the way was clear. His instinct proved incorrect, as men began to emerge from the trees, tall dark shadowy forms on their horses, sparse light glinting from their firearms, all of which were levelled into Martins' small troop. Which meant Smythe, the sentry, was either dead, or bound and trussed up like a pig to prevent him warning Benjamin.

"Damn and blast it," Billings muttered to Martin's left, twisting his mount first this way then that, searching for a break within the approaching hoard of British Dragoons. It was useless, they were utterly surrounded.

"Lay down your weapons," a firm voice instructed. "You are surrounded. There are two hundred of us, you will not pass us. Not this time."

A hushed silence began to fall amongst Martin's ten, broken only by the snorts and whinnies of their mounts. They began to back into a circle, all facing outward, all pulling their rifles, all of them waiting Benjamin's command. The Colonel thought furiously - the Britisher might have been lying about his numbers. A ploy, so that Benjamin would think it would be a hopeless job, trying to flee. Two hundred, just for him? Then again, they were desperate to catch him. Perhaps it was not so foolish to believe there were that many after all. And if they did have that number, all of them closing in from all sides, they would have this place surrounded five men deep.

"Sir..?" One nervous militiaman asked to the right of him. Benjamin tightened his lips, thinking hard. His men faced outward in a full circle, all of them with their rifles loaded and aimed into the rain, ready to defend. It would be a fools errand, for him to command they fire, it would mean the death of every single one of them. His eyes tried to pierce the darkness, he strained his ears, but all he could hear was the steady rain and the sounds of horses, so many horses bearing down through the woods, hoofbeats pawing the ground, the jingle of tack. He really was surrounded and any attempt to escape or defend would prove deadly.

"Hold!" He commanded his men.

"Martin, is it?" The Britisher called, coming forward slowly, his dark form seemed to be glancing over his shoulder to ensure he was well reinforced. Martin did have a reputation. Martin's tight circle closed tighter.

"So me friends call me," Billings called back, urging his horse forward. "You may call me 'Your Highness'." Benjamin laughed softly; as did the Britisher, though his rang with contempt.

"I do not believe I shall, Sir," the pistol was put away, there was no further need for it. Not with so many of his fellows still aiming their muskets. "Please instruct your men to stack their weapons."

"Whatever for?" Billings asked with mock surprise.

"You have surrendered to me, have you not?" Came the incredulous reply.

"I never said any such thing," Billings said. He turned to Benjamin. "Did I say were were surrendered, John?"

"Nah, you didn't," Benjamin put on his best John Billings imitation. "I never heared ye say anythin' such like that at all, none."

"I don't sound like that," John muttered under his breath. Benjamin laughed softly. Using a louder voice, Billings called out. "Here now, what assurances do I have from you, that would entice me to consider surrendering?"

"I have the honour to be Lieutenant Robert Whitty, of His Majesties British Dragoons and Tarleton's Legion. With the authority Colonel Banastre Tarleton bestowed upon me, I hereby assure you that you will be treated according to your rank, as per the Rules of War, if you come along peacefully."

Benjamin sighed and shook his head, rain sloughed from the brim of his tricorn. He was extremely disappointed to discover the person who had caught him, was an Officer who had stayed in Benjamin's own home. Whitty knew him and would be able to identify him as soon as there was enough light to see by.

"Hear that, my boys? If we come along peaceful like, we won't be roughed by this lot," Billings called, not realising their game was almost done. There probably hadn't been any point to begin with, except to tweak the Britisher's nose and make him look a fool. It wasn't as though Benjamin could have escaped somehow, with Billings impersonating him. Billings turned back to the Officer, "tell me, Robbie me lad, where's old Ban?"

"Colonel Tarleton," Lieutenant Whitty corrected, outraged, "will be along shortly, I've sent word to him of your capture. The Colonel will lay the same opportunity before you as I have done, though I warn you now, he has far less tolerance for fools than I do."

"Nicely said," Billings said. "Boys, lower your weapons."

Not a single one of Benjamin's men moved, none lowered their aim. Though Whitty could not see their faces, he could see that their rifles were still levelled outward, toward his own men and toward himself. It made him nervous, Benjamin saw, and the Officer began to back up his mount.

"Now, why ain't ye listenin' to me?" Billings called with mock severity. "I'm Benjamin Martin! I's your commander, like! Lower your weapons."

Again, none moved. Ordinarily they would not hesitate to obey Captain's Billings commands, but they also knew him well enough to understand he was trying to rattle the British Officer. And it was working. Whitty backed away a full five feet. Colonel Martin had not sanctioned the command, it was his place to surrender, not Captain Billings. There was a rustle further back in the woods, the glow from a light source rounded a tree and was suddenly in view and drawing closer. Banastre Tarleton, Benjamin sensed. With the firebrand lighting up the trees for yards around it, Benjamin could finally see that in that section alone, there was at least twenty Dragoons. In that small section alone. Firebrands - weak spluttering flames because of the rain - were being lit now further back in the trees all around him, lighting the scores of mounted Dragoons. Getting past them would have been like trying to wade through a pool of sharks. Deadly, and useless.

"Lower your rifles," he called out, voice ringing with command. The militiamen obeyed immediately, Whitty's eyes swung toward the dark form that was Benjamin, even under the cover of night, the Colonel could sense the Lieutenant's surprise. "Stack them." He commanded. To Whitty, Benjamin announced, "I will discuss the terms with Tarleton."

"As you wish," Whitty's voice was a growl, frustrated at being duped. The first firebrand was closer now, Benjamin could make out the riders faces, and he saw Tarleton himself amidst their number. Only moments passed by before Tarleton was upon him, riding up boldly to Benjamin, while Benjamin's men were dismounted and stacking their weapons against a tree. Tarleton took this in at a glance and correctly assumed that Benjamin had surrendered. Light from the firebrand bathed their faces.

"Good work, Whitty," Banastre said, nodding down at the militiamen. "Well done."

"Thank you, Sir," Whitty replied, saying nothing of what had transpired before Banastre's arrival. He would not admit to being made to look a fool.

"So," Benjamin folded his arms across his chest. "How do you expect to explain this one to Beth, hmm?"

"You think I kept this from her?" Banastre scoffed softly. "Do be serious. News of this will be rife through camp - it's not something I could hope to keep secret. She knows I was coming after you, Martin."

"And she's forgiving, is she?" Benjamin replied, feeling the stab keenly. "Doesn't mind at all, that her own father is being taken captive?"

"I had to give her all sort of promises for your wellbeing - I don't like to see her upset. And no doubt she's praying right now that I miss my mark," Banastre smiled. "But she's a soldiers mistress, Sir. She understands my obligations."

Benjamin drew a shuddering breath, his fists curled. But he knew better than to strike the smugness from Tarleton's face. "To business," he declared, one Colonel to the other. "I, Colonel Benjamin Martin of the Continental Army have given to Lieutenant Robert Whitty my surrender, on the condition that myself and those in my unit are treated according to our rank, as per the Rules of War. He made these promises on your behalf. Will you honour them?"

"I will indeed," Banastre drew himself up. "You will be escorted to Lord Cornwallis and will be an… honoured guest… at Winnsboro."

"An honoured guest, and my quarters will be the gaol house, I assume?" Benjamin arched an eyebrow. "And my men?"

"The prison ships; though some will hang," Banastre said without missing a beat. Benjamin drew a sharp breath of dismay, many a prisoner had died on those ships and as for hanging… No one survived that! Worry rippled amongst the men.

"You can not hang them, Sir. You said you would honour our accord. My men are to be treated according to their rank -" Benjamin began, only to be cut off by Banastre, who was growing impatient and desired to be on his way, no doubt to parade his prisoner before Cornwallis and receive the resulting pats on the back.

"And those who have rank shall be," he said, voice blunt. "Many of these do not…" He smiled, there was no warmth in it. "They are naught more than common criminals, murdering and pillaging. And they will be punished as such," he glanced over at Martin's men, all of whom exchanged bleak looks. "Militia are murderous traitors and I will treat with them as the criminals they are."

"Tarleton," Benjamin began, pushing Thunder forward a step. Only to be suddenly confronted with fifty muskets, pointed at his head. Without looking at Tarleton's Dragoons or their deadly firearms, he tightened his lips, eyes fixed on Tarleton.

"You understand then, do you?" Banastre asked, jutting his chin toward his men, all of whom were ready to fire at Martin. "It's about bloody time. Let us be clear. Your men have broken the law. They are traitors to the Crown. They will hang, Martin. If you have Regulars amongst you - proper soldiers on the Continental establishment, say so now. They will be escorted to the prison ships. Junior Officers will accompany you to Winnsboro. The rest will hang. I see nothing ambiguous in this, no reason for you to be confused."

"Now listen here, you damned pup!" Benjamin growled, his vision washing with red as rage surged along his veins. "You have no right to hang any damned person in my company! If you are taking me to Cornwallis, I vow, I will lay this case before him and demand justice!"

"Lord Cornwallis has imbued me with the authority to do as I see fit," Tarleton shrugged, unconcerned. "Name your Officers, Martin."

"So that you'll hang the rest?" Benjamin's eyes darted to his men, glancing into each terrified face in turn. None of them were Officers or Regulars - none of them were Continentals. They were all militiamen, farmers who had left their farms and taken up arms against England. If Cornwallis had given Banastre Tarleton such authority, then he was fully within his right to hang the lot of them. "They all are," Benjamin announced, deciding that the only way around the issue was to make Continental enlistments of all his men, and hope that General Burwell did not drag him over hot burning coals later. "Captain Billings," he said, of the militia Captain he had just now formally risen to proper Continental. "Captain Miller." He continued, deciding it was not enough to raise the men to be Regulars, they must be Officers if they were to accompany him to Winnsboro and escape the prison ships. "Lieutenant Scott," he pointed, thinking fast as he applied proper military titles upon them all, recruiting them to the Continentals from the militiamen they were and promoting them on the spot. Christ, Burwell was going to give him fits over this… "Sergeant Skunk -"

"Skunk?" Banastre folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle, eyes bright with amusement, fully aware of what was taking place before him. He had to hand it to Benjamin Martin, he was always good entertainment.

"Sergeant is too low," Billings whispered frantically and Skunk nodded emphatically. He did not want to be sent to the prison ships. Then again, at least he was escaping a hanging now, and of that, he was only too grateful.

"Try for another Lieutenant, perhaps," Banastre suggested in a lazy, bored tone. "Lieutenant… Skunk," he said in such a pompous way, Benjamin wanted to smash his jaw in. Banastre's men appreciated the joke, his Junior offers laughed heartily.

"Lieutenant Skunk," Benjamin ground out. "Second Lieutenant Danvers. Ahhh, Cornet Colt. Ensign Matthews, Cornet Hardwick -"

"Two Cornets in one troop?" Banastre arched an eyebrow. "And you're not even cavalry. Will wonders never cease. And all of these men are Officers," he ladled the word with scorn. "In which unit?"

"Mine, of course," Martin replied, relief coursing through him. "Of the Second Regiment of South Carolina."

"Nicely done, Martin. You've changed the fate of your men from a hanging, to a slow death on the ships," Banastre bowed low in the saddle.

"You said Officers would accompany me to Winnsboro!" Benjamin hissed, infuriated.

"Oh for goodness sake," Banastre snapped. "There is nothing forcing me to take these impromptu promotions seriously as it is. And if I did decide to honour them, the Rules of War are clear - they were traitors committing treason as civilians before this farce of announcing them as Continentals. I'm still entirely within my right to hang them, let alone send them to the prison ships."

"I'm begging you," Benjamin said, slowly, his heart in his voice. He edged closer carefully, offering no threat. Banastre lifted his chin. "I am begging you."

"I don't owe you anything," Banastre replied.

"Half of these men, Beth calls by name. The other half, she calls uncle first," Benjamin ground out, filled with emotion. Lord, to have any single one of them die… Banastre paused, his breath caught, words whipped away momentarily. His eyes darted toward the sober militiamen, all of whom were still standing, still looking more than a little worried. Uncles? Would it cause Beth pain, if he was to order their deaths? Should he care for that? These men were traitors, his path was clear.

But he had a choice… He had the authority to hang traitors on the very road he found them on, without bothersome and lengthy trials. But that did not mean he had to take that course of action every time. Perhaps this time, he should not. He had what he came for…

"Very well, your Officers will accompany you to Winnsboro, on the condition that I have your full cooperation on the journey. And I want no attempt at escape. I will have your word on both, before I show my mercy and accept this farce," he demanded and Benjamin stumbled over himself, giving his vow of honour, that he would cooperate, that he would not try to escape. Banastre accepted the vow, and as he twisted his horse, he heard Benjamin's ragged breath of relief behind him.

* * *

The rain began to ease. That was something, at least. Large drops still fell from the leaves overhead, though. So it might as well have still been pouring… The horses and soldiers milled in the woods. Though Banastre wished to set out immediately, the horses were tired and needed to be rested. He chafed at the time he needed to give them. And he worried at how long it was taking. He had all of his men on alert for the return of Benjamin's detachment. He had not forgotten about them; they might have been sent out to attack a British troop, or they might be returning at that very moment. Either way, Banastre was wary and on edge.

Although it would be some ten minutes longer before the horses were rested enough to begin the journey, he commanded that his Dragoons take up their general positions along the line, ready for riding. There were two hundred British Dragoons, which seemed like quite an impressively large guard to be escorting only ten prisoners, but when one of those prisoners was Benjamin Martin… Banastre was not about to take any chances. Martin's men, Banastre's prisoners now, were placed further away. Not quite at the rear, but far enough back that there were at least a hundred Dragoons between them and Martin, who was to ride where Banastre could keep an eye on him. No chances, no risks. Martin's men would be hard pressed to rescue him, should they return in time. And the ten prisoners had no chance of freeing their Commander. The thickest guard was placed on Benjamin himself, he was the important one. Banastre had lost prisoners before, rebels had laid ambushes in his path in order to gain their commanders back. He expected no less from Martin's lot of rebels, the ones who were out there, somewhere. At the moment, Benjamin himself was leaning up against a tree, arms folded across his chest, gazing about as if he hadn't a care in the world. And never mind that he'd been taken prisoner, never mind that his friends were so far back, with so many Dragoons between them, that he could not see a single one of them. Banastre approached him, Benjamin turned a lazy eye on him.

"So, Tavington's horse, hmm?" He jutted his chin toward the mount Martin had been riding, the black stallion Banastre had immediately recognised as the brute William favoured. "You'll have to tell me how you came to have Thunder in your possession."

"I captured Tavington," Martin boasted. "Whipped his back raw and stole his horse."

Banastre gaped like a fool, his mouth so wide and fly flew in. He choked and coughed, gagging and spitting out the offending bug, his lips twisted in a disgusted sneer.

"That's one hell of a story," he said, trying to pretend as though the incident with the fly had not just happened. "Though I doubt the validity of it."

"You asked," Benjamin shrugged. "And I do have Thunder…"

Banastre gazed at the mount for a few moments. He did have Thunder, that much was true.

He's trying to frighten me, he thought. He seeks to rattle me. "Well, you're my captive now," he said with bravado. "And I do hope that little story of yours is a lie, for if you did whip Tavington, I might decide to take reprisal on his behalf."

"You? Avenge Colonel Tavington? You of all the people in the world?" Benjamin began to laugh until his side hurt, he slapped his thigh, chortling. Banastre shot him an offended look, not quite certain what to say in retort. "Whose the father?" Benjamin asked then, the abrupt question freezing Banastre where he stood. "Tavington's? Or is she carrying your bastard?"

Stomach churning, Banastre turned on his heels and strode away. He needed to know where Martin had sent his men, but he was driven by a deeper need now. A deeply chilling question had seized hold of him. How the devil did Martin know that Beth was pregnant? He chewed the inside of his lip.

"Whitty," he called, voice calm and quiet even as he wound his way through his Dragoons toward the Lieutenant. He had to step carefully in the mud and mire underfoot, he felt his boots would slip with each step.

"Yes, Sir?" Whitty came trotting over. Benjamin was surrounded by two score of Banastre's Dragoons, all of them with their muskets drawn, many of them searching into the night for signs of an enemy rescue attempt. Just as Banastre had commanded they do; they took their duty seriously.

"When we return to camp, we will need to begin a cleansing," Banastre said firmly, eyes fixed on Benjamin. There were firebrands placed throughout the clearing, throwing enough light for them to see by. Benjamin was ignoring his guards again now, and he sat down against the massive oak, pulled his tricorn from his head and made as if ready to fall asleep.

"A… Cleansing?" Whitty asked, blinking.

"We have a spy among us, possibly more than one. Planted there by Martin himself, I do not doubt," Banastre announced, eyes on the enemy Colonel.

"No…" Whitty breathed. "Are you certain?"

"He knew of Beth's pregnancy. How could he have learned of it, unless the information came from my camp? He has spies among us, I want them routed and hanged, each and every one of them."

Whitty handed Banastre a cup of heated broth, then, but he nodded slowly, accepting the command. Banastre drank the rest of the broth, then returned to Benjamin.

"I would like to know where the rest of men are, Colonel Martin," he said with deceptive politeness.

"You've taken them prisoner, Tarleton," Benjamin replied, frowning. Banastre drew a slow, long suffering breath.

"I am speaking of the detachment you sent out earlier," he said, eyes fixed on Martin's face, searching. He saw Martin's expression change, from insolent, to a flare of worry, quickly stifled.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Martin said. Banastre did not even have it in him to be angry, he'd known Martin would try to deny it. He wanted Banastre to be unwary in his triumph, as if he could not possibly know about the force that might yet be able to relieve him of his precious captive.

"I was given correct information, Colonel," Colonel Tarleton began. "From a reliable source. Now, if you recall, only a few moments gone, you gave me your word of honour that you would cooperate. Will you fail me at the first test? Are your men's lives worth so little to you?" He arched an eyebrow, his voice reasonable even as he threatened the lives of Martin's officers. Martin stared back, his lips tight and bloodless.

"Colonel!"

Banastre turned and saw several Dragoons riding toward him.

"We shall continue this discussion in a moment," he threatened Martin, before turning back to his Dragoons.

One Private Abel Rogers was bought before Banastre, dragged along by a Cornet who had had the wherewithal to question how an infantryman had come to be on this excursion, when Banastre had bought out only his Dragoons.

"I thought it passing strange," the Cornet said, after explaining why he'd bought the infantryman forward.

"And so it is," Banastre drawled, eyes taking Abel in from head to toe. He was wearing the uniform of a British Legion infantry foot soldier."State your business, why are you come here? Do you have a message from camp?"

The infantryman's eyes flickered toward Benjamin Martin, as if appealing for help. Banastre saw Colonel Martin begin to rise, a look of stark concern on his face. Banastre did not fail to see it, nor did he notice Abel's constant darting looks.

"So..." Banastre began, fury firing through his blood. "This is the reason you stayed behind while the rest of your force went onward," he said to Benjamin. "You were waiting for your little spy?" Abel's face blanched at the word spy, but as he failed to deny it, Banastre's certainty only grew. As did his anger. "Tell me Martin, does Beth call this one 'uncle', too?" He mocked. "Or cousin… Or third cousin removed from my left foot…" he drawled, finishing with a soft laugh.

"No, but she does call him friend," Benjamin replied, moving forward slowly. There was no point denying that Abel Rogers was a spy - Banastre already knew and it would only make the situation more dire. He should have feigned ignorance. Abel should not have glanced at him with such terror, face pleading for help. They might have had a chance, if not for that. He stepped forward, flanked by Tarleton's wary Dragoons. There was only one thing for it now, to surge on ahead. "I will admit it, he is one of my men. As such, he should be placed with the others you've captured tonight."

"You can not be serious," Banastre said, voice a whisper in the woods. He stared at Benjamin, incredulous. He'd found a spy in his ranks, and this fool thought he'd simply place him with the other prisoners? Good God, over his dead body.

"He is Beth's friend," Benjamin tried again, always trying. "They grew up together and -"

"You've already used that one, old man," Banastre said, voice flat. "It worked the first time, but it will not do. Not in the face of treason, when my own camp has been infiltrated." To the Cornet, he commanded, "hang him."

"No!" Benjamin cried, pushing forward. He barely made it a single step before the Dragoons guarding him dragged him back. Abel, panic stricken, was seized and dragged over to a tree with thick, low hanging branch. The Dragoons began to gather, the prisoners shouted and called out, begging to know what was happening. They were placed further back and away from Martin; they could not see a thing. Benjamin continued to bellow and yell, thrashing against the hands holding him. Banastre turned his back on him. His men had swung into action, a thick rope was thrown over the branch where it coiled twice, and one fellow was tying the end of it into a loop. Soon, the noose was ready. Martin watched, aghast, as Abel was forced onto a log placed on the ground beneath the rope, and the noose forced over his head.

"Colonel Martin, please!" Abel cried. Benjamin felt a twisting in his guts. Banastre turned to Benjamin, preferring to watch his face rather than Abel's, whose was not even covered by a scarf or sack.

"I will not suffer spies in my ranks," Banastre said to the helpless Colonel. Then he gave a simple gesture, and the log was kicked out from beneath Abel's boots. He heard the log roll across the forest floor, heard the snap of the rope as it was suddenly pulled taut. Heard Abel's boots kicking together at the heels, heard the strangling noises. He saw Martin's face crumble, the Patriot Colonel bent over himself, pressing his hands to his knees as he keened. And then all was silent. Banastre whispered something in Whitty's ear, and the Lieutenant strode off into the woods. All the while, Benjamin stared at Banastre. Benjamin was on his knees before the enemy Colonel. It felt too much like obeisance. With the desire to do murder churning his stomach, Colonel Benjamin Martin straightened to his full height, glaring with hatred and grief.

Banastre approached him, face cold and set. He waited before speaking, waited so long, that Benjamin began to feel the first stirrings of misgivings wind through the hatred. Whitney was returning, with ten Dragoons, each one shoving one of Benjamin's men ahead of them. Benjamin watched warily as each of his men was forced to their knees, their hands tied behind their backs. A single Dragoon stood behind each prisoner. As one, the Dragoons drew their sabres.

"Do not think to use Beth against me again," Banastre finally said, voice colder than the deepest winter night. "If I can take her own father prisoner; you could not possibly guess at what I will do to your men, if my hand is forced. That farce before protected them while my mind was clouded over her, but my mind is clear now. You have cleared it," he said, stabbing his finger at Martin's chest. He had to look up at the taller Colonel, which was galling to Banastre usually. But just then, fury made him feel the taller. "I will not tolerate spies in my ranks," he searched Martin's face by the glow of a firebrand, Benjamin's eyes continually darted to his men, his worry that they'd all be murdered right there in the mud evident on his face. Banastre continued, "and I will not tolerate your schemes and designs. You have broken our accord, and my patience is at an end. You will tell me where you sent your detachment," he lifted his finger, and the Dragoons lifted their sabres, rested the blade along the side of the prisoners necks. "Or regardless of your sham promotions to the Continental establishment, every prisoner here will be sliced down the middle, their blood will soak into the mud." He waited, unblinking, giving nothing away as Benjamin stared at his men. Abel's body was still hanging from the trunk, rope creaking. "How many more of yours shall be executed tonight, hmm? All ten?" Banastre laughed softly. "I think I'll begin with your Captain. Billings is his name, yes? Fond of him, aren't you?" Banastre taunted. Benjamin's face drained of colour.

"I heard tell of the caravan en-route to supply your camp," Martin said, voice ragged. "I sent the detachment to… disrupt its path."

Banastre drew a sharp breath and held it, he counted to twenty as his mother had taught him. It never had worked to sooth his temper, but he tried just the same. He needed to intercept the rebels, not stay here and vent his fury. They had a head start of what… an hour, perhaps? He calculated. Depending on where the caravan was on the road just then, they might have already attacked it.

"Make ready!" He commanded. They would move out immediately, whether the horses were rested or not. The Company mounted, the prisoners returned to the rear, and the subdued Colonel Martin took his place toward the front. They passed Abel's body, still strung up in the tree, and began thundering toward the Post Road.


	119. Chapter 119 - Ban Writes to Hanger

Chapter 119 - Ban Writes to Hanger:

_"I discovered shortly after capturing him, that before our arrival, Mr. Martin had sent off an attachment to intercept my supplies. Honestly, George - the gall of the man! As soon as I learned of this, I gave chase. We made much better time than his militiamen. I don't know how Martin could ever have placed such a stock of faith in such rabble. I don't know how he could have imagined such a rag tag posse could have taken that supply train. Fumblers who wouldn't know which end of the rifle makes the bang, that was what they were. The entire lot of them, clumsy oafs, stumbling all over themselves in the woods."_ Banastre's quill glided along the parchment. He sat at the small table in his tent, keeping one eye on what he wrote, and another wary eye on Beth. He did not want her to see what he was writing and was ready to cover the paper if need be. Though in truth, she didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry to rush over to see. She sat before the open tent flap, covered in blankets, in a sort of lethargy, just staring outward at the setting sun.

_Probably still worried for her father. _It had been quite hard on her, learning that Banastre had captured Martin and escorted the enemy Colonel to Winnsboro. When he returned, he told her and she had fallen into his arms, weeping with fear and worry for her father. As he could not indulge himself in public celebration now he'd reached his camp and his distraught mistress, he indulged in this private one to Hanger, his words fair crowing from the page.

"_It was my very great pleasure to deliver my excellently won prize in person to an ecstatic Lord General,"_ Banastre wrote now. _"Without a word of a lie, I do declare what Cornwallis said to me. 'My dear Banastre,' said he 'never have I been more proud of you, than I am at this moment. Your performances in the field are a constant surprise and delight to me, but this… Sweet Heavens, you've bought me the most troublesome Officer the Continentals have seen fit to plague me with, you've captured half his band and almost all of his horses! I could not be more happy, if you'd bought me Washington himself!' "_ Banastre laughed softly, imagining his close friend George laughing when he read this. _"I laid an excellent ambush for our friends, my dear George. Not only did I make better time than Martin's rabble, who had set out before me," _he boasted, unashamedly, _" 'But I reached the caravan with plenty of time to organise an ambush the likes of which Martin himself would have cheered, if it had not been his own force targeted. His detachment, believing only they themselves capable of laying such traps, had - quite literally - walked into mine like lambs to the slaughter. It goes to show - those fine fellows are nothing without their leader. I captured another eighty rebels, killed ten, with only another twenty or so managing to escape. Those are scattered to the wind, leaderless and desolate. And I captured their horses, as well. At least one hundred of them, all of which are now in my possession. I even have William's Thunder,"_ Banastre could not help it, he laughed again. Beth glanced over at him in askance, but he merely smiled and waved, then continued on with his letter. _"Oh, it was so very fine, sitting across from Cornwallis, who was bursting with praise over my fine work,"_ Banastre gloated. _"I remember his every word as though it were just this morning. He said to me, 'It was very well done, Colonel. Very well done indeed. Capturing Martin…' He could not finish his sentence, my dear George, for he was at a loss for words. I rendered His Lordship speechless. His eyes were fair dancing and he wore such a smile on his face… It was a grand day, my friend. I wish you could have been here to be apart of it."_

He continued on in this vein, boasting to Hanger who was convalescing in Barbados after having contracted yellow fever. Banastre went on about his accomplishments, his success. There was no need to exaggerate General Cornwallis' praise for him, either, His Lordship had been more than pleased. It had been a very fine day indeed. Banastre came to the end of his letter. He poured sand over the ink, waved the paper to dispel the sand and dry it, before committing his seal to the folded piece. Beth might happen upon a letter left lying open on the table. It would not be her fault, if curiosity got the better of her, if she caught sight of her father's name. She would likely read it, if she ever stumbled upon such a thing. But she would never go through his correspondence deliberately - she'd never stoop to opening his satchel and breaking seals. When the letter was safely stowed away in his satchel, he rose and walked through the partition to his troubled mistress.

"Are you ready, my love?" He asked her, holding out her hand.

"I am," she said, though she looked quite green.

Banastre had discerned of a way to discover the spies in his ranks, a much faster way than having Whitty sort through the mass of soldiers with no real surety of success. As near as Banastre could tell, Martin had placed Abel Rogers from South Carolina in Tarleton's camp around the same time Martin himself began to plague Banastre's force. Did it not stand to reason then, that the other spies, if there were more, would have joined recently and all of them from South Carolina? And would it not then be a short conclusion, that Beth might know them? Martin had said she knew Abel Rogers and when Banastre questioned her, she had admitted to knowing him before, though not nearly as well as her father tried to claim. She'd never called him cousin, for instance. That was a lie Martin had told to save the youth's life. Banastre was glad he'd seen through the ruse. He was glad he hadn't let his love for Beth blind him that day. Upon returning to camp from Winnsboro, Banastre had commanded Whitty bring together all soldiers from South Carolina, who joined the ranks of his Legion in the last few months.

For Beth to study each and every face in Banastre's unit would be both time consuming and unnecessary, as he was sure of most of them. It was only the few who had joined recently, from her home province, that he needed her to view. A score of men, nothing more. The Great Cleansing had begun, and although Banastre knew Beth was not at all happy about it, he also knew his faithful mistress would do her part exceedingly well.

Beth swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, her hand trembled as she placed it in Tarleton's. She knew well what Banastre did with spies and those he considered traitors, remembering George Howard's hanging back in Pembroke. Though Banastre had not said as much, she strongly suspected that Abel Rogers had met with the same fate. She allowed her lover to guide her from the tent, her hand still secured in his own. An orange sky met them, a cold but cloudless sunset, beautiful in all its warm hues of purple and orange and gold. Far too beautiful by far to condemn men to death, as she was being asked to do now. Her heart began to pound as he led her down the aisle of tents toward a long line of men standing side by side. These had no firearms to speak of, they'd been removed from their persons before being made to take their place in the line. Camp followers and soldiers had gathered to watch, crowding the area, making it a small, narrow space. She could feel their eyes on her, each and every single one of them. What they were thinking, she could not begin to guess. The Dragoons watching over the South Carolinian soldiers had their muskets drawn, giving the entire affair a menacing feel. She imagined recognising one of her father's men, pointing him out, and then stepping aside so the Dragoon guard could shoot him between the eyes. Her mouth went dry, she struggled to work moisture onto her tongue. The terror took her breath away. Banastre led her to the beginning of the line, and she began studying each face, as he requested. She still had no idea what she would do, if she recognised any. It was the most wonderful relief to not know any of the first few men, but when she reached the fifth fellow in the line, her greatest fear was realised. Her face drained of colour, for Alby Scott, younger brother of Dan Scott, stood tall before her, staring outward. She'd hoped he would have fled as soon as her father was captured, but here he was, standing tall and pretending not to know her. He must have known what this was about, for he deliberately kept himself from meeting her gaze. Beth's heart tried to thud its way through her chest. This fellow here, she knew without a doubt, was one of her father's spies. He'd already admitted as much, over a week earlier, when they met at the Peddler's wagon. God, this was the test, right here, right now. She hadn't known what she would do if he was still here, or if she'd recognised any others she knew must be one of her fathers men, but now she was face to face with one of them, and now she knew. It was difficult to take another step on legs suddenly turned to water. But she forced herself to do so, forced herself to keep all recognition from her features and praying fervently that she succeeded. To do anything else was to betray her father, and a boy she'd known her whole life. To watch as a Dragoon put a ball between his eyes, or shoved a noose over his head. She glanced at him again and this time, like an omen or a vision, she saw a noose constricting his throat, his eyes bulging, his tongue lolling as he struggled for air. She dragged her eyes away; struggling for her own. That would not be Alby's fate; she could not condemn him to that. But nor would she betray Banastre, not entirely. She would not allow spies to remain, when she had it in her power to force them to leave. She would go to Alby as he had asked her to, and she would demand he slip away from the camp, so he could do no more mischief. But she would not condemn him to a traitors death. She continued on, gazing into the next fellow's face.

"I know him," she whispered, still feeling weak from seeing Alby Scott in the line. "Michael Forbe. He's a Kingsman, Banastre," she said. "His entire family are Loyalists. You can be sure of him."

"Thank you, Beth," Banastre replied. He gestured curtly and a very relieved Michael Forbe was removed from the line. She did not know the next three but again, she came upon a man who could only be one of her father's spies; this one was brother to Mr. Bill Danvers, one of her father's closest friends. Again, Beth's gaze passed him over, she saw the tension in his body ease as he realised she would not betray him. She walked on, determining to get word to both men to leave and not return. Banastre and Beth reached the end of the line.

"I don't know them," she said, voice loud as she tried to sound confident and sure. "Perhaps Abel Rogers really was the only one."

"I can not imagine your father pinning all of his hopes on one spy," Banastre chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully. Although he did not doubt Beth's word, he did doubt her conclusion. It was not entirely impossible that her father might have placed men in Banastre's ranks that Beth did not know.

"I doubt my father has the resources to send more, Colonel Tarleton," she replied reasonably. "He could ill afford to lose any… That's what I think, in any case."

"Well, whatever the case, I thank you," Banastre bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers gallantly in a public display of affection and approval. "You have done well this day, as I knew you would."

"It was my pleasure to serve you, Colonel," she replied formally; for the sake of his men, so that they would know she regarded Banastre highly and respected him. As he began to turn her and lead her back to the tent, she caught and held the eyes of both spies in turn, her face as hard as stone. Without words, she tried to convey her will; that they flee into the night, though she could not be certain they understood her. Scott gave an imperceptible nod of acknowledgement, but that could have meant anything. He might have been thanking her. Or perhaps he interpreted her willingness to assist him now as willingness to assist with spying later. That would be especially so, if he had learned she'd done precisely that, for Nathan back in Pembroke. Perhaps he would broach her on the subject of spying on Banastre directly, sometime in the near future. If so, she was determined to correct him. She would not tread that path - not again. Even if her father asked her himself, she would not. She wanted both men, and all other spies if they knew of them, gone from her lover's camp by the following evening and she would damned well make certain they knew it.

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A full day passed before Beth was able to hunt down Alby Scott. She knew where to start looking for him, for he'd told her as much the day they bumped into one another at the peddler's wagon. Still, knowing that only narrowed down her search, she still was yet to find him.

The narrow lanes between the tents were muddy, Beth's shoes were soon coated, as were the bottom of her skirt and petticoats. She slogged along anyway, wool cape pulled tight around her shoulders, face hard and determined. She was far from the tent she shared with Banastre and she was all alone. The peddler had returned, giving her the perfect excuse to set out from Banastre's tent out him. Nancy was striding along at her side, Beth would need to be rid of her somehow, if she did find either of the spies..

As she strode along the avenue, she kept her eyes peeled for Alby Scott and the other spy, Mr. Adam Danvers. It was Alby she found first.

Alby Scott was standing outside a tent, chatting merrily with an infantryman. Good Lord Above. Finally. Her feet were killing her, her legs ached something fierce - she was unused to all this walking. Her nose was always bright red from being out in the cold. But it was all worth it now. All worth it.

"Miss Nancy," Beth said, her voice sharp as it always was when speaking to her maid or any of the other camp women, said loudly enough to draw Alby's attention. "The peddler is still here," she handed Nancy her coin pouch. "Go and see if he has my parcel for me. And see if he has any ribbons. Preferably silk. He might have bought other things for me to look over - things for the baby. Use your judgement in choosing and do not let him overcharge you. I don't want fripperies, mind. He'll likely try to hoist all sorts of assortments on you, knowing I can afford to buy them."

"But what if I bring you back something you don't like?" Nancy said, fretting.

"It doesn't matter. Like I said, just use your judgement. If you would want it for yourself or your baby, get it. If not, don't. Pay for the parcel, and don't spend more than five pounds on anything else he shows you."

"Wouldn't it be better if ye came, so ye can decide for yeself? I don't know what a lady would like!" Nancy said, looking nervous.

"Please, Nancy, just go," Beth said, making a shooing gesture with her hands. Miss Nancy looked uncertain, but she turned and began slogging through the mud toward where the peddler had situated his wagon to sell his goods to the soldiers. Now that she was alone, Beth gave Alby a significant look, silently summoning him, and she began to walk on again.

She heard his boot falls in the mud behind her and then he fell in beside her. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, for a soldier from the inferior ranks to be walking along with Mrs. Tavington - Colonel Tavington's wife and the suspected mistress of Colonel Tarleton. She hoped Banastre did not hear of this, he might become jealous and think her unfaithful. Not many could see them here, she was deliberately leading him away from the main avenue, toward the back of the tents.

When she was certain they were alone, she rounded on him.

"I know you are here because my father ordered you to be. You are a spy. And I did not protect you the other day because I am on side with you so don't bother asking me if I have information for you. I did it because I would not betray my father. It would be devastating to see you hang or shot, I could not condemn you to that, or Mr. Danvers. But I can not cover for you, you can not stay here. You must leave, at once. If you do not, I'll make certain your departure happens somehow. I'll tell Colonel Tarleton that you and Mr. Danvers offended me. I'll ask him not to punish you but I will demand that you are set out. Or maybe I'll _let_ him punish you first," she said wrathfully. "Of all the stupid, hair brain things to do! Staying here when my father's been captured!" She threw her arms wide, frustrated that he would deem it a good idea, entering an enemy camp and spying…

"Ye'd do that?" He asked, cocking his head, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. "Ye'll make up lies 'bout Danvers and me?"

"To protect you I must see you gone, Mr. Scott. And I'll do it anyway that doesn't see you killed, so don't you dare give me such a look. I will not feel guilty at making you leave. There's no point in you staying anyway! With my father caught -" Beth cut short, hands pressed to her stomach, unable to hide the worry and grief. In a softer voice, she said, "- with papa made a prisoner, you've no one to report to, anyway. You might as well desert, before you are caught. Just slip away into the night and be gone."

"Could do," he mused. "But I already told you, I take me orders from your da, not from you."

"You're a damned goose brained fool, Alby Scott," she snapped. "They hung Abel Rogers, did you hear of that?"

"I heard," Alby said, worried now.

"And while Colonel Tarleton believes that I didn't recognise any of my father's spies in that line the other day, he does think I'm mistaken. You are being hunted Mr. Scott." They were still walking, both furtively watching those passing by, each beginning to worry if Beth had condemned him after all, by being seen with him.

"I ain't leavin' until someone above me releases me," he said stubbornly.

"Then they might be sending word to your corpse, by the time anyone is able to send such a command to you," Beth tossed her head, frustrated.

"I heard some got away from Tarleton's ambush," Alby said. "I heard Captain Billings was one of them. If so… There's a few who still command us, out there. They'll gather together 'gain, and mayhap your brother will come up here'n lead them. They won't hang yer da, will they? They don't hang officers…"

"They do hang Officers sometimes," Beth replied, troubled. "If they try to escape or break parole. Or if they decide that papa has committed treason. And they'd consider it treason, if they found you and any other spies here. If they want to hang him, they'll find a reason to do it. Banastre is certain that they'll just hold him; that for them, it's enough just to keep him out of the war until it's over. Papa has been quite a bother to them…"

"That he has," Alby laughed softly. "That we have."

"Will you please leave?" Beth asked, begging now rather than commanding.

"I don't think I can," Alby replied. "Not off me own bat. If ye want me gone, ye'll have to go tell those lies to Old Banny and see him put me out. Miss Beth, ye must know what they're saying' 'bout ye here."

"They don't know anything," she said, but was unable to stop her cheeks from flooding red. Alby clearly didn't believe her.

"If ye want, I can get ye out of here. It's what yer da wants."

"I know precisely want my father wants," she said, heaving a furious breath. "And I know why he wants it."

"Look, I don't know why yer here but I got to tell yeh, there's whispers about you and Tarleton that yer da ain't going to like." - Beth raised her chin, her eyes narrowed, flinty. To cover her sudden thrill of trepidation. "Yer married, ye should be with yer husband."

"How can you say that? Do you have any idea what my husband did to me?" She asked, voice harsh.

"I do know. Yer da knows and he punished him for it," Alby raised his hands, palms outward, cautioning her to silence.

"He… punished?" She frowned.

"See? This is why I told ye to come and see me! Gods, I've got so much to tell ye. Yer da whipped that bastard raw, for taking his belt to ye." The words stunned her, left her reeling.

"Whipped… What..?" She breathed, her anger draining from her. "My father… whipped… he whipped William? Lord, Alby… What..?" The blood had drained from Beth's face, leaving her cheeks an ashen grey.

"Look, I don't know all of it but I'll tell ye what I can. Yer da had the opportunity to capture Tavington, so he laid an ambush. Tavington was shot during the action, through the shoulder -"

"- Shot," Beth closed her eyes, her stomach roiled. "My Papa shot William?"

"Nah, that were yer uncle who did that. Mr. Putman. And that other fellow he's got with him now - that Farshaw…"

"My uncle? My uncle is dead, Alby. And Farshaw? Oh my God…" Beth's eyes were huge, the whites showing all the way around the brown.

"Yeh, that's his name from memory. Murdered an Officer and deserted to our ranks. Something ain't right with him but that's a tale for another day. As for yer uncle, he ain't dead. He survived being tossed into the Cooper."

"I can't believe it…" She reeled, she had no time to digest what he was saying, for he was still speaking, the words tumbling from him at a rate Beth could not keep up with. Her uncle was alive? Did Cilla know? Time had marched on without her, so much had happened, it seemed, and she was only getting snatches of it now. What she did hear left her reeling.

"Yeh - Tavington was shot. He's recovered now though," he said quickly, seeing the stark fear in Beth's face and that fear made him wonder what the hell was going on, that she would be with Tarleton. Maybe she was a captive. Maybe.

"He has recovered?" Beth fretted, her fingers digging in to Alby's arm. She didn't even remember seizing it.

"Yeh, by now he 'as. He was gettin' over the whippin' too, before he was rescued by his Major. Billings told us."

"Rescued… Oh Lord, none of what you're saying is making sense to me Alby. No sense at all!"

They were standing behind some tents now, no one to see them. A camp follower was putting washing on a clothes line strung between two tents, but she had her back to them both. Alby clasped Beth's shoulders, he looked her in the eye. "Your father laid a trap," he began, outlining everything as it had been told to him. He'd been there, but he had not known many of the details until later, when the older men sat around the camp fires, talking about it. He still didn't know everything, and what he did know was second and third hand, but he would tell her what he could. "He'd learned what happened at Fresh Water. That yer husband was… unfaithful," he said carefully.

He saw a hardness enter Beth's eyes, there was still pride there. She was not entirely beaten down. Good, Alby thought, feeling for the lass. "How did he learn of it?" Beth asked softly, imagining there must have been spies at Fresh Water.

"Mrs. Bordon, we think," he replied. "We don't know for sure, but some of us are thinkin' that Mrs. Bordon's been sending her da information. It stands to reason, don't it? Her being Putman's daughter and him suddenly getting real, private information that has come from within the great house itself?"

Considering how Cilla had chosen to occupy herself in Charlestown, Beth thought it must be so - Cilla was spying again. Dangerous business, that, while living in the lap of the British.

"My uncle really is alive?" She asked, still shocked by the news. It left her breathless.

"Yes," Alby said. "Him and that fellow - Nicholas or something."

"Oh, thank the Lord," Beth whispered, over joyed by the news. Hearing Nicholas' name confirmed it for her, she knew it was all true now. The relief… That both had survived… nervous excitement coursed through her veins, making her feel hot and giddy. "Keep going. Tell me all of it."

"If ye want all of it, then I need to backtrack a bit. Back to yer da. He heard that yer husband took his belt to ye. Don't worry, yer da didn't take it lightly. He was right furious, he was. Mad enough that when he caught Tavington, he took him to a quiet place, a remote place where he could have a wee private chat. Once yer da was done talkin' 'bout how he expected his daughter to be treated in the future, like, Tavington was hauled up onto a whipping post, and yer da took the first turn. Gabriel took the second. I'm told even Thomas had a turn, and he put as much force into it as yer da. That's what Tavington gets, for messing around on ye, lass. That's what he gets for beatin' ye. Never think yer da don't love ye."

Beth's eyes were shut, tears streaked down her cheeks. A riot of emotions forged through her, she could barely tell how she was feeling. Her father loved her after all. And her husband - whipped by the men of her family. Part of her felt terribly for William, and she wanted to squash that part of her until it died a horrible death, the part that still loved William beyond sense. That part would be the death of her, one day. Imagining him strung up and helpless, the whip striking his flesh, leaving bloody runnels in ruined flesh… it was such a painful image, it made her want to pull at her hair and scream. After he'd been shot too. It was all she could do to keep standing. Poor, poor William. God, why couldn't she just stop loving him? It was like a horrible canker, riddling her entire body. There was pride and love as well, for her father, who would take such vengeful action against the man who had harmed her so terribly.

An absolute riot of emotions…

"I know he does," Beth whispered, opening her eyes. "Tell me what happened next."

"Well, yer da's a fair man, he always has been. One of the men heard him telling his sons that Tavington's received his punishment, and that's an end to it. That if he ever hurts ye again, he can expect more. At that time, though, they got one of the men who knows doctoring to come along and patch Tavington up. That was weeks and weeks ago now. Nearly two months; Christ, time goes so fast. He was already recovering when Bordon came along and rescued him."

Beth opened her mouth to ask about that, but Alby held up one hand, forestalling her. "There's precious little I know of it, Miss Beth. He came along; and your father and brothers got away just in time. Bordon took Tavington back to Fresh Water."

Back to Linda, Beth thought. Did his whore care for him, during his convalescence? She struggled to keep her mind on what Alby was saying.

"That's all I know. What I do know is, before he was rescued, yer da spent a lot of time with the Butcher. I don't know what they was doin' together, the men don't know either but they didn't like it overly much. What they do know is, yer da promised yer husband that he'd remove you from here and he'd take ye to Gullah."

Beth went as still as a statue, as cold as marble. Only her hair moved gently in the wind. Her eyes were fixed on Alby's, a led weight settled in her stomach.

"My husband," she began, words clipped with fury, "is living in my house, with that damned whore, in the open for everyone to see! Yet he is colluding with my father? To see me set aside in Gullah?" This last was squeaked. "What of him and his dallying with that slut!"

"Don't raise yer voice, lass!" Alby glanced around nervously, worried they'd draw curious eyes now.

"He is ruining his name," she raged. "I understand father wanting me taken from here - I do understand his reasoning, Mr. Scott. But my husband? While he sits nice and warm in my house, surrounded by fine things, his mistress in our marriage bed - I was going to be despatched to Gullah? Do you even know what is in Gullah, Mr. Scott?"

"I never been there," he admitted. "What's there?"

"Nothing!" She waved her arms high. "Nothing! A bunch of old shanties, it's a beach island - there is nothing but mosquitoes there, and alligators probably and cabins not even worthy of the name! And I was to be sent there so that William could continue with his mistress in my own home?" She squeaked.

"Well, when you put it like that… Maybe you should convince yer da to take ye back to Fresh Water instead."

"Good God, I'll never do that!" Beth snapped. "What would he do, keep me in one of the outhouses while he shares my bed chamber with that doxy in the Great House?" Beth continued to curse and rant - though quietly, thank the great Lord above. Alby listened to her, watched her face darken with fury as she raged under her breath, about the slut, he was living with in her own home, and how she herself was to be set aside and left to rot on an island while Tavington set his whore up in luxury.

"And he has my inheritance, how much of that is he spending on her? I'll have to beg for enough to buy myself a ribbon while he bedecks her in silk out of my own money!"

"I don't know nothing about any of that," he replied truthfully, having heard no gossip of Tavington's continued affair. "But yeh, I reckon ye've a right to be angry."

"Right to be angry?" She raged. "I'm filled with so much fury, I can barely support it! I want to explode with it! That damned bastard. Why did he do this to me, Mr. Scott? Why? And now he wants me away from here and not because he loves me - not that it matters because I don't want him now either! But it isn't that he loves me, because he doesn't - he only wants me away from here so that he can have happiness while I have none and oh, god, it just hurts so much!" She began to cry then, great sobs tearing from her. The pent up anger had to come out somehow, he supposed, and with a sigh, he put his arms around her, keeping a careful eye that no one was watching. The washer woman was gone, and he could hear people not far from the tent, but for now, they were still unobserved. He was able to let Beth cry herself out, he did not release her until her body stopped shuddering from the force of her sobs. He reached into his pocket and handed her a dirty kerchief. She stared at it woodenly, then plucked it from his fingers and dried her eyes, leaving dirty smears on her cheeks from the kerchief and her tears.

"I want to hate him," she confided, sniffling. "I really want to hate him. But I can't. This is what love does to a person, Mr. Scott. It makes them so, so damned stupid! Please do me a favour. Don't fall in love."

"I can't be promisin' ye that," he smiled weakly. "But I promise I'll choose the right girl, when I do."

"There is no choosing," Beth replied, shaking her head. "Or else I would have chosen better for myself. I thought he was a good man but… I was blind. That's what love does to you Mr. Scott. It blinds you. And then it gets in here," she punched her chest, "and sends out spiky little tendrils out and they wrap around your heart and they dig in like claws, holding so tight and it feels so good. At first, it does, the little jolts from those spikes, but even after you realise you were mistaken in your choice, those tendrils don't let go. Instead, they tighten and the barbs grow and dig in something fierce and you feel like you'll die from the pain of it. They hold and hold and hold until it chews you up and some mornings, it's all I can do just to get out of bed!"

She was sniffling again, not the wretched sobbing of a moment before, but she was still not recovered. Alby did not know what to say, he'd never been in love before and he had no idea what she was talking about. Barbed tendrils? It sounded pretty horrible.

"Have you ever been pricked by a thorn on a rose bush?" She asked and he nodded. "It's like that, only there are a thousand thorns and they keep jabbing," she stabbed her fingers into her other palm for emphasis. "And jabbing. The pain of all those jabs never ebbs, either, from the first to the last, they all just stay there, digging deep and hurting."

"I'm sorry for ye Miss Beth," he sighed. "I really am. But why are ye here, then? How is this making it better? There's rumours about ye and Tarleton now, which is going to harm yer good name. Well, yer da's good name anyway, Tavington's ain't so grand that I'd want to protect it. But yer making it all worse, not just for yerself but yer da too. Why are ye here?"

"Because…" she began softly, eyes on the ground. "He's looking after me. Protecting me from being belted again. It doesn't matter now anyway, this plan of going to Gullah. Not with my father captured. It's all a moot point, now," she thought for a moment, then barked a bitter laugh. "Well, that's put paid to William's scheme, hasn't it?" She spat. "This agreement they made, to have papa set me aside someplace while William kept living high and well with that whore. I'll stay with Banastre," she said decisively, lifting her chin, vengeful. "And we'll all be sunk together." She declared in a sing song voice.

Alby didn't much like the sound of that, but Beth began walking away and he had no choice but to follow her back to the path.

"Will you consider what I asked of you?" She asked. "Will you leave? You'll get no information from me. And there's no one to deliver information up to anyway. You don't even know where Gabriel is, you can't hope that he'll come here and take over from my father."

"Someone will take charge," Alby said, filled with certainly. Beth shook her head.

"There's death waiting for you here, they'll catch you now the investigation has begun."

"They won't investigate me, or Danvers," Alby said confidently. "Not now that you've vouched for us both."

Beth shot him a hard, dark look. Before she could repeat her threat or get another word in at all, he doffed his hat to her, turned, and began striding away.

She continued more slowly along the path, her thoughts dwelling on William. Thinking of her husband bought a confusing blend of heartache and fury, as it always did. Only now, it was worse. It was _more_. How dare William try to force her to do anything? She knew he was only doing it to protect his name, which he was doing a wonderful job of ruining himself. He wanted her to be miserable without Banastre, while he was all happiness with Linda Stokes, all to protect his name?

No. She would not go to Gullah, or Fresh Water, or anywhere else he bade her. Not on bended knee, she'd told him. And not for any reason.


	120. Chapter 120 - All Alone

Chapter 120 - All Alone:

_Early December - Fresh Water Fort:_

Voices floated to her from the parlor and Cilla decided to go there. It had been empty for most of the day, but if there was someone in there now - finally - she would have some company. It might be Brownlow and Dalton. They had been uncomfortable around her initially, for she had deliberately spied on them back in the city. But over time, they had relaxed around her and even conversed with her if they had time. Especially Brownlow - he was quite a likeable lad.

But when she reached the door, she recognised Richard's voice and Harmony's laughter. Cilla's enthusiasm for company dropped like a stone in the water. Those were the last two she wished to see.

For nearly a month now, Cilla had found herself living in an increasingly undesirable situation. The mornings being the only exception, for those were the only thing to have remained the same - when she awoke in Richard's arms. Yes, he had attacked her brutally but somehow, she had come to see that monster and Richard her husband as two separate and entirely different beings. Her fear that the monster might eventually return had been dwindling by the day until it was almost gone. Where before, she hadn't been able to look at Richard without fearing that he would brutalise her, now when she looked upon him, she could not imagine the monster returning. She enjoyed waking in his arms - God Above knew it was the only touch she was receiving from anyone these days. She'd gone from her days being filled with affection and pleasure when Banastre was there, to this - those two hours before and after dawn, of feeling the warmth of another living person.

That was all she had now. Everything else was gone - affection, companionship, pleasure… She did have visitors at times, and she did visit others - her acquaintances had grown until there were now five families she called upon, if they did not call upon her. But those visits were certainly not daily and with the approach of winter, they were too sure to lessen even more. When they did occur, they only lasted several hours before everyone was farewelling one another again. Richard, when he was in residence, spent his days and nights with Harmony. And Harmony, when Richard was not in residence, spent her days with Cilla. An uneasy, almost friendship had sprung up between them but Harmony abandoned it whenever Richard was around. She abandoned their visitors also, and would only receive or call upon them if Richard was away.

Cilla hoped her new acquaintances did not notice the pattern in that. _'Oh, your husband has returned! How lovely. And where is Mrs. Farshaw?'_ If that was asked often enough, if any one of her acquaintances was observant enough, they would realise the truth. That Harmony and Richard - who was said to be over - were still very much together and disdainful of all other company, when he was home. Cilla had tried to speak to Harmony about it - and to Richard - but to no effect. Harmony became angry whenever Cilla tried and Richard… Well, he could see the need and he did occasionally join Cilla for a few minutes to entertain her company but he was always so desperate to leave - to be with Harmony, that he never stayed long. And these moments of joining her were too few - perhaps once a week, he would poke his head in the parlour and pretend to want to be there for all of five minutes before he begged his duties and left them again.

Someone was bound to notice. Sometime, someone would. And then what? All Cilla's hard work and effort will be undone.

And then there was the matter of Harmony only seeking out Cilla when Richard was gone and Harmony was feeling the need for some company. But as soon as Richard was back - Harmony never came near her and Richard kept himself wholly to Harmony. What of Cilla's need for company, at those times? Neither seemed to care. That was quite hurtful, she felt quite used, especially by Harmony, who would only spend time with her when she herself was bored and lonely. And never mind the times that Cilla was bored and lonely and might be in need of companionship.

Cilla approached the parlour and realised it was Richard and Harmony within. She paused just shy of the door, suddenly reluctant to go in. She wanted company, but she always felt these two shared theirs with her only grudgingly. Her stomach sinking, she heaved a sigh and turned away, ready to retreat back toward the way she had come.

"This can't keep coming up, Harm," Richard said and Cilla paused, hearing the heat in his voice. "You know that I can not stay the entire night with you. I've explained all this to you again and again."

Cilla was just as glad now, that she hadn't entered, not if they were arguing. She had grown quite adept at listening at doors and this time, it was simplicity itself as the door was open - a display of modesty for the benefit of the servants, no doubt. At least Richard was thinking. Cilla leaned back against the wall where she could not bee seen from those within the parlour.

"I know, Richard. I know your reasons, but that doesn't mean I have ever liked it. I do not enjoy waking up alone."

_At least that's the _**_only_**_ time you are alone_, Cilla thought grumpily.

"Especially," Harmony continued, "now that I know you snuggle up close and sleep in each others arms!"

On the other side of the door, Cilla went very still, a sense of foreboding washing over her.

"You managed to keep that from me, didn't you?" Harmony snapped. "All this time we've all been living here, every night when you leave my bed for hers… I thought you just slept there. I imagined you keeping to your side and her to hers, but then I find out the servants find you each morning wrapped in one another's arms! You never told me that."

Cilla clutched at the pendant hanging from her necklace, her fingers wrapping around it firmly. She had so little now; was Harmony about to take that from her too?

"Oh, Harm, it doesn't mean anything," Richard groaned and Cilla's eyes widened, she grew very still.

"I will ask you this one last time, Richard. Are you bedding her?"

"I have told you again and again, I am not bedding Cilla!"

Cilla stifled an indignant gasp. _How dare she ask that, I'm his wife! If anyone has the right to be bedding him, it's me! _

"I want to believe you," Harmony said. "I truly do. But I just… why hold her then, Richard? You're going from my bed into another woman's arms!"

_Oh wonderful, here come the tears, _Cilla thought scathingly as she heard Harmony's voice break. _Gods, she's going to take this from me too. It's all I have, but she's going to take it._

"Harm," Richard said, Cilla could hear the imploring quality to his voice. "I am not bedding her. I am sharing my wife's bed, but we sleep there, only. That is all. As for why - Gods, it's winter now - it's getting colder by the day! I'm leaving the warmth of your beautiful body to go and lay in a bed that is damnably cold. But Cilla has been laying there all night and is warm so… that's all, Harm. We share body warmth, because it's just so frightfully cold."

Cilla's shoulders slumped and she stared at the floor, feeling unaccountably hurt by this.

"I don't like it, it caused me such agony to hear it," Harmony muttered and Cilla nodded, thinking that it was coming now. She knew what Richard would say now.

"Then it stops," Richard said matter of factly. Simple as simple. Though she'd been expecting it, Cilla's heart sank.

"Do you promise? You won't sleep in each others arms?"

"I promise," Richard said, sounding indulgent. "I'd do anything to help ease your discomfort, I know this is not easy for you."

_Not easy for her? What about me! _Cilla fumed, on the verge of tears. I'm the one doing all the work and I'm to get nothing.

"It hasn't been," Harmony admitted and Cilla wanted to march in there and slap her. She risked a glare around the wall into the chamber and saw a smiling and contented Harmony taking hold of Richard's hand and splaying his fingers across her stomach.

"He's awake again," he said, all amazement. Richard met Harmony's gaze, both oblivious to the figure spying on them from the doorway. "I'll never cease to be amazed by this. To feel him move - oh! He kicked! He's a strong lad already!"

"Your strong lad," Harmony agreed, fingers moving over Richard's cinnamon hair. "He is just like he's papa."

"God forbid," Richard laughed. "I'm hoping he'll be much more like his mother."

Cilla stared at them enjoying the child moving within Harmony's stomach, her mouth going slack. Cilla placed her hand over her flat, empty stomach and grief welled up so strong she thought she would sob right there in the hall. Her stomach was empty, flat when she should have been five months along by now.

"It's the most amazing thing," he said, leaning down and planting a kiss on the swell of his beloved's stomach.

Cilla could take no more. She would have been as large with child as Harmony was now, but hers was gone. She would never have a baby of her own to hold and love, though Harmony would bear Richard one in a matter of months. Desolate, she peeled herself from the door and rushed up the stairs, not stopping until she was in her chamber. Slamming the door behind her, she lay face down on her bed, and wept into the pillows.

* * *

Cilla opened the curtains to allow the cold morning sunlight to shine through the windows. She went behind the privacy screen and passed water, placed a few logs on the dying fire, then padded across the chamber to the door, so she could lock it. It was still damnably cold, so with those small ministrations done, she returned to bed. However, she did not lie back down. Instead, sitting in the bed, knees drawn up to her chest, chin resting on their tops, Cilla stared across the room at Richard.

For he was asleep there, on the chaise.

Was that Harmony's demand, also? That not only should Richard not sleep with Cilla in his arms, nor should he share the bed at all? Or was that his own choice? For there he was, in the place she had found him when she'd woken, sprawled out across the chaise, instead of in the bed with her. He was taking his mistresses concerns, quite seriously, it seemed.

He looked cramped there, his head at an odd angle on the upward sloping end of the chaise, his legs dangling over the other end.

_If you get a cricked neck, it'll serve you right_, she thought as he began to wake. He stretched and yawned and blinked in the morning light. He wore light linen pants, closed with a draw cord. His chest was bare, however, and as he sat, the blanket fell away from his legs and onto the floor. Cilla's eyes roved his chest, taking in the sight of him. At those arms, as thick as a blacksmiths', arms that would never wrap around her again. Because his mistress had forbidden him.

She drew a shuddering breath, trying to dispel the confusing emotions. Still, she studied him.

He was much broader than Banastre and far more hairy. What was that purple blotch on his skin? She'd never seen that on him before. There were several, she realised. Circular in shape, and yes, purple in colour, just above his nipples. His cinnamon hair fell about his shoulders as he stretched his arms high above his head and let out a manly groan. Cilla's eyes lingered on those corded muscles moving beneath his skin.

"What time is it?" He asked, voice raspy and thick from sleep.

"Nearly seven-thirty," she replied woodenly, winding her arms around her legs over the blankets. "Tavington is already up."

"Oh, did he summon me?" Richard said, blinking as though he were trying to force himself to wake properly. He even slapped his hand against one cheek.

"No, I just heard him in the hallway, walking by with Brownlow I think. One of the other Officers anyway," she cocked her head to one side, dying to ask him why he'd chosen to not only give in to Harmony's demand to sleep without touching her, but to sleep on the far side of the room entirely.

It had hurt more than she'd thought it might, waking up to discover that not only did he not have his arms around her, but that he had disdained her bed entirely.

It had felt nice, being held as they woke in the mornings. The last man to hold her like that, so secure in a warm embrace, had been Banastre Tarleton. Cilla lowered her eyes and began plucking at the blanket. Her golden hair spilled forward, she did not push it back, for it shielded her face from him.

She would _not_ ask him why he'd disdained their bed.

"Good," he said, rising. "I had a dream last night," he announced as he threw his legs over the side of the chaise. She glanced up despite herself and saw him wince as he stretched his neck. He groaned, a flare of pain crossing his face.

_Serves him bloody right, _she thought, looking away.

"We were in England, you and I," he began.

_With your mistress too?__ How delightful. _

"And you were wearing a magnificent gown, all of silk."

"We'll have to send to Charlestown, if that dream is to come true," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "All of my gowns are at home."

"Oh, no no no," he laughed softly. "My dear Cilla, as wealthy as your father was, not even he has ever purchased you something as grand as the gown you were wearing last night…" he said, trailing off.

"I wish I could have seen it," she said wryly. He laughed again and rose, fingers scratching his chest. "What is that?" She asked, expressing concern. "I noticed the marks before. Are they itchy? I can get Mila to make up a balm?"

"No," for some reason, his face coloured. He shook his head and waved away Cilla's concerns. "They are nothing. The dress! Magnificent, I too wish you could have seen it. All silk, burgundy and brocaded through with gold thread, so much lace you could have supplied four more dresses. And it was out to here," he placed his arms two yards from his sides to show how wide the dress was. "With hoops, of course. And the jewels you were wearing… all gold and gems, in your hair and at your throat."

"What occasion would I possibly have to wear such as that?" She asked.

"Didn't I say?" He grinned down at her. "We were at the palace and were being presented to their Majesties, the King and Queen!"

"The King and Queen!" She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Lord, Richard. If I was presented to the King and Queen, I'd give both a piece of my mind."

"You would not," he scoffed. He poured cold water from the ewer into a bowl and began to wash his face and chest. "Not even you would be brave enough for that, my courageous little rebel."

She could not understand why, but those words did something to her. Courageous little rebel. For some ridiculously stupid reason, Cilla's chest began to warm, the heat spreading from her heart and outward.

"No one would speak hotly to His Majesty, not even his most hated enemy," Richard said. He was seated now and was setting about the task of shaving.

"Why were we being presented to _your_ Majestics?" Cilla asked, baiting him deliberately.

"I'm your husband, lass. My Loyalties are now yours," he said this in a lofty way, not rising to the bait. "They are your Majesties now, too. And we were being presented to them because you are my wife and I was a hero."

"A hero!" Cilla laughed despite herself. "What heroic thing did you do? Net General Washington and deliver him to Cornwallis?"

"Now, I like the way you think," he said, pointing at her with his blade. He began to scrape his cheeks gently, cutting away the stubble. "Now, it was a dream, Cil. I don't actually know what I did to deserve it, what grand and glorious action I took. The reasons don't matter, how we got there doesn't matter. But we were there, in the grand palace, surrounded by riches and affluence the like of which neither of us have ever seen, and that's saying something considering the fortunes of both our families. But we were there and it was all very proper and grand. The Queen even took your hand and welcomed you to England and the King offered me a position in his coterie."

Cilla's mocking laughter rang through the chamber. "To hold hands with the Queen… Oh sweet Lord. And you - I can just see you in those great long robes and the stupid powdered wig. You'd look daft, Richard! You'd look like man of sixty years!"

"I would not look daft," he shot her an arched eyebrow and returned to his shaving. "I'd look _distinguished_. I'd _be_ distinguished. It'd be a fine thing, lass, if we were welcomed in the King's court. In the upper echelons of society. Our life would be made much easier, then."

"Hmm, but you must remember, Richard, it was just a dream. We are not going to live in England after all, are we?" She asked, feeling the first stirring of worry.

"Of course," he said, giving her a startled look. "Lord, I am not going to live in this God forsaken country when the war is done."

"I love this country and I don't believe God has forsaken it at all," she grumbled, her dark mood returning.

"Come now, Cil. There is nothing keeping us here. Everyone we know will return to England, our entire Society will be there after the war," he cleaned off his blade and sprinkled a pomade on his cheeks.

"Your society," she shot back. "Mine is right here. Sarah, Rebecca, Emily, Beth. Not that I get to see any of them, especially with you refusing to send for Rebecca now, even though you promised. My entire Society now consists of you and Harmony, and I rarely see either of you, unless one of you is gone off elsewhere."

Richard glanced at her, his mouth falling open. Cilla tightened her lips, wishing she could have the words back.

"Is everything alright?" He asked her.

_No. Nothing is alright. You keep making concession after concession for your mistress and I get nothing. I don't even get to invite Rebecca here, because Harmony is here. I'm so heartily sick of the both of you I want to scratch both your eyes out!_

"Everything is fine. What of Harmony and your child?" Cilla asked pointedly. "Will they be coming to England as well?"

He paused, meeting her gaze over her knees. Then he sloughed off the questioned with a shrug. "There is no point in planning too far ahead now is there?" He asked her, rising. In a tall wardrobe, hung a fresh Legion uniform. While he dressed, mostly in silence, Cilla dropped her chin to her knees again. She wrapped her arms tightly about her ankles and stared past Richard, trying to sort through the disordered thoughts clouding her mind. As she did, she began to slip deeper in a brood and did not know how to bring herself back out of it. It was not in her nature to become depressed and she did not know what to do about it. Richard continued to dress, pulling on his breeches and shirt, his waist coat, until he had on his boots and was tying the lace off at his neck. His hair was already combed by now and tied back in a neat queue, and with his cravat perfectly positioned, he was ready to leave.

"You do have other Society, Cilla," he said. "There's Mrs. Campbell and the Reynolds. This Mrs. Felton and her daughter. Others. You have people to keep company with."

"Yes, which means you and Harmony are let off the hook," Cilla said archly. Richard studied her for a moment, his lips working, but he appeared to not know what to say. Instead, he inclined his head toward her, then left the chamber.

* * *

Cilla was sitting in the parlour in a window seat beneath a broad bank of windows. The sun filtering through was quite warm here, because of the glass panes. She was leaning against the wall on comfortable cushions, a book in her lap and a cup of tea betwixt her fingers. Hearing a commotion outside, she glanced up to see a carriage trundling down the avenue toward the house - it looked like Mrs. Reynolds. Cilla brightened considerably, for the older woman and her daughters were always such bright and merry company. She set aside the book and moved closer to the fire, to wait for them.

* * *

Lately, Cilla had been feeling like a ghost, moving among servants in an otherwise quiet house. But now the parlour was filled with laughter as the women chatted and gossiped - Alice Reynolds did a twirl for Cilla to show off her new dress. They had only been there a few minutes when Harmony entered, smiling. Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters greeted Harmony with kisses and hugs, while Cilla sat there trying to look gracious and not seethe.

_Richard has gone, has he? _She thought snidely as Harmony sat down, joining them. The conversation continued to flow - Cilla was well-bred enough to uphold her part in it, though it was not the natural, easy thing of before, not now that Harmony was there. Still, the other women could not discern the difference and their laughter and chatter continued, none of them realising that Cilla's heart was no longer in it. For several two hours, this continued - with Mila directing servants to bring in sweetmeats and Mrs. Ambrose even sent in syllabubs, to their delight.

Eventually, it came to an end, as all good things must and Cilla stood at the door with Harmony at her side, both of them kissing and hugging the other women and then waving farewell as they climbed into the carriage. When the carriage drove away, Cilla turned back into the house.

"Do you want to play Whist?" Harmony asked behind her.

_Why? Because Richard is not here and you're bored_

"No. I'm feeling quite tired, I think I'm going to go lay down," Cilla replied, trying to maintain a polite visage though inside, she was seething. She didn't care how many times she had to use that excuse in the future - she was not going to let Harmony use her again.

* * *

"There's a dinner next door," Richard said, standing at Cilla's side of the bed. "We've been invited."

Cilla, trying to pretend to be asleep, said nothing. She felt him move away and she was hopeful that her ploy had worked.

"Come sleepy," he called to her as he began to change. "Harmony said you've been in here for hours, since the Reynolds left. If you sleep anymore now, you won't get any sleep tonight. O'Hara has is asking for you particularly."

"I have a headache, Richard," she said, her voice muffled into her pillow.

"I'll send for some Warts," he replied. "Mila knows how to brew it so well, even the worst headache will be gone within a half hour." He disappeared for a moment, she heard him talking in the hallway. She stared at the wall, not wanting to move a muscle. When he returned, she tried again.

"I don't want to go, Richard," she said. "I am tired and I don't think the Warts will work. I want to stay home tonight." Usually, she enjoyed her time with the General's and the other company they chose to invite, even though all of those were Loyalists. And she enjoyed her time with Richard, also - the carriage ride over and the carriage ride back were always quite jovial.

But since discovering him asleep on the chaise that morning, since he gave in to his mistress to never hold her again, she did not feel up to it. She would be performing a charade, if she went, and she did not feel up to that, either.

She could feel him pause, then heard his boots cross the room toward her. "Cil," he said, soothing, she felt his hand close on her shoulder. "Half the reason I've been invited at all, is because of you."

"I know," she replied, an edge to her voice. The ONLY reason he was welcome next door, was because of her. Yet he neglects her. He gives in to Harmony's every whim even though some of those have been at Cilla's expense. He spends all his free time with his mistress, only deigning to share it with Cilla when they were heading over to O'Hara's, where he spent the night basking in the glow of adoration she had created for him. And he cooed over Harmony's swelling stomach while Cilla's remained empty and probably always would be.

"Then you understand how important this is," he said, squeezing her arm, taking her words as agreement. "O'Hara will be gone soon. We need to seize every opportunity we can, to further deepen his good will. Come now, up you get. It'll do you good and I promise, we'll leave early if you wish."

Vickie entered, she stood in a corner waiting, and Cilla could no longer remain laying on the bed, for the girl was sure to gossip of it. Cilla had been wondering who had told Harmony of Richard and Cilla sleeping in one another's arms and Cilla had come to suspect it had come from her maid, Vickie.

As if her body weighed a thousand pounds, Cilla sat up and turned very slowly.

"There you are!" Richard cried, not seeing - or refusing to see - Cilla's despondency, or that she had been weeping. "I knew you'd understand. I need to push my advantage now, Cil. It's for both of us. Don't worry, your headache will go as soon as you drink Mila's brew." He held his hands out to her and she took them, allowing him to pull her up onto wooden legs. "I'll return soon," he said, kissing her cheek.

Because Vickie was standing there, Cilla supposed. He had kissed her for the benefit of her servant, not out of any affection for her.

* * *

Cilla forced herself to smile throughout the evening, she spoke with the women and laughed when she was supposed to. She put on such a great performance, again reminding herself that she should have taken to the stage for her living. She'd become an adept actress in the last few months, not even her husband noticed how melancholy she was.

When she was returned to her chamber, Vickie helped her to undress. She chatted about Mila, who was feeling unwell, the baby was upsetting her. Another one with child, while Cilla was without. As soon as her stays were removed, Cilla dismissed her maid, having no more desire to listen to the young woman prattling about babies. The fire was burning cheerfully, many of the candles were doused. Cilla stood at her bed, pulled back the covers, and climbed in. She glanced at Richard's side of the bed, eyes narrowed. Instead of reaching over and pulling back the corner for him as was her habit previously, she lay down on her side and turned her back. There would be no further invitations from her.

Not that he would have accepted it. He'd likely sleep on the chaise again. Oh well, if he could live with a sore neck, then so be it.

She was awake when he came in hours later. Whether she'd slept or not, she did not know, but she was awake when the door opened. The candles had burned low, she thought the time must have been around three in the morning. She heard him bustle about, heard him stoke the fire and place on new logs. Then he began to undress. She lay as still as stone, wondering if he would do it again.

Would he choose the chaise again? Or would his sore neck deter him? When he came a little close to her, she cracked open her eyes. He was standing at the window for some reason, one drape pulled back, glancing out into the darkness. He was as naked as the day he was born, and was close enough that she caught a strong, musky scent wafting from him. A familiar scent, she recognised it immediately, she'd smelled it often on herself after coupling with Banastre. It was the musky scent of a man's seed and woman's wetness, the mingling odour of spent arousal. Appalled, she turned over and away from him, she burrowed her nose into the blankets.

He did not ask her if she was awake, and she kept her eyes firmly shut, so he would think she was merely turning over in her sleep. Richard rounded the bed and pulled back the covers. He climbed in beside Cilla with a heartfelt sigh of relief. That was to be expected, she'd been a bundle of nerves all day lest he choose the chaise again. It was the contentment that surprised her. Why should she be so happy that he'd chosen to sleep with her?

She wondered if he would hold her, should she instigate it. It's not as though they knew she'd overheard the conversation. As far was Richard was concerned, all Cilla knew was that she'd woken up to find him on the chaise. She'd never addressed it and since then, they'd had what Richard thought to be a lovely evening over at O'Hara's. He did not know how low she was feeling, or the reasons behind it.

He thought that everything was simply stupendous.

Her heart began to pound, nerves making her feel lightheaded as she nestled in closer toward him. She was not supposed to know what he'd promised Harmony and it did indeed make her feel as though what she was about to do was utterly wrong. A betrayal. Which was ridiculous - this man was her husband, for crying out loud.

Besides, she wanted to see what he would do, so that she could gauge for certain, how damaged their relationship was now. She needed to know.

Boldly, she shuffled her body closer until she was alongside his, and she lifted his arm and placed it around her. As if it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be doing, even though this was actually the first time she ever had. She felt him stiffen as she laid her head on his shoulder, her arm draped over his chest.

"Gods, so cold," she said, as if that was the reason she was sidling closer. Just as he did to her, every other night. He had grown as stiff as a buckboard now though and she noted that the arm she had put around her was flat on the bed behind her, he had not wrapped it over her body. "You're so warm - do you remember telling me that first night you took me in your arms?" She asked - a gentle reminder that that had been his idea back then, not hers. "You told me I'd be sidling up to you in winter. You were so right," she lifted her leg and laid it across his and did a little shiver as she burrowed into the blankets, her body wrapped around his.

"I remember," he said.

"Things have changed so much between us since then, don't you think?" She asked, another gentle reminder. She wanted him to recall how poorly they had started, to compare it to how they were now. Did he really want to risk returning to how it'd been in the beginning? "It's so much better between us now."

"I… yes, it is," he breathed.

She tilted her head back on his chest to gaze up at him. Was she reaching him? Was she getting through to him? Was he really willing to damage the closeness they'd been developing? She longed to ask him. Instead, she asked, as if making conversation, "Richard, why did you sleep on the chaise last night?"

_Will you tell me the truth? _She thought.

"I… ah… you looked so comfortable when I came in, I did not want to disturb you," he said.

She felt herself grow cold all over and it was all she could do to keep up this is companionable facade. She forced a merry laugh.

"As considerate as that is, it's never stopped you before," she replied, still laughing. "You usually have no qualms about falling into the bed, waking me and hauling me about until I'm in your arms and you're stealing my heat." He said nothing and she waited as the silence stretched. Finally, she said, still with forced cheer, "I guess men can be strange at times. Oh well. Good night, Richard."

"Yes, good night, Cilla," he replied. And then he turned over.

Cilla was displaced as his arm was lifted from beneath her and she was suddenly confronted with his back. Her leg was shifted off from him as well, and she'd instinctively lifted her arm to give him room as he rolled onto his side away from her. Now, her arm hovered over his side, and she stared at the back of his head, astonished.

Her chest constricted, Gods it hurt so much. Staring at him wide eyed, she shuffled backward and away from him, astonished and hurt by his blatant rejection. She pressed her trembling lips together and she wiped at her eyes with her fingers. Cilla rolled over onto her other side, back to back with him, with a large gap between them.

Within minutes, she could hear his soft snores. Lord, he didn't even care that she was laying right there beside him in the depths of despair. What a bastard. She dried her eyes, swallowed past the constriction in her throat. She glanced over at him as his snores became louder. Anger twisted her stomach, rose in her breast - she wanted to rake him with her finger nails.

Shoving the blankets aside, Cilla rose. Richard did not rouse even when she snatched up the spare blankets and went to lay down on the chaise. She was far smaller than he, and she had a more comfortable fit. Even still, all she could do was lay there, awake, staring into the fire and hating the sounds of his damned snores.


	121. Chapter 121 - An Unfortunate Visit

Chapter 121 - An Unfortunate Visit:

Richard finished his morning ablutions. Though he had tried his best to dress quietly so as not to disturb his slumbering wife, he knew he'd made enough noise to wake the woman lying so awkwardly on the chaise, yet still Cilla did not stir. He glanced over at her, frowning as he cleaned his razor blade on a soft towel. She did look awkward, one leg akimbo out of the blankets, her neck strained at an odd angle. She had complained of a headache the previous evening, perhaps it had plagued her throughout the night. At times, when he suffered terrible aches, he found it was more comfortable to sleep elsewhere and in a more upright position. Only then could he gain the relief needed for sleep. That must have been it, Cilla had been suffering from a terrible headache, which drove her from their bed to sleep on the chaise. God bless her, she hadn't complained once during the dinner with O'Hara and the other aristocrats. Brave and noble girl, to put on her best smile and continue to charm the other gents and ladies, even while inside, her head was aching. He really did owe her, to endure such discomforts for his benefit. Relations between Bordon and O'Hara were getting stronger by the day. Because of Cilla, he knew. Of course, he had had a very large part to play in rising himself back to his former status; his own conduct of late had set him on the road to earning O'Hara's forgiveness. But he still would have had quite a way to go on that road, if not for Cilla helping him to present a united front and a respectable marriage.

It was true that she would benefit from his elevated status; which might be her main reason for not merely co-operating with him, but for helping to steer the helm right at his side. It could have gone so differently, he reflected as he sat there, watching his sleeping wife. She might have been so filled with hate and bitterness toward him for his terrible atrocity, that she could well have avenged herself by destroying him, not caring that she was destroying herself also. She could have bought him so low. Just a few words in the right ear, revealing his crime to someone who was not so willing to cover it up as O'Hara and Cornwallis had been. Or she might have taken the less subtle route and denounce him publicly. He would have been plunged then, O'Hara would have been forced to expel him from the army and he might have been forced to return home in utter disgrace, never to set foot in Society again. His family would likely have disowned him. His income and personal wealth would have seen him in good stead for several years, but with no one wanting to do business with him, how could he have built on that wealth? He might have been a pauper in less than ten years. But in taking that road, Cilla's own destruction would have been secured, for she was his wife and would be right at his side, living on the edge of Society with no way for them to earn their bread. But hate and the need for vengeance could drive a person to the worst extremes, and she could have destroyed him without caring that she was destroying herself.

Bordon did not believe that Cilla was acting entirely for her own benefit, in helping to dig him out of the mire. She was a good person, warm-hearted, compassionate. She was doing it for his benefit, as much as she was doing it for hers. A small smile tugged his lips. It was such a relief, to be at peace with his wife. To be working in concert with her, toward a common goal.

Now, if only he could be in accord with Harmony, as well. He scratched his smooth shaved cheek, and thought about Harmony.

They might well have been married by now, he reflected. She, Harmony, would have been his wife. The child would have been legitimate. Instead, she was again reduced to the status of mistress, and she felt that they held no higher status than that of a whore, a doxy who would bear her lover a bastard. Oh, he understood how she was feeling, and he longed to be able to give her the life he'd promised, the life she'd deserved.

He sighed heavily as he pulled his jacket on over his waist coat and buckled the belts in place.

* * *

He was gone for most of the day, searching for and finding a company of rebels nested quite close to - but not quite on - Henrietta Rutledge's plantation. After questioning Cilla's cousin very closely, he still was not convinced that she had been ignorant to their presence. It was his belief that, being positioned only a few miles away, Mrs. Rutledge had been supplying those rebels with the necessities: food, blankets, medicines, clothes. Their hut had been well stocked with all of it. If he ever discovered her involvement, he would drag her kicking and screaming to the fort to answer for it - cousin to Cilla or not.

As it was, he had no proof. He did, however, have nine rebels to put in prison. Nine less rebels for the British to fight. Small numbers, but still very satisfying. Though he could not prove Mrs. Rutledge's involvement, the day had not been a total waste. On returning to Fresh Water, he dismissed the Officers and the company and after freshening himself at a basin, he went in search of Harmony.

He found her with Cilla in the parlour - they had visitors, too. Mrs. Felton and her daughter. Something was not right, however. There was a tension in the room, he could discern it before he even entered. Bordon stopped dead in the doorway, surveying the scene. Harmony, sitting rigid and red faced in a single arm chair. Cilla, appearing more at her ease than Harmony, but still he knew her well enough by now to see the cracks in her facade. She was trying to maintain an outward display of composure, and was succeeding. By a hair. Mrs. Felton and her daughter sat across from them. From his previous experience with Mrs. Felton, Bordon knew her to be a wee little viper, one who took great entertainment out of sniffing out troubles and gossip in her peers. For a heart stricken moment, very real fear lanced through him. If she had spoken to Mrs. Turnbull…

None of the women had noticed him yet.

"I just find it quite interesting, is all," Mrs. Felton said. "Whenever Major Bordon is not here, you join Mrs. Bordon when visitors like ourselves arrive. Or you come along, when Mrs. Bordon comes to visit us. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, of course," she gave a self deprecating laugh, but then her voice sharpened like a knife. "And so I asked Mrs. Reynolds and some of the others." - Damn and blast it, Cilla warned us, Richard thought. - "And don't you know it, all of them have noticed precisely the same! Another thing we noticed, Mrs. Farshaw, is that when Major Bordon is in residence, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Mrs. Bordon always makes herself available to us, though. Such a lovely, amiable young woman you are," Mrs. Felton complimented Cilla, who barely seemed to be breathing. Mrs. Felton sat back, looking quite smug and proud of herself, for unearthing - and confronting - their dreadful secret.

From the sharp look in Mrs. Felton's eyes and the expression on her vulpine face, she was trying to gain the truth by searching for it in Harmony and Cilla's reactions. What would happen, if she discovered it? She would not keep it to herself, that was for certain. Would everything be lost? Damn and blast all women to hell. This was a disaster. How was he to salvage this?

He drew a deep breath, and dove in.

"Mrs. Felton! Miss Felton," he called, entering the parlour. All eyes swiveled to him, four very tense women, the eldest of them already determined to believe the worst. "Now this is a welcome surprise, you do my beautiful wife and I great honour." He bowed over Mrs. Felton's hands, noted the startled look on the woman's face. He greeted Miss Felton with a large smile, and as much warmth. Then came what was easily the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. He chased away his smile, he turned toward Harmony and gave her nothing but a polite, cursory nod. His eyes did not dare linger for more than a moment. His greeting was coolly polite, at best, and could never be interpreted as affectionate. His endeavour was to make it appear, to those who knew to look for such things, as though he were obliged to greet Mrs. Farshaw, as though he took no joy in it. His eyes darted to Mrs. Felton, who was watching stiffly, her upper lip curled. She was contemptuous of his attempt, she could see right through it. Richard needed to do far more than be cool to his 'former' mistress.

He needed to honour his wife.

He adopted a smile again, this one blazing warmth, as he approached Cilla, his hands outstretched toward her. "My darling! What a terrible day I've had." Confiding his woes to her would certainly help to show they were close. He pulled her to her feet and kissed both her cheeks, a grand display of affection. "It is such a comfort to be home with you again."

Cilla allowed herself to be manhandled to her feet, she smiled prettily when he kissed her, and she stared up at him as though he were the only thing that mattered at all in her world. She was such a good creature, to understand and go along with his schemes so readily. She resumed her seat and he sat on the arm of her chair right beside her, his arm draped along the back. He took hold of her hand and held it in his as she leaned in to him and smiled prettily up at him, helping him to create the perfect picture of happiness.

Worried he might ruin the effect, he did not dare look at Harmony directly, though from the corner of his eye, he could see she had turned to ice. Her pain and the injury he had just done her pierced his chest. He would have some making up to do later, but for now, he had to help Cilla.

Harmony understood the need though, didn't she? He hoped she did, for Mrs. Felton still wore that look of suspicion on her vulpine face. Hoping to distract her, Richard asked her daughter a few pretty questions, he prattled to Cilla about his day and he laughed companionably with her. Cilla dripped commiseration over Richard's terrible day when he described it to her.

Mrs. Felton was engaging in the conversation but she kept hinting at a truth the 'happy' couple were not displaying. She was looking confused now, but suspicious still. To help convince her, Richard laid his hand on Cilla's far shoulder and he caressed his thumb along her neck, all the while chatting as if the action was self conscious, so natural he hardly knew he was doing it.

Mrs. Felton blinked, suddenly doubting what she had known almost for certain to be truth not five minutes earlier. It helped when Cilla sighed a pretty sigh of pleasure and leaned into the caress, as though his very touch was enough to give her shivers.

Harmony rose abruptly and excused herself.

Richard hid his turmoil behind a mask, though he longed to rush after her, to placate her, to reassure her he loved her and only her. Lord, what must she be going through? It was all he could do not to ruin all they had just gained. His heart thudded in his chest and he just wanted the damned vulture and her daughter to vanish, so he could tend his bruised beloved. She understood why he was doing as he was, though didn't she? They all had to do their part. Just as Cilla had had to stand up in the middle of the mercantile in Pembroke and announce that Mrs. Harmony Farshaw was her very dear friend. It was as hard on Cilla as it was on Harmony. Surely Harmony could bring herself to do her part? She knew how much he loved her, her - above any other.

"…always been quite curious as to Mrs. Farshaw's continued residence in this house," Mrs. Felton was saying, as if she was ready to be convinced, but needed this last niggly suspicion addressed first. It was bold of her, to ask it - she must have known that Richard and Cilla would take her curiosity as her being suspicious of them, and that she might insult them by insinuating that all was not as it seemed. It was her boldness that caught Richard - no one who was not absolutely certain of wrong doing would show such conviction.

Now, what she was really asking was, if Bordon was not having an affair with Mrs. Farshaw, if Bordon was so clearly solicitous of his wife and so affectionate, what, then, could be the purpose in Mrs. Farshaw living in the house?

"Well, you heard what her husband did, did you not?" Cilla asked, speaking in a low, almost whisper, as one would use when gossiping to a confidant. Mrs. Felton nodded. "He's a murderer," Cilla continued. "He's a very dangerous man, to be sure. I would even go so far as to say he is unhinged. The things Mrs. Farshaw has told me he did to her…" She gave a tremendous - and not unfeigned - shudder of revulsion. "Well, I was extremely worried he would come after her, you see, for she betrayed him to General O'Hara. He told her he would come after her, for that."

"He didn't!" Mrs. Felton gasped.

"He did. He was spying, you see, and Mrs. Farshaw knew it. She is a Loyalist and it sickened her, that her husband was playing both sides. She confronted him, threatened to reveal him if he did not stop. And so he beat her dreadfully.

"That's why he beat her!" Mrs. Felton covered her mouth with her hand.

"Oh, you heard about it, did you?" Cilla asked innocently and Richard stifled a scoff. Knowledge of Farshaw's beating of his wife would have spread far and wide by now - and Cilla knew it. "Yes, that is the reason why. And then he murdered that poor Major Fallows - I'm just so glad that Mrs. Farshaw was here at the time. It's quite shocking, really, we were sitting in this very room, Mrs. Farshaw, Mrs. Tavington, Miss Middleton, Miss Wilkins, eating scones and drinking tea, while next door at the Ferguson's, Corporal Farshaw was murdering Major Fallows! My cousin, Mrs. Tavington that is, she said - and I quite agree - that if Mrs. Farshaw had been there at the time, she might have been murdered also!"

Lies upon lies upon lies - but Cilla did it so very well! Richard nodded along sagely, soberly, as if everything his wife just said was absolute truth.

Mrs. Felton was lapping it up - she seemed unwilling to draw breath in case she missed a thing, she leaned forward with vulpine delight. This was more than she had bargained for, Richard thought, having the information confirmed directly from Cilla's own lips. Richard assumed an impassive expression, as though Harmony meant nothing to him now, though in truth, he was quivering with the need to chase after her. He hated his current part in this. Absolutely despised it.

"After that awful beating, we needed to protect Mrs. Farshaw - Mrs. Tavington was adamant, and so was I," Cilla continued. Richard shot her an amused glance, for Cilla was not even around when Calvin beat Harmony. She was making it sound as if everything was hers and Beth's idea. It was clever of her, to include Mrs. Tavington. "We declared her to be under our protection, and had her situated comfortably with a family we trusted, where he would not think to look for her. But when Corporal Farshaw murdered poor Major Fallows and fled, well, there was no need for Mrs. Farshaw to be living elsewhere. Mrs. Tavington had gone by then, to tend my sick cousin Margaret -"

"Oh yes, how is Miss Margaret faring?" Richard asked.

"Much better now, but Beth intends to stay just a little bit longer. It's so wonderful of Colonel Tavington, to allow it. Thank goodness for wonderful husbands," Cilla smiled up Richard, as if including him in that sentiment. "It's a pity Mrs. Farshaw was not so lucky in her husband as I. When Farshaw fled, I suggested to Mrs. Farshaw that she return here. I missed her dreadfully and I wanted her company you see, for with the other women gone, I would have been quite lonely," Cilla said and Richard heard the catch in her voice. Again, pride welled - what a delightful actress Cilla was. Mrs. Felton shook her head as if astonished. Richard hoped it was anyway. He hoped it wasn't disbelief. "You've probably also heard that Mrs. Farshaw was once engaged to my own Major Bordon, when she thought herself to be a widow," Cilla continued, eyes lifting to Richard. She raised her hand, wound her fingers through his. "We were all close back then too, in the city. Mrs. Tavington - well, she was Miss Martin then, of course," Cilla gave a blinding smile. "Mrs. Farshaw and the others, we attended balls and dinners together, it was all so divine. Mrs. Farshaw's father was hoping for a marriage match between his daughter and Major Bordon and she did come with a nice little dowry." Richard kept his face impassive as Cilla lied through her teeth. He'd never met Mr. George Jutland in his life, and dowry? Lord. "The Banns were read -"

"I know, I read them," Mrs. Felton said.

"As did I," Cilla smiled. "But before the deal could be secured, Mr. Farshaw rose from the dead. He'd read the Banns too, and he came straight here to claim back his wife. I'm told Mr. Jutland - that's Mrs. Farshaw's father, was most unhappy that the engagement could not be fulfilled."

Something in Mrs. Felton's expression changed - she drew back, her eyes widening, her face hardening. Richard worried that Cilla has erred somewhere, that she'd something wrong, but for the life of him, he could not guess what.

"Only the father?" Mrs. Felton asked, voice crisp as she glanced at Richard. "No one else was unhappy about it?"

"Well, Mrs. Farshaw, to be sure. And who can blame her?" Cilla asked. "The man is a brute."

Mrs. Felton was staring hard at Richard, however.

"All ended well for me," he forced himself to say, bringing Cilla's fingers up to his lips and kissing them gently, his eyes never leaving her face. Cilla's lips parted, she drew in a quick breath, her dark eyes widened. For a moment, he wondered if that gasp of pleasure was real, it certainly seemed unfeigned. No, it was just for show, he thought, laying her fingers alongside his cheek. She was holding her breath, her face was becoming flushed… All for show, he thought, all for Mrs. Felton's benefit. "I was in talks with Mr. Putman regarding his daughter, also. But there was some unpleasantness back in the city, regarding Mr. Putman's Loyalties, and so even though I felt great affection for Miss Putman, I chose my bride elsewhere." As if Harmony was his second choice. He was pleased she was out of the room now, for hearing this would kill her. "But then Mr. Farshaw returned and although I find no joy in Mrs. Farshaw's circumstances, I can not say… I can not… say… that I regret… the ending of our engagement," Gods, that was the hardest thing to say, the most awful lie he'd ever told. "For it seemed Miss Putman was unable to abide living without me and she begged her uncle to assist her - against her father's wishes - in returning to me. I do feel poorly for Mrs. Farshaw, and I do regret disappointing Mr. Jutland. But I have to say, all ended well for me."

"And for me," Cilla smiled up at him. "And for Mrs. Farshaw too, now that Lieutenant Farshaw is gone."

"Yes," Bordon agreed. "My Cilla is such a sweet creature, I am truly grateful to Our Lord Above, for having such a grand plan for me, in giving me such a woman for my wife." He turned his face into her hand again, closed his eyes as he kissed her palm. Cilla seemed barely able to speak at all. When she did finally find her voice, it was soft, warm, thick… As if she was speaking while under a spell. He gazed down at her, truly amazed at her acting ability.

"Major Bordon… feels obliged… to Mrs. Farshaw…" Cilla stammered out as if unable to focus on the matter at hand, for the nearness and distracting warmth of her beloved husband. "For my… friendship with her. He has allowed… her to continue to stay here at my behest. She is safer here and if nothing else, she is good company for me, on the horrible days when I can not visit my dear friends," this last was said with a smile at Miss Felton, who blushed at the compliment.

"Oh, that is very fine of you, Major Bordon, to show such charity," Mrs. Felton said. Richard wasn't entirely certain if she believed them, or if she'd simply decided to go along with them, for the sake of proprietary.

Cilla accepted the compliment, before she expertly changed the topic. Richard was desperate to leave, to find Harmony, but he did not want to risk rousing Mrs. Felton's suspicions further. As it was, he was not sure she was convinced, and as the women continued to chat, he decided he would sit in on more of these visits, for Cilla had been quite right - spending all his time with Harmony and none with Cilla and her visitors had been a glaring and far too obvious mistake. They had explained why Harmony was living in the house, yet they had not answered why Harmony and Richard were never in company with Cilla, unless Richard was gone away. He hoped Mrs. Felton did not linger on it. While sitting there chatting, he counted down the minutes, waiting for the woman to leave, even while adding his own quips and amusing tales to their conversation. Finally the woman declared it was time for her to return home. Cilla, her arm wrapped through Richard's, escorted Mrs. Felton and her daughter to the door, where her carriage was waiting.

"Mrs. Bordon, Major Bordon, I do thank you for a delightful afternoon. Mrs. Felton dipped into her pocket and pulled out two invitations. "I am having a dinner this Friday - well, it was my husband's idea, he wants desperately to thank you and Colonel Tavington for all the good work you have all been doing, getting rid of the rebel menace this side of the Santee."

Cilla turned over the papers in her hand, one was addressed to Major. And Mrs. Bordon, the other to Colonel Tavington.

"I do hope you are all free that night."

"I believe we are," Cilla said, lifting her eyes from the invitations. "I'll see that Colonel Tavington receives his. Do you… have one for… Mrs. Farshaw?"

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Bordon. I do appreciate you providing me with the history you gave me just now, but I have been given another, far more colourful insight into Mrs. Farshaw's recent past. I am of the understanding that Mrs. Farshaw, calling herself Miss Jutland, was a camp follower with the British Legion for nearly two months before she and Major Bordon became engaged?" Mrs. Felton asked, her eyes shifting to Bordon. "I have a fair understanding of what use she was put to, as well." - Richard's face paled, he felt the blood draining from it.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Cilla breathed as Richard stood stiffly beside her.

"Perhaps not, and I for one would not change that for all the world, Mrs. Bordon," Mrs. Felton said with most sincerity Bordon had heard from her since he arrived. With a honeyed grin for Bordon, she tapped her fan against his chest like he was a naughty boy and said, "I'm still left quite curious as to why it is that whenever you are in residence, you and Mrs. Farshaw are no where to be seen. Oh well, I'm sure there's another lengthy explanation but we're quite out of time to hear it. Good day to you both." She said, turning away, leaving Cilla and Bordon speechless in the doorway. In short order, the woman and her daughter were in their carriage, Cilla and Bordon waved as it pulled away. When the carriage was out of sight, Cilla jerked her hand away from Richard's arm and turned back into the house.

"She didn't believe us," Cilla said as she stepped into the hall.

"She believed some of it - but she knows I was bedding Harmony," he said regretfully as he closed the front door behind him. "All of this was her way of trying to discover if I still am."

"Do you think she knows you are?"

"I would say she suspects, quite strongly," he admitted. "However, I'd also say she is less concerned about that now, than she is about my conduct in my marriage. She is reassured that I am a gentleman and that I care for and can behave well toward my wife, therefore she extends the invitation, rather than risking the ramifications of not inviting me. But she will not have Harmony near her again, not now. I should have listened to you. I should have made a more concerted effort to meet with these women, when I had the chance."

"Yes, you should have." Gone was the warmth and delight from Cilla's voice, she was all brusque now. "Instead, you took every opportunity to spend time with her. Yours and Harmony's continual absences when visitors come to call was noticed."

"Just as you said they would be. I am sorry and from now on, I will join you as much as I am able, though I'm afraid that's much like closing the gate after the horse has bolted," he gazed down at her. "You did well in there."

"It's a bit late for sorry, and I should not have had to do well in there," she snapped. "If you had heeded me, no one would have become suspicious at all."

"At least we're still to be welcome by them," he said, adding softly, "though Harmony might not be."

"Well, there is not much I can do about that, you should have been more discreet and -"

"I'm sorry, Cilla, will you excuse me?" He began to stride away.

"Richard, we need to discuss this!" She said but he continued on, he needed to find Harmony, needed to see how she was. He searched upstairs, certain she would have gone to her chamber, but she was not there. He dashed downstairs again and began searching the chambers there, ignoring Cilla who was pacing in the parlour. He found Harmony sitting alone in the dining room, elbows on the table, her face buried in her hands.

"Christ," he muttered, her weeping piercing his chest. He stumbled to her and dropped in the chair next to her. When he reached for her hand, she snatched hers away.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, her ravaged face becoming ice. "How could you?"

"Harm -"

"To barely acknowledge me! To treat me as an afterthought! You showered Miss Felton with more affection than you did me! And then to go to her," she spat of Cilla, "to kiss her! To sit with her, to hold her hand! Oh my God Richard!" She snarled, voice still choked with sobs.

"Harmony, it was all for show -"

"Do you know how it looked?" She glared, blue eyes darkening, narrowing. "Do you know how you looked? Like a man in love. You looked like you're in love with her! Those women will go away thinking you love Cilla! That you cherish Cilla."

"I'm not certain Mrs. Felton thought that, but that was what I was trying for. I'd never do anything to hurt you, Harm," he tried again, seizing one of her hands and holding it, not letting her pull away. "I love you, no one else. But it's necessary. It's imperative that no one finds the slightest fault in any part of my life. I know this is bringing you great pain, I would never ask you to tolerate this if it wasn't absolutely necessary."

"Why is it necessary?" She shot back, her hand twitching. He had the distinct feeling that if he released her, she should slap him. "Why, Richard?"

"For the same reasons you stood still in Pembroke and let Cilla dig all three of us out of trouble. For my reputation. For my standing. I know," he gave a bitter laugh, despising himself. "I sound like the most selfish bastard in the world. But I need this, Harmony. You mean the world to me, I love you more than anything. I know I'm putting you through hell, I'm asking so very much of you. But I'm not asking it lightly."

"For you, I'd do anything," Harmony replied, voice intent, eyes flashing. "It's why I let myself be dragged along that day when Cilla launched into defending us all in Pembroke. For you. But this is so hard," she choked up again, he could hear the pleading in her voice. "Send me away, Richard. So I don't have to see. So I don't have to sit there in public and be ignored by you. So I don't have to feel as though you're keeping me hidden, like some dirty thing you can't acknowledge. Can't you see how galling this is? Not only for me. But for the baby. What of the baby, will our child grow up watching you shower Cilla with affection while ignoring us both? Is that the life we can expect, Richard?"

"You can't leave," he shook his head, his queue whipped back and forth from the force of it. "I will not send you from me, it is not safe. He's still out there somewhere. No where is safe except here. I don't know about the rest. I just don't know," he could not meet her eyes. What would he do when the child came? Shower it with love, of course. Except when they had visitors? Would he ignore his own child, then? The very idea left him feeling sick to his stomach. How confused would the child be, how heartbroken? At least Harmony understood the reasons why he did as he did, even if she despised letting Cilla be the public front for his married life. The child would not understand any of it. "You must stay," he repeated, unable to give her the reassurance she needed. "I need you safe. I need you here."

"How long are you going to ask this of me?" She confronted, uncertain how much longer she could continue. "How much longer, Richard?"

"I don't know," he admitted, chagrined. "Until the war is over."

"Why wait?" She begged, fingers clutching at him. He stared at her gravely. "My love, you don't need any of this," she flipped the lapels of his uniform Dragoon jacket. "You know of my father's plantation, up near Grindal Shoals. It's not much, as you know. Indian Corn, mostly and he only has a small plot to work with. But you could make it so much more. You're wealthy, you could buy land. And it's so far out of the way, so far from the city and Society that no one would question anything that we do. You don't have to be an Officer, Richard. You can be anything you wish to be. Put that brilliant mind to better use, help my father establish a larger, more flourishing plantation. We don't have to stay here and impress anyone if you simply leave the army. Advancing in the ranks, you and Cilla keeping the goodwill of Officers and Generals. Bah! None of that will matter anymore, it would have no hold over you, if you simply left it all behind! And you can leave Cilla behind too!"

"Christ, you don't understand," he ran a hand over his hair, stared at her grimly. "Simply turn my back on my entire life, on everything I've troubled myself to build, and become a small farmer. I don't mean to offend you, Harm. But your father might be content with that life, but I never could be. Jesus, how much simpler would my life be, without ambition?" He gave a self deprecating laugh.

"Your ambition will be the ruin of us all," she ground out, her fingers crumpling the wool of his jacket. "Would you not be content living with me and our child in some remote place where no one cares what we do? Would that life not be enough for you?"

"My money is not infinite. A few seasons of bad crops could destroy us. Not knowing if I would be able to provide for my family from one season to the next," he argued. "Watching you and our children grow hungry and ail for want of medical care we can not afford, because my money has run dry. No, Harm. I would not be content with that, I would be in constant fear of losing you to ill health or starvation. Besides, it is not possible. Or have you forgotten Farshaw? Have you given any thought to what your father would say, should you show up there with me instead of your husband?"

"Perhaps that was a poor idea," she conceded, lowering her voice. "But what I'm trying to say is, you don't need all this," she gripped his cravat and his collar, gave them both a tug.

"I can not leave the army," his voice was firm, he would not entertain the idea for even a moment. "As for what we will do - well, there is time yet to decide. When the war is over, I had intended that we would move to England. But… I just don't know anything right now."

"Move to England," she laughed bitterly, dashing her tears with the back of her hand. "Will she be coming too, then? You've been cultivating the idea that your marriage is not a sham. If we go to England, you won't be able to leave your wife behind! She'll live in the Manor House while your children and I are sided off to a cottage on the edge of your vast property. Because we will have no choice but to continue this farce, after we've gone to all this trouble to make people believe you and she are upright, standing citizens!" Again, that bitter laugh.

"I don't know," he repeated. "It's just… Necessary. For now, it is."

"It's necessary for you," she spat, anger souring. "You've never said anything truer about yourself in your entire life. You are acting selfishly, absolutely and utterly. You and she both. You're both being selfish, neither of you care for how this is affecting me -"

"That's not true, I do care -"

"Not enough," she ploughed right over his protests. "Not enough to not ask this of me. To sit by and watch as you shower her with affection. To be your doxy behind closed doors, to hide your bastard child; another dirty, shaming secret. And all to protect your sham of a marriage. You and she are the only ones benefiting. I love you. I'd do anything for you. But I can't help but question why I am doing this to myself, for you. For her. To help maintain something I despise! And believe me, Richard. I do despise your marriage. This is all for you and your damned wife, a woman who is so scared these uppities will learn the truth about her!"

"And what truth is that?" Cilla asked from the doorway. Richard whirled, his head coming up, a panicked look entering his eyes. Harmony tensed, then she slowly pushed herself up, preparing to confront her rival. Her face was grim, Richard had felt her racing pulse beneath his fingers before she pulled her wrist from his grasp.

"The truth," Harmony raised her chin, her hand on the table for support, her other hand placed on the swell of her stomach with pride. "That you are no better than me, no matter how well bred you pretend to be."

"Pretend?" Cilla asked, her eyes darted to Richard, her face becoming flushed. Richard braced one elbow to the table and dropped his forehead into his hand.

"Pretend," Harmony declared. "In fact, Cilla, you are worse than me. So much worse. I know that I am a sinner; I am a married woman and I have a lover. I am Richard's mistress and I will bear him a bastard. And you are still worse than me. You pretended to be an innocent maid filled with holy virtue. But you never were and now the two of you are falling all over yourselves to protect that fact and to protect your true nature."

"My true nature," Cilla whispered, reeling.

"You pretend to be a good little genteel woman, but the truth is, you whored yourself to snagging an aristocrat husband. You both expect me to go along with it all, though I've got nothing to gain and everything to lose. If anything, I've lost ground, I should have been Richard's wife but you took that from me, Cilla! I have lost everything, because of you," Harmony spat, her face livid. "You call Linda Stokes a whore, as if you're not one yourself. We both know the truth there, Cilla."

The colour drained from Cilla's face and her legs felt suddenly weak.

"You fucked Richard, he got a child on you and you forced him to marry you. You thought you'd have a stupendous marriage, no doubt, but even though you managed to secure his cock for one night, you never secured his heart, did you? I hope the information you gained from him was worth destroying my life," Harmony spat viciously.

"You think I -"

"Oh, I know exactly why you did it, the same reason your mother did it. Clearly one of you didn't get the information you needed so the other of you fucked him too. I know exactly what happened," Harmony snapped. "There would have been alcohol, no doubt, there always is when he goes rutting other women."

"Is that what…" Cilla turned to Richard, her eyes bright with betrayal. "You told her?" Richard opened his mouth but Harmony spoke first.

"I am not a fool, Cilla. Richard told me some, but I can figure the rest. For instance, I know that you're in love with him -"

"In love!" Cilla gasped.

"- He is not in love with you, nor will he ever be. But you clearly are with him - so can you blame me for not wanting him anywhere near you? After you managed to get him to fuck you once already? You lifting your skirts and flashing your quim! It likely began with your spying but then you got pregnant and you decided to snag yourself a wealthy husband, didn't you? You whored your way into matrimony!"

Cilla's face was draining of colour and in its wake, an ashen grey rose in her cheeks. Richard met her eyes and pang shot through him. Not her fault. Not hers at all. Harmony was not finished.

"You took him from me, the day you set your sights on a gentleman for a husband."

"I was always destined to marry a gentleman," Cilla said softly. "I never had to stoop to such measures to secure one."

"What rot," Harmony spay. "You whored your way into his bed, just like your mother did, both like common doxies for all your pretty silks and polished manners. You acted the doxy, yet your standing was such that he was forced to marry you. He never would have married you, but you hunted him down and dangled your pregnancy and caught him, like a predator hunting its prey."

All colour was gone from Cilla's face, even the grey. Richard gazed at her with increasing concern, even her lips were bloodless. She was white as snow, how she was even standing, he did not know. She did not deserve this. The second injustice he had committed against Cilla, was leaving Harmony to believe that their forced marriage was all her fault. It was not fair to Cilla, to have her virtue attacked by his mistress. Cilla spoke into the silence.

"I took nothing from you," she whispered, voice hoarse and soft. "You forget, Mrs. Farshaw. You were already married. Even if Richard and I had never married, you could not have married him yourself. Even if I dropped dead this very moment, you still could not marry him. I am tired of this," she turned to Richard, her dark eyes large and moist. "I do not deserve this."

He lowered his eyes, gave a slight nod of agreement. It was not fair to Cilla, attacked by his mistress, when it was Richard who had compromised her virtue so brutally.

"I've tried, Richard. Gods know it's true. She says she's the one who gains nothing? When everything I am has been stripped from me."

"How's that for theatre?" Harmony snorted. "You look precisely the same to me now as you did in Charlestown, Cilla. You reigned supreme there and you reign supreme now. I'm the one with nothing. I'm the one making sacrifices. All for you."

"All for Richard, Harmony. You're not doing a damned thing for me, except speak as ignorantly as you've always done," Cilla shifted her gaze to Richard. "I can't be expected to tolerate this. I have done my best by her, when I've had no cause to whatsoever," Cilla continued, ignoring Harmony and addressing Richard as though Harmony were not there. "I did not have to bring her back here that day. I could have left her in Pembroke to fend for herself. She is ungrateful and vicious and I should not have to put up with either. I should not have to live like this! Constantly accused of ruining her life, her impure suggestions as to why we were married!"

"No," he said softly. "You should not." He turned to meet Harmony's eyes, saw hers were burning as if with fire. Before he could say another word, Cilla spoke again.

"She had hopes and dreams, but she could not have followed any of them through, for she was already married! I had hopes and dreams too, hopes and dreams I could have followed, if not for you. I should not have to put up with this, Richard."

"Ungrateful," Harmony spat, as if deaf to all else Cilla had just said. "What is there to be grateful for? You only helped me so Richard would not be angry, you admitted it in front of him!" Harmony shouted.

"There was more to her decision than that and you know it," Richard replied. "She helped you that day and she is helping you still, whether you care to acknowledge it or not. You may not enjoy being in the company of the likes of Mrs. Felton, but imagine the alternative? That display in the parlour did not only protect me and Cilla, it protected you. Harmony, it would not matter how small the settlement is, nor how far we ran. There is not a parish in all the Colonies, that would accept you and I, if we both left our spouses and if you bore me a child out of wedlock. An illusion would need to be maintained, lies told, no matter where we go. Cilla has done everything within her power, to ensure none of us are shunned for the things we've done. She could have handled it any number of ways, but she chose to deal with it in such a way that enabled you to have a roof over your head and warm clothes on your back. There was compassion in her decision when she bought you to a place of safety, a place where you will want for nothing. Do you know of any wife on God's green earth, who would do that for her husband's mistress? Would Beth ever have done such a thing for Linda? No. But Cilla did it, for you. Now, I've acknowledged that I am being utterly selfish. It's time for you to admit you are being entirely ungrateful and unreasonable!" He paused, then added, "and extraordinarily cruel."

Harmony stood stiff as a buckboard, her eyes fixed on Richard because she could not bring herself to look at his wife. To be dressed down, before Cilla. It was galling. The trouble was, everything he had said was absolutely true. Her eyes welled with tears; she had been grateful toward Cilla but her pride would not allow her to say the words. Not to Richard's wife, who had snagged Richard out from under her.

"She knows it," Cilla began. "But she is not going to admit it. Nothing is going to change here, except one thing. The way she speaks to me, the vicious things she says, I will tolerate them no more." She turned and left the chamber as quietly as she'd entered.

As Richard approached, Harmony lowered her head, averting her gaze, and was grateful when Richard placed his arms around her..

"It's just so hard," she admitted now that they were alone, falling against him. "She has everything while I have nothing. I despise seeing you show affection toward her. I hate being second in your life. I know she showed compassion that day. I know I should be grateful, and I am. The first few days I was here, before you came back, we were even getting along with each other."

"Maybe I shouldn't have come back?" He suggested, amused. "It sounds as though my return ruined it all."

"Maybe," she laughed wretchedly. "I'm jealous," she admitted, amusement fleeing. "I'm just so jealous of her, I can't bring myself to be even slightly civil just now!"

"There's no need for you to be jealous," he pulled her close, his hands moving up and down her back. "I love you, Harm. I'll never stop loving you." She melted against him, sighing into his neck. "Harm," he said over her head. "I need you to be kinder - I need you to stop saying such things to Cilla. You two can get along quite well, I've seen it with my own two eyes. Cilla was right, she has done her best by us. Cilla is only human and the things you've said just now and in the past - they are vicious and hurtful."

"I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"I know it's hard, when you see me being affectionate for the sake of others. But it's all for show. But please, if it angers you, go punch something. Punch me."

"Don't think I'm not tempted," she said and he laughed softly.

"I'm just saying, take it out on me, not on her," he tilted her head back to look down into her eyes. "Please? She is less at fault that you believe her to be - it takes two to couple, if you recall. It's me you should be angry with, not her. You and I should have been married by now, instead we're stuck here like this, and we need to make the best of an unhappy situation. Can you please help me to do that?"

"Alright," she said, nodding. "I promise, I'll try."

"Thank you," he kissed her gently.


	122. Chapter 122 - Three Requests Denied

Chapter 122 - Three Requests Denied: 

Richard trudged up the stairs, feeling every one of his thirty years. He opened his chamber door, to discover Cilla sitting on their bed, knees drawn to her chest, cheeks wet with tears. Damn and blast Mrs. Felton and her damned suspicions. If not for her, he would not have had to put on such a display with Cilla, Harmony would not have become jealous and uncertain, there would not have been the dreadful confrontation that followed. Everything had been perfectly fine this morning, but now his house was in upheaval. How could it all have gone so horribly wrong? He sat down on the bed beside her, heaving a sullen sigh. Much as Harmony had, Cilla dashed at her tears with the back of her hand.

"I want her removed from this house, Richard," her harsh voice broke the silence. He glanced at her, startled. "I meant it, I won't tolerate her saying such horrid things to me any more - this is not the first time and you know it. I have had enough. You know that I do not deserve it."

"I do know," he nodded. "She's sorry, if it is any consolation," he said gently. "Just now, she admitted to being jealous of you. That is the reason she is unable to be civil, she said. I asked her to take it out on me in future, if she becomes distressed again. She agreed, and she said she was sorry."

"She said she's sorry? Strange, I must not have heard her," she said archly and Richard groaned. "Did you tell her those things? She knew about the spying, did you tell her that I coupled with you willingly?"

"No, Cilla. I do not discuss it with her. When you and I were first married, I wrote to Harmony to inform her. I was distraught, I love her and was worried how much pain it would cause. I told her ours was a name only marriage, but that you were pregnant by me -"

"Dear God," Cilla whispered.

"But I went into no further details than that," he said.

"Of course you did not," Cilla spat. "If you had, she likely wouldn't be here. If she knew the truth about it."

Richard's face paled and he felt suddenly cold.

"I want her gone, Richard."

He lurched to his feet and strode to the window. "I can't," he said, gaze locked on the yard outside. "If she leaves here, she will be in danger. I will keep her here, where she is safe. Where you bought her to, Cilla."

"Yes, I did bring her here, but I had no idea that she would treat me as she does. I can't keep living this way, with the horrid things she says when she's angry. It makes me feel dirty, that she thinks I bedded you to spy on you, and to secure a husband. I whored my way into matrimony," she quoted bitterly. "We both know the truth, Richard," her voice hardened, he could feel her eyes boring into his back.

"I will not remove her from this house," he said again, glad his back was turned so she could not see the twist of guilt cross his features. "Anything but that. I owe you, I know I do. But anything but that." He paused, then continued, imploring, "everything is fine now, Cilla. I've spoken to her, she will keep a civil tongue now. If she is angry, she will take it out on me, not you. Can't you try to see this from her point of view? She feels as though she has to share me. It kills her to see you and I together. It is painful to her, that she does not have the primary place in my life that was promised to her. It breaks her heart, Cilla, can't you see that? You might be my wife, but she is actually in love with me."

Cilla blanched, her fingers curled to fists.

"Can you imagine it, even for a moment?" He asked, trying to reach her. "Being in love, and having to share. Not only that, but having to tolerate being relegated to second best - the mistress. Can't you understand her at all? Have you never been in love, Cilla?"

The colour leached from her face, she barely seemed to be drawing breath. "I'll never know love," she whispered after a moments silence. "I'll never know what it is like, to fall in love. To be courted. To feel that rush of excitement, when my suitor comes to call upon me. You stole all that away from me when you… I'll never know love, because I am married to you," her dark eyes shone with unshed tears.

Richard stared at her aghast, his eyes wide and bewildered. His heart thumped quickly in his breast, the stark pain in her eyes piercing him. Did she blame him? Was this another injustice caused by him, one had had never considered? He shied away from the thought, afraid of where it might take him. After a moment, he said earnestly, "then you'll never know heartache."

"Oh, Richard," she whispered, voice filled with a bitterness he could not stand to hear. "From the day you had me dragged to the dungeon to this very moment, I've known nothing but heartache."

He stumbled back a step, his feet automatically wanting to race for the door. She had not confronted him for so long… He turned away, unable to meet her gaze. His mind refusing to consider what sort of future his actions had snatched away from her. He could not face it, he could not bear to speak of it. He drew a deep breath, then forced his voice to behave, to be normal, as though nothing were wrong between them. "Look Cilla," he began, firm but kind. "It is all because that woman came, she was trouble - I knew that from the moment I saw her sitting there with that vulpine look on her face. She was the cause for all this bother between us, but she is gone now. Everything will be fine now."

"It is not fine," Cilla said, speaking through clenched teeth. "Everything is most certainly not fine and you are in denial if you think otherwise. I've had to tolerate those awful things she says over and over again and I know she'll have more to say of it in future, the next time her temper is up, regardless of some promise she gave you just now. The next time she is driven to feel jealousy," she spat. "I will tolerate no more of it, Richard. I should not have to - it's your fault we had to marry. Yours, not mine. You rebuke her for not being grateful? You did that awful, filthy, foul thing to me and yet I've done everything within my power to help you back into O'Hara's good graces. You should be the one showing gratitude and you can start by giving me this one boon. I want her removed from this house."

"That is something I will not do," he replied, his own voice hardening. "I told you, anything but that." The silence stretched, he could still feel her staring at him. He stiffened his spine, resolute.

"Then let me go," her voice was soft now, smooth, much of the anger vanishing. He stood there shocked and he finally turned back to face her. "Let me go," she repeated.

"What do you mean?" He asked, puzzled.

"My mother is with my Aunt Charlotte," Cilla's heart was in her dark, emotional eyes. "No one will consider it strange at all, should I go to them. Everyone thinks Beth is with them and no one has batted an eyelid. We can think of a perfectly plausible reason for my being there, too. You did as much for Beth, and no one has second guessed you."

"No. You don't even know where that is. Just… No." He replied, turning from her again.

"You owe me a debt, you said. Anything but sending her away, you said. And so I am asking you to send me away instead." He heard the rustle of silk as she climbed off the bed and he soon felt her small hand on his shoulder. "No one will think twice of it, Richard," she said again. "Please. Let me go."

He shook his head. How could he send her to her mother? Women like Mrs. Felton, who was already suspicious, would certainly think it more so, if Cilla went off and Harmony remained. Nor was he willing to send Harmony away. He needed Cilla there, to be the public face of their marriage and to remove any suspicions from him and Harmony. No, they both must stay, he thought grimly.

"People would wonder why Harmony didn't accompany you," he said. "You've led them to believe that she is yours and Beth's friend and that she is nothing to me. If you were to go where they think Beth is, they would expect for Harmony to go also. Your leaving will jeopardise everything. Besides, I need you here," he tossed his head, his voice hardening again. "Especially after Mrs. Felton's visit today. She suspects that Harmony and I are still having an affair, but she has seen you and I together now and is satisfied that we are a properly married couple. She invited us to dinner, Cilla. A proper formal dinner - to celebrate William's and my accomplishments! That is something my wife should attend!"

Cilla dropped her hand and turned away, thinking on the method Richard had used to convince Mrs. Felton. He'd made it appear as though he were in love with Cilla. All those kisses. She could still feel the touch of his fingers along her neck, the caress of his lips against her palm. The nearness of his body, when he perched so close to her. It had been far too long since she'd felt anything like it.

"We have been working so well together, Cilla. It does take us both, to keep people convinced," he said. Lord, why did she look so melancholy? "And I promise you that from now on, I shall do my part. It will not be all on your shoulders anymore. But they would begin to suspect we were lying all along, if you were to leave now." If anything, her melancholy seemed to increase and she sat down again on the side of the bed. "O'Hara is fond of you," he continued. "I need you to help charm the officers. You were born to a distinguished family, just as I was. I do not have to explain to you why, as I have to explain it to Harmony."

Cilla gazed up at him, forcing herself to swallow an insulting remark about Harmony's heritage. The woman was a heathen, to not understand what was at stake. It is why Cilla proposed he let her go discreetly; a trip to her mother and aunt Charlotte would not be taken amiss, not with everyone believing that Beth had gone to them. "We can say that I must leave for Beth has fallen sick, and that Harmony was advised not to come for she'll risk her baby," she said, trying one last time. "That would explain her remaining here, Beth's continued absence _and_ my leave-taking, all in one go. No one will think twice."

"No, I will not risk it," there was a finality in those words.

It was not to be, he was not going to let her go. She hung her head. "It takes all three of us. You say you will start doing your part, but will she? She rails at me, insults me, when none of this is my fault. It can not go on like this."

"We have both spoken to her," he said gently. "I do not believe she will ever say those things to you again."

"As if she has have any control over her tongue, whatsoever," Cilla laughed softly, a frustrated bark - there was no humour in it.

"What would you have me do, Cilla?" He asked her. "I will not send either of you away, please do not ask it again."

"What are you going to do when the child comes?" Cilla asked, meeting his eyes.

"Christ, Cil. How long were you listening for?" He frowned at her, perturbed by her eavesdropping.

"Long enough," she shrugged, unapologetic. "What will you do, Richard?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," his voice was a little sharp. Cilla began plucking at her skirt, though it being silk, there was no pilling for her to agitate over. He asked her again, "what would you have me do? If this is about the baby, then do not even think to request I send it away. I will not."

"I know you won't, I would not waste my breath," her head came up, she appeared all firm and resolve. You said you'd do anything but so far, you've denied me the two requests I've made."

"Neither were reasonable requests, Cilla, even you can see that, surely?"

"Very well, I shall abandon both and request something that is well within your ability to give, something you said you wanted also."

"What is that?" He replied, frowning.

"A child, Richard," she said and his eyebrows climbed his forehead. She ignored his look of stunned astonishment. "I was not ready before, but I am now. If I am to continue to tolerate all this," she waved her arm toward the door and he knew she meant their situation and Harmony. "Then I will do it with a child of my own. As you have said in the past, a child is the only thing that might make our marriage bearable and after the events of this morning, I find I can not agree more. You're certainly not going to make it bearable for me in any other way, are you?" She shot at him and he blanched. "Once a month, you said. Until my belly quickens." She knew she was speaking in a perfunctory sort of way - there was no hint of romance or desire in her voice. She was not comfortable discussing such things, not with Richard. Banastre had bought out the worst - or perhaps the best - in her, time and again, effortlessly. She had thrown all inhibitions to the wind, while in his arms. But to discuss such things with Richard… It was almost impossible.

Banastre had introduced her to an entirely new world, one she had not believed existed. One that - with Banastre's departure - she had been denied far too long. She never thought she would want to do those same things with Richard, but she found herself willing now. After months of his careful nurturing, after weeks of sleeping in his arms. Only to have it all suddenly whipped away because of a promise made to Harmony, a promise that had left Cilla wanting. After all their progress to bring about a caring, nurturing marriage… She wanted this, not only to conceive of another child, but because she was ready. Richard was a different man now. Or, at the very least, the monster she feared initially was well and truly gone. And he was her husband, he was the only chance she would ever have, to become a mother. To experience the joy and pleasure of coupling again. Unless she took a lover to her bed; something she had done for a short time, but did not relish doing again.

He gaped down at her, stunned.

"You're ready…" He said, as if tasting the words. "Christ, Cilla."

"Well?" She said, straightening her spine. "What are you thinking?"

"That I… Ah…" He stumbled over his words for a moment, then he, too, straightened his spine. "I did want that for us, it is true. I thought I required - when I thought we would never be content with each other. I couldn't imagine a childless marriage, with nothing to bring you and I together. But we're fine now. We don't need… I will not plague you with such matters again. I am not so concerned about having a childless marriage with you now, I think it is enough, being just you and I. I did wish for you to provide me an heir, but I release you from that now."

"You… release me," she said, voice flat. "You release me. From providing you with an heir."

"I recall how distraught the suggestion made you, when first I made it," he said, voice polite.

"Then, yes it did," she admitted, remembering the conflict in herself back then. Apprehension at bedding him, mingled with the yearning of her child."But we had not come so far then, as we have now."

"I will not entertain this," he turned back to the window. Cilla gaped at his back, shocked by his reaction. By his second rejection. It was last night all over again. "You were willing to entertain it before! It was your suggestion in the first place!" She snapped, suddenly angry. "Why not now? What has changed?"

"What has changed that you would want to…" he paused, nostrils flaring. "Lord, Cilla, I will not discuss this."

"What has changed with me?" She asked, eyebrows narrowed, ignoring his declaration that he would not discuss it, "everything has changed! You take and take and take and give me nothing in return! I have to watch her stomach growing with your child every day while mine is still empty. I should have been five months pregnant by now! Do you even think of that? Do you think of our child at all? Or perhaps you don't care, because you have Harmony's one to replace it!"

"That's not it at all," he said, his heart flaring with pain at the raw agony in her voice. They hardly ever spoke of her miscarriage, he hadn't realised she was still carrying the grief of losing it.

"I'm tired of having a name only marriage," Cilla snapped. "I know what I'm missing out on now, I will never have a suitor or love or any of it - there is only you! My only recourse to happiness is through you and by God, don't you owe me as much? I want a proper marriage - I want more from you now! I'm tired of being an outsider, second to Harmony!"

"Lord, what is the matter with you two women?" He threw his arms wide, anger rushing in. "You're both pulling me this way and that, placing me in impossible situations! Christ, that is not true, you are not an outsider. You have a place in my life, Cilla!"

"Her place is stronger! You kiss me and caress me and say sweet things, but only for the benefit of Mrs. Felton and the Generals! And when her child comes, it really will be just the three of you, your own little family and I won't be in it! You won't even hold me at night anymore, because Harmony made you promise not too!"

His jaw dropped.

"Oh, yes, I know all about that!" Cilla declared, voice hot. "I tried, last night, Gods, I tried. And what did you do? You turned your back on me! After everything I've done, you're in the General's good graces because of me, Richard, and yet you keep a promise to her to not even hold me? What is wrong with you!"

"How did…" He trailed off, his eyes wide.

"Oh yes, how I discovered your awful promise is what matters now, isn't it? Are you even listening to me?" She raged. "Harmony is the one who has your love, she is where you give your true, unfeigned affection! What do I have, Richard? She is going to bear you a child, while my stomach is empty. You sleep in her bed nightly, while leaving me cold and frustrated in ours! What has changed in me? Perhaps I don't want to be barren and alone, any more! Perhaps I want this 'name only' marriage to be like the one we've been presenting to the world!"

He stared at her as if she had just grown a second head. He suddenly remembered Harmony's accusation, she had accused Cilla of falling in love with him. He hadn't given it any credence, for Harmony had said it out of jealously. But he remembered Cilla leaning into his touch, he recalled his observation at the time, that her reaction to him appeared unfeigned, and he had marveled at her ability to act. He had kissed her palm, she had held her breath and quivered... All for the benefit of Mrs. Felton, he had thought. Now, he wondered if there was more to it than that, on her part, and the very idea astonished him.

When all he did was stare, Cilla ground her teeth together, then spat out, "if you can't do that, then at least give me a child, or send me to my mother, where I can be loved and not be lonely!"

"We don't even know where she is! I will not send you to her, and that is final. As for being lonely, you have more than enough company with the likes of that Mrs. Felton. You have her daughter, you have Mrs. Campbell, Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters! You do not want for company." He could not let her leave. He was still very anxious regarding his standing with the Generals, and he worried that in sending Cilla away, he would lose much of their attention. Her charm and her manners reflected well on him. He still needed her on his arm, to bewitch the Generals - most especially, O'Hara.

"That is not the sort of company I mean!" She cried. "It is not the sort of loneliness an acquaintance can fill!"

"I am not sending you away," he said, voice low and stern. She threw her arms up.

"Then give me a family! It is what you wanted, it was your suggestion in the first place! I want a child, Richard. A child of my very own!" She thought of the child she had lost, and her eyes filled with tears. "I would have been five months pregnant by now!" She choked out again. "Harmony will provide you with a bastard, let me provide you with an heir!"

"I can not," he drew a shuddering breath, then continued reluctantly, "when I married you, I promised Harmony that she would still be the only woman I had relations with."

She stared at him for several long moments, then the explosion began. Cilla lurched from the bed, lightening to his thunder. Even her hair seemed to crackle with her rage.

"You did what?" She bellowed, loud enough to be heard in the corridor. "You made a vow to your mistress, to not bed your own wife?" She threw her arms up. "And I thought making you promise not to hold me was bad enough! I'm to be denied love for the rest of my life. And now children are out of the question also?"

"Cilla, calm down, the servants will hear you," he commanded and she whirled on him, appearing on the verge of screaming at him some more. He raised one hand to forestall her. "This has nothing to do with loneliness or the want to provide me with a child. You speak of having children? You tell me you're ready? I recall the look on your face, when I suggested it to you, how little joy you took from the idea," he continued, refusing to acknowledge what her needs might be now.

"Well, now I know of your promise to her, I wonder why you ever suggested it in the first place! Could it be because you want us to have children, Richard?" She yelled, voice filled with sarcasm. "You were willing to break your promise then, but now you are not?"

"This is all very abrupt, which makes me question why you are bringing it up now, at all!" Richard shot back, refusing to acknowledge her argument. "Frankly, Cilla, you are as jealous of Harmony's position in my life, as she is of yours. You are jealous that Harmony is having my baby. This has nothing to do with wanting a child or needing true affection from me. You are jealous of Harmony, Cilla."

"That is not the case at all," she snapped, stalking up to him and craning her head back. "This has nothing to do with her. I do want a child of my own, Richard, or have you forgotten how distraught I was when I lost ours? I would be five months along by now! I still long to be a mother! Will you deny me this simple right, the right of any wife?"

"We both abdicated our rights the day we married!"

"Oh, no, Richard, you will not sidle out of this so easily. You were ready to forget all about our abdicating our rights - it was your idea we try again! But now, you'll use your reneging the rights of a husband as an excuse? That is not the reason you won't give me a child - it is because you made your mistress a promise! After everything you've done to me, will deny me a child, because of an oath you gave to your mistress? Will you not even try to make me some form of recompense?" She whirled, her skirts swirling around her legs.

Would he? He wondered, moved by her argument and the force of her passion. But to break an oath to Harmony… He closed his eyes, conflicted.

"Jealous," she spat. "Of all the ridiculous notions. Do I, your wife, need to drop to my knees and beg you?" She shouted. "I will not do it! I will bypass you altogether, before stooping to such as that!"

"What do you mean?" He asked, aghast.

"I'll take a lover," she raged. _I've done it once, I can do it again! _"And I'll come home pregnant with his bastard!"

Richard gaped, his eyes bulging.

"Why not? You're bringing a bastard into our marriage, why shouldn't I? When it is born, it would have the last name 'Bordon', for you would have no choice but to raise it or admit that we don't have the stupendous marriage we've been pretending to have, which would in turn make you lose face with the General's!"

"Why would you do such a thing?" He breathed, honestly shaken.

"I want a child!" She cried. "I want the child I lost! I want the child you promised to give me! It was you who asked me to imagine what our life will be like, just the two of us, with no children! And I have imagined it, Richard. And lately, I've come to realise how much worse it will be when you give in to her every whim, removing more and more of yourself from me, soon you'll sleep in another chamber entirely, all for her! You have each other and your child and what the devil do I have? Nothing! Do you imagine, when you dragged me into the dungeon that day, that this is the life I would have chosen for myself?" She shouted and he blanched. "If you keep that awful promise to her, our marriage won't be the horrid picture you described - of it being just you and me. No. It'll be just me! How could you even consider having a childless marriage? Our entire future - dust! And because of these ill conceived vows you keep making to your damned mistress!"

"Much has changed," he bellowed, voice deep, thunder rolling over a mountain. "I will not break yet another promise to Harmony. She's been through far too much and is going through hell now as it is!"

"And I'm not?" She cried.

"How much worse would it be if I took you to my bed?" He said, speaking over her. "Lord, why don't I just go and stab her in the chest right now? It would be kinder!"

"Always Harmony!" Cilla shrieked. Richard took a step toward her, hand outstretched as if preparing to muffle further revealing shrieks. Lord, the servants would be listening to this marital spat from the corridor. She whirled away from him with a swiftness he had not suspected her capable of. "You dare tell me I'm silly for feeling like an outsider?" She cried, voice shrill and piercing. "That is exactly what I am! It's always her! What she's been through! What about what I've been through - what you put me through! You don't care anything at all about me or how I'm feeling or what being married to you has denied to me or what I might need from you!" She let loose a mindless shriek and he cursed under his breath, ducking out of the way a split hair before a vase came crashing toward his head. It smashed against the wall in a hundred pieces and he stared down at it, utterly stunned. "Get. Out," Cilla commanded him now, accusing finger pointed at the door. "I want you out!"

"We will discuss this," he said softly, more than a little disturbed by her anger. "In the morning. When you've calmed."

"Agh!" She shouted again and reached for another priceless ornament, a porcelain statue. Bordon strode across the chamber and threw open the door, hoping to save the statue by taking his offensive presence from their quarters. Her hand snapped out and she seized the door, and as soon as he was in the corridor, she gave it an almighty shove, slamming it closed with a bang. Three servants stood in the corridor, the pretty maid Vickie included. They beat a hasty retreat, terrified at being caught eavesdropping. He barely noticed them. He stared, perplexed, at the still quivering door. He could hear her striding about the chamber, he heard her muttering something but could not make out the words.

"Tomorrow," he said softly as his feet carried him toward Harmony's chamber. "I'll fix this tomorrow."

Harmony was standing at her door, waiting for him. "What was all that?" She asked, her hand on the door frame.

"I…" he paused, then realised there was no way he could explain it. Instead, he cocked his head to one side. "I know it's early, Harm. But will you let me in?"

Her smile brightened the corridor, the cheer spreading to his heart. In a naughty, insinuating voice, she drawled, "I'll always let you in, Richard."

He laughed despite himself and when she took his hand and led him into her chamber, he bolted the door behind them, the fight with Cilla already pushed to the back of his mind.

* * *

"I've had more than I can bear," Cilla announced to the empty room. "Papa, forgive me. I know you need me here, but I have had more than I…" She paused, tears slipping down her cheeks. "No more," she shook her head, then began to move about the chamber with determined strides. "No more." She repeated, throwing open the chest with her belongings. "Papa will have to rely on the others," she began pulling her clothes from the chest and shoved them into a small portmanteaus. "He will send me to mama. Where I am wanted. Where I am loved. Richard took everything from me, and he takes everything still!" she sobbed, eyes blurred as she continued shoving her belongings into the portmanteaus. "Until I am left with nothing. All those caresses and kisses. All for show. He does not want me. Damn you, you damned bastard!" She spat, overcome.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes, tried to slow the racing of her heart. She had finally begun to want something more from Richard, after all those months of wanting nothing to do with him at all. It had been his suggestion, that they have a child. It was at his behest, that she become accustomed to the idea of having relations. And it had been him, charming his way into her cold soul, the soul he had almost destroyed; warming her, encouraging her, until she found herself wanting all that he had suggested to her. But he would not give her any of it. Not now. Because it might upset his precious Mrs. Farshaw.

Her eyes snapped opened, dark eyes flashing. She would never get a child, because it would upset Harmony, for he would have to break his vow to her to see the job done. Cilla would never know a man's touch, for the one man in the world who had the right to touch her, was worried about upsetting his precious Mrs. Farshaw.

Mrs. Farshaw, who called Cilla a whore.

"No more," Cilla whispered. "She will pull my strings no more. You will have to do this without me, Richard. I will go to those who love me; I will be unloved no more!"

She rose again, and continued to forcefully shove her belongings into her portmanteaus.

* * *

"You will not sleep on the chaise, Cilla," a rough voice jerked her awake, pulling her abruptly from her sleep. She gave a start and gasped, before she recognised the outline of Richard's body above her. He gave her shoulder another shake. "You will not sleep on the chaise," he repeated, pulling on her shoulder, trying to encourage her to the bed.

"What difference does it make?" She spat, all her fury returning, washing over her in a tremendous wave. "Nothing will ever happen between us in that bed."

"I will not have the servants see us sleeping apart, not after they heard you screaming at me," he ground out, already losing patience with her.

"You don't even hold me anymore," she accused, jerking her shoulder back and out of his grasp. "In case it causes your damned mistress distress."

He paused, hearing the hurt in her voice.

"Go back to her, Richard," she snapped.

"It's nearly dawn," he objected. "I need to be seen coming from this chamber, and you will be seen in my bed."

"Where absolutely nothing has happened, for you've made your promises to her," Cilla pulled her blankets up, determined to refuse any request he made.

"If you want, I can..." He paused again, then offered carefully, "you can use my chest as a pillow." The offer left him feeling utterly foolish.

"Oh, how generous of you!" She taunted, increasing his feeling of stupidity. "But I find it rather easy to decline."

"Cilla, I know we went to sleep angry -"

"I went to sleep angry, Richard," she scoffed, sneering up at him. "You went to sleep in pure contentment, with your dick in Harmony's quim."

"Cilla!" He cried, shocked.

"I can smell her on you, Richard. I have no doubt that when you went to sleep, our argument was very far from your mind. You could at least bathe before coming back to me, especially if you're going to demand I share your bed!"

"Don't bother," he growled, infuriated. He moved away, she saw his shape was heading toward the their bed.

"Find a wash stand and pay especial detail to your fingers, Richard," she hurled as he climbed into the bed. "If you're going to spend the day caressing my face and hair to impress O'Hara, at least remove the stench of her quim before you touch me!"

* * *

Cilla left the Plantation often. To visit other families, to visit Pembroke. But the following morning, Cilla had been quite nervous about speaking of another trip off the Plantation, now that she was planning to leave Richard forever. She worried that, this once, Richard would not allow her to leave. Silly though, really. Not only had he allowed her, he hadn't even come to bid her farewell. Which made it absurdly easy to hand her portmanteaus over to Mila, with the excuse that she was giving some of her clothes to the Reynolds' sisters. As if they had need of her cast offs. But Mila did not know that.

All Mila knew, was that Cilla was heading to Pembroke, where she planned to look over Mrs. Campbell's wares at the mercantile with Mrs. Reynolds and her daughter's. She was going to buy some lawn, she said, to make Richard a new shirt. All of this was told to Richard, by Mila, who Cilla sent to relay that she was to visit the village. Mila had returned within minutes, not only bearing his blessing, but his command that the carriage be hitched and ten Dragoons form up to escort her.

_Couldn't wait to be rid of me,_ Cilla thought. _Well, you won't need to worry about my returning, either. _

It had gone off without a hitch. Old Lucas drove the carriage, and Mila - who was not quite recovered, was quite content to 'wait' in the carriage.

"I'll be sometime, Mila," Cilla said to Mila as old Lucas opened the door for her. "I plan to look at the lawn and other things at the mercantile, and when that is done, I'll take some tea with Mrs. Campbell. The Reynolds' girls will be arriving later and we plan to have lunch there, at Mrs. Campbell's. I could be hours... I know you are still feeling poorly. I doubt you're up to attending me all that time. Why don't you just wait here until I return? You can even go to sleep here, I won't mind."

The offer did not make the maid suspicious. If anything, Mila looked absurdly grateful. The maid was almost falling asleep, her head resting against the window. It would be sometime before she deemed it necessary to stir from the cabin. Cilla picked up her portmanteaus, and stepped down from the carriage. She was soon staring up at ten dragoons, and wondering how she could possibly shed herself of them.

She began her spiel all over again, finishing this time with, "I don't need you protecting me at the mercantile," she laughed. "I hear the tavern here is quite fine. Why don't you pay it a visit?" The Dragoons exchanged pleased glances - most of these were local Loyalist boys, newly recruited, who still thought the whole affair of being recruited was a great lark. They bowed and gave their thanks before retreating down the street toward the tavern.

When the Dragoons were gone, Old Lucas and Cilla began to walk along the street slowly, Cilla eyed the British soldiers stationed throughout the village. Those, would not be so easy to fool. They were proper British infantry soldiers, well trained and always suspicious. Still, she could see no reason for a single one of them to detain her.

"His name be Morgan," Old Lucas said softly. "He knows these parts like the back of his hand."

"Very well. Now, when they question you, you must tell them what I told you -"

"That ye commanded me to remain with the carriage and keep watch over poor Mila," he grinned down at her.

"Yes. There is a letter for my husband on the seat. Make certain he finds it, will you?"

They parted ways, with Cilla apprehensively approaching what she hoped was the correct house. Morgan's residence, the local man whom old Lucas was certain would give her a ride out of town on his buckboard, without asking her too many questions as to why. He had smuggled men from outside the keen eye of the British at Pembroke before. Hopefully he would do the same for her, also. The shop he lived above appeared half burned, but when she entered, she saw the blaze had not touched the interior. The building had been saved - unlike some of the other buildings across in the village, those which had not survived Tavington's wrath all those months ago.

Cilla clutched her bag to her chest as a heavy footsteps thudded on the stairs. An older man appeared in the door, he was in dire need of a shave and there was an interesting smell about him.

"Eh?" He called to her, walking with a rolling limp. "What can I do for ye?"

"I am Benjamin Martin's niece," she introduced herself as Old Lucas had instructed. The fellow stopped dead, his bleary eyes widening. "I am told you have helped people win free of Pembroke before? While avoiding... British attention..." She hinted, dipping her hand into her pocket and producing several sovereigns. Morgan came forward, a grin on his face.

"That I can, Miss," he replied, his hands closing over her fingers, holding the money still in her hand. "And if ye're that old bastard's niece, I'll win ye free of British attention for nothing."

She smiled weakly, a thrill of apprehension shooting through her.

In the end, leaving Pembroke had been as simple as leaving Fresh Water.

Mr. Morgan had his wagon loaded with supplies, and with a pass in his hand and a simple chat with the guards, in which he casually hinted that the pretty sitting next to him was his niece, he had them away and trundling along the road within a half hour. Cilla glanced over her shoulder as Pembroke disappeared behind the bend in the road, she was tense, half expecting the Dragoons to come stumbling out of the tavern in search of her, or the guards to realise their error and come racing toward them.

"I can't believe my father is no longer at Mrs. Rutledge's plantation," she sighed, slumping around and facing forward. That was where she had thought to go, she told Morgan, until he disabused her. She recalled Richard's interest in Rutledge Plantation, he had routed a nest of rebels who were camped almost on Henrietta's property. Her father, Cilla had known, though Richard never did learn that little tidbit. She'd hoped her father would return there now that the place had been searched, but Mr. Morgan had just told her that her father did not dare.

"That Major put the fear of Christ in her, he did," Morgan and Cilla had spent the half hour in Pembroke in conversation, she had confided who she really was and some of why she needed to leave, and he had told her the latest news of the County. "Mr. Putman, I'm told, didn'a want her to be frighted even more, so he did not return."

"And you don't have any idea where he might have gone," she sighed, frustrated.

"Not yet, but I can find out for ye," he spoke in the slightly muffled way men did, when they constantly had a pipe between their teeth. Smoke drifted upward around Morgan, it puffed from his lips. "We'll keep to the smaller trails, madam, and we'll ask every man I be knowin' we can trust, until we find him."

"And if it's my husband's men whom find us first?" She asked, her arms hugging her chest.

"Never happen lass, not while yer with me. I know all the of the trails that they don't. Never ye mind, we'll get ye to yer da soon enough."

"I hope so," she heaved a sigh and gazed into the thick trees growing above the road. Pain clenched her stomach as she thought of Richard. How would he react, when he was given the letter? She hoped it would be hours yet, before that happened. But eventually, he would come to realise she was gone, and she was not coming back. What would he say? Would he even care?

_Perhaps he'll be relieved,_ she thought, closing her eyes against the pain. _He'll move swiftly to protect himself, he'll tell them all that I've gone to visit my mother, just as he told them Beth had gone there, when she left with Ban. And then he'll settle in with Harmony, who will bear him a child, and he will be happy without me. As for me..._

She opened her eyes and stared at the long road ahead. Who knew what was in store for her, what her new road would give her? She'd come to care deeply for Richard, she realised as the wagon took her further and further away from him. But he did not care for her. He loved Harmony, Cilla's future was not there, with them. There was no place in Richard's life for her. She had a different future in store for herself and she thought then, as she straightened her spine and tried to push aside the longing for her husband, that perhaps it wouldn't be a terrible one. She was already married, and by rights, she could not take another husband unless Bordon died. Her heart gave a lurch at the idea, it was hard enough leaving him as it was, she did not want to learn later that he had died and that she was free to remarry.

But perhaps his death was not the only way she could marry again. Everything was changing now, wasn't it? Soon, if her people had their way, they would cut themselves completely from England. Such a major change would cause a time of major upheaval. During that time, would anyone really care that she had left her British husband, and taken a new one?

Not if he was a Patriot...

Perhaps not all is lost, she thought, trying to cheer herself as she stared down the long, empty, bumpy road. Perhaps there would be another husband for her, waiting down that long road, and children, and love, and all the wonderful things a proper marriage could offer. It was a happy thought and it did cheer her somewhat, for she was young yet, and she was pretty, from one of the greater families, she would find a decent husband with ease. Still, tears stung her eyes and she closed them again, pulled her knees up to her chest, and tried to hide from Mr. Morgan that she was weeping. She had done the right thing, she knew it in her heart. Richard might find it difficult to maintain the balance without her, but it would only be for a short while. The Generals would be leaving Fresh Water soon; he only had to make excuses for her absence for a scant few days, and after that, he would not need her at all.

_He will make do without me until then_, she thought sombrely. _And after the General's are gone, he will not need me at all._

She was not sure which caused her the greatest sadness. That their entire marriage came down to that one, simple need and that Richard would barely miss her, once the General's were gone. Or that in only a few weeks or so, he would actually be grateful for her departure; for with her gone, there would be no more cause of upheaval, between him and his beloved Harmony Farshaw.


	123. Chapter 123 - Life Without Cilla

Chapter 123 - Life Without Cilla:

_End November, 1780_

Harmony rested her head against Richard's back, her chest to his back, her arms holding tight around his waist. It was an awkward position in the saddle, with her stomach growing by the day. But it was a short and gentle ride, she was not uncomfortable for long. Richard's strong fingers wrapped around both of hers on his stomach and he whistled happily as he guided his horse. Only a short ride. So short, they could still see Martin's great house amidst the smaller outhouses, but they were were far enough that they were blessedly alone. Beneath a large apple tree, with its spindly empty branches stretching out in all directions, Richard dismounted, then helped Harmony down. He pulled her close and kissed her, right there in the open. For joy! It was wondrous, kissing him right there in the middle of the orchard. It was horrid, keeping their lovemaking to the confines of her chamber, as if they were doing something shameful and wrong.

Not that there was anyone to see them here, either. It was not as though he were squiring her about in public like he would have done, had they been able to marry. This was still as furtive a meeting as it was when he slunk into her room in the dead of night. Still, it would have to suffice. A few Dragoons Richard trusted had dogged their heels in case of need, but they were out of sight now and were just beginning a game of cricket. Harmony could hear them, she could hear the thwack of the ball hitting the bat, and their clapping and shouting. But she could not see them, nor could they see her and Richard.

"It's a bit cold for a picnic," Richard fetched a basket and an old blanket from his horse.

"Yes, I was wondering what ever gave you the idea, to have a picnic on a day like today," Harmony took the blanket with a smile and shook it out, then laid it on the cold ground.

"Cilla did, actually," he replied as they both stretched out on the blanket. Harmony immediately scowled.

"Did she indeed?"

"Don't take that tone," Richard settled in to soothing her spiked irritation with gentle kisses. His lips were cold on her cheek and she laughed, pulling away. "That's better," he grinned at her. "I prefer the smiles far more than the scowls, though you're beautiful when you do either."

"Flirt," she stuck her tongue out at him.

"I always have been and you know, I probably always will be," he lamented. Harmony snorted, she stuck her tongue out again. "Most unladylike," he admonished. "Give me that," in one swoop, he tackled her back onto the blanket, trying with his fingers to open her mouth. She giggled and thrashed beneath him. "Give me that tongue," he demanded, pinching his finger and thumb together as though he'd seize it. "I know how to get it," he seized her wrists as she tried to bat at him, pulled them gently above her head. Being careful of her stomach and his baby within, he straddled her hips and bent his head to her. "This is how," his voice changed, it deepened, thickened; he began to kiss her. Harmony relaxed under him, not at all bothered by her pinned wrists. His tongue, much warmer than his lips, slid into her mouth and began to tease hers.

"Got it," he grinned. She laughed.

"I miss this," there was so much emotion in her trembling voice, but overriding it all, was simple longing. "I miss you, so much."

"You have me, Harm," he nudged his nose against hers. "I'm right here."

"You know what I mean," her blue eyes narrowed, fixed on his.

"I do," he agreed, his thumbs stroking the insides of her wrists. "And you know I love you, more than anything else in this world."

"I do," she gazed up into his blue eyes. "It's just so hard. You promised you would never bed another woman."

"I'm not bedding her -"

"I know," she overrode his protest. "That's not what I mean, anyway. I'm trying to say," she frowned, searching for the right words. "That promise isn't worth anything. Not when I still feel as though I'm sharing you with another woman."

Richard expelled a breath. He released her wrists and eased his body off from hers. Harmony sat up beside him, studying his face. Cilla was gone to Pembroke, to visit the mercantile for shopping and for lunch with Mrs. Campbell and Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters. And here was Richard who, despite the obligations he was neglecting, was dedicating his time to Harmony. He had organised a picnic, the basket was filled to bursting with enough to feed four grown men. He'd gone to so much trouble… She heaved a sigh, and let go her anger.

He was as caught as Harmony was, both enmeshed in a web of Cilla's making. Peculiarly, Harmony actually found herself liking Cilla at times. Cilla had a quick wit and a quick fire temper. She was brave, too. Like Beth. Harmony was drawn to women like Beth, women with no pretences, women who accepted others as they were. Women who helped other women to rise, instead of stomping all over them. Cilla was not quite as accepting as Beth, she remembered her station and only kept company with others of her rank. She was not rude or aloof to those below her. Emily always looked down on people lower than her. Always walking around with her nose in the air, but for all her airs and graces, she'd been spreading her legs for half the men in camp, Calvin included. Mage Putman and Charlotte Selton, they were no better as well. Both had lifted their expensive silk skirts and petticoats for Richard, both wrapping their silk stockinged legs around his waist. Yet both acted the same as Emily, as though they were somehow better. They tried to stomp on women lower than themselves, to keep them low. Cilla was not like that. She tried to help women in need; Harmony included. She helped Harmony back in Pembroke when she could have left her high and dry. She had many good qualities and was an easy person to like. She was a decent person, once you got to know her.

Yet Cilla had seduced Richard to her bed. And what had Cilla - good, decent, moralistic, virtuous Cilla, been doing, spying on the Dragoons anyway? And why did she need to screw Richard, when her mother was doing just that, squeezing him for every last drop of information?

That was why it was so confusing for Harmony. And to bed a man at all, especially one quartered in her home; after complaining about how debauched the Officers were. What sinners. Cilla did come across as virtuous, with morals and high standards, yet without the snooty 'better than you' attitude of Emily Wilkins. Yet, she'd screwed Richard that one night...

Cilla's goodness was all an act. It had to be. Cilla was a consummate actress. How else could the woman Cilla presented to the world every day, be the same woman to spread her legs for Richard? Cilla's virtue was an act, she had proved herself to be an excellent actress - Harmony had seen her in action, that day in the mercantile. Harmony made herself remember that every time she found herself liking Cilla, every time she began to fall for Cilla's act. It was all a cover. Cilla had probably kept up that facade for so long, she didn't even have to think twice about it. Cilla was no better than Emily, Mage and Charlotte and Harmony could NEVER bring herself to like any of them.

She tried not to blame Richard - he was a man, his blood had always been hot and his thinking compromised when soused and she was almost certain that alcohol would have been a driving factor in his bedding of Cilla. Harmony would not spoil their morning with a needless fight over something he was helpless to change.

"Did you bring glasses?" She asked, eyebrow arched. She kept her voice light, and smiled warmly. "Or will we be drinking from the bottle like a couple of drunkards?"

"I bought glasses," he perked up immediately and reached into the basket. "William keeps a few bottles in his office, I managed to procure one for us."

"With his knowledge?" She asked, eyes twinkling. "Or without?"

"Oh, he'll know soon enough," Bordon laughed. "When he goes to pour himself and notices one of the bottles is gone." He unstoppered the bottle. "Everything is becoming so scarce now, he would not give up such a luxury willingly."

"You stole from your friend!" Harmony threw her head back and laughed, imagining William's face when he noticed a bottle was missing.

"Eh. Let's not call it stealing. Let us call it… Sharing without prior knowledge."

"Such a fine distinction! Yes, I am certain he will see it that way," she giggled. Richard poured red wine into her glass. "He might blame a junior. He will have the great house searched and then he'll whip a poor soldier bloody."

"I will admit my theft before it comes to that," Richard promised. He took a sip and sighed with pleasure. "And I'll show my gratitude by telling him how absolutely delightful it tasted."

"I'm not surprised you've run clear out of wine," Harmony said, testing hers and finding it to be as delightful as Richard described. "With all of the parties O'Hara has been hosting. He seems determined to thoroughly deplete Fresh Water and the Ferguson's place before he leaves."

"Which is why William hid these last," Richard hefted the bottle. "One of O'Hara's adjutants came sniffing about for wine for the leaving feast."

"Which is tonight?" Harmony asked, having heard the whispers.

"It is," Richard said. Expecting an explosion, or at least some cutting remarks, he was suddenly wary. Cilla would be on his arm, looking every inch the great lady, while Harmony waited alone in her chamber. It was a sore point for her, the woman who should have been his wife by now. If not for Calvin. And if not for Cilla. She should be the one he squired about in public and to formal dinners. Any moment now, she would have some awful thing to say about Cilla.

"Well, he'll be gone tomorrow," Harmony held the glass of wine balanced on her thigh. "And William's bottles will be safe. Except from you," she nudged him with her shoulder. Richard laughed. It sounded relieved. He tipped her head back and, pleased she was not going to fight with him, he kissed her lips gently.

A muffled thwack and men bellowing interrupted them momentarily. Unconcerned, Harmony gazed through the trees as if she could see the Dragoons beyond, playing cricket. Richard's guard, needed even here on the Plantation, were a call away if he needed them. Any one of them might come trotting over with a missive or suchlike, which meant that Harmony and Richard were not truly alone. As much as he wished to lay her back on the picnic blanket and couple with her under the sparse branches of the apple tree, he knew he could not. That kind of sport would have to wait for tonight. After O'Hara's final party, after spending the night at Cilla's side, before leaving her for Harmony's chamber.

Besides, at the moment, Harmony needed to know she was much more to him than a rump in the hay. She was feeling second best to Cilla, because a wife always comes first. Not in a man's heart, perhaps, but in his life, a wife must be first. Harmony was feeling ignored. She despised that he could not show his great love for her in public. It made her feel dirty, that it all needed to be kept hidden. And she felt jealous; of Cilla, which Richard could completely understand. The terrible argument of the day before had left Richard trying to navigate the most treacherous waters. On a cloudy night. Without a helm or a compass. But how their situation affected him was far from his thoughts. It was how Harmony felt that most concerned him. For her, it was slow torture, and yesterday had been the worst agony of all. The culmination of weeks of frustration, anger, jealousy and heart ache. Lord, he was a very lucky man, that she would sit beside him, sharing a wine and luncheon, and not mention the confrontation. It was a good thing that Cilla was away to Pembroke for the next few hours, it gave him the time he needed, to mend his relationship with Harmony. He gazed at her fondly and settled in to making it up to her. He began with gentle kisses, stroking her hair, the backs of his fingers brushing her cheek. She melted into him, one hand holding the glass, the other around his back, her head on his shoulder. They settled into companionable conversation.

"Have you seen Linda when you go down to visit Mrs. Andrews?" He asked, believing she was a safe topic to discuss.

"No, I don't go near her. But I did see the clump of guards on her tent. And every single person down there knows she is not allowed leave. Mrs. Andrews has the women attending Linda on rotation, she's never allowed to be alone except when she is in the tent with her husband."

Thoughtful, Richard stared up at the spindly branches overhead as they moved gently in the breeze. "She can't like it. That he's taking the child away."

"I'd imagine not," Harmony replied. "Linda has been heard weeping in her tent. It's a hard punishment…"

"Will you do as he asked?" He placed his wine down and began pulling items from the basket one handed, his other arm still wrapped around Harmony.

"Well, I suppose it makes sense for me to," she lifted her head and met his eyes, her chin resting on his shoulder. "But what if Linda gives birth before me? He needs to find another wet nurse, just in case."

"But you'll feed the babe, if it comes to it?"

"If it comes to it," she agreed. "I don't mind, as long as I have enough milk." A pained expression crossed her face. "Beth is not going to like it…"

"You feeding William's bastard?" Richard asked, startled. She gave him a flat look. "Oh. William raising the child. I don't think William cares overly much what Beth will make of anything just now. I do not believe he will be tolerating any complaints from her, on any part of their lives. She's going to have to put up with it, I'm afraid. That's if she ever come back, or if he allows her to come back."

"Hmm…"

"I really don't like his chances of having her extricated from Banastre," Richard continued. "And if he does, it'll be for her to go to live with her aunt's, wherever they are."

"We do not care where they are," Harmony said, lip curled.

"No, we certainly don't. Pickle?" Richard opened the jar. He popped one into her mouth and heard the crunch as her teeth bit into it.

"Has Benjamin Martin sent any word at all?" Harmony asked after swallowing.

"Not that I know of," Bordon shook his head.

Harmony opened her mouth for the next morsel. She smiled around it - Richard would feed the entire meal to her with his fingers, it seemed. "I can't imagine Banastre having a sudden change of heart. He won't let her go, not willingly."

"Well, a problem for another day," he said. "And not my problem besides."_ I've enough of my own, thank you very much._

"Richard," Harmony said softly, eyes fixed on the corn cake he had handed to her. "I wanted to ask you…"

She seemed hesitant, nervous. Which from her was most unsettling. She was usually outspoken, she never hesitated to tell him or ask him anything at all. He cocked his head to one side.

"What, exactly, do you feel for Cilla?" Harmony asked tremulously, eyes still on her corncake.

His stomach twisted, he felt as though he'd been kicked. Christ, his mistress was asking him this?

He sighed, sullen. After the discussion yesterday, he should have been expecting it. He had taken Cilla's side against Harmony. He had chastised her, in front of Cilla. Had called her to account, for not showing gratitude and for her uncivil tongue. She had seen him shower Cilla with affection, she must be wondering how much of it was feigned on his part. And how much of it had been real. His mistress was asking him if he was in love with his wife.

Now that he was forced to confront the question, he began to examine his feelings. He was already lying to Harmony about the way he had come to be married to Cilla. He would not continue to lie. Not about this.

"What do I feel for her?" He asked, staring off into the distance. Freed black men appeared like dots on the horizon, as they worked the surrounding fields. Closer to the house, the place resembled the fort it was meant to be, with stakes and cannons and its multitudes of tents, stretching away across the road. A bird trilled its song overhead, Richard glanced up and watched the budgerigar fluff its wings and flutter from branch to branch. What did he feel for Cilla? He met Harmony's eyes. "I am not in love with her," he said solemnly, holding her gaze. "But I do have love for her."

Harmony stared, large blue eyes wide, her lips parted ever so slightly. "Oh," she breathed. He saw it when her eyes filled, though she quickly averted her gaze, hoping he would not notice.

"We were thrown together," he began, voice grave but determined. He could not reveal all, he could not bare all and risk losing Harmony. But he would reveal this. He was being unfair to Cilla as it was. "She did not trap me, as you accused her yesterday." He saw her cheeks flush with shame at the reminder of her cutting remarks. "She was no more willing to marry me, than I was her. Initially, neither of us wanted to be in the others company at all. But it's a little hard to avoid one another in such a small house. Why Martin would build it like this when he could have built it twice the size…" He trailed off, staring at the too small house, with only six sleeping quarters. Madness. "I wasn't even able to take a room of my own, with so many others of rank needing accommodation. It was especially bad when Banastre came here with his entourage. I spent as much time as I was able on patrol, and Cilla spent as much as she could in the company of the other women. Then we both sickened and… I don't know, Harm. Things began to change between us, as we grew to know one another. And as we grew to know one another, a connection formed between us. A… Bond… if you will. A strong one," he admitted. He took hold of her fingers, hers trembled in his. She was weeping quietly now, sniffling and wiping at her eyes and nose. Softly, he said, "you did ask…"

"I wanted… You to… Tell me something different…" A ghost of a smile touched her lips and was gone. "I didn't want to hear all this about a bond. And that you love her."

"I did not say I love her," he corrected, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face. "I said I have love for her."

"What does that even mean?" She asked, some fire returning, along with frustration.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I don't know what it means. I love you, Harm. It's fierce, it's so strong, like a beast living in here," he closed his fist over his heart. "I guess I'm trying to say that I care for Cilla. But it goes deeper than that, too. I'm not in love with her. I don't burn for her the way I do you. But when I'm away from here, I find I think of her as often as I do you," this was a blow to her, he could see it. Why couldn't she understand what he was trying to say? He wasn't explaining himself very well, he realised. "I mean… I yearn for you. I miss you when I'm gone, but I miss her too. In another way. She's my wife," he shrugged. "She's become a part of my life. You can't live in the same chamber with another person, for months and months, to become so terribly ill and nurse one another, without some connection forming. And then she miscarried my child and we shared such a deep sorrow. It bound us, that loss. You can't go through all of that and not grow to have some attachment to each other. I've become close to her," he shrugged, as if hoping that would sum it up. "I have love for her."

"Oh," she said, crestfallen.

"You felt it too, I suspect," he reminded her. "You were cooped up in this house with her for days and somehow, the two of you made it work. Do you remember the day I returned, that night when she led me to your chamber and then the two of you proceeded to regale me with the amazing tale of how you came to be here? I noticed some tension between you but that night, I had wondered if there was a friendship growing. You and she even ganged up together, that day."

"We did not," she protested.

"You pulled my hair, Harm," he shot back, grinning. "You gripped my queue and you pulled it, and then you looked at Cilla and she laughed. The two of you felt it also, at the least, a growing companionship. What happened to that, Harm?"

"You happened," she replied, meeting his gaze. "You came back."

"Perhaps I should leave," he laughed down at her.

"Only if you take me with you."

He kissed her brow. "You know I will."

She was quiet for a moment, pondering what he had told her. He loved her, Harmony. But he had love for Cilla. Even now she didn't know what that meant and she didn't like it very much either. "You're wrong, you know."

"About what?"

"You can live in the same chamber with a person, for months and months, you can go through terrible times together and at the end of it, feel absolutely no attachment to one another whatsoever. Believe me, I know."

Richard heaved a sigh. "Eh. You and Farshaw are a different case entirely. Farshaw is a prick. He has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He never tried to atone for anything, he never tried to make amends. He never tried to make it work. He was abusive to you, he would have killed our child if he'd ever discovered it wasn't his. Harm, you can not compare your months of living with Farshaw, to my months of living with Cilla. Cilla and I…" He trailed off, thinking. "We're making the most of a troublesome situation. At first, we were just trying to make it work, for both our sakes and for the child we thought was coming. But, as I said, somewhere along the way, a closeness developed between us," he paused and gnawed at his lip, worrying. They had indeed become close, so much so that Cilla was ready to bed him, and she was now demanding a child. Which would require for him to bed her. Or she would lay with some other man to have the job done.

No, she was not serious. She had been angry, is all. But she would never break her marriage vows. She would never shame herself by taking a lover. She had come a long way in the last few months, to the point where she no longer felt threatened by him, and was willing to lay with him, to get the child she wanted so badly. He was the unwilling one now… The argument was over for now, Cilla had made no mention of it earlier that morning before leaving for Pembroke. But he fretted that it would rise again. Nothing was settled. What would he do, the next time she suggested it?

A problem for another day. He could not plan for all eventualities. He pinned Harmony with a stare, and asked pointedly, "is this closeness something you can accept?"

"Another thing I have no choice on, I suspect," Harmony drew her knees to her chest. "You say it's only a matter of time before Cornwallis summons the British Legion to help him take North Carolina. Is she is coming with us when we set out?"

"No, I will leave her here at Fresh Water," he promised, hoping she would not ask what would happen, after. Richard could not leave his wife at Fresh Water forever. The time would come when he would have to return for Cilla, they would live together as husband and wife, and Harmony would be close by. The problems between them, the conflicts, would surface all over again, then. It would only get worse, he suspected, when Harmony bore his child. No, leaving Cilla at Fresh Water was not the end of things; they were taking a reprieve only. He hoped Harmony did not continue with her 'what if's', because they would only land Richard in deeper, hotter water.

"I look forward to that," Harmony said, settling in beside him again."It'll be nice, just the two of us." She met his gaze, stared into his eyes. "What do you think our lives would have been like, if Calvin hadn't come back and if you'd never been made to marry Cilla? What would our lives be like now?"

"With no Cilla?" He asked, guessing that was the crux of her question, seeing that Farshaw was gone. He pondered this for several moments. "Far less complicated," he replied.

"Far less complicated!" She gasped. She took a mock swipe at his arm. "Far less complicated. That's not quite the answer I was expecting."

"Well, what do you think our lives would have been like? With no Farshaw and no Cilla."

"Richard, without them, you and I would be married by now. So frankly, I think my life would have been utter and complete bliss, and I can't believe you didn't answer the same. 'Far less complicated', indeed," she huffed. He grinned at her.

"I agree, our lives would be utter and complete bliss," his fingers toyed with her hair. "Mrs. Harmony Bordon..."

She melted, her breath hitched, her eyes became very soft. A sad smile tugged the corners of her mouth. He leaned closer, kissed the sadness away. At length, she drew back and began to nibble on her corncake. "Will I have a carriage, Major? Or am I to be carried on the back of a wagon?"

"I'm certain my funds can stretch to the purchase of a carriage," he draped his arm around her again. "And I'll purchase every single cushion I can find on the Santee, to keep your bottom comfortable. Nothing is too good for my Harmony."

"Ah, you're so good to me, my Major Dick."

"Oh, back to that again, is it?" He laughed, tickling her sides, easily finding her most sensitive places. She giggled and tried to fend him off. "You haven't called me that in an age!"

"I'll bet you missed it," she did her best to ignore his attack, baring her teeth as he reached her most ticklish places, in order to deploy an attack of her own. He was soon squirming away from her fingers, his bellows far louder than her giggles. She gasped as his finger struck a particularly tender spot. In her moment of weakness and inattention, he seized her wrists to prevent further attack. Harmony did nothing to release herself, instead, she began to lay back on the blanket, pulling him down with her.

"You've instructed the Dragoons not to interrupt you, haven't you?" Her voice was breathless, her cheeks flushed.

"I have," a smirk crossed his face.

"Then what are you waiting for? An invitation?" She laughed. She guided her legs around his waist, opening herself to him. "If so, will this suffice?"

"As good an invitation as any," he replied, barely managing the words around the thickness in his throat. Her skirt and petticoat slipped down her thighs past her garters, she had bared her quim to him. Lord, his Dragoons were separated only by a few trees… If anyone of them came with a missive… They would have to be quick, is all. Besides, it would be a foolish Dragoon indeed, who would approach without calling out a warning. Unwilling to waste a moment, he released her wrists, his hands flew to his belt, fingers swiftly released the clasp. He pushed his breeches down as far as was needful to free his phallus, and he settled back between her legs, entering her beloved quim slowly. Biting her lip with pleasure, she stroked his face gently.

"Richard," she lifted her own arms up and over her head and waggled her fingers at him. "Hold me down."

"Vixen," he laughed, plunging in deep even as he seized her wrists again, pinning them back to the blanket. His waist coat drooped down, getting in his way, but he did not release her arms to shift it, not when she wore such a look of ecstasy on her beautiful face. She met him thrust for thrust, and gasped with each deep plunge.

"Next thing," he gasped as he drew his phallus back. "You'll be," he pushed in deeply, "begging me to slap you," he drew back again, plunged deliciously forward. "Do you remember?"

Harmony could not help but laugh, even as sweat coated her forehead, even as she strove with him toward climax. Linda, squealing with pleasure, with each of William's slaps.

"Never," she panted. She crossed her ankles behind his back. "Never that. But this… Oh, this is bliss." To be held down by her lover as he took her, right there under the apple tree. Lord, he still even had his boots on, he had not waited a single moment to sport with her from the moment she suggested it. He was always so full of fire, of passion! Lord, it made her want to… A moan escaped her, she was so close, she wanted to feel it, wanted that ecstasy filling her… Hips in rapid motion, her pelvis meeting his, she angled herself upward to feel him deeper; she rasped out his name, her fingers curled into fists above his fingers as warmth swelled, then burst through her body. Her eyes were not closed, but still it took a while for her vision to clear. Richard writhed above her, his fingers closing hard on her wrists, she watched his face, marvelling at seeing his expression alter from determination, to pure joy as he reached climax.

Spent, he collapsed on top of her, his fingers loosening, as if all strength had seeped from his body with the pulsing of his seed.

He did not stay in such a compromising position for long. As he jerked his breeches up, Richard peered through the trees in the direction of the cricket game to ensure the Dragoons were still beyond sight. With a pleased, fulfilled groan, he dropped back onto the blanket, sated.

"You're a damned vixen," he said, holding his arms out to Harmony. "Getting me to hold you down. Linda has put some strange ideas in your head."

"Hmm," Harmony snugged in, draping an arm over his chest and a leg over his hips.

"Are you still hungry?" He asked. She had eaten only one small corncake and two pickles.

"No my love," she tapped his nose, her smile was teasing. "You have completely filled me up. For now."

"Sounds like I'll be needing my rest then," he clutched her to him and closed his eyes, feeling quite sleepy in the cool afternoon air. He felt he might very well fall asleep, right there beneath the tree, with Harmony in his arms.

* * *

"Alligators prefer the night," Cilla whispered, staring outward at the surrounding swampland. Shadows lengthened, long dark shapes stretching from the cypress trees. It was becoming dark and fairly soon, she and Morgan would not be able to see at all.

"Eh. But they don't climb, lass. Ye can sleep easy enough on the wagon bed, they canna get ye there," came his unconcerned reply, lips moving around the stem of his pipe.

_Wonderful_. Cilla shuddered. She imagined laying in a bundle of blankets on the wagon bed, with alligators shuffling about, snouts filled with those awful long teeth reaching upward toward the wagon, sniffing up at her, watching her with their horrible beady eyes, licking their lips in anticipation of tasting her flesh. Morgan was not ruffled by the prospect at all. The man had proved to be a stalwart companion, nothing seemed to shake him. Avoiding British and Loyalist militia patrols, those had been nothing to him. Cilla died each time each time she realised they were heading toward one. Morgan was unflappable, saying that two people travelling the roads should not attract attention, a British detachment might stop to ask Morgan what business he had on the road, but they'd be waved on soon enough.

Unless someone recognised Cilla Bordon, the Major's wife.

That threat was enough to keep even the stalwart Morgan to the back trails as much as he could, which he knew like the back of his hand. Only twice were they stopped by the British. Cilla had hidden as far back in her hood as she could, both times. Then she worried that the Redcoats might find that suspicious, her hiding within her cowl. But it'd begun raining, and the soldiers appeared to assume that she was trying to keep her face dry, not concealed from their view. Both times, they were sent on their way unmolested. Finding her father was not proving easy. They occasionally encountered men Morgan trusted, but those knew little enough. One lead, they had. One lead only, given to them by some old hunter of Morgan's acquaintance, who knew where Mark had been camping the last couple nights. Cilla had demanded the fellow describe the other men in the possible Mark Putman's company, she exulted when he described a few young men matching Calvin Farshaw's description, and her own cousins, Gabriel and Thomas Martin. It had to be them, didn't it? Black hair and green eyes, tall. That could only be Farshaw. Brown eyes, blonde hair, tall. That must have been Gabriel. Blue eyes, brown hair, tall, young, no older than eighteen. Thomas. It had to be. Which meant that the tall blonde fellow with blue eyes must have been Mark Putman. She and Morgan were on the right track. She knew it in her bones.

The place in which her father was camping was less than half a mile off. Excitement burned through Cilla's veins. In less than half an hour, she would be with him again.

"We'll be there soon, lass," Morgan said, sensing her excitement. It was hard to miss, with her bouncing on the seat, rocking back and forth as if she could will the horses to go faster.

"I think he'll have a cabin," Cilla said and Morgan gave her a look. They were in the swamplands, houses were few and far between. They were heading to a part so isolated and hidden, a place that would keep Mark and his Company unseen from British eyes. There would not be a house there, Morgan had said. Cilla chose to believe otherwise.

"I've got a tarp to cover the wagon. If there's no grand house where we're going - and I'll wager you there won't be, then you can sleep comfortably enough on the wagon bed…" He trailed off. Unconcerned. Always bloody unconcerned. Cilla resisted the urge to kick him. Just to get some response other than that stalwart, unflappable un-bloody-concern! She was unused to sleeping rough and had no desire to sleep on the back of a wagon! She heaved a sigh, feeling utterly miserable. She had not figured any of this into her plans. When she first set out with Morgan, she'd imagined that finding her father would be a simple thing, accomplished within an hour at most. She'd thought she would be with him before midday, but here they were, still travelling the awful, tiny, treacherous trails, and it was coming on to night. And it was cold. Chilled wind sliced through her. She clutched her damp cape around her shoulders, wondering if now was a good time to reach for one of the blankets Morgan had bought along. But she might need them for later, to keep dry and warm during the night. If they were going to spend the night on the wagon, did that mean…

"There won't be a fire," she finished her thought out loud. Her fingers cramped in her deerskin gloves, her toes turned to ice in her silk hose. Silk stockings. Christ, what was the matter with her? She should have worn wool!

"Eh?" Morgan cast her a quizzical glance.

"If I am to sleep out here on the wagon bed, then I can't have a fire… Not on the cart…"

"I'll make ye a fire for a little bit, and we'll douse it before bedding down. Ye'll go to sleep with a warm meal in ye, lass."

"Sleep?" She slapped at an insect on her sleeve, another mosquito. Damned little blood suckers. They had plagued her for hours. "I doubt I'll get any sleep." She gazed up at the grey sky and bit the inside of her lip. It was so strange. All the noises. Birds trilling their tunes. A squirrel had dashed into the brush a short while earlier. The sounds of wildlife - it was a far cry different to the sounds she was used to. There were no other people here, and she was used to there always being other people. The sound of their footsteps in the corridors, of their laughter and chatter, playing music, all of those usual sounds… It was all absent here. Here, there was only Morgan and Cilla. And squirrels and birds.

And blood sucking mosquitoes. And flesh eating alligators.

She closed her eyes, stomach churning. She didn't care what Morgan thought - those damned brutes were large enough to swallow a man whole. She'd seen one earlier, floating at the waters edge, its long nose peeking out, teeth jagged in all directions and those awful beady eyes. It had been so big too. And long. The body itself had been beneath the surface. The tip of a tail broke the water too many yards from that mean snout, making Cilla believe there were two alligators. For surely the beast could not have grown so long for that to have been its own tail? The illusion was shattered when it moved - dashing back into the water as the wagon approached. To her horror, she realised that it was all the one creature. Big enough to swallow her in one, small gulp, those large teeth crunching her bones to shards. She shivered again and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.

"Is it really necessary that we sleep on the wagon?" Cilla asked, stubbornly hopeful. Papa will find me a place to stay, he won't let me sleep under the sky.

"Nothing that would suit a lass of your breeding," Morgan laughed. "We're in the hinterlands now, only crofters cabins likely filled to bursting with children and no space on the floor for a blanket. You'll be comfortable enough on the wagon, I'll make sure of it. Safe, too."

"Except for those horrible beasts," she said softly.

"They're shy enough of humans and they don't like our flesh anyway. They're more interested in marsh hens and whatever other small creatures they can snag from the banks. Don't worry about it."

She could hear amusement in his voice. Well, it was all well and good enough for him, she supposed. He was accustomed to camping at the roadside at night with nothing more than a fire and a blanket to keep him warm, and his firearm and a tomahawk to keep him safe. It was a far cry from what she was used to, however.

"Do you think my father will still be there?" She asked, unable to give up hope.

"That fellow back aways said he was," Morgan said gently. Stalwart. Unflappable. Unconcerned. And patient. "So it's worth checking, aye?" He'd said as much earlier. He said the same thing over and over, each time Cilla broached it.

"Yes," she agreed. "It's worth checking."

The wagon ambled along the road, Morgan clucked at the horses occasionally, but they plodded along with little guidance from him, for the most part. He lit a lantern and set it on a pole, though it did not light the road ahead very far. It was more for her comfort than anything, she suspected. It was soon surrounded by mosquitoes and other insects.

They reached the campsite before it became fully dark.

The empty campsite.

Cilla's heart dropped to her feet.

That there had been people here previously was without doubt, even Cilla could see where sleeping places had been cleared on the ground, and the charred remains of a cook fire. A small cabin, more of a shed really, but with a brazier and enough room inside for two men to sleep. Her father's campsite, but it made no difference that they'd found it at last, for he was not there. She felt like weeping. Morgan handed her down from the wagon. He was cheerful, declaring she would have a roof over her head after all, albeit a small and shabby one. He was jovial, told her not to despair, that her father might be off hounding British baggage trains or somewhat, and might return to the campsite yet. Then be began whistling some tuneless tune while getting a fire established outside. She disappeared behind a tree for a short while to attend the call of nature, then rushed back to Morgan, trembling, panting, forehead covered with sweat. While she had squatted there, one hand against a tree for balance, the other keeping her skirts away from the water she was passing, she had begun imagining an alligator launching from the swampland to seize her ankle. She imagined being dragged into the murky water and drowning, while the beast was already tearing at her flesh. She'd barely finished when she shoved her skirts down and began rushing back toward the camp, having worked herself into such a state.

"Can ye fetch the pot lass? And me bag as well. I'll light the brazier in the cabin soon. For now, some dinner."

Hands trembling, weak kneed, she made her way to the wagon. She knew which bag he meant, he'd gone into it several times that day for bread and cheese and dried meat. They'd be eating the same again for supper, she suspected, but at least they'd do it by a warm fire and perhaps with a cup of hot, spiced water to wash it down. Or at least she supposed that was why he asked for the pot.

It was not long before Cilla was sitting before the blaze, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her fingers wrapped around a steaming tin mug. Her stomach was full of the bread, cheese and meat. Morgan sat beside her on the log, telling her a tale. He'd been telling her tales all day long, of recent times and times long gone. Back to fifteen years earlier, when the call to march to the frontier to settle for the 'damned injuns', as Morgan called them. The Cherokee War. She'd been listening to such tales her entire life, her own uncle had received wounds in that war. And she did find them intriguing; especially since the entire affair sparked because some Indians in Virginia stole horses from a Planter Grandee, as payment for their assistance in fighting the French. The French war had already been raging, and the British had promised that if the Indians assisted, they would be rewarded. The Indians must have considered the white folk to be one complete entity, for they had had no problem with taking their payment from this one particular Planter. Who refused to pay for their services from his own pockets. He had called them thieves, for taking what belonged to him.

A small skirmish, men died on both sides. And all of South and North Carolina rose up and marched to war against the Indians. That's what fascinated Cilla. It was quite remarkable, really. That a war could begin over what was, really, a misunderstanding.

As Morgan spoke of creeping through the woods toward unsuspecting savages, Cilla let her mind wander. The fire blazed before her, the cup was hot in her hands. But neither gave her any warmth. Miserable, she stared into the dancing flames; and brooded.

Was she doing the right thing, leaving Richard? His face rose in her mind. His ready smile, blue eyes bright and merry, his deep laughter. Her heart twisted. She felt like weeping. How did he feel about her leaving? Shocked at first. And then relieved. That he was free now, to be with Mrs. Farshaw. Cilla's departure would not break his heart. He would be giddy, happy and would embrace his future with Harmony and not even look back. It was evening now, everything would have played out at Fresh Water already. Around lunch time, the Dragoons and Mila would have returned without her. The letter would have been found. Richard would have read Cilla's instructions, and acted on them quickly, swiftly, confidently. She imagined Richard's voice, deep with horror and concern, as he stood before O'Hara and described Cilla's fear and the family emergency which had her dashing away from Fresh Water with the rising sun. Afterward, he returned to Fresh Water from Colin Ferguson's plantation, where he told Harmony they were free, finally free of Cilla. Cilla imagined how joyous they would have felt. In his excitement, Richard hoisted Harmony into the air, laughing, twirling her about in a full circle. Harmony cried tears of joy. Somehow, Cilla knew it was all true. As if she'd been there to see it with her own two eyes. That's how events would have played out at Fresh Water Plantation while all through the day, she'd been miserable and travelling further and further away.

He would have set Harmony back on her feet after twirling her. Harmony would have been breathless and he would have kissed her. Deep, certain, possessive, as they celebrated this new and abrupt turn that had bought them back together finally, with neither Calvin Farshaw or Cilla to interfere further. Burning jealousy rose like bile in Cilla's mouth. Such bitterness, surprising even her with its intensity. She shied away from those feeling, not yet ready to examine her roiling emotions.

There were other instructions in her letter but some time needed to pass before Richard could act on them. If he followed them well, he would escape unscathed, his honour and his standing with his superiors intact. But the first instruction... An iron ball flying from the cannon. That's how swiftly he'd have rushed to O'Hara's. He would have had his horse streaking across the fields.

She was setting them both free. Cilla should have been as excited as she knew Richard must be. She had her whole life to live, now. Her life was hers again, as it had not been since that day in the city, when the soldiers had come for her and had taken her to the dungeon. Everything had altered from that point, a thread had been jerked from the weft and weave that made up her past, her present and her future. All had changed, from that one snipped thread. But she was re-weaving her future now, and setting things to rights.

So. Why that bitter tang of jealousy? Cilla dwelled on that now, forcing herself to confront her emotions. Why was she feeling so miserable? Why did her throat constrict, why did she feel like weeping? Sitting there by the fire as Morgan continued his tales, oblivious to his distracted audience, she tried fiercely to think of the good side. Her whole future was hers again. To enjoy the thrill of being courted. To fall in love. Become engaged. To marry a man and every evening thereafter feel that exhilaration, the desire, the pleasures Banastre had shown her. To bear that man his children. It shocked her, that she had to force herself to consider all of the advantages to her. She should not have to force herself to consider the wonders of what might lay before her, to take away the heartache over what she had left behind.

She should not be feeling heartache over Richard. That was what it came down to, she realised. She was heart sore over Richard. It was killing her. She was in agony, when she should be relieved. She should be happy about this! About all it meant for her. Shouldn't she? She just didn't know! She drew a shuddering breath. Confused and miserable, she struggled to make sense of her thoughts, and of her heart.

It seemed far too simple a way to explain it to herself - that Bordon had snipped a thread that made the weaving of her future. It was far too tame a way to describe what he had done. He brutalised her that day. He murdered her virtue. Stripped her of her innocence, of her integrity, leaving nothing but a ruined shell of agony and despair. He had taken away her ability to protect herself, she had been helpless against his strength. A silk ribbon caught up by a hurricane.

She wrapped her arms around her body, tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. Morgan was oblivious. Morgan threw his arm out, showing her how he had held his dagger, words tumbling from him as fast as a horse could run, the story of when he faced down three savages at once. Cilla barely heard him. She stared vacantly at the fire. Her chest felt so tight.

_I do care for him… _she conceded. She'd cared for him for some time now. But surely that was not enough to make her heart constrict, to tighten, to seize her as it was doing right then? As it had since she'd conceived of this plan to leave. Am I… infatuated with him? She thought reluctantly, biting her lip to choke back a sob. Oh sweet Lord, what is wrong with me?

_He has made you trust him_, the thought raged through her mind, an accusation speared at Richard. She shook her head, argued with herself. _No, he has not made you do anything of the sort. He has proven to you that he can be trusted. He has shown you remorse and you know that remorse is true. He is sorry for what he did to you. It kills him. But is that enough? Is it enough to be remorseful? What he did to me… _She shook her head, if she bit her lip any harder, she'd likely draw blood. _What he did… I could never forgive him. I could never forget what he did to me. But that's just it, isn't it? That was not Richard. Well, it was, of course, but… _Her mind whirled as she grappled with her thoughts and raging emotions. _He is not the same man, not anymore. Not now. He would never do such a thing again._

_Would he?_

The question froze her as the night never could, and the one that came hot on the heels of the first was even more chilling. How on earth could she even consider… How could she ever entertain the idea…

_Oh, Lord, is Harmony right? Have I fallen in love with him? _This time, she tasted blood. Has that damned bastard made me love him? After everything else he's done to me. He took it all from me and now he's taken that to? Her teeth had cut through the skin, the iron tang of blood coated her tongue. The sting of pain helped to clear her mind.

_Perhaps I am in love with him_, she thought, unable to fully admit to that truth even if it was staring her in the face. _But whether I love him or not, it makes not a jot of difference. I have left him, the dye has been cast. My feet are on this road now, the damaged thread has been mended. I will go to my father, he will know what to do. He will agree with me. With the coming time of change, I could marry again and no one would think twice about it. She closed her eyes, her heart ached, twisted until she felt like choking. You will find happiness, Cilla. _She soothed herself, as if she were her own mother. She knew those were the words her mother would say. And she knew they were right. Given enough time, her broken heart would mend. Hadn't she proved it was true already? She had come far in her healing since that day in the dungeon. What was a broken heart, to that?

"Ho the camp!" The shout sliced through the air like a scythe, cutting short Morgan's tirade, stilling Cilla's raging thoughts.

"Papa?" Cilla was on her feet and whirling, searching the darkness for her father. But then she tensed, because Morgan tensed. Why was he reaching for his rifle? "Surely it's my father?" She whispered, her voice trembled.

"Let's _be_ sure first, aye?" He said, fingers curling around the trigger, his other hand supporting the barrel as he pulled the weapon up. "Who'd be there, then?" He called back, aiming the firearm in the direction the shout had come.

"No need for the musket, grey beard," the voice said from the trees. A man - not Mark Putman. Not Gabriel or Thomas either. Not Calvin Farshaw. The stranger was dressed in soiled buckskin breeches and a fringed hunting shirt, he came closer toward the fire, into the light. He had his arms spread wide to show he was no threat, but still Morgan did not lower his rifle. "Me name is Eddie. Eddie Rousin."

"I don't care what yer name is. Be ye British, tory, or rebel?" Morgan asked. Cilla shot him a startled glance. Rebel? Only Tory's called Patriots rebels. Oh. She settled back down again. He was not giving his own allegiance away, not until he knew Eddie Rousin's.

"Neither," came the reply. The man, Eddie, grinned and Cilla shivered. It had a feral look to it, that grin. "I ain't neither. You're a pretty lass. What's your name?"

"I'll be asking the questions," Morgan snapped. "And don't be sitting neither, not until I know whose ye are." The fellow, who had been about to sit across from them, stopped his crouch midway. He straightened, his smile slipping from his face. Cilla's heart began to pound. "Are ye alone?" Morgan asked, voice harder than she'd ever heard him speak, and he'd been speaking all day long.

"No, Sir, I ain't," Eddie said, voice soft. Deadly.

Other figures began to move in from the darkness. Cilla jumped to her feet, the blanket fell from her shoulders. With wide eyes, she counted. Three, four, five... men. Five against one. If they were enemies...

"Brigands," Morgan breathed. Cilla gasped, her hands flew to her stomach. Eddie smiled at her, she was sure it was meant to be soothing.

"Nah, old grey beard. We ain't so bad. Just a few like minded fellows who've fallen on hard times. Your wagon's looking awful heavy for those old nags to pull. I'd be happy to lighten yer load for you."

"You could say we was doing you a favour," another fellow laughed.

"I'm sure you would," Morgan curled his lip. "There's not much of worth on there."

"By the looks of you, I'd say not," Eddie said, looking at Morgan's clothes. Eddie eyed Cilla up and down, raked over her silk skirts and embroidered bodice. "But by the looks of her…"

She could not tell if it was her clothes he was admiring, or… All thoughts of Richard flew from her mind. All that was left was terror.

"Take what ye must," Morgan still had the firearm up. He began to edge toward Cilla, to stand between her and the men, to cover her with his body. There were at least five of brigands, however, and more were spilling through the trees. "Take it and go."

"Go look, Dwight," Eddie Rousin commanded. Dwight, and several others, began peering into the wagon bed, reaching in to rifle through the bags. "So," Eddie said to Cilla. "What're you carrying on your person? Anything of worth?"

"I…" She licked her lips. Lord, she could say no, but would he believe her? Would he search her? Once his hands were on her, would he stop at a simple search for riches? "A p-purse. A few s-sovereigns. You c-can have them."

"Just leave her be," Morgan said, rifle still at the ready. His voice however… no longer stalwart. No longer unflappable. He was downright scared, as scared for her as she was. And that increased her own terror tenfold. It told her that what she was worried about was a real and genuine concern, that Eddie might hurt her…

"Your shoes," Eddie said. "Lift yer skirt a bit, let me see them."

"My… M-my shoes?" Cilla's voice quavered. "You… want m-my shoes?"

"And your skirt… So much silk. You know how much it'll fetch me?" He began to stride toward her, face grim in the firelight. At a gesture from Eddie, two men darted forward, boots stamping in the mud, both reached Morgan and restrained him before he could pull the trigger. Cilla had no doubt he'd spoken truthfully earlier, he would have been a force to reckon with, back in the war. But he was old now. And the men who seized him, were in their prime.

"Please, spare her," Morgan begged, pulling against the hands that had him pinned. Cilla burst into tears.

"Hold her," Eddie barked and two more of his men seized her arms. Morgan thrashed, bellowing, panicking. Cilla sobbed. Eddie began tearing at her clothes and she was helpless to stop him. A silk ribbon in a hurricane. Oh God, not again. He stood before her as she struggled against her capture's hold, his face a nightmare in the firelight. She tried to thrash as Morgan was but she was slight, so much weaker than the old man. She was nothing to her captors. Eddie reached up with groping hands. He tore at the ribbons of her cape, jerked it from her shoulders. He took a moment to appreciate her bodice - or her bosom, she had no idea which. Then he worked the first two buttons loose. Her bodice was pulled up and over her head, jerked from her arms all at once. One of the men laughed. "Don't drop it in the mud, Eddie. Or it will have to be washed before it's any good for selling."

"Very fine," Eddie held the garment up to the firelight, examined it appreciatively. He folded it carefully, handed it to one of his men, then turned back to Cilla. Despite her weeping, despite Morgan's begging, the man reached around her to untie her skirts. He smelled rank. His nearness made her gag. The burning look in his eyes, the leer, it left her with no doubt what would happen once she was disrobed. Her clothes would be placed carefully aside to keep them from being sullied. But he would show no such consideration for her body. He would sully her. Would he do it right there in the mud? Or would he take her, screaming, to the cabin? Rather than pull them down and have them touch the mud, the skirt and petticoats were pulled up over her head, leaving her weeping in only her stays, short shift and stockings. Sweet Lord, would he take those too? She hung her head, feeling very exposed. She couldn't even cover herself for there was a man on either side of her, pinning her arms.

"Nice legs," Eddie grinned. "Nice everything," with both hands, he groped her breasts, he stared avidly as he moulded them with his fingers. Any doubt as to his intention was gone.

_Kick him. Kick him, kick him! _Cilla braced herself. If she was to be ravished by this man, then by God, why shouldn't she at least fight? A silk ribbon in a hurricane. Why couldn't she _be_ the hurricane? Just for once! With a scream of defiance, she bought up her knee, gaining leverage from her captor's hold, she put as much strength into the blow as her slight body was able. It was enough. The genitals were such sensitive things. Eddie's eyes bulged, an explosive breath burst across her cheek. He began to topple downward, knees together, his hands cupping his groin now.

"Christ, she got ye good. Ye right, Eddie?" The man to Cilla's right laughed. It sounded like a braying donkey.

"Damned bitch," the man to her left spun her, she had a moment of panic, a moment of looking into sheer fury, the fury's hand raised back. Pain exploded across her cheek, stars burst before her eyes.

"Curse you, God curse you!" Morgan shouted, becoming the hurricane. A shot exploded in the night. The man's head punched forward into Cilla's nose. A sickening crunch, stunning her.

"Ye killed him!"

No one was holding her now. She clutched her nose, howling, howling. God, the pain. Shouting. So much shouting. Finally one shout penetrated the fog.

"Run, lass! Don't just stand there, run!"

Cilla focused her eyes through the blurry stream. The fellow, the one who'd butted her head. She stared downward, shocked to see him laying at her feet. Half the back of his head torn apart by Morgan's bullet. He hadn't head butted her, it had been the force of the short from Morgan's rifle that'd caused him to smash his face into her nose. Her eyes grew wider, wider, she stared at the ever expanding circle of blood pouring from the man's head. She took a step backward so it would not touch her shoes. Her shoes, which Eddie had coveted. Eddie was rising, a look of death on his face, eyes on her. She'd pay for dropping him. Oh, she'd pay.

"Run!" Morgan shrieked again. A rifle clapped, light flared, and Morgan dropped. She met his eyes as he toppled to his knees. Whispering now. "Run."

Someone reached for her. The man who'd been holding her right arm, the one who'd laughed at his boss being kicked in the groin. He was not laughing now. She whirled as his hand tried to close on her wrist, fingers brushed her arm but she was too quick for him. She leaped for the darkness, let it close in on her, heard Eddie shout for his men to pursue her in a voice still hoarse with pain. Of course, he could not have come after him herself. He would not be moving for sometime yet. Cilla however ran as swiftly as a deer from the hunter, unencumbered, no skirts to tangle around her legs. There had to be some advantage to her clothes being torn from her. Cold air rushed past her, she had no idea she could run so fast. Her nose was killing her, blood seeped into her mouth. Her chest was on fire, she was barely able to breathe, but she pushed herself onward. Something snagged her glove, she bit back a shriek, thinking it was one of the men. It was a branch, and she was stuck. Men shouting behind her. She ripped off the glove, kept running. No light to see by. She couldn't have seen in any case. Her nose afire with pain, her eyes stinging, streaming. Branches sliced her cheeks, her foot caught a hole and turned. Sobbing wretchedly, she dropped to her knees and crawled. Her stockings were soon soaked, muddied. _They'll catch you if you crawl_, a sane, rational voice said at the back of her mind, loud even above the panic of her thoughts. _They'll catch you. They'll punish you. For kicking him. And for the other - the dead one. _His head, a massive hole in the back, all that blood. Who knew there was so much blood in your head? She gave a great shudder. Pushed herself back to her feet. Heard boot-falls behind her. Going in the wrong direction, thankfully. Still, with a wild gasp, she ignored the blasting pain in her ankle as she dodged trees and ran, ran, ran.


	124. Chapter 124 - Jaded and Reckless

Chapter 124 - Jaded and Reckless:

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" William asked. The Colonel stood before his stand mirror. Mila's husband Zeke fluffed about him, helping him to dress. "I thought you'd be in your suit by now," William shot a glance at Richard, who was in his Green Dragoon uniform. He looked very much like a man ready to ride, he even had a small ruck over his shoulder, his pistol on his belt, sabre at his side and riding crop in his hand. "Not the sort of attire one would wear to a formal dinner…"

"Cilla did not return," Richard said, voice hard.

"Of course she did, I saw the carriage myself." Zeke held up two cravats, William pointed to the one with more lace.

"The carriage returned, and with it the Dragoons and Mila. But there is no Cilla," the words were said from between clenched teeth. Richard glared at William's manservant. "Zeke, leave us."

Zeke hesitated only a moment; he glanced at the Colonel, who nodded, before finally retreating. Richard waited until the door closed behind him.

"She has left me," he announced, vigorously waving what looked to be a letter. "Damn and blast the little minx! She was never going to look at bloody lawn for a new shirt or silks for a dress! She was never going to meet the other women for lunch at Mrs. Campbell's! She went in to Pembroke, she dismissed the Dragoons to the tavern. And when they finally came looking for her at Mrs. Campbell's mercantile, she was no where to be found. She - was - not - there. She - was - gone!"

"Christ," the blood drained from William's face, leaving him feeling cold all over. "She left."

"The Dragoons questioned the guards at Pembroke. They recalled seeing a young woman who matched Cilla's description, leaving on a bloody buckboard with some old grey beard, who claimed she was his niece! She arranged it all! Christ, she could be anywhere by now."

"The Dragoons are terrified," a woman's quiet voice said at the door. William glanced over at Harmony, standing nervously by the window. He had not even heard her come in. "They think they're going to be whipped."

"And so they should be," Richard bellowed. Harmony winced as the shout bounced from the walls. "They had charge of my wife's escort. They dare to return here, without her!"

"How did she manage to leave the town?" William asked, voice calm. "This fellow - did he have a pass?"

"His name is Morgan," Richard ground out, twisting the letter in his hands. "And yes, he came and went as he pleased. He was not under suspicion."

"I see. Where is Mila?" William asked. Harmony reached for the door, her hand was momentarily out of sight, then she was dragging a reluctant Mila into the room. Beth's maid had been standing just outside.

"Mrs. Bordon told me to stay in the carriage," Mila said before she could be asked. She cast worried eyes to the infuriated Major, hands wringing. "She knew I've been ill. I thought she was just being kind. It was the sort of thing Beth would have done," she paused, realised she'd dared to mention Beth in William's presence, then hurried on hoping he would forget the slip. "I had no idea she was plotting anything... Mrs. Bordon said I was not needed and could sleep there. And so… I did…"

Her eyes were on the floorboards at her feet.

"You slept!" Bordon shouted, again the bellow cut through their ears. William tightened his lips. "While my wife was leaving, you were sleeping! I'll have you bloody whipped too!"

Mila burst into tears.

"She needs to stop that damned weeping, William. My bloody God, she needs to stop it now," Richard raged, fists clenched. He needed answers, not a bloody sobbing maid.

"Calm yourself Richard," William momentarily met Zeke's terrified eyes, the former slave rushed to his wife's side, holding her, his gaze on William, beseeching. "No one is going to whip Mila," William said and Zeke expelled a relieved breath. William stepped forward, placing himself between Richard and Mila, and began making shushing noises. Eventually the girl calmed enough to answer his questions.

"What do you know of this?" He asked the terrified maid.

"N-nothing," Mila shook her head, she met his gaze, too terrified to look at Richard. The Colonel could be formidable, but just then, he was the safer of the pair. "I vow, I know nothing. I don't know how long I was asleep for but when I woke, Mrs. Bordon was still not back. I thought it had only been half an hour, perhaps, so I wasn't concerned. I waited and waited. Then I went to the mercantile. Mrs. Campbell was surprised that I'd ask. She said she had not seen Mrs. Bordon at all that day and that there was no arrangement to have lunch with Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters. I went to tell the Dragoons but by then, Mrs. Bordon had been gone for hours."

William asked several more questions, giving Richard a chance to calm himself. The Major went to stand before a window, staring outward toward the setting sun. When he turned, Mila and Zeke were gone.

"Well then. What does she say in her letter?" William asked.

"Oh she goes on about pulled threads and that she is fixing the weave as though she's making a bloody quilt or something. And that she's setting us all free," the words were hissed; when he turned to face William, his face was dead white. He was filled with fury, but his next words came out panicked. "Lord, William. It's cold out. It looks like rain, too. She'll freeze out there!"

"Richard, she's probably sitting in front of a fire with a hot cider in her hands," William shook his head. "She won't be out of doors, not in this."

"He wants to go after her," Harmony hugged herself, her arms across her stomach, looking vulnerable and hurt.

"She's my wife," Richard replied, voice hard. "I can not let her just up and leave!"

"Why not?" Harmony cried, holding herself in a death grip. "She said she's setting us all free! Why not let her?"

"Let her…" Richard stared hard at her.

"It's what we talked about just yesterday!"

Talked? There'd been a lot of yelling, not much talking… Harmony had suggested it be her and Richard who left, they could have gone to live with her parents up in Grindal Shoals. And later Cilla had suggested that she leave. It had been discussed but Richard had refused both women. Judging by Cilla's actions, she had decided to take control of the situation.

Why not simply let her? Harmony had sowed the seed, and Richard considered it. He blinked at her, unable to speak. It was what Cilla wanted. What would she do, if he came after her? If he found her? Would she refuse to return with him? What would his men think, watching such a public fight? It would be easier, and quieter, to let her leave. To follow her instructions, to tell O'Hara her mother was ill. And then later, to tell them all she was dead.

That his wife was dead. Cilla... His stomach twisted. He shook his head.

"Just let her go!" Harmony threw her arms up, distraught. She'd seen the indecision on his face, knew that he'd been considering it. But just as quickly, he tossed it aside, shaking his head, refusing to allow it. What was the matter with him? "This is the best thing for us all!" She cried, tears filling her eyes. "It's what she wants, otherwise she wouldn't have gone!"

"Well it's not what I bloody want!" He bellowed, face crimson.

"Why? Because you're worried about what O'Hara and everyone will think about your marriage, with her leaving like this?" Harmony shot back. "Cilla has given you a way out of that, too!"

"To tell them all she's dead?" He asked, aghast. "I don't even want to say such a thing! And what O'Hara and every other person alive thinks about my marriage is not my only concern!" He bared his teeth, offended and frustrated and just damned scared.

"Then what is?" Harmony shot back.

"Her safety! What if she did not make it to a safe location before nightfall? It's the middle of bloody winter! And who is this Morgan anyhow? How does Cilla know him? She has few acquaintances up this way and I will wager my damned horse that he was never one of them! If she dies of exposure before morning, or if she's murdered by this Morgan, would that be the best for us all then?"

"No, I don't mean that!" Harmony cried, shocked he would accuse her of such a lack of empathy. "I do not wish for anything bad to happen to her! I just don't think she's in any danger! And this is clearly what she wants, she wants to leave, to start again! To meet someone and marry him, you said so! Just let her go, Richard."

"You can't know that she's safe," he snapped, tossing his head. He'd read parts of his letter out loud. He'd been so shocked that she might look for marriage elsewhere, that he'd read that part to Harmony.

"Even William thinks so!" Harmony threw her hand toward William, who was keeping silent throughout the argument. "She's probably tucked up with blankets before a fire!"

"_Probably_ is not good enough!" Richard roared, cheeks turning purple. "Has it occurred to you, Harmony, that perhaps I don't want her gone?"

"Because you have _love_ for her?" She shouted back, challenging, clearly still stung by his earlier profession. He hesitated, saying nothing. Her face turned white, taking his silence for confirmation.

"You are both a part of my life now," he said quietly. "Two halves that make my life whole. I will not do without either of you. I thought you understood this." He had explained it to her earlier, both women were a part of his life now. It did not feel right to him, he did not feel whole, having one and not the other.

"What a selfish man you are," she whispered and her words cut him like a scythe. Her lips were bloodless in a too pale face. She looked on the verge of fainting. "With her leaving, we are all free. Will you force Cilla to return when she clearly wants to start anew? Just so you can be whole. Will you force me to continue as your whore, when with her leaving, I could be so much more? Just so you can be whole."

"You forget Farshaw is still alive. You and I can never marry, Harmony," he said, almost gently, but his face and voice hardened. "And what is all that about forcing you? I have never forced you to do a damned thing. You are my mistress because you want to be."

She grunted as if he'd punched her.

"I do not pursue her out of selfishness, Harmony, but to protect her. You and William both think she's safe." He barked a contemptuous laugh. "That doesn't mean she actually is. It is opinion only and I will not leave the safety of _my wife_ to chance." Richard swung his gaze to William, daring the Colonel to defy him. "Sir, I am going after my wife. I have gathered the Dragoons. Two score of them. Will you give my excuses to O'Hara?"

"I will tell him that Cilla's escort was attacked on the road and she has been taken," William said. "And that you have gone to find her."

Nodding sharply, Richard whirled, his boots struck the floorboards with each determined step toward the door. When it shut behind him, Harmony burst into tears and rushed into William's outstretched arms.

* * *

Patrick Brownlow stared daggers at the back of Major Bordon's head. The Major had noticed long since, Patrick was certain of it. There would likely be repercussions for it. The Major would declare the Cornet insubordinate. Belligerent. Contentious. An arsehole. Patrick was too angry to care. If either of them was an arsehole, it was most definitely Major Richard Bordon. What a prick. It was the dead of night, just after midnight, it had just started raining and it was cold. So fucking cold. The chill lanced through to his skin despite the layers of wool. Water dripped from his helmet onto his face. When the rain wasn't slanting sideways, cutting into his cheeks. Every part of him stunk; of horse, of wet wool, sweat, every smell imaginable. As if he hadn't been exhausted enough from their previous days scouting. Christ, he should be tucked up in his bed right now. After having a long soak in a bath.

Oh joy, bliss, to slide his exhausted body into a hot bath. When was the last time he'd done that? He'd been settling for quick splashes of cold water from a basin for so long, he couldn't remember. He'd intended to have one, as soon as he returned from the Dragoons raid of Mrs. Rutledge's plantation. There were rebels there, that was what some Loyalist had reported. And it was true. There had been. Had. By the time the Dragoons had reached there, the rebels were scattering like the wind, into the marshes and out of sight. How many hours chasing them down, through the cold winter day and night?

After going through all that, was a bath really too much to ask for?

How weary had he been, riding into Fresh Water the following evening? How weary had they all been? And disillusioned, at yet another nest of rebels escaping. A bath… A nice long, warm, soapy soak… It would have been a balm to his very tired soul. Was it really so much to fucking ask? Patrick had intended to request one be drawn for him. He'd been looking forward to it every moment on the long ride home. But by the time they'd reached Fresh Water, it was far too late and he'd been far too tired. Instead, he'd stumbled to his bed, too tired to even think of visiting the camp followers who welcomed Officers to their tent at night. First thing in the morning, he'd promised himself. He'd speak to Zeke, and a bath would be drawn. He'd actually gone to bed with those thoughts on his mind. Trying to warm himself in the blankets, he'd thought of how wonderful it would be, when he finally slid himself into that piping hot water, hot enough to draw away the days of chill from his bones.

But had he had the opportunity? Patrick's eyes bore into Bordon's head. No. He had not. Because Major fucking arsehole Bordon had decided to go on a picnic. Before his wife's carriage could even reach the post road, Bordon was already gathering his Dragoons. Brownlow, standing before Zeke, about to give the command to have a bath drawn. A Private, trotting toward him along the hallway, panting for breath he'd run so fast, as if for some grand emergency. Orders delivered. Brownlow was needed in the stables. All thoughts of the bath flew from his head.

There must be trouble, he'd thought. The rebels from Mrs. Rutledge's Plantation had been sighted, he'd thought.

Or another band in need of being dealt to. Either way. Trouble.

Yeah. There was fucking trouble alright. Patrick realised it as soon as he raced into the stables, only to stop dead at the sight of a smiling Major Prick Bordon, helping his very pregnant mistress into the saddle. Harmony had smiled and waved at Patrick. Cheerful. Like there'd been absolutely fucking nothing wrong. Patrick liked Mrs. Farshaw. He did. But in that moment, he'd hated her. Despised her… He'd wanted to just… Not spit in her face - never that. He didn't know what. Shake his fist under her nose. Or under Bordon's nose. Or smash it into Bordon's nose.

Oh what a proud and glorious mission that'd taken him away from his much needed soak. Being escort for Bordon and his mistress on their picnic. He simply must write home to mother about it. She'd be delighted that her son was being made such good use of.

It was the same, again and again and a-fucking-gain. Honestly. It had been going on for months and months. Being sent to camp to fetch Mrs. Farshaw from her husband, informing her husband that Mrs. Tavington summoned her. Only to deliver her to Bordon who was waiting in that damned cabin. And then to stand there - fucking stand there - on sentry duty - in the cold and blistering rain, for the hours it took for Bordon to rut with the woman. To actually have to listen to it all, because he and Dalton could not close their ears and the cabin walls were thin. Yet the lovers hadn't cared. They had comported themselves as though they were in a chamber with stone walls five inches thick.

And it was happening all over again. Patrick had thought those days were behind him. Dalton had too. Patrick glanced over at his friend, visible by the firebrand he carried. Dalton's face was livid, his eyes boring into the back of Bordon's head. Shouldn't have told him, Patrick thought. Nah, screw that. He's got every right to know. His fingers tightened on the reins, his eyes were sabres now.

They'd been playing cricket - mostly to keep warm but because it was a glorious day; or had been earlier - cold but insanely sunny. Where had the sun gone? Stupid question, Patty. It's nighttime, that's where the sun went, he scowled to himself. You know what I mean, he argued, as though he were speaking to another person entirely. In his head, though. It was not only the night that had chased away the sun, but the damned thick clouds, black clouds, filled with portentous rain, blocking out the stars and the moon. But earlier, it had been glorious. Dalton had smashed the ball high, and he'd started running, he and the other batter. Running back and forth, their long legs eating the cricket pitch to each others wickets, touching the edge of their bats to the ground before running back to their own wicket, the number of their runs counting by the moment. Brownlow, as a fielder, had run. Oh, how he'd run, to catch the ball or at least to find it as quickly as possible and return it before Dalton and the other got too good a count.

He'd burst through some trees, well away from the other players, not even watching where he was going. His eyes followed the ball as it lanced down in the low part of its arc. He reached his hand out, ready to catch it. Only to stop dead at the sight before him. Well, not directly before him. It was not like he was so close he was about to trip over them. Thirty paces away, perhaps. Or a little less. Close enough that he could make them out clearly. Bordon on his knees, his pale arse peeking from beneath the bottom of his green jacket, humping up and down, breeches around the tops of his Dragoon boots. Right there in the apple orchard, in front of who knew who? In front of Patrick, though they must have felt certain no Dragoon would dare interrupt them. Right there, in the orchard, Mrs. Farshaw's long legs wrapped around the Major's waist. Her face had been turned toward Patrick but her eyes had been closed. Or so Patrick had assumed. It was hard to tell at that distance. But she hadn't raised the alarm at his sudden appearance, so it must have been so. Her hips, bucking frantically, her skirts a puddle around her body.

The ball slapped into the dirt amidst wet leaves.

This. This was what he'd signed on for, when joining the Green Dragoons. Of course it was. To be escort for Bordon's constant liaisons. For fuck sake. The adulterous pair waited perhaps thirty minutes. Patrick doubted Mrs. Bordon had even reached Pembroke before Bordon's cock was saturated by his mistresses quim. Red faced and furious, Patrick had scooped up the cricket ball, turned his back on the rutting pair in utter disgust, then loped back through to trees to the game. He hadn't said a word of what he'd seen to Dalton. Not until much later. When Bordon marched in and declared they were to gather the Dragoons, that they needed to be ready to ride in fifteen minutes. Oh, how Patrick had had to control himself. His fingers had balled into fists, his face dark with fury he had barely been able to control. He'd just, not five minutes before, finally given the order to Zeke to have that bath drawn. NOT FIVE MINUTES BEFORE!

But he'd un-balled his fists. He was a Green Dragoon. No matter what he'd signed on for, the point was, he had signed on. He was an Officer. He was subordinate to this man standing before him, whose face was livid and worried all at once. Rebels then, Patrick had thought. It must have been. At least this time, Patrick was being put to good use - the use he had joined the military for. To fight enemies of Britain. Rebels had been sighted. They must have been. What else would have Bordon in such a fury? What else could have him so unsettled?

His wife fleeing from Pembroke and from her marriage.

Oh God. When Patrick discovered that… And what the Dragoons - including himself and Dalton - were to do about it… Oh, he'd been hard pressed not to start laying fists into Bordon's face, when he was told of their mission. He wanted to scream, with each meaty punch, that of course Cilla has left you, you damned idiot! Why wouldn't she, when you keep rutting Mrs. Farshaw behind her back? Even in the same house, you're doing it! The words punctuated with each punch. It wasn't worth the whipping. Officers didn't usually get flogged, they had to do something pretty bad to be flogged. Smashing your fists into the Major was pretty bad. Brownlow was certain he'd receive at least fifty, for even one punch. Instead, he'd waited for Bordon to leave, and then he'd punched the wall. Three times. A damned stupid thing to do. His hand was killing him now. And he'd left a dent in the wall. Mrs. Beth Martin - Tavington would kill him for that. She was so careful of everything in her father's house.

Dalton's jaw had dropped, watching Patrick in his temper tantrum. So Patrick had had no choice but to relay what he'd seen earlier, when he'd gone to fetch the cricket ball. Dalton had wanted to punch the wall too. Patrick was certain of it. How much longer could they be put to such use? It'd been going on for so long… Before Charlestown, even. It'd been a bit of a lark back then, not something to think of much, seeing that Dalton and Patrick were visiting doxies and whores themselves. What did it matter if they were made to deliver one to the Colonel or the Major? And occasionally, they were sent to deliver love notes and the like. It'd been alright back then, it hadn't been the constant thing it would become later. But it'd been changing, very quickly. From a silly, harmless game, to something much more serious. Patrick liked Beth Martin. He liked Cilla Putman, though she had wronged him at the beginning, with all that spying. But both women were wives of his Colonel and Major, now. Therefore, both women were deserving of his protection. And Dalton's. From everyone else. But from their powerful husbands? Patrick wanted to, even knowing he was stepping on seriously shaky ground.

The question was, if Tavington could behave himself so well in his marriage when he'd been such a scoundrel previously, why the devil couldn't Bordon? What was Bordon going to do? Chase down his wife, have a massive argument with her before all of the Dragoons, and then drag her back to Fresh Water? Make her stay in a marriage where he continues to screw his mistress under his wife's nose.

And why rouse the Dragoons, yet again, when they've barely had a spot of rest? After they'd ridden across the countryside looking for rebels, Bordon forces them to be his escort all day while he screwed his mistress, why drag them out again, after Cilla Bordon? Patrick liked Cilla. He really did. But Bordon clearly couldn't have cared less about her. So why call the Dragoons out? Again?

They'd been pushing their horses too. So damned hard. Even in this awful chill, as much sweat as rain slicked Crimson's ruddy coat. Patrick had lost horses before, in his duty to the Crown. But losing Crimson after having her for so long would be like losing his arm. It'd break his heart. Losing her for Bordon's pride…

Patrick's lips were a tight line.

Crimson was faltering. Her breathing laboured. Patrick raised his hand, signalling the halt. The other men didn't know the order hadn't come from Bordon himself. Only Dalton and a few others closest could see that the Major hadn't spoken, hadn't gestured, hadn't called the halt. They shot Patrick a strange look, Dalton a worried one. But they said nothing. They must have been feeling it too, then. The rest of the line slowed behind them. Bordon charged on ahead several paces, before he realised he was outdistancing his slowing troupe. He whirled back, looking shocked and angry.

"Rest the horses," Patrick snapped at a Dragoon before Bordon could open his mouth to ask the obvious question, or bellow a furious demand. Patrick barked another order. "Get them down to the river. Water them. Rub down their legs. Give them fodder. Now."

The man shot a look to Bordon, who was racing back, face like thunder. Clearly, he didn't want to be anywhere that the infuriated Major was, so he scarpered away and repeated Patrick's order down the line. Bordon's eyes bulged to hear the man yelling out the commands.

"What do you think you are doing, Cornet?" The Major asked, livid. And rightly so. Dalton shifted at Brownlow's side, fearful for his friend.

_Reckless, Patty. And Dangerous._

"Crimson threw a show, Sir," Patrick lied, straight faced, deadpan. "I need to see to her. I can't ride much further if she comes up lame."

The Major's lips were tight, his blue eyes boring into Patrick's. At length, he nodded. Once. "Next time," he said in a voice like thunder. "You will inform me. I give the command to halt, Cornet. Understood?"

Patrick could almost feel the whip slashing into his flesh. He needed to get control of his rage, or he'd feel it for true. Insubordination… But Crimson… She was panting heavily, nostrils flaring, head down, her strength waning. He would not lose her, not his Crimson, not for Bordon's fucking pride. In battle, yes. She might get shot out from under him. She might be killed at any moment. And Patrick would live with it. He'd mourn her as he'd done other horses before her. but he'd accept it, if she was taken in battle. But for this? To race after Cilla, who clearly wished to be free of her unfaithful husband and her loveless marriage? She must have known her husband was still comporting himself with his mistress. Under her very nose. In the same goddamned house! It was despicable. Disgusting. No wonder she'd tried to run. He hoped she got clean away… He hoped she was safe, but he also hoped they did not find her. Bordon didn't deserve her.

"Yes, Sir. Understood," Patrick said, keeping his voice calm with massive effort. The Major twisted his horse and began bellowing orders, thankfully orders that supported Patrick's. Then he settled a few yards away with the guide he'd coaxed into leading them, to discuss how much farther the camp site might be.

"Jesus, Patty," Dalton said under his breath. He wiped at his brow. Wiping at sweat, not rain. All around them, the Dragoons followed Patrick's orders. Patrick did also. He climbed down from Crimson's back and began leading her, coaxing her with pretty words and gentle strokes, down to the river. "You've got some stones, doing that."

"I can't bring myself to care anymore," Patrick pulled Crimson through the marsh, boots sinking into the slop. They reached the rivers edge and kept a very keen eye out for alligators. Dalton held the firebrand out over the water. Apparently their eyes glowed red in the dark. Patrick didn't know if that were true, he'd never seen it himself. They weren't sure if the fire would attract the beasts, but at least they'd have visibility of them. The Officers hoped. Those damned oversized lizards could move with lightning swiftness. Patrick stared hard at the water, looking for the slightest disturbance, as Crimson began to slake her thirst. "Can you?"

"Hell, Patrick. I'm as peeved about this as you are. But not so much that I'd invite a whipping. Bordon's going to ask you about Crimson's thrown shoe. What are you going to say then?"

"That I was mistaken, but that it's a good thing we stopped, because the horses were in dire need of a rest."

"So you'll add insult to injury then? He will be angry enough with you for being wrong, adding a rebuke won't soften him."

"As I said. I just can't care anymore. Did you know that he threatened the Dragoons?" He asked. He saw surprise cross Dalton's face in the firelight. Brownlow nodded. He found a brush in his bag and started brushing Crimson's coat. His beloved horse quivered, the barrel of her chest heaved. Her nose drooped to the ground. Her eyes rolled accusingly. Patrick felt like crying. So tired, they were all so tired. The horses were exhausted. Would Major Bordon run the beasts to death?

"He threatened to have them whipped - for failing to protect his wife."

"Another abuse of authority," Dalton ground out, striking right to the heart of Patrick's complaint.

"That was my first thought also. I do not believe that they should be threatened, when she told them to go to the tavern. They could not have known Mrs. Bordon's mind, nor could they have anticipated her intentions. If Bordon'd treated his wife better, she never would have left. How is that their fault? They had no idea about Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw. Those men would have been whipped, because of Bordon's anger. Bordon's frustration. Not because they did something wrong. Because they have done nothing wrong. I am heartily sick of Bordon abusing his authority. It's been happening too long. In Charlestown. Instead of being sent out to field work, to scour the countryside, to subdue the enemy, we were set to the grand duty of entertaining his lady love. I had to keep her at the tavern, until he had time to finish with whatever bawd he was rutting, so she wouldn't go back to the Putman's and discover him. He sent me to deliver letters to her. He had me doing all sorts of things that had nothing to do with my duty, and everything to do with helping him get his damned dick wet!"

Brownlow drew rein on his temper. Tried to, in any case. Resorting to such coarse speech would get him nowhere. "Having us escort Mrs. Farshaw to his cabin and getting us to stand sentry in the cold until all hours. Having us lie for him. I am telling you now, this is the last straw. He'll kill my Crimson with the pace he is setting." He was repeating himself. It was the same old arguments, fired up again, finding new purpose with this latest injury. The two Officers had discussed this very subject to no end, quietly, when they were in private. Dalton felt just as strongly. Not enough to invite a flogging, however.

"And then today," Dalton said under his breath, after casting a quick glance to ensure Bordon was still speaking to the guide. "Why is it always you and me, Brownlow? Are we so worthless to him that he can't think of any more important duties to set us to? We aren't Green Dragoons. We are the 'Guardians of Major Bordon and the Keepers of his Secrets'."

Patrick gave a snort at the all too accurate description. "Yes, why us? That's what I'd like to know, as well. I've had enough, Dalton. I will help him find Mrs. Bordon, but I'm asking for a transfer. I'm not tolerating another moment of this, I swear."

"I don't even know why he's bothering," Dalton said. "He's acting all worried. But you saw what you saw."

"Yes, I saw it," Brownlow said, voice grim. "As for why, well, he can't have people gossiping now can he? That's why he's trying to retrieve her as quickly as possible, before it's discovered she left him. That'd spread like wildfire, if we can't get her back."

Dalton thought about it. He nodded, believing that it might be true. "Too late for that. Every single man in this detachment knows his wife tried to leave him," Dalton ground out. He glanced at the other men, all of them were mounted now. He couldn't see Bordon in that press, but he could hear him, bellowing orders, declaring their rest was over. None of mounts were ready to be ridden, but that didn't matter one jot to Bordon.

"This is getting ridiculous," Brownlow muttered, eyes still staring at the river, thoughts far from Bordon's yelling.

"I couldn't agree more, Patrick. But will you really ask for a transfer? Now, at all times? You're up for promotion… We both are."

"So I should just shut it, then?" Patrick asked, sneering. "In case harsh words ruin it all? Why should speaking the truth ruin my advancement, after everything I've done to deserve it? I've done so much for them. I should have been raised long since. But now I have to tow the line, in order to get a promotion I already bloody deserve?"

"Tell that to Tavington," Dalton shrugged. "In those exact words, with that exact look on your face. Off you go." It was a taunt and a dare all at once.

"Shut it," Patrick jerked his gaze away.

"Look, it won't be for much longer. Lieutenant, Brownlow. It's so close, I can taste it. We won't be the lowest ranking Officers in the troupe. Not anymore. We'll have more say then, even more when we keep rising. We need to just… Go along for now. Obey orders like we've always done. Now is the worst time for defiance."

"And yet now is when I feel so angry I can barely control it," Patrick muttered, admitting that he might ruin himself, he might be his own undoing if he didn't gain control of himself.

"You don't have to like him," Dalton said. "You don't have to like what he's done or what he's doing. But you do have to obey him, Patrick."

"You're right," Brownlow nodded. He eased away from the river, eased away from his fury and his possible destruction. Crimson had her fill, she was sniffing Patrick's coat pocket now. He reached in and handed her an old apple. She crunched it noisily. When she was done, he guided her back from the river and joined the rest of the mounted Dragoons.

"Your horse?" Richard asked, chin raised, voice snapping.

"I was mistaken, Sir," Brownlow began. Dalton drew a massive breath and held it, certain of how Brownlow would finish the rest of this statement and how poorly it would go for him. Instead of digging a grave, Patrick said, "I am sorry, Sir."

Richard stared hard at Patrick, who held himself ramrod straight in the saddle. "Well," the Major said. "I've pushed the horses hard tonight. Likely they needed the rest."

Patrick wanted to strangle him.

"Mr. Lewis said the camp is just ahead," Richard said, fingers clutching the reins, gloves straining. "Half hour at most," he said, turning his horse and continuing on the trail. They'd been following the tracks since discovering them hours ago. Hoof-prints and two narrow lines caused by two horses and the wheels of Mr. Morgan's cart. They knew the name of the fellow who had taken Cilla out of Pembroke. Fat lot of good it did any of them. The Dragoons were closing in on them, they knew that much. They were behind Cilla by seven hours when they started out. But horses travelled much faster when not encumbered by a cart, especially one lumbering along a muddied road. And Cilla would have bedded down for the night by now. At this camp, perhaps. The guide said there was a simple lean to there, a rude cabin, simple but it had a brazier for a fire. Morgan would not have passed up such a perfect place to stop and care for his ward. They had closed the distance, the Dragoons and were now bearing down on a sleeping Cilla Putman - Bordon.

What would her reaction be, when the Dragoons came thundering in? Brownlow pondered this as they continued along the trail, drawing closer to the camp, closer to Bordon's sleeping wife. What would she say? After all her efforts to try to flee her husband. Would she scream at Bordon, would she humiliate him in front of his men? Cilla had a sharp tongue when she chose to use it. And she had her cousin's temper. What would Bordon say, for that matter? What would he do to her? A wife, escaping her husband. Cilla was no meek little lamb. She had tried to leave Bordon and would find no joy in his finding her. It was certain to be very spectacular, whatever was to come. And very public, in front of the Dragoons and the guide... Patrick worried. Feared the Major would use his belt on Cilla as Tavington had done on Beth. There would be no privacy in the swamps. Even if Bordon conducted his beating of her in the small cabin, her cries would be heard by every Dragoon there.

Were he and Dalton correct? Was Bordon hell bent on retrieving his wife merely to avoid unpleasant gossip? If so, he was going about it the wrong way. There was absolutely no possible way of making this reunion a quiet one. The Dragoons would hear all. The Dragoons would see all. Cilla, screaming defiance at the husband she tried to flee. Bordon, punishing her for it. And the Dragoons, all watching from the saddles, weighing Bordon and judging him. Surely the Major understood this? Patrick shook his head, bewildered.

_If he wants to avoid gossip about his disastrous marriage, why bring forty witnesses along?_

It made no sense. Bordon should have handled this discreetly. They reached the campsite shortly after midnight.

The empty campsite.

It was devoid of life. There were a hell of a lot of tracks, though. The tracks they were following - two horses and two long lines, ended abruptly, mashing into one big mess. Horses. Lots of horses had been here. Richard drew rein. There were enough firebrands, Patrick could see the commanders stark face. Richard's stricken face. Panicked eyes, darting across the empty wagon bed. The horses were gone. No light emanated from the darker shape that was the small cabin. It was too cold not to have the stove in there burning all night long, yet it was not lit. Which meant it was not occupied. There was no Mrs. Bordon suddenly appearing at the door, awoken by the noise. No Mrs. Bordon ready to decry her husband, to confront him for all his sins against her.

No Mrs. Bordon.

Where was she?

"Where is she? Oh my Lord, what has happened to her?" Richard breathed. Patrick shot him a sharp glance. Was that real concern in the Major's voice? Was that real grief? He almost sounded as distraught as the time Mrs. Farshaw had gone missing from Fresh Water. Stunned, Brownlow watched as Bordon jumped from his mount, gestured at Brownlow and Dalton to join him. They did. They followed Bordon into the cabin, Dalton's firebrand lit up the log walls. It was empty. No belongings piled in one corner, no blankets on the floor. A fire had been lit on the grate. Bordon stooped, ripped off a glove, placed his fingers on the cold logs to judge how much time had passed since it had died. Hours. Richard met Brownlow's gaze, lips tight. He marched out into the night. Dalton chased after him, keeping the firebrand handy for Richard to study the churned mud, trying to read the mashed tracks.

"What has happened here?" He asked, voice becoming desperate. Patrick stared at him, grave astonishment. "Well?" Richard snapped at him, head flying up and seeing that Patrick was not studying the tracks. "Don't stare at me like a simpleton! Tell me what you think has happened here!"

"Horsemen," Patrick replied instantly.

"I can see that!" Richard bellowed. Then he drew a shuddering breath, trying to calm. Hands balled into fists. Fingers released, relaxed slowly. Another breath. An easier voice. "They met someone here. She arranged to meet someone..." he began and with each word following came the feeling that Richard truly was devastated. Patrick shared a shocked glance with Dalton. If he'd come after his wife merely to avoid gossip about their marriage, would he be this distraught? His affliction was unfeigned. "I can see what's happened," he whispered, swallowing hard, jaw working. The Major stared at the tracks, kept his voice low, pitched for Dalton and Patrick alone. "Martin. It must be. Benjamin Martin was here. She arranged this. Cilla… Lord, she worked it all out so well," he shook his head slowly. "Every detail, down to exactly what I should say to O'Hara to explain her absence. What I should say later, when others begin to ask why she still hasn't returned. That I'm too far away to summon her now. And then, in a year, I'm to tell them all that she's died," his head came up and indeed, his face looked as though someone he cared for had died. "She was even going to make certain a death certificate was provided, so no one would suspect the lie, and that I might marry again." He buried his face in his hands, scrubbed his cheeks briskly, returned his hands to his sides. Patrick was utterly astounded. By what he was being told, and by Bordon's reaction. If Cilla had provided Bordon with an out, why would Bordon throw it all aside to chase after her? She'd given him the means to protect his name and future, there'd been no need to bring her back to save himself from gossip. "I should have known," Richard rasped. "She was so damned meticulous with her instructions. She's clearly not incapable of plotting. She had it all worked out, every part of her escape. She made contact with Martin somehow." He paused, a cloud passed over his face. He groaned as if realising something else in all of this, "Martin, who is supposed to be working on bringing Beth away from Banastre and returning her to William."

"I don't see how -"

"They are connected, I assure you," Richard pressed his lips together, visibly reeling. "Does this mean that Martin has betrayed William?" He barked a bitter laugh. "Of course it does. Why the devil William would trust a man who whipped him, I don't know. I never did understand it. But it's the case, is it not? Martin probably had Beth extricated from Banastre's camp weeks ago, and all this time he's been telling William that he can't get close. And now he's got…" Richard clenched his jaw. Finally, Patrick understood. He gaped like a fool, mouth open wide, jaw on the ground. He and Dalton knew of William's whipping, they'd been there, they'd cared for the Colonel afterward. And they knew what all other Dragoons did not. That Mrs. Tavington had not gone to her sick sister, she had fled with Banastre Tarleton. Which was why Richard was whispering now. To protect that secret, to protect the Colonel. Tavington had since struck an accord with Martin, who appeared to agree wholeheartedly that for the sake of them all, Beth must be returned to him. But Martin, it seemed, was playing a deeper game. Richard was saying that not only had Martin retrieved Beth by now, he had no intention of giving her back, and worse yet, he had now colluded with Cilla and he had her, too.

It made sense. Utter sense. And Richard seemed devastated by it. Patrick felt his fury ease to pity. The man had lost his wife - and he cared about the loss. He hadn't come after her to save his name from gossip, he'd come for her because he cared for her. Patrick averted his gaze. Why continue on with Mrs. Farshaw, if he did care for Cilla Bordon? It made no sense to Patrick, but it appeared to be the case, all the same.

"That's it then," Richard whispered, raising his head. Meeting Dalton and Brownlow's eyes in turn. "She really has left me."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Patrick said, uncertain what else to say. Uncertain what to feel now. Bordon would return to Fresh Water empty handed, he would slip into his mistresses bed. He'd soon forget his wife or his current distress. Brownlow felt himself harden again. "What will you do now?"

"Should I petition Martin for Cilla's return?" Bordon appeared to be asking himself, the question seemed rhetorical, he was not expecting an answer from Dalton or Brownlow. "If she wanted to leave so badly that she would plot with her uncle, then should I bother? She wants to be free, she said," he glanced downward and patted the front of his jacket. Cilla's letter must lay within.

"I can not answer you, Sir," Patrick said honestly.

"Of course not," Richard glanced around, seemingly at a loss. "So. I just go back then," he said, talking his way through it softly. Suddenly it struck Patrick why it's always them. Always him and Dalton. It wasn't because they were useless, but because they were trusted. Implicitly. Another chip to Patrick's defences. "Do as she instructed," he looked lost, not happy, to be saying this. "I guess I will improvise. I'll head to the North eventually. As she said, I'll tell anyone whom asks that she is too far for me to fetch easily. And one day a letter will come," he stopped dead, lips parted, eyes wide. He was breathing heavily. Patrick wasn't certain if he was reading the Major well, but he thought that Bordon did not relish dealing out the news of Cilla's death - even a false one. The Major swallowed hard. He was not happy about this, not by a long stretch.

A cry went up, not a minute later. Several Dragoons called to Bordon, gesturing excitedly, their torches bobbing as they waved their arms. Patrick and Dalton followed Bordon to discover what had the Dragoons so excited. All three stopped and stared at the dead man sprawled on the ground. The man's eyes were wide and staring, his body stiff. Bordon stared at the dead man's gaping chest, at the blood.

"Morgan?" Patrick whispered, aghast.

"Matches the description," Dalton replied uneasily.

"But why?" Richard shook his head, trying to make sense of it. Patrick glanced at him, met his eyes. "Why would Martin kill Morgan? Why would Martin kill Cilla's only chaperone, her driver, her protector?"

Morgan had a bullet in his chest. And there were the tracks, all mashed and churned by hooves... There had been horsemen here, many of them. And they'd shot Morgan. But if it was Martin, then why? Patrick could not say, he had no idea.

"Unless Morgan was hurting her..." Richard began, face bloodless.

"That doesn't make sense," Dalton said, squatting at the dead man's side.

"Sir!" Another Dragoon called, voice solemn, serious, intent. "There's another." Bordon stormed over, saw the second body. Another dead man, this one with half the back of his head blown in. What the devil had happened here? Who was the second dead man? By all accounts, from the many Bordon had questioned along the way, Morgan and Cilla had been travelling alone. Had they picked up someone else? And now both were dead? There were signs of a scuffle, scraping of boots in the mud, trampling of tree roots and branches. Had both men been hurting Cilla? Or had one man tried and the other defended? If so, where was Cilla?

Safely with Martin? Or -

"Were they hurting Cilla?" Richard's voice sounded terrified. "Is that why Martin killed them?"

"Sir," Dalton broached carefully. "I am not convinced this was done by Martin at all."

"Excuse me?" Richard seemed to snap out of some confused state, as if he'd been spiraling into panic only to be gripped by the arm and jerked back out.

"The cart, Sir," Dalton prompted. "It was left behind. Mrs. Bordon is not a proficient rider, is she?"

Richard frowned. "No, she most certainly is not. She rides in a carriage or she does not ride. If she can help it, that is."

"It's bothering me, Sir. If Martin met Mrs. Bordon here, if he was going to spirit her off someplace, why would he leave the cart behind? It's sound enough to have carried her this far. It doesn't look any worse for wear; no turned wheels, no broken axle, no reason to leave it. Why would they abandon it when Mrs. Bordon still had need of it?"

"If there was unpleasantness between him and Morgan and this other, he'd want to put distance between himself and the bodies, surely?" Patrick said. "That'd be one reason to leave the cart behind."

"Patty, why would Morgan bring Mrs. Bordon all this way, if he had mischief on his mind? He'd been travelling with her for hours and had ample opportunity," Dalton shook his head. "And why would Martin need to rush away from dead men? They're dead - they can't hurt anyone. Something is not right. I don't believe Martin was ever here."

"Which would mean Martin does not have my wife," Richard breathed. "Which would mean -"

"Morgan was picked over, there was nothing in his pockets, I checked just now," Dalton said, holding Richard's gaze. "I don't have many fine words for Martin, but he doesn't strike me as the type of man who would stoop to stealing from the dead. Martin was never here. With respect, Sir, that was just an assumption you made when you saw Mrs. Bordon was missing. A good guess, that she might have arranged to meet with him. But now there's two bodies, one with half the back of his head blown in. The cart is abandoned, the campsite picked over so well that not a scrap is left behind. The horses, taken. This wasn't Martin, this was -"

"Brigands," Richard trembled from head to foot. Fear lanced up Patrick's spine. "Christ. Brigands! They have done murder, and they have taken my wife!" Bordon yelled, his shout splitting the air. Several birds woke with a start, chirped furiously and took flight. "Follow those tracks. Make sense of them, discover which way they go!" He roared at the men. "We will give chase! We will pursue them to their nest, we must find where they have taken my wife!"

On exhausted horses. Brownlow could not bring himself to care, not now. Even for Crimson. Everything had changed now. He was no longer following Cilla to bring her back to her husband. He would be chasing after her to save her. From men who were willing to commit murder. What would they do to Cilla? What if they were too late? Lord, why had he called the halt earlier? How much time had he wasted, because he'd been irritated with Bordon?

"Sir, tracks!" A dragoon called.

"Which way!" Bordon was already running toward the man. "Tell me a direction! Which way did they go?!"

"Not a horse, Sir," the fellow replied, pointing. "Footfalls," he held his firebrand above the ground, swept it in a line across the footprints leading away from the camp, the Dragoon had picked them up not far from the second body. Small feet, the steps far apart. Like the person was running.

"She tried to escape," Richard breathed, seeing what Brownlow saw. "Scour the woods!" He bellowed, "follow the steps!"

It'd been raining. It still was. Most of the footfalls had been washed away. The Dragoons spread out, slowly scanning the ground as they moved, hoping to discover a foot print here or there to keep them on the trail. There were many routes the deserter might have taken through the trees from those first steps. Brownlow and Dalton followed Richard while other pairs of Dragoons took different courses.

"Jesus," Richard whispered as he desperately searched the ground for signs of Cilla. "What if she was pursued? What if she's been caught? What will they be doing with her?" His voice was so wretched, Brownlow felt pity stirring. "How much time did I waste, thinking it was Martin?"

_I am fault there too_, Brownlow thought miserably. How much time had he wasted earlier?

"We'll find her, Sir," he said softly. "She will be well."

"You can't know that," Richard said, unable to be placated. "You don't know. Oh dear Lord, why did she leave?"

_If you can't answer that, then there's no redeeming you, _Patrick thought.

"She was safe at home. Safe! A roof over her head, food on the table, she could have any trifle she wished; a silk ribbon, a silk dress!" Richard gasped out. "She had everything she could wish for! She left it all behind, for this?"

Patrick kept his thoughts to himself. What more could she have wished for? He did not know Cilla Bordon very well, but even he knew the answer to that. Happiness. It can't be bought with silk dresses. Well, for some women it could be. But not all.

"She must be terrified," the Major spoke tightly, as if around a limp in his throat. "She must be so scared. She must be -"

"Major, a shoe!"

Bordon was off at a sprint. All throughout the marsh, firebrands paused, turned inward and began bobbing back toward the Dragoon who'd shouted. Bordon came to a halt, breathing laboured. The Dragoon handed him the shoe. Clearly a woman's; small, slightly heeled, covered with embroidery and mud.

"Mrs. Bordon's?" Patrick asked the Major. Richard nodded.

"It's hers," his voice was death. "She did try to escape. Spread out. Find her. She can't have gotten far with only one shoe."

If the brigands found her, she could've gotten very far, Patrick imagined them seizing her, throwing her on the back of a horse and making off with her. Another thought he kept to himself.

"Cilla!" Bordon's voice boomed through the night. There were several steps in the mud where the shoe was found, but again, they disappeared, the trail washed away by the rain.

"Mrs. Bordon!" The Dragoons took up the call, spreading out, again searching for signs of Cilla's path. A glove was discovered, a small victory. Several more steps, keeping the Dragoons on the right path. Right, always right. Another shoe. She'd gotten quite far from the camp. No horse tracks here, no heavier footfalls caused by men's boots. Richard took some heart from that, that they could see no tracks that would indicate the brigands had pursued her. Still, he boomed and bellowed her name into the night. Richard had moved several yards from Dalton and Brownlow. Thank the Lord the rain had eased a little. Otherwise, they wouldn't even have the firebrands to see by. Dalton continued to wave his torch low, hoping to catch sight of something, anything. A flare of white on the ground caught Brownlow's eyes. He caught it just as Dalton waved the firebrand away, taking its light with it.

"Robbie, back here!" Brownlow gasped and Dalton swung back with the torch. Cilla was flooded with light, the snatch of white Brownlow had seen was her shift. Dear Lord, she was only wearing her shift, stays and stockings. Those men had torn her clothes from her body, which could only mean... It meant... Brownlow didn't want to think it. It left him feeling sick, his stomach churning. She huddled against a tree, her knees drawn to her chest, shivering like mad, damned near senseless. Blood covered her face. Brownlow was shoved over onto his knees as Richard pushed past him, falling to his knees before Cilla.

"Cill, Cill, Cill," the Major cried softly, cupping her face, turning her to face him. His eyes roved her body from head to toe, seeing her clothes gone, and knowing what it meant, he keened. She stared blindly, blinking at the many torches rushing toward her. She gave a small groan, shrank in on herself, terrified, not recognising them. "Oh, Cill," Richard's fingers moved over her face, fingered the massive bruise on her cheek. She whimpered when he touched her nose. A light touch, it should not have hurt. But her lips and chin were covered in blood; cold, dried blood, and it was clear by the slight angle that her nose was broken. "Oh dear Lord." Richard. Cilla tried weakly to push his hands away, still mostly dazed, but fearing an attack. He pulled his hands away. "Cill, it's alright. It's me. Cill, you're ice," he was ripping his redcoat from his body. It was the best thing for her, Brownlow knew. To cover her near nudity and give her warmth. Should have thought of it himself. Warmed by Richard's body, it would give her immediate relief. "Don't be frightened," Richard pitched his voice higher, to get through to her above her whimpering. She fought weakly, barely able to move at all, slaps that would not disturb a fly, but she was fighting all the same. The way she shrank back from them all, as if she didn't recognise them, as if she didn't know them. "Get those torches out of her eyes!" Bordon snapped, seeing what Brownlow had not. That Cilla was dazed, confused, blinded by the torches, sensing only that there were men near. She must have been terrified of men just then, having been stripped, beaten and terrorised by brigands.

Brownlow lowered his head, closed his eyes. She wore only her shift and stays and stockings. What had they done to her, those men? There was only one answer to that. Why else would they have removed her clothes? Brownlow's heart seized, he felt like keening too. They'd beaten when she'd tried to resist them.

The same thoughts were raging through Richard's mind, Brownlow could read them as though he were speaking them out loud. His face was bloodless, lips bloodless. His mouth worked, he blinked back tears. Brownlow fought the same. Richard pulled Cilla forward, still saying her name, calling to her gently, crooning, even as he pulled her arm through one sleeve, draped the coat over her back and then seized her other wrist, gently pushing it through the second sleeve. When it was around her, he pulled the front panels closed and tucked them under her chin. All the while, Richard stared into her eyes, his tear filled gaze unblinking, as he spoke gently, trying to reach her.

"You're safe now," he was saying, his voice catching, like he might burst out sobbing. He did not, he had a job to do. Whatever had been done to Cilla was something to be dealt with later. For now, he addressed the more immediate danger. Men could die of cold, if not dressed appropriately. And Cilla was most certainly not dressed appropriately. Brownlow tore off his Dragoon coat, draped it over Cilla's bare legs, adding to her warmth, he hoped, and helping to hide her nudity. Bordon flashed him a grateful look. "Go back, get a fire burning in the cabin," he commanded a Dragoon, who took off into the night to see the job done. Cilla was no longer fighting, no longer trying to fend Richard off. It had been a weak protest at best, but she'd been trying. And now, she wasn't. Her gaze was focusing, like one waking from a long sleep. No longer whimpering. Her teeth chattered and clashed so bad, Brownlow could hear it from a yard away. Chills racked her body, she shivered convulsively. She lifted her gloveless hand, Bordon's sleeve almost coming down to the tips of her fingers, and she placed her icy hand on Bordon's cheek, exploring with a wondering look on her face. As if she was checking to see if Richard were real or an apparition. Brownlow knew her fingers would have been ice, not only because she was barely dressed and it was so very cold, but by the flinch that crossed Richard's face at her touch. He didn't pull away, however. He looked absurdly grateful to be recognised, grateful that her fear was receding.

"Rich-ed," a bare whisper, slurred, she was unable to form words properly. "S-S-So... cold..."

"Oh, my love," Richard thrust one arm around her back, the other beneath her legs. He braced himself on bent knees, then lifted her effortlessly. Brownlow's jacket began to fall from her legs. Patrick fussed with it, pulled it over her legs and down past her feet as best he could. Dalton held the torch as close as he dared, hoping some of its warmth would pass into Cilla.

"Shh," Richard crooned, he began walking back the way they'd come, his face like death. Relieved to have found her. Wretched over the state she was in. Over what they were all certain had been done to her. Raped and left for dead. They all felt it, like a weight on their chests. The Dragoons followed, a solemn procession, as if they were mourning the death of a loved one. In this case, the death of a shattered virtue.

"H-hurt-t," she stammered. She shivered, even now. "H-hurts. S-so much."

_Her nose? Or the other thing? _Brownlow fretted. He'd suffered a broken nose before, it had hurt like hell. But he'd never suffered the torture, the torment, of the other. He stumbled, almost tripping over a root in the marsh.

"I'll take the pain away," Richard kissed her brow desperately. "I have laudanum. It'll help. I think it'll help. Lord, I'm so angry with you right now," Richard said, squeezing his eyes shut, on the brink. "But I'm so... Damned... thankful we found you."

"I-I'm s-sorry," she managed to say. "Mor-Mor-Morgan, ki-kill-ed," she stuttered, her face twisting, eyes closing, a sob burst from her lips. "My-my fa-fault!"

Brownlow wanted to kick Richard. For telling her he was angry. Now was not the time for such words, no matter how gently spoken. Cilla was taking the blame for that man's death onto herself now. As if she didn't have enough to contend with, after what the brigands had done to her. He wanted to kick the man and he would have done, Major or not, repercussions or not, if Richard hadn't looked as though he might burst into tears at any moment. Brownlow shared a concerned look with Dalton.

"No one's fault," Richard was saying, bending his cheek to Cilla's. "That's not what I meant. I mean I'm... Just so glad to have you back. I was so angry with you earlier, for leaving. But I was so scared just now, Cill. When I realised you'd been attacked. Lord," he reeled. "We'll get through it. I know what they did to you, those damned bastards," he said under his breath, but the words carried to Patrick.

Cilla shook her head vehemently. She'd lifted her arms around Richard's broad shoulders, clasped her fingers behind his neck. Her expression had cleared from that dazed look of earlier, she seemed very intent now. Determined. Her body was not recovered, however, she still shook and her voice still came out in trembling, stammered bursts.

"Th-they d-din't... N-not that," her teeth clattered, her eyes were fixed on Bordon's face as he carried her carefully over tree roots and through the mud.

"What do you mean?" Richard was frowning down at her.

"N-not. I r-ran. K-kicked Eddie. He d-drop-ped. O-other, shot. M-Morgan shot h-him-m. Y-yel-led at-t me to r-run," it was difficult to understand, with her teeth chattering, but she was unable to speak any more clearly, she was cold to her core. "I-I r-ran. G-got away. They n-never found m-me."

"Do you mean..?" Richard stopped dead, he stared down at her, incredulous. Filled with dawning hope. "You weren't..?"

Raped? The word hung in the air between them, unspoken.

"Ed-die wouldd 'ave," she said. None bothered to ask who Eddie was. It didn't matter. The one who beat her, likely. He would die for that. If he'd done what they all suspected, he would die slowly. But from what Cilla was saying... "He w-was g-goin' t-to. K-kicked 'im Rich-ed. B-Bet-weenn legs. R-ran."

"Do you mean in the groin, Cill? Did you kick him in the groin and then you ran away?" He asked, desperately hopeful. She gazed up at him gravely, traced his cheek with one finger. Nodded. An inhuman noise burst from Richard's lungs, it took a moment for Brownlow to recognise it. A sob. He crushed Cilla so closely that Brownlow was briefly worried he might hurt her. Then Richard was sitting, dropping to his rump, right there in the mud. He rocked Cilla back and forth, holding her wrapped so tightly, that inhuman noise still bursting from his lips. His face was buried in her neck, hers in his. But Brownlow did not have to see either to know they were weeping. Bordon's shoulders shook, he pulled her ever closer, as if he could not hold her close enough. Patrick dashed at his own eyes with the back of his hand. Dalton too. Word spread among the Dragoons, that the Major's wife had been roughed a bit, but had escaped the worst of it. Not raped, then. She'd run away, she'd saved herself. Patrick glanced back down at Richard, and was stunned to see Richard was kissing Cilla. Richard's hands on either side of her face, he kissed her so hard, it was as though he were breathing life and warmth into her. Into them both. She clung to him, kissed him with as much fervor. They were whispering between, the words discernible only to them, they did not carry to Patrick, who stood above them both. He covered them with his body, shielding them from the sight of others, though he doubted any of the Dragoons would think anything poorly of them kissing so publicly, considering the circumstances.

It confused the hell out of Patrick, seeing the affection usually reserved only for Mrs. Farshaw now bestowed onto Mrs. Bordon.

Indifferent to his own wet cheeks, Richard continued to hold her, rocking, kissing, touching her, celebrating her small victory. She did the same, she broke away momentarily and stared into his eyes. It was an intensely private moment, Patrick felt wretched to be witnessing it. Guilty, as though he were some dirty interloper. All he could do was stand guard, ensuring as much privacy as he could. Even Dalton had his back turned, and he held the torch away so it would not light the pair so much.

"You c-came for me," she said, her voice finally sounding more normal. A little shaky still, a little slow. But she was warming now, from the warm jackets covering her, from being held so close to the warmth of her husband's body, and, no doubt, by the kisses. Patrick glanced at Dalton, both feeling like intruders. At a gesture from Patrick, the rest of the Dragoons began to walk past, making their way back to the wagon and their horses. Brownlow glanced in that direction, through the trees, he could see a large fire starting to roar back where the wagon had been left. The Dragoons who'd gone on ahead earlier had not been idle.

"Of course I did, you silly Cill," Richard replied, his hand cupping the whole of one side of her face gently. He hadn't even cared about the blood on her face when he'd started kissing her. Much of it was wiped away now.

"You're so w-warm," she sighed, leaning in to him again, shuffling closer as if that were possible. As if she could climb into his shirt. Her fingers wound their way inside his shirt, he gave a great gasp, recoiling slightly, as if blocks of ice had been shoved up against his skin. Richard said nothing, however, and did not remove her hand, despite the discomfort it must have been causing him. The very sight made Patrick shiver, as if it was his chest those icicles were touching. If anything, Richard laughed. Softly, a joyous gasp of relief, of released terror, of celebration.

"Little heat thief," he murmured against her lips, kissing her again. He staggered to his feet, still holding her all the while. Brownlow reached out to steady Richard's arm when he looked ready to falter. He regained his balance and the three began walking toward the fire again. "Tell me what happened," Patrick heard Richard say, but again his voice was pitched low and Cilla's even lower. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Patrick fell in behind them, leaving the narrow trail with more room for Richard to carry Cilla, he walked behind Dalton, he kept his firebrand close to the Major to light the way. A snatched word came to Patrick here and there, 'my fault', Cilla said again, and 'died for me', before she burst into tears again. Richard crooned to her. He did not begin weeping again, though he did comfort her while she succumbed to tears.

When they reached the campsite, Richard skirted around the bodies, which were laid together now. Patrick was still uncertain as to exactly what had occurred, though he'd managed to piece together the bits he'd heard from Cilla. He was still unaware of the identity of the second body, but Brownlow commanded that a grave be dug for them both, just the same. Richard carried Cilla into the cabin. Light flared within, the fire was roaring on the grate, Brownlow saw before Richard kicked the door shut behind him. He could only imagine what it meant for the two of them, that Cilla had run from would have been brutal torture. And she was not running from Bordon, another shock to Brownlow, who had been expecting a spectacular fight between the pair.

_Food_, Brownlow thought, heading toward the horses. It was none of his business, what was taking place in the cabin. Except that Mrs. Bordon could certainly do with a warm meal. He had a quiet word with one of the Dragoons, commanded that rations and water be heated over the fire. They could all do with warm meal. Brownlow found Crimson, rifled though his saddle bags, found a flask and, casting a glance about to ensure no one was looking, took a very long, much needed pull, to warm his stomach and his soul.


	125. Chapter 125 - Compassion in Forgiveness

Chapter 125 - Compassion in Forgiveness:

Richard kicked the door closed behind them. Cilla was so light in his arms, it surprised him that she could weigh not much more than a child. The fire burned on the grate, the cabin was starting to warm, it was not the dark and frozen place it was earlier. Still a hovel, but it was all he had, and he used it gladly. He placed Cilla down on a pile of blankets laid out on the floor below the brazier. The Dragoons thought of everything; a small basin filled with water from a canteen and several cloths. Their saddlebags had been raided to provide the blankets for Cilla's bed. He hadn't asked that food be bought but he was certain that would be coming soon, too.

Cilla leaned toward brazier, it began to dry the tears on her cheeks. She had stopped weeping, but she still felt wretched. She stared into the fire, haunted. Morgan was dead, because of her. She should have made out from Pembroke alone, rather than involving that dear old man. He'd given such a good fight, had protected her to the end. He'd faced Indians and who knew what else in his long life, and yet it was brigands that got him in the end. Because of her. That should not have been his fate. He should never have been there. She closed her eyes and mourned. "Run!" He'd screamed. "Don't just stand there!" And then he shot that awful brigand, even knowing it would mean his own death. And it was. A moment later, those bastards shot him. Even with his dying breath, he'd urged her onward to safety. Her eyes snapped open, she shook, eyes burning. God, it hurt, that dear man's death… She would carry the guilt and pain to her grave, with no hope of atonement or forgiveness, for he was dead and unable to give it to her. Her fault. Should have left Pembroke alone…

Richard moved about the chamber, from the corner of her eyes she saw him dipping a cloth in a basin, then he wrung it out. Water, gathered from the swamp, no doubt. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her ankles, and sighed as heat seeped into her flesh. Morgan would never feel warmth again. Cilla had begun warming from Richard's and Brownlow's coats, and from the heat of Richard's body, but the heat from the fire now was so much more. And far less confusing. He'd kissed her. So deeply, so desperately, like a drowning man reaching for air. Or a man starving, reaching for a loaf of bread. It had not been friendly or fatherly. It'd been a lovers kiss, there was no mistaking it. As deep and desperate as any kiss Banastre had ever given her.

Why? Why had he kissed her so thoroughly? Because she'd just let him know that she'd escaped Eddie before he could do worse to her? If Eddie had managed to rape her as he'd so clearly intended, Richard would have stood by her. He would have carried his grief, guilt, remorse, futility, emotions as heavy as a mountain. He was strong, he would have borne them all - he would have done everything within his power to help her through it, together. But learning that none of it was necessary… That they needn't climb some unimaginable height toward healing... Learning that she had not been forced to endure such torment a second time…

That was what broke him down.

He'd begun to sob. Simply sat in the mud and sobbed. She'd never seen or heard anything like it. She'd tasted the salt of his tears on her tongue. Cilla had known that Richard was deeply sorry for what he'd done to her, but now she finally understood the extent of his remorse. She watched Richard walk toward her, cloth in hand. It was an act of compassion, to forgive. Her heart swelled. Richard had tried so hard to make amends, but that was not why she could forgive him, now. It was because of the pain he was in. It was because _she_ needed it. She needed to leave the dungeon, and not forgiving was keeping her trapped there.

He would try to make it up to her if it took the rest of his life. Deed after deed after deed, but it would all be for nothing, if she did not set them both free. They were both still trapped in the dungeon, and no matter how many deeds Richard performed, they would remain there. Unless. It's not for him, she thought. It's for me. Only she could set them free. Her, free of the pain, bitterness, anger, helplessness. Him, free of self-loathing. He couldn't set them free, when he was the one who put them there. It was up to her. She had made peace with the pain. Forgive and forget, they say. But that was wrong. Forgiving didn't mean forgetting, never for something like this. It meant letting go all the bitterness, pain, anger, anguish. It should be 'forgive and release', for that's how it felt to her. Letting go of her past was like the dungeon door swinging open, she was released.

He squatted before her, his eyes roving her face, his lips thin and bloodless. The water was chilled, there had not been enough time to it to be warmed. Careful of her broken nose, he dabbed her chin gently, washing away the last vestiges of blood. She stared into his eyes, firelight and shadows flickering over his grave face. His were puffy and red-rimmed, tears from earlier left clean tracks on his dirt smeared face. She smiled at him, lifted her hand, laid her palm on his cheek. His eyebrows arched, startled.

"I forgive you, Richard," she said.

She'd never thought she'd ever say them, she never thought she'd ever feel it. Even up until yesterday, when she'd been nursing her pain and anger and heartache, she'd thought she could never forgive him. But now… How could so much change, in the course of one day? Richard's fingers stopped their dabbing. His lips parted, his eyes widened. He stared at her, utterly speechless. The look he gave her almost made her laugh. Who knew there could be so much joy in forgiveness? Such a release, it left her feeling giddy and weightless. He gaped at her like a fish out of water, panting for air. "I never thought I would," she said. "I felt as though I never _should_, as if I was betraying myself, if I ever did. That doesn't make sense, I know. But I feel it here, now," she touched her breast, her eyes filled. "And I think you should know it. I think it'll help you, knowing it."

"I…" He was at a loss for words, unable to speak. He dropped the washcloth to the floor, seized her shoulders and pulled her against him. He did not sob, though she sensed he was at the edge and might. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, buried her head in his neck, mindful of her broken nose. She sighed as his fingers wound through her tangle of hair. She felt his lips on the top of her head, kissing her. If she tilted her head back, would he begin kissing her again? She'd liked it very much, when he'd done it earlier. A lovers kiss, from the man she loved. She could admit it that to herself now. She was in love with him. Stupid woman that she was. She wasn't even certain she would stay with him. He'd come for her, would take her back to Fresh Water, back to the same dismal marriage as before. No, she would not stay. Not unless some very large changes were made. But she could admit to loving him, if only to herself. And she could declare she'd forgiven him; for both their sakes. "I thought you already had," he said, finding his voice. She jerked her head up, stared at him, incredulous.

"You… You thought I already had?" She gasped. He nodded. "Why in the world would you think I already had?"

"Things have been so well with us," he said, looking lost, confused, yet absurdly, deeply pleased. Like a small child, trying to work through a complex concept.

"You're a blockhead," she sat back on her heels, kept her arms around his shoulders. With him now seated cross legged, and her squatting before him, they were level, eye to eye.

"You didn't forgive me, before?" He asked, still puzzled. She shook her head. "Then… Is it because I came for you? Is that why you're ready to, now?"

"No," she said gravely, "it's because we both need it."

"I've needed it for a long time," he kissed her temple. "Thank you, Cilla," he said, such simple words but he'd poured his heart into them. He pulled her against him again, his fingers moving up and down her back. She felt the trembling in his warm body. "Thank you," he whispered again. She bent her forehead to his, relishing the moment, relishing the closeness being borne between them.

"You have to promise me, Richard," she murmured, suddenly tense, walls rearing, holding that closeness back. "You have to vow to never, ever, do such a thing again. You will never use such a tactic again. You must not."

"I vow it on my honour as a gentleman," colour flooded his cheeks, his voice a mere rasp. "I swear it on my death, to the last drop of my blood. I've broken oaths before, Cilla. But not this one. Never this one. I could never do it again. The harm I caused you... The damage I did. My soul has been bleeding, Cilla. You have to believe me." He sounded so desperate at the end. She cupped his face.

"I know it, and I do believe you," she smiled weakly. The feeling that he was a completely different man now to the man from the dungeon struck her tenfold. She leaned in and kissed him; not a sisterly or motherly kiss. A lovers kiss. And it was answered. His lips moved over hers, he caught her at her back and pulled her hard up against him. A knock on the door broke into the moment. Cilla drew back from Richard, breathless. It was probably a good thing because it hurt her nose to kiss, but at the same time, it made her heart soar.

A Dragoon entered at Richard's call. By then, Richard was fussing with pulling blankets up and around Cilla's shoulders, burying her to her neck. He met her gaze, she wished she could read his thoughts in those moments.

"Cornet Brownlow asked that I bring you this, Major Bordon," the Dragoon said, carrying two bowls of steaming stew. Cilla's stomach growled, she let the blankets fall from her shoulders, holding her hands out for the bowl. There was a spoon, but she was so hungry that if there hadn't been, she would have used her fingers. The Dragoon had two stale heels of bread, also. Another Dragoon followed with two mugs of steaming water. Brownlow was determined her insides be warmed, it seemed. The Dragoons withdrew. Cilla and Richard ate in silence. It was becoming awkward, that silence, and by the time she finished her bowl, the bread, and the hot water, Cilla was feeling quite tense. She wished he'd spit it out, whatever it was he wanted to say. Clearly, there was something on his mind. The way he was staring at her, so gravely.

"How did your nose get broken?" He asked. Somehow, she knew this was not the question he wished to ask. This was a delay only, something he needed to know, but was not what caused his tension.

"You mentioned the dead body out there?" She asked him. "Not Morgan. The other one." She was speaking nasally, the way one does when their nose is blocked. Or broken. He nodded. "When that brigand, Eddie, let it be known what he intended to do to me, Morgan went sort of wild," she said, hanging her head, guilt surging up to the fore. "Morgan was being held back by those… awful men… But he managed to get hold of his rifle. I don't know how, I couldn't see him well. But he fired, and struck that other one you found. He was standing too close to me at the time, so when the ball hit, his head sort of snapped forward. I thought he did it on purpose at first, to hurt me. Pain - oh, it hurt so much. My nose is killing me and I have a blinding headache…" She touched her head, was silent a moment, wincing. "I realised when he was on the ground that it was the force of the ball that had pushed his head into my face. Morgan," she sighed, her heart filling despair. "He fought to the end. Screamed at me to run, run. Then they shot him." The words came out an awful rasp, tears blinded, stung.

"It wasn't your fault," he said. He took her bowl and cup out of her hands, placed them with his on the ground a few yards away. He turned back to her.

"I should never have involved him," she shook her head, refusing to believe she was blameless. She met his eyes. "He survived the Cherokee War, Richard. And who knows what else he survived since then, to get to his age? And he dies now, tonight, because I had him take me from Pembroke. I should have gone alone. He'd be alive now, if not for that. Sitting by his fire, in his small house… smoking a pipe. He liked his pipe… He's gone now. And I can't even beg his forgiveness. I can never make amends. I can't bring him back," she shook her head, blew out a breath. "I should never have asked him to take me away from Pembroke."

"It was not your fault," Richard repeated. "He would not blame you, I'm certain. He did what he could to protect you, and I don't doubt that he's well pleased, knowing that you are safe."

"You can't fix this, Richard," she said. "You can't ease my guilt. I will take this to my grave."

"Hmm," he murmured, seeing that it was true. It was writ all over her face, her misery. She'd blame herself, no matter what he said to her. It was something she would have to live with, to work through on her own. "If I could take your pain from you, I would."

"You can have my broken nose," she sighed. "That, I'd give you gladly."

She didn't mean it the way it came out. His lips quirked, as if unsure if he should laugh or take her seriously.

"It seems you are angry, if you'd gladly break my nose."

"That's not what I meant -" she began, but he cut her off.

"Angry enough to write that letter and dupe me into believing you were visiting friends for lunch. All the while, Morgan was taking you miles and miles away… Cilla, why did you leave me?"

This was the question he'd wanted to ask, the one causing all the awkwardness, the tension. Why did you leave me. Was he serious? Was he really such a blind, fool, blockhead?

She gaped at him, stunned. "What in the world do you mean, 'why did you leave me'," she shot, incredulous. In the recesses of her heart, she had admitted to herself that she was in love with him. To him, she had declared her forgiveness. Neither profession, made to herself or out loud, made her incapable of feeling anger toward him. Especially after a question as daft as this one. Her voice was loaded with that anger. "Lord, Richard. We had this discussion just yesterday! You know all the reasons why I left! I am not going to sit here explaining myself all over again. You can not be that daft!"

"I know," he agreed.

_So why bloody ask me to repeat it all? _She wanted to yell at him.

"When we return to Fresh Water, should I be on my guard, that you might try again?"

"If there are not some very spectacular changes, almost certainly!" She said emphatically. He was quiet a moment.

"Then I had better be on my guard," he replied softly. Good Lord, was he testing her? Feeling the waters, waiting to see if she would demand he give up Harmony Farshaw? Cilla knew better than to try. She had no intention of even mentioning that woman's name. She addressed her other concerns instead, those she'd confronted him with the other night.

"Or you could give me a child. You could be a proper husband to me, instead of the pretend one you show the public," she folded her arms across her chest. God, it hurt her nose to glare but she was incapable of easing her expression, even to give herself relief. "Unless you can't bring yourself to. If you don't actually want me in your life at all. But if you do want me to be, then changes must be made. Only then will I stay."

He waited for more, a dreadful look on his face. Waited for him to demand he send Harmony away, as she had the other night. She would not. She had her pride.

"Are those the only changes you'd like to see made?" He asked gravely, as if prompting her to lay it all out on the table. _Harmony Farshaw. Always Harmony bloody Farshaw. But this does not concern her. I know better than to try, where she is concerned. She's nothing to do with this._

"This is between you and I only, and the sort of marriage we shall have when we are alone together," spots of red spreading across her cheeks. That was as close as she was willing to get to the subject of his mistress. She would not make an utter fool of herself by begging for something he could never give her. She would leave him again before stooping so low. She drew him further away from any discussion regarding Harmony. "I will not spend another minute, being lonely. At the moment, the way we are in public is far more intimate to how we are in private. It needs to be the other way around. What we show to the world will be a mere reflection of what we are in private," she said. "If you care for me even slightly -"

"I care for you very deeply," he interrupted, disarming her utterly. She paused, her breath hitching. She coughed, embarrassed by her reaction. Heat spread through her body, it had nothing to do with the blankets or the brazier.

"Yes, well. If that is the case, it should not be so very hard for you, should it?" She asked primly.

A cloud passed over his face. Harmony again. Always Harmony. Yes, it would be hard for him, for he'd feel as though he were being unfaithful. To his mistress. Cilla felt like slapping him. For the ridiculous promise he'd made to Harmony, that he would never bed his own wife.

"You have kissed me, Richard," Cilla's voice was low and dangerous. "Twice now. A lovers kiss. Now that you have given me that hint of intimacy, I will not be denied it."

He smiled, "I am good at kissing -"

"Don't you make light of this, don't you dare!" She said harshly. He shut his mouth, the flare of amusement vanished in the flare of her anger. "I will not beg you. I can't believe I have to beg you now," frustrated, she gave up. "Just forget it," she spat. She began to rise, furious, filled with pride. She felt as though he had all the power. As if she had to resort to begging to have him do some difficult and distasteful task, as though he would take no joy whatsoever in being intimate with her. It was an attack against her dignity and it infuriated her. "Take me back to Fresh Water if you must. And be on your guard once there. For I will not stay with you."

"Cilla," he seized her wrists and bought her hurtling back down. Mid crouch when he pulled her, she toppled forward, off balance. "I'm sorry," he said, holding her in place in case she tried to jerk away. "I don't mean to make you beg for anything. I am whole when I have -" he cut short, as if suddenly fearing he was on dangerous ground. "I am whole when I have you," he said and she felt herself melting. Until, "it's complicated -"

Because Harmony will be cross? Stuff that. "Not that complicated! A beautiful woman - your own wife - wishes to share intimacies with you, and considering our beginning, you should be overjoyed she does! Your wife wishes to bed you and to bear your children. I see no complications in that," she hissed, jerking against his hold. "I will not ask it again," she vowed. "That is my oath to you, here and now. I'd spill my blood to make the oath stronger, if you gave me a knife. Never again. You can come after me, if you wish. You can come after me, and bring me back, ten times. Fifty times! I will never ask you this again. I will not beg you!"

"You have your pride," he said gently, ignoring her fury. "And I'm sorry for hurting it. You're correct. A beautiful woman - I agree with you on that score, by the by," he smiled, again trying to disarm her. The damned bastard. It was working, too. She began to soften. "A beautiful woman, my own wife, wishes to bed me. Wishes to bear my children. And yes, considering what I did to you, that is more than I ever could have hoped for. I am grateful that you would allow us to become close enough. I will be a proper husband to you, Cilla," he released her wrist, keeping hold of the other. His fingers traced up her arm, a lazy caress that left her shivering. Over the turn of her shoulder, his fingers drifting along her neck, finally tangling in her hair. The hand cupping her nape pulled her closer as he leaned in. His lips began moving over hers. Her heart filled, lighting a furnace in her body. He kissed her until she floated in a blaze. His softly spoke words somehow broke into her awareness. "I will give you a child."

"What..? Now?" She asked, breathless. He laughed down at her, and her face blazed crimson. Wanton. She'd sounded wanton. Needy. Eager. Good God, how eager.

"In this hovel? With my Dragoons outside? And you with your broken nose and blinding headache?" He was still laughing, as he said it. "No, Cill."

"I don't care about any of those things," she said, staring at the brazier, trying to hide her embarrassment. Lord, she was being more forward than a doxy on Broad Street! He laughed again.

"You'd care soon enough should a Dragoon walk in, during. You need rest, Cilla. Soon, I promise."

"You won't… renege, will you?" She asked worriedly, again embarrassed by her obvious eagerness. "When we get home, you won't avoid me and -"

"And risk you leaving again?" He asked, eyebrows arched. "No, I will not renege. I told you months ago, when you miscarried, that we should try again. It became complicated since then; even before then, if the truth be told. No, don't become angry again. I am just trying to say that I've wanted this too, since the miscarriage. A child. More than one. And to be a proper husband to you… I don't want you to feel as though with, being forced to marry me, you're missing out on anything. I'm sorry that you had to go to such lengths to make me see it," he hung his head. "I've been an ass."

"You have," she agreed, refusing to pull the punch. "The biggest, most arrogant, self-centred, selfish ass in the world."

"Don't hold back now, wife," he laughed.

"I don't intend to. You know, all I really want is that you treat me better. You've done an appalling job of us so far." His breath arrested in his throat.

"I have?" He whispered. He sighed. Deflated. Knew it was true. "Yes, I suppose I have."

"You know it, do you?" Finally, she began to feel amused. Began to feel as though she held at least half the power, now. Felt good enough about it, to do a little teasing herself. "Tell me, then."

"You want me to list my crimes?" He asked, shocked. Aghast.

"I want to see if you leave anything off the list I've been keeping," she quirked a brow at his expression. "I want to make sure you really do understand. Tell me how you think you know you've been treating me poorly." She frowned. Did that question make sense? It must have done, for he answered her correctly, though with a voice heavy with reluctance.

"I've led you to believe I care more about keeping up the facade of the perfect marriage, than I do about you."

"Don't you?" She cut in, one cool brow raised.

"I care deeply for you, Cilla," he nudged his nose against her cheek. His lips were so damned close. She began to smile, beginning to feel charmed. It only got worse from there. "I have love for you."

"You… You have love for me?" She whispered, feeling she might die. "What does that… What does that mean?"

"That I would not be without you. I am not whole, without you. You have become my protector -"

"I have?" She whispered.

"Are you so daft, that I have to explain how?" He teased. She remembered calling him daft earlier, and she smiled a little shyly. "You protect me, all the time. Even to the last, with that letter you left. You've become my sword." He was trying to think of the right words to explain. She did not think he meant that she was his sword in the sense that she was a weapon, to use in fighting. But as he used his sabre to protect his body… "I'd never be without my sword…"

"Oh," she breathed, absurdly touched.

"Now, to list my crimes. To make sure my list matches yours," he grinned, teasing. "I understand what you mean now, those things you said in your letter. About pulled threads and fixing the weave, about the paths and roads of fate and destiny and yours being disrupted because of me. I took away your chance to be courted by some lad, who might have bought you flowers and love letters…" He paused, he sounded terribly unhappy now. Miserable. She offered no comfort, not yet. She needed to hear the words from his own lips, to know for certain he truly understood. "I've ruined your chance for courtship. For love and a proper marriage, and the fruits that come of both. I did give you a child, but even that's gone now too…" She sniffed, turned her face away, the loss of the child still stung, after all these months. "I know that the only chance you have at any sort of happiness, is for you to leave and find it with someone else, or to stay and salvage our marriage."

He understood. She exulted. He finally understood.

"I'd much prefer the latter," he said, studying her carefully. "And I know you would prefer that too, rather than trying to start all over again with some stranger. I know it's what you want. I know you care for me. You might even be…" Richard hesitated, as if not quite sure he should dare finish. He kissed her ear, then whispered, "in love with me. Are you, Cil?"

She said nothing. Again, her pride got in the way. And why wouldn't it? She had her dignity. How could she admit to such a thing, when he had not? When he would not. Because he didn't love her. Cared for her, yes. He had love for her… Wasn't that what he'd said to her?

"I have love for you," she murmured, deciding she would not give him a single inch more than he'd give to her. She'd given so much of herself to this man over the months already. She would not give him a jot more than he did her. Not anymore. Those days were done. His hand, on her shoulder. Guiding her down into the blankets. She moved with him, un-resisting, until they were lying, her on her back, him on his side and slightly above her.

"Words to ease a man's soul," he whispered, stroking her hair back from her brow. Then he was leaning down and kissing her, his way of proving that the changes she desired had begun to be made and that he would not renege. What Harmony Farshaw would say of it, Cilla did not know. Nor did she care. As long as he did not go back on his word. She pushed that thought from her mind, refused to linger on Harmony Farshaw, when it was she - Cilla - in Richard's arms. The kissing came to an end all too soon.

"Christ, I was worried. I was wretched with it, when I realised you were gone," he said, drawing back, his lips tightening.

"Are you still angry with me for leaving?"

"Terribly," he shot her a vexed look, but his lips quirked. "And I'm angry with myself. I wish I'd listened the other day, when you tried to tell me…"

"I wish you had too," she said, "you were like a stubborn mule, unwilling to see how awful you were being to me."

"An ass, and now a stubborn mule…" He scoffed softly. "You think so well of me. Cilla, the other night, you said… Would you really have taken a lover? Would you have presented me with some other man's bastard to raise?"

_I already have_, she thought of Banastre. That affair had not resulted in a child, but it could have. She wondered for a moment, what he would say if she admitted to that now. Nothing good, she suspected. With a twinge of guilt, she decided some secrets needed to be kept, for now. Shame welled up inside her, she would have looked down on anyone else who made that same decision… She would not consider that person to be very virtuous. It was humbling, the discovery that she was not above lying and evading, or holding to downright silence, to protect her own secrets.

"I would have done whatever I felt I needed to do," she said, a far more round-a-bout way of saying 'yes'. "In fact, I did do what I needed to do. I left. If I'd stayed; feeling as lonely and empty as I'd been made to feel, then yes, I believe I would have presented you with a bastard to raise as your heir."

He stared at her gravely. "Who would it have been with? Dalton?"

Cilla laughed despite herself. "Why not? We've had ample opportunity."

"Cilla!" He gasped. He saw she was teasing, however, and he smiled with her. "Not Dalton. His nose is too big. Brownlow?"

"Dalton's nose is just fine. Besides, who am I to complain about noses? Mine is going to be crooked now, for the rest of my life. As for Brownlow - well, he is handsome enough."

"He was very worried for you just now. Perhaps he is in love with you?"

"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest," she giggled. "But no, I'm not too sure I would have chosen among your officers. Not with those living in the house. It'd make our affair easier, I suppose, but it would increase the risk of being discovered."

"Oh, is that right?" He threw his head back and laughed. "I find it very disturbing, how much thought you've put in to this." He wound his arm beneath her head, giving her a pillow to rest on. It was time to sleep, it seemed. Every few moments, a chuckle would escape his lips. It was nice, his amusement, the way he was holding her, to be cradled so close after the kissing. She found he'd been correct after all, as soon as she was snuggled into him, she began to dose. Had something been put in the water? For her nose was not hurting as much now and her headache was receding. She began to float in dreamy bliss, as soon as she closed her eyes. She would have fallen asleep during, if they had decided to start trying for a baby tonight. He could be very wise sometimes, for a dolt.

"Cilla, promise me something," she jerked awake to feel his fingers stroking her jaw. She blinked up at him.

"What?" She asked thickly, groggily.

"If you are ever so unhappy again that you feel the need to leave me, or to stray to another man's bed, will you please talk to me about it first?"

"Only if you promise to listen," the words just came out, sleepiness making her honest. She saw the flare of pain cross his face.

"I deserved that," he sighed, utterly defeated. "And I do promise."

"Good. We're off to a good start then, don't you think?"

"I do," he agreed.

"Better late than never," she said, rolling over onto her side away from him. To take the sting from her words, she pushed herself back into him, snuggling her back to his front. She reached behind herself, grabbed hold of his arm, and wrapped it around herself like a blanket. She laced her fingers through his, encouraging closeness. His leg draped over both of hers, she could feel his hot breath against her neck. Snuggled within the layers of blankets, she felt warm and secure and safe.

_It is a good start,_ she thought as sleep rolled over her.

* * *

By dawn, Cilla was no longer warm. She was roasting. It had crept up so quickly, Richard hadn't even realised it was happening. He'd been comfortable, catching snatches of sleep throughout the night, Cilla sleeping far more soundly in his arms. With the dawn, he woke to the sound of the Dragoons decamping. He could hear Brownlow and Dalton just outside, talking quietly, though he could not make out their words. Within the cabin, Richard pulled his arm out gently from beneath Cilla's head, laying her head gently on the blankets. She did not rouse. He thought nothing of it, he stretched, blinked his eyes against the sunlight streaming into the rude house, mouthed at the horrible taste in his mouth - he needed some water. He rose, scratched his thigh up near his groin, and stumbled to the jug on the floor. He drank his full, then turned to Cilla. She was still sleeping. He put the jug down, returned to her side and gazed down at her.

Harmony was going to give him fits and he was not looking forward to telling her. But the promises made to Cilla had been necessary, not only for her, but for him, also. More importantly, they had felt right, those promises. He found he was looking forward to the beginning of their new life together, their new start. Better late than never… it still stung, those words. But they were truthful all the same. At times, he wished Cilla could be a little less… direct… A little less sharp with her tongue… He reached out, stroked her face tenderly. Nearly snatched his hand back when her skin scorched the backs of his fingers.

"Damn and blast it! Brownlow, get in here!"

"What is it, Sir?" Brownlow threw open the door and rushed in.

"She's not waking," Richard muttered. He laid his fingers on her forehead - felt the burning. Reached into her shift, felt under her arm. Burning there too. A furnace. "And she's too hot. She's sick, Cornet."

"Not surprised," Brownlow muttered, standing over Cilla, concerned. "I'd have been more surprised if she hadn't fallen ill."

"Not helping, Cornet," Richard growled from between clenched teeth.

"We should take Mrs. Bordon to the nearest village, enquire after a doctor."

"Are you joking?" Bordon asked. He gestured for the ewer. Brownlow fetched it. Richard dipped the blood smeared cloth - the same one he'd used to wipe her chin with - and laid it out on her brow. Cilla barely stirred. His heart began to pound. "This isn't home, Dalton. We aren't in England, where there's a doctor in every village. The next settlement in this God's cursed country large enough to have its own doctor is Pembroke, and we might as well go directly to the fort as stop there. At least I trust the surgeons there. Have the men returned?"

The previous night, at Richard's command, half the Dragoons had been sent out to follow the tracks and find the brigands.

"No, Sir," Brownlow replied. "Would you like me to send a messenger to them, to call off the search?"

So that Richard could begin the trek back to Fresh Water with the full detachment in safety. With his force split, he only had a score of men, only twenty Dragoons, to protect the wagon and Cilla. He was squatted at her side, thinking. If he sent after the detachment, then the brigands would not be found, would not be bought to justice. And he very dearly wished to see they paid for what they'd done to Cilla. What they'd intended to do to her. He could not stay at the cabin and wait for them as he'd intended. Not now with Cilla being so sick. But if he left with the smaller amount of men, he would be exposed to larger forces of rebels…

"No, they are to continue their search, I want those bastards found," he said. It did leave him with a problem however. With his detachment still out searching, they did not have a high enough officer in their ranks within easy distance to report back to. He turned to the Ensign who'd shown such promise lately. Dalton would definitely be put forward for a promotion, very shortly. Brownlow, also. "Dalton, you will find the detachment and take command. As soon as you've found the brigands, capture them and bring them directly to Fresh Water for trial."

"Yes, Sir," Dalton glanced at Brownlow, who was waiting expectantly. The two always worked in concert, they even shared their quarters and just about everything else. Brownlow was waiting to be sent off with Dalton. Not this time.

"Cornet, you will remain with me," he said, startling the pair. They exchanged glances, but accepted the command. "Have the Dragoons remove their uniforms, plain clothes only. Are they almost ready to ride?"

"Almost Sir, they will be ready before you are, I believe."

"Would you like to place a wager on that?" Richard asked grimly. "Dalton, take two men to ride with you. Oh," he added as an after thought, "when you take the brigands in hand, there is no need to be gentle with them, understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Dalton said warily.

With that, Richard picked Cilla up, one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, and he carried her from the cabin, blankets and all. Brownlow hurried after him, helped to arrange the blankets into a bed as Richard laid Cilla down on the wagon. One was folded and placed under her head as a pillow. Her eyes opened, she whispered something insensible, and then she was gone again. "We have to get her to Fresh Water, as quickly as possible. Pack up, pack up! We're moving out!"

It was not as quick as he'd have liked. Horses had to be hitched to the wagon. Brownlow's Crimson, for Brownlow was driving the cart. And Richard's horse also, for the Major was riding on the wagon bed with his wife. There were pots, pans, blanket rolls and other belongings. Those would normally be stowed away in saddle bags with careful precision. Instead, they were thrown on the rear of the wagon-bed, at Cilla's feet. Fires were doused, muskets and pistols checked and primed, ready for firing at need. And the Dragoons themselves changed attire, exchanging their uniforms for plain clothes, so that they would not be so easily identifiable. The Green Dragoons were despised by many in this part of the country. If they ran into trouble, hopefully they would be able to talk themselves out of it, by not revealing who they truly were.

Richard climbed up onto the wagon bed. He lifted Cilla carefully, shoved the pillow blanket aside, and settled back with Cilla in his arms. It was a nice thought, a decent gesture from Brownlow - that blanket. But Richard intended to be her pillow, to soften her body from the worst of the jarring the wagon was sure to take along those rutted roads. He intended to set a hard pace, no dawdling. Traveling fast came with risks, there could be damage to the wagon, damage Richard was ill equipped to repair. But he was desperate to reach Fresh Water, to get care for Cilla, and was willing to take such risks. He leaned back against the end board, his bum cushioned by Brownlow's blanket, Cilla's blanket wrapped body in his arms. She reclined against him, head lolling.

"Is it wise, Sir?" Brownlow asked, trotting along side him for the moment. "To keep her covered when she's already so hot? My mama always said that when you've got a fever, you need to strip down, or the heat has no place to go."

"Won't that make it worse?" Richard fretted. "It's too cold for her to be exposed for long." Fog puffed from his lips with every breath, his face was red where the chill morning touched his bare skin. He could feel snow in the air and he shivered at the very thought.

"Maybe just keep her arms out? She's wearing sleeves, that should be enough, surely?"

It made sense, what Brownlow was suggesting. Richard pulled Cilla's arms free of the blankets. She was no longer wearing his Dragoon coat, only her silk shift and stays. He kept her close, trying to keep himself in tune with her body, trying to determine if he was doing more harm than good.

They'd been travelling for sometime without seeing a single soul, when the guide, Mr. Lewis, parted from them. Dalton had long since left them with two men extra, to find the detachment, and the brigands. Now, Richard stopped the column, to pay and thank the guide, and to rest the horses. He climbed out from under Cilla, to relieve himself in the bushes, but was back at her side a few minutes later.

"We should reach Kingstree by midday, Sir," Brownlow reported. Richard tightened his lips. It was only ten o'clock. "Still miles from Fresh Water, Sir. Hours away."

Richard nodded. There was nothing more to be done, there was no possible way he could go faster. If they could be rid of the cart, they'd travel double time. But Cilla was in no condition to ride on horseback. Richard came to the end of the wagon, as he climbed on-board, the bed dipped, jolting Cilla awake. She blinked up at Richard, now kneeling over her.

"Not feeling well," she murmured.

"You're as hot as a blacksmiths forge," he said, wondering if he should push the blankets all the way off of her as Brownlow had suggested earlier. "Do you need to pass water?" He asked. She blinked her eyes open. Managed a weak nod. He removed her stockings - she would go barefoot and he would clean her feet dry, before putting those back on again. He helped a blanket wrapped Cilla down, his worry peaked when she had to cling to him, her legs too weak to carry her. In the end, he carried her into the trees, squatted in front of her as she squatted. If he had not been holding her beneath her arms to keep her upright, she would have collapsed onto the ground. Her legs were as weak as those of a newborn colt. It proved how ill she was, that she didn't even look embarrassed. She was too damned sick to worry about him helping her pass water. His worry increased. He carried her back to the cart, past the eyes of concerned Dragoons. They moved off again.

Perhaps he should have stopped. Inquired after a doctor, at least. For by the time they reached Fresh Water, Cilla was thrashing and groaning, flailing her arms weakly, sweat pouring from her brow. Brownlow turned into the driveway, he had sent on ahead for a surgeon, who had better be waiting on the steps as Richard Bordon commanded, or there would be hell to pay. To Richard's relief, the doctor was not the only one waiting. Tavington and Mila, both on the bottom step of the porch. And Harmony, waiting at the top. She stood watching him approach, leaning bodily against a post as if her legs could not hold her, one arm across her stomach, looking so very vulnerable.

Wonderful. He had both women to worry about now. It would be his bane forevermore, this worrying over what one woman felt and thought over something the other did. Over something he did. For when the cart pulled to a stop, Richard did not hesitate to carry Cilla off, even knowing that it might make Harmony feel hurt and wretched. He wasn't going to have someone else carry Cilla inside merely to soothe Harmony's bruised feelings. He met her gaze, she lowered hers.

"What happened?" The Colonel asked, glancing at the blanket wrapped bundle.

"Brigands," Richard replied sharply, accusing._ So much for Cilla sitting by a fire, safe and sound, huh?_ He thought it, but didn't say it. William's shocked face was apology enough. Richard could not be bothered with any of that now, he fixed his eyes on the doctor, who needed the information more than William, so he could choose how best to help Cilla.

"I found her in the woods at midnight. Mrs. Bordon was exposed to the cold for hours. She was frozen by the time I found her."

The doctor whistled. "Why didn't she seek cover?"

"She couldn't. Brigands murdered her driver," Richard said, voice desperate. Mila and Harmony gasped. "Mrs. Bordon ran from them, she turned her ankle. Oh, before she could get away, her nose was broken," that might be important, he thought. Anything that would help the doctor heal her. "When I found her, she was barely responsive, like she was in a daze or…" He shrugged. Hefted Cilla in his arms and braced his legs, getting a more comfortable position. "I warmed her as best I could, with wool jackets at first, until I could get her to a fire. There was a cabin with a brazier, we slept close to it, Mrs. Bordon had layers of blankets and the heat of my body to keep her warm. Still, when she woke this morning, she was boiling. What did I do wrong?" He asked wretchedly, feeling there must have been something he'd forgotten. "She was warm through the night, I made sure of it. Why has she taken ill?"

"You did everything you could, I am certain," the surgeon shrugged. "Mrs. Bordon was in the cold for too long before you found her, that's all."

"That's all?" Richard shot back, temper spiking. "That's all. Well, you need to help her. You have to make her better, now!"

"Doctors are not magicians, Sir," the surgeon said primly. "I will do all I can. Her bed is ready for her."

Richard fell in behind the doctor, everyone else fell in behind Richard. "Should I have stopped at a settlement?" He asked the doctors back. "Have I waited too long to get her aid?"

The doctor snorted. "The so-called doctors this colony has to offer are little more than hedge doctors, Major. You have done the right thing, bringing her to me."

"She could not even stand to pass water, she's so weak I had to hold her. And she's so sick, she didn't even care that I did," there was panic in his voice, even he could hear it. "She was comfortable for most of the ride down, I had her sleeping against my chest so she wouldn't feel the jolts of the wagon as much," they climbed the stairs, turned the landing, kept climbing up and into the corridor. "But an hour or so ago, she started shivering. By the time we got here, she was thrashing and groaning and nothing I said to her would stop it."

They reached his chamber, the doctor held the door open, the yellow haired pretty chamber maid, Vickie, stood by the inglenook, poker in hand. She'd been stoking the fire to a blaze. Richard gestured to the bed, he lay Cilla down on the top covers. He pulled the blankets away from her body. The room was soon filled with people, William, Mila, Harmony who hung back in a far corner, Brownlow, Vickie and the surgeon. Who made a strange sound. Richard glanced up, saw that the doctor was staring at Cilla, who lay only in her stays, shift and stockings. Richard pulled her shift down past her knees to give her some modesty.

"Where are her clothes?" The doctor asked in a strangled voice. Richard understood. All his talk of brigands and now it's revealed that his wife is half naked... He'd thought the same too, hadn't he?

Richard looked to the maid. Wanting no gossip to spread about his wife, he said firmly, "leave us." She fled from the chamber. Mila was allowed to remain. Despite his frustration with her the previous day, Mila was trusted. Richard met the doctor's eyes. "The brigands tore them from her body," he said, voice firm. Gasps filled the chamber. Harmony covered her mouth with both hands, eyes horrified over her fingertips. "They were going to ravish her," Richard said, voice thick and low, murderous. "Two men were holding her, one standing in front of her, stripping her down. They wanted her clothes so they could sell them. When she was disrobed, they were going to…" He cut short, lips tight. The others in the chamber understood. William watched, gravely silent. "She was terrified, but she couldn't stand to be ravished ag-" he stopped, on the verge of saying 'again'. William heard the slip, his eyes were as large as they could go, pale blue gaze burning. Being more careful of his tongue, Richard said, "she could not go such a thing, she knew she had to do something to get away. She kicked one of them - Eddie, the one removing her clothes. She kicked him in the stones. Her driver - Morgan, his name is. Or was. He got a shot off. The bastard he shot was standing too close to Cilla. His head snapped forward from the force, crashed into Cilla's nose. That's how it got broken. They shot Morgan then. Eddie was on his knees, bawling with pain. Cilla said it was all confusion, then. She managed to loose herself. Morgan was screaming at her to run, with his dying breath, he screamed it. And Cilla did. She ran. It was dark, she's all over with scratches from twigs and branches, you see there?" He pointed at her bruised and marred legs. "She turned her ankle. They gave some pursuit, she told me, but she got away from them. At some point, she couldn't go any further and she dropped behind a tree, did her best to work her way into the bowl of it. That's how we found her. Dressed like this," he pointed at her. She'd drawn her knees up, her shift with it, and was tossing and turning.

"Everybody out," the doctor commanded, and never mind two of them were his superiors. William made no rebuke. The doctor opened his bag, began pulling items he required. A sharp blade, a small bowl. He lifted Cilla's arm, placed it beneath her elbow. Richard sat heavily to the armchair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He hated this part, the bleeding. He'd had his own veins opened to rid his blood of impurities, it was in no way a pleasant experience. Cilla gasped as the blade sliced her flesh. She thrashed but the doctor held her arm fast, over the bowl, catching the blood. Mila stayed, in case she was needed. Richard had no intention of going anywhere, despite the doctors command. The door began to close on the others. Richard glanced up, saw Harmony standing there, her hand on the door. She was waiting for him to leave with her. He shook his head, indicating she should leave without him. A look past between them, he could not tell if she was angry with him or concerned for Cilla. Then the door closed.

Cilla looked awful. Her face white, lips bloodless, sweat dripping. She thrashed again, a pain filled groan, eyes squeezed tight. Her breathing was laboured now, a rattling in her chest. She coughed convulsively. Lord, it was as bad as last time, Richard worried she might die, she looked so very sick.

N_o, it's not like last time. That was yellow fever,_ he thought desperately, wringing his hands. _This is an ague. A common flux. She'll be well._

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, Harmony kept clear. In her own chamber, perhaps. Richard did not move from Cilla's bedside to check. Mila took the bowl away. The bleeding was stopped, Cilla's arm bandaged. She was given a draft of laudanum and finally, her thrashing stopped. Her breathing still came in that awful rasp with that rattling, and her fever still raged, but the laudanum kept her quiet and still. She did turn once, she tossed, whispered, sweat dripping down her temples, soaking her shift. Mila and Vickie changed Cilla's shift twice before dark. Candles were lit. A tray bought for Bordon. He ate, because he had to, but Cook's usually delicious fare tasted like ashes in his mouth.

He remained there, alternating between dozing and wakeful. At eight o'clock the following morning, O'Hara stopped by the house to bid them farewell. He did not come into the sickroom for he could not afford to catch an ague, but he sent word up with his best wishes for a quick recovery. Richard watched from the window, staring across the fields, past Fresh Water to the Ferguson plantation, as the multitudes of tents were struck down. They were only specks in the distance from his vantage, but very quickly, those specks disappeared. A long line, a massive procession, began to file out along the post road, with O'Hara and his Generals riding at the head. By one o'clock in the afternoon, the last of O'Hara's force, the rear guard, was passing out of sight. It took a long time to move such a massive force. Within the hour, Ferguson's house would be filled with Tavington's officers, those who were forced to sleep in tents, because Fresh Water was so small.

Cilla's fever persisted. The few times she was lucid, she was forced to drink some water, but could take no food. For most of the time, she was dosed with laudanum. Finally, around mid afternoon, Bordon left the chamber. To stretch his legs. To get some air. His bed chamber had become a sick room, it was close and hot and stale in there. He went downstairs, answered questions from the Dragoons asking after Cilla. Yes, she still had a fever. No, he did not know if she was alright yet. Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell came up from the tents, and he was grateful for it. He wondered who had sent for them, but dismissed it as unimportant. They were there, they went upstairs almost immediately; he hoped Mrs. Andrews would be able to help Cilla as she helped the other women in camp. He went outside, splashed his face in the water from a rain filled trough. Harmony handed him a towel.

He gave a start of surprise, he hadn't heard her approach. He took the towel. "Thank you."

"How is she?" She asked. She placed her hands on her swollen stomach, as if to protect the child within. She was anxious, he saw, and nervous. She and Cilla were at odds, but Harmony was still worried for her.

"You sent for Mrs. Andrews," he said, realising it now. She nodded, unsmiling. "Thank you, Harm."

"Hedge doctors," she sniffed disdainfully. "That doctor is full of himself. My people can be every bit as intelligent as yours. Cilla knows that too, I think. I don't think you should have carried her all the way back here. I don't have any faith in his abilities, myself. I've lost count of the amount of people he's tended, who show no improvement at all, until Mrs. Andrews gets to them."

"Well, either way, Cilla is in good hands then. I hope. As for how she is - she's unchanged from yesterday."

"She has survived yellow fever and a miscarriage, and one can be as dangerous as the other. Believe me, I know," she said, and he remembered she was speaking from experience of both. "Cilla is strong, Richard. She will be well."

"Not if it gets into her lungs," he shook his head, refusing to be pacified. "You can't know, Harm. Not for sure. She might…"

"She will not succumb," Harmony cocked her head. "Richard, did you bed her?"

The question was such a shock, all he could do was gape at her. Cold sunlight made her golden hair shine. It could do nothing for her eyes, however. They were dull, red-rimmed he saw now, and puffy. Had she spent the night and day crying? Because she thought he'd bedded Cilla. He recalled all he'd said the previous day, all he'd told the doctor, about warming Cilla with his own body, and sleeping beside her during the night. What else was Harmony to think? Pity stirred his breast. He should have discussed it with her last night, he could have relieved the worst of her fears. It twisted his gut, that she'd spent the night and day thinking it and worrying that he'd been unfaithful.

He opened his mouth to tell her he hadn't, but the words that would offer her comfort dried on his tongue. He hadn't coupled with Cilla, which would be a grand relief to Harmony. But that relief would be short lived, for he intended to exactly that. He intended to get a child on his wife… What was the point of her being relieved now, only to have her world torn apart later?

"I shared blankets with her," he said truthfully, because it was the truth. "Just as I do when we're here," he jutted his chin toward the house, toward his chamber. An explosive breath puffed from her lips. Relief. It would be short lived, however. He wondered if he was doing more harm than good, even though he was being truthful. Perhaps it was better this way. Now was not the time to tell her the whole of it, he wanted to get back to his chamber. He glanced out across the fields. It seemed empty now, with O'Hara's forces gone. Only Tavington's seven hundred left. He wondered how long it would before they were summoned to Cornwallis also. Hopefully not before Cilla recovered. How was he going to do this? To be a husband in truth to one, and a loving lover to the other. As soon as he was alone with one, the other would be desperately lonely and unhappy… This was not going to be easy.

_We'll find a way, _he thought. _Neither is protesting the others place in my life now. I need to show them both how grateful I am for that. I won't give either any reason to complain. Proper, doting husband to Cilla when we're alone. Loving, lover to Harmony when we are. I just have to tell Harmony that I'll be having relations with my wife in future. Nothing easier, _he sighed, closed his eyes, not relishing the talk to come. Not when she was looking so absurdly relieved to hear he had not strayed from her. Would there be anger? Or hurt? Both, perhaps? Would she try to convince him to break this latest promise?

Richard wanted to pull Harmony into his arms, he yearned to be with her, to kiss her, to hold her. But there were too many people about. Soldiers, servants, freedmen, the yard was not empty. None were near enough to hear the conversation, but all would see it, if he tried to embrace his mistress here. Perhaps he should tell her the truth now. It wasn't fair on her to drag it out, was it? It was that relief that decided him - that misplaced relief that nothing had changed, when everything had. It wasn't fair on her. They were both silent so long. It was a surprise to both when they spoke up at once.

"Harm, Cilla wants me to give her a child." That, from Richard, at exactly the same time as Harmony asked, "Richard, has Cilla been raped?"

They gaped at one another, both shocked by the other.

"She wants what?" Harmony asked, voice shrill, her question forgotten.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" That from Richard. "What have you heard?"

"She wants you to give her a child? Richard," she said, eyes blazing. "You made a promise to me."

"Harm -"

"That you would never bed her," Harmony hissed. She kept her voice low so no-one passing by would hear. "You swore this would always be a name only marriage. I've had to sit by and watch you growing closer to her by the day, so close that what was entirely mine now has to be shared equally with Cilla. You have love for her, you said. I don't even have your whole heart, not anymore. It takes both of us to make you whole, you said. But I took solace in the knowledge that there was one place I would have all of you, wholly and completely, all to myself. You promised me, Richard!"

They were getting some strange looks. Their words could not be heard, for no one dared venture close enough. Which was precisely the point. No one dared to venture closer. Because no one could miss Harmony's fury, no one could mistake that the two were having some sort of disagreement. It was in her eyes, blazing like the sun, it was in every line of her very stiff body, her beautiful face, twisted, accusing.

"And when I made that promise," he began softly, knowing the discussion had to be had now. It had been foolish of him, to think he could delay it. "I had meant to keep it. I love you, Harmony. You know I do. But everything has changed now."

"Because she threw a tantrum and left?" Harmony folded her arms across her chest. At least she wasn't screaming.

"It wasn't like that."

"Lord, she's demanded so much from you, from the very beginning. And like a quim-whipped fool, you give it. Every time you give in, she asks for a little bit more, and you give that to her as well. Now, she is asking for a child. Soon, she will ask that you be rid of me. Will you accede then, too?"

"I would never be rid of you," he said gently. "I love you."

"You do realise the only reason she wants a child is because she wants you to bed her?" Harmony curled her lip. "I am a woman, Richard. And I know women. This is a ploy, only. Because she's discovered you made that promise to me, and now she's trying to find a way to take more of you than she is entitled to."

"That is not the reason," he sighed, closing his eyes, shaking his head.

"She has taken and taken from you, from the first night you bedded her. She thought you'd marry her, because she spread her legs for you. That's how these noblewomen think. But because you were only interested in a one night affair, she became bitter toward you. She discovered she was pregnant, forced you to marry her," Harmony's voice was bitter now, bitter and scathing. "And you did it. You married her. And you promised me it'd be nothing, a sham, an empty thing, name only. But she's been working on you, from the start, she has been. Now, you dine out with her, you live in the same room with her. You have love for her. She leaves and you worry enough to chase after her. And now she's demanded you screw her, probably using the threat that she'll leave again, if you don't," Harmony tossed her head like an angry horse. "Oh, she's snared you good and proper, hasn't she?"

It was true, in a manner of speaking. Richard would concede to Cilla's wishes in the fear that she would leave again or have an affair, if he didn't. But he would also give in to her demands because he knew she was right. They should have children together. They needed the closeness of a more intimate marriage. They both did, for his sake and hers. But the rest… All of it was rot. Rubbish borne from the assumptions Harmony had about his first coupling with Cilla. He stared gravely at his mistress, his lover, the woman he adored, the woman he cherished. For the longest time, he stared at her. And she glared right back.

It wasn't going to work. He could not bed Cilla and get children on her, and expect Harmony simply to accept it. To fall in meekly, and give him his other half of the whole submissively. That was not Harmony's way. She would fight this tooth and nail. He'd promised to be faithful to her even while married to Cilla. And she expected him to keep that promise. If he did not, he would get a small measure of blame, but Cilla would the rest. As soon as Cilla was well enough, Harmony would give Cilla the tongue lashing she thought Cilla deserved.

Richard heaved a breath. He'd started this, he had to continue now. He drew on his courage, delved deep, and still wished he could have a bottle of whiskey before facing it. Somehow, even knowing that he might be on the verge of losing one of his cherished halves, he forced himself onward. It was the only way. His heart tore from his chest.

"You asked me if Cilla has been raped," he began, his tongue drying, fingers trembling. How could telling a woman the truth unman him so? Well, because there were women and then there was this woman, the one he loved. And there were some truths and then there was this one, this awful, crippling, debilitating, prostrating truth. His blood slowly began to grow cold. The question caught her entirely off guard. She gasped in a breath, her eyes widening. The fury faded from them, drained from her body. She lowered her arms to her sides, her face turning white. She barely seemed able to breathe. A woman who had been raped herself, sympathising with another who had endured that heinous, brutal attack.

"I heard you yesterday," her voice was breathy, her face earnest, silently begging to be confided in, silently pleading to understand Cilla better, now that she suspected they had something this deep, this terrible, to unite them. "You were about to say 'again'. I heard you. You said she was terrified and she couldn't stand to be ravished - you began to say again." On the verge of tears, she wrung her hands. "Is that… Am I right, Richard? Was Cilla raped? Is that why you married her? Have you been protecting her, was the child even yours?"

_So quick to think the best of me._ His eyes burned, the sudden lump in his throat choking him. She wanted to believe it. It would make his marriage to Cilla so much easier for her to bear. It would make Cilla herself so much easier for Harmony to understand. It's not that she'd be pleased that Cilla had been raped - Harmony would not wish such a heinous thing on anyone. But it'd explain so much. And to see Richard as a knight in shining armour, when she'd been thinking all along, that he'd bedded Cilla one drunken night. To see him as the protector of women so tortured… He could see it on her face, shining with love for him. Confidence. Trust. Like daggers in his chest.

"Is this what you've been keeping from me?" She asked, holding her hands out, stopping just shy of touching his. They were still in public. They could not be demonstrative here. "There's been so many things you said, things that she said too, that didn't… Make sense. But they do now. Oh Lord, Richard… I feel so awful. I never should have said those awful things to her. I called her a doxy! I told her she was nothing more than a whore for the way she snagged you! And here, all along..!" She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Her sobbing crushed him.

"You're not awful," he whispered, caught between wanting to comfort her and fighting himself, forcing himself, to tell the truth. "You weren't to know. Harm, we need -"

"It's t-true then?" She stammered through tears, aghast at hearing her suspicions confirmed. "Oh, God. Oh, God!"

"It's true."

She lowered her hands. Her stricken, tear streaked face caught his heart and squeezed. In an awful whisper, she asked, "who would do such a thing?"

_Me…_ "Harm, we need to talk. This is not a conversation to be had here. Can we go to your chamber?"

"Of course, of course," she nodded, turned, stumbled because her legs were suddenly unsteady. She was grieving - for her rival. It astounded him. She righted herself, and walked at his side. Her hands trembled, her jaw worked. They climbed the porch, entered the foyer. Richard stopped at the bottom of the stairs, stared upward. Harmony had begun to climb. He closed his eyes, fighting off a wave of nausea. How was he going to do this? Lord, he didn't know. He stood there, eyes closed, breathing in and out slowly, steadily. He felt her hand on his arm, pulling.

This was the end. It was about to be the end. His legs felt weak, his knees shook. His boots turned to lead as he forced himself to take one slow step after another.


	126. Chapter 126 - Severed Ties

Chapter 126 - Severed Ties:

"Steady, boys," Mark called softly down the line. "We've got greater numbers than they. They will give us no trouble at all."

The command to be still, to be ready, to have courage was repeated to all of the militiamen strung through the woods. Mark wished he had Benjamin's knack for speeches, his men were looking somewhat fearful. Militiamen were known to dessert when the fire got too hot, but he was certain by now, that these would not. The ten men had been handpicked by Benjamin himself, and had proven to be steadfast. It'd certainly been a panic at Mrs. Rutledge's plantation when the sentries came rushing in to report that the Green Dragoons were coming. But these men held to their courage and they packed what they could in the time they had and they fled the campsite at Mark's side and hadn't left him since. He must have done something right, for all his doubts.

Farshaw was further down the line, hidden within the trees.

Gabriel, Thomas and three dozen more militiamen had joined him, increasing Mark's ten to nearly fifty, for the purpose of _capturing_ Bordon. Let Gabriel think what he would, Mark thought. He'd be killing Bordon, not bloody capturing, and that was an end to it.

They were all hidden in the trees, on either side of the road. How hard was it to mount an ambush anyway? As long as they were quiet. As long as they didn't spring the trap until the Dragoons were neatly in its snare.

_As long as Cilla doesn't get hurt… Gods. _The worry of that had Mark quaking. He shifted on his heels, fretting. She should be easy to spot, she was sure to be the only woman travelling with the company. Benjamin's men had been warned to be excruciatingly careful of her. Farshaw though… He was like a poorly loaded rifle, ready to misfire in Mark's hands. He wanted Bordon, so very badly. Well, so did Mark, for that matter. But Farshaw… He was like a salivating wolf with fangs bared. Insane with his hatred for Bordon. Farshaw was a good shot, though. Mark had been riding with him for long enough to know that. And he'd be as careful of Cilla as her own cousins were bound to be.

There were nearly fifty militiamen, ready to seize the twenty Dragoons bearing down on them now.

Gripping his tomahawk in one hand, he felt with the other for his carbine. It lay on the ground just beside him, loaded and ready for killing. He'd pick it up when he could hear the Dragoons horses. Damned heavy things, rifles. No point aiming it just yet. When Mark received news that Cilla was looking for him in the place he'd made camp for a few nights, he'd rushed back as swiftly as he could. If only horses could fly.

When he reached his camp, he'd found a burial mound that hadn't been there when he left that place the day before. In a panic and fearing the grave contained Cilla, he'd commanded his men to dig them up. Buried in one grave beneath all that dirt, they'd found Morgan's body, and another. Those had been a disturbing sight. Mark had never met the man himself, but one of his men recognised and identified one of the bodies as being Old Morgan. Poor bastard had been shot in the chest. And the other body - this one had his head blown in. None of Mark's men had recognised him. Then again, none had wanted to look too closely. It'd been a damned grisly sight. He could only assume that the second fellow had been an acquaintance of Morgan's, the pair of them had been helping to get Cilla to safety. And they were killed by Bordon's Dragoons, both of them.

Mark tried to push the disturbing memory away. Horrid, absolutely horrid. How terrifying must it have been for Cilla, to witness her rescuers murdered so foully? And to be captured again by the very man she'd been trying to escape. Mark had several trackers with him, experienced men who could read the forest floor and surrounding trees for information as one would read a book. It'd been clear to them that Cilla and her escort had stopped there - likely for the night. A foolish thing to do - they never should have stopped. Then again, perhaps they hadn't realised that Bordon had followed them? If only he had stayed, Gods, if only. But how could he have known that Cilla was on her way, trying to find him? Gods, what had Bordon done to her, to make her run from him? They'd built a bonfire outside the cabin, a smaller fire in a brazier inside. It was likely that Cilla had been in that cabin, when Bordon came upon the campsite. The damned bonfire would have drawn him there - a blazing beacon, a torch that led Bordon right to Cilla. He killed the two men, and when Cilla fled, he chased her down like a wolf hunting a squirrel.

Despite Mark's best efforts, despite the pace he'd set to return to his camp, Bordon had reached Cilla first. God above, she'd tried to flee, but that monster had chased her down again. The trackers had told Mark - they'd shown him the small footprints leading away from the camp - followed by larger footprints - Bordon's. He'd caught her, that much was certain. What had been done to her? Mark had followed the tracks. He'd found scraps of her clothing strewn all through the woods, scattered, torn. It made him feel sick.

His stomach roiled. What had Bordon done to her, when he'd gotten hold of her again? Had he punished her, for trying to escape him? Mark's fingers tightened around the tomahawk. His blue eyes narrowed, his face grew stark. The man nearest to him in the bushes took one look at him and then edged away, wary. He couldn't know the depths of Mark's anger, however. Or his hatred. His thirst for vengeance. His need to have his little girl safe, for once and for all. His girl. Raped. Beaten. He could still hear her screams…

Gods.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Tried not to weep. Forced back bile before his fury could be spewed all over his boots. "_This is my sacrifice, papa,"_ she'd said. Then she'd been dragged into another cell, close enough to make sure Mark could hear her screams. Terrible things had been done to her there. By Bordon. By Bordon…

"Twenty rods, sir," one of his men whispered. Mark's eyes snatched open. Twenty rods away. He'd soon have his little girl back. And he'd have his vengeance. A few minutes more, and he'll put an end to Bordon, too. For daring to harm Mark's daughter. For murdering Morgan. And the other fellow who'd tried to help Cilla. Mark whispered a prayer for both men. They made the greatest sacrifice of their lives, in helping her. And all for nothing. She was in Bordon's clutches again. Mark had been so close to rescuing her, so near he'd been able to taste it. But Bordon had thwarted him. Not again, however. Not this time. He'd have her back now, only a few minutes longer.

He could hear the Dragoons, though he could not see them yet. A few minutes more, and he'd put an end to Cilla's nightmare. His fingers trembled on the tomahawk. The Dragoons came thundering down the road. Mark already knew they had prisoners, his scouts had told him. Now he saw for himself. The captives - five of them - tied to the horses. Mark had given the command that they not be harmed. Any prisoner of the British, a captive of Bordon himself, must be Mark's friend, wasn't it so? _The enemy of my enemy is my friend? _Mark could see them now. The despised Dragoon helmets, fur flying. Great cloaks streaming in the wind. Horses galloping hard, directly into the ambush.

No Bordon at the head. And no Cilla to be seen. Mark lurched to his feet and screamed his rage, the loaded carbine coming up with him. Horses halted, they reared; panic, confusion, Dragoons yelled out, cursing from the sudden fright. Mark didn't care. He was the storm. The fury. The loaded carbine. He rushed in, and his men rushed in with him.

A few moments, it took. The Dragoons didn't stand a chance. One or two managed to get a shot off with their pistols but Mark's numbers were greater and within seconds, Dragoons were being dragged from their horses and into the mud. Relieved of all weapons, pistols and sabres, even the smallest pairing knife. They were pushed and prodded into a large circle and held at gunpoint. The Dragoon's prisoners were untied, but held for questioning. Throughout it all, Mark paced; like a stalking panther, back and forth, fingers still curled around his firearm and tomahawk. He must have looked a sight. His men soon identified the Officers and three were bought before him. He recognised one.

To this one, he spoke.

"Where is Bordon?" He spat, striding up and stabbing the man in the chest with the business end of his rifle. "Where is my daughter?"

As Mark studied the flustered, nervous Dragoon intently, he searched his memory for the Officers name. Dalton, that was it. Damned bastard had stayed in Mark's home, with Tavington and Bordon, doing only God knew what with Mark's wife and daughter. He saw it when recognition flared over the man's face.

"You're… You're dead!" Ensign Dalton gasped. He was already breathing heavily, from the hard ride and the fright of being attacked so unexpectedly, subdued so completely. He stood there, stock-still, shocked to his core, and devoid of all weapons. Dragoons looked naked, with out their weapons. They looked far less impressive, far less intimidating.

They looked weak. Fragile.

Powerless.

Mark laughed. "You see?" He called to his men. "They're nothing to be frightened of. They are _nothing_," he repeated, eyes fixed on Dalton. He cocked his head. "Rumours of my death were greatly exaggerated. As you can see, I am very much alive," he stepped closer, hefted his tomahawk under Dalton's nose. "I want my daughter. I want you to tell me where she is. I'd also like to know _Bordon's_ whereabouts," he spat the name with such hatred, Dalton had to wipe spittle from his cheek. "I'd very much like that. If you'd like to keep your nose," Mark pressed it closer. "You will tell me the things I wish to know."

"Uncle…"

Mark's lips tightened. Dalton's panic stricken gaze searched hopefully for the speaker, whose voice had a reproving ring to it. Gabriel Martin. Gabriel and Thomas both edged through the press until they were at Mark's side. Nicholas and Farshaw were both winding their way through the throng. Farshaw's face was screwed up, his green eyes sparking like flint. He looked as though he'd chewed something very unpleasant. He couldn't like Bordon's absence any more than Mark did. Too late. Again. Always too late.

"Uncle -"

"I am in charge here, Gabriel," Mark snapped, sensing Gabriel's dissent. He - Gabriel - would not allow harsh questioning of their prisoners, if he could stop it. Mark would not let him stop it. He was the fire. Hell, no, he was the Goddamned blazing inferno. "I will get what information I will from these men. You will not question my tactics," Mark's eyes hadn't left Dalton's face. He smiled unpleasantly. "Any more than this one questioned Tavington and Bordon, when they tortured me. When they tortured -" he cut short, thinking of Cilla. He ground his teeth. He didn't know what face he wore just then, but Dalton had become very wary indeed, he looked ready to wet his breeches. He would not reveal to Gabriel, what had been done to his daughter. The shame of it - her destroyed, murdered virtue. It would cut her to her very soul, if any one else knew of it.

"Where is my daughter?" He asked Dalton again.

"Mrs. Bordon -" Dalton began, but Mark cut him short.

"Call her that again, and you will lose more than your nose," he hissed, slashing the blade. Dalton cried out, his hands flew to his face. A grumbling ran through the Dragoons, was quickly quieted by Mark's men. The damage wasn't so bad - just a cut; a nick. When the frightened Dragoon realised he still had his nose, when he realised the cut was no worse than he'd get shaving, he lowered his hands, embarrassed. Terrified, and embarrassed. Blood ran down his cheek unheeded.

"He'd look far more fetching, without his nose," Farshaw said quietly at Mark's side. The remark was meant to be threatening. Dalton certainly took it as such. Mark could read his fear, etched all over his face.

"You'd like it if he were more fetching, wouldn't you Farshaw? We all know how much you fancy the men," one of the other Dragoon Officers shot back, twisting Farshaw's comment, hurling it back in his face. Dark laughter ran through the Dragoons. Mark stared at the Officer who'd made that awful remark, incredulous. Farshaw had confided in Mark, about bedding another man. It was rape, Farshaw had said, and Mark believed him. The Dragoons knew about Major Fallows. They all knew. Farshaw blanched. Did they think the youth had been willing? Appalling, disgusting, _spiteful_ thing to say… Flippant. It was flippant, and all the more insulting for it. Farshaw had been _raped_, every bit as much as Cilla had been, Mark knew it for truth. A sudden thought occurred to him. If this bastard could speak so callously of Farshaw, did they make flippant comments about her attack also? His vision washed red. They were all rapists and murderers, every last one of them.

"Uncle, I don't think -" Gabriel interrupted his thoughts and Mark rounded on him.

"Gabriel, you will leave the questioning to me," he said, still not removing his eyes from Dalton.

"That man is a traitor and is wanted for murder," Dalton said, pointing at Farshaw. Where he found the stones to accuse Farshaw just then, Mark had no idea.

"As near as I can tell, your Fallows had it coming. If you think I will hand Farshaw over to you, you are very much mistaken," Mark spat. "In case it has escaped your notice, I have captured you. Not the other way around. I get to ask the questions, I get to deliver the torture, if you decide to be obstinate. Now. You were telling me where Miss Putman has been taken, Sir?" Mark addressed Dalton with mock politeness.

"Mrs… Miss… ah… she has been taken to Fresh Water," Dalton said, abandoning his attempt against Farshaw.

Mark drew in a ragged breath. "Fresh Water? He's taken her back to _Fresh Water_? Damn and bloody blast it to all hell!" Mark wanted to lash out, to vent his fury. To kill Dalton, who must have known what had been done to Cilla that day, yet he'd done nothing to stop it. Gods, he wanted to hurt someone… He'd thought for certain he'd been chasing Bordon down, that the Major would not be far. Therefore, Cilla would not be far either. Had he been chasing a detached force of Dragoons all this time? He recalled the confusion of tracks back at the campsite, at the cabin. The trail had been difficult to read, the muddy ground all mashed up. But what had been clear was, the trail had continued on northward. None of them had noticed tracks leading back toward the south. Why would Bordon split with them there, why would he return to Fresh Water? Christ Above!

"Because Mrs… ah, that is, Miss… Well, she was in need of a doctor, so she was rushed back to Fresh Water while we were sent in search of the brigands," Dalton explained. Mark's head came up. He hadn't even realised he'd spoken that last out loud. Was he losing his mind? Giving voice to his thoughts, without even realising.

"Brigands," Gabriel repeated. He planted the butt end of his rifle into the ground and leaned on it. "And did you find them, Ensign?" He pointed at the ragged looking men Mark had demanded be untied. They stood in a rough circle, watching warily, uncertain as to what they should be doing. They looked like men who wanted to flee.

"That is them, Lieutenant Martin," Dalton replied. "You must not let them go."

"What need did she have of a doctor?" Mark snapped, speaking over Gabriel, who seemed ready to pursue this _brigands_ nonsense. What did he care for brigands at a time like this? These men Dalton had captured were likely innocent anyway, men who'd been caught up in some Britisher design or other. Mark cared not.

"Ah, Sir?" One of Dalton's captives came forward before he could supply an answer. He was as ragged as the others, but was clearly their leader. The others huddled together, looking ready to take flight, while this man - their spokesman - came to stand before Mark. "Eddie Rousin's the name. I just want to thank ye for freein' us, like. Mighty good of ye, doin' that. These damned British, swoopin' in and collectin' up innocent men and when they can't pin no crime on 'em, they call em' brigand and take 'em in anyway. We ain't never stolen a damned thing in our lives. Was drinking over at Mosely's watering hole, getting more soused then I ever been, when this lot came thundering in. Roughed me and the others up real good and then tied us to the horses like we was nothing but pigs. It's mighty good of ye to be lettin' us go, though. I thank ye," he bobbed his head, hands spread in a gesture of gratitude as he began to back away, as if he intended to leave Mark to his business. Mark made no move to stop him, he was just as happy to have him gone, he had other matters to attend to. Eddie was saying, "we won't take up no more of your time, I'll round this lot up and we'll take our leave of you." He gave Mark a conspiratorial grin. "There was a nice plump pretty back at Moseley's who thought me smile was nice. Damned Dragoons came along a'fore I could get far with her. I be going back to her now. Besides, I'd rather put as much distance between meself and these Lobsterbacks as I can, if ye don't mind."

"Go back to your pretty in peace. These will not be released anytime soon," Mark assured the man. "They will plague you no more."

"My thanks, Sir," Eddie had reached his men by now and, certain that he would be allowed to leave, he offered a flourishing bow.

"Innocent! What rot!" Dalton cried, aghast. "They are brigands, they stand accused of murder and worse -"

"Enough!" Mark roared. "None of that is my concern -"

"With respect, Sir, it is very much your concern," Dalton interrupted. "You see -"

"Take them in hand," Gabriel commanded. "Do not let them leave." Rousin stopped dead, mouth falling open as the militia circled him and his men, rifles drawn. Mark rounded on Gabriel, giving him a foul look. Gabriel ignored it, he singled out ten of their men, to watch over the brigands. "Back with the others, Mr. Rousin," Gabriel commanded. "You will be questioned more fully in a moment." Mark swallowed hard, trying to tamp down his frustration. It'd been this way since the two units joined, when Mark found Gabriel and told him Cilla was trying to flee, that he might need help against Bordon's Dragoons. Mark was a Captain and Gabriel was a Lieutenant, the order of rank should have been clear. But Mark was a _militia_ Captain, which was considered inferior to Officers on the Continental establishment. Gabriel did follow his orders for the most part, but only when it suited him. When it did not… in those instances, when Mark gave an order, Gabriel countermanded it. And when they joined forces, Gabriel's men had made it clear that it was Gabriel they followed, not Mark. And Mark's men did not answer to Gabriel - they followed their Captain. It was a right mess, and it was rearing its ugly head, Gabriel was doing it, yet again. Taking Dalton's prisoners back in hand, when Mark had made it clear he intended to turn them loose! Gabriel met and held his gaze. "I will not allow possible brigands and murderers free to plague the countryside. They _will_ be questioned, uncle," he said. Mark knew that tone of voice - Gabriel would not budge on this. With a scowl, Mark turned back to Dalton.

"For Christ's sake, Dalton, for the love of everything holy in this world, you will tell me what has become of my daughter or by God -"

Dalton held up his hands, as one does when surrendering. He peered at Gabriel and the men, watching as Rousin's lot were prodded into a smaller circle and surrounded by militia. That seemed to satisfy the Ensign for now, Dalton looked vastly relieved, despite having gun wielding sentries keeping his own men under guard. "She developed a terrible ague of some sort, from being out in the cold all night, after being chased by those men. Major Bordon left here in all haste to return her to Fresh Water, where she would receive doctoring -"

"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF MAJOR BORDON!" Mark roared, the scream splitting through the woods. Several birds took flight overhead. It was several moments before he could calm himself. All eyes were on him. The Dragoon prisoners. Rousin and his men. The militia. Farshaw. Watson. His nephews. He knew what they were thinking. That he was daft. Taken leave of his senses. He was not. He knew he was not. If they knew what had been done to Cilla… None would be questioning his actions now. His conduct. They'd understand entirely. He could not tell them, however. Not without revealing Cilla's shame. He would not tell a soul that his beloved daughter's virtue had been stolen, murdered, tortured from her by Major bloody Bordon. "Don't you dare speak as though he ever, EVER has her best interest at heart!"

Dalton snapped his mouth shut. Mark could not read the expression on the man's face and Dalton knew better than to speak at that moment. It was such a struggle, an absolute struggle, to keep his temper controlled. How did Benjamin do it? Christ, he could be in a murderous fury and still he managed to remain calm, in control. In order to do what needed to be done. Be like Benjamin. Calm. Control. The eye, instead of the storm. For now.

"My daughter took an ague," Mark found himself saying - calmly, for a wonder. "And Bordon was returning her to Fresh Water. Where do you imagine they would be on the road, by this time?" _I'll catch up to him on the road. If I have to damned well fly, I'll devise a way to do so. Gods. I went the wrong way. The wrong way!_

"Sir," Dalton licked his lips. "Mr. Putman, Major Bo - that is, ah, Miss Putman… She'd most certainly be at Fresh Water by now. Days ago, she would have reached there."

Mark gaped, his hold on his tomahawk weakened. Days. Gods. Was he really so far behind? Had word taken that long to reach him? Is that why the trail was so damned cold and confused? Morgan… And the other dead man - returned to their graves now - had they really been lying there for days before Mark found them? Mark had been following the trail to the north looking for Cilla, while at the same time, she was being carried back southward**, **she had already been returned to her prison. To her hell. Gods. Too late. Too late. Gabriel shifted at his side. Mark shot him a scowl, still sore at his intervention with Rousin and his men. Mark would see them free soon enough. As soon as he recovered from this latest blow. And what a blow it was. He could barely think, for the disappointment. For the fear. It'd gotten so bad for her that she'd tried to escape. And now she was captive again. What was being done to her? What new hell was she going through? He had to help her, he had to -

"Ensign, you said these men chased my cousin?" Gabriel's words sliced into his thoughts.

Had he? Dalton had said Cilla had been out in the cold all evening, _'after being chased by those men'_. Slowly, he turned back to Rousin, his heart thudding in his chest like an enraged bull trying to break free of its pen. Rousin wasn't looking anywhere near as innocent now. He looked like a boy who'd been caught with his fingers in the jam jar. He took a full step back.

"Thank the Gods one of you is thinking clearly," Dalton snapped, shooting a glare at Mark.

"No more of that, Ensign. Not now. Just tell us what happened," Gabriel commanded. He handed Dalton a kerchief. Dalton pressed it to his face to stem the flow of blood. Mark could barely breathe. His eyes were fixed on Rousin, who was looking far less certain himself now. He looked downright terrified, as if realising he'd stepped into a very deep mire. Mark kept his eyes on him, even as Dalton spoke.

"I heard Mrs… Miss Putman's own account of it, in case any of you are foolish enough to think I'm lying. And no doubt she would report the same to you, given half a chance. That man," he pointed at Rousin. Who stared back, cheeks bloodless. He would not get far if he tried to run, not with ten rifles all sited on him and his men. "He stole from her," Dalton accused. "He intended to sell everything she owned, from her cape to her shift to her shoes. And then he was going to force himself on her. He made his intentions perfectly clear, your cousin was left in no doubt of it. It was only her own quick thinking that saved her from that fate."

The earth shifted beneath Mark's feet, tilting on its axis. "What did you say?" He breathed, stunned.

"I said these men should not go free," Dalton spoke slowly, carefully, crisply, as if to a child. "You of all the people in the world should not wish them free. I spoke truthfully, Sir. They are rapists and thieves and last night, your daughter was the target of both."

Rousin swallowed so hard, Mark heard the gulp from where he stood.

"If that is true, then these men will receive swift and certain justice," Gabriel said, voice hard and cold.

"Swift and damned certain," Thomas muttered, glaring at the brigands.

"But we will be the ones to exact it," Gabriel said to Dalton. "They will not be taken to Fresh Water, for you to put on trial. Will you give us the full account, as my cousin gave to you?"

"What will you do with them?" Dalton said, looking anguished. "They need to be punished, Sir."

"They will hang, Ensign. We will be no more gentle on them than you would have been," Gabriel's voice rang through the woods. A murmuring sprang up from the prisoners, a tension ran through them, a desperation to flee. "The full account, Sir," Gabriel said to Dalton.

"When we found Mrs… ah… that is, your cousin," Dalton began, still reluctant to call Cilla Mrs. Bordon in front of Mark Putman. "When we found her, she was in a wretched state. She'd concealed herself in the bowl of a tree and was frozen to the touch, wearing nothing more than her shift. Because he," Dalton pointed at Eddie Rousin. The blood had drained from Eddie's face, he was white as snow, now, and looking around frantically, searching for a way out. Because he'd just discovered that he was facing the family of the woman he'd attacked. He could see the guilt writ there, across his too pale face. Dalton continued, "had made two of his men hold her in place, while he relieved her of her clothing. Mrs. Bordon -" Dalton appeared quite angry now, too worked up to be so careful of how he named Cilla. "Said he folded each item of clothing as it was removed from her with excruciating care and that his men called out warnings not to let any of it be dirtied, as they would get less money for it."

Gabriel felt the blood rush to his face, heating him from the toes up, despite the chill afternoon. He exchanged a dark look with Thomas. He looked to his uncle, but received no help there. Mark was squatting, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. As if his legs would not hold him. His weapons lay uselessly on the ground beside him. Gabriel wished he could do the same. This account was a difficult thing to listen to, it was so damned hard, hearing of how Cilla had been treated. But there was not a doubt in his mind that it was true. Every word of it. Dalton's disgust was too true. Even Rousin himself gave away the truth of it. He stood there, saying not a word, staring frantically at the rifles, as if judging how far he'd get if he fled right now. If he was innocent, he'd not be looking for a way out.

"By the time she was standing before him in nothing but her shift, Mrs. Bordon had become certain of that man's intentions. It was in the way he looked at her, the things he was saying. And then he laid his hands on her -"

"Agh, dear God," Thomas groaned. He dropped his head into his hand, hiding his eyes. Was he weeping? Gabriel certainly felt like he might.

"I have it from Mrs. Bordon that he groped her breasts. She said she kicked him then, in the… well, you know," Dalton's voice lowered. "In the stones."

"Good girl! Christ, good girl!" Thomas gave a whoop. There was no doubt whatsoever that he believed Dalton's account also. Both had held Dalton and Brownlow under guard for the week that Tavington was in their father's clutches. Both youths had developed a grudging respect for the British Dragoon Officers and if Gabriel was to believe either man, it'd be Dalton, over Eddie Rousin.

"It weren't me!" Eddie Rousin called out. Fine time to finally find his voice. He'd waited too long for that, however. If he was innocent, he'd have said so earlier. Now, it was clear he was just grasping at straws, trying to free himself the only way he knew how. By lying his way out. "Tell 'em Dwight, Hank - ye too. Ye tell 'em. It weren't us!" Dwight and Hank exchanged a look but before either could speak, Gabriel spoke over them.

"You'll have a chance to speak in a moment," he snapped, taking charge while Mark was still incapable of it. He would conduct himself as his father would in this situation - he would hear both accounts fairly. Not that he'd believe anything Rousin had to say; but he'd do it. Watson poked Eddie in the chest with his rifle, hard enough to leave a bruise. A warning shove, to be silent.

"It did not go so well for her after that," Dalton said in a warning voice. Thomas stopped his capering and grew sober. "She told us that one of Rousin's men slapped her so hard she saw stars. And that it put Mr. Morgan in such a rage that he began to fight against the men restraining him. I think I left that out, sorry," he said, frowning. Gabriel was still trying to recover from the shock of Cilla being slapped. Rousin was listening hard, shifting restlessly, ever on the verge of protesting. Dalton continued as if Rousin was not there. "Morgan was being held by Rousin's men, they kept him back so he could not assist Mrs. Bordon as she was divested of her clothes… He somehow had a rifle - I don't think Mrs. Bordon saw how he got hold of one, but I would imagine he managed to snatch it off the brigands. He fired a shot at the one who slapped Mrs. Bordon, shot him right in the back of the head."

"Gods, that was the second body we found! We thought they were allies," Gabriel groaned. "That they were working together to help Cilla! We buried them together in the same grave!"

"Hardly that," Dalton snorted. "Morgan killed him and was killed in turn. Mrs. Bordon's nose was broken during it all." - Mark was making strangling noises deep in his throat as he clutched at his head and rocked on his heels. Gabriel shot him a look filled with sympathy. If he was having a rough time hearing this, how much harder would it be for Mark, Cilla's father? - "Morgan was shot later…" Dalton continued. "I've jumped around a bit, sorry. She said he screamed at her to run, because no one was holding her just then and she was able to flee. She said that she was not far into the woods when she heard another shot - the one that killed Morgan. She ran and ran, she said, and she said she heard Eddie Rousin screaming at his men to catch her -"

"Now, that weren't me!" Rousin could contain himself no longer. Watson rapped him over the head with a curled fist.

"Be silent or you will lose your tongue," the former Britisher warned. Rousin rubbed his head and glared at Watson, but as Watson had his carbine pointed directly at his chest, he subsided into sullen silence.

"She called you by name, you damned fool," Dalton snapped. "She said your name was Eddie Rousin!" He turned back to Gabriel. "She ran into the swamps. As I said, she was wearing only her shift, which Mrs. Bordon said facilitated her escape. It made it easier for her to run, unencumbered by skirts as she was. But then she turned her foot and sprained her ankle and when it was too painful for her to run further, she hid. The brigands searched for her. She could hear them in the woods, but she pressed herself into the bowl of a tree and they did not find her. She spent the night in the cold, with no blanket or cape or even her shoes. When we found her, she was barely coherent. Frozen almost to death. That's how she came to be sick. We helped her…" Dalton trailed off at the look on Mark's face, sensing correctly that Mark had no desire to hear of any supposedly heroic deeds done by Dragoons. Mark had pushed himself to his feet by now, his weapons again in hand. His face was livid. "When she was able, she told us the story. I heard every word. It is her report I give to you now, may Our Lord above strike me down now if I've said a single untrue word. She described Eddie Rousin so well, I've no doubt at all that he -" again Dalton pointed. "Is him. He even has the same name. We were instructed to find them and bring them to Fresh Water, where Mrs. Bordon could identify them. That is a formality only, however. I've no doubt at all that they are the ones. If you would allow me to continue my mission, I assure you, these men will be hung before the sun sets tomorrow eve."

"I never did what he's sayin'," Eddie announced, desperately wringing his hands and watching Watson's rifle warily. "I vow it on my honour, I never did. Not to your daughter, Sir. Reckon it was someone else."

"Someone else who matches your exact description as given to me by Mrs. Bordon herself?" Dalton asked, mocking. "If that is the case, then how did you come to have Mrs. Bordon's cape and dress in your possession? And the other items you stole from her person?"

"He has them?" Gabriel asked, voice grim.

"In his saddle bags," Dalton said firmly. "How did he come by those, if he is not the Eddie Mrs. Bordon spoke of?"

"I bought 'em. Like ye said, that other Eddie took 'em to sell 'em. I'm the fool Eddie who bought 'em, ain't that right, Dwight?" Eddie said to the man at his side. The one called Dwight said absolutely nothing. Eddie continued, "bought 'em for me wife. Didn't know they belonged to yer daughter," Eddie said to Mark, hoping to find a sympathetic ear in the man who'd been willing to free him before. But he was lying. They could all see it, every single one of them. No one would believe a story like that.

"Pushing co-incidence, is it not?" Dalton asked. "Do I really need to point out the faults in his story? He happened to come across another Eddie - who fits his description exactly - and this Eddie offers to sell items of clothing that he expected to fetch a grand price for, to a man who looks like he barely has two pence to rub together."

"No. There is no need to point out the faults in his story," Gabriel said. He looked to his uncle, a questioning glance. "They do need a fair trial, uncle. Will you question them or shall I?"

Mark grew very cold, his heart freezing over. "Mr. Rousin," he said, fixing his gaze on the brigands. "Tell me now for once and for all. Did you capture my daughter? Did you steal from her?" He paused, then whispered, "did you have intentions toward her person?"

"It weren't me," Eddie said again. "Tell 'em, Dwight. Tell 'em where we were. At the waterhole, that's where," Eddie answered for Dwight. "At Moseley's, with that pretty I tol' ye about. Aye, Hank?"

"If we tell ye the truth," the one called Hank asked Mark nervously, "will we get amnesty?" Eddie turned on Hank and smashed his fist in his face. Hank dropped like a stone, blood spurting from his now broken nose.

"I told the truth already!" Eddie screamed at the prone, howling man on the ground.

"Will any of the rest of you speak the truth of what happened that night? Dwight?" Gabriel asked the group at large, then addressed the one Eddie had called by that name. The men all looked to Eddie, who glared them to silence. Then they stared at their boots, obeying his unspoken command.

"Broke me nose, ye damned bastard," Hank howled. "It was him. It was all him!" He screamed, telling the truth without bothering to ask for amnesty now. "We was just goin' to take what those folks had. I weren't goin' to hurt her. But ye always have to get carried away, ain't it?" He pushed himself to his feet, blood poured from his nose, tears from his eyes. He balled his fists, a fighter ready for the fight.

"Shut it, Hank!" Eddie roared.

"Or what? Ye'll beat me? Fuck ye. I'm goin' to hang now, 'cause of ye! Ye always have to do it, ain't? Have to get yer end away if there's a woman in the company. Especially if the girl is pretty enough! Ye should have let her alone and now we'll all hang and damn and blast ye for breakin' me nose!"

This speech inspired the other men to a passion and they threw their voices in with Hank's. All of them yelling at Eddie. Who always got carried away. Who had now gotten them hung, or as good as. The things they shouted left none in the clearing with any doubt. These were the men. Mark was frozen, glaring at Eddie, who stared back, despite the men shoving at him and bellowing their anger. Eddie knew death, when he saw it. He swallowed hard. His face was covered in dried blood. Someone had beaten him to pulp already. Dalton had roughed him up, Eddie had said. Mark pushed that thought aside, refusing to believe the Dragoons would avenge his daughter.

Cilla was in their hands again. She was in Bordon's hands again, when she'd tried to flee. If not for Eddie Rousin, Cilla might have escaped Bordon entirely. She might have been with Mark, at that very moment, safe again, finally. If not for Eddie Rousin. Who attacked her camp and terrorised her. She'd been in Eddie's hands, and instead of trying to help her, he'd tried to rape her. As Bordon had raped her. As Bordon had been raping her for months. With an incoherent scream, Mark was running, his tomahawk arm came up and the blade crashed down with all his might, splitting Eddie's skull. The horses went mad. Men bellowed and yelled. Not Eddie. He stared up at Mark utterly shocked, gaping, the blade sticking out of his skull. The life drained from Eddie's eyes, they glazed over, became dull, blank. Mark tore the blade free, Eddie dropped to the ground with a thud. The man was clearly dead, but still Mark leapt upon him, using the flat edge of the tomahawk like a bludgeon. The sounds were sickening, wet thud after wet thud crunching into bone, the strong taste of iron stung his nose and tongue. And still Mark screamed and struck, until he was all over with blood, and Eddie's head was a caved mess, leaking blood and brains and gore. Seconds only it took, before he was being ripped away, Watson and Gabriel both were stronger, larger, younger than Mark, even with his fury. He was helpless in their grip.

Someone threw up. Mark heard the heaving and the slopping sound as it struck the ground. He turned, saw it was Dalton. Seeing Dalton made him think of Bordon. The tomahawk dripping blood from its blade made him think of Bordon. It should have been Bordon's blood… _If I can do this to the man who intended to rape my daughter, what do you think I'll do to the man who actually did? And to the men who helped him…_ Mark shifted his gaze, saw others had vomited also. Dragoons. His own men. Two of the brigands. The brigands… Men of Eddie's band. Men who had stood there and done nothing, while he robbed Cilla, knowing he intended to rape her. Even Hank - who was only willing to speak the truth at the last moment, in the hope of bargaining for amnesty. And for revenge. He was no better than the others.

"Hang them," he commanded, voice raw, quiet. "Hang the lot of them."

Gabriel and Thomas, faces a mask of death, began calling for rope. No opposition, Mark was gratified to see. He'd been struggling with Gabriel, an Officer in the Continental Army, a man in his own family, who was coming in to his own power and authority. Gabriel had argued with him over many of Mark's decisions. Not now. Now, he was in complete agreement.

"They… should be bought… to trial," Dalton said. He ran his sleeve over his mouth, drying the bile and vomit. Blood still poured from his cheek. "You don't… have the authority… You need to -"

Mark silenced him with a look. He didn't have the right? He, of all the people in the world, had every damned right. He was the father. He would mete out justice. It was useless to argue, to protest this. Surely even Dalton could see that. Besides, it was already half done. The ropes were twisted and tied to form nooses. Enough of Mark's men stayed watching Dalton's Dragoons, while the others prodded the brigands, pushing them toward a stand of trees. A few of them wept. Others went quietly. Hank was utterly silent. Dwight cursed under his breath, declaring that when he saw Eddie in hell, he'd make him pay for this. Farshaw was in there, helping to shove one of the brigands up onto an overturned stump while the noose was thrown over a branch above his head. It was Farshaw, who kicked the stump out from beneath the man's legs. There were no speeches, no grand words spoken, as each and every single brigand was sent to meet their maker. Within minutes, it was done, and all but Eddie hung from the trees, their bodies swaying, boots only a few inches from the ground. Dalton glared at Mark, sore at being deprived of his quarry, annoyed that he could not fulfil his mission.

"That was ill done, Sir," he dared to say. "There should have been given a trial."

"What has he been doing to her," Mark shot back, "that made her desperate to leave?" He stepped closer, face a mask of stone. "What terrors does he bring to her every single day, that drove her to flee him ?"

"I… I don't know what you mean," Dalton faltered, looking confused. This was not the reply he'd been expecting. Mark closed that last little bit of distance and now stood with Dalton eye to eye.

"He's unfaithful," Farshaw supplied when Dalton didn't answer. His green eyes were narrowed, his lip curled. He stood at Mark's side, tension making his body stiff. "With my wife. He brings shame to your daughter, every damned night."

Mark couldn't have cared less about that. About Bordon being unfaithful. As much as he felt for Farshaw's plight, the shame his wife's adultery bought him, Mark felt better knowing that Bordon had a mistress. He'd keep to Mrs. Farshaw's bed, instead of going to Cilla. Or so he damned well hoped.

"I have no idea what Major Bordon does in private," Dalton said primly. "I do not believe he would ever bring shame to himself by being unfaithful."

"Has he been hitting her?" Mark said, not caring about the other.

"No!" Dalton cried, shocked. "Major Bordon is an honourable man and an honourable husband!"

"Honourable husband my arse. He's been screwing my bitch of a wife all this time… He ain't honourable. No one could ever call him honourable," Farshaw cut in. Mark nodded, agreeing fully. His men began to form again, all of them making a circle around the Dragoons, now that the brigands no longer required their attention. The bodies swayed in the trees, the ropes creaking. To Mark, Farshaw said, "he's a brute. Always has been. He has been beating Miss Putman since the start. I heard rumours from the servants that he was always striking her for -"

"Shut it!" Dalton yelled, beside himself now. "You're a rotten liar, Farshaw! You have reason to be against Bordon, everyone knows that! You'll say anything to set others against him, men more powerful than you, who can get the revenge you can't get for yourself!"

"You're one of the bastards that beat me that night, ain't? I'm against you too, ye piece of shit you," Farshaw squared his shoulders, balled fists at his sides. "Beat me so bad, I almost died of it."

"Deservedly so, after what you did to Mrs. Farshaw. Would that you had died," Dalton curled his lip, unrelenting. This comment took Mark aback, the venom in Dalton's voice as he spoke against Farshaw beating his wife. Dalton cared for her. He was protective of her and wreaked vengeance when Farshaw harmed her. A sliver of foreboding traced his spine. What did that mean for Cilla, then? How was she treated by the Dragoons, if the Dragoons held Bordon's mistress in higher regard? What hell was she living, where the mistress not only lived in the house, but ruled it?

Bad enough to make her flee.

"Stinking sodomite," one of the other officers growled. Mark put a restraining hand on Calvin Farshaw's arm, preventing him for going for that officer's throat.

"Major Bordon never beat his wife. Ever," Dalton said directly to Mark, choosing to ignore Farshaw completely.

"How would you know? You said yourself that you have no idea what Bordon does in private," Mark said.

"We need to get the Dragoons to one of our camps where they can be held under guard. Captain Lochy is a bit further north - about four more miles away," Gabriel said, trying to take control again. Now that the brigands were taken care of. Their brief moment of unity was coming to an end. "We are taking them captive, we should move out."

"Why did my daughter flee?" Mark ignored Gabriel for now. He looked past Dalton at the other Officers and regulars, searching for answers there. "What atrocities is she suffering at Fresh Water, at Bordon's hands?"

"I am telling you now, Sir," Dalton ground out through clenched teeth. "She is suffering none. Major Bordon cares for his wife and -"

Mark dropped the tomahawk, freeing his fist to smash it into Dalton's face. Dalton's head snapped back, he fell into the man behind him. As Mark stood there raging, Calvin cried out - as if with sudden realisation - "oh, I know why she tried to flee! Isn't it obvious? What's the wager that Bordon found out Miss Putman has been spying on this lot and was reporting it all back to you? I'd bet my teeth that he did."

Time slowed. Mark turned to Farshaw, shook his head slowly, astonished. What the hell the youth was thinking, revealing that? Asking such a damning question in front of these Dragoons? Dalton's eyes bulged over the hands clutching his nose. He shoved himself off his comrades to stand, unsteadily now. Blood poured from his nose as well as the cut on his cheek. Even though he was in agony, Dalton was still astonished at Farshaw's revelation.

"She _what_?" The words were muffled - Mark had broken Dalton's nose. Tears streamed from his eyes - from the pain of it. "She has been spying _again_?" He squeaked.

"Don't deny it. Don't pretend you don't know. She's been spying and Bordon found out. She got scared, ain't?" Calvin asked, almost gleeful, even as he dug a deeper hole for Cilla. "And so she ran. She was worried he'd hurt her. Hang her, maybe, like he threatened last time when she was caught back in the city. For committing treason. That's why she ran. Isn't it? You know it's why."

Mark stared at Calvin, watching the lad, trying to comprehend this awful betrayal. Trying to understand what Farshaw was doing. Telling Bordon's Dragoons that she'd been spying on them… Then it hit him like a hammer between the eyes and suddenly, he understood Farshaw's scheme. Farshaw wanted Dalton dead. He wanted them all dead. For beating him. For helping to keep Calvin's wife safely tucked away at Fresh Water. Farshaw had known that with Cilla's spying revealed, Mark would feel a desperate need to silence Dalton. A nasty little plot it was, too. Even if Dalton and the others were sent to a prison camp, there would always be the potential that they could get word back to Bordon. A sympathetic visitor to the camp, who might speak to any of the Dragoons and then carry the tale back to Bordon. Farshaw strongly suspected what course of action Mark would take to prevent Bordon from receiving such information. So Farshaw gave it to the Dragoons freely.

It was not such a difficult decision for Mark to reach. He wanted Bordon dead, as much as Farshaw did. He wanted all Dragoons dead. Tavington. Brownlow. The lot of them. Who had been in the dungeons that day? There'd been others, in the dank corridors outside the cells. And Dalton was never far from Bordon… He knew. Dalton had known. That Cilla was being ravished. And he'd done nothing to help her. Dalton was one of them. They were all one, slimy, foul, disgusting beast. Tavington was the beast's head. Bordon, its heart. These Dragoons were the beasts legs. It was time to cut the legs out from under it. None of them deserved to live.

"Kill them," he commanded, announcing their fate. "Execution by rifle."

"Gods! You certainly don't have the authority for _that_!" Dalton bellowed, infuriated. "The Rules of War -"

"There are no Rules of War here," Mark said, taking a step back to make room for Benjamin's men. They all looked at him, watching, shocked, waiting for him to recant. The Dragoons watched them all warily. Dalton turned to Gabriel. "Martin -" he began in a voice made nasal from his broken nose.

"Yes, yes, I know, I know," Gabriel finished. He shook his head, as if exasperated. Mark lifted his chin, insulted by his nephew's tone. As if Mark was a recalcitrant child, having a tantrum, giving commands he had no right to expect to be obeyed. "Lower your arms," Gabriel called to the men. Who obeyed, uncertain who they should be taking commands from. Gabriel turned to a livid Mark. "The Dragoons will be taken into custody. They will be escorted to a prison camp. No harm will come to any of them on the way," he said in a voice ringing with command. Mark squared his shoulders, ready to do battle with his nephew.

"Colonel Martin left me in command, Gabriel," Mark said, deliberately omitting Gabriel's own rank and position in the Continental establishment. After all, even with his new rank of Captain, Mark was still only a militiaman.

"This command goes above and beyond any authority Colonel Martin gave to you. Colonel Martin charged you with the procuring of information only, Sir," Gabriel corrected, taking a gentleman's stance and wrapping his own authority around himself like a cloak. He spoke formally, as if to a fellow Officer, not a nephew speaking to his uncle, who is a nephew's natural superior. "You have been chased away from that mission and now you must needs await further instruction from your superiors. I assure you, Captain, the executing of British Officers and soldiers were not, and will never be, included in any of your instructions."

Dalton drew a huge breath and released it slowly. He was relieved. Mark saw it. The damned Britisher was wagering all he had on Gabriel, that Gabriel was in command and Dalton's life was safe.

"Tavington's gotten into your head well and good, hasn't he, son?" Mark spat, utterly furious. Gabriel's eyes gave a flick of surprise. "A whole week spent in his company, listening to his lies. He drew you in, didn't he? It doesn't matter that he tortured me. You treat him like family now. Family," he hissed. "The Butcher!"

A restlessness took over the men, they began shifting from foot to foot, exchanging glances with one another, distrust stirring among them. Distrust of the Martin's. Mark despised having to do this to Gabriel, but he could see no other way to gain control of the men. Benjamin was guilty of this also - this accepting of Tavington as a son in law. Mark was trying to understand, trying to forgive, but it was damned hard. Especially when he was faced now, with Gabriel, who would support Tavington's men. Didn't it matter to any of them, what he went through? Wasn't he their family also? Didn't they care?

"That is neither here nor there. His he is married to my sister. That is a family affair and none of anyone else's," Gabriel said, holding Mark's gaze.

No. They didn't care. Mark felt it like a punch to the chest. It left him reeling.

"Yeh. It's none of anyone's business, what was said or anything else," Thomas folded his arms across his chest, blue eyes blazing. "See here, uncle, we don't know what your issue is with Major Bordon. Yes, he married your daughter. We were as peeved about it as you. As peeved about Tavington marrying Beth -"

"The two are light and day different, boy. You've no idea what you are talking about," Mark ground out, still stung and reeling.

"I don't see how there could be any difference," Thomas said belligerently. "We weren't happy about it none, but Beth is happy and Tavington isn't such a bad fellow. A right bastard Britisher, yes. A damned Lobsterback. But he makes Beth happy," Thomas paused. "Sort of," he said under his breath. Then continued, "and Bordon likely makes Cilla happy enough."

"Oh you think so, do you?" Mark flared, infuriated. "Yes, it must be so, that's why she tried to flee from him, of course!" He slapped his forehead. "How dense am I? Of course my daughter is happy with him. Why else would she try to bloody leave?" He was yelling by the end. All eyes were on him, the eyes of every militiaman present. With a struggle, he lowered his voice. "I find it quite disturbing, how quickly the men of my own family are ready to dismiss what Tavington and Bordon did to me. Do I need to resort to showing you the scars?" He asked, pulling the bottom of his shirt from his breeches. He had to drop his weapons to do it, but in moments, his chest was bared for all to see, the crumpled bottom of his shirt and jacket bunched up in his fists. The scars were healed, but were still new - livid pink slashes and fleshy burn marks. Benjamin's men crowded closer to see, many of them whistling with surprise and cursing under their breath. Hearing that he'd been tortured was one thing, but seeing… Gabriel stared, taken aback by the evidence displayed across Mark's body.

"That is nothing to do with Ensign Dalton or these others," Gabriel said in a strangled voice even as he averted his gaze, unable to look any longer. "You do not have the authority to execute these men, regardless of what Tavington and Bordon did to you. The brigands deserved to be hung for their crimes. Justice has been meted out, as was our right," Gabriel stared past Mark and announced to the men, "my uncle is in a passion. He should not be using the militia for his own personal affairs. And he should not subvert our laws, by hanging Regulars, in any event. No matter his personal end game."

"Your father did precisely that, Gabriel," Mark's voice shook with rage as he shoved his shirt back down and tucked it in. What hypocrites! "He used the militia to capture Tavington, so that you all might have a go at whipping him!"

"_Capture_ Tavington, yes. Not murder him," Gabriel's voice lashed like a whip. Again, he looked past Mark to address the men directly. That was where the true power lay, Mark knew. Get the men on side, and they'd do whatever you wished. Or abandon any scheme you ask them to abandon. For a wild moment, Mark felt helpless, as though he were losing them, and with them lost, so would be his ability to mete his own justice on Bordon. Gabriel began, "my uncle's authority derives from that which Colonel Martin has granted to him. My uncle's task was to gain information of the enemy. That was all. Neither Colonel Martin nor General Burwell have endowed Captain Putman with the power to hang British Regulars under any circumstances. "If you persist with this travesty, you will be committing a most grievous crime. You will be charged with murder and in turn, you might very well be faced with the noose yourselves."

Silence reigned. Only birds chirping in the trees and the creaking of a swinging rope - a haunting sound, reminding the men of what might happen to them, if they decided wrongly. Several of them glanced with wary eyes at the dangling brigands. They jerked their eyes away with a shudder.

"The militia have been acting without Continental instruction or support for months," one of Benjamin's men piped up from the back of the crowd. Peter Scott, cousin to Dan Scott. They bred like rabbits, that family. The men were fiercely loyal to the Martin's, but here was Peter, pushing forward through the cautious militiamen to confront Gabriel. "You joined us, Martin. Not the other way around. We don't take our orders from Continentals."

"You take your orders from my father," Gabriel ground out, growing tense as he finally sensed the shifting mood among the men. "As do I," he said, meeting their gazes, one by one. "And he has never given instructions such as these. If you follow Captain Putman's order, you will be committing mutiny and will be punished accordingly. We will take these to the nearest camp. That is what we are going to do. Do I make myself clear?" Gabriel called out, standing tall, feet spread apart, arms folded across his chest. A fighting stance. He was making a last ditch effort to seize control of the men. Perhaps his father could have accomplished it, but Gabriel was young yet. He still had much to learn about the hearts of men. Many of these had grown bitter toward the Continentals and their Officers. Not Gabriel and Thomas who had been riding with them. But the other Officers, Gabriel's superiors. Officers the militia rarely saw or heard from, until orders were given for yet another long march without food or supplies, or another command that they give up their horses for the Continental Dragoons, or another order that would send them into the heart of battle with no thanks whatsoever. No commiseration, for all they were suffering at the hands of first Tarleton's Dragoons, and then Tavington's.

The loss of a loved one. A wife, a child. The homes burned to the ground. Cattle and livelihoods destroyed. Gabriel could not encompass it. How could he know all that these others have endured? Fresh Water was still standing. And not a single member of the Martin family had lost a loved one. Mark knew, however. Oh, he knew first hand, the suffering. The heartache. The soul deep grief. The bone wrenching fury. The need avenge his daughter. The burning desire to set things to right. He was not the only one feeling it. They'd all felt the sting of Tavington's bite. Of Bordon's. Benjamin's men were moving. It was a slow thing at first, barely perceived at the corner of Mark's eye. Those who would support him, came to stand behind him. Some stood behind Gabriel, a few remained where they stood, exchanging glances. All of this, while still keeping a careful eye on the Dragoons.

"Have you sent word to Billings that his son and wife are dead yet?" Mark asked, voice rasping as he reminded Gabriel of a recent horror, one they'd only just learned of. Billings - away up north with Benjamin, was completely unaware that his wife and child were dead. His entire family destroyed in one fell swoop of a Dragoon raid. He studied Gabriel's face, saw his lips turn white around the edges. "Does he know?" Mark whispered, the sound like a snake slithering on dry leaves.

"I… I sent word…" Gabriel murmured. Mark nodded once. He turned his back on his nephew and addressed the men.

"Will we let this atrocity go unanswered? When we have it within our grasp, to answer this latest transgression?" Mark's voice rang through the clearing. He saw, from the corner of his eyes, Dalton looking decidedly worried. The Ensign had seen the Company dividing and knew it would not bode well for him. Mark turned to Dalton now. "Were you involved? Were you there?"

"I do not know what you are speaking of," Dalton lifted his chin, wrapping himself in haughtier. Precisely the wrong thing to do.

"I'll wager you were," Mark said. Benjamin's men, some of them Mark's men now, were gripping their weapons tightly, their faces dark and hagged as they remembered the barbaric sight. "Did your Colonel give you orders to do it?"

"Sir, I do not know what you speak of. I have no idea whatsoever," Dalton replied. He looked to Gabriel again for support. Mark wanted to slam his fist in Dalton's jaw for that.

He was in charge here, not his bloody nephew. Dalton had known. He had to have known. He'd stood by and done nothing as Cilla was dragged into the dungeon, terrified and helpless, and was defiled by this man's Superior. He'd likely helped. Hell, he'd probably headed the detachment sent to escort Cilla from the safety of Mark's own home, to the place where her torture began. Dalton and that other one - Brownlow. Always together, always doing Bordon and Tavington's bidding! Mark would see them all destroyed.

Tavington. His henchmen. Bordon! How dare Dalton deny involvement? How dare he claim ignorance? When Billings wife and child lay in the dirt, their blood soaking into the mud? Justice. He would mete justice, no matter what the cost. No matter what Burwell, or even Benjamin said of it. Benjamin had made his choice. He'd chosen to forgive Tavington. That was something that Mark would never do. This had to be done. These men - Bordon's Dragoons - had ruled the Santee for long enough. With a thunk, Mark's tomahawk dropped to the ground and with one smooth motion, he lifted his rifle. Dalton had enough time to roll his eyes toward Gabriel - before the ball smashed into the flat space between. The shot coughed from the carbine, Dalton's mouth hung open slack jawed, and he tumbled backward into his comrades. Mark watched and listened in a dispassionate sort of way, as though he were watching a play on the stage, one where he was a main player. Screaming. There was lots of that. Farshaw took site and another ball coughed outward, causing another spray of blood and a body to hit the ground. Of the confused militia men, many fell back without firing a shot, shocked to insensibility. Many others took aim and settled for the bellowing Dragoons, even as Gabriel shouted and bellowed, trying to call them to order. Dragoon Officers and Regulars screaming over their fallen. Had any of them screamed for Cilla? Had any of them shown any care, when she was ravaged? No. They defended Bordon's whore with teeth and nail but Cilla gets dragged to the dungeon and her life changed forever. Even as Peter Scott killed another, Mark stared down at Ensign Dalton. He had a strange look on his face, did Dalton. He looked astounded. As though shocked to discover that his ilk were not omnipotent after all. Gabriel shouted until most of the men in his company formed up with him, but it was too late. Too late to stop the slaughter. The last Dragoon hurtled backward into the mud, even after pleading for mercy. Had they shown Cilla mercy in the dungeon that day, then perhaps Mark might have now.

But they hadn't, had they? Someone clapped him on the back. He turned, feeling drunk and met Farshaw's green, gleeful eyes.

"I did three of the bastards," he boasted. He pushed back raven hair as if fell into his eyes. Such a boyish gesture, for a killer. Had he really stabbed Major Fallows' in the throat? Mark looked at him now, studied him hard. Yes. Yes, he could well believe it. Poor lad. He'd been raped too. He'd felt no doubt a moment ago, felt no compunction at killing Dalton. It was justice. Now, he felt even more certain that what they'd just done was absolutely right. God's work, it was. God had guided his hand, hadn't He? Or at the very least, He hadn't stayed it. If God hadn't wanted this, He would have worked through Gabriel, He would not have had Gabriel seized and held back.

"…Massacre!" Gabriel was yelling. "You've bloody gone mad!"

Mark looked over at his nephew and felt sadness well from the tips of his toes throughout his entire body. Gabriel would never reconcile himself to this, nor would Thomas, who was on his knees, head clutched in his hands. It was a severing. That was what Mark had done. He'd severed himself from his own family. Gabriel was shouting something else now, about his madness and how Burwell would hear about this and Mark would be dragged over piping hot coals before being hung. His own nephew, threatening him with such things, while Tavington is lauded as being _not such a bad fellow_. He sighed and turned away.

"Get your horses," he said, to those willing to follow him, the ones who'd fired on the Dragoons, joining him in the slaughter. There weren't that many of them. The ten he'd spent the last two weeks with, and a few more from Gabriel's lot. But they had settled for a score of Dragoons even while their own comrades tried to stop them. Those hardened men who had suffered through such hardships and sorrow, who were now done with being gentlemen. The British had shown the extent of their resolve. Why should they get any mercy from Mark? He mounted, as did his fifteen. Not Gabriel, of course. And not Thomas. Many remained behind, those standing back, watching Mark and the now detached militia, mount. Farshaw was at his side, grinning from ear to ear. Peter Scott was on his other. His new lieutenants, perhaps?

Not Watson, though. Nicholas was staring at Mark like he'd never seen him before. Like he'd grown a second head.

"Nick?" Mark called, asking. "Do you come or do you stay?"

"This was madness, Mark," Nicholas seized his arm. "I know you're angry about what Tavington did to you, but this… This was… Madness. I fear you are going -"

"Mad? I'll protect my daughter using whatever means necessary, Nick," he said gravely. "Dalton and those others… If they were ever returned to their unit, they would report back that my daughter has been spying. They don't hesitate to hang women, the British don't. I was protecting her."

"What rot. This was Farshaw's doing. I told you he could not be trusted," Nicholas spat, glaring at Farshaw, whose grin slid from his face. "Everything that is being said about him is true - he is a vile little snake and you've let him slide right on in. Now look what he's done - he wanted those men dead or he never would have mentioned your daughter and the spying in front of them. And you wanted them dead, or you would have taken a different course. You weren't protecting her. You were avenging yourself and you and I both know it."

"Believe as you wish," Mark twisted his arm out from Nicholas' grip. It killed him, it was like severing himself from his own child. A son. Nicholas had become that, very much so, in the last few months. Damn - the man had saved his life, back in Charlestown, when Sumter tried to kill him. Gods. The Patriots had been set against him, even then. And they would be now, even more so. "

"Murderers!" Gabriel bellowed. "Seize them!" He came striding forward, his face a mask of death. His men fell in behind him, twenty-five of them. Mark watched, holding his breath, as his fifteen formed up behind him. Gabriel kept marching forward but then his stride began to falter, his certainty faded from his face. Mark held his eyes for a moment, before turning on his heel and striding away. He was not surprised when he did not hear Gabriel's command to capture him, he'd seen the conflict on his nephew's face. His men would have done it, but Gabriel had faltered. Therefore, Mark and his men began to fade into the trees, returning to retrieve their horses. "Let's pick up the pace, in case he changes his mind," he said and he and his men began to run.

They spread out among the trees, finding and claiming their horses, then formed up into one unit, Farshaw at Mark's side.

"Bordon next, isn't it?" Farshaw asked, trotting alongside. "We're goin' after him now, ain't it?"

"There's a thing I need to do first but then… Yes, we'll be going after Bordon," Mark replied. He scanned the trees and caught momentary sight of Watson. But then he was gone; Watson was. They were all gone. Mark looked about and found he was left with the hardest, most aggrieved of the militia. Hardened men who would stop at nothing, who would not balk at any command given. Hell, he hadn't even commanded it, really. Not a second time, when he fired that first shot. They'd all shot into the prisoners of their own accord, even after Gabriel's grand speech about the punishment for mutiny. Good men, these. Farshaw looked ready to faint with excitement. He reeled, blew a slow breath of release. No, he didn't look like he was on the verge of a faint. He looked like a man who'd just finished with a woman, after just spilling his seed. That glorious satisfaction. Mark couldn't help it, he laughed a grim laugh. "It's almost time, Farshaw. You've kept them safe, haven't you?"

"Yes, Sir," Calvin grinned and patted his saddlebag, where O'Hara's seal and cipher lay. "Safely tucked up right here."

"Let us hope the cipher hasn't changed. Are you certain you can still replicate O'Hara's hand?"

"He'd think he wrote the missive himself, Sir, if it was to fall into his hands," Calvin boasted.

"Then let's go get Bordon, lad," Mark clapped him on the back. Calvin gave a great whoop, his laughter rebounding from the trees overhead. "Farshaw," Mark called a caution. "He's mine, as we agreed. I will kill him, and I will rescue my daughter."

"I get to watch though, ain't?" Calvin said jovially, as if getting to watch while Bordon was murdered took the sting out of not being able to do the deed himself.

"Oh, yes. You will get to watch alright," Mark replied grimly, imagining the slow way he was going to make Bordon die. "Don't worry, lass," he said under his breath. "Papa's coming for you. You won't be in that vile bastard's hands for much longer…"

* * *

"Gods, my head," Captain Gordon clutched his skull and winced. Samuel spared him a worried glance. They'd been getting worse these last months, those headaches. Samuel's father hadn't pulled the blow, before striking the flat of his tomahawk into the Officer's head. Samuel stared through the bushes downhill at the rough looking man on the ground, his skull smashed to mush. His uncle had just done the same to that poor fellow down there, as his father had done to Gordon and his men. Samuel had just watched him do it. One moment, his uncle had been talking to the man and then suddenly, the tomahawk…

Samuel closed his eyes and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He'd bought up his breakfast and he still felt nauseous.

"God, when will it stop?" Gordon whispered, as if calling to the Gods above. Perhaps it was seeing this fellow murdered in much the same manner that Samuel's father had tried to kill Gordon. The same manner his father had killed several of Gordon's men.

Was it a family favourite then? The tomahawk?

"You right there, Martin?" A fellow to his right asked. Painter was his name. One of the survivors of the Pembroke Road Slaughter, as they'd come to call it. He had a deep gash down one cheek - received during the Slaughter. When Nathan, Samuel, their father and the militia attacked the British caravan carrying Samuel's siblings to prison camp.

The day Samuel's father had become the devil.

And now Mark had become a demon also. Samuel could see his uncle clearly through a gap in the trees. There were lots of Patriot militiamen milling down there but Samuel could only catch the occasional glimpse of most of them, because of the dense woods. He could see the captured Dragoons, however. And he could see his uncle Mark, blood dripping from the blade as he stood over the fallen man.

"Yeh. I'm a'right," Samuel lied. False bravado. He moved his boot out of the vomit. It'd gotten onto his breeches leg, too. Shame welled; none of the others had vomited. Only Samuel. The boy amongst the men. The boy who'd killed men. Guilt welled. Was that all his family were? Killers? Mark was talking to someone. Gabriel came into view. Thomas was there too, Samuel had caught glimpses of him through the trees. They were on the far side of the great oak, now. Mark and Gabriel were speaking; it was impossible to know what they were saying, their words did not carry.

Ensign Dalton - Samuel recognised him - was wiping the back of his mouth too. Lords above, the relief was so strong he could taste it. Samuel hadn't been the only one to expel the contents of his stomach after all.

"Lord, it's passing," Gordon whispered, relieved. Samuel pulled his eyes away from what was happening down below.

"Are you well?" He asked softly, concerned.

He had a debt to pay Gordon. A blood price. Gordon was good to him. He didn't blame him at all for what Samuel's father did to him and to his men. He wasn't angry with Samuel either, he said that Samuel's father made Samuel shoot Gordon's men. Gordon forgave him. Samuel couldn't help but feel blame, though. His father hadn't forced him. His father hadn't held his finger on the trigger. That had been all Samuel. He had a debt to pay to these men, to the survivors of The Slaughter. There was blood on his hands, he'd never be able to wash it away.

Still, it wrung his heart, seeing his brothers again. It'd been such a long time. He wished he could run down there and throw himself into Gabriel's arms and clap Thomas on the back, though Thomas was sure to twit him endlessly the moment he saw him. Thomas always twitted him. Where was Nathan? He searched the Company again, what he could see of the men amidst the trees, being careful to not look at the body on the ground. He recognised only a few and Nathan was not one of them.

All those prisoners - Ensign Dalton and The Green Dragoons - huddled together. Devoid of their weapons, surrounded by rifle wielding Patriot militiamen. What was happening down there? He could see flashes of his family and the other militiamen through the trees.

"Shouldn't we go and help them? The Dragoons?" Samuel asked Gordon.

"And risk being captured too? We are too few," Gordon replied. Samuel gave him a startled look. Gordon had a score of men and surprise on his side. But the decision was Gordon's, not Samuel's, so the boy said nothing.

Gordon shifted beside him. They were not alone. A small unit - twenty of them. A small mobile force, Gordon called them. Gordon told Samuel that he often received commands from Colonel Tavington, who was grateful to have this small force in the field, one the rebels knew nothing of. He sent Gordon's men on secret missions. Gordon often said that the survivors of the Slaughter were Tavington's left hand, that they were doing what needed to be done. Samuel still wasn't sure what that thing was, but he trusted Beth's husband to know where Gordon's men were needed most.

Colonel Tavington often asked Gordon to pass along messages to Samuel; praise, mostly - he thought Samuel was doing so well, that he was needed with the troop, and how proud Beth was of him. He couldn't understand why, but those messages really buoyed him. If Beth said to him in person that she was proud of him, he'd have twitted her, for certain. But hearing those messages when he was so far from home and so far from his own family… It gave Samuel heart. Colonel Tavington was proud of him. Beth was proud of him. At least one member of his family hadn't become a stark raving lunatic. And she approved of his place in this small British detachment.

He'd found family here amongst this small detachment, when his own had become so monstrous. His father… Jesus, that was complicated. He loved his father still, but he never wanted to see him again. How could that be? And his brothers… God, it was good to see them - even just these small glimpses. Gabriel and Thomas, only twenty or so rods away. They were right there… And his uncle was too. His uncle was alive. Gods - it'd been such a shock, seeing him alive when everyone had thought he was dead. Samuel had wanted to run down there, to be with the men of his family.

Until Samuel saw his uncle swing back his tomahawk and sent it flying into that man's skull. The blood had sprayed in an arc high overhead. The man crumpled to the ground, head split in two, and still Mark struck, his arm lifting and falling until there couldn't have been any skull left. Samuel closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. His brothers hadn't stopped their uncle from killing that man. His mouth was suddenly dry. He wasn't so sure he wanted to rush down there into their arms anymore.

That longing still persisted, a part of him wanting to be with his blood kin again. But he was wary of them now. They had watched from the wagon as their father did murder to free them and they hadn't batted an eyelid. Were the Martin's monsters? Was he a monster too? Would he become one, if he returned to them? He'd already killed men, at his father's behest. How many more would he kill? His father had turned him into something monstrous that day. The day Gordon took that awful wound and half of his force was killed…

"Which are your brothers?" Gordon asked, his voice finally returning to normal. He stared through the trees, trying to catch sight of them. Samuel had to wait a long time before answering.

"That's Gabriel, with the blonde hair," he said as Gabriel moved into view for a moment. "And that's Thomas with the black."

"And your uncle is the one who killed that man?" Gordon asked, fixing Samuel with as sharp gaze. Shame flooded through him, making his face burn red. Reluctantly, he nodded. There was a lot of movement down there, Samuel and his comrades couldn't hear, but they could deduce what was happening well enough. They had a clear line of sight to Dalton and the Green Dragoons, all being held at gunpoint. And a decent view of the plain clothed men Mark and Gabriel's band had captured.

"Look at them, executing prisoners. Hanging them right there in the trees," Gordon twisted his lips. The woods were thick and their view limited, but they could see that much of what was taking place. The prisoners were being strung up from tree branches. Samuel looked away from the sight. The other men watched avidly. Gordon continued, "executing prisoners… Just as they executed my detachment. It's men of your family doing this - men of your blood," he said, again meeting Samuel's eyes. Samuel blanched. "Killing prisoners just as they killed my men."

"They didn't though, did they?" Samuel asked carefully. "My brothers… They weren't involved in what was done to your men that day. They were your prisoners, they couldn't hurt your men. Besides, what if that lot did something terribly wrong?" Samuel asked hopefully.

"Then why is Ensign Dalton trying to stop them from being hung?" They could see that much. The Dragoons had begun to protest, as soon as the ragged looking fellows were dragged to the trees. Movement was constant and fast between the trees down below, Samuel saw one of what he knew were many nooses cast over a tree branch. "They haven't done anything wrong, Sammie, unless you call being a Kingsman a crime. Those are our militiamen, I don't doubt," Gordon said raggedly. "Loyalist militia. That's why they were travelling with the Dragoons and it's why they're being killed and it's why Dalton is protesting."

"So let us go down there and help them," Samuel said but Gordon shook his head, as if he did not hear.

"Your family is taking the law into their own hands. Again."

"Gabriel is a fair man. He's very gentle, too," Samuel said with a frown. When he saw Gabriel shove a noose over one fellows head while Thomas held the man in place, he snapped his mouth shut.

"Looks real gentle to me," Gordon snorted. "Real fair. If they did something wrong, Sammie, then where was their trial?"

"I don't know," Samuel sighed, troubled. Gabriel should not be doing doing this - it wasn't right. It wasn't just. Gabriel and his uncle didn't have the right to condemn militiamen to their deaths - even those they considered enemies… But there they were, doing exactly that. Thomas as well.

"What will they do with the Dragoons, do you think?" Gordon asked then. That was a concern also. Mark and Gabriel appeared to be facing one another and conversing. But then Gabriel moved back a fraction and was again lost to view. Thomas - Samuel couldn't see Thomas, he was back on the other side of that big oak. If only the trees would move, so Samuel could get a better view! Foolish thing to wish for, he chided himself.

A thing a boy would wish for.

"Shouldn't we try to rescue them, Captain?" Private Painter asked and Samuel brightened, relieved that he wasn't the only one asking.

"We number far less than they, we'd be decimated," Gordon shook his head.

It was true that they numbered less, but 'far'?

It would be twenty against thirty. Plus, the Dragoons would be able to help when the rescue began, even without their weapons - they could fight. Samuel was about to say so, but then Gordon continued.

"No. The Colonel needs us in the field, we can not risk being captured and killed by the men below. We're of much more use to the Colonel if we stay back and watch. We'll follow this lot, see where the Dragoons are being taken. Then I'll send a report to the Colonel, he can come with greater numbers to rescue the Dragoons.."

The men fell quiet, settling in to watch. Already on edge, they crouched tensely in the bushes, peering downhill through the trees, trying to catch enough glimpses of what was happening below. Gabriel was no where to be seen now, but Mark marched into view and was speaking to Dalton. Discussing the terms of their capture, perhaps? Mark looked angry enough to chew nails. As Samuel watched, Mark jerked up his rifle.

Suddenly a shot rang out, a barking cough that reached the ears of those bearing witness uphill. Samuel jumped, as did the others. Dalton flung backwards to the ground and did not rise. Samuel clamped his hand over his mouth. Another militiaman down there shot a Dragoon and reloaded with astonishing speed, then shot another and then another. More militiamen fired into the prisoners, killing them, even though they were clearly begging for quarter. They didn't even have their weapons. Gods. Samuel heard a shout, he couldn't make out the words. Samuel was making strangling noises into his hands.

"Damn and blast them," Gordon cursed. "Damn and blast them! Murderers!" The others were spitting similar curses, furious over this unlawful, mass execution. Within moments, it was done. The rifles were silenced, they were lowered.

Samuel's vision was blurred with tears but he could make out the form of his uncle - mounted now - slapping one of his militiamen on the back. The one who'd loaded his rifle with astonishing speed, the one who'd shot the most Dragoons. _Job well done_, the gesture said. Samuel choked back a sob, his stomach twisted. How could they do such a horrendous thing? His brothers. His uncle. Executing prisoners. Gods, his family truly had gone mad. Samuel buried his face in his hands, unable to hold back the grief. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder. Gordon. Squeezing lightly, offering commiseration. Samuel howled all the harder.

"Samuel," Gordon said softly, as if crooning to a child. "We need to leave. There's nothing we can do about this now. We must leave now. Unless you want to return to your brothers and your uncle?" He asked. Samuel's shoulders shook beneath Gordon's strong hand. He forced himself to stop crying - to try to stop at least. His sobs did slow a bit. He lowered his hands. The Patriot militia were disbursing, he could still see the blurred vision of their horses moving through the trees. "They have not gone far," Gordon said. Samuel could feel the Officer's eyes on him, an intense stare. "You could catch up to your brothers, if you ride now."

"Do you want me to go?" Samuel asked, feeling quite hurt.

"Lad, no, I don't. I'm merely giving you the option. Do you want to return to them?"

Samuel shook his head. "Gods, no," he whispered, drying his eyes with the back of a dirty sleeve. His stomach twisted with revulsion. Grief for the dead, revulsion for the killers. His family, his blood. "Gods, no. They're demons. I will not go back to them. Not now. Not ever."

"Very well," Gordon sounded pleased. "Come along then, son. We need to leave." He helped Samuel to his feet, turned him toward the horses, and helped him walk the short distance to his saddle. He even held the stirrup in place, so the grief struck youth could mount. "I'm pleased that you're staying with us," Gordon said up to Samuel when he was mounted. Samuel gazed down at the Captain, fingers a white knuckle grip on the reins. "I know you wanted to speak to your brothers. And I know this is hard for you. But son, you don't belong with them anymore. You're not capable of committing such atrocities. You might be of their blood, but you're not one of them. You're one of us now and you have been for a long time. You belong with us."

"I don't want to speak with them. Not now. Not after this. God. My father…" Samuel closed his eyes a moment, allowed the wave of pain to wash through him, riding it until it began to recede. "My father… He chastised Colonel Tarleton, for doing exactly this. For killing without quarter. This was worse. Tarleton didn't kill prisoners. They killed prisoners," he whispered, reeling. "My brothers… They have taken a very bad path, haven't they?"

"A very bad path - the wrong path," Gordon agreed. He patted Samuel's leg.

"It's not the way I would wage war," Samuel said, haunted. "It's not the way."

"It most certainly is not. Come let's get some distance between us and them. And then we'll work the forms tonight, some practice with the sword is just what you need right now."

The rest of the troop was mounted by now. Samuel fell in with them, still reeling over all he'd seen. The sword forms… Gordon was correct, it was precisely what he needed. To work up a sweat, to lift and swing the sword until his arms and body ached, until he was so exhausted, he'd sleep no matter what atrocities he'd seen that day. He took one last look below; he stared hard at the bodies - so many bodies, left there, unburied. They were gone from view now, the militia. His uncle. His brothers. Lord, he'd been so happy to see that Mark was alive, until… He'd wanted to rush down there and join them all, until…

Not now, however.

"Son?" Gordon called from the front of the line. Samuel pulled his eyes away from the massacre below, he kicked his heels into the horses flanks and galloped the short distance to Gordon's side, taking his place where he belonged.


	127. Chapter 127 - Delivering Bad News

Chapter 127 - Delivering Bad News:

_Early December, 1780._

"How do you know he's not going to keep us?" Thomas fretted. "You know, take us prisoner?"

Gabriel felt the same stirring in his gut. Suspicion. Distrust. This was Tavington they were about to have an audience with, after all. At length, he shook his head. "He won't. We've come under parlay. He'll keep his word."

"At this stage, I think I'd like being held prisoner. As long as I get to stay here," Nathan said, eyeing the house as it rose up in the distance. Their house. Their home. Fresh Water. Gabriel's stomach twisted. If he was a lass, he'd have started weeping. The longing for home was just so damned strong. But they did not come to stay. His hands shook on the reins, that awful feeling in his stomach shifted to lead, weighing him down. It was all going to hell. At this point, he probably wouldn't give a single protest if Tavington did turn on him and clamp him in chains. As long as he got to stay at Fresh Water, like Nathan said.

Bloody Nathan and his bloody news. Gabriel's throat clamped. It was difficult to breathe all of a sudden. It kept taking him that way at the odd moment, ever since Nathan told him about their father; caught and made prisoner by Banastre Tarleton. _I can't do this alone,_ Gabriel thought, his throat tightening more. _I just can't._ But he had to. He had no choice in the matter. It was either take charge and forge ahead, or lie in a ditch and die. Or let Tavington make him a prisoner, too.

Immediately after Mark massacred those men, Gabriel had set out with what remained of the militia - those men who sided with him - to find his father and tell him what had happened. Only to encounter Nathan instead. Nathan, and his awful news. His father, held captive at the British head quarters. It'd taken Nicholas Watson to point out what should have been obvious to Gabriel from the moment Nathan's news left his lips. "If your father is imprisoned, how do you think he'll be treated when news of the Dragoon massacre reaches Cornwallis?" He had asked. Gabriel had felt the blood drain from his face. His father and all the militia Banastre Tarleton had captured. How would they fare now, in the wake of Mark's murder of those Green Dragoons? He already imagined the worst for the militia, being bundled onto prison ships and into prison camps. But his father, it was said, was being kept in a proper house, with servants to attend him. How long would that last, now? If only he'd been able to guess Mark's intentions, if only he'd been able to stop him! Gabriel's father would likely be abused terribly now - whipped, starved, kept like a dog… Gabriel had never known such futility. There'd been nothing he could do, nothing that would help his father.

Until he remembered Tavington…

Gabriel had known a moment of indecision, then. With his father captured, shouldn't he go to Burwell and inform him of Mark's actions? But time was not on Gabriel's side, and Fresh Water was so much closer than Grindal Shoals. It was Tavington he chose to go to first. To plead with the Colonel, to tell him that Mark had acted alone, that his actions were not sanctioned. To beg that Tavington speak to his Commanders on Benjamin's behalf, so that their wrath would not be taken out on their prisoner. Of course, Burwell could have done this just as easily, Gabriel realised as he trotted down the road behind his Redcoat escort toward the house. General Burwell could have made contact with General Cornwallis. They could have corresponded. Discussed the situation as the higher ranking gentlemen they were meant to be. Gabriel had made a rash decision in choosing Tavington, he had not thought of the consequences. For instance, what will General Burwell - Gabriel's superior - say when he realised that Gabriel went first to Tavington, their enemy, rather than reporting the dire news immediately to Burwell, as was his duty? There were no two ways around it. As soon as he learned his father was captured, he should have gone to Burwell instead to inform him of Mark actions.

Too late now.

"If we're going to tell him about Uncle Mark, do we tell him about the cipher and seal? Uncle Mark never did give them over to Burwell, and I don't think he's likely to now. He wants to use them to kill William and Bordon. Should we warn them?" Thomas' question broke in to Gabriel's thoughts. He kept his voice low, only loud enough to be heard over the horses. Certainly not loud enough to be heard by their British escort. Another reason he should have gone to Burwell instead of Tavington. Should he warn Tavington of Mark's plan? Hell, the Colonel didn't even know Mark was alive. Mark could strike at any time and Tavington would not even see it come. Was it treason, to tell the British Officer of the plot against him?

Mark had taken himself out of Burwell's command. He was acting on his own now. For the Cause, yes. But as a renegade, doing deeds that would have a devastating effect for the Cause. If he was planning on capturing Bordon and Tavington, then his plot would have been approved by Burwell. But his plan was to torture and murder them both. Therefore, shouldn't he warn Tavington?

Then again, shouldn't Gabriel lay the matter before Burwell and let the General decide how to deal with it?

Then again again, Tavington was Gabriel's brother by marriage. Was it really so wrong, to warn his own brother, that someone was going to try to kill him? It wasn't treason, not now that Mark had taken himself out of the command train with his mutiny and was now working alone. Gods. Gabriel had been in the army for four years now and he'd never found decision making so hard before. He'd been doing it without his father all this time. So why did he feel like he was faltering now, and entirely out of his depth? He should have gone to Burwell first. Gods, he was going to be raked over the coals, for approaching the enemy before his own Commander, without revealing the cipher and seal.

"If Burwell can retrieve them," he mused, thinking his way through it. "Then he can use them as he sees fit. And Tavington and Bordon will only be in danger of being captured," he said, speaking carefully because of the British riding ahead of him. "If we tell Tavington now, Burwell won't be able to use them at all, therefore, we will have committed treason."

"But if he can't get them off from uncle Mark?" Thomas asked. "Their lives will still be in danger."

"If Burwell can't get them, I'll warn Tavington then," Gabriel replied. "There's time yet. Don't mention them now, Thomas. Let Burwell deal with it. Anything else will be deemed as giving information to the enemy and that's treason." Thomas nodded, seeming to understand how difficult this was for Gabriel - the two were swimming treacherous waters. The three of them, if he included Nathan. Which he did. They were nearly to the house now. They'd left the rest of the militia - and Nicholas Watson - in a safe location. Watson would hang if he had come, there was no doubt about it. He was a British turncoat; if he'd come with Gabriel, then his fate would have been sealed, no parlay would change that.

Gabriel, Thomas and Nathan had cautiously approached the outskirts of the British camp, requested an audience with Tavington, then had sat back to await the answer. Tavington had agreed to see them immediately, much to Gabriel's relief. That was something, at least. No delaying for days while waiting for the Colonel's pleasure. He'll tell Tavington about his murdered Dragoons, he'll beg the Colonel to do what he can to help his father. And then he'll be on the road again before midday. If they ride hard enough, and if the weather held, they'll be with Burwell in only a few days. One day longer than it would have taken, if he'd gone directly to Burwell in the first place. That would be forgivable, wouldn't it? Probably not. He probably shouldn't tell Burwell that he went to Tavington first.

"Do we mention Beth?" Nathan called out from behind them.

"Good God no!" Gabriel called back. "Do you want to make this even worse?" For some reason, Thomas threw his head back and laughed. He was an odd boy, at times. An odd sense of what he thought was funny.

Tavington was waiting at the top of the steps. He looked much better than last time Gabriel saw him, when he was shot and whipped and in as bad a state as a man could be and still be alive. Now, he stood tall, ramrod straight, one arm behind his back, his chin lifted. His eyes weren't as cold as ice though. That was something. He even wore a small smile, if it could be called such. Maybe calling it a smile was too generous. At least he wasn't scowling and looking down his nose like he usually did. Bordon walked out of the house to stand beside the Colonel. The Major was looking haggard, worn. Like he hadn't slept in days. Damn and blast them both. How was he going to leave this place without warning them about Mark's intentions? What would his father do?

His father would never condone murder. Capture, yes. But not murder. And these men were his family now, like it or lump it. Still, he had a battle to fight and the cipher and seal were weapons of magnitude that they could not afford to lose. His father would recommend they were recovered from Mark before he could put his plan in place - which in itself would save Tavington and Bordon's lives - and he would use them under Burwell's direction.

And that was what Gabriel would do. He might not be giving Tavington a direct warning, but he would be protecting Tavington just the same. The Colonel would just never learn about it, that's all. They dismounted, climbed the steps, stood before the enemy officers.

"It's good to see you, Gabriel," Tavington said, holding his hand out in offering. For a stunned moment, Gabriel just stood there. Before extending his hand and shaking Tavington's.

"It's good to see you too… William," he said cautiously. "You're looking… better than when last I saw you."

"Yes. Well. A subject I think we can avoid for the sake of this meeting, yes?" Tavington said. His grip was strong. Gabriel turned to Bordon, who looked no where near as friendly. If Tavington could be said to look friendly… There'd be no drop of formalities here, even if the Major was his cousin now.

"Major Bordon," Gabriel said. Bordon inclined his head, said nothing, but he did shake Gabriel's hand.

His brother's followed suit, and then Tavington was leading them into the house. Their house - their home. It looked much as it always had - Beth's doing, no doubt. Even occupied by the British, it was still home, and Gabriel felt an overwhelming comfort when enveloped by its walls. Tavington led them into the parlour, not to Gabriel's father's office. That was a good sign. The Colonel was not going to Lord it over them by sitting behind the massive desk while Gabriel and his brothers stood like school boys about to be berated by the headmaster. They took up seats in the armchairs, the warmth of the fire soothing raw nerves.

"Gabriel," Tavington leaned forward in his chair, his face intent, and somehow melancholy. Without preamble, he said, "I know why you are here. I have to warn you, I can not do anything for your father."

Oh. Tavington thought that was why Gabriel had come. Well, he had come for that, but not quite in the way Tavington thought. Gabriel would not bother wasting his breath begging the Colonel to try to have his father released. That would never happen, not in a million years. But Tavington thought that's why Gabriel had come. Because he didn't know about Dalton and the others. Yet.

"I know," Gabriel said. He shared a quick, worried glance with his brothers. "That's not why I'm here. Well, it is, but…" He was faltering again. Gods. Where to begin? How should he proceed? How do you tell a Commander that a score of his men were murdered? Even an enemy Commander? He drew a heavy breath, noticed he was wringing his hands, forced himself to stop it. The doors opened, a Private entered with a tray of cups. The youth - Gods, how could anyone look so young and still be a soldier? - started handing out hot chocolate of all things, before saluting Tavington and Bordon and retreating. The doors closed. Gabriel was grateful - he had something to do with his hands now. He wrapped them around the hot mug.

As did Thomas. "Hot chocolate. This is my house, William. I know we have stronger than this."

Tavington arched an eyebrow. "How old are you again?"

"I'm a Corporal in the Continental army, not a child of five. Where's the damned whiskey?"

For a wonder, William threw back his head and laughed, which made Thomas laugh too. Gabriel looked back and forth between the chortling pair, thinking they were both mad.

"Just drink it, Tom, for Christ's sake," Nathan muttered. He took a sip and sighed with contentment. "I could be one hundred and this would still be enjoyable."

"It's not better with whiskey," Thomas said.

"We didn't come for damned whiskey," Gabriel snapped and Thomas subsided. Tavington and Bordon were waiting… Where to begin? The start, perhaps. "Several months ago, my uncle escaped the Provost," he paused, gathering his thoughts while he took a sip. Nathan was right, he could be an old grey beard and hot chocolate would still be enjoyable. This was not news to either Officer and they were both startled that he would begin here. He swallowed hard, relished the warmth and taste of the chocolate as it went down. "As you know, he was shot and he fell into the Cooper. He was thought to be dead," he said, meeting their eyes.

"Thought to be…" Bordon whispered, his face turning an ashen grey. "Do you mean he is not?"

_Is my father in law alive? _That's what he was asking. It suddenly occurred to Gabriel how this might not work for Cilla. Who had known for some while that her father was alive and instead of informing her husband, had spied on him instead. For the very man who was meant to be dead. Her father. Gabriel would have to be very careful, if he was to protect his cousin.

"I will not go into too many details," he said, voice firm. "I am not here to commit treason."

"Not telling us would be the treason," Tavington said, just as firmly.

"Depends on which side you're on," Thomas said.

"This is an old argument between us and I will not waste time having it again now. We both understand the finer points of this," Gabriel said with some sharpness. "I will not betray the Cause, that is not what I've come for. I will give you very little detail and you will either have to accept that, William, or clamp us all in chains now."

"As long as I get my old room, I won't mind," Nathan said wistfully.

"You wouldn't be getting your old room, Nathan," William scoffed. "You'll be lucky to be put in the chook house. I understand the limitations Gabriel. I know you are not here to betray your… Cause. Tell me what you will."

There was a lack of finality to this statement which did not sit well with Gabriel. He did not feel as though Tavington was saying "tell me what you will and then be on your way". To him, it was more like, "tell me what you will and I'll decide later if more should be tortured from you."

"Thank you," Gabriel said politely, choosing to ignore the ill feeling, the suspicion curling his stomach. "Our uncle escaped," he said, making no mention of Watson. Let these men continue to think Watson - a traitor in their eyes - was dead. "He had suffered severe wounding which he could have died from," - Gabriel paused, allowing his deeper meaning to sink in. Both Tavington and Bordon appeared discomforted by Gabriel's words, and well they should be, for many of the wounds to Mark's body were inflicted by them. "If not for the intervention of an old grandmother, who took him in and doctored him. It was a long time before he was able to travel but eventually, he reached us -"

"Before or after your father caught me?" Tavington asked, an edge to his voice.

Damn and blast the man. His alliance with Gabriel's father was tentative at best. He was asking if Benjamin had betrayed him in some way. Well, they were on different sides. He couldn't have expected Benjamin to lay his heart bear now, could he? How much had Tavington left out, during all those late night games of chess with Benjamin?

"Before," Gabriel said, his tone challenging.

"So he knew. I was with him for a week, and he never mentioned a word," Tavington said, voice cold. As if to say 'so much for our alliance'.

"And how much did you leave out?" Gabriel shot back. Tavington snapped his mouth shut. Only for a moment, however.

"And yet here you are, telling me this now. Why?" Tavington challenged.

"Because my uncle has split away from us," Gabriel informed Tavington. Surely he was correct in doing so. It was not treason to say this much. Tavington needed to be informed, so that he would know that Mark was acting on his own now, outside of the command chain. A renegade. The Patriot Commanders can not be held accountable for the unsanctioned actions of a renegade. Hells teeth, this was his own uncle he was speaking about! But it had to be done. "My uncle… You have to understand that when my uncle joined us, he was filled with fury. He has been like a firebrand. He still is like a firebrand. He bares particular enmity toward the two of you," he said, watching as Bordon and Tavington exchanged another look, a look loaded with meaning. A look which spoke volumes between them - of hot pokers and sharp knives and broken bones, of Mark's agonised screams. Oh yes, they well understood why Mark would bear both of them a particular enmity. Tavington and Bordon adopted a deadpan expression, but Gabriel could see beneath the cool veneer. Both men looked… Chastened. Could they be feeling guilt, for the agonies they'd put Mark through in the dungeon? Bordon especially looked aggrieved, likely because he was now married to Mark's daughter. "Everything he has done since joining us, has been done because of all he suffered -" Gabriel paused. At the last moment, he swiftly changed 'by your hands', to: "in the Provost while under your care."

"Are you hear to tell me that, because of us, your uncle has turned apostate?" Tavington asked.

"That's exactly what I'm here to tell you. He's done something, William, something bad," Gabriel said earnestly. He felt Thomas and Nathan tense. "It was not sanctioned by my father or by Burwell, I swear on my dying oath it was not, nor would it ever be. And I tried to stop him. We all did," he glanced at his brothers. "Well not Nathan, he wasn't there. But we did, Tom and I. I think he's gone mad."

"Raving mad," Thomas agreed gravely.

"I think one of you had better tell me what this bad thing is, Gabriel," Tavington said softly, his very tone a threat.

"He killed your men," Gabriel said. He had to gather all his courage to get the words out, but he managed it. Tavington drew himself up, his face became granite.

"Which. Men?" He asked, voice clipped with fury.

Gabriel longed to tell him there'd been a battle. A skirmish. Well, there had been, but the Dragoons had succumbed to the unexpected fire rather quickly, they had not had a chance to put up a fight. He could not call that a battle. Yet, if Dalton and the others had died during battle, that would be so much easier to relay. He wanted, so very much, to lie. But he could not. It was not his way. It might not seem like it at first, but speaking the truth was the only way to come to a peaceful resolution in anything. Even in this.

"The detachment Major Bordon sent to find the brigands who attacked my cousin," Gabriel said. He slumped back in his chair, weary beyond belief. Every ounce of strength seemed to sap from his body. Tavington's face turned white, his lips bloodless. He barely seemed to be able to draw breath. A natural enough reaction when informed of the murder of twenty men.

"You mean, all of them?" Bordon breathed, looking as stunned as Tavington.

"Yes."

"Dalton?"

"All of them, including Ensign Dalton. I'm sorry, Sir, but he was the first one shot," Gabriel replied. Tavington gripped the arms of the chair, his fingers digging in. "We got word that Cilla had left Fresh Water," Gabriel began, speaking slowly, in that same, wearied-beyond-belief voice. "My uncle hoped we'd catch up to her. We had little information, a scant few details, not much to go on. We knew you," he said to Bordon, "had followed her. We did find the place you made camp, which was even more confusing because of the bodies we found there. We saw the tracks leading northward and thought you'd travelled that way with Cilla. And so an ambush was laid, when we received word you were heading back."

"An ambush meant for me?" Bordon whispered, eyes narrowed. He was shaking, Gabriel saw. Struggling to come to terms with Dalton's death. With all of the deaths.

"You especially. He wants you dead, Major. He wants William dead too, but you most of all," Gabriel held Bordon's eyes until the Major lowered his. "Dalton and the others, they walked into the ambush. There was no sign of you or Cilla. I think that drove my uncle a little mad, the discovery that you had already returned to Fresh Water. He seems under the impression that my cousin needs rescuing," he studied Bordon's face intently, trying to judge for himself the truth of that. Bordon merely looked away, lips so tight they were white. Tavington's lips were as tight, for that matter. He looked ready to lurch up from his chair and reach for his carbine. "They had brigands with them," Gabriel continued. "We understood quickly all that had happened - Ensign Dalton told us. I believed him - my uncle didn't. Not until the brigands themselves were forced to admit the truth, that they'd terrorised Cilla. My uncle commanded they be hung, which I agreed with. It was done quickly, all of them hung right there on the spot. Which left us with the Dragoons."

"I blame Farshaw for the rest," Thomas said quietly. Bordon's head came up at the mention of Farshaw, his eyes began to burn.

"What of Farshaw?" He hissed, fists clenching.

"He began ranting about you," Thomas said. Gabriel wished he could kick his brother to shut him up. If he mentioned how Farshaw revealed Cilla's spying, which cornered Mark, forcing him to follow through with a decision he'd no doubt already been contemplating, then these men would know of Cilla's betrayal. And there was no conceivable way Gabriel could protect her. He was powerless to remove her from the house. "Farshaw wants you dead too, by the way."

"I'm certain he does," Bordon's voice was strangled. Gabriel took the opportunity to seize the conversation back from his brother, before Thomas could expand further on Farshaw.

"Yes, Farshaw definitely had a hand in it, though I do believe my uncle is already mad. Farshaw knows of my uncle's fears and he used them against him, driving him on to… To murder," he whispered, eyes downcast. "He told Mark that you've been beating Cilla. That you are always striking her -"

"That's a lie!" Bordon said with such harshness, such indignation, that Gabriel was set on the path toward believing him.

"Mark believes it. That you beat Cilla every single day. Because Farshaw said he'd heard it from the servants," Gabriel told Bordon. "And my uncle already has more than enough reason to believe it of you. He hates you. Believing this… It drove him over the edge. When I commanded that your detachment be readied for travel to one of our prison camps, my uncle overrode me, commanding their immediate executions. I tried to take back command," Gabriel continued, mourning what came next all over again. "I tried to remind him - and all the men - that Mark did not have the authority to issue such a command. It was well outside his authority, and that to obey it was mutiny. I told the men that the detachment was to be taken into custody and escorted to prison camp. But then my uncle started reminding the men of all the atrocities that the British have committed, that Dalton and the rest would have taken part in it and deserved immediate death. He listed them all. The burned houses. Crops destroyed. The hangings. Women and children, disposed or even worse - killed," Gabriel met Tavington's eyes. "I felt my hold over them start slipping away with every word my uncle spoke. I ordered the men to lower their rifles." He was quiet a moment before whispering, "over a score of them heeded me. The remaining fifteen, they opened fire. It happened so fast, it was over as soon as it began."

Silence. A dreadful silence, broken only by Tavington's harsh breathing.

"I tried to stop him," Gabriel said brokenly. "I failed." He stared into the hot chocolate, it'd grown cold in his hands by the time he finished speaking. No one spoke now, not a word passed between them. Tavington rose and strode from the room, Gabriel sensed the Colonel needed a private moment, as he tried to come to terms with the deaths of his men.

"We have come such a long way, Cilla and I," Bordon whispered, eyes glued to the floor. He was wringing his trembling hands. "I'd never hurt her. Not in a million years. I don't beat her. I don't strike her. Farshaw is lying. He's a Goddamned liar." He'd just been informed of the deaths of his men, and this was what he spoke of? He looked wretched and tired and bereaved, and Gabriel had the distinct feeling it was all because of Cilla. Did the Major care so deeply for her?

"Can we see her?" Nathan asked. Bordon rose heavily, like a man three decades older. At a gesture from him, Gabriel and his brothers followed him upstairs.

"If she's awake, she may not recognise you. She's very ill," he said over his shoulder as he walked up the stairs. They walked down the hall, staring wistfully toward the rooms that used to be theirs, as Bordon led them to Beth's old room. It smelled like a sickroom now, of herbs and spices and a thin veil of vomit. Cilla lay beneath the covers, dark blonde hair matted to her skull, slick with sweat. A woman sat beside her, an older woman Gabriel had never seen before. Mila stood at the side of the bed, fixing the covers. She gave Gabriel a shocked look.

"How is she?" Gabriel asked her, for he knew and trusted her. Bordon didn't seem to care, he sat heavily in the chair nearest to where Cilla laid her head and he took her hand. He stared down at her as if the boys had ceased to exist. Gabriel could see Cilla's nose - big and black and broken.

"We're not sure yet," Mila said. Her stomach was swollen with child, but apart from that, she looked no different. "Mrs. Andrews is doing everything she can and the doctor is too. I think she's strong. She survived the yellow fever and a miscarriage -" a small sound escaped Bordon, almost a whimper. Of grief. Mourning his lost child? The damned bastard - he was making Gabriel view him in a whole new light. Mila hurried on, having heard it also. "She's strong, I think she will be well."

Gabriel nodded, though he did not put much store in her words. No one could tell how an illness would take a person - strong or not. So Cilla had survived the yellow fever and a miscarriage. What of it? Both of those might have weakened her body beyond repair so that the flux she was suffering now might very well take her. That she had survived the others was certainly not an indication that she would survive this. He longed to wake her, to ask her the truth of her situation with Bordon. But somehow he didn't think he'd get any sense out of her awake, not in this state. The boys stood at the bedside, awkward as they stared down at their cousin.

"Oh here, wait," Nathan said, darting from the room. He returned a few minutes later with strip of leather dangling from his fingers. And dangling from that was an oddly shaped pendant. Not a pendant, Gabriel saw when Nathan picked up Cilla's lax hand and slipped the loop up her wrist. A rabbits foot. It was the first rabbit Nathan had ever shot, and he'd held on to the foot for luck for years. He was passing it on to Cilla, now. For luck.

Which meant, of course, that Nathan had gone into his chamber for it. Fortuitous for him the new occupants must not have been in there… Bordon lifted an eyebrow - he must have come to the same conclusion as Gabriel, just as quickly. But he said nothing of Nathan lurking in his old chamber. Lucky rabbits foot indeed.

"Have you heard anything of Beth?" Mila asked.

"I hear things," Gabriel said carefully, because of Bordon and because he didn't know how much Mila knew of Beth's current circumstances. "I believe she is well enough." Mila sighed, it sounded relieved. Cilla began to stir.

"Perhaps it would be best if you say your farewells and leave. I do not want my patient disturbed," the woman - who Gabriel took to be Mrs. Andrews - piped up.

"Don't take the rabbit's foot away from her," Nathan said.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Mrs. Andrews said, clearly amused. The voices roused Cilla further. She blinked her eyes open, looked quite confused when her eyes landed on them. She gave them no look of recognition, not even a smile. She shifted her head on the pillow as if searching, only relaxing when her eyes landed on Bordon. Then, she smiled. It lit up her entire face, despite the broken nose. He was staring at her avidly. She lifted the hand he'd been holding, reached it up and stroked her fingers along his cheek.

"Richard," she murmured. Just one word, yet it sounded full of love. The Major seized her hand, pressed her palm to his lips, then wrapped the fingers of both his hands around hers.

"Still here," he said. Cilla seemed to melt, subsiding back into a doze with that smile still on her lips. Only one word, but there was no need for more. Not from her, not from Bordon. The actions of both spoke louder than any words from either. Farshaw, Gabriel knew in that moment, was a filthy, Goddamned liar. She'd tried to escape Fresh Water, the reason for which was still very much unexplained. Her glaringly obvious love for Bordon made Gabriel certain that is was not because the Major was beating her.

_"He is unfaithful," _Farshaw had said. _"With my wife. He brings shame to your daughter, every damned night."_

Not every man was faithful in his marriage. Although Bordon himself was looking at Cilla like a man in love, it didn't mean he hadn't strayed. And his affair with Harmony Farshaw was well known, well before he married Cilla. Perhaps that was the reason Cilla had fled. She was sick and tired of the shame. And of the man she loved - her husband - being unfaithful. That'd be enough to make any woman flee. Perhaps that was too much of a leap to make, without knowing more, but Gabriel thought that explanation was far more likely, than Bordon striking and beating her. Farshaw had just been trying to fuel Mark's rage by playing to his fears. And it'd worked a damned treat.

"We'll go," he said. He did not feel like he was abandoning her. Not that he could have removed her from Fresh Water, it would have been impossible. Now, seeing her, seeing the gestures between the Major and his wife, Gabriel didn't feel any need to try. He held the door open for his brothers. One last look back into the chamber showed Bordon, his eyes closed, leaning his face in to Cilla's hand.

They were in the parlour again, without Bordon this time. The Major stayed upstairs with his wife, nursing his grief, no doubt. A much composed Tavington sat in the same chair as earlier, with Gabriel and the boys in theirs.

"Where is your uncle, Gabriel?" Tavington asked, eyes narrowed. He wanted vengeance now, Gabriel could almost feel the need emanating from the Colonel's body.

"I do not know. I will have to try to find him, though. When I inform General Burwell of his mutiny, my uncle will likely be arrested and even…" hanged? Would Burwell hang Mark? Would Burwell see the Dragoon executions as Gabriel saw them? As murder? Surely he would? Gabriel knew a moment of doubt. This was why he should have gone to Burwell first. He should not be sitting there, second guessing his own commanders course of action.

"You came to me before General Burwell?" Tavington asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Yes," Gabriel heaved the word sullenly. "I don't know why. Not truly. I should have gone to my Superiors. I'll probably be stripped of my rank or worse, for coming here." He exchanged a worried glance with his brothers.

"I offered you a position in my own Regiment once," Tavington's lips quirked upward, cool amusement. "I know I said it wouldn't be offered a second time, but… It is still open, Gabriel."

"Hey, what about me?" Thomas cried, throwing his hands up before Gabriel had a chance to speak. "I'm an Officer now, too!"

"Would you care to join my Dragoons, Corporal Martin?" William asked, amused. "I would make you a Cornet."

"Nah, I ain't no turncoat. It just bothered me that you were asking him and not to me," Thomas said and William shook his head.

"Nor will I turncoat," Gabriel said, voice harsh. "I came to you first because... I needed you to know that my uncle is acting outside of Burwell's authority. I came to ask… no, to beg… William, my father is in prison. What will be done to him, when the British learn of what my uncle did? Will they take it out on him, will the abuse him?"

William's features softened. "Ah. That's why you've come."

"Not just for that, though it is a concern. I came because you had a right to know about Dalton and I wanted you to hear about it from someone who was there," Gabriel said hurriedly. "I know you favoured him and for good reason - he was a good man. I needed to be the one to tell you. And I needed you to know that I tried to stop it. I need you to know that none of my uncle's actions are sanctioned. He is working alone. And you are in danger. You and Bordon both. He wants you dead."

"Clearly," Tavington bit off.

"No, I mean, he _really_ wants you dead," he glanced at his brothers, and both of them drew back in on themselves. He could not reveal much more without telling Tavington about the cipher and seal, and he'd already decided against that.

"So I gathered," Tavington cocked his head to one side, a questioning look on his face, sensing Gabriel had more to say.

"Just be careful, alright?" Gabriel said, lurching to his feet. He couldn't bring himself to reveal more. He was a Continental Soldier, an Officer. It was treason. Burwell might be able to turn it around. Seize the seal and cipher from Mark and use them himself, for the Cause. He would not give up such a valuable weapon. He'd just have to make sure they weren't used against Tavington and Bordon. Not to murder them, anyway.

And if Burwell decided Mark's plan was perfectly fine after all, Gabriel could always get word to Tavington then.

"Keep your eyes open for an ambush," Thomas said. Gabriel froze where he stood, staring down at his brother, aghast. Would he reveal more than that? Thomas was staring hard at Tavington. Gabriel whirled to see the Colonel's reaction. Tavington's eyebrows slowly climbed his forehead.

"I always do. Is there a plan in place, Thomas? Would you care to share it?" He asked. Gabriel gave a minute shake of his head. For a wonder, Thomas heeded it. Sort of.

"Our uncle plans to lure you into an ambush. We were quite willing to go along with the plan," Thomas shrugged unapologetically. "Just like we were when our father did it. But that was until we realised our uncle means to kill you both. We thought we were just going to capture you, but he plans to murder you both. After seeing Cilla upstairs just now, I don't think she'd like that very much."

So, Thomas had seen it also.

"And I don't think that Beth would like it eith -"

"Shut it, Thomas," Nathan and Gabriel said at the same time. Thomas snapped his mouth shut and glared at them both.

"And papa wouldn't approve," Thomas finished. "I think he likes you, the stupid old goat."

Gabriel gaped. Thomas had just called their father a stupid old goat! In their father's own home! Gabriel instinctively looked toward the door, half expecting their father to come charging in, then and there. But even with the man miles away - and in prison to boot - it was still an outrageously dangerous thing to say.

"And I admit I have a grudging fondness for him, the stupid old goat," Tavington murmured. "Thank you for the warning, Thomas. I will inform His Lordship of all of that you have told me. I'm certain that he will be moved to protect your father from retaliation. I will recommend as much and I'm certain he will heed me."

"Thank you," Gabriel breathed, a weight lifting from his shoulders. It wasn't a perfect solution, the promise was not iron clad, Tavington was at the mercy of his superiors every bit as much as Gabriel was. But it was more than he'd had before coming here.

"Tell me, did he manage to extricate your sister from Tarleton's camp before he was captured?"

"No, he did not," Gabriel said reluctantly. Tavington curled his lip. Gabriel could hear the grinding of his teeth from a yard away.

"Do you want her away from him for herself or to save your name?" Gabriel asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I loved my wife, Gabriel. I love her still. But if you think I'd want her back as she is now, with her raving over my so called infidelity, you are very much mistaken. Besides, how many months has she been in his bed now? Two? Even longer?"

"I know," Gabriel sighed, futility overwhelming him again.

"My wife has ruined herself. She has disgraced me. Frankly, I'd rather be captured and executed, than deal with the shame of that. But I will do as I must," Tavington said through clenched teeth. "I will extricate her myself, though in truth, I wish I never had to lay my eyes on her again."

Gabriel crossed the chamber. He pulled back a panel in the wall, one he didn't think Tavington had seen before. It contained several much prized bottles of his father's favourite whiskeys, a brew so smooth it slid down the throat and warmed the stomach without any of the harsh burning. He didn't think his father would mind. He collected together four glasses, handed them out - even to Nathan, who was not truly a boy anymore. Tavington's eyes were on him all the while, as he held out his glass for Gabriel to pour. When they all had a healthy measure, Gabriel put the bottle down, then raised his glass.

"To Beth," he said. He had no idea why. He hadn't meant to speak any such thing. For some reason, this toast had Thomas roaring with laughter and Gabriel was even more baffled when Tavington threw his head back and laughed with him. Like a madmen. His sense of humour must be as odd as Thomas', if all that chortling was anything to go by. Gabriel shared a confused look with Nathan. He shrugged, and as one, they knocked their glasses back and drained the whiskey in one swallow.

"To Beth," Tavington agreed, his laughter finally subsiding.


	128. Chapter 128 - Eyes Wide Open

Chapter 128 - Eyes Wide Open:

Someone coughed. It startled Cilla, that sudden noise. Not a cough, it was an awful hack and wrenched breathing, like someone desperately clawing for air. A chest burning, wet cough, deep and rattly. It went on for so long. Cilla's chest hurt like fire. How awful for whoever it was. She lay back down, breathing a little easier now. Thoughts drifted by, floating, as hard to catch as as smoke. It was hot, so very hot, like a stifling summers day; the sort of heat that made you just want to sit beneath a tree and not move for hours. But it was winter, wasn't it? Richard really should douse the fire. No point even having one, in the middle of Summer.

Drifting, drifting. Floating in the blackness. It was nice here, cosy and warm and safe.

She could barely hear the screaming from here.

She floated, feeling wonderful in that darkness. The coughing noise was gone now and she began to drift further into the deep. Not the scary sort of darkness with awful noises and frightening shadows. The lovely sort of darkness where pretty dreams waited. She'd seen Beth there, sitting in a tent, at a rickety table across from Banastre. She looked happy. And Banastre… Well, he looked handsome. Handsome Banastre with his very clever hands and lips to set a woman's blood to burning. His auburn hair was loose. He always looked so sweet, with those auburn strands loose. He had such a handsome face, a sweet, boyish smile, smooth skin, like porcelain. He was strong too, for such a small man. Cilla laughed softly, as she eyed him up and down. He was small. Slight, wiry build. Five feet seven inches, if she was being generous.

She wasn't being mean, she was really very fond of Banastre. But Richard was so much taller. Easily six feet and a build to make a blacksmith jealous. So strong… Both men were strong. She gazed at Banastre, who saw her, and smiled back. He held his hand out to her, and beckoned. He stood within the doorway of her uncle's room, blanket wrapped around his nudity, long hair lank and in desperate need of a wash. He'd been in his sickbed for so long… She knew the strength of the man quite well. And could know it again now if she but stepped through that door. Her body burned, her breath quickened. Anticipation. Those clever hands which had bought her ecstasy and peace. Lord, to feel them on her again…

With a sad smile, she turned from Banastre and glided instead into Richard's arms. When she glanced back toward the doorway, it was empty. Banastre was gone.

_No matter. Ban has Beth, _she thought, gazing up into Richard's blue eyes. _He won't pine for long._ And Cilla would not pine at all.

Darkness welled like black, smoky clouds billowing over her.

Banastre truly was gone, after that. There was only Richard, his fingers on her hand, touching her brow. His lips brushing her cheek. His quiet rumble first, then another, lighter, more feminine murmur answering. Mrs. Andrews? Cilla liked Mrs. Andrews. She wished she hadn't been so awful to Mrs. Andrews that day, for she hadn't deserved it. She wished she could hear what they were saying now. Why wouldn't they speak up? The voices dwindled away and Cilla no longer cared, she had no energy to chase after them in the darkness. Chasing memories was like chasing smoke. It felt too nice, just floating.

But even this deep in the darkness, the screaming followed. It sounded like someone's soul was being torn from their body. _Her_ body. It was a woman sobbing so wretchedly. Like her world had come to an end, her life was over. What could be so bad, that someone could sound so? And the yelling. Sweet Lord above! Something smashed, the sound crashed through the house. A woman's shrill voice filled to bursting with unimaginable fury. Harmony sure did have a temper, but she'd never sounded like this.

"… Don't even know you!" The screaming was closer, that's why it was penetrating Cilla's beautiful darkness. Just outside the door, now.

"Not here, Harmony! You'll wake her!"

"Don't you pretend to care about her! After what you did to her! I knew you did things, you warned me you had! But I never imagined it would be so bad as this! I never thought you could be capable of -" The shrill voice choked off, such wretched sobs followed, that even in that floating darkness, Cilla was struck hard by it. Poor Harmony. So upset she didn't know whether to cry or yell. What could have happened, to render her to such a state? "You are evil, a monster!" Yelling, then. Harmony decided to yell some more.

"Cilla has forgiven me!" Richard's deep voice, desperate, trying to be understood. To be believed.

"LIAR! NO ONE COULD EVER FORGIVE YOU FOR DOING SOMETHING LIKE THAT!" The screech - louder than any of the others. As though Harmony were right with her, right in the darkness, an angry floating wolf snapping at your heels. "No more lies! No more! I will not stay here, not with you! Monster! I'm going home!"

_Oh no, _Cilla sighed. If she had eyes to close, she'd close them now. If she could weep in that darkness, she'd sob, for all the pain in Harmony's voice, and the pain those words would be giving to Richard. _Confusing_._ I should be happy she's going… Shouldn't I?_ She barely knew. Coherent thoughts alluded her; if she had them, they drifted by too quickly to catch. She thought she should be pleased that Harmony was going. But all she knew were those voices, all she _felt _were those voices, and the raw emotion they carried. How could anyone be happy when surrounded by such awful agony?

"Don't you try to stop me… I'm going home!"

Richard spoke again - a denial. Voice firm, anger entering that deep rumble.

"You can't make me stay!" Harmony declared, even angrier than before.

"You will not take my child!" Richard shouted.

A door slammed down the hall. The voices were a little further away now, not right outside the door. Still near enough - and angry enough - to penetrate Cilla's happy darkness.

"…Evil!"

"I am not evil - I -"

"Don't you dare! You have no defence - not for this! You knew what Calvin did to me! What he made me do with Clement! All this time I've been in your bed, thinking you're a better man than them, but you're not! How could you have duped me so! No, William, you stay back! You stay the hell out of this!"

"Harmony, you need to calm down -" That was definitely William Tavington. Cilla had never warmed to him. She didn't like _his _voice in _her _darkness. She tried to drift deeper, and for a long moment, she thought she'd managed to escape the bitter emotions. But then -

"Don't you speak to me, don't you dare! You knew what he did and you told me nothing, you kept me in the dark as he did! And you! How could you do such a vile, horrid, disgusting..!" Harmony spluttered off, as though she could not think of the words. The men were silent. "You are both monsters! And all this time, all the lies! You're disgusting, foul! I am leaving, I'm going home!"

Cilla was confused. Was Harmony arguing with Richard or William?

"Oh, for the sake of our Lord above and all our sanities, let her go!" Mila whispered fiercely. Cilla was stunned. Mila's voice was so much louder than Harmony's, though it'd been only a whisper. Right near her ear, that's why. Cilla hadn't realised she wasn't alone. It was startling.

And shocking; as much as she liked Mila, she would have rebuked her. Servants should not have opinions about those they serve. But she could not form the words to tell Mila so. Her mouth wouldn't work. Her mind slipped, she couldn't remember what it was she was going to say. The yelling dwindled as it ventured further away; down the hall. It was accompanied by an odd scraping sound - that screaming - as if something heavy was being dragged. Very strange, all of it. She couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"She's gone," Mila whispered…

Time slipped through Cilla's fingers. Though in this place, she didn't have fingers, did she? Time slipped through Cilla's darkness.

How much, she couldn't tell. Only there were more memories now, crowding the darkness, as impossible to catch as all the others. Richard, sitting by her bedside, weeping. Someone running a wet cloth across her brow. Some awful person forcing her to sit when she just wanted to lay there and dream. But no, those awful someones held her up, pulled her shift from her body despite her feeble protests, ran a wash cloth all over her chest and back. That'd felt nice, though. A clean shift pushed over her head and down her body. That had happened a few times, now. A click, click, click, click sound, like someone was knitting. That awful wracking cough, the wheezing, gasping, panicked feeling in her stomach and chest. Soft talking, between women. Then between men, they sounded like her cousins. impossible. Richard's voice, worried, because she wasn't getting any better. She had no idea who he was talking about, but Cilla worried along with him, moved by the terror in his voice. She hoped whomever it was got better soon, for his sake. He'd be devastated if she died, she knew it for she'd heard him say so several times.

Above it all, was the feeling - the wonderful feeling - the darkness was just so… Lovely. It made her want to giggle, it felt so good. Like she was being stretched out and carried on a warm summers day. Lord, she felt so good, eternal ecstasy. Too lovely for crying. Why was she crying? Oh, she wasn't. Not Cilla. Someone else. Two pinpricks of light flared in the darkness, two circles growing larger. Cilla floated toward them, in no particular hurry. She was curious, to find out what was beyond those tunnels of flickering light. She was curious, to find out the source of that noise…

"…Said s-such awful things t-to you," the voice stammered, stuttering, the way one does when trying to speak through tears. Cilla felt sorry for her. The two lights flickered and then Cilla was there, gazing through. They were like windows, she realised. Flickering windows. Harmony's face resolved out of the darkness and floated before her. "Such awful things. You deserved none of them. Richard said you didn't deserve it, that it wasn't your fault. I refused to believe him though. I thought you'd trapped him. I thought you took advantage of him, that you seduced him for information but then decided you wanted an Officer for a husband," Harmony's bright blue eyes swam with tears. Cilla had always envied those eyes. So pretty. Like two shining sapphires, while Cilla's were… were just plain old brown… No pretty stone to describe her eyes.

A giggle bubbled up in her chest. Beth's eyes were exactly the same shade and she would not like to have her eyes described as being 'just plain old brown'. She sighed, how she missed Beth…

"How could I have gotten it so wrong?" Harmony said, and Cilla tried hard to concentrate. It was like trying to follow the path of a single flame in a blazing fire. Impossible, especially when the flame whisked and whirled and then just disappeared and seemed to reappear and reform and - oh, just impossible. But she tried. "Why would you of all people want a British Officer for a husband? You tried to point that out to me, but I wouldn't have it. I was so certain you snatched him from me. Lured him… I was blind, Cilla. And filled with bitterness and anger." - _Bitterness and anger, Cilla thought. So much better when you let those things go. -_ "I'm so sorry… It was never you, you never trapped him. It was his fault," she hissed. "His doing, all of it," her voice hardened, she was still weeping, struggling to speak, struggling through a range of emotions. Cilla stared at the floating face, fascinated. "What sort of a monster is he? To force himself on you, to do those awful things. Oh, you must have been so terrified! I'm so sorry, Cilla. For believing all his lies. God, when I think of it all now, I can see through them so clearly. I wish I'd seen through it before. I wish I'd suspected him instead of you. I wish I'd asked you the right questions, maybe you would have been honest with me. You might have opened up to me. God knows you probably needed a friend, you probably needed someone to talk to, and I would have been there for you, because I've been through all of it too. I wish I'd've been there for you," Harmony broke again, "instead of fighting against you, making you feel so much worse and after everything you'd been through, too. That was the last thing you needed! Gods, I don't know how you've gotten through any of this alone. You're so strong!"

Strong? Cilla didn't think so. Her arms were so slight, she didn't even have Banastre's wiry muscles, let alone Richard's massive arms. Both men had picked her up and carried her - Banastre to his bed, Richard to that cabin… Cilla wouldn't even be able to carry a child five steps in her little arms. Strong? No… She didn't have muscles at all. Harmony was weeping again. Because Cilla wasn't strong? Such a strange, confusing conversation. The weeping stopped again, Harmony's voice was strong again. Firm, and bitter.

"I just can't believe how he could lie like that. With such a straight face. Like he was so used to it, like it was nothing to him. Second nature. Gods. The things he knew I believed, and he never saw fit to correct me. Why in the world would you want him for a husband? That alone should have made me question him, you never liked the British and I should have known you'd never approach any man for bedding and as for a husband - you'd never willingly marry a Redcoat. I was so jealous though, so ready to believe the worst of you. All that time, he was lying. Wretchedly lying. Such an awful thing he did… No words…"

The lying? Cilla was confused. Was the lying the awful thing he did? Harmony couldn't tell her. She'd trailed off, she was crying into her hands. Cilla reached out a hand, or at least she thought she did, and she wrapped her fingers around Harmony's. Can you have fingers in that floating darkness? There were only heads and disembodied voices. But her husband's mistress looked absurdly grateful.

"…I can't bear to look at him. How can you bear it? He told me everything," Harmony's voice caught, she paused, as if horrified by a new and unpleasant notion. "At least I think he did; how could I possibly know for sure? I can't trust him. He is such a liar. And he said you forgive him. I don't believe that. Only a man would believe a woman could forgive that. Another lie. Even now, he lies to me. I can't believe anything he says. I could never forgive Calvin or that bastard who took me, again and again," again, her voice dropped low, tears and fury.

_Can you forgive a person even more than when you first forgave them? _Cilla asked the darkness. It had been her friend for so long now, keeping her company as she drifted. It'd never replied to her though, all it did was show her hints of memories that she could not catch. And it didn't speak to her now. No answer from the darkness. Maybe Harmony would know? Harmony was pretty clever… She opened her mouth and asked, "can you forgive a person even more than when you first forgave them?"

Harmony's face didn't change though. She didn't give Cilla a questioning look, as one does when pondering. It was as though she hadn't heard Cilla speak at all. Perhaps she hadn't. But Cilla was certain she'd said the words. Hadn't she? Harmony had to have heard her. Harmony was right there, floating in the darkness with her. Wasn't she? And Cilla could hear Harmony, after all. So Harmony should be able to hear her, shouldn't she? Why couldn't Harmony hear her? She tried again, floating there, she said, "you know. Like when you realise you love a person. But then that person does things every day that make you feel so special, and then you realise you love them even more than when you first realised you loved them? When you fall deeply in love, is there a bottom to it? To that depth?" Was she making sense? Harmony's tear streaked face floated in the abject darkness, squished, puzzled, as if asking 'huh?'. Cilla continued, or tried to. "I think forgiveness is like that. You already forgive, because you're ready to, and because you need to, or the bitterness and anger will bury you. And so you release it all, and you forgive them. Only then the person does something that makes them deserving of it even more."

Like telling Harmony the truth. Cilla's breast swelled 'till she thought it would burst. She didn't want anyone else to know, but she was glad this once. Richard had told Harmony the truth - the full truth. He must have done. Or Harmony would not be floating with Cilla in the darkness, weeping and saying the things she was saying. Lord, how hard would that have been for Richard? Cilla's bursting heart went out to him. The door clicked open. Harmony whirled, panicked for some reason. Then she breathed a sigh of relief and clutched her chest, as if her heart was racing.

"Oh, it's only you," she said. Even her voice was breathy. With a great effort of will, Cilla turned her head on the pillow and watched as Mrs. Andrews drew closer. Cilla smiled, or tried to.

"Miss Cordell will be ready to take your place soon," Mrs. Andrews said to Harmony. "How is she?"

"Unchanged," Harmony said, sighing. "I think she's breathing a little easier now. And she doesn't feel as hot as she did yesterday. She did open her eyes for a moment just now while I was speaking to her."

"That's a good sign. Did she speak to you?"

"Her lips moved, she murmured something. But no, not really."

"What are you talking about? I spoke right at you!" Cilla said, puzzled. Neither woman acknowledged her.

"If her fever is lessening and if she's trying to speak to us, then we can start giving her less laudanum now. It's not good for people to take it for too long," Mrs. Andrews said. Those tunnels of light appeared again, flickering, and beyond them, was Mrs. Andrew's face, hovering over Cilla's, peering down. The tunnels flickered shut, and Mrs. Andrews' face floated in the darkness. Which was a good thing, it was too much effort, looking at people through those tunnel windows. "And how are you?" Mrs. Andrews asked. Not Cilla. The question was for Harmony, Cilla understood. "You've been crying again."

"I wish I could stop..." Harmony said, voice bitter, down, like something dragged on the ground. "I thought you were him just now. I don't like to come up here when I don't know where he is, when he might walk in at any moment."

"He knows you're here," Mrs. Andrews said. "I heard him say so just now. He's waiting for you to leave before he comes up."

"So he's avoiding me, too? And well he should," Harmony's voice changed to a growl.

"I wouldn't know about that," Mrs. Andrews said, sounding prim. "Not when you won't tell me what it is he did."

_You mustn't tell. No on else. No more, _Cilla thought. It was getting hard for Cilla to concentrate on all those voices; her father was talking to her too now. He had such a warm smile for her, his hands outstretched toward her. She reached for one of his, and wound her other hand through her mother's arm. It was good too see them again, it'd been far too long…

* * *

It was far more uncomfortable now she was awake. Properly awake. No more lingering in the darkness with a confusion of faces and voices. Cilla understood now, that much of what she experienced in the darkness were dreams bought on by her fever and the laudanum. Some of it had been real, however. She had heard her cousin's voices, for they had indeed come to visit her. She kept Nathan's rabbit foot on the table near her pillow. Other things were real, too. Harmony's visits, her taking turns with the other women to watch over her. Harmony's weeping, her anger and remorse. All of that had been real.

Harmony moved around the bed now, tucking in the blankets. She would not meet Cilla's eyes, not now she was awake. They were alone, Cilla propped against the pillows, her chest afire with pain. All that coughing, it made her feel as though someone had punched her in the chest. With a blacksmith's hammer. Gods, it hurt. But she was breathing far more easily now. As long as she breathed through her mouth. Her smashed nose hurt even more than her chest.

It really was the simple things in life, which made life so enjoyable. Like being able to pull in air without almost dying from wracking coughs. She felt so weak, wrung out like a dish rag. But she was beyond the danger now. She'd even been up out of bed a short while ago, she'd sat in the chair by the window and gazed outward into the driving rain. Another of life's simple pleasures. Being snuggled up inside, safe and warm and dry, watching the rain lash the windows. She hadn't lasted there for long. Long enough for Mila and Vickie to remove the soiled sheets and replace them with clean, dry ones. Long enough for Mila to help Cilla change her shift for a clean one, and put on clean stockings. Then she was back in bed. She could still see the rain from here, though. Now that Richard had moved the bed for her. She'd lamented to him over not being able to turn to look out the window behind her. The next thing she knew, Richard was marching out, and then back into the room with several privates. She was bade to stand, and even then the men kept their gazes averted. Richard held her, his hands on her waist, while the soldiers worked to move furniture to make way for the bed to be moved. Now, she had only to turn her gaze to the right, and she could look out the window.

Harmony's cape was wet. It hung on a hook near the fire. The front of her hair was damp too, and the bottom of her skirt. She'd trudged up to the house in the rain. For her turn of sitting vigil over Cilla. Cilla turned back to Harmony now, as Harmony took a seat by the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Harmony asked. She sat so straight, so tall. Stiffly. Hands primly in her lap before the bulge of her stomach. Pregnant, and trudging up in the rain, every single day. Wasn't she afraid she'd catch a chill?

"My chest hurts," Cilla admitted, rubbing her hand against her chest above her breasts. Her nose and her ankle both hurt as well. "And my throat. Lord above, I don't think I've ever been so sick."

"We were worried you would die," Harmony said. There had always been a pleasant lift to her full lips, a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Except during the times they'd fought… It was gone now. It was what made Harmony so pretty, what made people want to immediately like her, that ever present hint of a smile. Cilla wondered if it'd ever return. This serious earnestness did not suit her nearly as well.

"I wasn't worried," Cilla said. "I wasn't here at all, if you know what I mean. I miss laudanum. It was so nice…"

"I know, it's wonderful," the smile returned, a flare, gone too swiftly. "But dangerous, if you listen to Mrs. Andrews. She would have stopped the dosage days ago, if not for the doctor."

"They argued a lot, didn't they?" Cilla could remember now, the doctor and Mrs. Andrews, standing in the doorway, arguing. Until the doctor declared that he was an educated gentleman, he'd been to university, he knew his business and would not entertain Mrs. Andrews any longer. Tavington had been walking by at the time and the doctor had turned to the Colonel to lay his complaint before him. William had listened gravely as the doctor demanded that Mrs. Andrews be removed from interfering with his patient, lest the stupid, foolish woman kill her. Of course, the Colonel must not have heeded this demand, for Mrs. Andrews had visited many times even after that.

"Mrs. Andrews argued," Harmony corrected. "The doctor ignored her. And in turn, Mrs. Andrews ignored him. Much of what he instructed us to do was not done. Except for the laudanum. Mrs. Andrews lost that fight, because…" She trailed off. Her blue eyes filled, she gazed out the window, biting her lower lip. Her fingers trembled. She appeared to be trying to gather herself. Grief, heartache crossed her features. Then disappeared and were replaced by implacable rage. Cilla didn't think it was possible, but Harmony became even stiffer. Richard. Cilla remembered that now, too. Richard had sided with the doctor, he'd said Cilla was to continue with the laudanum. And Mrs. Andrews had known better than to argue with _him_. It's why Harmony trailed off now, stopping herself before mentioning Richard's name.

He was to begin sleeping with Cilla again, from that night forward. She was looking forward to it. She wasn't certain where he'd been spending his nights during her sickness, but now she was better and he would begin occupying his side of the bed. It'd be so different now, she knew. Her heart began to pound. He'd sleep next to her, now, as he had in those last few days before Harmony had been bought to live in the house. He'd hold her, now. And do other things, as soon as she was ready. She was ready for those things now…

"Where is he?" She asked Harmony. Whose face didn't alter even slightly. Implacable rage.

"Who knows? Not here," she shrugged, as if she did not care. And perhaps she truly didn't. She believed that the man she'd been in love with never existed. She'd mourn that man, as if he'd died. But Richard was not that man, therefore; she didn't care where he was or what he did. As long as he was not near her, that was all she cared about.

"He comes in after you leave," Cilla said, trying not to sigh. "So he must be close."

"Do you want some water?" Harmony asked, as if to change the topic.

"Yes, please," while Harmony rose to pour from the ewer into a silver goblet, Cilla watched her closely. "How are you - and the baby? You've barely rested in days, it must be taking its toll."

"I'm fine. The baby is fine," Harmony said. She handed over the cup and resumed her seat. There was a set to her jaw. She did not want to talk about the baby. Or Richard. Or anything skirting too close to either.

"Where are you living?" In the tents, Cilla knew that much. She took a small sip - it hurt to swallow.

"With Mrs. Andrews and Miss Cordell," Harmony said. Cilla found she was not surprised at all, to learn which tent Harmony was living in. It made sense. Harmony's shoulders began to slump, bright spots of colour bloomed upon her too pale cheeks. In a softer, milder voice, she asked, "do you remember much of the last few days? I spoke to you often…"

"I remember," Cilla said. "It was confusing, I thought Beth was here too -"

"Would that she was," Harmony said emphatically.

"She'd be a comfort to us both," Cilla agreed. "But yes, I've been able to separate dream from real. Sort of, anyway. I remember some of the things you said…"

Harmony hung her head. "It was much easier to speak to you when you were taking laudanum. It's so much harder now you're a-awake!" The last few words were almost incoherent, as, over come, Harmony dropped her face to her hands and began to sob. Cilla placed the cup on the side stand, she threw her weak legs over the side of the bed, and calmly pulled Harmony into her arms. Harmony clung, weeping into Cilla's shoulder, drenching her shift. It would need to be changed again, after this. Cilla said nothing, she just kept her arms around Harmony's shaking shoulders and rubbed her back. Harmony blubbered, Cilla could just make out the words. Enough to understand. "I w-was so awful t-to you and all that t-time, you were c-carrying such an awful thing. I was jealous, so r-ready to b-believe the worst of you and it was him, the entire time, it was all him! I'm s-so s-sorry. I am so ashamed!" And still Harmony clung, not willing to let go, even after she succumbed and was no longer able to speak. It didn't matter. She'd said it all previously, Cilla had heard her, even if she hadn't been able to understand fully at the time. She remembered all that Harmony had said, she remembered all the grief and remorse and shame.

"Shh," Cilla soothed, rubbing Harmony's back, as Harmony continued to weep. Each had their arms around the other, holding tight. They'd been rivals before, but now… Cilla didn't know what they were. Joined, somehow, from the similar abuses of their past. The wrongdoings done to them by men. They were kindred somehow, now. "You didn't know the truth, then," Cilla said. "You didn't know what you were doing. You were ignorant. Sorry to be blunt, but you were. You believed what you'd been led to believe. I think I would have acted the same, under those circumstances."

"He lied. So many lies. All to hide the monster he truly is," Harmony began to pull away. Her pretty face was ragged now, lines around her red, puffy eyes. Her face was too pale again. Her eyes dull and haunted. In a muted voice, she said, "I can't believe it. If it had been someone else telling me, I would not have believed it. What he did to you…"

"Is that why you left?" Cilla asked.

"I could not in good conscience stay with him after that, baby or no baby. He won't let me leave entirely," she was angry about this, but it was as though she couldn't drum up the energy needed to sound it. She spoke in a quiet, muted sort of way. "I'm forced to stay, because of the baby. If not for him, I'd be in Grindal Shoals by now. With my parents," she sounded wistful. She brushed fresh tears from her cheeks. "It's been a long time."

"I want to thank you," Cilla said. She settled back against the pillows, but she reached for Harmony's hand. Their fingers interlaced. Harmony gave her a questioning look. "I remember hearing some of it - the fight you had. And I remember the things you said during your turns at watching over me. We've had our differences you and I, back when you believed untruths. But when those truths were finally revealed, you came down on my side. You could have made excuses for him, it would have made an easier life for you, if you had. But you left, instead."

"How could I stay? I've told you what Calvin forced me to do with his superior. He beat me when I refused, beat me so bad I was too terrified to do anything but obey. The Colonel saw the bruises, he didn't even care. He took me anyway, even knowing I was not willing. Again and again. And he paid Calvin handsomely, like I was just a doxy. I hope he's suffering. I hope they both are, wherever they might be. Bastards, both of them. For what they forced me to. If Richard told me only half the truth of what he did to you, it's enough to condemn him forever in my eyes. I might have behaved very badly toward you these months, but I'm not an awful person Cilla. If I'd known from the start, I would have left him long ago."

"I know that now," Cilla said, giving Harmony's fingers a squeeze. "My opinion of you has altered greatly these last few days."

"And mine of you," Harmony heaved a sigh.

"It was his greatest fear, you know," Cilla said, cocking her head to one side. "That you'd leave." Harmony tightened her lips. "He was terrified of losing you but in the end, he told you anyway. It took great courage to tell you the truth."

"Courage?" Harmony sounded surprised. Her eyes narrowed, her lips drew tight. Pointedly, she asked, "he said you'd forgiven him. I refused to believe it though, I could never forgive Calvin or that bastard whose bed he put me in. After all his lies, I assumed this was another."

"I never thought I could, although I knew he was sorry from the start," Cilla said. How to explain? In only a matter of a few months, everything had changed. Yet it felt like years, their slow healing. How could one explain the evolution of it, how she'd come to this point? Should she even try? Did she have to? She felt what she felt, was it anyone's business but her own? Then again, Harmony wasn't simply 'anyone'. It was not so simple as that, not by a long shot. "Forgiveness is an act of compassion," she said, deciding to try. "Richard's soul was bleeding. He'd done so much to make amends and would have spent the rest of his life, trying. But in the end, that wasn't why I forgave him. It's because I needed it. Because of the pain I was in. It was killing me. He could have spent the rest of his life, trying to release us of that awful, suffocating, burying weight we were under. But I was the only one who could."

It was clear Harmony did not understand. Oh, she understood the words, but not the concept. "After what he did to you, he deserves that great pain. He deserves a thousand painful deaths. He deserved -"

"But I don't," Cilla cut in and Harmony snapped her mouth shut. "I didn't deserve any of it, but I was stuck there, in that dungeon and I would have been for the rest of my life, unless I let myself out. As a consequence, I had to let him out too, though I'm fairly certain there's a large part of him still in there. I know what you're thinking, Harmony. He deserves the absolute worse pain and horrors life can inflict. For months, I felt that way also. But forgiveness is also an act of _healing_, Harmony. It helped me to heal," Cilla whispered, interrupting before Harmony could run away with such vengeful thoughts. "I was still in the dungeon and if I hadn't let go the pain and bitterness, I'd be there the rest of my life. I don't feel so heavy now, so weighed down. I feel light, like I could dance through the rest of my life. It's _freeing_, Harmony. The bitterness and anger, they were like a spike to my soul, keeping a part of me pinned in that awful dungeon. Both are gone now. I can breathe again now. I feel so warm, now."

"That's because you've recovered from this flux," Harmony scowled. "And you might still have a touch of that fever."

"You know that it is not that," Cilla smiled, squeezed Harmony's fingers. "There's healing in forgiveness. You say he deserves a thousand painful deaths. It was terrible, what Richard did, so mayhap he does, but I think you are talking about Lieutenant Farshaw, when you say that."

Tears spilled, Harmony dashed at them with her free hand. She glared at the closed door, body stiff, face hard. If she agreed, Cilla could not discern it.

"I'm not suggesting you forgive Farshaw," Cilla hurried on. "I don't know if you can forgive someone who is not sorry - that's something else entirely, a battle that - thank God - I do not have to face. After what he did to you; the beatings, putting you in that man's bed, kicking you while you were pregnant. He did awful things -"

"And Richard did awful things to you. I fail to see the difference," Harmony ground out.

"The difference is, Richard is sorry. He is so filled with remorse, it's taking all he has merely to get through every day. He is sorry, he has changed, he is a different man to the man in that dungeon. They wear the same face, but they are strangers. The man from the dungeon no longer exists, though a part of Richard's soul will always be trapped in there, even though I've set myself free. I don't think Richard will ever be able to do that for himself. That's the difference between Richard and Farshaw - Richard will punish himself for the rest of his life, while Farshaw isn't touched by remorse. Calvin Farshaw as he was then, is still Calvin Farshaw as he is now. How can you forgive someone who is not sorry? I'm not surprised you can't."

"I don't understand how you can be saying this," Harmony shook her head. "After what he did… One week, it's been. One week, since you tried to flee here. How could you have come to all this forgiveness in such a short time?"

"Oh, it's been a very long time coming," Cilla smiled, serene. "A very long time. I forgave him for me, and then I forgave him for him. I didn't flee here because of what he did to me in Charlestown. I fled because of what he wouldn't do for me here and now."

"And what was that?"

"Give me a child," Cilla admitted. "For promising you that he would never bed me. For denying me children. I didn't want to live a long, lonely life. Marriage isn't supposed to be like that, with one of you feeling like you're alone. Might as well not get married. I fled to start again, start anew, with another man."

"Who?" Harmony gasped and Cilla smiled.

"I shall rephrase that. I meant I was going to find another man, to start new with."

"Oh."

"I would have remarried, had the children Richard was denying me. And I would have freed you and him to be together as well. That's why I left. It had nothing to do with… The other thing," she said, referring to that day in the dungeon. Harmony looked puzzled, as though she were trying to think through a very difficult concept. And why should she understand? Cilla could never even imagine forgiving Farshaw. And Harmony would never be able to understand Cilla forgiving Richard.

"I wouldn't have wanted any of that," Harmony said. "Not now that I know the truth. We would have been living a lie. I would have been left to live with a monster."

"He's not evil," Cilla sighed. "The monster emerged once but never has again and never will -"

"I can't believe that," Harmony shook her head. "If he was a different man, he would not have maintained this lie for so long."

"We swore never to tell anyone - the amount of people who know already is too high. I know, you're not just anybody but I don't think he could ever have confided this to you, even if we hadn't vowed to not speak of it. He would have been too scared, he knew you might leave."

"He knows me well, I see," Harmony spat. She drew several deep breaths, eyes closed. Then she opened them, fixed those sapphires on Cilla. "I want to leave, Cilla. Will you come with me?" Harmony asked, leaning closer to Cilla, eyes intent. Cilla blinked up at her. Hadn't Harmony been listening? "When you're better, I mean. We could devise a way to slip the guards. You did it once, we can do it again, together. We'll leave, Cilla. Go to my parents home. I have money, enough for a good start. You and me, we'll use it to get home. My da will look after us both. We'll go and get Beth on the way. Your uncle is having no luck removing her from Banastre but if we showed up and talked sense into her, she'd leave with us for certain. The three of us, together. Come with me, Cilla. Let's both get away from him."

Cilla was somewhat touched, that Harmony wanted her to go with her, and that she would offer to use what must be only a small fortune to do so. It was misplaced, Harmony's fear, if she thought she was protecting Cilla from Richard. That was unnecessary.

"Harmony, he came for me. Not because he was worried about keeping face… But because he was terrified. For me. He was worried I might be in trouble, and I was, and he came for me. And he promised it would all be different now and I believe him and yes, I forgive him. I know you don't understand that, but frankly, you don't have to. I don't require you to. It is what it is. And it's better for him and I, that I do. We'll have a good life now. A better one than the one we were destined to have a week ago. I haven't known this sort of peace in so long…"

"If he fails you?" Harmony asked, unconvinced. There was hurt there, in those words, on her face. In the way she looked at Cilla now. Harmony was still deeply, deeply in love with Richard. Cilla understood that - love didn't disappear with the click of the fingers overnight. Gods, she knew that well. It made Cilla respect her all the more, that Harmony would leave the man she loved. It proved that Harmony was far more highly principled than Cilla had ever given her credit for.

"He won't, I'm sure of it," Cilla whispered. "I'm sorry if this is causing you pain."

"Confusion, more like," Harmony admitted. "I'm confused. Bewildered, how could you forgive? If he told me half of the truth of what he did to you… I just can't understand how you could forgive…"

"You don't need to understand it. No one needs to understand it. But they do need to _respect_ it," Cilla said, but gently. "All that has happened is between him and I. I am doing you the courtesy of explaining because you are now one of the few who know the truth of what he did to me. You have always had a place in Richard's life, and this has affected you deeply. By explaining this to you now, it might help you to come to some sort of peace with Richard someday. I'd like you to understand but I don't _require_ you to. If you don't, so be it. I do expect you to _respect_ it, however."

Harmony looked away. It was clear by her face that she did not. Respect Cilla's decision to forgive. Her expression was mutinous, it was also clear that she never believed she'd come to find peace with Richard. Then again, Harmony had only learned the awful truth a week ago. It was still raw for her, a massive shock, and it would be for some time yet. She had not been given the time Cilla had, to come around to the understanding and serenity she had now. Harmony still had a long journey ahead of her, to get to where Cilla was now. Harmony continued to stare out the window, her eyes averted after Cilla's rebuke.

"Will you stay or will you go?" Cilla asked, more to break the silence, than anything else. She did not believe Richard would let Harmony leave with his child.

"I don't think I can get away, not on my own," Harmony replied. "If I were on speaking terms with Linda, then perhaps we'd find a way together. But I wouldn't help her, I won't help her, ever again. Especially to take William's child away. William will take her baby as soon as it's born. If Richard thinks he'll do the same to me…" Now she did sound angry, that her child might be taken from her gave her strength to vent her wrath. "I will not allow it - I'll raise hell, to stop him."

"I wouldn't allow it either," Cilla said. "No one is going to take your child from you, not if I have any say in it."

"Well, you won't want Richard raising his bastard in your home," Harmony said, without rancour.

"That's not what I mean," Cilla said anyway.

"I know. But it's the truth just the same. He won't let me go because of our child, and I can't bear to be here. To raise my child so close to him, never able to leave completely. I can't bear to look at him and yet through our child, our lives are forever joined…"

"We'll work something out," Cilla reached for Harmony's hand again. "Somehow, we will," she promised and after a moment, Harmony nodded. "So… How close is Mrs. Cox from giving birth? And has Colonel Tavington arranged for a wet nurse, if he's to send Mrs. Cox away?"

"Colonel Tavington… I understand now, why you were never able to get along with him," Harmony said.

"Well, he treated Beth abominably, back in the city, which set me against him wholeheartedly. But that day… he handed the command over to Richard, then walked away," Cilla said, licking her lips. "He didn't know what Richard intended to do, but nor did he punish Richard, afterward."

"He is the Colonel, it was within his power to do so. It was his responsibility," Harmony said.

"And he failed that responsibility, because Richard is his friend," Cilla said, some heat entering her voice. "And because Richard is his Major. And because punishing him would have been very public and would have ended Richard's career and at the same time, would have ruined me. For everyone would have known, then."

"Don't tell me you forgive him, too?"

"Not truly. I don't think a man should get away with such a horrid crime for any reason. Though Tavington's weren't so bad as Lord Rawdon. He didn't want Richard punished because he has a _promising career_. I think the man should consider that, before committing such an act. Besides, what of my promising future? It could have destroyed me, had I let it. It _was_ destroying me. Lord Rawdon and Colonel Tavington should not have let Richard get away with it at all, and certainly not for such flippant excuses. Still," Cilla paused, considering how she felt about it all now. "I do not forgive Tavington, and nor do I like him overly much, but we've been making an effort of late. Or rather, _he_ has. I confronted him once, about him not punishing his subordinate after committing such a heinous crime. He was so disturbed by the conversation, he fled the room."

"He didn't!" Harmony gasped.

"He did. To be honest, I don't think much about him - Tavington, I mean. He stopped it while it was happening, but he did nothing about it, afterward. And he tortured my father… He hurt him so bad. No. I don't think I'll ever warm to Tavington, for all that he's my cousin's husband. But I am willing to allow there to be some peace between us. Between Tavington and I. Not friendship, never that. But for Richard and Beth's sakes, I'll be cordial."

"For Beth's sake… what would she do, do you think? If she ever learned of this? She wouldn't forgive them any more than I do."

"She is never to know. It happened to me, not to Beth, or to you," Cilla's voice was iron. "I know you suffered at this Colonel Clement's hands, and at Farshaw's. But we are speaking of me and what _I_ have endured now, what I overcame, and the place I find myself to be now. I will not have Beth learn any of this. I kept the truth from her before because I could not bear to tell her all the details of what had been done to me. I'll continue to keep it from her, and from as many people as I can, but for another reason entirely now."

"That reason is?" Harmony prompted.

"Because I will not have this rear up again and again and again - not when _I've finally found peace_!" Cilla said, almost snapping the words. She struggled for a deep breath, despite the pain in her chest. Struggled to find that peace again. "You needed to know the truth. You were involved with Richard, you were labouring under falsehoods, it was affecting how all three of us were trying to live. You had a right to know, because you were bedding the man that did it, and because he is the father of your child. But there is absolutely no need whatsoever to plague Beth with this. And that's all I'd be doing, if I told her. Plaguing her. Adding to her already full plate of misery. When she learns that Tavington was never unfaithful, her life is going to be anything but easy. I will not have the burden of what was done to me, added to that. I will not have Beth hating Richard, when I have forgiven him. I will not add to her load with this, especially not when it's no longer a load for me. It's not necessary. I don't need someone to confide my pain to, for I'm not longer in pain. Quite simply, Harmony, she doesn't need to know. I will keep this between us; you, Tavington, me, Richard. That's enough."

"Are you swearing me to secrecy?" Harmony asked bluntly.

"Yes, Harmony, I am. You can say what you like about your own history, but this is not your secret to reveal," Cilla held her gaze with a steely one of her own. Harmony looked away first. "Who else knows?"

"No one. They know Richard did something terrible and that I've had a confrontation with him. That I've ended things between us. They are curious, I am sure, but no one has pried too closely. No one has asked me directly what has happened."

"I should think not," Cilla spluttered, outraged. "They've no right to ask. So. Will you respect my wishes, Harmony?"

"You know, I really thought he was lying about that too, when he said you'd forgiven him," Harmony shook her head. Was it a question, a statement, or an accusation? Cilla wasn't sure. There was a strange look on Harmony's face, as if to say _"you can't possibly forgive him. How could you?"_ Cilla didn't need Harmony's understanding, not in this.

"Will you?" She asked.

"I swear on my honour that I will respect your wishes," Harmony began, finishing with, "even if I'll never understand why and how you could forgive him."

"Thank you," Cilla gave Harmony's fingers a squeeze. After a moment, she received a squeeze in turn.


	129. Chapter 129 - Like a Becalmed Sea

Chapter 129 - Like a Becalmed Sea:

The drapes had been drawn. Night had fallen, Cilla couldn't see anything but black outside. Rain still lashed the windows. Thunder crashed overhead and she shuddered; she hated storms. Rain was one thing, but thunder and lightening another entirely. She couldn't understand those people who enjoyed storms. Madmen who would actually sit at the window or on their porch, and watch lighting flare across the sky, and barely twitch when thunder threatened to pull their house down upon their heads. She clutched the blankets to her chest. The door opened, Richard came in, carrying a candle to light the way. The room was quite bright enough with lanterns and the fire burning merrily on the grate, but the hallways were dark. Everything was growing scarce now, including candles to light the hallways. Tavington was being frugal with them now. Cilla had light, because Cilla's room was also Richard's, and Richard was the Major for the British Legion. She looked at his face, saw the same haunted look there that resided in Harmony's earlier.

"Are you alright?" He asked as he closed the door. "I came up as soon as the thunder started."

Because he knew she despised storms, he'd known she would be scared, and that she was all alone up now, no women standing vigil. Their sentry duty would be far less, now that she'd recovered from her flux.

"Why, what were you doing?" She asked, shivering despite the warmth in the room. Damned thunder. He placed the candle on the bedside.

"Working on a report, but it can wait. Are you alright?" He repeated, gazing down at her across his side of the bed. His side of the bed. He would resume sleeping there now. From tonight. From that moment. She shivered again. This time it had nothing to do with the thunder.

"I'm well enough now," she smiled up at him. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Unless you need me to fetch anything?" He asked. "Have you eaten?"

"Mila bought me a tray."

"And did you eat everything on it?" He asked, eyebrow arched.

"Yes, papa," she quipped, smiling. Until thunder boomed right above her head. She yelped, then glared at the ceiling.

"You deserved that for calling me _papa_," he said, not even bothering to console her. She turned her glare on him. He wore a smile, a fleeting one, it vanished too quickly. She watched as he began to get ready for bed. He reached up to the back of his head and unwound the black ribbon from his hair. He tussled it with his fingers, loosening it from its queue. With that alone, he already looked dishevelled. Even in uniform, men looked so messy with loose hair. It needed a wash, those lanky strands. She wondered how much time had passed since he'd bathed last. Weeks, probably. No one bathed, not with any regularity, especially in the winter. He probably felt he'd already bathed, if he'd been out riding in that rain. He pulled his jacket from his shoulders, hung it on a hook. His waistcoat was next, and his shirt. Both were folded and placed on the bureau. If he was aware of her eyes on him, he gave no notice. He moved as if his limbs were too heavy, weighed down with heart-ache and grief. She wondered how he'd gotten through this week, since Harmony had left, since Cilla had been on her death bed. He'd probably been terrified he would not lose just the one, but both his women.

His boots were placed near the door, were he could seize them up easily in case of need. His belt was unbuckled, he pulled it free, then began pushing down his breeches. He would lay with her in his skin, then. She froze for a moment, uncertain. Should she remove her shift? He sat heavily to the side of the bed, as if his legs would hold him no longer, and he continued to pull first one pants leg, then the other. The breeches were folded, placed aside, and then Bordon continued to sit there, his head in his hands. She studied his back, the long tendrils of hair falling halfway down. He was not sobbing. He was not speaking. He just sat there, his back to her, miserable. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Pining for another woman, while getting ready to be in her bed.

_Stop it,_ she scolded herself. _You've known all along that he loves her. He loves you too, in his way. And you are together now. You can't keep being jealous forever, especially now she's gone. _Where this wisdom came from, she did not know. Instinct, perhaps. Common sense. Small steps, that was what they needed to take. One small step after another. They'd come such a long way already. This was just another leg in their journey. One he had to go through. He couldn't pretend to not care about Harmony, he couldn't hide his grief. She wouldn't have believed it, if he tried. He still wasn't moving, it was as though he were held in some sort of hiatus, one he could not break on his own. She was thankful he was not weeping. That would have been harder to bear, than this silent grief. She pushed herself up onto her knees and placed her hand on his back. Without even hesitating, no nervousness. He was her husband, she had every right. And it was not the first display of intimacy these last few days, since she'd shown signs of recovery. When they were alone in their chamber, he treated her as his wife, just as he'd promised. He held her so tight, and kissed her until her blood began to burn in her veins. She guessed some of his urgency stemmed from a desperate need for comfort, but she hoped at least some of his desire was for her and her alone. Not just for relief from his heart ache.

He turned swiftly to her. She could see on his face, touching him had been the exact right thing to do. All thought fled when his lips descended to hers. Thunder crashed again, jerking her back to herself. She gasped, snapped away from his lips, frozen, staring toward the window. As if expecting an enemy to come smashing through.

"You're a silly thing," he said, sitting beside her, fingers stroking her face. "I could never understand how anyone could be afraid of thunder and lightening."

"Are joking? Lightening can kill you!" She gasped, again staring at the window suspiciously.

"Granted," he agreed. "But not when you're sitting in your bed, a ceiling over your head and surrounded by four walls. It can't touch you here, Cill."

"Don't try to reason with me, like I'm mad or somewhat. I'm not the only one frightened of thunder," she huffed. She gazed at his face; he wore a smile, but it struggled to reach his eyes. She could see he was torn - he wanted to enjoy the moment, to be calm and comfortable during his time with her, but she could also see his thoughts were elsewhere, at least in part. She touched his face, leaving a lazy caress along his cheek. "Are you alright?"

"I've had better weeks," he admitted. "But I will not lay that at your feet. I will not bring that into this chamber."

"Now who is being ridiculous?" She scoffed. "As if you could set it aside so easily merely by walking through a door."

"Is it that obvious?" He seemed honestly chagrined.

"As evident as the nose on your face."

"I'm sorry, Cilla," he said earnestly. "I truly don't want you to be affected by…" He glanced away, haunted. By my love for Harmony and her rejection? That's what she assumed he meant to say.

"If there's one thing I've learned these last months, it's that time heals all wounds," she said gently.

"Time, and a damned fine wife," he added, putting his arms around her. His words made her glow inside. His brow became creased. "Gods, though, Cill - she's sleeping in the tents, in this. Do you think she's alright? Should I rent her a room in a house, should I make her go and live there where she'll be -"

"So much for not bringing her into this room," Cilla interrupted. He was immediately chastened.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, you should not _make_ her do anything," Cilla said. "You're making her stay when she wants to go home, as it is. Don't push her this way and that just because you're worried. She has money, she told me she has." And it must have been quite a good amount, if she'd thought to use it to get both her and Cilla all the way to Grindal Shoals, enough money to start anew, she'd said. "I'll speak to her tomorrow and if she wants to get a room someplace, I will discuss it with you and we'll see about it from there. But you won't _make_ her do anything."

"Very well," he nodded. It startled her, that he would surrender so easily. He had always been at the core of their little triangle; the nexus."Did she speak of me?" He asked, eyes downcast.

"She's afraid you'll take her baby, as Colonel Tavington intends to take Mrs. Cox's," Cilla said gravely.

"I'll do no such thing," Richard's eyes flew upward, wide and staring. "I would not hurt her like that. I won't be denied my child, but I would not take it from her, either. Will you tell her so tomorrow? Please?"

_She_ was the nexus, now, she realised. That 'in between' position belonged to Cilla. If he needed to say anything to Harmony, it would be said through Cilla. And Harmony, she would do the same, if she needed something from Richard. Cilla nodded, taking her position as go between seriously. "I'll tell her. But I won't betray confidences, Richard," she warned, laying the law, setting the boundary from the outset. Like Harmony wanting to flee, and inviting Cilla to join her. She would not repeat that to Richard.

"It's probably better that you don't tell me half of what she says," he said, forlorn. "I doubt I'd like hearing much of it."

"Probably not," she said. She'd done her best to explain the situation to Harmony, to convince Harmony that Cilla and Richard were finally free of their shackles and Richard had left the monster back in the dungeon, emerging as a changed man. That he'd never work such evil again. But it was something Harmony had to see on her own, in her own good time. Pointless, to repeat any of it to Richard, it would only cause him pain to hear it. It might give him false hope, which was just as bad.

"Shall we leave her at the door, now?" He asked her. He reached behind her, pulled her long plait over her shoulders.

"If you can," she replied, not believing it was possible.

"There's only you and me in here, Cill," he promised.

"Even in your thoughts?" She asked, biting her lip uncertainly.

"Even in my thoughts," he replied.

He pulled the ribbon and his fingers gently unravelled her braid. Her straight hair was a little crinkled from being so long plaited, she hoped it was still mostly straight though, not curled enough to remind him of Harmony. Would he be thinking of her, during? Gods, she hoped not. No. He was leaving Harmony at the door. This was their time together, alone in their chamber, husband and wife. He would not think of Harmony. He'd promised it. His arms came about her waist, pulling her closer. Somehow in that movement, he ended up reclined on his back against the pillows, with her above him, straddling his hips. Her shift was bunched around her thighs, and their bare sexes were touching. It made her faint, to feel his hardness against her. His hands moved up and down her sides, he gazed up at her uncertainly. He was hard, he was ready. But was she? That was what he was uncertain about. All their kissing and burning touches these last few days, and going so long without that wonderful, intimate connection, had her surging to the brink. She was ready. Still, he was unsure, now that it came down to it. She'd forgiven him, she wanted this as much as he. But he was worried that in entering her, that awful day would come surging back. He laid there before her, beneath her, his hands on her hips, gaze solemn. He would not instigate further. He would not be the one to put himself inside of her body. Not unless she permitted him to.

"Richard -"

"I can't," he interrupted. He reached up, touched her face. The fingers of that hand wound around the back of her head, entwined in her loose hair. His hand felt so warm on the back of her head. "I won't. You have the reins, Cilla. Your hand is on the helm."

_He is giving me the control he took away from me. I can go as far as I wish to, or I can stop this right now._ It made her feel absurdly powerful. And so very pleased; with his every gesture, he acknowledged how he had trespassed against her. He acknowledged his wrong doing. She had the power to do as she pleased. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, fluttering to her chest. She leaned down and kissed him, and revelled in his desperately agonised sigh. He wanted this… She could hear it in his voice, in his groan, could feel it in the tenseness of his body, the rock hardness of his loins against hers. She reached down between their bodies, wound her fingers around it. If anything, he became even more tense. As if still fearing that somehow, he was forcing her to this. She lifted up, positioning herself. His hands, on her hips, they tensed and for a mad moment, she wondered if he would stop her.

"Do you know what to do?" He asked.

_Richard, you have no idea. _She shoved Banastre from her thoughts as she began to slide down onto Richard's length. She stared down at him, saw his face go slack, his eyes roll. She wondered if she looked the same. She dropped her head back, felt the tickling of her hair against her bottom. Hot. So hot. Gripping the bunched up shift, she pulled it up over her shoulders and away from her body, dropping it to the floor. Immediately, his hands seized her bared breasts, fingers kneading, caressing her nipples. She arched her back, closed her eyes, a quiet gasp escaped her. Downward she slid, until she felt the tip of him against the roof inside her. She felt so full, wonderfully full. She opened her eyes, smiled down at him. She could not read his thoughts, though she suspected there was a large measure of relief in his eyes. There were people still awake in the house, she could hear someone walking down the hallway just outside. They sounded far, far away. No one beyond those walls knew what future Richard and Cilla were forging within the chamber. It was a taking away of the past, laying a new trail, one she had never expected. She laid her chest along his, which forced him to release her breasts. He did not seem to mind, his hands tangled in her hair instead. And hers tangled in his. Their tongues stroked, and she began to move along his length. She felt lost, drunk, breathless. It was difficult to breathe. She heard him bite back a painful curse. She released her strangling hold on his hair.

"Sorry," she whispered, rubbing the sore spot on his scalp. He mumbled something soothing. Inarticulate. But it made her feel better. His one hand on the back of her head, holding her pinned as his lips moved over hers, his other hand exploring her waist, her back, her hips, her curves. She heard his breath hitch in his throat and she was marvelled by it. He was enjoying what he felt beneath his fingers. A gentle gyration of their pelvis's mashing. Cilla was warm all over, her blood was on fire. Her stomach began to burn, heat radiated from her core, spread outward. Her fingers stroked Richard's face as she moved faster on his yard. His fingers seized hers, laced together. Barely knowing what to do with herself, she pushed upward, head lolling back on her neck as she plunged quickly, straight upward and down. His hands immediately seized her breasts again, and she laughed down at him; he must like them very much. He grinned back at her, even as he squeezed his fingers to perfection. Every stroke inside her body, along her silken walls, every time the tip of him struck the core of her, it was like blazing light and heat and she yearned for more, stars flaring above her. The angle was perfect, but now she needed another. She began rolling her hips, rotating in circles, even as he thrust upward from the mattress, holding her breasts as if they were a handhold, to keep himself from falling. She felt the same. His chest was so broad, muscular, so strong. The perfect place to plant her hands, to support her body as she really got going; lifting herself high and plunging down, driving them both to madness. If his hands had not been holding her breasts, they would have been bouncing all over her chest. His restless legs moved, as if his feet were trying to claw the mattress. Now she needed another angle, she dropped to him again, laying herself on his chest. His hands were forced to relinquish their hold, his fingers found new purchase in the fleshy cheeks of her buttocks. He helped her to move to his satisfaction, no longer afraid. Good, she'd been doing all the work until now, she needed his damned help.

"Cilla," he murmured, throat thick, as if he could barely get the word out. Good, he was not with Harmony. He was with Cilla. Actually with her and not just in body, but in mind and soul. And she was with him, not Banastre.

The pinnacle was right there, that glorious little death, just out of sight. She yearned toward it, she arched her back, her breasts firmly against his chest, his hips thrusting and meeting her every plunge. She stopped lifting her pelvis and simply writhed there, revealing in the feel of her clitorus as it was stimulated by his hard pelvic bone.

A sinuous snake, moving, writhing, gasping -

"Richard," she whispered against his lips. More desperately, "oh, Richard!" She shuddered, her fingers a white knuckled grip on his flesh, lava and not blood in her veins, a quiet explosion, no less intense despite the little sounds she made during. Richard, breathless, eyes shut, jerked bodily beneath her, every bit as silently as she, and every bit as intensely. He collapsed back on the bed and pillows, spent, his chest moving beneath the full weight of her prone body. His fingers laced with hers, his other hand moved up and down the length of her back.

Cilla slowly came back to herself. Except for those soft caresses, her husband lay still, beneath her. He was still buried deep within her, still hard, though that would change soon. He would soften and fall out of her body. What they had done, was so much more than she could have imagined. What she had experienced… it soothed and warmed that place buried deep within her, that cold dark place where she had boxed all the horror, terror, the anger and the misery. She'd said she'd forgiven him and she'd meant it. But both had thought she'd never forget. But that cold, dark place… It swelled and shattered, the full force of their new joining burning it asunder. The awful, cold knot was gone, and in its place was warmth - and love. She'd never felt so languid, warm, sated, comfortable. What sort of person would she be now? Who was she, without that knot plaguing her? The person she'd been… before, back in Charlestown? No, that girl was gone, now. She was his wife, in truth. That was who she was. She lifted her head from his chest, and smiled down at him.

Only to find a look of pure worry had replaced the pleasure she'd seen on his face a moment earlier. "Stop it, Richard," she said, knowing his thoughts without needing to ask. "I wanted this. I am well, I enjoyed every moment. This was our first time. _This_ is the memory we will share as the consummation of our marriage. This is the memory we will take to our graves, not the other. So just… stop it."

The look on his face… She watched him carefully, saw the worry lines begin to ease to something close to stunned amazement. He gaped up at her, shocked that she had been able to read him so well. Then his features melted and shifted again, to relief - then gratitude. He gave her a weak smile, but his eyes… Some men held it in, all the raging emotions, held them in check, trying to be strong, until they could not do it any longer. Richard was one of those men. He'd done his weeping the night he rescued her, but she could see he was still in turmoil. Her words eased it, like a balm on his soul. He pulled her into his arms, his phallus fell limp from her body as he rolled them both to lay side by side, facing one another under the blankets in the flicking candlelight. Their legs tangled, she lay in his arms, they kissed gently, stroking and caressing, forging and deepening the new connection between them.

"Thank you," he said heavily, kissing her brow. He tucked the blankets in close around her back, pushing it in beneath her, making sure she was covered completely. His front pressed close to hers, preventing any chill from finding its way in to touch her skin. Very solicitous of him. She draped her leg over his hips.

"It was a good idea, that. Giving me control," she said gently. The tip of her finger traced his ear, pushing his tangled hair behind it. "But you won't make me do all the work every time, will you?"

He threw his head back and laughed. As she'd meant him to. A full deep body laugh, a release of tension.

"Because you know, my knees were getting desperately sore toward the end there, and I felt my breasts would bounce right off my chest," she said, chuckling softly.

"Now, we wouldn't want that, would we?" He reached between their chests, she leaned away slightly to give him room as his hand closed over her breast. "Such fine little apples as these…" He kneaded and caressed, softly now."…Will stay right where they are," he continued. "We will couple any way you wish, Cill."

She draped her arms around his neck. "Wonderful - we will try another way in, oh, another hour or so."

"Maybe sooner," he nudged his nose against hers. A thrill shot along her spine, she hoped he would be ready sooner…

"There might be a child, after tonight," she said wistfully.

"I pray there is," he became solemn, his handsome face downcast. "It's just you and me now…"

"Yes, Richard. It is," she said, agreeing.

"Don't take it the wrong way," he warned, as though she'd reacted with anger. She hadn't; she understood his meaning. "I enjoy every moment I'm with you. But… a child… I need all the distraction I can get right now…"

"It'll be only you and me, for some time yet. Is that such a bad thing?" She asked, gently - not accusingly.

"For us? Most certainly not," Richard said, and he meant it. But he dropped back onto his back - pulling her with him, and stared up at the bed canopy, forlorn.

"But you miss her," Cilla said the words he would not.

"We've agreed to leave her at the door," he said. He pulled her close. Her arm was draped over his chest, he laid his hand on it and began running his fingers up and down, leaving goose pimples along her skin.

"Eh. Don't bring her to our bed," she said, offering to reestablish the boundaries.

"Then we still can't discuss her, can we? We're in bed."

"I meant, you know, during… You weren't thinking of her, were you Richard?"

"No, Cilla," he kissed the top of her head, gave her body a light squeeze. "There was only you, all the way, I vow it on my honour."

"Then I don't mind talking about her here, just this once, if you need to," she was not feeling insecure, not anymore. "I know you miss her."

"I'm sorry, but yes, I do and I likely always will," he sighed, surrendering to her.

"I'm not sure if I should be upset to hear you admit that, or pleased that you'd tell me the truth. I like this new Richard, I find it difficult to be angry with you for giving me the honesty I ask for, especially when I already know the truth," Cilla said, finding it preferable that he would not mince words or whitewash what he felt for Harmony.

"I could lie, to spare you," he offered.

"No, because I will always learn the truth," Cilla said. "Always. And then it'll be even worse, later, because you lied. I'd prefer one hurt now, than two hurts later." Though in retrospect, she realised she was being rather unfair. Richard had never made any attempt to lie to her about his love for Harmony. She'd never been under any qualms about it. She was surprised he was not becoming defensive and pointing this out to her now. He must have been very distracted.

"As I'm being so honest with you, I'd like you to be honest with me also," he said, a crease etching his brow.

"I've got nothing to hide," she said, puzzled. Except her spying for her father… He couldn't have learned of that, could he? He'd be right mad, if he had. And he'd have every right to be. He'd consider it treason, even if she did not…

"No? Cilla, I was expecting you to be nervous just now, despite how far we've come. I thought you'd be unsure at best, or terrified and thinking of the dungeon, at worst," he frowned. "So I gave you the reins, but I rather expected that you wouldn't know what to do with them. But you did, Cilla. You did very well indeed."

His blue eyes stared directly into her brown, into her very soul. Oh damn and blast it. She realised it was true. He'd approached their lovemaking in such a way that she could not possibly feel threatened. He'd given her control, but in hindsight, she should not have known what to do. The mechanics, yes, she should know. But there'd been no terror, she hadn't even been nervous. She'd torn off her shift and bared herself to him, in that moment of pure ecstasy, she hadn't cared. Banastre had torn away those barriers, enabling her to lose herself in the moment and… simply not care.

Hardly the cringing virgin bride. She'd all but announced to Richard that she was well versed in the ways of bedding, knowledge which could only come from practice. And as she hadn't bedded Richard in all these months, he was right to suspect her. Damn and blast it to hell. He was too astute by far.

"I'd thought I'd have to lead you through it, step by step," he said, when she said nothing. "Whispering reassurance, as most men would have to do with their wives on their wedding night. I thought I'd need to instruct you. But Cilla, you knew precisely what you were doing just now." He gave her a pointed look. Her face bloomed red, she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, biting. He was watching her reaction keenly and right now, she was not giving him anything to avert his suspicion. She was incapable of it, she felt like a little bird, caught and shoved into a cage, wings fluttering, heart fluttering. "After our little chat about how much you appreciate my honesty; is there something you should be telling me?"

He could read people well, and he knew his wife. Her heart began to pound. He could see it, that she was suddenly furtive and worried. His frown deepened, she was not denying it - she was looking for a way out.

"Cill…" He prompted, a warning in his voice. "You have left me with no doubt now. Who is he? And when?" Laying naked under the covers, entwined in one another's arms after their much needed, much longed for love making; still, his temper flared when she continued to balk and he snapped, "honesty goes both ways, Cilla. I did you a great harm, and I know that even with your forgiveness, it'll never go away. But we are trying for a new beginning, you promised me we could start anew. All of my crimes are laid at your feet, you know me like none other, now. I can wipe my slate clean, but I strongly suspect you need to show me what's on yours, before you can wipe yours. It goes both ways, my wife."

"Damn you and your fine speeches," she sighed. He was right. She wanted honesty, and she would get it. She would be a hypocrite, to demand from him what she was unwilling to give. But knowing it did not make it any easier. Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her rib-cage. Her palms were sweaty. She pushed herself up, felt his seed slide out of her body to coat her thighs as she pushed her bottom back into the pillows. He sat up with her. She clutched the blankets to her neck, as if to hide herself. If only she'd thought of modesty earlier… No, it was better this way. Better that he know. Better to be honest. It wasn't her way, to lie and evade and cover tracks…

"It was shortly after we were married, after you bought me here," she began, hoping to make him understand, before she told him details of the affair. She did not want him to think she was loose of morals, she needed him to understand it was more than that. "I was afraid of everything, especially of you. And I was angry, furious that I'd been made to marry you."

"Not fair," he muttered, looking ashamed. "I'd forgive you anything, if you open with that and you know it."

"Oh no, don't think that. I'm not trying to shame you to make you forgive me. Although, when you think about it, ours was a name only marriage then and you were having an affair with Harmony, so you can hardly complain."

"Try me," he said, folding his arms across his chest. Oh dear.

"I'm explaining it from the beginning, not to make you feel guilty, but so that you won't think less of me," she said, lowering her eyes. "So you won't think I'm like a doxy…"

"Oh," his arms unfolded. "The thought never entered my head," he said. He settled back and pulled her with him. They leaned against the headboard, cushioned by pillows, his arm around her shoulders. "But that does not alter the fact that we were married, and you were indiscreet."

"As were you," she said, feeling he needed another reminder. "Will you fetch your belt, as Colonel Tavington did Beth?" Cilla asked, only half joking.

"Never," he shook his head. "Besides. It was a different situation entirely, wasn't it? Beth lost her virginity and could not find the courage to tell it. You were unfaithful while I was unfaithful… it's different."

_Different scenario, but with the same man,_ she thought wryly.

"You were saying?" He prompted.

"Oh, that wasn't enough?" She asked, genuinely surprised. He knew of her affair, it was out in the open, what else was there?

"Of course it's not!" He cried, as if she were completely mad. "I need to know how long it went on for. If it's still going on. If you might already be with child. Gods, I can't believe you bedded another man!" He said this in such a way, as if it was only just now hitting him; like a tonne of bricks.

"It's over, long since," she said, turning to face him earnestly. "It lasted a few weeks, is all, and at the very beginning. I've had my courses several times since, I vow I am not carrying any little problems for you to raise. I have not seen him in some time and if I ever do see him again, there'll be no repetition. He gave me what I needed back then when I sorely needed it. That loved feeling that everyone on the face of this earth needs to feel. Safety - another thing I felt had deserted me. Security. Courage. If not for him, I might have been terrified about bedding you just now. You know, if not for him, I don't think I ever would have fallen in love with you. He broke down my walls."

"Because of what I did to you?" He asked pointedly and she nodded. "So I should thank him? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm not saying anything of the sort. I'm just telling you what happened, how it happened, and why."

"Without telling me who it was with. His name, Cilla."

She shook her head. Gods, what would he do to Banastre, when next he saw him?

"I know it's not William," he said. A puff of air burst from her mouth.

"Certainly not," she said, frowning fiercely.

"Banastre was laid up in bed, too sick to use the chamber pot much less sport with a woman, or he'd be the first person I'd suspect," he did not notice the sigh of relief drifting from her lips. She felt immediately sorry - should she tell him - was holding back this information as bad as lying in the first place? "Which leaves Brownlow, Dalton. Wilkins perhaps. Gods," he gasped, as if he'd suddenly hit upon it. "Was it Wilkins?"

"It wasn't Wilkins," she rubbed her brow, conflicted. Surely it was enough that he knew the truth, could any good come of her revealing her lover? It'd leave to bad feeling between Banastre and Richard. She didn't want that…

"Brownlow then?" He prompted fiercely. "I know he was partial toward you, back in the city. I need to know, Cil. I rely on him, I trust him with my life, I need to be able to trust him with my wife. I need to feel absolutely certain that he would never shame me in such a way. You did say you thought Brownlow was handsome… You even suggested that you might have an affair with him! Gods, I'll kill him -" He began shoving off the blankets, as though he'd go in search of the Cornet then and there and throttle him.

"It was Banastre," she said heavily. More to save Brownlow from the Major's wrath than anything else. But also because, as she reasoned, she knew who Richard's lover was. Bordon gaped at her, poised there with the blankets still half pulled back, one leg thrown over the side of the bed. He really had intended to search for Brownlow, right then and there.

"He couldn't have… He was too sick!" Richard said, a scowl beginning to form. "Banastre… Christ, Cilla. Of all the people… of all the _men_! I'd have preferred it to be Brownlow. Do you know how many women he's bedded?"

"I know. I'm sorry, Richard. Now, anyway. I was not, at the time," she stared downward, eyes downcast. "He was exactly what I needed then. I was like a wounded animal, and he the healer."

"Gods," he deflated. She'd struck a chord again, though she honestly did not mean to use what happened in the dungeon against him. He was right, it wasn't fair to use it, especially after she'd forgiven him. She did understand that he'd forgive her anything each time she raised it in her defence. It was like a loaded rifle, sighted on his guilt and shame. She would not use it in the future, but she would in this, for it was the simple truth. It was the only reason she had come to be in Banastre's bed.

"You know how things were when I first came here," she said softly. He turned to look at her, to listen to her. "It was bad then, Richard. Between us. I could barely be in your presence without feeling that awful terror. I told you once, that I feared the monster would emerge again. And there was that anger… the futility. I was alone, bitter, in turmoil…" She trailed off for a moment, she glanced up at him, was glad he'd put his arm around her again. She leaned into him. "It's all changed between us now, it's like a different life now, a different world. But back then… Do you understand?"

"He always boasted he could charm the leaves from the trees," Richard curled his lip. He gazed down at her. "But yes, I suppose I understand why you would seek comfort from him."

"He is charming… He was friendly, he bought be back to life. He gave me strength when I had none of my own. I vow there'll be no repetition. But… It happened… and it was healing for me. He showed me how pleasurable it could be, to couple. Emily tried to describe it but I never knew, not until I was with Banastre. I truly believe that if not for him, I would never have become so willing with you now. Being with him, he showed me that men weren't all monsters, that some could be trusted, that some didn't have to be feared, and that bedding didn't have to be like… like it was in the dungeon."

"Blunt," he said, dropping his head back against the headboard. "I suppose you would have seen me as all those things."

"I honestly don't know if I could have ever been with you just now - intimately, I mean, if not for my time with him."

"I'm still not going to thank him," Richard growled. "I can understand your side and I don't blame you. I bloody blame him. Sporting with my wife. He didn't know the truth of how we came to be married, did he?" She shook his head.

"He knew it was bad," she admitted. "But he said some consumptions are, he thought it was a displeasing wedding night."

"Then it had a different meaning to him, than it did to you. You were both seeking different things. You went to him for security, friendship, safety, intimacy. I do understand that, no matter how galling it is to hear it. But what did he take you for? Because you were there?" His face hardened. "I am not angry with you Cilla. He is an entirely different matter. He has shamed me, taking my wife to his bed." She could feel his tension, he quivered with it. "You vow it won't happen again?" Again, she nodded.

"On my dying oath," she whispered solemnly.

"That's a stronger oath than I can give to you, therefore it's more than I deserve," he admitted, thinking of Harmony. If she returned to the house that very moment, he would take her in his arms and give her a thousand kisses. Well, not at that very moment, perhaps. He would not shame his wife by leaving her bed to rush to Harmony's. But still, he would return to Harmony's bed, if she let him. "I'll never forgive _him_ for this, however. I'll pummel the sin from him, when I see him next. I understand your reasoning but his? He has shown me disrespect, he has shamed me. I thought we were friends. Did he not even mention me at all? No guilt, no nothing?"

"He knew you were bedding Harmony," she replied, "I do remember him saying that if you could be so neglectful of me, then you could hardly complain."

"Jesus, that's one thing I want to change about you," he scowled, but it held no heat. "Your damned bluntness." She gazed up at him quietly, waiting for him to reconcile to all she'd told him, in his own time. He gazed back, jaw working, teeth grinding. Christ. She'd been unfaithful. He knew it was a hypocritical thought. But it plagued him all the same. "Do you love him?" He asked.

"I'll regard him highly for the rest of my life, for what he gave to me back then," she said. "My life, Richard." He cringed. She half expected him to complain about her bluntness again, but he didn't seem to have it in him. "But no, I do not love him."

"How can I be sure?" He asked. "I am not questioning if you would repeat the affair. I believe your oath, I know you would not. But I don't want you thinking of him, when I'm with you. I am leaving Harmony at the door. Can you leave that damned back stabbing, cheating piece of filth, Tarleton?"

"He hasn't been in my thoughts for a long time now," she said. "I had a fever dream about him, when I was sick. He stood in the doorway, naked but for a blanket, and he was beckoning me to him. Only you appeared as well, reaching for my hand. I chose you, even in my dream. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was gone. I know it was just a dream, but it meant something. How can you ask if I am sure? I know my own heart, Richard. I don't love him."

"Sometimes you don't know your own heart though," he persisted. "Not you, you. I mean you in the general sense. You might be in love with him and not really know it. Are you heartbroken that he went off with Beth? How do you feel about that?"

"Are you hurling counter arguments at me, hoping to trip me into admitting - to myself - that I am in love with him?" She asked, her voice growing heated. He blinked at her, tightened his lips, and she realised that this was one of the tactics he used during interrogation, to weasel out the truth. He was doing it gently with her; no pincers, no pain, but he was interrogating her all the same. It made her furious. "I know that I'm not in love with him, Richard, because I'm in love with you, you damned dolt."

His jaw dropped to his chest. She immediately regretted her rashness, and she jerked away from him. She pushed the covers from her legs and perched on the side of the bed, regretting. Wishing she could have the words back. Stupid fool. She'd promised herself, to only ever give to him as much as he gave to her. And here she was, giving him oaths stronger than he ever had her, and declaring her love for him. Damn and blast the man. She wanted to weep.

"You love me?" He asked behind her. He placed his hand on her arm, trying to turn her back, but she jerked her shoulder, loosening the hold.

"Even if you don't return it!" She spat. "Damn it. I told myself I'd only ever give you as much as you gave to me. I promised it! And you've only ever said you _have_ love for me. What does that even mean? Like a brother has love for his sister? A father, his daughter? You never said that you're in love with me, and I vowed I never would admit to more." She shot him a hard look over her shoulder. "But you push and push for more," she glared into his calm, solemn face. "That's one thing I want to change about _you_ \- the way you push and bloody push for more! And now you know that I am in love with you and I'm still left wanting for more from you than you'll ever be able to give because you are in love with _her_!"

"Never say never," he said gently. He reached up with both his hands and cupped her face. "I do love you, Cill."

She swallowed hard around his fingers. He reached for her un-resisting body and pulled her back to his body, guiding her to lay down with him. She could barely think, barely move without his assistance. His words reverberated, bouncing around inside her head. She licked her lips as he stroked her face. "Like… a sister? Or... a daughter?" She asked, worried.

"Ugh, that's a little bit disgusting, considering," he laughed down at her. She squirmed in his arms, still on the verge of tears, and too afraid to succumb to those stirring tendrils of hope. "Sorry, now is not the time for jokes, eh?"

"No, it is not," she said miserably.

"Cilla, I do love you. I love my wife. I am in love with my wife," he said as clearly as he could. The blood began to roar in her ears, surging through her body, she felt limp and weak and she gave him a silly smile that she knew was silly but she was powerless to change it. The vision of him swam before her, as tears rushed to fill her eyes. He kissed her, his lips brushing hers gently, and she felt it as the sensation rushed to every extremity. He frowned, as if he was thinking of his words carefully, as if he needed to explain it in a way that would reveal his true feelings without any pain to her. "You know that I love her."

"I do know," she said. "But it's true? You really do love me too?"

"Differently to her, but I do love you, too. I do not say this to hurt you, but I want you to try to understand it -"

"I know," she let him twine his fingers through hers.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't mention her now, but I can't seem to explain all this, without speaking of her too. I love Harmony, but it's different. It's a banked fire at times, a roaring thing at others, like a forest fire, its flames whisking to the sky," he gave a violent upward shake of his arm, as if to demonstrate. Then he gazed at her with a look she could only describe as serene. "And I love you - and it's a stable thing, like a calm sea. I feel becalmed when I'm with you, like I could lay there in the still waters forever," he demonstrated by pulling her closer, as if she was the ocean and he would hold her now, "and troubles would never touch my heart. And just now, when I was inside you, it was like the calm waters were suddenly seized by a storm and my love for you was raging, every bit as much as it does when I'm with her." He put his finger under her chin and lifted. "I love you, Cilla. Are you listening to me?"

Her vacant eyes focused and she nodded. "I'm listening," she breathed, voice quavering. "I never thought I'd ever hear those words from you. The sea… I'm like the sea?" She giggled, so very pleased. "Sailors don't like becalmed seas, they don't get anywhere."

"I don't need to get anywhere, I'm already there with you, I don't mind being in that stillness, I find I enjoy it very much," Richard replied.

"Oh Richard." It'd been the perfect thing to say. Banastre, charming? Gods, he had nothing on Richard. She clung to him, her arms tight around his neck as he began kissing her until the becalmed sea began to froth to whitecaps and then surge to massive waves large enough to capsize a ship.

There was a time for calm, but now was the time to ride the tempest…


	130. Chapter 130 - A Matthew or a Hope

Chapter 130 - A Matthew or a Hope:

_6th December, 1780_

"Where are we?" Calvin called out, he had to pitch his voice to be heard over the galloping horses. "What are we doing here?"

Mark's eyes were pinned on the Plantation house as it grew larger with each step he drew nearer. Where were they? At Christopher Middleton's. What were they doing here?

Mark had promised Mage there would be a reckoning. He'd put it off for long enough. That was what they were doing here now, settling for the bastard who married Mark's daughter off to the man who'd raped her.

Who was still raping her, every single night of every single week. She'd suffered months of Bordon's abuse, because of Christopher Middleton. Her own uncle. He'd known, and instead of removing her from Camden and sheltering her, he'd washed his damned hands of her, leaving her to a life of torture.

He had to answer for it. By damn, Mark would make him answer for it.

He, Calvin and the fifteen militiamen reached the house, drawing rein at the front steps of the porch. The men did not know why they were there either, but they obeyed Mark completely now and they could see the grim look of death upon his face, not a single one of them sat their mounts without tension. There was the air of rifles being loaded and cocked, though none of them made a move toward their firearms.

Christopher and his overseer stepped out of the house, Christopher looked over the rabble of men, his worried eyes landing on Mark. He looked startled initially, then relieved.

Relieved.

Mark struggled with himself as he dismounted, struggled not to go for Christopher's throat right there in front of the man's house. He gestured to his men to stay put, while he strode up the porch steps.

"I was informed you were dead," Christopher said when Mark reached him. "I'm glad to see you are not."

"Inside," Mark snapped as he walked past. "Now." Mark marched into the hall, he met Celeste as she hovered in the doorway to the parlour, clearly fearing the British had come to burn down their home. She looked ready to faint when she recognised him.

"Mark," she breathed, her eyes filling with tears."You're alive. Gods, you're alive!" She reached up to touch his face. He blocked her arm with his, shoving her away with enough force to make her stumble a step.

"Don't touch me," he spat, pushing past her as he strode into the parlour. By now, Christopher was in the room also, Celeste stood with her head lowered, trembling hands at her throat. "Shut the damned door," Mark commanded. The overseer glanced at Christopher for confirmation, Christopher nodded once, and the doors were closed, making them private. "You knew the truth," Mark advanced on Christopher, fury in every stride. "And you married her to him anyway!" Mark roared, standing nose to nose with Christopher.

"You were dead," Christopher shouted. He'd been cautiously pleased to see Mark - alive - but now, Gods, his blood was boiling now. "It was left to me to me to make the decisions! Your daughter was pregnant and unmarried! What did you expect me to do?"

"Not marry her to her rapist!" Mark bellowed into Christopher's face. "You could have found someone else - anyone else but him!"

"No one else would have taken her!" Christopher shouted back, not backing down an inch. "No dowry, no inheritance, all was seized by the British with your little incursion into espionage! She was with child, unmarried, no fortune to speak of, who the devil would want to take her under those circumstances?"

"Then you should have kept her here and looked after her yourself!" Spittle flew from Mark's lips.

"Oh yes, that would have benefitted all of us, then, wouldn't it?" Christopher said, derisive. "Cilla had become my ward, I was responsible for more than just clothing and feeding her! I was responsible for her virtue! I would have failed her if I could not have seen her married - which I could not have done, of that I assure you! - I would have bought shame upon us all, that my own charge would be with child and unmarried! Besides, I hasten to remind you, Sir, that the damned child is his! He has every right to it! I did the best I could with a terrible situation. She was my ward! It was mine to decide!"

"You decided wrong!" Mark's scream rebounded from the walls, Celeste covered her ears and cowered in the corner.

"No, Mark. _You_ decided wrong! When _you_ put my sister into that man's bed!"

"Don't you bring Mage into this -"

"You whored my sister!" Christopher's shout was as loud as Mark's had been. "_You_ did this! All of it! From start to damned finish! The spying part I can understand and respect. But to use your wife in such a manner, to use _my sister_! You bring shame to the Middleton name and how dare you do that!"

"The Middleton name can rot in the fires of -"

"And the Putman name can rot right along with it!" Christopher cut in. "You got caught spying, you stupid dolt! And my sister and niece suffered for it!"

"You're blaming me for Cilla's rape?" Mark ground out.

"Should I blame myself? Was I there? From start to finish, this is all your fault. I did the best I could with the plate of pig shit you laid on my table, don't you dare lay this at my feet!" Christopher's face was bright red, burning with rage.

Mark's anger became a cold thing, incredulous that Christopher thought he had any sort of argument at all.

"You married my daughter to her rapist!" Mark said, his voice chilling the very air.

"I married your daughter to the father of her child, the only one who could save her reputation and the only one who could be forced to it! That he murdered her virtue is without doubt, but he became the only one who could save it!"

"What tortures is she going through, every single minute of every single day, because you made a decision you had no right to make!"

"No right? YOU WERE DEAD! They came to me! I took them in, I had every damned right! Assurances were made, Mark! O'Hara is there making certain they are adhered to! It's a name only marriage, Bordon is never going to lay with her, he will never lay his hands on her, she gets her inheritance and he doesn't get a groat of it. How in all hell was that the wrong decision to make!"

Mark glared, recalling Cilla's letter, which told him precisely this very thing. A titular marriage. Promises made and as yet unbroken. Protection from Bordon by his superiors. Still, he seethed.

"You failed my wife," Mark said. "You set her out, turned her away, left her to roam on her own -"

"You failed your wife! You failed my sister! Because fo you, she had an affair and it was exposed!" Christopher threw his arms wide. "You might be determined to try steering this sinking ship you've built, but I will have naught to do with it!"

"You bastard," Mark breathed. "You Goddamned son of a stinking whore!"

"Oh yes, resort to name calling, insults. Because you know I'm right!" Christopher curled his lip. "In every aspect, in every argument, I am right! You would have done no differently, if you were faced with the choices I was faced with!"

"You little bastard," Mark said. He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd expected apologies, expected for Christopher to beg to be forgiven! But this? Mark shook his head. He pushed past Christopher and strode for the door. "I was unable to rescue her, from the trap you have put her in. She is with him, every moment of every day, forced to endure him. Because of you. There will be a reckoning, Christopher, you can be sure of that, by damn."

"A reckoning?" Christopher said, lifting his chin. Mark threw open the doors and marched out. Christopher followed, chasing after him. "What reckoning! How dare you threaten me?"

"This is no threat," Mark said. He strode through the front door, cold air hit him like a punch to the chest. He took the steps by two, stopping only when he reached his men. "Burn it," he said. "Burn it to the damned ground."

"What?" Christopher exploded from the top of his front porch. Mark's men were already a commotion of movement, dismounting, ready to do as Mark commanded. "You dare!" Christopher raged. He turned and raced back into the house. Mark heard him screaming for his rifle.

"Rifles out," Mark said, almost calm. He pulled his and by the time Christopher, red faced and panting, came back onto the torch with his rifle, he was confronted with seventeen, all levelled at him. His face drained of colour. Celeste had followed him, she gave a small scream and raced back inside. "Put it down, Christopher," Mark commanded as his men began to fan out, some approaching either end of the porch. Christopher did not know what way to look, nor where to aim. He was beginning to look uncertain, he had no idea which way to point his rifle. It was one ball against seventeen. He could kill one of Mark's men, and find seventeen balls firing into his own chest. He began to lower his rifle.

In that moment of indecision, Calvin rushed him. Two steps at a time and suddenly Calvin was on the front porch even as the older man lifted his rifle back up, before he could do anything with it, Calvin's fist slammed into Christopher's face. Christopher stumbled back, the rifle fell from his lax grip and his hands flew to his bleeding mouth. "Do ye want me to kill him?" Calvin asked, sighting his rifle on Christopher. Who stared wide eyed over his fingers.

"No. I want you to fire the house. SO FIRE THE FUCKING GODDAMNED HOUSE!" Mark screamed and his men flew into action. In the middle of winter, there was a fire burning in most rooms of the Plantation home. His men rushed in, moved from room to room, finding anything that would burn quickly. They set whatever they could alight, then threw the flames toward curtains and furniture. They smashed tables to get the wooden legs, using them as firebrands to carry the flames throughout the home.

"You're mad," Christopher said helplessly as he stumbled down the porch steps. Negroes were fleeing the house, pushing past their Master. Christopher eventually came to stand at Mark's stirrup. "You are mad. This is your reckoning? By God, you better beware my own."

Mark lifted his leg and slammed his boot into Christopher's face. His brother in law went down in a crumpled heap right there in the muddy ground. Dismounting again, he took one look at Christopher on the ground, blood soaking his face from the crushed nose. He was not moving. He knelt, felt for a pulse. Unconscious, not dead. _Mage will be pleased. _He went into the house, he could hear his men shouting upstairs. Clever place to start, that - it gave them the ability to retreat down the stairs, burning as they went. He raced upstairs, wanting to be sure the men were being thorough. Calvin met him in the corridor, he was dragging Celeste along behind him.

"Mark, he stole my jewels!" Celeste said between sobs, her voice was barely coherent, one hand was scratching toward the bulge in Calvin's pockets.

"She was trying to save her valuables," Calvin laughed. He stopped in front of Mark with the struggling, weeping Celeste. He might not have known what this was about, but he did know that Mark was not about to show this family mercy. "What do we do with her?" He asked. He looked eager. Keen. Mark's breath hitched in his throat. He looked at Celeste, who was still struggling. And weeping.

"What do you want to do with her?" Mark asked softly, whispering, his eyes fixed on Celeste. Who had had a hand in Cilla's forced marriage to her rapist, where she would be continually tortured with that foul act, every night until Mark rescued her. Which was not today. Gods, not today. He failed her. Failed Cilla. She would be forced again tonight, tomorrow night, every night until… because of Christopher, and because of Celeste.

He dragged himself back from giving the order. He met Calvin's eyes, "get her out of the house before it gets dangerous. And take what you want, I care not." He said, addressing the jewels Calvin had stolen. "I'm going to ensure the house is alight," he said, then continued on down the hall, leaving Calvin to get Celeste out. He began looking into each room. Some were alight, others were still getting started, his men moving about with their make shift firebrands. A militiaman handed him the leg of a stool that was burning merrily at one end. "Once it gets started, there won't be much time to get out. Don't linger," he told his men as he encountered them. He entered yet another room to find no one in it at all, he held the burning chair leg to the curtains and watched the fire take hold. He did the same with the bed, burning the curtains, and the upholstery on the furnishings. Peter Scott burst into the room, waving his firebrand.

"Oh, you've already started."

"Take the next room," Mark said. "Tell the men, if they want to loot, then loot. I care not."

"Oh. Yes, Sir," Peter said a little uncertainly, before disappearing out the door.

The house was massive. It took some doing, but Mark was determined to see it in ashes. Seventeen men moved from room to room with their makeshift torches, setting curtains and furnishings alight, before retreating toward the main stairs and the servants stairs. The slaves and staff were gone, already fled the house. Mark told the men to stay in pairs, this was dangerous work and he didn't want to be waiting outside as the house burned, only to discover he had men missing. They did the same below as they did upstairs, lighting the parlour, the dining hall, the main hall, the office, all the smaller rooms until Mark was satisfied that there was no way in hell the fire could be extinguished.

Mark and a few others escaped the house and they reached the horses, seizing reins to lead them further back from the house. Those that were with him mounted, three so far. Mark counted as each pair emerged from the house.

"You're mad," Christopher was on his knees, swaying as he stared at the flames licking the inside walls of his home.

"You might want to come back aways," Mark advised. "You're a little close there, Christopher."

"You bastard. You'll pay for this," Christopher said quietly. "You'll pay."

"This was the reckoning," Mark said. "Anything else is pure indulgence."

Christopher tried several times to push himself to his feet, one of his negroes finally came forward to help him. Leaning heavily on the negro, Christopher fell back to Mark. "Where is Celeste?"

Mark was still counting the pairs of men, he had twelve with him now. Five more to go. Two rounded one side, two managed to get through the front door. And finally, Calvin Farshaw, he sauntered around the side of the house, carrying what looked to be a sheet or table cloth, folded at the corners to form a carry bag, heavy with loot.

"Did you get the woman out?" Mark asked him as he approached.

"Yeh, I did just what ye said," Calvin grinned.

"Where is she?" Christopher said, his voice filled with agony.

"In the kitchen, safe and sound," Calvin tied off the mound of loot to his saddle and mounted. Christopher was already stumbling with the help of his negro, in the direction of the kitchen. "Goin' to fetch a small fortune with these." Calvin patted his loot, Mark heard the tinkling of items clunking together. Cutlery and cups from the kitchen, perhaps. He didn't care.

Mark counted again, whispering a prayer of thanks when he counted seventeen. "You've done well," he complimented. "Mount up, we're leaving."

The militia was soon galloping back down the lane, leaving the burning inferno behind them.

* * *

Nearly two months since Mark had last seen Mage and the change in her was devastating. He and his militia had just arrived, the family had begun to emerge from the house onto the porch at the approach of the riders. Seeing Mage, standing on the porch looking so hopeful had twisted his already broken heart.

Seeing her almost emaciated…

Gods.

With barely a word to the others beyond what was necessary for common courtesies, he took her hand and led her into the house, asking her to take him straight to her room. And there they were now, upstairs, in the chamber Singleton had provided for her.

"You promised you would eat," he said, cupping her face, nearly weeping. "Gods, Mage!"

"I'm eating," she replied. He shook his head, his forehead to hers. Her eyes were dark and sunken. Her hair lax, no shine at all. Her arms, Gods, he squeezed them gently - they were skin and bones. Her cheekbones were far more prominent than they'd ever been, her cheeks sunken.

"Mage, my love," he pulled her to him, awkward with the child filling her stomach. "I'm going to stay here for a bit," he promised. "I'm going to make sure you eat, we need to get some flesh back on you, this is not good for you!"

"I'm eating. As much as I am able, but I can't stop worrying. You can't stay here. Cilla…" Mage's voice caught, she choked off. "It's been two months. Where is Cilla?"

"I tried," Mark closed his eyes and reeled. He'd come to tell her the dreadful news and now he was here, he could barely bring himself to do it. What would it do to her? She was already skin and bones.

"You tried?" Mage whispered. "Oh dear Lord, she is still with him?"

"I'm so sorry," he dropped to his knees before her and buried his face in her stomach. He told her all of it, from getting word that Cilla had fled and was looking for him, to the ambush, to discovering her trails throughout the night, to being captured again by Bordon. To the twenty dead Dragoons, and his taking his wrath out on Christopher Middleton. They were sitting on the bed by the time he finished, Mage was weeping and clutching her stomach, her face looking pained.

"She's still with him," she repeated, gasping as if for air.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I have a plan, Mage. I'm going to see her free, I vow."

"How, what plan?" She asked, gripping his jacket. "What plan!"

"Calvin Farshaw. One of my men. He is a Continental - they forced him to join them, the British did, but he was never one of them. He was a traitor among them, started to spy on them when Jack and Eric asked him to. He fled after killing an Officer, but not before taking a copy of O'Hara's cipher. And as he was a clerk for a while, he had the occasion to learn O'Hara's hand. And he took an impression of O'Hara's seal, he's still got it. He's forged a seal from it. Benjamin," he curled his lip, still furious with their betrayal. "Commanded that they be given over to General Burwell, to be used under his guidance. But I never did, I've still got them. And I've got Farshaw, he's loyal to me. Burwell would hang me as soon as look at me, I am not one of them anymore. I'm going to use them, to get Cilla out."

"Will it work?" She breathed, daring to hope. Her hands were still holding her stomach and she groaned, her face twisting.

"Are you alright?" He asked and she gave a quick nod.

"Will it work?"

"I think… Yes, it will. O'Hara was due to leave, he might already be gone. He won't be there to discredit any command we send. The Legion will be leaving Fresh Water soon. I have to consider the wording, but I'll think of a way - I'll have Calvin draft a missive that will have Bordon and Tavington led off in some direction with a small force, and straight into an ambush. As soon as Bordon is dead, I'll be able to get word to Cilla, and she'll be able to walk away. Simply walk out, with no one to stop her. No more Bordon, no more Tavington. She'll be free."

"Please," Mage whispered. "Oh Gods, please."

"I'll do it," he vowed, holding her close. "I'll do it, Mage. I'm so sorry I failed you."

"You tried. I love you, I don't blame you. I just want my little girl…" She wailed and sobs ripped from Mark's chest as he held her. "I just want my little girl," she whispered again.

"I know. I'll g-get her. I p-promise," he stammered between sobs.

* * *

Mark and Mage were forced to compose themselves, in order to rejoin the others. No one questioned his need to speak to Mage in private and when he joined them again, no one questioned how long they'd spent upstairs, alone.

_Likely thought we were coupling_, he thought heavily. If so, he'd let it stand, he cared not. None of them knew the truth. He spent time with Charlotte and the children in the parlour, he had to continually remind himself that Benjamin's children were also half Betsy, his late sister, and they were just children - still innocent, they did not deserve his fury as their older siblings did. They were oblivious, ignorant, it would be cruel to be disdainful toward them.

They dined with Mr. Singleton, he noticed Anne and Charlotte both sending plates of various tidbits toward Mage, a nightly habit it seemed. They were trying to look after her, but even he understood that you could lead a horse to water, but you could not make it drink. He coaxed her, cajoled her, and in the end, Charlotte exclaimed how much more Mage had eaten - nearly twice the amount with Mark's encouragement, then she did any other evening. He despaired, for he hadn't thought it very much at all. If she was subsisting on half the amount…

Well. He was there now. He'd get flesh back on her bones if it was the last thing he ever did.

It came as a surprise to him when he saw Mr. Singleton paying particular attention to Charlotte, who seemed quite receptive. They were sitting in the parlour after dinner, Mark at Mage's side, Mr. Singleton at Charlotte's.

"He wants to marry her," Mage whispered, a smile haunting her lips.

"He has proposed?" Mark whispered back and Mage nodded.

"I think she might accept him."

Mark watched them together, Singleton and Charlotte. The gentleman was a quietly reserved man with a gently clever wit, very similar to Benjamin. They even looked a little alike, both tall with dark brown hair and blue eyes, around the same age… Mark approved the match, if Charlotte consented to making one, though Mark was a little worried that his sister had replaced Benjamin with an exact copy. Having said that, perhaps she just liked tall men with dark hair and blue eyes, just as Mark preferred tall women with blonde hair. Perhaps Charlotte wasn't replacing Benjamin, perhaps she was simply looking for someone to actually commit to her, after so many years of waiting.

"Do you think she'll be happy?" Mark asked.

"I hope so," Mage replied. "She deserves to be. Ooohhhh," Mage's face crinkled and Mark immediately saw that she was in pain.

"My love?"

"He is moving," she said. Her face eased as the pain faded. That ghost of a smile became stronger. She took hold of his hand and placed it on the side of her stomach, he could feel the baby moving beneath his palm.

It was glorious.

It was terrifying.

He'd failed to protect Cilla, how could he hope to protect this baby? And he'd failed to protect Mage… She was smiling down at him - a weak smile, watered down with unshed tears.

"Strong kick there. It's a boy, I know it is. I am going to name him…" He paused, thinking about it. Mark? After himself? Mark Junior? No, he didn't like the sound of that. "I'll call him Matthew, after my father." Charlotte gave him an odd look, but Mark ignored her. It was only right, naming his firstborn son for their father.

"And if it's a girl?" Mage asked. Mark was quiet a long time before answering.

"Hope," he said finally. "Hope…"

A sob burst past Mage's lips and she nodded, agreeing. She understood. Hope, that he's able to protect this child. Hope for a new world, with no British. With no Bordon. Hope, for a new beginning.

"Oh!" Mage gasped, holding her stomach. Mark watched her with concern as she straightened. "Oh that was much stronger… I think it's happening," she clutched her stomach with both hands. She turned to him when she had her breath back. "I think… It's happening."

"Christ, what do I do?" He lurched to his feet. The room fell silent, the others wary, even the children were infected by it. "Get the midwife?"

"She's one of Mr. Singleton's servants," Charlotte replied, already rising. "I will have her summoned."

"Is there anything I can do?" Mark fretted.

"If there is, I will let you know," Charlotte said. She met Mage's eyes. "Are you sure, is the babe coming?"

"I'm certain, Charlotte," Mage said, sounding frightened. "It's coming. Oh dear Lord," she cried out on another wave of pain.

"Children, come," Anne gathered them up; Margaret, Susan and William, she ushered them out of the room.

"What do I do?" Mark asked Mage, looking frantic.

"We will remove Mrs. Putman to her chamber, Mr. Putman," Mr. Singleton said, coming to stand at his side. "And then you and I will return back here. We shall smoke our pipes and drink wine until this is over. That is what you will do. Come." He stood on Mage's other side and together, he and Mark helped her to her feet.

"You've been having these pains all afternoon, ever since I arrived," he lamented. "Ever since I told you… Mage, is this my fault? Was it the shock?"

"Mark," Mage stopped, she cupped his face with both her hands. The wave of pain was passed again and she stared earnestly into his eyes. "I vow on my life, all will be well. Please, my love, do not blame… ohhhhh…"

"Upstairs," Mr. Singleton barked as Mage hunched over herself, gasping in pain. "Now."

* * *

"It's too soon," Charlotte fretted to the midwife as she met her in the corridor outside the chamber.

"It is," the midwife agreed.

"Seven months, you said. Will the baby survive being born at seven months?"

"In the middle of winter?" The midwife heaved a sigh. "I wish I could reassure you, I really do. If the baby is strong, perhaps. I can't say beyond that. All we can do is pray. We will do all we can."

"Yes," Charlotte agreed, her hands trembling as she followed the midwife into the chamber.

* * *

Singleton handed him some tobacco, Mark could fill his pipe. He was also handed a rum. Mr. Singleton began making idle talk, chatter, to help wile the hours and to soothe Mark's increasing nerves. Time did slip by, with slaves coming and going, building up the fire and offering sweetmeats. Long lapses of silence between the men, until Mage started up screaming. Mr. Singleton would start speaking again, each time those awful screeches charged down the stairs. It was the same as before when, nearly twenty-one years ago, he sat in his parlour with his father, while Mage gave birth to Cilla.

Hours, it went on for. Hours. Anne made regular visits at first, she appeared in the doorway, gave a brief report, before disappearing above again. Mage was doing well, Anne said. Her body is getting ready for the birthing, which is a painful process. Excruciating. But nothing to worry about. It's completely normal. Those screeches coming from his wife's mouth, so desperate and horrifying, were nothing at all to worry over. The screams made him think of Cilla and for a time, he was back in the dungeon, listening to his daughter as helplessly as he listened to Mage now. He forced himself to stay in the present for Anne was right - birthing was natural. Painful yes, but - as she said - nothing to worry over.

But things could go wrong. Mage was not young, not anymore. And her body had been through such rigours, the desperate fear for Cilla had made it nearly impossible for her to eat for nearly two months. And now the news he bought of his failure had bought on the birth two months too early. Things had gone wrong already and they might get so much worse. As the night drew on and finally broke into day, he realised that it had. So much worse. Something was dreadfully wrong. Mage's screams had stopped. Did that mean the baby was born? If so, why couldn't hear the babies cries? His child's screams should have replaced those of his wife, as the baby was dragged, kicking and screaming, from its warm cocoon. Why couldn't he hear the child? His palms were sweaty, sweat coated his forehead. The parlour was too close, too hot, for such a large room. Singleton was silent, unable to think of anything else to say. Mark was grateful for that silence, for he was listening hard for the slightest noise from above. The smallest sound, that would tell him his child had survived the birth.

At length it came. How much longer after Mage had stopped screaming, he couldn't tell. Ten minutes, perhaps. So much time had lagged. He recalled when Cilla was born, her screams of fury had taken over from the moment Mage's had stopped. He blew out a desperately relieved breath. The child was squalling. It didn't matter how much time had lapsed, the child had entered the world safely, where so many do not, especially two months too early. He laughed, a sound of pure release, and ran his sweaty palm over his sweaty forehead. Singleton grinned.

"I'll pour the rum. One of the women will be down soon, no doubt. You'll know soon if you have a Matthew or a Hope."

"Gods, I can't think of which I want more," Mark said. "Until two months ago, I hadn't even thought I'd be a father again! And now I am… A boy. I hope it's a boy. But I'll be just as happy with a girl. Either will be a gift I never anticipated having."

Either way, Cilla had a sibling. A brother or a sister. She was no longer alone. Dear God, this was wonderful. All that worrying had been for nothing. Not if the furious wails coming from above were any indication. The cries were coming closer now. A movement at the door. Mark glanced up as one of the women stepped in with a blanket wrapped bundle. Her face was grave as she pulled back the coverlet. He saw Charlotte from the corner of his eye but he paid her no heed. His eyes were for his child and his child alone.

"A boy, Sir," the woman said.

"Oh, halloo Matthew," Mark cooed down at the babe as the woman placed the bundle in his arms. Matthew looked so small, encompassed as he was in the blankets. And he was so light, Gods, so delicate and small and light. Mark's heart swelled to bursting as he gazed down at the little man in his arms. With his mop of blonde hair and his bright blue eyes and his chubby little cheeks. So handsome. Mark found himself crooning a childish tune as he gently rocked his son. His son. Gods, he never thought he'd see the day. He loved Cilla to distraction but he'd always yearned for a boy, an heir, a little Matthew. He lifted his head, smiled at his sister, finally ready to share his joy with another. Tears coursed Charlotte's cheeks and his heart almost burst. She'd been there when Cilla was born too, he'd been able to share the birth of both his children with his sister. This was family. His family. This was joy. He held his son up, as if to show her.

But Charlotte didn't look at the boy. Her tears turned to sobs, which was something she hadn't done, when Cilla was born. She hadn't broken down and cried as though her heart was being torn from her body.

"Oh Mark," she whispered brokenly as she stumbled the last few steps to him. Her arms came around his shoulders and she began to howl. Mark grew tense, wary. Worried. Mage? He looked to the woman who'd handed him his son. Her eyes were on the floor. Anne stood just in the doorway, looking very much like someone had died. Gods. He shoved the baby - carefully - into Charlotte's arms.

"Mark, no!" Charlotte's cry followed him up the stairs, he took them two at a time, racing all the way up and then down the corridor. He burst in to the room, panting. Women - there were women everywhere - obscuring the bed. He couldn't see. Couldn't see her for women. They all looked at him, some clutching towels and blankets covered with blood. Too much blood.

"Sir, I'm so very sorry for your loss," one of them said, as if he'd already been informed below. As if he already knew.

No. The words made no sense. They were supposed to be congratulating him, for his son, his heir. Not giving condolences. He stumbled, somehow, made his way to the bed. Pain such as he'd never known, nothing Tavington and Bordon could inflict could hurt as bad as this, except for Bordon hurting Cilla. He stopped at the bed and stared down at his wife. Her eyes were open. Her lips parted, as if she was about to impart some secret. He reached out, touched her skin. It was already cooling. The noise that came from his mouth - he hadn't thought he could make. Someone put arms around his shoulder. He barely noticed. He was on his knees now, fingers clutching those of his wife, those inhumane noises bursting unbidden from his lips. So sorry. People kept saying it. Over and over. So sorry. Charlotte was rubbing his back. He knew it was her because he could hear her, he knew the sound of her weeping. The women paused in their task, filing out of the chamber to give him his privacy. He made to climb up onto the bed, to take Mage in his arms, one more time.

"Don't," Charlotte whispered, trying to pull him back. It was then that he saw the true gore. He'd upset the sheets covering Mage, revealing the bloody mess of her gaping stomach. "They had to… cut Matthew out," Charlotte explained, barely about to get the words out. "Otherwise we'd… have lost… them both…" Mark stared down at the awful wound, aghast, as Charlotte pulled the sheet back up to cover it.

"This is not happening," he shook his head, trying to dislodge the awful thing that was happening, trying to wake up. "This is not happening," he began to rock, hugging his arms to his body, standing there rocking. Like a madman. It couldn't be happening. Mage could not be dead. They cut the babe from her stomach. "Why did they do that?" He whispered. "They've killed her!"

"Mark, she was already gone," Charlotte said, her fingers again curling around his arm. "I vow it on my honour. I was here, I saw it. I felt her… go…" She turned her face, averting her gaze as her features twisted with grief. He stared at her, at Charlotte, unable to comprehend.

"You let them do this to her? You let them…"

"To save Matthew. They tried to bring her back, Mark. I begged them to save her and they did all they could. When nothing worked, I begged them to save the baby. He's an innocent, no matter who -" She cut short, her face closing to him.

"He is an innocent," Mark agreed. "Lord! All these months, Mage worried that Matthew would be raised without his father! Now he'll be raised without his mother?" Gods, it was not happening… Stumbling blindly, Mark climbed onto the bed, despite Charlotte's protests, her attempt to stop him. He gathered Mage's unresistant, cold body up into his arms, heedless of the blood, of the gore. He clutched her to him, rocking her back and forth as he keened. Even as he held his dead wife to his chest the same words crashed through his skull, over and over. This could not be happening.

* * *

Charlotte ran a weary hand over her brow. She sat beside the nurse, her fingers under Matthew's head, helping to cradle it as the baby opened his mouth wide for the nipple.

"Now," the woman said and Charlotte pushed Matthew's entire face into the nurse's breast. Matthew began suckling frantically, but he released just as quickly and started to wail. They'd been doing this for a full ten minutes already. "He's just not used to it. It takes time," the nurse said. She had the patience of a saint. Upstairs, Mark was laying on the bed holding Mage, unwilling to let go. He was covered in blood, from head to toe. The women wanted to get in there to clean, before any infections from the blood developed. But Mark would not budge. And now Matthew would not feed. Wasn't this supposed to be instinctive? Why wouldn't he suckle?

Matthew. Fancy giving their father's name to Bordon's bastard. Charlotte drew a hard breath. The baby was innocent, but Bordon had done so much damage, had hurt them all in so many ways. No son of Bordon's deserved Charlotte's noble father's name.

The nurse tried again.

"Now," the woman said as Matthew opened his mouth wide to let loose another scream, his face squished with fury. The nipple was shoved into his mouth, Matthew suckled, and for a wonder, he did not pull away. Not this time. No, he began sucking, frantically, drawing hard and making loud swallowing noises. Must have been starving. Well, they'd been at it for long enough. He made a mewling noise, this little sound of relief and contentment. He began suckling more slowly and the nurse smiled up at Charlotte.

"He's getting the hang of it now."

"It's about time," Charlotte said, exhaustion overwhelming her. She collapsed back against the chaise beside the woman. Faith was her name, her and her husband were indentured to Singleton. Pretty, with her dark hair and hazel eyes. About twenty-six years old. Ordinarily, one of the slaves would have been used for this, but none of them were nursing. Singleton didn't have any children, he didn't have the need for a wet-nurse. But Faith had an older child who was ready to start to wean. She had an abundance of milk and would have even more, now that the demand was higher.

"He's so beautiful," Faith said, brushing back the light brown hair from Matthew's forehead. "Such a handsome little man."

"I suppose he is," Charlotte said. She peered at Mage's son, searching for signs of the father and seeing far too many to count. It shocked her that Mark could look at this boy and see only himself. Lord, he was deluded.

The hair should have been a dead giveaway that the child was not his; the streak of ginger through the blonde. Perhaps it was the blue eyes that threw him off the scent. The little face - it was hard to judge, for all babies were pudgy. But his face did look far more broad than any face that had ever belonged to a Putman. No, this child was Bordon, through and through. Not that she'd ever tell her brother that, he was a little unhinged at the moment. Holding his dead wife and laying in a pool of her blood. Maybe that was a natural thing to do too, but she didn't think so. She'd listened as he told of what happened up north. Of dashing that man's head in with his tomahawk. Maybe that was a natural thing to do too, when ones child is threatened. But he'd described it so dispassionately, with such coldness. The hanging of the men. The shooting of the Dragoons.

Mage by contrast had hung on his every word, not for one moment seeing anything wrong with what he'd done. Charlotte despised Bordon as much as anyone could, but this? There was something wrong with Mark, Charlotte could feel it in her bones. She'd never tell a man who was capable of dashing in the brains of another, that the child he had named his own was sired by a man he so deeply despised. She would let Mark think he sired this child, for Matthew's sake, and for the sake of the mother who could no longer protect him.

Mage.

Charlotte's heart gave a lurch, her eyes filled again. It'd been awful, watching her sister in law as she faltered, grew ever more increasingly tired, until she could barely draw breath to speak let alone push. And then one of those breaths had been her last, it'd slipped from her and she didn't draw another. Instead, her body had gone slack, her eyes glazed over, her face relaxed as the body was free of all pain and endurance. The women were in such a flurry then, moving around the bed with lightening speed as Charlotte just stood there, wringing her hands and begging. One pinched Mage's nose and - of all things - began breathing into Mage's mouth. She'd never seen anything like it. And another started pounding Mage's breast hard enough to break ribs, when Mage did not begin her own breathing. She was slapped, too. Slapped hard enough to make Charlotte wince, even in her panic. Nothing had worked, and the women had tried so many other things. Until one of them said, voice somehow matter-of-fact yet filled with remorse all at once, that Mage was dead and the baby would die too, if they wasted any more time trying to revive her. Charlotte had begged for the baby, then.

For Bordon's child.

Gods. Begging for Bordon's child.

She laughed softly, it had an edge to it that she didn't like, so she stopped. It made her sound mad, that laugh. As mad as she feared her brother had become. The nurse gave her a look.

"Maybe you should go to bed, Mrs. Selton," she said kindly. "I know you think you probably won't be able to sleep under the circumstances… But you must be absolutely exhausted."

"I can't," Charlotte shook her head. "The children are going to need me." Never a truer word was spoken. Both aunts had played a very strong part in the children's lives since Elizabeth's death. Both had tried their damnedest to fill the void left by their mother's passing. They were going to be devastated, when they woke up to discover that Mage was gone. Which was going to be very soon. Anne was in the nursery with them now, she had gone there in order to be there when the children woke, and to keep them there until Charlotte said so. It was well past dawn, they would want to come down soon. To see the baby. To be told that their aunt was dead…

"Maybe you could just close your eyes here for a moment?" Faith suggested. That sounded like a mighty fine idea. Charlotte reclined against the end of the chaise, a small cushion beneath her head. She closed her stinging eyes and felt immediate relief. Her breathing slowed, became shallower and without even realising it, she began to drift to sleep.


	131. Chapter 131 - The Jade and Her Spark

Chapter 131 - The Jade and Her Spark:

_Mid December, 1780_

"We are facing a new threat," Banastre was saying as he slapped the letter down on the table. Beth glanced up as Banastre and Whitty and several other Officers continued to talk. She sat beneath a large window, bathed in cold sunlight. He knew she didn't want to stay in the houses when the Legion made camp at a Plantation, but gave her no choice this time. For excuses, he used the cold, the winter, the rain, said he didn't want the baby to be harmed, didn't want her to catch a chill. But she knew the truth. He just wanted the privacy and comfort of an actual bed chamber for a change. When in camp, their joined tents were always guarded. Two soldiers, standing outside at all times. Hearing almost everything taking place within the canvas walls they guarded. Every conversation Banastre and Beth had, could be heard by whomever was on rotation. Every night when they went to bed - their activities could be heard.

And now that the book had fallen into Beth's hands, it was even worse. Weeks after receiving that astonishing book, Beth and Banastre had yet to finish it. The Legion had long since moved out from Winnsboro, Beth stayed with the baggage train as it moved up along the Broad River, while Banastre rode out to recruit locals and trouble the rebels. Banastre insisted that Beth not read the book alone, even though she was intrigued by the story part of the book, not just by those astonishing revealing scenes. Therefore, their time enjoying the book was limited to when - if - Banastre returned, and only at night.

They read the same scene night after night after night until tiring of it and moving on to the next one. Beth would have preferred to read it from cover to cover, for she did want to know the story, but Ban had his favourites and they were constantly back tracking - or flipping forward through the pages - to get to them.

As a result, they were barely half way through reading it even though, for weeks now, the couple had lain awake facing one another on that small cot in Beth's tent, Banastre's hands roving Beth's body and doing naughty things between her legs while she tried to read from Fanny Hill. When Fanny's activities became heated, Beth could barely read out loud without gasping and crying out, as Banastre busied himself with pleasuring her. It was exciting, titillating, wonderful, intoxicating.

But quite loud…

Last night, when Beth was simply reading the book to Banastre - the story part of the book, well before reaching the heart pounding parts. Even those passages were questionable. She whispered as she read, hoping the guards could not hear the content. For even when the two were not sporting during her recitals, it was clear that this was no ordinary book. Unmistakably so. Not with passages like: _"he supposed I had left my maidenhead with some hobnail in the country."_ Not the sort of sentence that could be found in a more innocent novel.

Banastre asked her so many questions, constantly interrupting her, curious to discover if, during their sporting, Beth felt all of Fanny's heart flutterings and near faints and inflamed ecstasies. "Is that how you feel when I bring you to climax?" He asked her continually. And later, when Fanny lost her virginity to her beloved Charles. The pain Fanny described… Banastre asked with some concern if it had been as deeply painful for Beth, when he took hers. Beth laughed, remembering. "I've decided the author of this book must be a man, Ban," she'd said. "I can't imagine there's been a single women in the history of the entire world who 'fainted away with the sharpness of the pain'," she quoted, giggling. "I think it hurt," she said, casting her mind back. Or trying too. She'd been quite drunk the night she gave herself to Banastre. Then she'd shrug. "I honestly can't remember…"

"Well, that's just lovely," he complained, joking. "I crop your virgin flower and you don't even remember." Beth laughed at his referencing of the book. _'Virgin flower as yet un-cropped'_. She was learning quite a few new phrases and words, phrases and words her father would be appalled to learn she now knew. She snuggled in closer to Banastre, then, and said, "here I lay, in the arms of the sweet relenting murderer of my virginity." Banastre threw back his head and laughed.

What the guards had thought, hearing all this, Beth could only guess at. Banastre insisted they could be trusted, none would spread gossip about them, but Beth was not so trusting. This was the reason they needed the privacy of a proper chamber. With four very thick walls and a lockable door.

Her chamber upstairs was a great luxury after living so long in a tent; a fire burned merrily, there were comfortable chairs and a chaise, and the bed was massive - it was certainly an inviting place to sleep. Banastre had his own chamber for the sake of appearances, but both of them knew he would not be sleeping in it.

"That Greene fellow?" Whitty asked now. "Mrs. Tavington, have you heard of him?"

"No, Lieutenant. I never heard his name until a few weeks ago, when you started discussing him," she replied.

"He's attempting to join with Burwell," Banastre said, heaving a sullen breath. "We can not allow this. Cornwallis will be taking steps to ensure it does not happen. He will place his entire battalion in the field, us included."

"Has he recalled the Green Dragoons from Fresh Water?" One Officer asked. Banastre gave him such a scowl; the fellow shot a glance at Beth, his face turning crimson. He wasn't supposed to mention this, it seemed. Banastre was still keeping his secrets. She'd forgiven him for keeping some - the letters from her father, for instance. He'd been trying to protect her. But this? Was he trying to protect her by keeping this secret? Her heart gave a lurch, she felt sick to her stomach. Was William on his way at that very moment? It was so much easier when she thought she'd never see him again!

"Colonel Tarleton?" Beth asked, uncoiling herself from her chair. She gazed up at him, stricken. "What is this?"

"The British Legion is to be summoned," he said reluctantly, meeting her gaze. "You need not fear, however. He will be sent wherever Cornwallis needs him to be, and we shall be sent where we're needed. We may not encounter his Dragoons at all. You certainly need not fear that you'll see him." He understood her so well. Beth felt the relief well up, chasing away the nausea.

"Oh," she subsided, biting her lip. To see William again. What would it be like? What would she do? Slap his face so hard, her handprint would be on his cheek for days. And Linda - she'd grab that doxy by the hair and drag her all over the camp. She'd demand he give back her inheritance, seeing that the damned camp Reverend would not help her secure it. She could not stand that William would spend a single shilling of her money on that doxy. Beth did her best to calm herself. No reason for them to encounter one another. Banastre would make sure of it. Protecting her, even now. William would not seek her out and Beth certainly would not go looking for him. It was disconcerting, that's all. That he was no longer to be at Fresh Water, would not be hundreds of miles away. The distance was closing between them and that, she found, she did not like at all.

At least he would no longer be sporting with his whore in Beth's own home...

"…Unable to do much without Martin," Whitty was saying.

"I hope that is the case also," Banastre said. "But we can not assume that Burwell and this General Greene are lacking in wits. For all we know, Martin might have learned everything he knows from those men." All of Banastre's Officers, and Banastre himself, turned as one to look at Beth. Oh, they were asking her, she realised. She shrugged.

"You know they are close friends, Burwell and my father," she said to Banastre. "But as I said, I've never heard of General Greene. I can't help you, I'm sorry."

With a curt nod, Banastre turned back to his conference, the men discussing where Green was in relation to Burwell and how long it would be before the two forces joined, and the efforts Cornwallis would need to go to, to prevent it from happening. Their meeting went on for some time. Beth grew hungry - and bored - and she withdrew. Nancy, her ever present maid, escorted her to a small chamber where a repast waited. Mr. Daniels - the Planter Grandee himself - was walking by the room, he happened to glance in. Saw her sitting there at the table. He glared, curled his lip, sniffed. She glared right back until he moved on. Stupid bastard. Let him snub her in front of Banastre. She scoffed to herself. The coward wouldn't dare. Banastre would string him up by his toenails. The thought amused her, that this Planter Grandee would look down his nose at her. Nancy had told her she had discovered that the Master often visited the slave quarters at night and that half the new babes in the quarters were sired by him. Filthy bastard, forcing himself on his slaves. If this was the calibre of person who'd look down his nose at her, what did she care? He was lower than she could ever be.

She finished her repast and made her way up to her chamber. The book lay on a table. It made her pulse race, just looking at it. The cover was innocent, no one would guess at the treasures within. A green sleeve, leather, plain, unassuming. But inside… She flipped it open, thumbed through until she found some of the drawings. My goodness, she never imagined such pictures could exist. Fanny, sitting up in her bed, coverlets pooling around her body. She was naked, her breasts bared, her hair falling wildly about her shoulders. She had her hand and was cupping a man's scrotum. Who would draw such a thing? The man was dressed but his breeches were open at the front. His hips were pushed forward, he was staring down at his member. Which was massive, according to Fanny. The fellow was a virgin, he had no idea what to do with a woman. Fanny's hand cupped him, she gazed up at him with an astonished, yet reassuring smile. Beth's mouth went dry. She closed the book, heart pounding. It was then that she noticed one of the pages had been folded at the corner, earmarked - probably by Banastre. She arched a brow, wondering what special place he'd marked for later reading. She flipped the book open again and began to read. She had not gotten this far into the book yet and was uncertain why Fanny would do it, but as Beth read, it seemed that Fanny had agreed to take a man to her bed, a man with peculiar tastes no other woman was willing to fulfil. He could not find any women willing to assist him in reaching his satisfaction in the way he enjoyed. But Fanny agreed to it - increasing Beth's suspicion that the book was written by a man, that a woman would never agree to such things. There was even a drawing for the scene - of a near naked Fanny draped with a sheer shift, with a small whip of sorts in her hand, the fellow - Mr. Barville, the author named him - laying before her, naked as the day he was born, presenting his bare buttocks up to her. As Beth read, Fanny began wielding the whip, smacking Mr. Barville's backside. In turn, he did the same to Fanny, who cried and howled and although the author claimed that Fanny enjoyed it, Beth couldn't see how she possibly could. And why would anyone? Much in the book was definitely to Beth's liking, but much most certainly was not. Why in the world would Banastre mark this page? Strange man. She sat curled in a chair by the fire, opened the book the book to the place she and Banastre had left off reading the night before. Fanny had just betrayed her current benefactor and lover, Mr. H, and as punishment, he had set her adrift with only a few guineas - her farewell payment.

Though Beth tried not to dwell on it, the scene skirted a little too closely to William and Linda. When Beth first married William, when she discovered that Linda was still in camp, he told her that he'd had made a promise to Linda that when their affair came to an end, at their parting, he would give her one last, very generous payment. One thousand pounds. It had sent Beth into apoplexy, the amount. Reading of Fanny's parting from Mr. H had been a chilling reminder. And here was Fanny, receiving only a few guineas. How generous William was with _Beth's_ money.

It'd all been lies of course. Linda had been in camp the entire time, keeping out of Beth's sight, the other camp followers hiding her, keeping William and Linda's secret… He'd never had any intention of giving her a farewell payment.

Beth had been only too pleased to be past that chapter in the book. Now, she settled in to read of the beginning of Fanny's next adventure, living in Mrs. Cole's house, her new landlady, a milliner during the day and a provider of sweet pleasures to gentlemen during the evening. Fanny was but one with several other girls; Emily, Louisa and Harriet, living in Mrs. Cole's house. They pretended to be Mrs. Cole's assistants during the day. But all of them were women of pleasure. Women of pleasure. Such a fine name to give a doxy. Is that what Linda was? A woman of pleasure? Beth shoved the thought aside. She would not identify that faithless whore Linda with the likeable Fanny, a woman who definitely had her own sense of honour. She forced herself to forget Linda and William, and to lose herself in the story. For after Fanny had been introduced to her new companions, Mrs. Cole bought the men into the chamber. Beth had read similar scenes earlier, where Fanny watched others couple from a place of concealment. Now, she was a part of the larger group of cavorting men and women, all of them watching as each couple sported with one another in turn. Beth was well warmed - and not only by the fire - by the time Banastre arrived. He took one look at her, sitting in the chair, cheeks red with arousal, the book in her hands, and he began to smile. She launched from the chair and into his arms.

"Ah, my gallant, my spark!" She cried as passionately as she imagined Fanny might. Banastre chuckled down at her. Those terms were used often in the book, Beth was certainly getting a fine education. "What took you so long?" She asked breathlessly, her fingers already working his buttons.

"I'm sorry," he replied, just as breathless, "I had reports to go over and there was this -"

"Oh, I don't care, just kiss me," she held him fast, groaning against his lips. He came up for air, pulse racing. That book - it was the best thing to ever happen to him. He'd be the envy of all his friends, if they knew he got to listen to Fanny Hill read aloud every evening in his beloved's breathy voice. He got to live all of Fanny's stories with his own lady love. He wanted to do everything with Beth, reenact every scene she read to him, all those things that made her quim so exceedingly wet. She must want to as well, he decided. Oh, she could read barely from the book at times, such was her arousal, especially when he reached between her legs and began teasing her wonderful sweet clit. His life was just… the most magnificent life a man could dream of. No one could imagine such a life as this. The woman you love, in your life, in your bed and willing to do absolutely anything you desire. It couldn't get better than this… He slid his hand up under her skirts; she parted her thighs with a groan, he reached that special core of her and he almost died when his fingers dipped into the ocean. "Just what part were you reading?" He asked, voice strangled.

"Fanny is living with Mrs. Cole," Beth said breathlessly, grinding against his hand. "Her new friends are doing an… initiation. She had to watch them couple with their sparks, one by one, until it was her turn and -"

"Oh, and you enjoyed that, did you? You naughty thing," he laughed down at her, his hand still up inside her skirts, fingers exploring her sex. "You enjoyed it the other times Fanny spied on others coupling - remember at the beginning when she was with Phoebe?" Beth nodded and smiled and kissed him hard. She took a hold of his hand and tugged, trying to lead him to the bed. He held fast, however, gazing at her - a gleam in his eye. He knew just what to do now, Beth had unknowingly paved the way for him to slip into the scene he wished to play out. He'd folded the page so he could find it easily later, but hadn't thought how he could entice Beth to play it out with him. Now, he knew. "You are naughty, Beth," he said in a mock severe voice. "For reading on ahead without me. It's ours, we should only read it together and yet here you are, enjoying it all to yourself."

"I'm sorry, it was there on the table and I just…" She blushed, smiled. Embarrassed and aroused. It was delightful - that combination.

"No, I'm afraid it just will not do," he teased, tapping her nose. "We will read it together or not at all. You must agree to it."

"Alright," she bit her lip, sensing he was not entirely serious, though he tried for a hard tone.

"And we will recreate those wonderful scenes, only with each other. Yes?"

"Who else would I wish to do any of those things with?" She asked.

"Very good answer. I'm pleased to have your agreement, but for now, we must discuss your punishment," he said, trying for severity and failing dismally. A breath caught in her throat.

"Punishment?" She asked, suddenly hesitant.

"For such a severe transgression," he replied, leaning down and kissing her neck. "I must find the page I need of our dear Fanny's Memoirs, for guidance. Open the book, my love."

Beth did, opened it to the page, and stared at the picture she'd studied before, of the gentleman lying prone on the chaise with Fanny struck him with the whip. Beth lifted her eyes to Banastre's.

"Read from here, my jade," he commanded. She was not offended at his calling her a jade, though if he had a few days earlier, she would have been mortified. As she called him her spark, he now called her his jade. Terms from the book, not meant to insult, another of their naughty little secrets. She began to read from the place he tapped with the finger of his free hand - his other hand was still rather busy under her skirts, making her want to squirm.

"Uh… alright… 'and determining a conflux of the spirits of pleasure towards those flagging shrivel parts, that rise to life only by virtue of this titillating arduous created by the discipline of their opposites, with which they have so surprising a consent' - wait, what does that mean?" She asked, lifting her bleary eyed gaze to his. "…Discipline… you mean… this is how you would punish me!"

"There can be pleasure in it," he kissed her nose. Something William knew well, if the rumours were true. He'd had Linda beat him and in turn had beaten Linda - William himself had likely got the idea from this very book in the first place. Banastre had never tried it himself but he'd always been quite curious. Now was his change to explore…

"You are the naughty one," Beth said, hitting him softly with the book. "You had this planned! It was folded at that page and everything!"

"And I was finding the most suitable way of executing it," he laughed - it was a giddy giggle, one of anticipation. "And your terrible transgression is the perfect thing! You forged ahead with the book without me, and for that, you shall be disciplined, my jade."

"I am not going to let you strike me, Banastre!" She snapped the book shut.

"Oh come now, you don't know if you'll like it or not until you try it," he tried to coax her.

"I recall very well how painful it is to be struck on the bare rump, Banastre Tarleton. Or have you forgotten that William used his belt on me?"

Banastre's face turned white, his smile fading. "I hadn't forgotten," he said slowly. "I just… didn't think that that would be like this. That was brutal, what he did to you. It wasn't for fun or enjoyment. That was just pure rage and I still want to kill him for it. This - what I propose, would be like the fellow here does," he took the book from her fingers, flipped back through to the page. "You start off easy, light, and then build up… Mr. Barville clearly liked it and so did Fanny, in the end. I just thought… that perhaps…"

"I might?" She finished for him, arms folded. She wasn't angry with him, but nor was she willing to enact this particular scene. Not the part that would see her bum reddened, anyway. "How many times do I have to say it? This book is not real. Fanny and her memoirs - they are not real. They were written by a man. That's why she enjoyed it so very much," she paused, gazed at his pouting lips. He looked ready to sulk. "Very well, let's give it a try, shall we?" She gave him a smile bright enough to dazzle. He cocked his head, her sudden grin making him suspicious.

"You do want to try it now?" He asked slowly, licking his lips with anticipation. He was not convinced this dream was about to come true however, there was something about the curve of her lips, the arch of her eyebrow. "What are you scheming, little jade?" He asked her, lifting his chin.

"Nothing at all, my spark," she said, a little too innocently for his liking. "If you wish to try it, then try it we shall. Exactly how the picture shows."

"But," he glanced down at the picture. "That shows Mr. Barville laying there and…" He lifted his eyes to hers. "Oh." He'd wanted to do it to her - not to hurt her like Tavington had hurt her. But because Fanny had enjoyed it so very much. He still wasn't convinced the book was anything but Fanny's memoirs - real and true. How else would the author be able to describe a woman's pleasure so exquisitely? And if Fanny could enjoy it, so could Beth. And he looked forward to the part afterward - when he'd give Beth comfort. Just as Fanny had received comfort from her dear Mr. Barville, when he had her weeping and aroused at the same time.

"We shall do it, but it won't be me getting whipped," she laughed at his expression. "Not so eager now, are we?"

"Is that a challenge?" He asked her, taking a step back from her. In a lewd act designed to shock and arouse her, he placed is moistened fingers in his mouth and sucked - the fingers that had been toying between her legs. "A test of bravery, hmm? How strong can your arm possibly be?" To her astonishment, he began to shrug off his jacket. He undressed slowly, until he was completely naked. He padded across the thick carpet bare footed for his riding crop and several ribbons, then returned and handed them all to her. His phallus stood out from his body like a sword at the ready. "What's the matter love? Not so eager now, are you?"

"You'd really do this?" She gasped, holding the crop in a lank fist, the ribbons from her fingers. What he wanted those for… Oh, to tie him up. Good God. For answer, he lay down on the bed, stretched out on his stomach. His head on the pillow, auburn queue dangling across his neck. His arms reaching for the headboard. He waggled his fingers at her, he was ready to be tied. She stared down at him, completely at a loss. How to even begin? She hadn't really read the scene, only skimmed it, to get an idea of what it was about. What if she hurt him? Wasn't that the idea? She set aside the riding crop, used the ribbons to bind first one wrist and then the other.

"You need to undress," he told her in a thick voice. His face was turned to her, so he could watch. She disrobed, nervous eyes on his, as she stepped out of her skirts and petticoats. She discarded her bodice and came to stand before him in her stays, her short shift falling to her thighs. "I need to get you a dishabille," he said. That strip of floaty material that had flowed around Fanny's body in the drawing. Beth licked her lips, imagining herself wearing something so sheer and flimsy.

"Yes, I think you'd better." It would not fit her for long, her stomach was getting larger by the day and by, the swell extended out slightly further than her breasts. "Sooner rather than later," she said, her fingers caressing her stomach over the swell. He grinned at her. She picked up the crop. Touched his calf with the tip, watched as he gave a slight jump. She trailed the end lazily along the backs of his legs, drifting higher and higher until she reached his bare buttocks. On impulse, she dipped the crop between his legs, it caressed the underside of his scrotum. Banastre gave a lazy sigh and parted his thighs. Beth's eyes widened, her heart pounded. Very much out of her element, now. Surely he felt the same?

"Have you done this before?" She asked, quite breathless.

"Never," a quiet croak. "But there's a first for everything, isn't there? Might be I quite enjoy it."

"Might be you don't," she pointed out.

"Never know 'till we begin, yes?" He lifted his head and looked at her. She struck him then, lightly at first. He frowned, shuffled his body, tried to make himself comfortable. What did feel nice, was his phallus rubbing the slick coverlet. She struck lightly again. On the fifth, she struck harder. Noticeably so. Banastre tensed. He continued to shuffle beneath the crop as fine red lines began to appear. She continued to strike harder, until those lines blended to a blur on his skin. He continued to squirm, she wondered if he would spill his seed on the coverlet as Mr. Barville had. Bright red strips across his flesh. This must have been how her rump looked, when William struck her with his belt. She was getting no enjoyment from this and she wasn't sure if he was, either. She dropped her arm.

"Can we stop, Ban? I really don't want to do this," she said, feeling no sweet arousal whatsoever. "I mean, you're not enjoying it, are you?" She asked, not entirely sure. All that squirming he was doing might have been him yearning toward release, rubbing his phallus on the blankets to increase sensation. Or it might have been discomfort, with no arousal at all… "I'll keep going if you want, but…" She was not even remotely aroused, herself.

"No, let's stop," he pulled his wrists free of the loosely tied ribbons, shifted until he was sitting before her, feet touching the floor. His face was as red as his bum.

"Well? What did you think of it?" She asked.

"Eh," he shrugged. "Perhaps some fancies are best left unexplored. I don't understand it though, I quite enjoyed reading it. It was exciting."

"We don't have to try everything in the book, Ban," she laughed down at him, tossing the crop to the floor.

"You should never balk at exploring something new, my love," he said, chastising as he pulled her down to sit her on his lap. "We can always stop halfway through, but whats the point of not at least trying?"

"Hmm, if you say so," she said in a distracted sort of way as Banastre began kissing her neck. Their little experiment might have failed but their afternoon alone was far from over.

"I chose my scene, you choose yours," he said, determined they play out one of the scenes to its fullest. His had failed, but there were still plenty to explore. "Which one?"

Thinking of the drawing of Fanny, with her hand cupping the virgin fellow's manhood, Beth began to smile.


	132. Chapter 132 - Beth, Ban and Electa

Chapter 132 - Beth, Ban and Electa:

"The head of his unwieldy machine..." Beth gasped, the words panted in bursts as she lifted and plummeted on Banastre's mast, barely able to read the book held clumsily in one hand as it bounced and jostled with her movements. Banastre lay beneath her gasping and thrusting, his fingers digging into her thighs with one hand, her breast with the other. "was critically pointed," Beth's voice lifted in pitch as the heat in her body grew unbearable, the pleasure just too much. Straining, she squeaked, "that, feeling him... fore-right against... the tender opening,' oh God, Ban! 'A favorable motion... from me met his... timely thrust -' Oh good God!" She dropped her head back and wailed, the book falling from nerveless fingers as all thought fled and she exploded with joy, her heart pounding to the tune of the orgasmic pulses singing through her body. Banastre grunted and thrust, grunted and thrust, gritting his teeth, fingers holding her, pushing her down on his length, mashing their bodies together.

When their trance was finally over, Beth lifted her exhausted body from Banastre's and collapsed beside him, trying to catch her breath.

"That Fanny," Banastre panted, winding his arm around Beth as she curled up next to him. "She's a little... Vixen, is she not?"

"I'll say," Beth agreed. She laid there, languishing for a time, waiting for her breath to not be so laboured. "She should not be doing that. Mr. H is keeping her - he is paying for everything; her food, her clothes, her lodging. And she beds this boy right under her lovers nose?"

"I'm well pleased to hear you take that view, considering," Banastre laughed.

"Considering what?"

"Well, you're my mistress, just as Fanny is Mr. H's. I'd not like to learn you'd been unfaithful to me with some private in my Legion."

"I never would," she replied. "And nor should Fanny, even if she did see that Mr. H with her maid. It's not as though she loves him, she even says she doesn't. It's a business arrangement only." This was one of those scenes they had already read several times, Beth knew how it played out in the end. "And Mr. H ends up turning her out, because of it. She was really very silly to do as she did."

"Still, it makes for a wonderful read, does it not?"

Beth laughed, agreeing. She set the book on the bed side table, then settled in beside him, her head on his chest. As she closed her eyes for sleep, Banastre's fingers stroked idly through her long hair. It was already late, they'd been in bed for hours. They'd coupled earlier when they retired, afterward they fell asleep, only to wake at the same time just now and start all over again. With Fanny Hill accompanying them. Or perhaps they were accompanying Fanny, Beth wasn't sure anymore. His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, the beating of her heart drifted with her into sleep.

Where her father waited for her beside some squat little cabin, the woods surrounding them lit up by firebrands. Her brothers were there, and there was William, tied to a slave post. Beth cringed away, wanting it to end but it hadn't even started yet. She knew what would happen however and she did not want to be there when it did. She did not want to see it again. She looked at William, his long brown hair falling away down his back, his face turned to her, pale gaze staring and her heart - her damned, rotten, traitorous heart broke, yearning for him - in sleep, it was free to yearn for him in a way she did not allow during her waking hours, when she was in control. Her father lifted the flog and Beth screamed. She ran forward, grabbed his arm, but he barely even seemed to notice she was there. His arm swung forward, the flog whipped through the air and William threw his head back and cursed to the black skies above. She ran to him, touched his skin, fingers caressing, feeling him quiver beneath. It'd been so long. Too long. She stared at his side, at his naked arm, his chest, lifting her gaze up to William's face. She lifted her fingers to touch him there, to caress his face, lifted onto the tips of her toes to kiss his lips -

She snapped awake, jolted from the dream. Panting, entangled in blankets and sheets, she reached for him but found nothing. The space beside her was empty. No William. Tears burned, blistering air stung her throat. She would not cry. By God, she would not. She sat up, drew her knees to her chest, stared grimly into the darkness. What she could not prevent while asleep, she could quash when awake. She did so now. Ruthlessly, she pushed those barbs from her heart, forcing them back, forced herself to remember. William and Linda. She would not yearn for him. She would not cry.

Banastre was returning to the bed now, the stump of candle held before him. He'd been standing at the door, a long loose shirt dropping around his athletic body.

"I'm away to Winnsboro, my love," he said regretfully.

"Now?" She blurted. It must have been three in the morning!

"Now," he agreed. "Worry not, I shall return to you here in a few days. I'd take you but... It's best you don't go within any distance of Cornwallis or O'Hara or any of the other Generals."

All of those who knew her, believed her to be with her sick sister. Yes, she could see the wisdom in her staying behind. But what a time for him to leave, right on the cusp of such an awful dream? William still filled her thoughts, and in the darkness all she could see was his face. She needed to slough off the vestiges of the dream, and the only way she could rid herself of thoughts of William, was to...

She edged forward on the bed, lifted her legs over the side, wrapping her ankles around Banastre's calves. "Surely you have some little time," she said as she lifted the bottom of his shirt up past his member. It was flaccid now, but did not remain so for long as she took him into her mouth.

"No, I have some little time for this," he whispered, twining his fingers through her hair. He lowered the candle to his hips, keeping it well clear of her hair while giving himself better light to watch her. In moments he was granite - hard to aching as her mouth worked up and down his shaft, her tongue making him feel like he might very well die then and there.

How could he leave her here? How many days before his return? How many days before he could be in her mouth again, in her quim, how many days before he heard her beautiful voice reading Fanny's? He couldn't. He could never.

He set the candle aside, pulled out of her mouth and pushed her back gently onto the bed. "You're coming," he said, climbing on top of her between her legs.

"God, no, not yet," she said mournfully, seizing his shaft and guiding it to her quim. He entered her and she gasped, "but I will be soon. Oh, God!"

"No," he couldn't help it. Even buried inside her, pleasure soaring, excitement reaching a pinnacle, he could not help but to laugh. "I mean you're coming with me. To Winnsboro."

"But you said -"

"I can't be without you," he kissed her hard, tongue entering her mouth as his cock thrust into her body. "I can never be without you. You're coming."

"Yes... yes, I'm coming," she whispered, gripping his buttocks with her fingers, pressing her breasts up into his chest. "I'd not be without you either," she said, as William finally receded, and her mind and body was again utterly filled by her lover, by Banastre.

* * *

What is promised in the heat of passion is not always fulfilled when desires cool, as Beth discovered the night that Banastre announced she would accompany him to Winnsboro. Before he was even fully dressed, rationality had set in and Banastre recalled that there was sickness at Winnsboro. He would not take his pregnant mistress, to a place so devastated with yellow fever. Besides, he had needed to move quickly if he was to answer Cornwallis' summons with the swiftness he'd become so famed for. Again, Beth could not be forced to maintain the hard pace he would set. The weather was against them also, it was as though the heaven's had opened and would never, ever close again. Another Great Flood, perhaps. There was no Noah with his ark to provide safe haven for Beth, and so he resolved to go on alone.

He had left her that night with his fast moving Dragoons and the following day, the rest of the Legion ambled out of the camp he'd left behind. Their intent was to follow the route Banastre had taken but they'd all known, as sure as the sun will rise, that he would return to them well before they ever reached Winnsboro. And that was precisely what had happened. Two days, perhaps, for him to gallop to Winnsboro and back, the Legion barely made it a quarter of the way before he'd rejoined them again. Beth knew he was returned, but she had not yet seen him. It was always the way. He returned, there was a grand uproar from the camp, he would make a tour of it - an inspection - before finally coming to wherever she happened to be waiting. She always knew well before he strode through the door, that he was back. He'd never be able to sneak up on her, that was for certain. Whether she was in a tent or a mansion, it was always the same. She sipped her cider and waited patiently. She'd spent the last two days in the carriage and was now residing in another Great House on another Plantation, the home of another gentleman Planter she did not bother to engage with. Banastre's Officers filled the house, taking it over completely, there were guards stationed out in the hall to ensure her privacy and safety. The occasional slave entered with sweetmeats and the like - as arranged by Miss Nancy, who took her job as Beth's maid far too seriously.

Beth's lips tightened, thinking of the woman. She did not trust her, or anyone else in camp who wore skirts. Beth wrapped herself in her cape and stared broodingly into the small fire. Burwell was in the area, rumour said. He was going to make a strike for Fort Ninety-Six, rumour said. The British had just lost Fort Williams, which had left the road open for the Americans to venture on through, unheeded. Now Ninety-Six was under threat. That was not bothering her, not at all. It was that Colonel Harry Burwell, her former fiancé, the man who'd spurned her, was so very close. Another thing that bothered her terribly was, while she was pleased she hadn't gone haring off with Banastre in the middle of the night in the middle of a storm, it did mean her opportunity to visit her father was taken from her. Perhaps that was a good thing as well. What would he have to say to her, anyway? It would not have been a happy reunion. She wondered if she'd ever experience one of those again. A happy reunion. She wrapped her fingers around the hot cider, letting the cup warm her. She didn't remember there ever being a winter that was so damned cold as this one was. Then again, she'd always stayed indoors during the winter. There'd never been any reason for her to venture out. Her father never travelled in winter, they always stayed home.

Home… She sighed. Took a sip of cider. Then pushed thoughts of home away. Her father's little house was as unattainable to her right now, as was the sun. No point dwelling. Futile, even, especially as the Legion was making its slow way to protect Fort Ninety-Six, the complete opposite direction of her house on the Santee. A clamour in the hall announced Banastre's arrival. Beth smiled - he'd never be able to sneak up on her. Still, she rose from the chaise and put on a smile, preparing to feign astonishment. She heard his voice, the tread of his boots, and then the doors flew open and he was striding in toward her, a grin splitting his handsome face. She barely had time to form a greeting when he was suddenly picking her up and twirling her in the air in a full circle. She laughed until he set her to her feet and pulled her close. Then she grimaced as his freezing lips attached themselves to hers.

"Agh, Ban!" She cried. "You're freezing!"

"And you're so very warm," he replied, kissing her again, soaking in pleasure and warmth.

"And you're all wet," it was a complaint but it was playfully said. "And you stink of horse and old wool," she sniffed at his great coat and curled her lips in distaste.

"Ah, my love, how I missed you!" His lips were slightly warmer for having been against hers, she did not mind them so much now. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, her head tilted back as he kissed her. He broke away and stared down at her, as though she were as pretty as a sunrise and he wanted to bask in her radiance.

"I missed you," she said, stroking her finger along his unshaved cheek. "How was Winnsboro?"

"Eh. Even worse than I expected. Entire Companies are sick, even the doctors are ill. I can't see how Cornwallis can possibly leave there any time soon."

"Does he intend to?" She asked, surprised.

"He must, I think, and soon. We will need to trap Burwell's force to prevent him from joining with this Greene's. If those two bands come together, we'll be in strife. Cornwallis will need to move out of his safe little haven at Winnsboro, to help me corner Burwell."

"But my father is there," Beth caught her bottom lip between her teeth, she gazed up at him beneath hooded lids. "Did you visit him?"

"I did, he is well. You should see his chamber, the room is nicer than this, and this is damned fine. He has all he needs - he's pampered, just as I promised you he would be."

"Banastre?" A woman's voice said. Stunned, Beth turned and saw a tall woman, hair as black as midnight, eyes just as dark. Her face was pale and clean, though she wore the clothes of a camp follower. A jade, then. And she'd just called Banastre '_Banastre_'. Beth pulled herself to full height, her entire body going rigid, warmth cooling to ice. The way the woman stood, leaning back against one wall, her legs crossed at the ankle... Her black eyes trailing Beth lazily up and down. Beth lifted her chin. The woman was vaguely familiar, Beth had the feeling she had met her before.

"Ban, who is this?" Beth turned to him. "And why does she call you Banastre?" Banastre flushed crimson. Beth drew in a sharp, little breath. One of the jades he'd bedded before Beth was bought to his camp. She turned back to the woman. "I am certain you meant to say Colonel Tarleton, miss. But that is neither here nor there, for he is busy just now. You may leave us."

"Oooh, she is a fire cracker, isn't she?" The woman drawled, her voice like silk and roses, her eyes still trailing over Beth, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She was pretty, but for her nose which was a little on the large side. Did it detract or add to her beauty? Beth could not tell. Her fists curled, she released her fingers, trying to ease the fury and tension in that flexing movement. She would not humiliate herself by ripping the woman's hair out as she dragged her out the damned door. She was a lady of breeding, was Beth, she would humiliate herself no longer. She turned to Banastre again and said one word. His name.

"Banastre," she lifted her head, her eyes chips of ice. There was a load of meaning behind her speaking his name; a quiet command that the woman be removed immediately. She knew he understood, she saw comprehension flare across his face. Why then, was he not removing her? Why had he even bought her here? It was a question she would as as soon as the slattern was gone.

"Ah, Beth," he said, looking vastly embarrassed. He ran a hand over his head like a wayward child. As he removed his great coat, he said, "this is Miss Electa Alden, you might remember her? She bought you milk your first day here."

"And it was not warm enough," Electa said, there was a drawling quality to her voice.

"I do not recall," Beth lied, though she did remember now. "I do not associate with camp women, as you well know," she threw a look at Electa, who was peeling herself from the wall and approaching, as if she were expecting a fine introduction indeed.

"Yes, well, I do know that," Banastre said. "But you're all alone, with only Miss Nancy. I worry about you, love. You need a friend and Miss Alden will serve you well in that."

"I most certainly will," the woman drawled, swaying forward until she stood in front of Beth. "I know all sorts of… games we can play together."

"I don't want to play games with you, Miss Alden. I'd like for you to leave," Beth said, voice as hard as granite. "Colonel Tarleton and I have not seen one another in some days. We've much to discuss and…" Beth trailed off, fearing she sounded like a sulky child. Or a jealous mistress. How dare he do this to her? To bring one of his former whores and present her as a potential friend, all when she hadn't seen him in days! As soon as the vixen was gone, she intended to have a few very hard words for her lover. This was not to be borne. But she would say no more, she would not ask him again to remove her. She would not embarrass herself or make a scene. She stared at him, her glare speaking the volumes she would not say out loud while Miss Electa Alden was there. As soon as she was gone, though… Oooohhh, he'd better brace himself then. She waited, for him to apologise and bow, and send the bitch on her way.

"I know, a game of cards!" He said, instead.

The glare slid from her face, replaced with astonishment. She watched as Electa gave happy agreement and the two took up positions on the floor in front of the fireplace. Banastre pulled a pack of cards from a pocket of his Green Dragoon jacket, a flask of rum from the other. He handed the latter to Electa, who pulled the stop and took a swig as he began to deal. "Faro, do you think?" He asked happily. Beth stared, barely able to take it in. It was utterly outrageous. But she would not stamp her feet or yell or slap. Those days were over. She was a Lady and it'd taken her long enough to finally recall this, she would not suddenly forget it now. "Come, Beth, sit with us."

Part of her wanted to stride past them both in a huff and go straight to bed. But to do so would leave her lover alone with a former lover. Could she trust him with Electa? The way the woman was gazing at him, leaning in far closer than was necessary just to pass him the flask - he was already in arms reach for goodness sake! She just wanted to rub her bosom against his arm! Part of her wanted to leave but she simply could not. Not while the woman was there, not while Banastre might be tempted by her, if left alone with her. What did that say for the strength of their bond? She did not like to ponder that. With a glare for Electa, Beth took up the space on Banastre's other side. She sat far closer to her man than Electa did, Beth's arm brushed his. The jade was drinking again while Banastre watched, admiring. Then the flask was handed to Beth. She was going to refuse - she was a Lady, was she not? But she would not be outdone by a jade. She took the flask and drank deeply also.

They began to pass the night. Slaves bought in food, which they ate from platters right there on the floor. Beth had little appetite, Electa and Banastre had plenty. The flask was soon empty, wine was bought to them and it flowed freely, until Beth could barely concentrate on the cards in her hand. The plates had been removed, somehow Electa was seated on Beth's other side, which suited Beth fine, for she was now between the jade and Banastre. Those two still chatted with animation, while Beth offered nothing to the conversation except single word answers. Her head was swimming, the cards made one black and red blur. She chose one, began to set it down.

"Oh, no, not that one," Electa's fingers touched hers, a gentle, fleeting caress. She was sitting so close, her legs curled under her, her arm pressed up against Beth's. Banastre had gone utterly silent for some reason, watching them as he sipped his wine. "You'll break up your pair, you see?" Electa's warm voice whispered at her ear.

"Oh, yes, I do see," Beth replied, frowning. It was the most she'd said at once since she'd sat down with them. She stared at her cards, trying to decide what to do, which to choose, but it was so hard. To concentrate. The warmth of the fire, the warmth of all that wine, the rain lashing the windows, lightening distracting her, thunder booming over head and Electa sitting so very close, her knee was touching Beth's now as well as her arm. And Banastre staring, staring, like he wanted to lean in and kiss her, that same look he wore when he laid her down and covered her body with his, only it was more intense now than she'd ever remembered seeing it. That look spoke intrinsically to her, arousing her, her body calling to his and when he leaned in to her, she tilted her head and closed her eyes and when his lips touched hers, her senses exploded. The cards fell from nerveless fingers, her fingers drifted up past her beating heart to gently caress his face while his lips moved over hers. Tenderly at first but harder and more compelling by the moment, the kiss soon left her spell bound and breathing raggedly. Perhaps it was desire, arousal, the heat, the wine, she did not know what but she barely noticed it when much smoother fingers than Banastre's began moving up her leg. It didn't occur to her that it would be anyone else but Banastre, though in truth, both his hands were cupping her face, holding her so surely. The hand moved up her leg beneath her skirts and with a whimper, Beth instinctively parted her legs, she was so drunk she barely remembered that they were not alone. The third finger of this glorious hand felt blindly but surely for Beth's quim, it pushed deep inside her and Beth lifted her hips with a long moan against Banastre's lips and began to rock her pelvis in time to the slow, finger length thrusts. Her hands curled into his hair, her hold pulling it loose as she panted into his mouth. The finger was removed and she wanted to beg him to put it back inside her, even as his hands moved up and down her neck. She did not have long to fret, for the first finger joined the second and together, they slid upward away from her opening to touch her clitoris, ever so gently, a featherlike brushing that made Beth's heart flutter.

Ban's hand was cupping her face again, drawing her away from him. She frowned, aroused and drunk and confused, as her head was angled away from his lips to Electa's. It wasn't Ban's hand guiding her, she realised. The woman Beth had forgotten was even there was kissing her, it was soft and smooth and like nothing she'd ever felt. A moment only did they kiss before Beth's senses slammed back to her, like someone lifting her and shoving her hard back against the wall. She was kissing Electa. With a cry she jerked backward, almost sprawling onto her back in her haste to get away, the fingers touching her between her legs fell away. Heart pounding, Beth edged backward on her rump. She wanted to jump to her feet but she felt like she was struggling through thick molasses.

"You, you..!" She gasped, her heart in her throat.

"Beth, love, it's alright," Banastre tried to sooth her. He was at her side, pulling her into his arms while she still tried to edge away from a very confused looking Electa. "My love, calm down, don't fear it! It's just like what you wanted. The same as Fanny does with Phoebe." It was meant to sooth her, his voice, warm and compelling and amused, coaxing her, caressing her. "Remember? You were so fascinated with them. This will be just like that, you'll soon know what Fanny was feeling and -"

"Banastre!" Beth managed, a croaking voice, her panicked eyes darting from Banastre to Electa and back again. "It's just a book! My God, this is… it's madness!"

"You said she'd be open to this, Ban," Electa said, disappointed and irritated. "You should not have bought me here unless she was absolutely willing."

"She _is_ willing! She just needs to remember!" Banastre cried, looking from one furious woman to the other. "My love," he said to Beth, "you do remember, don't you? The first time we read from the book. You'd already been reading it on the walk back from the peddler's wagon. You were so aroused that as soon as you got to the tent, you tied off the door and climbed onto my lap! You were ready for me, you were as wet as a fresh spring -"

"Banastre!" Beth protested. She noticed Electa biting her bottom lip - to keep from laughing?

"And you rode me so hard we almost broke the stool!" He said over her. "Afterward I asked you to read the part that put you to such heights and you read that scene with Fanny and Phoebe!"

Beth remembered. To her horror, the memory crashed around her. It was not the way Banastre said. Yes, she'd locked them in the tent, yes she'd climbed onto his lap and yes, she'd coupled with him fiercely. Yes, she'd let the book fall open and began to read a random scene, to cover that she'd just met with Alby and had just learned how Banastre had protected her, and had felt such determined and possessive love for him that she'd felt a sore need to prove it, then and there. But she hadn't been able to explain that to him then, where her fierce moment had stemmed from. She hadn't been able to tell him that she'd met with her father's spy, that Alby had told her all about her father's attempts to 'rescue' her, and Ban's determination to keep her. But her mood had required an explanation, and so she'd flipped open the book and started to read from the first page it fell open. The scene with Phoebe and Fanny in their game of flats as Banastre called it. She'd been hard pressed to convince him that it was a mistake, she hadn't meant that scene at all. He hadn't believed her then and this was the result. He'd bought a woman to their bed, so she could experience what Fanny and Phoebe had, first hand!

"Dear God!" She cried. "I said it once and I'll say it again, for the last time, Banastre, we don't have to try everything we read in that damned book!"

He stared at her for so long and she glared right back, utterly outraged.

"I'll leave," Electa said, sounding vastly disappointed. She pressed her hands to the floor and pushed upward, rising with grace. She gazed down at Beth, her fingers caressing her lips. "Are you sure?" She asked. "I think we could truly enjoy one another. I wouldn't tell anyone, you can trust I'd be very discreet."

"You will leave Miss Alden, and you will not come back. Not ever!" Beth hissed up at her. She slid back on her bottom until there was enough room to push herself up from the floor. She had to use the table to support her, she had no where near as much grace as Electa. The jade could hold her alcohol far better than Beth, it seemed. "Get. Out."

"Very well," she curtsied, Beth couldn't tell if it was mocking or not. Banastre was on his feet also. His movements were slow, heavy with reluctance as he reached for his great coat.

"I'll escort you out, Miss Alden," he said.

"Yes, do," Beth waved her hand, dismissing them both. She was furious and wanted no part in any of this. She glared at their backs as they crossed the room to the double doors. Banastre would likely see the woman to the porch, then have a man take her down to camp. He'd return soon and they'd have to discuss… this. Beth wanted no part in that, either. In any discussion at all for that matter. She jerked the doors open and marched up the stairs without a backward glance, storming up to her room. It did not take long for Nancy to undress her, Beth had been sleeping naked lately - with Ban's body warming her she hadn't needed her shift. It just got in the way, she kept having to take it off every time they began to couple so she'd long since stopped wearing it.

"Lock my door on your way out, Nancy," she said as she climbed into her bed. "The Colonel will be sleeping in his own chamber tonight." It occurred to her as she stared into the blackness, that her thoughts earlier had served as a prophecy of sorts. She would never have another happy reunion again, even her ones with Banastre were now smeared.

* * *

"I am so dreadfully sorry," Banastre said for the hundredth time. He stood at the entrance of Electa's tent, after having escorted her all the way down in the rain on his horse. Rain sheeted down now, rivulets running down his helmet and down his face.

"I never get to see you anymore," Electa complained. She moved about the tent, lighting tallow candles. "And now I'll be left wanting for the rest of the night," she said, coming to stand before him, hallowed from the glow of light behind her. "I'd had such hopes for this evening when you came for me. It was going along so swimmingly, too. I so wanted to be in your bed."

A small boyish grin tugged his lips. He was angry, so angry with Beth. But Electa's complaints amused him. "For me?" He asked her. "Or for her?"

"Both," Electa replied, and her answer set his soul on fire. She swayed toward him, stopping just within the tent flap. "Will you return to her now? Will I get neither, am I to be deprived completely?" He cupped her face with his wet leather gloves and as he edged her deeper into the tent, he began kissing her.

"You'll not be deprived of me," he said, his lips at her neck. She tilted her head back with a sigh, not seeming to care that he was soaked. He coaxed in a heated voice, "tell me what you wished to do to her. Describe it precisely," he commanded as he tore off his great cloak. Her fingers were already moving from one gold button to the next, working nimbly down the front of his Green Dragoon jacket to open it.

"Explore her," she replied, fixing him with her black eyes. "Touch her bosom," she held his eyes and said, "suckle her nipples." Very deliberately, she raised her hand to her mouth and slipped the two fingers that had explored Beth's quim, gliding them across her tongue. "Taste her sex. I guess this is all I'll have of her. Such a pity," Electa pouted.

"Dear God," Banastre gasped, tearing her skirts up her legs. He shucked off his coat, edged her backward to the pile of blankets on the ground and they fell into a heap atop of them. He reached between their bodies, pushed down his breeches and edged her legs apart with his knees. As he angled himself for entry, he said, "keep going. Tell me what you'd have done with her, had she not refused." He entered her with one stroke and began thrusting even as she continued to describe what she would have done in the lascivious encounter.

"I'd have kissed her all over," Electa gasped, her fingers digging into his backside. "Oh dear Lord, how I've missed you! I'd have laid her back on the floor, she'd be completely naked, her quim bared to me. I'd have laid on my stomach, stretched out before her, my hands would have held her thighs open and my mouth…" She met his thrusts, gasping as the imagery bought her perilously close to orgasm.

"What would you have done?" Banastre panted in her ear.

"Tasted her. While you watched. I'd have licked her, my tongue flicking her clit. I know how to do it, Ban. She'd have loved it, had she let me. Oh, she tasted so very fine!" She licked at her fingers again but Beth's taste as all gone now. She seized Banastre's neck, thrusting her hips frantically, their bodies moving with such force their words could only be grunted out, "do you… do it… to her? Do you… tongue her?"

"Every… chance I get," he responded. Electa made a mewling sound and she crashed her lips to his, her tongue entering his mouth so decidedly, flicking over his and he knew she was desperately trying to explore the place that had supped at Beth's quim so often. It drove him wild. The assault continued and then she drew back.

"I'd have mashed my quim against hers," she panted and Banastre groaned, his body hot all over, his groin like a furnace. "And rubbed my clit against hers until we both flying for the stars!"

Banastre came loudly with the vision in his mind, of the two women grinding themselves against each other. Oh, if only Beth had been willing! He kissed Electa, who was frantically pumping at his cock, her fingers clawing his back. She arched and he felt her come.

Both were panting quietly now, well pleased with one another and entirely spent. He pulled out of her body and kissed her nose gently. "Our little secret?" He asked her. She smiled and nodded.

"I don't want to upset your lovely lady even further," she said. "You never know, she might change her mind. Perhaps she'll be more curious after she'd had a chance to think about it."

"One can only pray," Banastre dropped back onto the blankets and stared at the canvas ceiling. It was strange, being both disappointed and restored at the same time.

At length he returned to the house and up to her room, only to discover that her door was locked to him. He tried the doorknob but it rattled against the lock rather than swinging open. He stared, shocked. She'd never locked him out before, she was still very clearly angry with him.

It was an old-fashioned mechanism and after working his key in her lock just so, the door finally swung inward. He closed the door and crossed over to the bed, where he eyed her in the dim light. She lay far too stiffly to be sleeping, though she did not say a word, did not acknowledge his presence, though she did not dress him down for breaking into her room so that was something. He undressed, then climbed into bed with his very cold mistress. He was the one who'd been outside in the freezing cold, while she'd been tucked up in the fire-warmed room beneath a pile of blankets. Yet, somehow, she was colder than he. Her back was to him. He sidled close, pulled the blankets she'd tucked under herself out from beneath her, then pulled her unresponsive body into his arms. She did not turn over to face him, she lay still as stone as he tried to cuddle her from behind. He snuggled into her as best he could, he pulled her hair back to kiss her neck. She was awake, there was no doubting it. "I'm sorry if I made you cross," he whispered against her ear. "I just thought you would like it - you know, because you liked those scenes where Fanny was watching and she is always so affectionate with Emily and Louisa and Harriet. And she did all those things with Phoebe. I thought you'd -"

"I've already said," she ground out and he could tell her teeth were clenched. "We don't have to try everything in that book, Ban." She suddenly turned to face him, hauling herself over bodily. "Fanny watched two men as well, do you remember? She climbed on that stool and peered over that wall and she saw them together. She watched while they kissed and undressed each other, while they fondled one another. She watched while one bent the other over that table. You'd not want to recreate that scene, would you, simply because it was in her book? Or perhaps you do," she cocked her head, a vengeful smirk on her lips. "Should I call in Lieutenant Whitty in?"

"That is not funny, Beth," he snapped, jerking away from her. He whirled over onto his back, furious.

"Oho! The shoe is on the other foot now! What's the difference?" She asked, pushing herself up until she was sitting. "You'd have been content enough if I'd agreed to this and allowed Miss Alden to stay."

"The differences are night and day, I assure you," he spat over his shoulder. Then he rolled onto his back to confront her. "I only want to recreate the scenes that arouse us both. Do not deny it, Beth, I've been inside you when you read from the book and there hasn't been a single scene that hasn't gotten your juices flowing. Except the one where Fanny is whipped and that other one with the two men." She glared back, lips tight. He pushed his point. "I only want to explore the scenes we both enjoy! Things Fanny herself loved doing. Must I remind you that Fanny was outraged over what she saw those two men doing? She was infuriated enough that when she woke from that faint, she tried to alert others to find those ganymedes. Fanny was not aroused by those men. You were not aroused by them and I assure you," his voice had risen until he was shouting at her, "I certainly was not!" He tried to mollify his tone, there were people sleeping in the house and he didn't want anyone to know he and Beth were quarrelling. Softly, he said, "you and I were both very much aroused when Fanny was watching from that closet while Polly and her spark screwed one another on the chaise and Phoebe fingered Fanny in the corner. I was trying to replicate a scene you enjoyed, Beth."

"That wasn't it at all," Beth gasped, ashamed that she had indeed enjoyed those scenes, and the others following, where Fanny was showing a deep closeness with some of the other love-girls in the bawdy house she lived. "It was Fanny watching that fellow Polly was coupling with that I liked, I enjoyed reading Polly with her spark - not Fanny's being fingered by Phoebe, during!" Her face flushed crimson at being forced to admit it. "Oh, forget it. I don't want to talk about this," she turned her back on him. "What made you think I'd enjoy sitting there watching you flirt with that woman, is utterly beyond me."

"My intention was not to make you jealous," he snapped. "I just thought…" She was stiff and closed from him, there was no point continuing this. He dropped back against the pillows, miserable and wishing he'd never bought Electa up from the camp. "Eh. Never mind."

He wasn't sure if she slept at all, she was silent as the grave the entire night, not her usual soft, rhythmic snoring. He certainly didn't sleep. Two hours before dawn, there was a hasty knock on the door. Not once during the night had he and Beth embraced, the blankets had been pushed between their bodies - Beth's doing, when he tried to touch her again, tried to coax her to forget their quarrel. He shoved back the blankets and went to answer this latest summons. Midnight missives were becoming commonplace. He threw open the door and snatched the parchment from the Private's hand. Beth was sitting up now, he moved to the bed, gazed down at her. She was giving him that look again - the _'I am still angry, I do not forgive you and will hate you for the rest of my life_' look. He sighed.

"It's Cornwallis," he said. "I'm instructed to make haste, Burwell has been sighted. I am to leave my baggage and move swiftly," he said. She understood what this meant - if the baggage was to be left behind, so too would she be. The Dragoons and the infantry would leave, with only a scant few troops remaining to protect the baggage train. It wasn't the first time he'd been parted from her but it was the first time he'd leave directly after a fight. There was no time to make up, none whatsoever. He had to make ready to leave. Now. And he did not know when he'd see her again.

"Then go," she shrugged, laying down again and pulling the blankets up around her like a shield.

"Will you truly let me leave you like this?" He asked. "Without so much as a farewell kiss? My love?" He called to the unyielding bundle. He climbed up onto the bed, on his knees, he edged over to her. He peeled the blankets back to reveal her face. She looked as angry as before, her dark eyes held as much feeling as obsidian. "Not even a kiss to sustain me?" He pleaded with her. "What if I'm killed out there?" If anything, she looked angrier. But when he leaned down to brush her lips with his, she did return the kiss. "I love you," he said to her. When she said nothing, he coaxed, "I know you're angry. You can shout at all you like when we're together again. But Beth, you have to say it too. Please -"

"I love you," she said sullenly and he heard the 'but I'm so damned angry with you', that she left unsaid. It would have to do. He kissed her again, she returned it again but she broke away first and turned over. This was all he was going to get from her. He heaved a sigh and began to dress.


	133. Chapter 133 - The Sire

Chapter 133 - The Sire:

With the quill poised just shy of the parchment, Banastre glanced at his bed. His empty bed. He'd been forced to leave Beth with such frantic haste, leaving both baggage and women behind. Including Beth. The crisply made bed looked cold, he had no desire to climb into it, without her in it. Their quarrel was regrettable, perhaps he never should have bought Electa to the house. Perhaps he'd been mistaken to believe that Beth would want to be with another woman. She'd seemed quite as delighted as he, while reading those scenes with Fanny; she'd certainly been enthralled by it that day when she'd first bought the book to his attention. After reading that passage, she'd been absolutely hot for him - climbing into his lap and proceeding to rut with him right there on the stool. She'd been excited, why wouldn't he think she'd like to try it? She'd been eager enough to try other delightful activities they read about. Well, he wouldn't press her. There was still yet plenty of pages unexplored, plenty they could still try from Fanny's book. Perhaps one day she would change her mind, now that she knew Electa was agreeable. He turned back to the parchment. A letter from himself to Lord Cornwallis, where he recommended to the General that he be allowed to head further west than they'd anticipated. It was further afield than they'd expected him to go, but it was necessary if they wished for him to head off General Burwell.

It'd been a rough two days; the weather was absolutely atrocious, unyielding in its ferocity. Driving rain, freezing wind, cold that cut through you like a knife. The Dragoons were not equipped for this. Their clothes were too light, they needed their winter attire. Already his men were becoming sick from the unforgiving weather and lack of sleep. He needed the baggage he'd been forced to leave behind. Banastre sat in a small brick house at Monses Mill, missing Beth to distraction. Again, he regretted ever bringing Electa to join them in their bed sport. It hadn't ended the way he wanted at all and now he was at odds with his mistress, during a time when he was parted from her. It added to the misery of his situation. It ate him alive, more than the mosquitoes and other biting bugs that plagued him while riding in search of Burwell. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to hold her, to make it right, to have her near again. Beth was not what drove him to request his baggage be sent on to him, however. Of course not. His men needed their winter accoutrements, their heavy coats, blankets, anything that would keep them warm and thriving. That was why he was writing to request that the baggage be sent on to him now. Not because with the arrival of his baggage would come Beth… It was purely a military decision. It was his responsibility to supply adequate clothing for his men.

Cornwallis wanted Burwell captured, did he not?

He sanded the parchment, folded it carefully and sealed the letter. He steepled his fingers and laid his chin on top. A rare moment of quiet. It'd been nothing but gallop, cross rivers, rest horses, gallop, rain and more rain, thunder and lightening, thunder of hooves and men yelling, mud and cold. Miserable, miserable cold. And no Beth to warm him. And no bloody sign of General Burwell. He let thoughts of capturing the General fire his soul. How wonderful would it be, after his capture of Colonel Martin? He recalled how grand it'd been, back in the day, when he'd been naught but a Cornet and he'd captured General Lee. Of course, he hadn't been alone on that expedition, he hadn't even been in command. He'd been one of many but the action gave him instant stardom. Suddenly, everyone knew his name. Even the papers back home - that'd been spelling it incorrectly, finally got it right. His next greatest feat was Benjamin Martin and there, he could take all of the credit. For he was Colonel, and it was his tactics and his alone, that had made it possible. If he'd thought he'd received accolades for those accomplishments… How much more would be his, if he bought Burwell in, kicking and screaming?

Burwell could share the same cell as Martin.

Banastre was glad he'd changed his mind that night, glad he had gone to Winnsboro without Beth. She would have wanted to see her father and he would have been hard pressed to put her off. The lovely chamber and all things luxurious was a fallacy, Martin was not a pampered prisoner, he was rotting in a cell not fit to house a horse. Yes, he was pleased he hadn't taken her to Winnsboro but he dearly wished he could have bought her with him here, when he set out the other night. She would be by his side again shortly. Cornwallis could not refuse his need. For his winter accruements, of course. He was not sending his request for the purpose of having his mistress delivered up to him. He pushed away from the desk and opened the door, handing the missive to a private who would see the thing delivered. Gathering up his Officers, he made his way outside into the driving, unforgiving, unrelenting rain. There was work to be done while he searched for Burwell; recruiting, for a start. There must be Loyalists in the area who would wish to join the Dragoons, to replenish those who lacked courage and fled at the first test, and he was damned determined to find them.

When he returned to Monses quite a few hours later, there was a missive from Cornwallis. With rain dripping from his helmet and great cloak to form a pool of water on the floorboards beneath his muddy boots, he tore into the envelope and read eagerly. Yes, he could travel further west than first established. He must head off Burwell at all costs.

* * *

Beth's baggage was packed and already on one of the wagons waiting outside. The entire camp had been taken down yet again, with the orders that had come in that morning with the 7th Regiment. Tarleton's Baggage could not find its way to him without protection, Lord Cornwallis had sent the 7th Regiment to be its escort. Which had Beth walking very small indeed. She hadn't encountered any other Regiments or companies since becoming Banastre's mistress, she'd thought she'd always be sheltered within the protection of her Legion. But here was Tavington's wife, about to be escorted to her lover, by a Regiment she did not even know. Oh, she was keeping her head down, sure enough. She hoped the Commander had no reason to speak with her - just another camp follower - or so he should assume. She did not seek him out, did not try to have herself introduced. Of course, a careless tongue might waggle that Tavington's wife was travelling with Banastre Tarleton's baggage train, but then again, perhaps not. Banastre would have warned them against such, surely?

For days now, her anger with Banastre had been all consuming, all she'd needed to keep her well warmed through the long, cold hours. Now, she wished he were here. Not for the usual reasons a mistress might long for her beloved - she did not miss him, nor did she long for his touch. She wished he was here so she could ask him directly if he'd commanded his soldiers to be discreet, should any other General, Colonel or Major from another Regiment happen to call by.

The carriage would be outside, waiting for her. Would that occasion comment? Would the Commander think it strange that a fancy carriage was part of Banastre's baggage train? Would he desire to know who was the important personage riding within it? If he believed himself high enough, he might just come and introduce himself, to ensure he had someone of equal rank to talk with on the journey. Just as she thought this, lightening lit up the sky and thunder crashed overhead. The rain was so hard she could barely hear her own thoughts. No, the Commander would not idly ride beside her carriage chatting with her - not on a day like today. He would have his hands full, negotiating their travels in this terrible weather. She allowed that reasoning to give her some small relief. If he did come knocking, she'd refuse to reply. Nancy had to come in handy for something; she'd have her maid do her talking for her while she pretended to be asleep or somewhat, and they'd definitely use a different name other than Martin or Tavington. A slim disguise, one that a loose tongue in the ranks could destroy with terrible swiftness and ease. But at least she will have done her part.

She opened her little cloth portmanteaus, and packed away the last of her most personal belongings. Hair brush, sewing kit, spare gloves and the like. Lastly, she picked up the book, the Gods cursed book, and she stared at it. Whatever possessed her, to become so obsessed with it? Was it the simple fact that she'd never, ever read anything like it before, had never considered anyone would commit such words to paper? Beth shook her head, bewildered. Yes, it'd been a rarity, but why should she have found it so fascinating? Less than a year ago, she'd have been appalled to read, in such fine detail, the act of a man and woman coming together to have relations. Or a woman and a woman. She dropped the book in disgust, into her portmanteau, and snapped the bag closed. She could just leave it behind on the beside table… that was a possibility. But Lord, when it was found… She didn't like to think what her name would be then. It'd fly like wildfire through a summer dry woods, a lady of her standing reading such material. No, she'd dispose of it another way. Maybe she'd track down Mrs. Simmons among the camp followers and shake the woman until she apologised for suggesting such a book for her. That was a nice fancy.

"Are ye ready, Mrs. Tavington?" Nancy said at the door. "They's wantin' to go."

Beth nodded. Nancy darted forward and heaved the portmanteaus, then followed Beth out the door. In an effort to conceal herself, Beth kept her hood up high and her eyes peeled until she was stepping outside into the driving rain and splashing through the mud for the safe - identity hiding - confines of the four horse carriage. She needn't have bothered, she was surrounded by men from Banastre's Legion only, the commander of the other was no where to be seen. With a relieved sigh, she settled into the seat and gazed out at the curtain of rain. Would they even get far in this? Wagons and carriages - even horses - struggled in weather like this; the churned and muddy roads bogging down wheels, stopping all progress. That might happen yet, but Beth didn't particularly care. As long as she didn't have to get out of the carriage, that was fine with her. Nancy began to prattle how wet Beth's cape had gotten in that short dash, her shoes covered in mud. About having been to the kitchen and getting a basket filled with all sorts delights for her mistress. About how she longed to see her man again - she was speaking of her husband - and the wonderful reunion she would have, until Beth demanded she be quiet. She didn't want to listen about how content Nancy was with her husband. She could see Nancy had gotten the food, the basket took up half of Nancy's seat. She knew her cape and shoes were wet and muddy. She didn't need for Banastre's former whore to tell her any of it. All she wanted to do was listen to the rain driving against the roof of the carriage and stare out into the grey haze beyond the square window.

* * *

They arrived to Banastre's camp late in the afternoon; it was evening by the time she reached the house because she demanded they detour past where the Dragoons horses were picketed. Ignoring the rain - it was not quite as bad as it had been - she stepped out of the carriage and moved along the line of horses until she saw her own grey and white mare, Shadow Dancer. Relief flared inside her that the mount was safe, followed by cutting fury, that her mare was out here with nothing but a saddle blanket to protect her from the rain. Shadow Dancer was accustomed to better, she was always quartered in a stable, not out in the air under a damned tree! Beth drew a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She's a horse, Beth, she told herself. Horses are outside animals. Shadow Dancer nickered a greeting, it sounded like a question. When the horse realised it was Beth walking toward her, she began to snort and heave her head upward, hoof pawing at the ground. Her lips drew back in what Beth swore was a smile as she pulled on the lead rope, wanting to close the distance and meet Beth those last few steps. Beth laughed - her first true laugh in days - every bit as delighted to see Shadow Dancer. Not caring that her gloves would get wet and filthy, she reached up and scratched Shadow Dancer's nose and ears, fingers digging into the coat. When they had their fill of each other - Shadow Dancer was trying to lick Beth and nuzzle her - Beth immediately began running her hand over the horse, starting with the right foreleg, she lifted each leg, checking for injuries. Two soldiers stood waiting to escort her back, exchanging puzzled glances, but Beth ignored them. She did a full circle of Shadow Dancer until she was again at the horse's head, lifting her left leg to check the ankle. Which was precisely when the horse behind her decided to almost shove Beth to the ground, like a ram charging at someone's backside. Beth yelped and spun, barely keeping her footing in the slippery mud as the horse continued butting its face into her, whinnying and puffing the same excited greeting as Shadow Dancer had done.

Thunder.

Beth stared at her husband's horse, emotions she tried to keep contained rushing upward like vomit heaved into a bucket. Thunder did not sense her reluctance or shock, he kept up that battering, at her hand, as if he was urging her to pat him. His lips and teeth tried to rip a hole in the pocket of her cape. Demanding; those puffs and snorts were. Every bit as demanding as her husband. She felt something loosen inside her at the horse's welcome and his performance, she knew damned well that most people were bitten if they got too close to the brute. Thunder was happy to see her. He had no idea what was happening, why he'd been taken from the Master he loved. He seemed pleased to be with Shadow Dancer, and was just as pleased to see Beth now. He knew nothing beyond the moment. It was not his fault that his Master was such a damned bastard.

Earlier, while in the carriage, she'd cut up several apples from Nancy's basket into chunks with a small knife, on a board placed on her lap. Now, she reached into her pocket and started feeding Shadow Dancer those chunks, offering them to Thunder as well. For all his severe reputation and awful temperament, he was as gentle as a kitten as he took those pieces from her palm. She had to wave down a concerned groom, who'd come darting over, yelling not to get too close. The groom stood there staring, scratching his head as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing, as Thunder gingerly took his share of apple from Beth's hand.

"Silly man," she said as her fingers began giving Thunder the same treatment as they'd given Shadow Dancer earlier. Thunder leaned into the touch and she half expected his back leg to start working, the way a dogs does when it's scratched in just the right spot. "We're old friends, you and I. He doesn't know you'd never hurt me. Oh you're just so beautiful, aren't you boy? Are you looking after our girl, are you?" She continued speaking nonsense, to Shadow Dancer too, while the last of the sun began to disappear, giving way to twilight. In the last of the darkness, she saw the two horses turn to one another and begin nuzzling. They pressed into one another, Shadow Dancer pushing her snout up beneath Thunder's. They appeared to be disdaining the company of the other horses, now that they were back together.

Beth noticed this and unable to help herself, she began to cry. Great. Just wonderful. She must've looked a sight, standing there weeping for no apparent reason. But she was pregnant and emotion was flooding through her and Shadow Dancer was her horse and Thunder was _William's_ horse and here they were, acting like a happily married couple and it just made her eyes burn and the tears flow and it was impossible to stop herself. By the Gods it was a mad thing to weep over, but there it was.

Her escort didn't seem to notice after all, for when she joined them, neither said a word. They fell in behind her and she led them back to the carriage. It was darker within than it was without, and she kept her hood pulled high - Nancy didn't even notice her mistress was crying like a foolish, idiot child. By the time they reached the house, a good half hour later, her eyes were dry. She hoped they weren't puffy or red, for it was sure to be quite light inside the house and everyone within would be able to see she'd been weeping. The carriage pulled to a stop and Banastre himself threw the door open wide, not content to wait on his men to bring her into the house. A fellow stood at his side, holding a lantern high. Banastre wore that huge smile that she'd used to relish, but now it just fell flat on her.

"Mrs. Tavington!" He cried, reaching for her as if he was about to pick her up and lift her from the carriage. She stood, stepping forward and then down. He bowed over her hand. "Please say you're not still wroth with me, my love," he whispered. He sounded so solemn now, so utterly downcast, as if he'd been worrying that very thing for days and absolutely could not bear it. She sighed, letting herself ease back from fury.

"I'm not still angry," she said. She wasn't completely happy, either, but in that moment - hearing his despair - her anger did fade and disappear, leaving her feeling oddly numb. After declaring what a sweet relief it was that they were back to normal again, he told her dinner was waiting for her. He sent Nancy away to be with her husband for the night, and led Beth up into the small house, leaving his men to bring in her belongings. Much later, after a few glasses of wine and a very quiet dinner, Beth found herself in Banastre's small room. She had her own, as part of their agreement - she would always have her own tent and her own chamber. But it was to his chamber that he took her too. It wasn't a massive plantation house, but the room was nicely warmed and the bed looked comfortable enough. A bit on the narrow side, but wider than the cots in their tents. He had part way undressed her already - seeing to the task himself after having sent Nancy away. He stood behind her and unlaced her stays, being playful and flirty by kissing her neck and whispering sweet things. He pulled the stays away and his hands went immediately to her bosom over her shift, one hand cupping each breast. She laughed despite herself.

"There we are," he said, turning her to face him. "You were so quiet at dinner… I believe you told me a wee falsehood earlier, sweet Beth," he said, pulling her closer.

"Oh? What was that?"

"That you weren't still angry. You barely said a word… I think it's only just now that you've stopped being wroth."

"I'm just…" How to explain? Should she bother? Bringing that woman into their bed… No, she'd said her piece, he knew her stance and she doubted he'd ever do any such thing ever again. No point in discussing it further. It was all resolved, was it not? She gave a small shrug, still feeling numb in a way she could never describe to him. He'd think she was mad. "I'm just tired," she said instead. "Pregnant and tired."

"Of course you are! I'm a dolt," he said. Then he leaned down and his hands moved from her breasts to the small swell of her stomach. "How is my little baby?" He asked her.

"I've had a few pains lately," she said, placing a hand over her stomach. "But I'm certain everything is fine."

"Perhaps I should send for a doctor?"

"I don't think it's needed," she replied.

Banastre rose, standing before her, he cupped her face and they began kissing, Banastre oblivious to her conflict and Beth trying to dampen it down. He was almost undressed already, he wore only his breeches and his auburn hair hung in lengths over his shoulder and down his back. Beth's hung the same, only far longer. He drew back, smiling warmly, if a little weakly. She had the feeling he wanted to ask her or tell her something, but he seemed almost reluctant. His fingers caressed up and down her sides, he caught his bottom lip between this teeth for a moment, then he finally asked, "would you like to read some from the book tonight, love?"

"No," she said immediately, no hesitation whatsoever, no hemming and hawing. Firm, decisive. Most certainly not. "I don't feel like it. I'd rather we just… talked."

"Oh," he looked startled. She had spoken but two words at dinner and now she wanted to talk? When they were both almost naked and about to climb into bed..? "Alright," he drew out slowly. "What about?"

"I don't know. Anything. About what we've been doing these days we've been apart. About what's happening in the real world - anything. Have you heard news of my father? My brothers? What's the situation out there, are the men still sick in Cornwallis's camp? There's so much to talk about…"

_All subjects we could have discussed at dinner,_ he thought but did not say as he kept his face smooth of sudden frustration and despair. Worry flared up inside him, Beth was not angry anymore which was wonderful, but he sensed that book was still causing trouble between them. Had they come to the end of it then? Would there be no more wondrous, exciting nights of her reading scenes to him as they wrapped around one another, sweaty, clinging, giving one another the most titillating pleasures, the most magnificent orgasms? The strength of his lately had been phenomenal, since the book came to them. Was that all over with now? Would they sit there on the bed and do nothing but talk, now? Good God, this was not what he wanted. Still, he patted the edge of the bed and as she sat beside him, he pulled a blanket around them both and huddled in close to her. Talk. Very well. He began by telling her of Cornwallis' situation, as he didn't want to discuss her father. Sickness was rife in the battalions. The doctors were ill, the regulars, half the officers, Cornwallis himself. In a few days, Cornwallis would move out of Winnsboro, sick or not, because he could not risk being caught there by General Greene and General Burwell, who appeared to be encroaching forward to pincer him there. They would form their own pincer, he told her, with Cornwallis bearing down on Burwell one way, Banastre the other, until they were able to trap him and take him prisoner. That was the latest from Cornwallis, in a letter which arrived that very afternoon. Beth listened gravely, she seemed to be quite serious about chatting with him, despite his arm being around her shoulders, despite the fingers of his other hand exploring her breasts and stomach while he spoke. Lord, this can't be the end. No more Fanny Hill. No. He wouldn't let it be. Beth would come around, she just needed a few days. She would still want to know how the story ended, she'd want to know what became of Fanny Hill. She just needed time, he assured himself. "The weather is playing havoc with our plans, however," he said. "But, it would be playing havoc with Burwell's as well, he's as hampered as we are. I finally received word of his camp, it's up near a small frontier settlement called Grindal Shoals -"

"Grindal Shoals!" Beth gasped, her hand over her mouth. "That's…" she trailed off as she thought of Harmony Farshaw. For a moment there, she'd felt such a rush of excitement and longing for her friend, just because Harmony had grown up near Grindal Shoals. That stab of longing… Where had that come from? She hardened herself, she could not afford to be sentimental, not any longer. Harmony betrayed her, she'd helped Linda and William to have their affair. She could not let herself be drawn in again. Banastre was looking at her, waiting. "Harmony's parents live there," she finished, her voice dulling. "They own a small farm."

"Is that so?" Harmony Farshaw. The wench who got away. He still couldn't quite believe it of her, a woman who clearly enjoyed men and coupling, but would be so utterly faithful to Bordon. To Bordon, of all people! He gave a great sniff of disdain. He liked Bordon well enough, but he could not equal Banastre for charm. His own wife came to Banastre's bed - while Bordon's mistress remained faithful. Huh. Passing strange, that. "Her father might be playing host to Burwell as we speak, then. The enemy will be doing much the same as we, taking up accommodation they can find, wherever they find it."

"Wouldn't that be strange?" Beth said. "It's such a small world, everything keeps coming back around full circle. You know, I never thought to ask what her father's allegiance is. Calvin Farshaw is a Patriot, but Harmony is… Actually I don't even know what Harmony is. Her allegiance might only be to…" another name she couldn't bring herself to say. Bordon. She heaved a sigh. "So what is Cornwallis planning, how will he - what was the word you used, pincer? How will he get Burwell into a pincer?"

"Cornwallis will need to leave Winnsboro, he plans on making camp at Turkey Creek while I begin an advance toward Grindal Shoals from here."

Beth groaned. "I only just got here," she said. "When are we leaving?"

"Oh, we have a few days," he assured her. "Cornwallis proposed I begin moving out next Tuesday, so we've got what - three days? Yes, three days. I'll be gone for much of the day, recruiting has been quite good in this area. But we'll have our nights," he brushed her hair over her ear and kissed her temple. "Cornwallis is in quite a quandary. He needs to leave Winnsboro, he can't risk being backed into a corner there by Burwell and Greene But leaving means he might very well be opening South Carolina to attack by Greene's force if Winnsboro is empty… we need to subdue Burwell's force and quickly, or we'll be leaving Cornwallis' flanks open to constant attacks from Burwell's rebels. We could go directly after Greene and meet him head on, but that leaves Burwell and his eight hundred strong force," he emphasized, "free rein to come down from Grindal Shoals and take Fort Ninety-Six - I was about to leave here for Ninety-Six today, but I received word that Burwell is not heading there. That could change abruptly if the way remains open to him. Cornwallis has no choice, I believe, but to split the army. He'll leave a force in Camden and Charlestown in an effort to keep the rebels in check. And although your father has been captured, _his_ men are still quite active. Cornwallis and I will work together to capture Burwell, and then together, we will go into North Carolina to meet head on with Greene head on."

"North Carolina," she repeated. "What of my father, Ban? Will Cornwallis take his prisoners with him?"

"I, ah… I will send a letter to find out for you," he replied. "I am not sure. The letters I've received thus far only speak of Burwell and Greene. He's quite passionate about the two. 'Catch him and wipe him out'. Was what he wrote in his last missive."

Beth stared at Ban in shock - her former fiancé, to be '_caught and wiped out'_ by her current lover. She was beginning to regret her request that they just talk. It was all making her feel quite ill. She wracked her brains, trying to think of something more light-hearted that they could talk about, but it was a time of war in atrocious weather, what else was there to be discussed? She was far from home, she had no idea what was happening in the city, and Banastre wouldn't know half the people she was talking about anyway, even if she did have news of them. She had no news from her friends, the ones Banastre did know. She hadn't been to a ball in months, no point in discussing a party from half a year ago. The weather was awful, no sun and warmth and bright flowers to ooh and ahh over. There was nothing in the past or present to speak of, that wouldn't leave her feeling more wretched than she did now.

The future, then? She looked down the long road to North Carolina and beyond, the road that would eventually lead her to being Banastre's kept mistress in some village or town in England. Probably London, seeing that he liked it so much. They could talk about that, but the mood she was in, at the moment, that road only led to darkness. What would it be like in London for a woman on her own, raising a child that might be a bastard? Banastre would be with her, she wouldn't be alone. So what would it be like in London for Banastre's _mistress_, raising a child that might be a bastard? What would it be like for her child? Bastard or not. Dark thoughts indeed. She was quiet for too long, she looked to Banastre, trying to think of something to say, but he saved her the trouble by leaning in and kissing her. Not a small, simple kiss, but a deep one, he was kissing her in such a way, as though he was letting her know he was done with talking. Considering the subject matter, well, so was she. She let him guide her back onto the bed, her arms around his shoulders, his pulling her shift up her legs. She was content enough by now to let it happen, she'd known they'd couple at some point.

Now was as good a time as any, as long as he didn't mention that damned book again…

* * *

Why Banastre had sent for Mrs. Garland, Beth could not fathom. She never should have mentioned the pains she'd been having, which Beth had put down to constant travel. She knew the baby was fine, but Banastre was worried and he did not like the idea of Nancy, who was only seventeen and had never had a child, being Beth's only advisor regarding her pregnancy.

Mrs. Garland - a camp follower whose sons had died early on, though she herself had stayed with the camp to help - was also a midwife. Banastre had sent for her first thing in the morning and now, Beth stood in nothing but her shift, describing to the older woman what she had been experiencing.

"The pain is gone, it was just a few pangs and only lasted a few minutes. The baby is fine," Beth said.

"It's the eighth of January. When were your last courses?" Mrs. Garland asked.

"Around the twentieth of September," she replied.

"Which means you could be…" Mrs. Garland closed her eyes, she appeared to be counting. "Three and a half to four months along."

"Does it matter, how far along?"

"It does," Mrs. Garland replied, "you will need to judge when you should begin your lay in, which is usually around seven months."

"Oh. Well, I do not think I was with child until after seventeenth October," she said, not quite looking Mrs. Garland in the eye.

"Why is that?" Mrs. Garland asked.

"Because… that is when…" her face blazed crimson. That was when she began bedding Banastre again.

"I see," Mrs. Garland seemed to understand. She nodded. "If that is so, then you will be," she closed her eyes again, again calculating silently. "Three months," she said. "Are you certain there is no possibility that you might have conceived sooner?" Mrs. Garland asked gently, her eyes dropping to the roundness under Beth's clothes.

"No," Beth said shortly. She sighed, then added, "it is doubtful. My husband and I… we were… well, I got my menses each month around the twentieth, even after marrying him. I left on tenth October. I do not believe I was with child when I left… Fresh Water."

"Fresh Water. Is that your husband's home?" Mrs. Garland asked conversationally. She pulled up a chair and sat down.

"It's my father's home," she replied. "Though Sir Clinton granted it to Colonel Tavington, because my father is a rebel and so the Plantation was seized… It is William's now," she said, her entire body tensing with fury.

"I see," Mrs. Garland said. "Won't you sit, Mrs. Tavington?" She asked, and Beth loosened her muscles in order to move to seat herself across from the other woman. Nancy was sitting in a far corner, watching curiously, on hand in case the women needed anything. "Do you believe your husband can not conceive children?"

"No, I know he can," Beth said, staring at her hands in her lap.

"Ah. Well, Mrs. Tavington, I am not sure how you will feel about hearing this, but your child could very well be Colonel Tavington's. That he did not get a child on you in that short time, does not mean he could not have done, after your last menses. There was must have been a good two weeks after your courses finished, before you left. You did bed him before you left?"

"Yes, I did," she said reluctantly, adding all in a rush, "Colonel Tarleton is certain the child is his."

"He can be as certain as he likes," Mrs. Garland said. "It doesn't make it so."

"Why are you saying this?" Beth asked, voice sharp.

"Because, Mrs. Tavington, I can see the shape of your stomach under your clothes and I believe you could be further along than the three months you've been in Colonel Tarleton's bed."

"Pardon?" Beth breathed, shock crawling up her spine.

"I won't know for certain until I've asked you a few more questions and examined you - it could be the bulk of your clothes, it makes it hard to judge."

"What questions?" Beth asked softly, feeling quite frightened.

"Aside from the pains you told me about - those pangs - have you been feeling any other sensations in your stomach?"

"Yes, I… a few weeks ago, I started to feel some flutterings inside my stomach, like butterfly wings." Beth said, trying to describe it to the midwife. "They've gotten stronger over the last few weeks. I thought it was just..." she paused, not wanting to tell Mrs. Garland - a woman she did not trust - about her recent troubles with Banastre. "Nerves," she finished. "You know, all the travelling taking its toll and the like."

"It is not nerves, Mrs. Tavington," the stout woman replied. "You have begun to feel the babies movements."

Beth drew in a sharp breath, both her hands flew to her mouth and unaccountably, she felt she would begin to cry. Nancy bobbed up and down on her toes with excitement. "Are you certain?" She gasped behind her fingers, her eyes filling. "It's my baby? But I thought… the way my mother described it, the feeling is more like being kicked from the inside!"

"Yes, later it will be. But not this early on. Initially, it starts just the way you described - like butterflies whirling around in your stomach with the feeling getting stronger with each passing week. It's the baby, Mrs. Tavington."

"It's the baby," Beth breathed with wonder, as she placed her hand over her stomach. She smiled and a tear slid down her cheek. "I can feel my baby moving."

"Yes. As wonderful as that is for mother's - especially new mother's such as yourself - it is especially important information for midwife's. I now know for certain that the child is well, despite all this travel," the midwife continued. "And now I will have a decent measure the child's continued well being, with each passing day. You will need to keep track of the movements. Not every time you feel a flutter of course, but send for me immediately if you don't feel it for several hours." Mrs. Garland continued to give her instructions and advice, with Beth trying to listen and take it all in. She could feel her baby moving! Even now, it was fluttering around in there like a little bird with wings outstretched. How marvellous! She couldn't wait to tell Banastre.

"Would you please stand, Mrs. Tavington?" Mrs. Garland asked. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at your stomach. Miss Nancy can help you undress down to your shift - remove your stays and skirt, but leave your petticoats on. Pull your shift out, so it can be lifted and I can see your stomach without seeing anything I shouldn't." As Mrs. Garland instructed, Nancy helped Beth disrobe until Beth was standing with her inner petticoats pulled down below her stomach, and her shift lifted up to bunch up beneath her breasts. She gazed down at the roundness of her stomach fondly. Mrs. Garland warmed her hands over the fire before approaching. "Will it hurt?" Beth asked her, a little worried.

"Not at all," Mrs. Garland replied. She knelt down in front of Beth. "I'm just going to feel your stomach gently, and then I'll run a measuring tape over your stomach to get an idea of size and determine just how far along you are."

Beth swallowed hard, recalling what the woman had said earlier about the roundness of her stomach. Her clothes might have made her appear further along than she was, but now she was bared to the midwife and she would soon know for certain. Mrs. Garlands warm hands moved over Beth's stomach, pressing gently all around.

"Can you feel her moving now?" Mrs. Garland asked and Beth nodded. "Where?" Beth gestured to the side of the swell and Mrs. Garland placed her hand there and pushed down gently. She held her hand there for some time, before nodding. "I think I can feel her move, but I'm not entirely certain. I'll do the measurements now, the tape is a little cold I'm afraid."

Beth stood still as the cold tape was positioned above and over the swell, down to her pubis. She tried not to move but it was quite uncomfortable, having the woman's hand so close to her sex. Especially after that horrid encounter with Electa Alden. Mrs. Garland made a clucking noise, she lifted the tape, straightened it, and did the measurement again.

"Is something amiss?"

"Mrs. Tavington," Mrs. Garland gazed up at her. Nancy stool at Beth's side, helping to hold her shift up. "You said you last had your courses from twentieth September?"

"Yes," Beth frowned.

"I've been a midwife for many, many years," the older woman said. "I've birthed countless children, I've helped countless women through their pregnancies. I have kept ledgers of so many details - from when women start to feel the baby move, to when others feel it. From the date of the last menses to the beginning of labour, and the stomach measurements in between. I have found that while every pregnancy is different, many things remain the same. I have also found that this," she shook the tape, "is a quite reliable measurement to determine how far along a woman is. This, is a woman at three months," she held the tape straight out, her thumb and forefinger crinkling it at the twelve centimetre mark. Beth breathed out slowly, that length would not stretch across her stomach, she could see that without needing Mrs. Garland to try. "This is a woman at four months," her fingers slid along the tape, allowing more slack and stopping at sixteen centimetres. Beth began to grow cold. "And this," Mrs. Garland said, "is a woman at five months." Her fingers slid along again, to twenty centimetres. Mrs. Garland, holding that length out, placed it over the swell of Beth's stomach again, from the top down to her pubis. It measured perfectly. Beth met Mrs. Garland's eyes, barely daring to breathe. The midwife's voice was gentle. "You are five months along, Mrs. Tavington and not a day less."

"Oh my God," Beth finally breathed.

"Which means you conceive sometime in late August or early September."

"Impossible," Beth whispered. "I had my courses in September."

"I have occasionally observed that some women have their courses, even though they are indeed pregnant. I believe that happened to you. You were already pregnant, there is not a doubt in my bones. But if you need further convincing, I can tell you with absolute certainty that in most cases, I should not be able to feel a baby move until around six months. I am sure that I felt yours just now, which confirms it as far as I am concerned. You are not a day less than five months pregnant. Therefore, it was your husband who had the siring of this child."

It was like a splash of cold water in Beth's face.

"You said you don't know for certain if you could feel it," Beth whispered.

"Very well, let us entertain the idea that I have my calculations wrong," Mrs. Garland said, as if that could not possibly be the case. "You said you have been feeling this child move within you for a few weeks now, and that it has gotten stronger with each passing day. Mrs. Tavington, most women do not start feeling their child move within their bodies until four and a half months, _at the earliest_. If this child was sired by Colonel Tarleton, you would not feel it move for another month and a half, at least. And the measurement I took, it would be here," she held out the tape again, her finger and thumb stopping at the fourteen centimetre mark. She placed that over Beth's stomach to prove it, and it only stretched three quarters along the swell. I do not say this to distress you, though I can see that it has. Why don't you take a seat?" Mrs. Garland said and Beth sat. "Nancy, help me tidy, will you?" Mrs. Garland said. She continued to chat as she worked to tidy. "That is to the good, Mrs. Tavington. When I first saw you, I thought you were even further along and I feared you'd be giving birth in July, during the hottest and most sickly months. But yours will be born late in May or early June, which is far more comfortable. For the newborn, also - it will be warm at night when she wakes for her feeding…" Mrs. Garland's words faded into the background as Beth sat there, reeling. Mrs. Garland was absolutely certain; Beth was five months along.

William's baby, then.

Sweet Lord above. Even if Mrs. Garland was off by a month - and Beth doubted the woman would be - it would put Beth at four months and William would still be the father. Gods. She was caught between joy at finally knowing for certain who fathered her child - a thing that had bothered her since she discovered her pregnancy - and absolute despair that Banastre was not the father. Would he stick by her still? Sweet Lord, how much would change now, would his promises still hold? She sat, pale faced, feeling suddenly faint.

"This information will not leave this room," she said to Mrs. Garland and Nancy, her voice suddenly iron. Both women turned to her, startled. "I will tell this to the Colonel in my own time, in my own way. I will not have this gossiped about, it will not become general knowledge. Do I make myself clear?" Mrs. Garland was astonished and Nancy shuddered at the finality in Beth's voice. They did not look puzzled, they both knew that the sire of Beth's baby was finally confirmed and that it would likely cause trouble between Banastre and his mistress.

"I've never particularly liked gossips myself," Mrs. Garland said. "Nancy?"

"No. I won't say nothin'," the younger woman said. Beth stifled a snort, neither woman could be trusted.

_Dear God,_ she thought, feeling the strong need to lay down. _William is the father. How in the world will I break this to Banastre?_

* * *

"I have not yet heard," Banastre was saying to Whitty, both stood in the doorway, water dripping from their great cloaks to pool on the floor. "For now, the plan still holds, we shall ride out from here in a few days."

"The weather is prohibitive," Whitty said. "All this rain, we'll be hard pressed to cross the rivers or even move through the woods. The wagons will be even more troublesome."

"Lord Cornwallis shares our difficulties," Banastre replied. "And our frustrations. His situation is worse than ours, with so many soldiers sick in the battalion. He will not wait much longer however - General Greene is coming, he is going to join with Burwell if we do not stop him. If those two are allowed to come together, they will be formidable indeed. The plan holds - Lord Cornwallis will bring up the battalion up between Greene and Burwell, and we will chase Burwell away as best we can."

_Oh, God, will you just stop? _Beth sat at the small table, her head in her hands, impatient for Whitty to leave. Banastre had just returned, finally - she had had to hold on to her news all day and now finally she must break it to him, but she could not for they were standing there, dripping in the doorway, talking about Cornwallis. She just wanted Whitty to leave - all day, she'd been carrying this burden, now it seemed she would carry it still, until their damned conversation was over.

"I just fear that we won't get very far," Whitty said and Beth felt like groaning. He'd said this already! "Not with these constant storms. We were hard pressed just to do a spot of recruiting."

"Which reminds me, see that the new recruits settle in, will you?" Banastre said and Beth lifted her head hopefully - that sounded like a dismissal. Was it a dismal? "And get something warm to eat." _Yes, finally! It was!_, she thought. It was! Whitty doffed his hat to her, water streamed down from the brim, he stepped into the driving curtain of rain outside. Banastre closed the door, they were alone now in their small house at Monses Mill. Beth leapt to her feet to help him with his great cloak, she hung it on a hook by the fire while he pulled off his sodden boots. "Did you have a good day?" He asked her. She turned toward him with a faltering smile.

"Better than yours I think," she replied. "Or dryer, at least."

"And warmer," he shuddered within his green woollen jacket. "It's freezing out there." He caught her hand as she passed him and he pulled her close, his cold wet lips catching her cheek. She recoiled as he meant her to and he laughed softly. "See? Cold…"

"Your word was sufficient enough to convince me, there was no need for a demonstration," she said. "Are you hungry? Mrs. Garland made rabbit stew and dumplings."

"Starving. Utterly and completely - there is a hole right here, I feel as though my stomach is eating itself," he pointed to his midsection.

"Poor Ban," she laughed. She waved her hand, gesturing him to take a seat at the table, while she ladled a healthy portion of the stew into a wooden bowl, taking care to scoop several chunks of rabbit and quite a few dumplings. The stew was tasty and, as it was sitting in a kettle over the flames, it was piping hot. Just what a man needed on a stormy night when he'd been out riding all day long and had returned to receive what was sure to be a devastating blow. She set it before him, handed him a spoon and knife, then sat opposite him.

"You're not eating?" He asked as he began stirring the stew with the spoon.

"I had some earlier," she replied. He was settled and warm with a bowl in front of him - now was the time to deliver the unhappy news. But for all her earlier impatience, she found she baulked now. Gods, he'd just arrived home after recruiting all day long in a storm, should she really burden him with this now? He was tired, hungry, still wet and cold… She swallowed hard, uncertain what she should do. Her heart pounded, she hadn't realised she would become so damned nervous… Of course, she'd known it would be hard; imparting unwanted news always is. But she was actually frightened to tell him. That was a surprise. He was chatting to her now, telling her of his day around chunks of rabbit, which he just about swallowed whole he was so hungry. She paid him half a mind while fretting over her dilemma. When was the perfect time to tell her lover that he was not the father of her child?

Of course she was scared. Why shouldn't she be? She was truly entering the unknown now - she had no idea if his promises would hold when he was finally confronted with the hard truth. How many times had he tried to reassure her, that he would raise William's child as if it were his own? But how many times had he knelt before her, or laid beside her, his hand on the swollen arch of her stomach, whispering his hope that he - or she - would have his auburn hair and brown eyes. He wanted it to be his - desperately. And now she was about to tell him it wasn't…

"…And the water was rushing so fast, the current so swift that if we crossed it then, we surely would have drowned," he was saying. "We'll have to try across the river for recruits when the rain stops a bit. We'll be here for a few days yet, there's time, yet."

_There's time yet…_

_Don't be such a coward._

"We're sure to do well - this country is teeming with Loyalists. They just need for me to find them," Banastre said. "And when I do, they'll -"

"Banastre, the baby is William's," Beth interrupted, unable to hold it in any longer. He froze, the next spoonful halfway to his open mouth. He stared at her, slowly closing his lips and lowering the spoon. Had he had enough to eat? Perhaps she should have waited that long - how selfish of her. How thoughtless. Her need to offload her unhappy news should not have outweighed his hunger. He needed sustenance but what she was telling him was sure to drive his hunger away. Should have waited - just a few minutes longer. "I'm so sorry," she said, for not waiting for the baby not being his. She'd truly wanted it to be Banastre's, so they would have something to truly connect them, seeing that they'd never have marriage. "Mrs. Garland told me this morning," Beth said weakly.

"How could she possibly know?" He asked, the spoon falling to the table with a clatter.

"She just… knows. She's been a midwife a long time - she felt my stomach and she measured it… she asked when I started feeling movements and how strong they are now, and all of it amounts to me being five months along. She said four months at the very least, though she highly doubts it. Either way, Ban - four months or five - the child has to be William's. I was with child when I left him."

Banastre shook his head, as if denying this news. He lurched backward, shoving the chair back as he rose; he did a full circuit of the room, back stiff, lips tight. He returned to her side, his face bloodless.

"But you don't really know that," he said. "What you're feeling, when you started feeling it… It seems quite a… a… wishy-washy way to measure such things. You don't even know if it's the baby moving, Beth. You might have indigestion."

Beth laughed despite herself, though she knew he was deadly serious. He was not amused in the slightest. But to mistake movements as indigestion? Only a man could suggest such a thing, seeing that they'd only experience one of those and never the other. She sobered, this was not a laughing matter - her brief flare of amusement fleeing.

"I wish I could agree," she said solemnly. "Ban, what I'm feeling, it's so hard to describe. I didn't even know I was feeling it at first, but it definitely started weeks ago. It was like… little flickers here and there. Mrs. Garland is certain that I would have been close to four months when those started. Now, it more like butterflies fluttering around all over, constantly, the feeling is far stronger and occurs far more often, which means the baby is much bigger now. For it to be yours, Ban, I'd be three months along. I don't think she would mistake four or five months of pregnancy for three months."

"Impossible," he shook his head, he appeared as though he were about to attack her with a new argument as to why it was impossible, but she could not allow him to delude himself any longer. He needed to accept this truth, even if it meant he'd leave her because of it.

"You're right, there's no real way of knowing. Stomach movements - a wishy-washy way of determining how far along I might be. But coupled with the measurements and with her feeling the baby move beneath her own hand… Ban, Mrs. Garland is in no doubt, I am absolutely no less than four and a half months pregnant, at the very least. Which means -"

"You were pregnant when you left him," Banastre whispered, eyes wide and horrified. Beth lowered hers, she dropped her hands to her lap, uncertain what to say now. He ran his fingers over his hair, raking it back, messing his already messy queue. He moved in a wooden sort of way, like one walking to his own execution, he dropped into the chair opposite her. Instead of returning to his meal, he shoved his bowl away and dropped his head to his hands, elbows on the table. Beth reached out and stroked his hair back.

"I'm so sorry, Ban," she said softly. He did not say a word, but he didn't pull away. That was something at least. A heavy banging on the door made them both jump, Banastre's hands sprang from his head and he jerked up, looking wretched.

"Come!" He called, and the door was shoved open, Lieutenant Lyons. Walked toward him. Beth recognised him, he was the head of the small unit which handled all the correspondence coming into the camp.

"From Lord Cornwallis, Sir," he handed the letter over, it was remarkably dry, even though everything else about the fellow was sodden. Banastre took it, he read it through quickly.

"Send for Captain Whitty," he said, rising. As Beth watched, he began pulling on his boots and his green jacket. His great cloak hadn't had a chance to stop dripping let alone actually dry, but he pulled that on, also.

"What is it, Ban?" She asked, rising also. He picked up his helmet, fingers running through the wet plume.

"He is breaking camp," he replied, not quite looking her in the eye. "He has said we are to move out immediately."

"But, you said we'd be here for days!" Beth cried, stunned.

"Not now," he said, voice ringing command. "I am leaving - you will travel with the baggage train as always, perhaps I will see you when we stop tonight, if the baggage catches up."

"Banastre," she said, reaching for his arm as he turned to the door. "We have so much to discuss -"

"No time," he said, shrugging her off.

"Well…" She said miserably. "At least finish your stew. You'll need your strength."

He glanced at the bowl and shuddered as if he might be sick. "My appetite is gone." He said, he put the helmet on, then closed the door behind him.

* * *

He returned a few minutes later, Beth was pulling dirty clothes from his saddle bags and folding in a new shirt and breeches.

"I'll have Officers here shortly, we don't have long to discuss this," he said without preamble. Beth straightened, stretching, knuckling the small place in her back that was hurting. His boots thudded the floorboards as he came to stand before her. "I need some reassurance from you."

"And I from you," she said, cocking her head. Such as, would he keep his promise, would he raise the child as his own? Would he provide for them both, would he love them both? The questions burned inside her. "But you go first," she said, giving him the field.

"I need to know that you will not go rushing back to William, if you believe him to be the father," he said, lifting his chin, his jaw set tight.

"Oh, Ban, is that what's bothering you?"

"So much about this bothers me," his fists were curled at his sides, "but that is a concern, yes."

"A foolish one," she cupped his face with her fingers, his cheeks were wet and cold, her hands dry and warm. He leaned into her touch. "Even if I could, I wouldn't. He is with her, remember? But even if he wasn't, I am not going to return to William, not for any reason, ever." He blew out a relieved breath and put his arms around her, gingerly for his coat was soaking wet. When he drew back, she could see by his face that he was still troubled. "What are your other concerns?"

"I wanted the child to be mine," he said. "But it's William's. It'll always be William's. _His_ son. Or _his_ daughter. Never mine."

Beth felt her blood run cold. Trying to keep her voice light, she said, "you promised it would make no difference. That you would love it as if it were your own."

"That was when I _thought_ the child was mine. How was I to know how I'd react, when confronted with the opposite?"

"But… You said… you and William were friends, once. You said you would have raised his child, had William died in battle or the like."

"But William is very much alive, isn't he?" Banastre asked.

"What does that mean?" She asked, fearing lancing through her. Would she be raising this child alone after all?

"Nothing - it's just that I thought it was mine, I wanted it to be mine. Damn it Beth, are you absolutely certain it's not?"

"Mrs. Garland is certain," she said and after having time to think about it, she was certain as well.

She had been unhinged when she left Fresh Water, so filled with rage over William and Linda - and rightly so, he was having an affair with her all along! - But her rage had been more than she'd ever felt, it'd been a palpable thing, she'd felt entirely out of control, her emotions amplified tenfold. And now she understood that her pregnancy had as much to do with her wild behaviour, as discovering her husband's affair did.

"I'm so sorry, Ban," she laid her hand on his face. "I knew this wouldn't be easy for you. I wish the child was yours, I truly do." At the same time as being pleased it was not a bastard… it was strange to be sorrowful over the one, while be relieved by the other. He rested his forehead against hers, she could feel how deeply hurt he was - it was alright for her, she was the child's mother - she would never have to go through what he was going through. All she could do was comfort him and give reassurance. Recalling her own worries, she said, "Banastre, if that was your worry, that I wouldn't go running back to him, then that must mean you still want me to be with you -"

"Of course I do," he frowned fiercely.

"Well, I have given you my reassurance, I have no intention of leaving you for William. Ever. I need you to reassure me, now. You promised you'd -"

The door was shoved open, cutting her off abruptly as Officers began filing in, none even bothering to knock. Banastre stepped away from her and became Commander again, delivering orders like the Colonel he was. Time was of the essence, Banastre appeared to become so caught up in all he was and all that he needed to do, that as the Officers began filing out, he followed them out the door and into the driving rain.

"Ban!" Beth cried from the chamber, rushing into the hall to the door. He turned to her, rain already sleeting across his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry love," he said in a distracted sort of way as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. As if that was what she'd called him back for! It was too late to correct him, he was running into the grey afternoon, dangling saddlebags bouncing against his leg.

He had his reassurance, but she did not have hers. Nothing was settled. If anything, she was more uncertain. He'd voiced the exact concerns that she herself had. If the child wasn't his, would he still raise it? Even he was doubt it, or at least feeling confused over it. He had left, and he had given her nothing. All she had was the ability to reason, and she sat down now, and tried to reason. His first worry had been that she would flee back to William, which gave her some solace - he still wanted her, at least. She placed her hand over her stomach as she leaned back in the chair. But did he want the baby? He couldn't have one without the other… But that didn't mean he would love it, as he'd promised he would. _"I wanted the child to be mine. But it's William's. It'll always be William's. His son. Or his daughter. Never mine." _Gods, what did that mean? When a knock came on the door followed by soldiers, Beth rose heavily and stood in a corner, letting them upstairs to do the work of packing hers and the rest of Banastre's belongings.


	134. Chapter 134 - Unhappy Reunions

Chapter 134 - Unhappy Reunions:

When Richard entered the chamber, he saw Cilla standing at the window, fingers toying with Nathan's lucky rabbit foot that hung about her neck from a raggedy strip of twine. He'd tried to suggest that - if she must wear the ghastly thing - that she at least put it on a silk ribbon. But she'd refused, telling him that the luck might be spoiled if she tried to change a single thing about it. Superstitious nonsense, as far as he was concerned. But she was determined. She glanced over her shoulder, looking thoughtful at first, and then she smiled weakly. Lost in thoughts of her father, perhaps? That was a subject better left avoided. He'd told Cilla of her cousins visit and relayed the news they'd bought; that her father was alive; she had been unable to hide her pleasure. Until he'd informed her of Dalton's death. That'd wiped the smile from her face. He almost wished he hadn't told her that part - Dalton's murder and the murders of a score of Dragoons. She blamed herself for their deaths. She had a long list of men who had died, in her attempt to escape Richard. She was barely managing to deal with her guilt over Old Morgan's death, and now she had twenty more names to put on the list of men killed during her flight from Fresh Water.

They'd discussed her father only that once and never again since. Mark Putman was a touchy topic between them. She'd forgiven Richard for the barbarity inflicted upon her, but he knew she'd never forgive him for the torture of her father. Yet he could see the conflict within her, knew her confusion. For Mark Putman had killed twenty men in cold blood. He'd killed Ensign Dalton, a man Cilla had come to like and respect. Her faith in her father was being put to the test, Richard sensed. It was best to leave it be for now, not to discuss him. They'd finally found happiness - of sorts - as much and more than he could have hoped for, considering. There would always be Cilla's love and loyalty to her father between them. And there'd always be Richard's love for Harmony. So yes, happiness - of sorts. A melancholy sort of happiness, if such a thing could be said to exist. Avoiding the half packed and still open chests and portmanteaus, he stepped more deeply into the chamber, but left the door open, for he would be carrying out his stack of files.

"Did you see her this morning?" He asked without preamble. Cilla understood precisely who he was speaking of.

"Yes, of course," she replied softly, not without sympathy. Lord, he'd been a damned fool to treat Cilla so awfully these last months. A damned blind dolt. She was extraordinary, worth more than all of the jewels in His Majesties crown. Richard doubted he'd ever heard of a single incident of a wife helping her husband recover from the heart wrenching loss of losing his mistress. Yet Cilla was doing exactly that. She'd acknowledged his love for Harmony, and had become his rock to cling to, as the roaring flood of heartbreak tried to sweep him away.

"Did you give her the money?"

"Yes, Richard, I gave her the money."

"Does she know it came from me?"

"Good God, no," she laughed, though it sounded sad at the same time. "She'd never have accepted it, if I did. Last week, she gave me her purse - it was filled with coins; sovereigns, Spanish pieces, pennies, all the different types of coin you could think of. I told her it was too heavy for her to carry in her pocket and she let me take it so I could change it for notes. When I returned the money this morning, I slipped your notes in there. She likely won't know she's been given extra at all."

It wrung his heart to hear her speak so pointedly. Harmony would never have accepted it - if she'd known it'd come from him. He heaved a sullen sigh. As long as she was provided for, did it matter if she knew where the money had come from?

"She isn't too happy about her guard dogs," Cilla said. "It's making her feel like Mrs. Cox - like a prisoner."

"That is not my intention."

"No, your intention is to make certain she is kept near, where you can ensure she is safe and protected from her husband, to ensure she and the baby are provided for. I know that, Richard. And she knows it also. But it still makes her feel like a criminal."

"I'm not letting her leave with my child," he said - stubborn to a fault. Cilla nodded, agreeing completely.

"I told her much the same," she replied.

He thought for a moment, of asking if Harmony was well. If she was getting enough to eat. If she was being looked after. But it was a foolish question - Mrs. Andrews could be trusted to see to every single one of Harmony's needs. And besides, if anything untoward were happening, Cilla would have told him so. Enough of Harmony. He loved her and by Christ he missed her; but he would not allow his longing to come between him and his wife. Not again. He tried to brighten, he even managed a smile.

"Here we are, on the verge of leaving this place and you've finally - finally - decided where you like best for that plant to sit," he joked. For quite a while she'd been shifting it, from the far left of the sill to the far right and back again. Probably to get the most of the sun as it made its daily arc overhead. But she hadn't moved it for some days now; it was the best attempt at lightheartedness that he could come up with just then. For some reason, a full flush suffused Cilla's face, turning her beet red.

"Ah, yes, it's perfect there," she waved airily toward the plant that she hadn't moved for the past week, and turned her back on him. He cocked his head, bemused.

"Is somewhat amiss?" He asked, coming to stand behind her. She wasn't angry that he'd asked after Harmony, was she? No, she'd have known he would ask, just as he did every single day, when she returned from the camp. Cilla had shown no anger whatsoever, no jealousy. Only sympathy as she past along her most recent report of his former mistress. He placed his hand on her small waist, just above the place where her skirts flared out from her hips. He wrapped his other arm around her fully, laid his fingers across her stomach, and nuzzled his face into her neck. So much shorter than Harmony, he had to bend further down to kiss and nuzzle Cilla's neck, but the same feeling of warmth and pleasure spread outward from his stomach. "My pretty little wife," he teased, brushing the shell of her ear with his nose. "If something is amiss, speak it now, and I shall enter the pits of hell if need be, to fix it."

She turned in the circle of his arms. Such a pretty creature. Why hadn't he been able to see that, before? Not that he'd ever considered her to be unappealing. He'd simply never considered her at all. He smiled a crooked smile; what a damned fool he'd been. He hadn't been able to see past her Patriot allegiance, her rebellion back in Charlestown, and her sharp tongue. Her eyes were so dark, he could barely see where the pupil ended and the brown began. They were narrowed now, and she began squirming in his embrace.

"Uh-uh," he said, tightening his hold. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me all your woes," he quipped. He'd never expected to get along so well with her - he'd never expected to be grateful to Cornwallis, for forcing him to this marriage. They worked so well together, like two halves of a whole. No, that wasn't quite right, for there was a piece of him still missing. They were two thirds of a whole, the third of which would likely never return and make him complete. But it was not fair to dwell on that now. Not while he held Cilla in his arms. Lords, their nights together… Their bodies and limbs, divinely entangled, slicked with sweat and hot with pleasure. He knew he had Banastre to thank for part of her ardour - though he did not feel inclined toward gratitude. He could not think of Banastre Tarleton now, without an intense desire to punch something. Hard. Preferably Tarleton's face. He'd cuckolded Richard; a man who he'd professed friendship for, had bedded his wife! When Cilla clawed his back and arched hers, whispering frantically for him to not stop, while her legs wrapped over his hips, her pelvis in rapid movement as she strove toward orgasm, it was hard to not think of the man who'd inducted her to these delights. Still, he managed to, for it was him who was bringing her those delights now. Her body responded to his like a wolf responded to its mates long and mournful midnight howls. His eyes hooded over as he thought of the wolves coming together. He'd taken her that way, many a time now. Perhaps he should shut the door and -

"Don't," she said, sounding almost nervous.

Richard forced away his lascivious smile, adopting a look of innocence. "Don't what?" Her squirms grew stronger, they both knew damned well what..

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she groaned, trying to push at him. When he did not release her, she averted her gaze and bit at her lips. Nervous. His grin broadened. "You're trying to charm me," she accused.

"Am not," he lied, unable to stop the soft laugh. He turned her from the window and began edging her backward toward the wall, one slow step after another

"You are," she said, unable to stop him from advancing her backward toward the wall. Once she was pinned there, with him towering over her, she gave one last valiant effort hold him off. "Go charm someone else. I've got packing to do."

"Can't I charm my own wife?" He asked lightly. "Oh hold a moment, I already have," he said, as if this was a grand triumph.

"You're a lech. The door is open."

"Easily fixed, my love." He finally lowered his arms from her waist. With two fingers, he lifted her chin and brushed a light kiss on her lips. He made no move to hold her there, not now. She was taken in by him, he held her there by will alone, towering above her, his very presence strong and imposing. She was spell bound, blinking up at him, unthinking. Banastre could never have achieved this! Holding a woman by will alone. "I can not think of a single woman I'd like to charm more than you, sweet Cilla," he said, carefully easing Harmony from where she constantly resided in his thoughts.

"None?" She managed, arching an eyebrow. Her breath quickened, sweat was beading her lip. He could see right through her.

"None."

"Not even that pretty little maid, Miss Vickie?" She lifted her chin, prideful and arrogant. And slightly worried. He was so astonished by the question, he threw back his head and laughed.

"My dear wife, it seems I already have," he said. Unwisely, it seemed. For pure fury flared over Cilla's face and she bristled like an angry cat.

"Then it's true?" She hissed. "You bedded her while I lay here, sick and almost dying! Of all the -"

"No, Cilla!" To silence her, Richard did the only thing he could think to do, he clamped his very large hand over her mouth. She glared at him above his fingers. "I did not bed her, for all her trying. I vow it on my honour." He watched her face carefully - her eyes, rather, for the rest was hidden beneath his hand. Hers widened, her brows lifted from being drawn down and angry. He felt a puff of relieved air against his palm.

"Truly?" The word was muffled by his hand, her voice no longer intensely furious. Such was the trust that had grown between them. Clearly she'd heard a version of the story, but she would believe him above all others. He removed his hand, preparing to explain.

"She's quite hot to trot," he said contemptuously. Contemptuously… it was really rather strange that he'd feel that way now, when up until recently, being a hot to trot was a trait he'd have admired in any maid as pretty as Vickie. But he felt nothing but contempt for the lass. "She's a bawdy woman, Cil. Harmony," - it hurt to say her name out loud, but he did so now, and Cilla - to her credit - didn't bat an eyelid. - "wasn't gone five minutes before Miss Vickie started in, thinking to replace her. I've been so distracted by the two of you," - meaning Cilla and Harmony - "that I realise now that Miss Vickie has been trying to get my attention for some time. Even when… Harmony… left, it still took a massive effort on Miss Vickie's part before I noticed her. She had to resort to removing all of her clothes, when I finally realised what she was about."

"That would do it," Cilla breathed, stunned.

"I was in William's office," he said, telling her what had happened. "Doing some work. I didn't want to interrupt you when you were finally beginning to sleep a bit more peacefully. Private Hall was on the door that night. She told him she had something pressing to tell me, so she was allowed in. As soon as the door was shut and we were alone, she started undressing herself. She was just removing her shift from over her head when I finally looked up and noticed what she was doing."

"That brazen little harpy!" Cilla folded her arms across her chest, the frown returned.

"I'll say. She does have some nice curves, though."

"Richard!" She cried, unable to stop the laugh that followed. She slapped his arm and he laughed again also.

"So there you have it. Brazen harpy is quite right; I was quite angry with her, if the truth be told," he sobered. "With you in your sickbed and Harmony… well… with her leaving, in comes this little doxy, thinking to earn herself a bit of extra gold on the side, by sliding into my bed. I was having none of it. I commanded that she dress herself at once or else be pushed out into the hallway for all of the soldiers to see her. She scrambled back into her shift and night robe with alacrity, she almost ripped her sleeve trying to punch her arm back through." He sniffed, twisted his lips, recalling the incident with a swell of anger. Vickie could never take his wife's place, but seeing a vacancy, she'd thought to become his mistress. It'd been utterly disrespectful; Harmony's bed was still warm for goodness sake, and that little whore had thought she could slide in without any problems at all. Just take Harmony's place, as though Harmony had been nothing. While Cilla was laid up in bed, near to death. That'd made him doubly furious.

"Six months ago, you'd have taken her right there on the desk," Cilla said softly, eyeing him thoughtfully. He glanced down at her, surprised. Then a lopsided grin tugged at his lips.

"Yes, I would have at that," he chuckled.

"You're insufferable," she swatted at his arm again. "Go and shut the door, Richard."

"With me on this side, or the other?" He asked.

"This side," she lifted onto the tips of her toes and brushed a kiss across his lips that left him light headed. "Definitely this side."

"Your wish, my lady," he swept her a bow, then strode quickly for the door.

* * *

Harmony knelt on the ground. Her knees quickly became sodden from the wet straw beneath. Awkwardly, she leaned over as far as she could before toppling, to reach for her pocket book. It was getting harder to move now, harder to rise, harder to walk, harder to do anything with her stomach becoming heavier with child. Her fingers touched the purse, the pads gripped and she pulled, until it was close enough for her to pick it up. She straightened, grateful that she hadn't had to get up and go and get it. Flipping it open, she counted her money. Notes now, instead of coins. Thanks to Cilla, who had exchanged them for her so she could carry the money easily in her pocket. Her purse had been heavy, bulging, and it'd jiggled with every step. Cocking her head, she counted the money again. Surely she hadn't had this much before giving Cilla the heavy purse? She dropped her hand and the book to her lap. At least fifty pounds more than she'd had. She heaved a breath. Had Cilla truly thought she wouldn't notice an _extra fifty pounds_? She wondered briefly if she should return to the house and give the money back, then decided against it. She had stopped visiting when Cilla had been well enough to start visiting her, and she would not step foot in it now.

Not when she might risk seeing Richard. And William. But Richard more so. She would keep the money for now and give it back to Cilla in the morning. Cilla would likely argue, or deny it entirely. How things had changed between them in the last weeks. Before, they hadn't been able to stand the sight of each other. Now, Cilla's visits were a balm to Harmony's soul. She was trying to protect her, Harmony knew. Trying to make certain Harmony had enough money to get by.

There were others who would wish to protect her, and she thought of them now. How long had it been since she'd seen her family? Far too long. Years. They were all the way up near the border, in Grindal Shoals. Hundreds of miles from Fresh Water and Pembroke on the Santee. With her clothes all over the tent, waiting to be packed, she sat back on her heels and thought of her parents, her brother and her sister. They must be so worried. They hadn't heard from her in a desperately long time, and God knows that Calvin had never wrote home. What could she have said, if she had written?

"Calvin has taken up quarters here in Charlestown and to ingratiate himself to his Commander, to make him exceptionally happy, Calvin has made him a very generous gift of… well, of me. It's worked quite grandly. The Colonel took quite a like to me and I'm doing my duty by my husband rather well, if I don't say myself. I was pregnant for a time but as Calvin could not have known which of them had had the siring of it, he decided to kick me until it was driven from my stomach. Apart from that, barracks life is simply wonderful." She thought, thinking of what had taken place back then. That had been the reason she'd stopped writing to her family. What sort of news was that, to deliver to her mother and father? To Calvin's parents as well? It had only gotten worse from there, when Colonel Clement had sent Calvin off because he hadn't wanted to share her any longer, and he'd forced her to live in his house while Calvin went off to die at Savannah. Or so she'd thought back then. Would that he had. How different would her life had been, if he'd never returned?

She sighed and shook her head. Calvin could not be blamed for her current dilemma. Not wholly, anyway. If she'd returned home after finally being free of Colonel Clement, then she'd have spent these last few years safely snuggled up in her father's small cabin, surrounded by love and warmth. It was shame that had stopped her. Shame of having been forced to bed a man not her husband, by her own husband. Calvin was to blame for that, but it had been her choice to not return. She'd been unable to face the shame of her compromised virtue. And so she wallowed even deeper in deprivation.

It was strange, the turn her thoughts were taking. She hadn't even opened a Holy Book for years, but here she was, remembering the moral lessons she'd learned sitting on the floor by her father's chair. If she'd returned home, they would have forgiven her. They would not have found fault in her, they would have sympathised. They might have even found her another husband, likely long before Calvin showed up to claim his right of her. How different would her life have been, if she hadn't wallowed in sin and spread her legs as soon as Richard came along?

She'd not be kneeling on the floor of her tent, her belly swollen with a bastard got on a man she never wished to speak to or even look at, ever again. A movement outside the open flap had her glancing up and she saw - much to her irritation - her two watch dogs. They chatted quietly, one of them laughed at some jest. There were four pairs of them, on a twenty-four hour rotation. Mere boys, neither could have been older than fifteen years. But if she tried to leave, they'd do their duty and prevent her, just the same. Linda had them as well, these watch dogs.

How long had it been, since she and Linda so stupidly agreed to leave Charlestown with their new gallants? Sweet Lord Above, it'd only been seven months but Harmony felt like it was thrice that. It felt like years since that fateful day that she'd agreed to Richard's proposal and she left the snug security of her little room above that little shop, to traipse the countryside with Richard. A man she'd known for little more than a month. A man she'd never known at all. Though she'd thought she knew him well, he'd been nothing but a stranger to her, all along. He'd committed that vile act against Cilla at almost the same time he'd asked her - Harmony - to leave with him. It was like he was two men, living two completely different lives. If she'd known of his other life back then, she never would have left with him.

And she would not be in the pickle she was in now.

She reached for a shift and began folding. A pickle. What a simple way of putting it; after everything that'd happened, after everything Richard had done. How could Cilla forgive him? Cilla was lying to herself, she must be - Harmony was certain of it. Cilla was deluded. Forced to remain in her marriage, she decided to embrace it instead, and had convinced herself that she forgave Richard. There was no other explanation; no one could forgive the unforgivable. Harmony shoved the shift into the portmanteaus and reached for a jacket. Perhaps she should try to hunt down Calvin and suggest they just go home. Surely he'd want that as much as she did, and he could help her to get there. He was an absolute bastard, to be sure. But he was her husband. He was out there, on the run, deserted from the army and wanted for murder. Surely he was as exhausted of it all as she was. Perhaps if she found Calvin - her husband - then she could finally go home.

Or perhaps he'd kill her as soon as look at her… Or if he did agree, he'd only use her to ingratiate himself on some wealthy planter when they got back home. He'd sell her to the highest bidder, his little whore wife.

She almost dropped the jacket; her hand had never healed properly things often slipped from her fingers. She glanced at her hand, at the deep slash across the palm that prevented her from opening her hand to its fullest, and she recalled why she'd cut herself in the first place. Once, when she was younger, one of the families cats had a litter of kittens. Beautiful, sweet creatures, golden fur marbled with white. Seven of them, if she remembered correctly now. The cat left them for a time, to have a bite to eat, and an awful tom slinked into where the cat had concealed her babies, and the tom killed them. Each and every single one. It'd been such an awful sight, Harmony's father hadn't allowed her near the barn until the ugliness was cleaned away. All because the tom wanted the cat to come into heat quicker, so he could fill her stomach with a brood of his own. That was Calvin. It wasn't just herself she needed to protect now. He might know by now, that her baby wasn't his and she already knew he was quite capable of killing what he thought was a bastard.

"I had no intention of going to him anyway," she whispered, putting the jacket in the portmanteaus. "Not really. But Gods, I wish I could just go home," she glanced out the tent again, her watch dogs were still there, as she'd known they would be. She wasn't allowed to leave. Still, she could write to her parents; and have Cilla send the letter for her. She straightened, brightening somewhat. It was so obvious she could hardly believe she hadn't thought of it before! She could send for her father - let Richard just try to stop her leaving then. Her father would raise merry hell, until she was released, and as she had committed no crime - she had not done anything illegal, Richard had no legal right to detain her. Glancing at the purse, she smiled for the first time in days. She even had the money to send, to pay for his travel! He'd come for her, she just knew he would. All that was left was for her to write the letter and include some money, and as soon as he received both, he would set out on his way. The Legion would be easy to find, she would be travelling north while he was travelling south, and although it was likely weeks away, they would be able to meet halfway when the Legion reached Cornwallis.

Seizing up her pocket book, she pushed herself up heavily, determined to write the letter now while her writing implements were as yet unpacked. Cilla would return tomorrow morning at the latest, or that afternoon if Harmony was lucky, and she was determined now to have her letter written and on its way as soon as every she could.

* * *

They'd only been on the road a day, but already it was tedious. Rain and more rain lashed the carriage roof. And mud. There was plenty of that. Luckily it was not enough to stop the procession of the carriage and wagons and horses and men, but it did slow it down considerably. Whenever they stopped, Cilla did not even bother climbing out unless it was absolutely imperative that she did so. For the call of nature, for instance. To climb out from the dry cabin into a quagmire was not an enjoyable experience. And to climb back in again, with mud coated shoes mucking up the floor… Travelling in winter was most definitely not to Cilla's liking. She and the other women were laden with blankets, covering their legs, pulled up to their chests. Gloves on their fingers, wool capes. It was so damned cold, their mist puffed with every breath. How wonderful would it be if someone could invent a means of warming the carriage interior? A small brazier, perhaps. It would be absolute bliss.

Someone really aught to invent a decent means of passing the time, that did not require stiff, frozen fingers. Reading, knitting, sewing all needed fingers but Cilla wasn't taking her hands out of the folds of blankets for any of that. There was so little to discuss, for they'd spent so much time in one another's company and nothing much had happened to excite them to conversation. Mrs. Andrews. Miss Cordell. Harmony - after Cilla browbeat her and begged and pleaded. And Cilla herself. Richard never rode down to check on her, because Harmony was there. Cilla regretted that, but she could not have the pregnant woman sitting on the back of a cart, even one covered with canvas. The carriage was more comfortable. Not by far, perhaps, but enough. They hadn't gotten far, thanks to the deluge. Why the skies suddenly decided to open up as soon as the Legion began the laborious task of moving out, was the question on everyone's lips. An ill fated journey perhaps? A bad omen? She fingered Nathan's lucky foot and tried not to think about it. What will be, will be.

Besides, perhaps it was the Almighty Himself, taking a hand in the war and favouring the Patriots, by slowing the Legion down. That would be a fine thing!

At that moment, she was seated by the fire, in a parlour she'd never seen before, in a house she'd never set foot in, belonging to a planter she did not know. William Tavington had commandeered the Planter's house, taking over it completely, with the arrogant authority she'd come to expect from him. And every other Commander in His Majesty's army who thought themselves superior. This was why Patriots were so set against the British, she thought as a slave bought her a platter of sweetmeats. Because the British swooped in, not caring if the people they descended upon were friends - or if they were foes. Friends would not baulk at giving assistance, and foes - well, everybody knew how the British treated those. She leaned in closer to the fire, letting it unthaw her. Gods, she didn't think she would ever get warm again. She couldn't understand how Harmony could endure it with so much ease, and that poor soul was in a tent again! A nice hot bath. That might help the heat to steal back into Cilla's bones.

She pulled her eyes from the fire, blinked away the image of dancing flames imprinted on her pupils and fixed her gaze on Arthur Simms. He caught her eyes; he smiled and bowed, she inclined her head and - somehow - managed to hide her intense desire for gossip. It was all she could do not to rush over to him, grab his arm and drag him away from what was - she supposed - a very important meeting. He was courting Sarah, had been for months now! Had he proposed yet? Had she said yes? Stupid question, of course she would. Where did he intend for them to live? Would he build her a massive double house - she knew the Simms could well afford it. And what of Michael and Marcus? Her eyes fell on them and again, she resisted the urge to ask them a slew of questions. Did they have their eyes on a sweetheart? It was likely they did. Her eyes fell on Patrick Brownlow and her heart gave a lurch. He was standing alone against a wall, the space beside him where Dalton should have been standing was glaringly empty. Brownlow looked so rigid, like marble statue, unbending, no emotion showing on his face. It shone from his eyes, however, and Cilla worried that the Cornet might begin to weep. Tavington sat in a chair and spoke of Dalton's death, the deaths of a score of Dragoons, and the capture of fifty more. James Wilkins, who had been standing stiffly on the far side of the inglenook, his back to Tavington and to Richard, had long since turned to listen gravely. He'd been very cool to his Commanders ever since entering, yet while their personal conflict was far from resolved, the gravity of their situation was such that James Wilkins was willing to set it aside for now. There was no time to dwell on soured friendships; they were at war, their own troubles were nothing to that. Cilla returned her gaze to the fire, thinking of the reason for James' summons, and the twenty Dragoons that were killed.

And who had killed them.

Her own father. And his men. Calvin Farshaw, the lad who'd looked so vulnerable when she'd first met him. But worst of all was her own father. She loved him dearly, she understood he would do as he must to win their victory and free their country. But every time Dalton's face rose in her mind's eye, great guilt seized her, grief and sadness and she wished - fruitlessly wished - that her father had made a different decision that day.

"Ensign Dalton was one of my best," Colonel Tavington said gravely in that drawling, hard as granite voice she despised. She doubted she ever would warm to the man. "His absence has left a gaping hole in my Legion. Now, I have set this before you, Captain Wilkins, not only so that you are apprised personally of the death of a comrade, but to invite you and your men to rejoin the Legion, to fill the void Dalton's death has created. I understand Major Wymmes has need of you, but my need is the greater." He spoke without pause, as if he did not want to give James time enough to think, time to remember their recent, personal past. "I recently received word that General Burwell is about to be joined by one General Greene, who has a vast number of Virginian's accompanying him. Colonel Tarleton -" if anything, Tavington's voice hardened even more, though Cilla hadn't thought that was possible. Even her own Richard drew himself up and was now looking rather grim. He avoided her gaze - he did not wish to look at her while Banastre was being spoken of. - "I am not going to lie. Our situation is grim. We had a large force of Loyalist militia protecting Fort Williams, barring Burwell's passage. However, when they learned of General Greene's advance, they abandoned the fort entirely, which has given the enemy free rein to pass on through."

"Damned cowards," Marcus muttered. "They didn't get our training, aye?"

"No, they did not," Tavington agreed. Cilla cocked her head. He said it without batting an eyelid, taking the comment as a compliment to himself. As if to say 'well of course, I am the greatest mentor in all the world, what did you expect but excellence?' She felt like reminding him that Richard had had a hand in Marcus' training every bit as much Tavington had. "They have fled and now the way is open to Fort Ninety Six. And let us not forget the Kings Mountain battle. When Patrick Ferguson's force was attacked…" He shook his head as if lamenting the losses. Not because of the lives themselves, she thought, but because of the numbers of men that were no longer at the Britisher's disposal. "Our Loyalist militia is all but spent. Colonel Tarleton," again, his voice sounded strained when saying that name. As though he wanted to strangle it. As though he was resisting the urge to smash every single piece of furniture in the chamber. "Is en-route now, to reinforce our position there. I have been advised that I may need to move into a position of support," he ground out. Cilla's heart flew right up into her throat. She'd already been told this of course, but she could not hear it without feeling such intense trepidation. What was going to happen when Banastre and Tavington were face to face with one another again? When Beth and Tavington were face to face… that had her even more worried. She thought of his belt and gave a great shudder. "Which will require me to cross the Wateree. I plan to recruit to the Legion as we move through the area, in an attempt to replace those who have deserted Fort William's and those lost at Kings Mountain. As it is, this will be no easy feat. It is my hope that you will rejoin us, to replace the score of men murdered by Mr. Putman's militia."

Murdered. That word was bandied about often, when one side attacked the other and men died. Almost always, one side or the other would cry foul, in order to inspire men to join their ranks, to right the wrongs done by the evil ones. Patriots did it, when their forces were attacked by the British. The British did it, when their's was attacked by the Patriots. It was usually lies, propaganda to help increase their ranks. This was war, there were rules to follow but at the end of the day, when soldiers go into battle, soldiers die.

Only Cilla's father had not followed any rules of war. He'd had no authority to perform executions. And the process he should have followed was absolutely clear - Dalton's force should have been made prisoner and escorted to the nearest prison camp. He'd ignored all of this and he'd had each one of them killed.

Mark Putman had done murder. Cilla's mouth went dry. Her father killed Dalton and his men. Lord, how could he do such a thing? He must have been provoked… She wanted to believe that he was not at fault, that the story Richard had told her was fabricated to ensure sympathy for the British while making her father the villain. But it was her own cousins who delivered the tale, and they had been there to witness it. Her fingers were a tight grip on the rabbit's foot. No one was looking at her. She wondered what they were even doing there - there were plenty of other rooms in the plantation house, why had they barged in to conduct their meeting where she was trying to warm her bones? Tavington's doing, she supposed. Perhaps he somehow blamed her for her father's actions. Or perhaps he just wanted to make certain she was constantly reminded, to make certain she never forgot her part in Dalton's death. If she hadn't run away, Richard would not have had to come after her, Dalton and those others might still be alive.

James was staring hard at Tavington. Silence and tension grew until Cilla hoped James would punch him. Cilla was not a violent person but she would have loved to see Tavington head snapped back by a good jab to the chin. Did he truly believe she'd ever forget her own accountability? She'd take those deaths - and Old Morgan's - to her grave.

"I am still under your command, Colonel Tavington," James said, voice crisp and sure. "You outrank Major Whymmes. You don't have to ask me for anything. Why are you doing so now?"

_Why not just command me to return? _He was asking.

"I could do so," Tavington admitted. He steepled his fingers. "We parted on… unpleasant terms… enough time has passed that perhaps tempers have cooled. Perhaps not. I'd rather have you return willingly, so that I will know that I can be certain of you."

Unpleasant terms. That was an understatement! Tavington - and Richard - had given James' wife over to the camp women to face punishment, she'd been stripped down to her waist and birched! It was clear by the look on James' face that his temper had most certainly not cooled.

"We are at war," James said. "His Majesty's country is at risk of being overrun by insurgents. This revolt needs to be quashed and those who began it, hung. You can be certain of me, of my Loyalty, to see this matter ended. I will return to the Legion to fill the gap left by Ensign Dalton, until it is done."

_And when it is done, so shall you and I be done._

The unspoken words hung in the air, like smoke rising up to the ceiling. Tavington nodded, as if he'd expected no less.

"I shall have Mr. Davis make up rooms for you and your officers," he said, rising from the desk. "We will stay here one night, weather permitting we shall continue on the morrow. Speak with Quartermaster Sanders to discuss your needs." That was it. Tavington strode out of the chamber, without even thanking James Wilkins for making the decision he had. Richard followed Tavington, though he gave Cilla a slow wink and a quick smile the others did not see, before the door closed behind them. Wilkins had returned to the Legion. Her hand was already reaching for her lap desk sitting on top of her work basket, but she snatched it back again. Old habits died hard, it seemed, but she'd given her word - if only to herself - that she would not go against Richard by spying for her father again. An oath she would not break, no matter how massive the news. Besides, if she reported it to her father, would he then murder James and the others too? She gazed at the men, boys she'd known since she was a small girl. She would not have their blood on her hands too. No. She'd whispered her oath in the dark, to ease her conscience for the spying she'd done already, and she would not break it. She intended to stay out of the war now, as much as she was able. Her only betrayal now was the occasional prayer she sent heavenward, that the Legion and the British would fail. Without too many lives lost, of course.

Brownlow clapped Arthur on the back. "Welcome home," he said it to all of them.

"Yes, well…" James scowled, then he smoothed his expression. Brownlow had never done him a bad turn, after all. "How desperate is the situation really?"

"Let's go for a walk," the Cornet said. "I think we've disturbed Mrs. Bordon's solitude for long enough."

_Nooooo_! She wanted to seize Arthur's arm as he began to file out after the others. Or Michael's or Marcus'. They had news of her friends, they had news of the world outside, and she wanted to know every bit of it! Arthur was the last to leave, he closed the door behind him, she let the request die on her lips. He had more important things to discuss, he could not sit there gossiping with her when he, too, would need to know what their situation was. There was no point in Brownlow telling James, Michael and Marcus, only to have to repeat it all for Arthur later. And she could not be seen to be sitting in the parlour all by herself with a gentleman. Richard certainly wouldn't appreciate it, especially now that he knew about her and Banastre…

Besides, there was always dinner. The men would be much more open to the idea of discussing the weighty issues that Cilla had in mind, when they were relaxed and fed and filled with wine. The clock in the hall chimed four times and Cilla brightened. Only another hour or so and she would know absolutely everything she wished to know, if she had to drag out every single tidbit.


	135. Chapter 135 - The Blackmail of Lt Lyons

Chapter 135 - The Blackmail of Lt. Lyons:

Beth watched as Nancy worked to establish a fire with nothing but wet wood and a prayer. She was struggling to strike a spark with the flint and when she did manage it, the sodden kindling snuffed it. It was not raining but still, Beth shoved her fingers up under her arm pits, wishing for a nice warm cabin right about now. Even those paltry little lean-to's they came upon a few days earlier were better than sitting in the open, freezing cold air. They were so far from civilisation, there hadn't been a proper road in days. No manor houses, no cabins. Finding the camp that Colonel Burwell had established - and quickly abandoned - had been a dream come true. For before he deserted his camp, Burwell had built lean-to's - almost as good as little cabins, which Beth and the Officers of the baggage train had taken over completely. That was days ago now, several days since she'd had a nice warm fire and a roof over her head. Several days since she'd last heard Banastre last, too.

He'd also taken refuge in those lean-to's after Burwell deserted them, but he'd moved out again before Beth and the baggage train caught up; he'd decamped to continue the chase after General Burwell before the baggage train arrived. By the time Beth got there, he was long gone, though he'd left a letter for her in one of the cabins, knowing she would not be far behind and would be occupying one of them soon enough. The letter was in her portmanteaus now, but it was short enough that she knew it word for word. After the usual preliminaries, he'd written, "as certain as the day is long, I now ride toward battle. General Burwell is gathering his forces, but Lord Cornwallis and I shall back him up against the river and put paid to them for once and for all. I will be with you again soon - we have much to discuss." He ended it with promises of undying love and faithfulness, but he never once, not even once, offered her the assurances she needed. That had been several days ago and he had not left another missive, she was no closer to learning if he would support the baby or not. She dropped her chin to her hands, elbows on her knees, and sighed. It was so like him, to give promises in the heat of the moment when his passion was high. He hadn't considered the the gravity of what he was promising, of what he really would be prepared to do, if the child was his or if the child was William's. "I'll raise it either way," he'd sworn it, he'd promised it, because he'd known she'd been worried and he'd wanted to allay her fears.

He wasn't trying to allay her fears now.

She supposed she couldn't blame Banastre for not wanting to raise another man's child, she wouldn't want to raise another woman's. But he'd promised he would, he'd looked her in the eye and told her that he loved her enough to make that sacrifice, if it came to pass that the child was not his own. But he hadn't stop to think about it, to truly consider what the ramifications would befor him, before giving that oath.

It wasn't fair to Banastre, to expect him to keep the vow. She was frustrated that he hadn't stopped to consider the repercussions if the child turned out not to be his… But that was Banastre. Always passionate, always spontaneous, always living in the moment.

"I'll have to tell him, it's me and the baby or it's neither of us," she whispered, for she had no intention of giving up her child to William.

"Sorry, I didn't hear ye, what was that?" Nancy asked.

Beth gave her a derisive look and glanced away. She was not like Banastre, who hardly ever thought beyond the moment. She had to think forward, ahead, to when the child is born. If Banastre stays with her, well, then there wasn't much to consider. They would move to England and continue with that plan. _If he decides it is neither of us, then… what? My father was going to take me to Aunt Charlotte,_ she thought, remembering what Alby Scott told her. _Aunt Charlotte will take me in… She's as ruined as I am. She has money… she can afford to keep us both until papa is out of prison. And then, papa will provide for me. He promised it, didn't he? And he isn't like Ban or William; to his last breath, he keeps his promises. And William will provide for the baby at the very least. If that whore lets him spare a few groats from my inheritance_, she scoffed to herself.

"Mayhap we shouldn't 'ave taken down Mrs. Tavington's tent? We could set it up again," Nancy said to Mrs. Garland, who sat opposite Beth across the fire pit.

"They said we won't be here long enough," Mrs. Garland replied.

"Lord, I'd give me arm to know what's happening." Nancy nodded, looking solemn, worried. Now that Nancy mentioned the battle, Beth felt the same worry gnaw at her - her fear over Banastre rejecting her baby gave way to fear over Banastre himself. The Legion had found Burwell's army, it was said. They would strike first thing in the morning. Well, it was first thing in the morning now, and someplace to the north of them, the Legion might very well be forming up its ranks. Perhaps the first shot had already been fired, it was impossible to know. How many would die? Nancy desperately feared her husband might - just as Beth feared for Banastre. And for Burwell. And for whichever of her family happened to be with him. Gabriel? Thomas? Where were they? Her father was the only one she could be certain was fine - tucked up safe in his prison. Lord, she almost laughed - who would have ever thought she'd ever be grateful that her father had been captured? But it meant that he would be sitting in a nice, comfortable room with all manner of luxuries, rather than about to take a ball to his chest on the field of battle. Gabriel might yet, and Thomas… Who else was with Burwell? Her uncle, Mark? Her brother, Nathan? Would he be considered too young to fight? Thomas had had to wait until he was seventeen. Surely Harry wouldn't put fifteen year old Nathan in the ranks… Gods, this was torture, the not knowing, the waiting, the worrying. Nancy finally had the fire established, she set a kettle over the flames and they were soon surrounded by the scent of meat and gravy. At any other time, it would have been enough to make her stomach rumble but just then, it left her feeling sick.

Time marched on as implacable as the army itself, Beth managed to force herself to eat a few mouthfuls when the stew was warm enough. They were drinking the cider Nancy had warmed, Nancy and Mrs. Garland chatted and Beth refused their attempts to draw her into their conversation. She should send them both away - she didn't need either now that the meal was done and the hot cup of cider was between her fingers, warming them. She opened her mouth to give the order, but Mrs. Garland got in first.

"A post rider," the midwife said, pointing to the horseman trotting through the ranks toward a small tent.

"He might have news of the battle," Beth said, rising. A small crowd was already forming in front of the tent, one man darted out, he bellowed at the converging women and soldiers to get back as he pushed his way past them.

"Going to find Lieutenant Lyons," they heard one soldier explain to the other.

Nancy sniffed as they started to walk toward the group. "It'll take a while."

"Why's that?"

"Lyons is 'tween the sheets with Electa just now."

Beth's lips tightened and she pulled her cape closer around her shoulders. Electa. The woman was still in camp. Beth steeled herself - of _course_ Electa would still be there, where else would she go? She must have been been keeping her distance from Beth it seemed, for Beth hadn't seen her since the night Banastre had tried to bring her to their bed. Well, as long as she continued to keep out of Beth's sight, that was just fine with her. What wasn't just fine, was the sight of Alby Scott, striding through the growing crowd and entering the tent as if he had every right to be there. He caught Beth's eye for a moment, gave her a lopsided grin and s shrug, before the flap fell closed behind him. Of all the damned, bloody stupid fools! She'd told him to leave, by God! Did that mean that Adam Danvers was still there also? With Banastre's force up ahead, the Company minding the baggage was small, how could her father's two spies stay hidden among so few soldiers? What a risk to be taking, what a couple of damned fools.

She came to a stop at the back of the group, waited there for a few moments with Mrs. Garland and Nancy, before wondering what the hell she was doing, staying at the back of the group. She was Mrs. Tavington, wife to a Colonel! Women such as she did not wait behind the ragtag masses. Drawing herself up to her full but inconsiderable height, she began weaving through those milling there, shooting dark looks at any who seemed ready to complain. When she was at the front she found she could go no further, for a soldier stood there barring the way. Beth might have precedence over the rabble, but she had no right to command a soldier with orders.

"Sir," she said as politely as she was able, her lips were blue by now, she was certain of it. Her voice was hoarse and her teeth chattered. "Is there word from Colonel Tarleton?"

"I am not certain of that yet, Mrs. Tavington," the fellow replied, his voice clear in the morning air. "I will be certain to inform you, as soon as I am."

"I thank you," she said, hiding her fingers in the folds of her cape and wishing she had thicker gloves. When she made no move to leave, the soldier hesitated.

"Mrs. Tavington, I vow I will come directly to you, as soon as I have word. For now, wouldn't you be more comfortable sitting by your fire?"

"Yes," she agreed. "But I will stay here and wait all the same, Sir." The fellow looked startled but he nodded, then returned to his sentry duty - standing there with his musket at his side, keeping anyone from entering save those with authority. Mrs. Garland and Nancy had pushed their way through as well, Beth saw when she turned to see who'd jostled her. Nancy looked on the verge of tears.

"No news yet," she whispered, her face pale save for two red blooms of cold on her cheeks. "I don't reckon I can stand much more of this."

"You're a soldiers wife, you have no choice," Beth said, forcing her own worry down. "Battles aren't fought in a minute, Nancy. It takes hours of before the victor is decided, and even longer for word to spread. You need not worry, Colonel Tarleton has never lost a battle."

"Don't mean he ain't ever lost a man though, ain't?" Nancy folded her arms around her chest and huddled in on herself. "Your man'll return sure enough but that don't mean mine will."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Beth bristled, eyes darting to the crowd behind her. What was the girl thinking, saying that? Nancy gave her a startled look, but instead of apologising or becoming chastened, she slid deeper into her fear. As Beth turned away, she saw Mrs. Garland drape her arm across Nancy's shoulders.

"What of these ones? From _FRESH WATER_," an overly loud voice said from inside the tent, seeming to put special emphasis on Fresh Water. Beth was certain it was Alby Scott that'd spoken - and far louder than was necessary. So that she would hear? Almost certainly. Excitement burst through her chest, her heart suddenly began pumping so quickly she almost felt warm.

"Sir, please let me pass," she said, already taking a step forward.

"None may enter without Lieutenant Lyons' leave," the sentry replied apologetically.

_And how the devil did Alby get that, I wonder?_

"Sir, there are letters from my home, I need to -"

"This one is addressed to _MRS. TAVINGTON_," again Alby called those last words out with exaggerated volume, to be certain she heard him.

"I'll take those," another man within the tent said. "I'm to give those directly to Lieutenant Lyons."

"Why in the world would you need to do that?"Beth called out, the thin canvas allowing her voice to be heard from those within. A strange silence seemed to fall inside and Beth called out again. "Sir! I am standing right here! There are letters from my home - addressed to me - you may hand them to me, please."

"Get Lyons." She heard the hushed command, filled with panic. "Now."

Alby darted out of the tent again, as he held up the tent flap - he pretended to trip, trodding on the soldier standing sentry. He still managed to hold the tent flap up, he met Beth's eyes and whispered: "In you get, before they burn these ones too."

Beth gaped, eyes wide, heart thumping. The soldier was cursing and pushing Alby off him, and Beth darted past them both ignoring the sentries cry and attempt to grab her arm over Alby's shoulder. Just like that, she was in the tent. Alby could help no further, not without repercussions, which meant the sentry was hot on her heels.

"I'm sorry, Sir! That soldier was in my way, she slipped by me before I could stop her," he said to his superior, who was nothing but a boy of eighteen years, and only a Corporal at that. He clutched a large wallet to his chest, his face flaming crimson as he stared at Beth.

"She?" Beth said crisply, chiding. "My name is Mrs. Tavington and you will address me as such! Why in the world would you wish to stop me? Those letters are addressed to me," she turned on the young Corporal, who must have purchased his rank recently for he stood gaping at Beth as though he had no idea what he should do. Definitely green to the job. "I've saved you a trip, Sir," she said to the youth, holding her hand out imperiously. "You can give those to me, I'm certain you've more important matters to tend to." Before they burn them. Gods, what did that mean?

"They have to, ah…" he licked his lips, his eyes darting, looking panicked. Beth could see quite clearly that he was trying to think of an excuse to not give them to her. His rank over hers would have been enough for that, but he was too green - too new - to think of it. "They have to be read by Lieutenant Lyons and checked for hidden messages. Spies, you know," he said, sounding _so_ relieved to have caught upon a decent excuse. Her eyes were like two burning orbs in a face gone granite.

"Do explain to me Sir, why you would think for one moment that letters sent from a British held fort, my British held home, letters destined for the wife of a British Colonel, could possibly contain hidden messages meant for rebels? If there is a rebel spy at Fresh Water, why would they send such missives _to me_?" The wife of a British Colonel could hardly be considered a reliable agent to pass along sensitive information to rebels about the British. Of course, she'd done just that in the past, but the Corporal did not know this. "I do hope you are not suggesting that I am a threat, or a spy?" That would be a very dangerous thing to do. Of course, Cornwallis had done precisely that, he did suspect her. But these lower ranking soldiers didn't know that. The Corporal gaped at her, his mouth actually hanging open, she felt he was again striving for another excuse to not give her the letters. Before they were burned… She caught the bottom of the leather packet, he held tight, their eyes locked. "You will give it to me, or you will answer to Colonel Tarleton."

"His orders come from Colonel Tarleton," a woman's voice said behind her and Beth glanced over her shoulder, meeting Nancy's eyes. Briefly, for Nancy lowered hers as if ashamed afraid. The sentry growled under his breath, seizing her arm - another who'd entered without his leave. "He has ta give all yer letters to Lieutenant Lyons, who holds 'em for Colonel Tarleton. I'm sorry for not telling yeh," Nancy whispered as the sentry started to push her outside. "I'm so sorry."

His orders came from Banastre - and Nancy knew of them. Had known all along. Betrayed by camp followers - again. Beth turned her gaze back to the Corporal.

"Those letters are mine, they will be given to me. I am going to speak with Lyons right now," she said in a voice cold as winter. With that, she stormed from the tent. There was no fearing that the Officer would destroy the letters - burn them, as Alby said, for they had to be handed to Lyons first, and Lyons held them for Banastre. Who did what with them? Her blood was boiling, her pulse thudded in her temple. Mrs. Garland and a terrified followed, struggling to keep up. Lyons was with Electa - in her tent, Beth now knew where to find him even if the previously sent soldiers did not. This part of the camp was mostly empty save for a few tents spread out among the trees. She could hear Lyons before she reached the tent, his heavy panting and grunted pleas. The flap was tied shut from the inside, Beth made short work of that by sliding a small knife all the way up the slit, cutting through the knotted bows. She shoved the flap aside and was assaulted by the stench of sweat and stale whiskey, and by the sight of the two lovers - naked - writhing on the thin blanket on the ground. Lyons's bare rump rose and fell, his eyes were squeezed shut, he was so lost to his orgasm that he had no idea that he had unwanted company. Beth sneered, repulsed by the sight. "Sir, a word if you will?"

Lyons yelped like a kicked dog. Panting he grabbed a blanket and hauled it over himself, though it didn't save Beth the sight of his phallus - squirting with the seed of his orgasm - as it was pulled from Electa's quim. Beth took a ginger step back as a jet of sperm shot toward her and landed on the ground just where her feet had been.

"What the devil is this?" Lyons shouted, his pudgy face turning red with rage. "Get the hell out of here!"

"I beg your pardon?" Beth towered over the Lieutenant as he huddled there on the ground. Who did he think he was speaking to? Lyons seemed to ask himself that same question. He struggled to contain himself, even as he finally - _finally_! - managed to cover his nudity with the thin blanket. His tone was vastly mollified when he answered.

"I beg yours. What can I do for you, Mrs. Tavington?" He asked, looking absurd as he asked with such a polite tone while being in such a compromising position.

"Much better," Beth said. Electa sat up. The black haired woman stretched, her taut breasts rising with her, and she gave Beth a lopsided, saucy smile. Beth struggled, deciding at the last moment _not_ to slap her. To Lyons, she said, "you will tell me precisely how many of my letters you have handed to Colonel Tarleton instead of to me."

Lyons gaped, his jaw dropping. He snapped his mouth shut. Too late, she saw the truth on his face, not that she'd doubted it.

"I'm sure I do not know what you mean," he began, only to fall silent when Beth held up her hand. It was an imperious, demanding gesture, but one _he_ \- a _Lieutenant_ \- had no obligation to obey. Still, he shut up at her behest; naked as he was - his blanket his only defence - she had the upper hand.

"Sir, if you do not tell me the truth, this very moment, then as soon as Colonel Tarleton returns I shall tell him that you got yourself soused, when he expressly _forbade all drinking_," she pointed at the empty bottle, then studied his face, his bleary, red shot eyes. His features crinkled with worry. "Further to that, I shall inform the Colonel that two soldiers have been sent to find you, but they are bound to be unsuccessful, for you've been lolling about with Electa all morning. Your men have need of you and you've made yourself inaccessible. I assure you, he shall not be pleased," she warned.

"He will not be pleased if I answer you honestly, either," he spat.

"Choose your battles, Sir," Beth advised, voice cold. "You _will_ tell me how many letters have been kept from me. However, if you fear repercussions, I shall allay your fears by promising not to inform Colonel Tarleton where I got my information from. As long as Electa and Nancy can keep their mouths shut, the Colonel need never learn that you spoke a word." Lyons seemed to think they were trustworthy enough, for he decided to answer her.

"Too many to count," he replied, astonishing Beth. "You've been with us three months, my lady, and in that time… too many to count," he shrugged his bare shoulders.

"From whom?" She gasped. "Did you see their names?"

"God, I can't remember them all… Colonel Tavington has sent… uh… six, I believe. Every fortnight, one arrives from him. You received the very first of those, I believe. Then there's those from Mrs. Farshaw, Mrs. Bordon, Miss ah - Wilson?"

"Wilkins?" Beth felt like weeping, the fight draining from her as she became overwhelmed. William had written to her. Cilla had also. All of them had, and there was another packet, another to be held back from her.

"Ah, yes, perhaps that was it. There were others - I don't remember."

"And you gave them all to Colonel Tarleton?" She asked, trying to hold back the tears. "Did he ever explain why?"

"I just follow my commands, Madam."

"He reads my correspondence? And then hands them back to you to be burned?"

Lyons was nodding, but at this last he shook his head. "No, madam. He does the burning."

"Dear God," she bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut. The hand laid on her shoulder was meant to offer sympathy and comfort but Beth shrugged it away and spat, "don't you touch me," at Nancy, who recoiled, then burst into tears.

"Hey! You made her cry!" Mrs. Garland frowned, disapproving.

Fury lanced through her, Beth glared at Mrs. Garland, ignored Nancy's tears, and turned to Lyons. "Pray tell me, Sir. How _fat_ where the letters my husband sent?"

"Fat?" Lyons asked, looking confused.

That first one from William - the only one she'd received though now she understood he'd sent more, he'd sent with it a nice fat, heavy purse and wallet. She recalled now how Banastre had proceeded to take money that was meant for her, he used it to pay back his debts without even asking her if he could, until she put an abrupt stop to it. And now six more had arrived? William would not be writing her love letters - he would have been sending the stipend he'd promised. "Did Colonel Tarleton confiscate my money?"

"I do not know what he did with it after I gave it to him," Lyons shrugged.

"Then you admit it - my husband sent me money!"

"Yes, madam," Lyons said. His face was turning a little green, as though he might throw up. She wondered if he regretted allowing her to blackmail him. Surely being found out for getting drunk and whoring while on duty would be much more preferable than being found out for revealing things he shouldn't to Banastre's mistress? Which would give him the greater punishment?

"Oh, you're not going to have a lovers quarrel, are you?" Electa stretched again, arms overhead, arching her back, her breasts rode high and free, pure satisfaction on her face. Beth wouldn't have been surprised if she began to purr. At first, Beth thought Electa was hoping that Beth _would_ fight with Banastre so Electa could have him all to herself again. But then as she began to dress, Electa said, "you and I could slip away… If you need someone to talk to, I mean. We could go someplace quiet…" she smiled, alluring, winding a lock of black hair around her finger. Banastre had told Beth since that night, how Electa had been disappointed at being sent away - not only because she didn't get to sport with Banastre, but because she hadn't been able to sport with Beth.

"Worse than Phoebe," Beth muttered. To Lyons, she said, "a packet has arrived for me today. I will have it, Sir. You will give me permission to take it."

"Madam, I will do no such thing -"

"I will tell him! You needn't think I won't!" She shouted, her voice so loud, Nancy winced and threw her hands over her ears. "Whiskey! When he expressly commanded that no one touch a drop! Whoring, when you should be at your post! Your men are looking for you yet you're in here rutting with Electa! It is inexcusable! Any hope you harbour for advancement will be shot! Colonel Tarleton will have you strung up -"

"He'll string me up for this anyway!" Lyons shouted back.

"You're in too far already, you've revealed as much as I need. I don't care what the Colonel commanded of you, those letters are mine and I _will_ have them, Sir. Now!" Beth was standing over him, right over him, her nose in his face.

"Damn and blast it, he's going to have my head as it is!" Lyons lurched to his feet, he wrapped the blanket around his waist, thank the Gods. That was a sight Beth had no desire to see again. Lyons stumbled across the tent - it was only small, he did not have far to go. Still, he stumbled and weaved and nearly fell, nearly dropped the blanket, too. He was utterly soused. He pulled a satchel from under the small table and flipped it open. "Here, take it," he spat after writing on a piece of paper, giving his permission for the letters to be given to her. "My death sentence, you damned shrew! Who told you about the letters?" He glared past her at Nancy.

"Nobody needed to tell me; I heard your Corporal speaking of them while I was waiting outside the tent. I guess he forgot how thin tent walls are," with that she strode out of the tent and - ignoring Mrs. Garland and Nancy following her - returned to the post tent, where she retrieved her letters from an astonished Corporal. How long before she could confront Banastre? Days, perhaps. Dear God above, that was too long. She felt like mounting Shadow Dancer then and there and chasing the bastard down. And then? What then? What did this mean for them?

Later, she told herself. Those decisions were too daunting to face now. With her packet in her hand, she marched back to her fire and gave Nancy a silencing glare. Mrs. Garland was panting, having been forced to run about the camp after Beth. Beth perched on a log, the packet in her hands. A small strip of parchment was attached to the wallet and in cursive writing "_Mrs. Elizabeth Tavington"_ was written quite clearly, by whomever complied the letters for back at Fresh Water. There were three in this packet, she saw William's handwriting, and then Harmony's, which was every bit as unwelcome. Still, her heart twisted at seeing both. But the third was Cilla's - finally, a letter from Cilla! Deciding to save the best for last, she opened William's first.

It contained a bank note worth thirty pounds. The letter itself was addressed to her, her name written in the top left corner. Apart from that, all he wrote was, _"You will find enclosed your fortnightly stipend. As I have not heard from you, I shall assume that the sum is sufficient to your needs. If it is not, I shall increase it. Colonel Tav. Etc". _No endearments, all of this took up one line on the page. Fortnightly stipend, the amount of which would not have have changed since the first letter Banastre confiscated, for she hadn't written to William to ask for more. He'd been sending this exact amount every two weeks.

And Banastre had been keeping it. This latest letter would be the sixth from William. Banastre was _stealing_ from her! Her fingers trembled - with rage, fury, heart break, she knew not what. She needed good news, something to help calm her, and so decided not to leave Cilla's for last. Setting aside the money, she opened Cilla's long awaited letter. And immediately deduced from the opening line, that while this was the first to reach Beth, it was certainly not the first one Cilla had sent.

Shockingly, Electa wafted over and, ignoring Beth's glare, she took a seat across from Nancy, who was looking quite miserable. Before Beth could dismiss Electa, Mrs. Garland said, "what do they say? Not bad news, I hope."

"It's definitely bad news." _Everything about this is bad news_. How dare he? Keeping back her letters, stealing from her! It was all bad news, alright. "But not from home," Beth spat, turning her attention to Cilla's letter. Was there any point sending Electa away? She already knew enough. It was so cold and Electa didn't have a cape - if she didn't stay by the fire she might take sick. Beth heaved a furious breath, uncertain why she cared. She should be sending Nancy away too, the damned little traitor. Instead, she concentrated on her letter, the question still niggling at her. Why would Banastre keep _Cilla's_ letters back from her? When he _knew_ how desperately she yearned for a single word! The women began to talk quietly among themselves, Mrs. Garland soothing 'poor Nancy', who wept quietly. Trying to shut them from her mind, Beth began to read.

* * *

Lieutenant Lyons, fully dressed and almost in command of himself, came striding toward the small group of women. Beth stared unblinking as he approached, barely registering him _or_ the fury on his face. The other women saw it, they huddled together, frightened of a scolding or worse. The view of him swam before her, tears making her vision blurred. He was glaring but that seemed to ease when he saw her distress. Still, he came to them on a mission and that mission would not be set aside.

"Ladies," he said, voice hard, there was no slurring now. "Upon considering our… dilemma, I have decided that we shall tell Colonel Tarleton that when the post rider arrived today, the camp began to gather at the post tent. Mrs. Tavington heard her name being discussed, and was let inside. Mrs. Tavington saw her own packet at the top of the pile. Not thinking that she needed to ask permission to take her own letters, she picked the packet up and departed the tent. The Corporal had his back to the door, he did not see what happened until after it happened. There is no need for you to get into trouble, Nancy," he fixed her with a glare that left no room for doubt - the Corporal had revealed to Lyons what Nancy had said in the tent. "If you adhere to this, you will not get whipped or sent from the camp."

Nancy drew a shuddering breath.

"And nor will you," Beth said, feeling wrung out like a dish rag. She met his gaze. "If we stick to this story, you save your own skin; please do not pretend that you have gone to these lengths for anyone but yourself."

"You got your letters," he shot back. "What do you care if we hide behind a white lie or two? Or would you rather I be whipped?"

"You can go to hell, for all I care. You and Colonel Tarleton both."

"Oh. Well. Ahem… Very well," he nodded curtly, not seeming to know what else to do, then turned on his heel and strode away.

Beth felt the weight of the other women's eyes on her, she couldn't even drum up anger for Nancy, not now that she knew the truth. She bowed her head, unable to look at the others; ashamed of the way she'd treated the camp followers in Banastre's camp. The camp followers back at Fresh Water never betrayed her, yet Nancy had taken the brunt of her frustration and anger, just the same. Miss Cordell should have told her that Linda Stokes was boasting about having an affair, but Beth could understand now what a difficult position Miss Cordell had been placed in. There was so much she would need to apologise for, starting with Mrs. Garland and Nancy. Nevertheless, the shame she felt so acutely was nothing compared to her anguish. William had tried to tell her, he'd tried to explain, and she'd screamed at him, railed like mad thing, humiliating herself and him.

She wrapped her arms around herself, fingernails driving into her flesh as she began to rock back and forth. William had been faithful all along, she'd been too deranged to let him tell his side. Deranged enough to flee him entirely - with another man. A sob burst from her lips, she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, feeling as out of control as she had that day, when she'd looked William in the eye and told him she would slash his throat in his sleep, that she'd never take him back even if he begged. She'd called him 'Betrayer', refusing to believe otherwise.

But he never had. And Banastre had known it almost from the start.

Banastre was the Betrayer.

William was the Innocent.

Dear God, he'd taken his belt to her, flogged her so she could barely sit for the agony, but he was still the Innocent. And she the one to blame. She wrapped her arms around herself again and this time, Mrs. Garland saw what she was doing, the pinching and digging into her flesh with her fingernails, the damage she was causing herself under the layers of her clothes. Her wrists were seized and Mrs. Garland's vision swam before her.

"Stop it, you're hurting yourself."

"I'm so sorry," Beth whispered, for all of it - her treatment of Mrs. Garland who'd never done a thing wrong. Her treatment of Nancy, the other women. Miss Cordell, Mrs. Andrews.

"Just breathe." The voice was familiar, Mrs. Garland, but it sounded far, far away. "Take a breath, then another." But Beth could barely concentrate, all she could think about was the people she'd hurt. Richard. Oh, Gods _Harmony_! And William… Dear God, William. "No, no more of that," Mrs. Garland's voice was firm when Beth snatched her hands away to drive fingernails into flesh. Thwarted, she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip with a groan, tasting blood. "Jesus, this is madness, _'I think I might need to slap her,'_ she heard Mrs. Garland say, followed by Nancy's cry of protest.

Madness. She was deranged - she felt it all over again. The last time she'd been this out of control, she'd fled from her husband with Banastre, dishonouring them both, destroying their lives. She could not allow herself to become so unhinged, not when she was capable of doing so much damage to herself and those she loved. Who would suffer for her this time? Her baby? She pulled her teeth out of the cut and gently sucked at the blood, and concentrated on her breathing as Mrs. Garland instructed. It did not lessen the pain, the grief, remorse, disgust at herself - not by far. It was all there, every bit as strong as before. But Mrs. Garland noticed and she lowered her raised hand - she _had_ been about to slap her. Then she pulled Beth against her chest and cradled her, patting her back as she would a child and whispering "there, there, cry it out."

It'd take an ocean to cry this out - an ocean and every lake and river in the Colonies. But Beth did what she had not done in months - she surrendered gave in to the comfort offered by a camp follower, someone she knew now that she could trust above all others; surrendering completely, letting the other woman's strong arms and rocking soothe. A hand on her back - Nancy's, she knew. She wished she could keep her eyes closed forever, wished she never had to face either woman again. The way she'd treated them, and still they came to her in her need, offering comfort. stood by her. She slumped in Mrs. Garland's arms, strength draining from her muscles like water.

"She'll tell us what is wrong when she calms," Mrs. Garland said to Nancy. Beth, hearing her, knew she'd never have the words. She handed Mrs. Garland the letter, but stayed otherwise still, in the woman's arms. Though startled, Mrs. Garland began to read. The woman needed to know, she was her midwife, she needed to know what Beth was going through - even in her current state, Beth understood that distress like this could harm her baby.

"What does this mean?" Mrs. Garland asked after a time. "Did you think your husband had an affair?"

"Yes," Beth whispered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. She made no move to leave the circle of Mrs. Garland's arms as she began to explain, the pain of it making her voice thin. She told them all of it, forgetting entirely that Electa was there as well, listening. It took a while. "I never would have believed otherwise, not even coming from Cilla," she said weakly. "I would have thought they'd tricked her into believing them, somehow. But she says -"

"She overheard the two women talking - Mrs. Farshaw and Mrs. Cox?" Mrs. Garland said and when Beth nodded, she continued, "when neither of them could know that she was there, listening. And she heard Mrs. Cox admit to everything. Well…" Mrs. Garland trailed off, not seeming to know what to say.

"I've been awful to you," Beth forced herself to say. It was never an easy thing to do - admitting fault. But she found the strength to do so, somehow, from somewhere. Some hidden core, a very small reserve that she tapped into now. "All of you. Especially you, Nancy -" she met the younger girls eyes and her own welled up, her voice a wretched sob.

"Don't," Nancy was on her knees and throwing her arms around Beth, "don't, because then I'll cry and then -" what would happen then, Beth never learned for Nancy did begin to sob. Weeping - as contagious as yawning. When one started…

"Well, you've been quite interesting to live with, I'll give you that," Mrs. Garland said, rubbing Beth's back while Nancy and Beth embraced. "I'm well pleased all that hoity-toity behaviour is at an end. It is at an end, isn't it?"

"Yes," Beth whispered softly, hanging her head.

"Well, I'll just be glad to have that over and done, there's no need for you punish yourself over it. It'll be a fine thing, getting to know the true you, I think."

"I don't think… I'll be here long enough," she met Mrs. Garland's eyes. "I can't stay here. I have to leave."

"Yes, you do," Mrs. Garland said gravely. She said slowly, softly, as if reluctant to deliver this blow yet determined to do so. "You need to return to your husband."

"No," Beth shook her head. "Never that. He… He swore he'd never… Take me back. Even if I begged… on bended knee. I always wondered why he'd think I'd ever do that - but now I understand. He knew he was innocent, he knew that one day I'd realise it too -" a sob welled up in her throat, choking off her words. "I can't… Go back to him. I'll go to my Aunties. They'll take me in. They'll welcome me."

"And your husband won't?"

"After three months disgracing him with Banastre?" Beth said, voice thin and high, self-recriminating. "After lying to him about my virginity?" She shook her head. "He'll never take me back and I don't think I want to return there. He beat me. I'm certain there are some people who'd say I deserved it, but he beat me with his belt and I could barely walk after and it was agony to sit. It wasn't the first time he'd raised his hand to me, either, though in truth, I've struck him, too. I just… I can't go back to him, regardless of who was wrong or who was right. We've done too much harm to one another."

"Well, perhaps it's not something that needs to be considered now - you don't need to decide upon it immediately."

"It is over," Beth shook her head stubbornly. "But now it has to end with Banastre, too. I can't stay here."

"He kept these letters… after reading them. He knew your husband never strayed," Mrs. Garland cut to the heart of it.

""If that was all he'd done, I still wouldn't be able to forgive him. But he stole from me. The money my husband sent, my stipend, which comes from my inheritance," she drew back from Nancy, all three women sat on the ground now, Electa watching from her perch on the log. Beth pointed at the note William had sent. "He's been sending me those every fortnight. Banastre has been burning the letters and keeping my money."

All three women looked horrified.

"Maybe… Maybe he burned the bank notes, too?" Nancy asked and Beth barked a short laugh.

"He owes money left, right and centre. The very first stipend William sent to me, Banastre tried to use to pay his debts, until I stopped him. He would never destroy money," Beth shook her head.

"There's something else," Electa said. Beth glanced at the woman - at least she was still deserving of Beth's malice, wasn't she? Beth sighed; no, not even Electa deserved to be treated poorly… "And he bedded me, after bringing you here," Electa admitted. Beth's jaw dropped, she met the woman's eyes again. Perhaps she did deserve Beth's malice, after all! "That night, when he… well, you know. Invited me to… dine with you..?"

"Dine?" Beth lifted her chin.

"Yes, well," Electa coughed, embarrassed. "Let's call it that, yes? Anyway, when he -"

"Escorted you back to the tent," Beth finished, heaving a sigh as she slapped her hand to her forehead. "How could I be so stupid?"

"And a few times since…" Electa said. "You two haven't been getting along all that well, lately. He told me you won't read to him anymore, whatever that means. I would have thought you'd be more interested in doing other things than reading…"

The book - the damned book - was still buried in her portmanteaus, it hadn't seen the light of day for days now. How often had he gone to Electa with his complaints?

"Lord I don't know what's worse, his infidelity or that he would complain to you about me! He's a damned prick," Beth sighed again. "I wish I could be angry, I truly do. I hate feeling like this - regret and grief and disgust; anger is so much easier!" Her voice broke.

"Which is why men always embrace it. But women should strive to look deeper," Mrs. Garland said. "To face our wrong doings head on, to admit when we've behaved poorly."

"Oh gods, I have that," Beth said emphatically. "How could I be so stupid?" Biting her lip - not as hard as before, but it stung all the same - she said, "I've hurt so - many - people. Harmony. Richard. My father. Mrs. Andrews. Miss Cordell. William." She closed her eyes, then said, "you two, and the other women…"

"Well, forgiveness has to start somewhere," Mrs. Garland said. "It shall begin with us. What say you, Nancy?"

"Of course!" Impulsive, was Nancy; but Beth was grateful for it now. "I'm sure the others will, too."

"I don't think I can face them," Beth said quietly, suddenly daunted by the other women she'd treated so poorly, whether it was by lording it over them or outright ignoring them. She'd made no effort to be even slightly likeable. "I will apologise, but…"

"Yes, I believe you owe them that much," Mrs. Garland said. "They're not monsters, they won't make it hard on you." Beth nodded.

"I should reply to Cilla," she said woodenly. "Now, while we're stopped for a time. I might not get another chance and she needs to know I finally received her letter. I have to write to Harmony as well, and…"

"Your husband?"

Beth shook her head in the negative. Mrs. Garland looked resigned, and disapproving.

"I'll let Cilla know I'm going to Gullah to live with my aunties."

"How will you get there?" Nancy asked. "Is it far?"

"Hundreds of miles from here. I don't know how yet, but I know for sure that I can't stay here. Will someone help me up? My legs feel so weak…" Mrs. Garland and Nancy both rose, offering their hands to Beth to help her to her feet. Beth took a tentative step, realised that there was strength left in her body after all. She could walk, albeit slowly. "I'll need my lap desk -"

"I'll get it -"

"Nancy, you're not my maid anymore," Beth said, hoping to bridge the gap between them a little. Nancy didn't have to be her servant anymore; but if Beth thought this would make the girl happy, she was wrong.

"You don't want me?" Nancy asked in a small voice.

"No - I didn't mean..! It'd just… You don't have to jump every time I say 'how high', not anymore. We can work _together_, instead. You don't have to be my maid."

"Oh," Nancy hung her head, the toe of her shoe digging in the dirt.

"I think Mrs. Tavington is trying to say that she'd like to be _friends_, Nancy," Mrs. Garland said and Nancy's head came up, her large eyes wider than normal.

"Truly?"

"Unless you enjoy emptying her chamber pot," Electa said. "You can be my maid, if you'd like."

"Shut it, Electa," Beth said without taking her eyes off Nancy. She held her arms out again and the two stepped into the embrace, sealing the beginning of a friendship. Nancy was fair beaming as they turned toward the baggage train, where Beth's portmanteaus, lap desk and other belongs were stored. The three women walked slowly, arm in arm, with Electa following behind. Beth wasn't certain where the doxy fit in, she would never take the other woman to her bed as Electa and Banastre had wanted, but no longer could she find it within herself to be contemptuous of her. Beth was no better, after all.

After all this time, she was back to this - hitting rock bottom and discovering she was no better than anyone else. It was a good thing - Gods, she'd been acting like Emily Wilkins, for a while there. No wonder the other women despised her. Thinking of William, she reeled, and was grateful for the two arms around her waist. She felt very much as she had the day her mother had died, tears never far from the surface, always threatening to spill over, the remotest thought setting her off. She did not have long to think on William - which was good for it hurt so damned much - for cries sounded throughout the camp as soldiers began to straggle in. The women stopped dead in their tracks, staring at the men. Some stumbling on exhausted legs, some running as if for the lives - into the camp. Lieutenant Lyons - appearing somewhat sober now - strode across the camp to meet them. Women ran forward, calling out for news of a loved one, one fell to her knees when she was informed that her husband was dead. Dread overrode all else, Beth met Nancy's eyes, and then Mrs. Garland's, as word began to spread of the terrible defeat the Legion had suffered.

Defeat.

Beth swayed.

It couldn't be true - Banastre had never lost a battle in his life.

Then again, he'd never come up against General Burwell.

"It was a slaughter," she heard one man yell as he threw his arms wide, blood smearing his fury filled face. "He marched us night and day, we didn't stop once - I haven't eaten in two days and yet he sends us in, exhausted - to be slaughtered! For his pride!" He spat a great globule onto the ground. "That, for Colonel Tarleton, may the devil take him!"

"Soldier, you'll be whipped for treason!" Lyons bellowed.

"Then you'll have to whip us all!" The fellow yelled back. More men poured into the camp, Redcoats smeared with mud and blood. So many men, they soon outnumbered Lyons' Company and there were still more coming.

"Burwell won't be far behind us!" One man said with urgency to his companion as they passed Beth and the other women. "I ain't staying here to be butchered, I'm going home!"

"You'd desert?" Beth gasped, stunned. The fellow didn't hear her, he pressed onward toward the wagons.

"Exhausted, I tell you!" The other soldier was still yelling at Lyons, as the company began to form up behind the Lieutenant. The soldier was not alone, however - ten, twenty, soon thirty men came to stand behind him. "Day and damned night! Two days since we ran out of food. He pushed and pushed, then sent us in to battle without stopping for so much as a sip of water! They'd scatter, he said. They always scatter, the militia. Only this time, they didn't, did they?" The man stood right up to a silent Lyons, face to face, nose to nose. "This time, they fucking held their line! One shot, then another. Those retreated, making us think we had the day and that stupid little pup as calls himself Colonel screams in for us to charge! Only there was another line, wasn't there? We couldn't see them 'till we was right on top of them. And behind that lot was the damned Continentals - Dragoons and all! Tarleton charged us straight into hell! I don't even know how many died - how many were captured! That for Tarleton," he spat again and shoved past Lyons, who made to grab him only to be thwarted by the men coming up behind. They looked like rabble, even in the British uniform, and they were starting to act like it. They pushed forward, shoving past Lyons and the small Company and headed straight for the wagons.

"They're plundering," Mrs. Garland whispered, watching as the disgruntled soldiers began to throw down what they could from the wagons. Several of the more enterprising among them leapt into the drivers seats and began clucking at horses to lead the caravans away. Beth saw her own portmanteaus thrown over the side and a fellow tore it open, which is when she discovered she had strength left in her after all. Hiking up her skirts, she ran toward the fellow, though Alby Scott and Adam Danvers got there first. She arrived to hear Alby say "you might want to move on to easier pickings, friend," with his musket levelled at the fellow's face. The deserter raised his hands then began to back away. Beth stopped at Alby's side, panting for air from the hard run. Adam was kneeling, picking up her clothes and shoving them back into the chest. He picked up the book - damned Fanny Hill - and he shoved it back into the chest. She wiped sweat from her brow, relieved he didn't read the title.

It was chaos, absolute mayhem. Beth looked all around her, watching as Lyons tried to gain control, failing miserably. Those ransacking were making short work of the wagons, throwing things down while yet others simply began driving them away. Mayhem. So much could disappear in such chaos - people, horses… She turned to Alby.

"It's time for us to go," she said slowly, feeling the weight of her decision settle on her shoulders, at the same time that relief lightened it. Very strange sensation, that. He gaped at her, Adam lurched to his feet, stunned. Looking at the madness, she said, "now is the time. There's no way Lyons could chase you down with so many others deserting. If you have anything valuable among your belongings, I suggest you fetch it quickly."

"All I need is this," Alby said, nodding toward his musket. "You said _us_… You're coming, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said. "We'll leave this if we have to," she kicked the chest. "We can't carry it, but if you can give me enough time to get a few things from it." She wouldn't leave her diary there, or her money, a few clothes. The rest suddenly didn't matter anymore, even though she'd ran quickly enough to save it from that thief a few moments ago. She stared across the camp, picking out the camp followers. Nancy was there, talking to a soldier. She had her arms wrapped around her body and was crying for some reason - Mrs. Garland was seeing to her, while Electa stood there looking confused, uncertain. She owed them apologies, every single last camp follower. Well, except for Electa, perhaps. But it was now or never - she could get Alby and Adam out now, during the confusion, their chance of being caught and hung for desertion was quite small. And she could get out, as well. Should she leave Banastre a letter? She quickly decided that he would learn why she left soon enough. Lyons would tell Banastre that she'd taken possession of her letters, and Banastre would know that she knew everything. She looked over the camp followers - again with regret, she was leaving without apologising, without trying to make amends. But if she didn't leave now, would she be able to, later? They could slip away easily in this chaos now but when Banastre returned, she doubted very much that he'd simply let her go. "I'll pack as much as I can carry. Will you go and get Shadow Dancer for me?" She asked, adding. "And Thunder. I will allow Banastre to use Thunder as a trophy no longer." Alby gave her an odd look, then told Adam to stay and protect her while he left to get the horses. Beth knelt by her chest, pulled free one of her capes to use as a carry bag. She spread it out then began placing her chosen belongings in the centre. When she was done, she tied the corners, then stood back with Adam - who took his charge to protect her quite seriously as they settled in to wait for Alby.


	136. Chapter 136 - Tarleton's First Defeat

Chapter 136 - Tarleton's First Defeat:

Beth stood by Adam Danvers side, her hold on the rifle tightening. Adam had handed her the firelock earlier and the two held their position, making the marauding Loyalists think twice about stealing from them. There was no time for talk, they kept their firearms level, keenly watching for any marauders tempted enough to close on them.

She was not speaking, but Gods, her thoughts raged. _…and he kept my father's letters from me. I told myself he did it to protect me_, Beth was thinking as she stared with a narrowed gaze at the militiamen raiding the wagons. _So that I wouldn't find out the truth, more like. Papa held William for a week, Mr. Scott said. Long enough for William to have told him everything._ William would have revealed his side of the story, for certain. He would have told her father that he was faithful and her father would have said as much in his letters. That was the reason Banastre kept them from her. Protection had nothing to do with it. Gods, if William told him that - and it was damned likely he did - did he also tell her father that she bedded Banastre before marrying him? Her fingers loosened on the firearm and her legs felt suddenly weak. Did he tell her father she had bedded Banastre in his own home? Dear God.

"Stay back!" Danvers shouted and Beth whirled in his direction, aiming the musket again. Two Loyalists raised their hands and backed away slowly, before turning and running back to the easier loot on the unprotected wagons.

Had William revealed all this to her father? And if he had, was it before, or after her father had whipped William's back raw for taking his belt to Beth? She cringed, imagining William strung up, bare chested, arms spread wide and tied off at the wrist, while Beth's father and her brothers took their turns, the whip digging into William's flesh again and again and…

She swallowed hard and steeled her spine, reminding herself that William was no innocent. He'd her her down across the bed, his belt striking into her bare flesh with all the strength in his arm, again and again and… It'd been a fire of agony, what he did to her. It made her feel sick to her stomach that her father might know she had given herself to Banastre being marrying William. But William himself… He had treated her so poorly from the very beginning, he had very little right to his anger. She would not consider William's part in this, not now.

Banastre hadn't kept her father's letters back to save her feelings - Lord, how stupid had she been to think that? - he'd done so because those letters would have contained the truth.

Banastre had kept the truth from her for the same reason she had kept the truth from William. Out of fear. She'd been terrified that William would leave her for once and for all, if he knew she had lost her virginity to Banastre. And Banastre had feared that she would leave him for once and for all, if she knew that William had never been unfaithful.

Beth's fear had proved warranted; William had shed himself of her - but not before beating her! - as soon as he discovered it. Was Banastre's fear warranted, too?

What would she have done, had she known earlier? Some of her anger began to ebb, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and pondered. The first whisperings of her father's close proximity to the army began a few weeks after her arrival to the camp. She imagined what she would have done if Banastre had sat her down then and handed the first letter to her, imagined what she would have done if he'd _given her the choice_. She examined the facts as she knew them now; William was never unfaithful. But he did beat her… And here was her father, offering to take her to Gullah; to her Aunties, away from William but also away from a life of vice and debauchery with Banastre.

Would she have accepted?

Would she have left Banastre; to save her reputation, to protect her father's? Had she been thinking clearly enough back to have made the right choice?

She wasn't certain. But it didn't matter because Banastre _hadn't_ even given that choice to her. He'd allowed her to live in ignorance, he'd let her slip into a life of depravity and shame.

_You're not without fault_, she reminded herself. As she was contemplating what her actions would have been, had Banastre sat her down and given her the choice, she was forced to contemplate what William's might have been, had she done the same. If she had told him when they entered Mr. Higgins Cooper shot. Before they ever went upstairs to couple. There had been time, though she was only willing to admit that now. The truth was, she could have stopped him. A simple _"I have something I need to tell you, something you will not like," _would have been enough. He would have listened.

And he would have walked out, filled with wrath and bitterness, and he might never have looked back at her. Fearing that, she had said nothing, she hadn't given him a choice, either. Perhaps, she thought, she would write to him. Apologise for that, if only for herself. There was no future for them, not after all that had happened, but it might help her find some peace, if she apologised.

And a simple "_I have something I need to tell you, something you will not like,"_ from Banastre would have made all the difference to her, also. Perhaps she might not have accepted her father's offer of help the first time, but by the fourth or fifth letter, of him pleading to her to come away with him, hearing his voice in her head as she read the words… He would have worn her down.

She'd always wanted to do right, to be good. Her father would have reached her eventually, had Banastre allowed it. Banastre had known the truth from that first letter and instead of revealing it and freeing her to make her own choices, he'd held it all back, because he'd been terrified that he might lose her. And never mind what it had been doing to her soul, this downward, out of control spiral the pair had been on, both of them drowning in a life of abandonment.

"Never again," she whispered fiercely; she braced herself against what was now in the past. There was nothing she could do to change one minute of it now, but from this point forward, dear sweet God, her sinful life was at an end. Never again would she be so depraved, she would never embrace such debauchery. She was determined to live a Christian life, and perhaps then her child, her beautiful, wonderful, innocent child, would not be shadowed by her sins, should they become exposed.

She could not blame Banastre - not entirely. There must have been something acutely wrong with her own moral compass to let herself fall so far, so quickly. She should never have left with Banastre, even with believing William to be unfaithful. When she left Fresh Water that day, she should have headed for Gullah, at least then she would not have to deal with this bone deep shame, this absolute disgust in herself.

Her fault.

Banastre should have told her the truth as soon as he learned it, but if her sins were exposed and she fell because of them, it would be her own fault, she was her own undoing. Never again, she thought as she stood there waiting for Alby Scott; never would she debase herself so utterly, ever again. From this point forward, she would live a decent, clean life - if only for herself. For her child. For her father.

Gods, the anguish she must have caused her father.

Something twisted deep in Beth's heart, the shame of knowing that her father _knew_. She needed to leave, needed to take herself away to a place she was not doing damage to herself and to her family. To Aunt Charlotte, to Aunt Mage, the two people in the world who would welcome her without contempt, shame, disdain. For they had both done things, things no Christian could ever approve of.

Her Aunts were the key to Beth's future. Perhaps not Aunt Mage so much - she might want to return to a public life when all was said and done. Aunt Charlotte though - she would not wish to live a public life any more than Beth did.

All she and Charlotte needed was a small cabin somewhere, someplace out of the way. Near to a small settlement, where they could send a servant to trade for any goods they needed, but not so close as to offend their neighbours. They could subsist well enough on their own, if they kept their expenses low. William would pay his stipend - she could increase the amount, if she needed. He wasn't spending her inheritance on Linda, what a fool she'd been to accuse him so. Her father would likely help financially as well, he would not want either of them to sicken or starve, alone, cast off in the woods. When the time came, she could send her child - whether it be a boy or a girl - to school in the city. Despite Beth's fall, the child would still have some measure of standing - and for a good name, he could use his grandfather's.

"What the devil is taking so long?" Adam Danvers cut into her thoughts and they both peered around, trying to spot Alby Scott. Lyons was finally putting up a defense against the marauders, but he couldn't hold for long - his Company was too small - the deserters too many and too determined. They were continuing to ransack and more newcomers were flooding in to join the ransacking, they were trying to get past Lyons to the spoils. Any who ventured too near to Beth and Adam with the idea of plunder on their minds soon changed them when Adam and Beth showed them the end of their rifles. Though she was safe enough for the time being, soon, there'd soon be nothing left of the baggage train, therefore the chaos itself would die down as the marauders began to flee and her chance of leaving without being noticed would quickly disappear.

"Maybe we should make for the woods now, before all this starts to thin out?" Beth asked Adam. "While they're too distracted to notice? We can wait within the trees."

"Mr. Scott won't be able to find us if we move our position, not with all this," he jutted his chin in disgust at the mayhem raging before them. Again, he hoisted his rifle when a soldier broke away from ransacking the baggage train and pounded toward them. Beth was richly dressed and her portmanteau was at her feet, containing even more spoils; it proved tempting enough for him to try. Again, Adam hefted his rifle and took determined strides toward the man while shouting out a slew of threats. Beth levelled hers as well. It was the threat of at least one ball to the chest that helped the fellow to find wisdom, and he turned and rushed back to the carriage train.

"When he does come, I know where we can go," Beth said, trying to be helpful in the hopes that Adam would stop looking at her like she was so much rubbish. He arched an eyebrow and she said, "Mrs. Farshaw, she's a… a friend…" Beth choked up a little but swallowed it back down. Harmony was her dearest friend in the world - how could she have treated her so horribly? "Her parents live near to here - I'm sure if we start asking around, we'll be able to find the Jutland's."

"Are you sure they'll help us? They might turn us in, instead."

"They might… But not if I bring them news of their daughter, I think. They'd give us one night, then, surely? We won't want to stay any longer."

"I think it's better that we just keep going, get as far away from here as possible. Forget these friends of yours, we need to put miles between us and Tarleton. Otherwise, Mr. Scott and I could hang."

Beth nodded slowly, it was true - they'd be considered deserters even if Banastre never discovered that they were spies - and they'd be hung. Not Beth of course, but Alby and Adam would for a surety. Mrs. Garland began to walk Nancy over, her arms were still around Nancy, who was still weeping. Adam tensed but Beth laid a hand on his arm. Mrs. Garland didn't know Beth was planning to flee, she was just trying to find a safe place for her and Nancy away from the fray.

"What's happened?" Beth asked as Mrs. Garland reached her, Nancy was inconsolable and barely able to speak through her sobs.

"Most unhappy news, I'm afraid," Mrs. Garland said, gently rocking Nancy. "She discovered her husband was one of those who did not make it this morning."

"Oh, no," Beth squeezed her eyes shut, then stepped closer to Nancy, her hand on the small of her back. "I'm so sorry." The new widow nodded and wept, clinging to Mrs. Garland. Helpless, Beth could only watch as the younger girl grieved.

"What are you doing over here?" Mrs. Garland asked over Nancy's head. "This isn't a safe spot to wait this out, we should take cover in the trees… who is this?"

"Oh… well…" Beth glanced over to Adam. "He's a boy from home. He… has agreed to take me back there," she said, uncertain how much to reveal. She wouldn't tell Mrs. Garland that Adam was a spy - it was enough for the other woman to know that Beth knew him from Pembroke.

"Well, that's to the good - you need an escort. Will the Colonel let you go, though?"

"Let?" Steel entered Beth's voice, her back became rigid. But the simple truth was, if Banastre returned too soon - he would have complete control of wherever she went. She deflated and admitted, "that was my fear also. Which is why we're leaving now."

"Now!" Mrs. Garland gasped, eyes wide in her large face. Adam hissed something, Beth missed it because just then, another volley of Lyon's rifles rang out. But she heard the sentiment behind the harshly spoken word.

"We can trust them," she said to Adam before turning back to the women. "Yes, now. As soon as my other friend brings my horse," she said. "There's two from my home, you see. I thought it best to slip away now, during the confusion."

"Your friends will be considered deserters," Mrs. Garland warned after a moments grave silence, as she took Adam in from head to toe.

"They know the risks, but they want to leave too."

"You weren't even going to bid us farewell?" Mrs. Garland said sharply. Beth could hear the hurt in the woman's voice, after they'd just made amends, too.

"I… I didn't want too…" Beth placed her hand on Mrs. Garland's arm. "I truly didn't. But we do need to leave… I regret leaving so soon - I did want to make amends with the other women, too."

"Leave that to me," Mrs. Garland said, conceding that Beth was right, now was the time for her to go. "I will explain as much as I can of your situation. They will either forgive you or they won't. Either way, I do agree, you need to leave this place. Return to your husband, Mrs. Tavington."

"I'll go to my aunties, just like I told you," Beth said.

"Stubborn child," Mrs. Garland muttered.

"You'll take care of Nancy?" Beth asked and the older woman nodded. Beth took hold of Nancy's shoulder and edged her slowly around so Nancy was facing her. "Nancy, did you hear all that?" Beth said gently. "I'm going to leave, any minute now. I need you to know how terribly sorry I am, I treated you so poorly. And I'm so sorry for your husband, I wish I could stay, to make amends, to do something to help you… Will you be well?" Stupid question, she'd just lost her husband! Nancy sniffed, she'd been nodding to show she'd been listening, but she gave a listless shrug at the end. "What will happen? What will become of you both?" She asked, worried now that she had a little more time to think on their future.

"You fear she'll take up her old living, do you?" Mrs. Garland sighed, looking reconciled, as if she feared the same for Nancy. "I'll do my best by her, don't worry about us."

"Mrs. Tavington!" Mr. Scott was suddenly at her side and pulling her arm, forcing her to come away with him a few steps.

"What took you so long -"

"I couldn't find Shadow Dancer," he said urgently. "So I asked around and I found out that Tarleton took her."

"What?" Beth breathed, feeling the world slip between her feet, like a trapdoor suddenly giving way; her stomach lurched and her legs felt weak. "He took Shadow Dancer?" Beth had been riding in the carriage for so long, and Shadow Dancer had been kept with the other horses… She'd assumed the mare was still in the camp. "He took her… into battle?" Beth pressed her hands to her mouth.

"Why would he take her? I don't think there was anything wrong with his own horse was there?" Alby asked and Adam, who was still close enough to hear, gave a shrug.

"Just get any old horses then, we've got to go, Scott."

"The guard is too strong, Danvers," Alby shot back.

"Almighty…" Beth breathed, the men turned from each other, their gazes settling on her. She met their eyes, "Ban wanted Harry to recognise her on the field…" She whispered. "Dear God, he took her to taunt him!" For Mrs. Garland's benefit, Beth explained, "I was once engaged to General Burwell -"

"The man we've been chasing all these days?" Mrs. Garland asked, voice strained.

"Yes. My horse - Shadow Dancer - was a gift from Harry and he would know her anywhere, she stands out with her dappled coat. Banastre took her into battle, he has risked her life, to… to… to twit Harry!" Beth ground out. "Lord, what if she is hurt, or killed? For what? Just to shove Colonel Burwell's nose in it? My horse, her very life, endangered for Banastre's pride. Oh my God, what if she's dead?" She clutched Alby's jacket, fingers tight.

"I don't know, but Mrs. Tavington, it means we can't leave. Not on horseback. I couldn't find Thunder either but even if I had, they've got a stronger guard on the horses than they do the baggage train. If we go, it'll be on foot -"

"You won't get far," Mrs. Garland said ominously. When Beth turned, she saw what the woman was pointing at - horsemen in green, hundreds of them, bearing down fast. A horn was sounded then, coming from that direction and as one, they froze, all turning toward the approaching Dragoons.

Banastre had returned.

The marauders began to scatter.

"Let's go," Alby seized Beth's arm again and began to pull, but she was staring at the oncoming men, trying to see a grey mare with darker grey streaks. Her Shadow Dancer.

"You'll get yourself caught and hung," Mrs. Garland snapped. "Listen here, he'll come searching for her the moment he gets here. If she is gone, he'll mount a search and will be hot on your heels, you might get fifty yards away before you're caught. Don't let him risk it, Mrs. Tavington," she said, turning her argument on Beth.

"Mrs. Garland is right, we can't leave now, Mr. Scott. It was fine before when it was safe, but I won't put you or Mr. Danvers at risk for nothing. Dear God, can you see her?" Beth whispered, eyes still searching, her heart in her mouth. "Can you see my horse?"

Alby's face was set, lips a stubborn line, but eventually he relented, staring into the lines of horsemen, searching for Shadow Dancer. "No, I can't see her… Look Mrs. Tavington, if we're not going, then it's better we're not seen together. Best not to rouse suspicion, or we'll never get away." Alby jerked his head at Adam and the two began to withdraw but Beth barely noticed. Her eyes picked out Banastre, at the head of the line, bear plume streaming back from his helmet.

He was riding Thunder.

Beth started to run forward, her skirts hiked up past her ankles. He saw her and changed course, riding hard toward her, a look of misery and relief on his face. He signaled for his men to continue on, they could see the ransacking and would put an end to it while their Colonel met with his lover. Already men were screaming and the first of many shots were fired but Beth barely noticed. Banastre jerked to a stop before her, she seized Thunder's reigns as if taking possession of the mount, even as Banastre leapt down from the saddle and took her in his arms.

"Beth, dear Gods, it was a disaster, I can barely speak. I've been through hell today - I've seen hell." He was expecting sympathy, he wanted for her to throw her arms around his shoulders and cradle him, love and comfort him in his time of distress.

"Where is my horse?" She shouted, batting her fists at his chest and writhing in his grasp. His 'woe is me' look changed swiftly to astonishment, this was not the greeting he'd been expecting. "Where is Shadow Dancer?" She hurled at him, eyes burning with an inner fire. He froze, faltering for an answer, then finally hung his head.

"My love, I do apologise. I needed a sturdy mount, a swift one, the finest horse in the field that could endure the hardships -"

"No more! I will have no more of your lies!" She hissed, stabbing her finger into his chest, silencing him once more. "You've done nothing but lie to me and now this! You took her - without my permission, which you never would have received! - for the sole purpose of showing her off to General Burwell and taunting him on the battlefield! You knew she was his engagement gift to me! Her strength and speed had nothing to do with your choice! It was flagrant provocation, nothing more! For that, you risked my horses life! And you took Thunder! How dare you? Where is Shadow Dancer?" She whirled and looked, still trying to see her in the masses of horses chasing down deserters. Thunder's chest heaved, his black coat covered with sweat, nostrils flaring. He looked exhausted, as if he'd been ridden half to death. She spared him a glance as he shoved his nose against her arm, and almost wept, half expecting him to fall over dead at her feet.

Banastre lowered his arm, his face began to grow cold, his temper simmering. He was holding it back for now; because he thought this was her only gripe. He'd try to sooth her, ease away her anger as he always did. But he had so much more to answer for, besides Shadow Dancer. One thing at a time, however.

"While I find it a little… disconcerting… that you appear to show more concern for your horse than you do me, I do apologise. I should have asked. I should not have taken her -"

"Is she alive or have you killed her?" She asked through clenched teeth.

"Horses die!" He shouted and it was like thunder rumbling through her chest.

Horses die.

"Oh my God," she breathed, stumbling back a step. Her hands flew to her mouth, she stared at him over her fingertips, as if she'd never seen him before. Horses die. He'd taken Shadow Dancer into battle, her beloved mare, and now she was dead. A sob ripped from her chest and she turned to Thunder, who quivered there, his coat wet with sweat, his head hanging. She turned to him and laid her head against his nose. Shadow Dancer, dead. Did he even know? Thunder - did he know she was gone? Did he understand? They'd _both_ lost their beloved girl.

Banastre watched her, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. He'd give her another moment or two, surely she would not need longer than that before she recalled herself to him and all he'd been through. He did feel genuinely sorry for the horse but… it was just a horse! He - Banastre - had entered the fires of hell and returned beaten and bedraggled and she worried over her horse? Another moment… just another, and then she would recall him, her fear and worry for him… any moment now… why was she just standing there, her head buried against Thunder's? Christ… He struggled to hold his temper, knowing he was very close to the end of his own threshold, after his devastating defeat. He took several deep breaths, trying to soothe himself and to give her more time. At length he succeeded in - not entirely calming himself, not yet, but he did succeed in blunting the edge of his anger. Quietly, he said, "I lost men today. Killed. Captured. I lost the battle. But you go right ahead and mourn your horse, don't worry at all about me." Well, perhaps he wasn't quite as successful as he'd thought… "It's as though you care more for that damned horse than you do me! You haven't even asked if I am wounded or well or…"

"I know you aren't wounded," she replied, her voice muffled in Thunder's coat. "And frankly, I do care more for Shadow Dancer."

Her words were like a block of lead falling from a great height. He stared, stunned.

"How could you say such a thing?" He breathed, perplexed, offended, and deeply, deeply hurt. "I've just returned from battle, from a devastating loss," he was shaking his head, bewildered. "And I return to this? You're this angry, over a bloody horse? So angry, that you can say such an awful thing?"

"Oh, there's so much more behind my anger than that, Banastre," Beth tossed her head as she turned to face him, she stepped up toward him, keeping hold of Thunder's reins; she was never going to let them go. Banastre had taken one horse from her, he would not have Thunder too. She glared up into his eyes, he stared back, waiting her explanation, his jaw working. "A packet arrived from Fresh Water, one you were unable to hold back from me." - His eyes began to grow wide, until the whites showed all the way around the brown. - "One you were unable to _burn_." She hissed.

"I…" He understood the ramifications immediately. He trembled from head to toe, a great shudder coursing through him; she knew of the of the burnt letters and if she'd read this most recent lot, then… then that meant she knew everything. Yes, she was quite well informed now - she knew all of it - and she was fuming, he could see it in her glare, her stance, how she held herself as she waited for him to speak. He searched for something to say, some explanation she would accept. But there was none. He tried then to think of a defense, which might somehow seize her sympathy. Again, there was none. "I… I don't have time for this," he said harshly, and he turned his back to her. She seized his arm to force him back, he shrugged her off, preparing to stride away. He took precisely one single step before he was halted by Whitty, who was suddenly there, panting to a halt before him.

"Colonel, we have calmed the riot, the deserters captured. What are your orders?"

Banastre stalked away with Whitty, bellowing commands to have those men guilty of treason strung up in the chestnuts. Seeing Alby helping a wounded soldier, Beth went to him.

"Shadow Dancer is dead," she said.

"Oh, Mrs. Tavington," he sighed. She had no idea what Alby thought of her deep down. He must at least suspect that she had become Banastre's mistress, for all that she and Banastre had tried to hide it. But she was Benjamin Martin's daughter and for that, she had his protection. And now his commiseration. It was all she could do to keep from crying.

"He t-took her, to show her o-off to General Burwell and he g-got her k-killed!" She stammered, overcome. "P-please d-don't say she was just a horse, I c-couldn't b-bear to hear that!"

"Of course not," he said softly. "Jesus, I howled for days when my pet rabbit died, remember?"

"You were six, Alby!" She wailed, "this is different, we're adults now."

"But you loved her," he said, cocking his head as he looked at her. "I understand, lass. Only a heartless bastard would say she was just a horse. She was beautiful and he was a bastard for taking her and for getting her killed. She deserves to be mourned."

Beth nodded, struggling. "This has just… been the… worst day…"

"And it's only the morning," he said. "What about him?" He reached out to pat Thunder but the horse had enough energy left to peel his lips back and take a snap at Alby's fingers.

"Careful, he bites," Beth whispered. "I'm keeping him with me, I don't care what anyone says - I can't lose him too." She looked at Thunder and wailed, "he doesn't even know his lady is gone..!" Then she burst into tears.

"Mrs. Garland!" Alby called, taking the reins. "Mrs. Tavington needs you!" He squeezed her shoulder with his hand. "I'll feed him and water him, I'll brush him down, and then I'll bring him back."

"Don't let them take him, Alby. Please."

"I won't," he promised and then Mrs. Garland was there and Alby was walking away. Beth felt worse than stupid, weeping against the woman's breast while Mrs. Garland was still consoling Nancy who'd lost her _husband_. But Beth's grief was not just for Shadow Dancer - it was for so much more than that. Mrs. Garland understood, she'd been with Beth all morning, had read Cilla's letter and knew exactly what Beth was going through. The two women - girls compared to Mrs. Garland - were led back to their fire by the older woman. They fell onto the overturned log, Nancy and Beth with their heads bowed, as Mrs. Garland worked to get the fire stoked again. Soon, Electa joined them; she sat across from the girls and pointed to a stand of trees, where the deserters were being strung up. Beth squeezed her eyes shut.

"I warned them they'd hang," Electa said. "Stupid dolts. Lord, those poor things…"

"Which is it - are they dolts or do you pity them?" Mrs. Garland asked.

"Not the men - they are dolts. I pity the women," Electa jutted her chin toward the men dangling from thick chestnut branches. Below the feet of some, women were on their knees, weeping - a few of the deserters had loved ones in camp.

They were not given much time to stop and think, to process all they were going through before the call was sounded to move out. Beth was given her carriage and Electa rode with them, somehow becoming a natural part of the small circle. At Beth's insistence, a lead rope was tied to Thunder's halter so the riderless Arab could trot alongside a few yards from her. It hadn't been easy to accomplish, Beth had had to fight for it. The Dragoons had lost many horses and they needed every mount they had and more besides.

Earlier, before moving out, after Alby had returned Thunder as promised, one arrogant young Ensign had spotted the horse in the company of the women surrounding their little fire, and he'd sauntered over to take possession of him. The pompous Officer didn't even deign to ask, he'd simply taken Thunder's reins intending to lead him away. Beth had seized hold of the bridle and wouldn't let go, leading to a tug of war that ended when Thunder sunk his teeth into the Officer's arm. Almost weeping with pain and cradling his limb, he'd told Beth that the horses were for Officers and the Dragoons. "Not this one," she replied. "And if you don't like it, you can take your complaint to the Colonel. No one is taking Thunder from me, do I make myself clear?" _And if Banastre tries… Oh, please, Lord, let him try…_ She'd thought. The Ensign did exactly that, but as he never returned to take Thunder from her, she assumed Banastre had approved her keeping him.

Trying to get into her good graces? If that were so, it was too little too late.

After that, the Regiment moved out so quickly, it left its dead in the trees behind them. Banastre was determined to put distance between his force and Burwell's, by making haste for the ford where they could cross the Broad River. Wrung out like a dish cloth, Beth laid her head on Mrs. Garland's shoulder, Nancy did the same on the other side.

"What an awful day," Electa sighed across from them.

"Mmm," Beth agreed. Nancy hadn't spoken a word, a sure sign she was in the depths of despair.

"What am I goin' to do?" She asked now, her head still resting on Mrs. Garland's shoulder. "With Tony gone, what do I do?"

"Nothing rash," Mrs. Garland - a widow herself - advised. "You'll take each day as it comes and you'll be sensible and you'll get through."

"I got no money. I got nothing," Nancy wiped her eyes, but the tears spilled over again. "I got no Tony!"

Beth reached past Mrs. Garland and took hold of Nancy's hand. She wondered what it would be like, having a lack of money added to her troubles. That had been a concern for a very short time, until she'd extracted that vow from Banastre because she'd worried over it. But it wasn't a consideration, not for her, not anymore. Charlotte was wealthy and William would continue to provide a stipend; perhaps he would be reasonable and allow her half her inheritance. If not, her father would send what she needed. That was one thing she didn't have to worry about, was money. Beth squeezed Nancy's fingers, she was able to offer comfort, even if she couldn't offer a solution to the girls troubles. Silence fell, Electa tried to make small talk but only Mrs. Garland was willing to engage in light conversation. The carriage trundled along as fast as the driver dared, the army crossed the river at the ford and the wagons and carriage followed.

When they were across, the halt was called. The men were starving, after going days with barely any food, they were faltering and needed victuals. The horses were lagging also. They would not be able to stay long - a few hours, long enough to prepare a decent meal, before the army forged onward again, to try to stay ahead of Burwell's force.

The women climbed out of the carriage and a passing soldier reaffirmed to them that they were stopping only long enough to prepare a meal and have the worst of the wounded tended to. A couple hours at most. And when they stopped again that evening, it would be for the same short time, when they struck out again later, it'd be in the dark of night. Burwell was likely following, they could not risk staying in one place too long.

"I need to be doing something useful," Beth said, brushing off her skirt. Behind her, an un-tethered Thunder gnawed at a patch of long grass.

"What are you going to do?" Electa said.

"There's cooking to be done. Water to be bought up from the river. A hundred other things, no doubt. There's so much to do, and you should be helping also. Come with me, Electa." Beth led Thunder along, she'd meant it when she'd said he was not leaving her side. The doxy brushed her long black hair back from her shoulder and heaved a sullen breath. But she followed - with a fluid grace that Beth despised - and Mrs. Garland and Nancy followed also. Dark circles were forming around Nancy's red rimmed eyes, but Beth did not send the girl back into the carriage to rest - she doubted Nancy would be able to sleep her grief away and keeping busy might take her mind off it for a while. Moving through the camp and trying to determine where they might be needed most, Beth spied three women moving quickly about a cook-fire. They looked harried, pressured, with a long line of men standing about, impatient to be fed.

"Away with you," Beth made a shooing motion at the soldiers, taking some of her irritation out on them. "Go. We will let you know when it is ready." Whatever it was. The massive pot on the ground held nothing at the moment. "This is going to take a while. Go make yourself useful elsewhere."

The men began to slink away as Beth, Mrs. Garland and Electa joined the women. Beth tried to recall their names, she had spent almost no time in the company of camp followers but she searched her memory just the same. One she did remember - Mrs. Simmons. Beth was tempted to give her the damned book, she was the one who'd suggested it for Beth. To insult her.

And deservedly so.

She tied Thunder off - not to keep him from wandering off, but so that no one would take him. Mrs. Simmons and the other two cook-women eyed Beth with open hostility, until she picked up a knife and a bowl of potatoes. "Would you like me to peel these? Are they for the pot?" The women shared an uncertain glance, one of them nodded, and Beth sat right there on the ground to begin her task. Mrs. Hews and Mrs. Griscom, Beth suddenly remembered.

"I'm sorry about your husband," Mrs. Griscom said to Nancy, who hung her head, tears dropping on the peas she'd been handed to shell. "I don't think you'll be alone in your grief today. There's quite a few widows after this morning."

"It's awful," Mrs. Hews agreed. "Mrs. Pilk lost her husband… And there could be so many more of us - my John isn't back yet…" She trailed off, biting her lip. "So many stragglers coming in still but so many more were taken prisoner. What if he's one of them?"

"Then at least he'll still be alive," Mrs. Simmons said.

"And how would I know, either way? And how long will he be alive for, if he's a prisoner? It's awful. The waiting. The not knowing. It's horrid."

"It's why we're keeping busy… That and because there's so much needing done."

An Officer came up, his uniform neat and tidy as if he hadn't done a scrap of work at all, for some reason he wore an angry look on his face. Beth tensed, thinking she'd have to fight again to keep her horse. The fellow stopped, glared at the women and announced, "I've been to three different fires and not a single one of you has anything prepared! We're hungry as wolves in winter and you're all just sitting about talking when you're supposed to be doing your job! What are we paying you for?"

"So that our husbands can be cut up on the battlefield," Beth shot back, fingers tightening on the potato knife. Sitting about doing nothing, were they? "And you're not paying nearly enough for that. You'll have your belly filled soon enough but for now, get away with you!" The Officer drew himself up to his full height, ready to give Beth a tongue lashing. Until he saw that the woman sitting there in the dirt wasn't a mere camp follower, she was Beth Tavington, the Colonel's companion, that he was about to blister into. He swallowed his words if not his anger, he bowed and strode away. "Tell the others as well!" Beth called after him. "It will be ready when it's ready and not a minute before. No tantrum from you or any of the other Officers will make it cook any faster!"

He stopped dead, bristling, but continued on again without another word. The women were all staring at her like she'd grown a second head.

"I can't believe you spoke to him like that," Mrs. Garland breathed, the scanty rabbit she'd been cutting for the pot forgotten.

"They're acting like spoilt brats," Beth snapped. "The next one who complains can shove this stew right up his -"

"Mrs. Tavington," Mrs. Garland cut in, voice sharp with warning, and Beth breathed in slowly, reining in her temper.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes fixed on the potato as the knife peeled away the dirty skin.

"Did you see the look on his face?" Mrs. Hews giggled, thawing a little now that Beth - the only one who could get away with it - had stood up for them.

"I hope we're not going to get into trouble," Mrs. Simmons said more seriously, looking at Beth with distrust.

"You won't," Beth said quickly, finding herself desperate to relieve the stern woman. The woman had suggested that scandalous book to Beth! Still, that was then, and this was now. "I'm sorry, I guess I just don't know how to speak meekly to people like that, people that try to…" _Lord it over you_, Beth was about to say but stopped herself in time. She'd been lording it over these women for months. She hung her head, ashamed and trying to think of what to say, how to apologise. She was quiet for too long but she knew she wouldn't find her dignity in the bottom of the stew pot, so she lifted her eyes to theirs. Now was the time. Bravely, she began, "I haven't been the nicest person to live with, and I wish to apologise." The women exchanged glances. Nancy's head was bowed, lost to her own thoughts and grief. Mrs. Garland watched Beth with approval and Electa… Electra flipped her hair back over her shoulder and ran her fingers through those black tresses as she looked over at passing men with sultry interest. Beth continued, "I have no excuse - I was going through a terrible time and… I'm still going through a terrible time, if the truth be told," tears shone in her eyes but she swallowed them back, she did not want them to forgive her out of pity. "But that is no excuse. I was awful and I hope you will forgive me, that we can continue our acquaintance without ill feelings. I'll understand if you don't want to… But please know that I'm sorry."

"Admitting when you've been wrong or acting like you shouldn't is not an easy thing to do," Mrs. Garland said, trying to smooth the way a little further. Mrs. Hews nodded, but Mrs. Griscom and Mrs. Simmons were having none of it.

"I had to wash your clothes, scrubbing my fingers raw, only to have you complain they were not clean enough," Mrs. Simmons spat.

"And I had to carry go out in the freezing cold and pouring rain to bring you water for your tea, which you complained was not _hot_ enough," Mrs. Griscom grumbled.

"I'm sorry," Beth whispered, but the women just looked away, still disgruntled.

"Still," Mrs. Hews chortled, "it was funny."

"Yes, it'll be hilarious if they send us off from camp or give us a birching for speaking to the Officers like that," Mrs. Simmons grumbled. "Hilarious."

"Oh, don't take everything so seriously."

"I won't let that happen," Beth said after shooting Mrs. Hews a grateful look. "You saw him walk off - he won't bother us again."

Mrs. Griscom gave Beth a single glance before turning back to Mrs. Hews. "We need salt, did you bring it?"

"No, I can go get it though."

"I'll do it," Beth jumped up, eager to please. She'd finished the potatoes anyway and she decided that when she returned with the salt, she'd help with the carrots.

Even with riding Thunder through the camp, it took her a while to find any salt, no one seemed to have any at any of the campfires. It was not until she went to the well stocked Dragoon section of camp that she was able to procure some. Banastre was nowhere to be seen for which she was grateful. On her way back with the salt she rode up to the quartermasters tent. Leaving the underling to believe that the hunk of beef was Banastre, she had him wrap it in linen and she rode back to the camp followers fire. The cook-pot was large, too large for the little rabbits that Mrs. Garland had chopped up. The beef would make the meal go so much further.

As Beth dismounted and tied Thunder to a branch, she noticed there were far more women than before at the fire; word had spread about Beth's change of heart and they wanted to see it for themselves. Mrs. Garland was talking while the others worked, Beth heard Mrs. Garland speak her name but before she could discover what the woman was saying about her; the others turned to look at Beth, which alerted Mrs. Garland and caused her to fall silent. Beth halted for a nervous moment, before remembering Mrs. Garland's promise to 'work on the women' on her behalf. She noticed that the looks were no where near as hostile now as they had been. Not even Mrs. Griscom. Mrs. Simmons looked away, but at least she didn't glare first. The women would be eating this stew as well, it wasn't just for the nearby soldiers - Beth held out the slab of beef as a peace offering, knowing the women could use a decent meal.

"I thought we could all use something hearty in our stomachs if we're to spend the night on the road. I told them it was for the Dragoons though, so I guess we better set some aside for the Colonel at least. I'm not taking it to him though, someone else will have to do that," Beth said in a small voice.

"I will," Mrs. Garland volunteered.

"Are you sure we're not going to get into trouble?" Mrs. Simmons asked, though she asked it with a polite voice now, not with the anger of before.

"If anyone gets into trouble, it'll be me only," Beth said. "I told that Officer off. I took the meat…" She shrugged. "I'll take the reprimand if there's any to be had."

The women exchanged glances then fell silent as if waiting for something.

"Mrs. Tavington," Mrs. Garland prompted. "I was just explaining your situation to our friends here. I didn't go into too much detail of course, I do not break confidences. But I've explained some of what took place before you came away from your home, of how you'd become close friends with several camp followers and you were in charge of them all and looked out for them, only to discover later that they betrayed you. Of course, they hadn't betrayed you, you know what truly happened now and I know you're feeling terribly, that you wish you were with those women, so you could apologise and make amends." Beth hadn't said any of this to Mrs. Garland but it was true and Mrs. Garland was perceptive enough, to know it. "It says a lot about your character that you would befriend women so clearly lower than your station, I for one find that quite refreshing. It does not excuse your behaviour toward us, for we should not have been punished for what you thought were their wrong doings, but it does give us some insight and understanding. I have informed the women that a letter arrived today, which has made you realise that those friends of yours never did betray you, and that you are feeling quite undone by it all." - Beth hung her head and fought back tears, wishing Mrs. Garland would stop but knowing this needed to be said. "Mrs. Tavington is feeling quite conflicted," Mrs. Garland told the group, who were listening quietly. "She left her home with anger and hatred in her soul, believing every woman was against her, only to discover today that it'd all been the work of one woman only, one woman who tricked her. Mrs. Tavington alone can be blamed for her decisions and her actions thereafter, but I think that your knowing all of this might help you understand her better, perhaps even help you to forgive. She was spurred on from quite a targeted provocation. Today has been very difficult, learning those friends she gave up as traitors were her friends all along." - _Especially Harmony_, Beth thought, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. - "With a clarity that she has not had for quite some time, has come crippling remorse and regret and guilt at her recent actions. Now, I myself have had to tolerate quite a disagreeable lass who I would have very much liked to see the back of. Today however, I find that I would much rather get to know Mrs. Tavington, now that her defences and her haughtier have been removed. Nancy feels the same. Our men have suffered through a terrible battle. I don't believe there is any room for unnecessary animosities, especially when Mrs. Tavington is so deeply ashamed of herself. She behaved like a wealthy brat," Mrs. Garland smiled at Beth to take the sting out of her words. "Now, we've all had a good time complaining about her when her back was turned -"

"You have?" Beth whispered.

"Of course we have," Mrs. Garland laughed. "As you deserved. But it's time to set it all aside. What say you all?"

"I truly am sorry," Beth said, pushing the words past banked up sobs - she wanted to apologise, not to weep. Thank the Lord that Mrs. Garland had done the explaining, Beth could not have voiced half of what Mrs. Garland had. The women were already nodding, most of them.

"A new beginning?" Mrs. Simmons asked, looking partially doubtful. Beth nodded eagerly. "Well, our lives will be much easier now, if you're no longer set against us. I'm willing to try."

"Thank you," Beth heaved a sigh as she felt one of the weights lifted from her shoulders. After the others agreed and Beth was sat down with her chunk of wrapped meat, the women began to disperse, though several did remain. They did not discuss it any further, though Beth had expected at least a little ribbing at her expense. There was too much to do and too little time and they were too worried for their husbands and their fate to give it any more thought. One of them handed Beth an exceptionally sharp knife and a large board, a few of them watched her from the corner of their eyes, likely thinking that a patrician like her wouldn't know what to do. She grinned as she remembered the stag she'd bought down that day so long ago, while hunting with her brothers. She might be of the Planter Aristocracy, but she certainly wasn't a normal patrician, preferring to ride in the woods than sitting in the parlor sewing. She knew how to cut the meat and she did so now effortlessly, small chunks perfect for the stew pot.

But perhaps that was the problem. She was not like Sarah or Rebecca or Mary or Cilla - not entirely. She could fit in with them at need and held them all dear to her heart, but she could also abandon her upbringing, she could slough off the aristocrats daughter to drink Banastre under the table and then couple with him on the rug. She was quiet and contemplative as she worked and by the time she was done and she was putting chunks of beef into the bubbling pot, she'd come to the conclusion that she needed to find a balance between the two women that made up Beth Tavington. She could not change history, but she could learn from her mistakes.

She could not go back in time and tell herself not to get so soused that her judgement was impaired, that she would invite Banastre into her chamber and offer him her virtue. She could not return to that awful day when she saw William enter the tent with Linda, to tell herself to calm down and listen, to not react so strongly to her anger. But she was a thinking, feeling human and as such, she could learn, and she would do better in the future. Aunt Charlotte was not perfect, she had the desires of a warm blooded woman and had given in to them in a tumultuous way. But in public, she appeared to be the pillar of virtue. Charlotte had found the balance, and she could teach it to Beth.

Beth just needed to reach her, somehow. One of the women engaged Beth in conversation, tentatively, warily. Beth rose to the occasion, answering with warmth, grateful that the other women were making the effort. She was soon stirring the thick stew, while another woman sprinkled flour and spices, they worked together and after a while, the chatting became more free, less tentative, until the wariness was gone entirely. If she didn't dwell on Banastre's betrayal and her own absolutely foolish behaviour, she could feel almost happy. The meal needed to stew for quite some time, it only needed a couple women to tend it while it simmered, so Beth moved off with a group of them to assist with the wounded, while others went about other tasks. At length, Beth returned to sit with Mrs. Simmons and the others, watching as Mrs. Griscom and Mrs. Hews made flat breads to mop up the gravy. Seeing the need, she rose and began handing out bowls. By now, there was an easiness with all of them, she was truly grateful that they would choose to befriend her after all she'd done to deter them. The same Officer from earlier returned, slinking toward the fire, he kept his mouth shut this time. So did Beth as she handed him a bowl of stew and a flat bread. He tipped his helmet in thanks and made way for the Officer behind him. Of course, they would be fed first. Behind them came soldiers, looking weary, exhausted, dead on their feet. Beth noticed there was more meat in their bowls than had been put in the Officers - she shared a smile with the woman dishing, letting her know she'd noticed. The woman grinned back. She filled bowls for them, too, and one for Banastre, which Mrs. Garland took over as promised. She returned and sat next to Beth.

"The Colonel is looking for you."

"Wonderful," Beth muttered, the weight becoming heavier on her shoulders again. "What did you tell him?"

"That I saw you helping the surgeons," Mrs. Garland smiled. "Which is true - though the information is a good hour old." Beth laughed, delighted. Nancy sat quietly on her other side and Beth sighed as she gave Nancy's back a quick rub, before turning her attention to her meal.

"Oh my Lord, this is delicious," she said as she ate, only realising now just how hungry she was.

"I don't think I've had such fine meat since my husband enlisted," Mrs. Hews said. "Do you think you can steal us another tomorrow, Mrs. Tavington?"

"I didn't steal it," Beth corrected, allowing some of her haughtier to return. "I told him it was going to the Dragoons and it did, didn't it?"

"One Dragoon," Mrs. Hews laughed, seeing the smile Beth couldn't quite conceal.

"The most important one," Mrs. Garland said.

"And some of the Officers got a share," Nancy said softly. "But still, I don't want ye gettin' into trouble, Mrs. Tavington, and ye might yet. After ye talk to him, things will change here for you. You won't get away with so much as ye might've before."

_Because I will be ending our affair… _"Yes, I suppose they will," Beth said, deciding it might be prudent to not rile up the Officers after all. Or to steal joints of meat meant for Dragoons… Banastre might become petty enough to punish her as he would any other camp follower under his command. She resolved she'd have to bite her tongue and keep her fingers to herself. It would only be for a short time, however; she suspected that when she refused to share his bed or even speak to him, Banastre would let her leave soon enough. A week at most, perhaps, before he gave up in disgust and sent her on her way. "Don't worry Nancy, he knows better than to try to treat me badly. But no, I won't be able to… procure…" she said for the benefit of the the woman who accused her of stealing, "any more decent cuts of meat… Unless I'm willing to pay for them. Then again, he's taken so much of my money, he shouldn't complain if I demanded five whole cows in return," she twisted her lips, let the flare of anger flow through her, then slowly tamped it down. Poise even in the middle of a storm. She would be more like Aunt Charlotte if it killed her.

How would her aunt deal with this situation, if she were facing it? If she was forced to bear a prolonged stay with a former lover until that lover decided he'd had enough and allowed her to leave? How would Charlotte conduct herself in the interim?

With dignified silence… Beth pondered for a moment, playing it through in her head. Charlotte would have her say - quietly, for Ladies did not raise their voices - and then she would wrap herself in dignified, stony silence. Is that what Beth should do then? Was she capable of behaving with such dignity? With Banastre already looking for her, she was certain to find out soon enough.

The meal was done, Beth helped with washing the dishes at the rivers edge. The call came down that they were about to move out again and this time, Beth joined Mrs. Hews, Mrs. Griscom and even Mrs. Simmons, on an open wagon. The clouds threatened more rain but had held off for now, the way was still very difficult and slow going.

Night fell and the call to stop was sounded again. Another meal prepared, two more hours of Beth moving from camp fire to campfire, helping where she could as she did her best to avoid Banastre. The camp women helped her, sending him in different directions and warning her when he was approaching.

This stop was shorter than the first and when they set out again, it was in the full dark of night. This time, Beth joined Mrs. Garland, Nancy and Electa in her carriage, where they bundled up beneath blankets and tried to get some sleep in the jolting cabin.


	137. Chapter 137 - Banastre Tries Again

Chapter 137 - Banastre Tries Again:

With the troops and horses fed and well rested for the second time, Banastre Tarleton commanded a continuation of their march into the night. For all he knew, Burwell could be about to fall upon him at any moment. Banastre certain would be, had he been the victor. He'd have chased Burwell's fleeing force for the entire night and half the following day. Well, it'd been a full day and half the night, and Banastre was not about to let Burwell catch him.

During both stops, he had made several attempts to find Beth before resuming their desperate flight but hadn't been successful either time. He'd asked the camp followers, who had sent him on a merry chase; he'd gone to the places they'd claimed to see Beth last but Beth was never there. If he hadn't known better, he would think they were colluding with Beth. But surely not, not after Beth's treatment of them these last few months. Surely the would not help to hide her, if indeed she had tried to keep herself from him. Was he imagining it? Why would the women lie for her, why would they try to hide her, when she'd treated them all with disdain for so long? For three months… But how else could each and every single one of them be mistaken in where they saw Beth?

If she had been hiding, at least he knew precisely where she would be right now. Taking from an underling one of the torches, he commanded Whitty to head the column, while he himself fell back, letting it pass him by. It was a good long while before he saw the carriage approaching behind the marching infantrymen, carrying torches. He saw Thunder, the horse trotted along, secured to the carriage with a, lead rope. He'd had to refuse Ensign Porter's request for the mount, when the Officer came to him with complaints about Beth's refusal to release Thunder to him. Beth had such a temper but Banastre knew how to cool it. Give her time and accede to requests here and there, and voila! Her anger was gone. Well, Banastre had given her time enough and had let her keep Thunder, so perhaps she would be ready to have a nice, calm talk with him now. The infantry saluted as they passed him in the night. When the carriage was abreast of him he called a halt, dismounted, and strode to the door. Inside were Beth, Mrs. Garland, Nancy and - of all people - Electa, their faces bathed by the lanterns bolted to the inner walls of the carriage. He stared at Electa for a long moment, wondering what the devil she was doing there. The other two, he'd expected, but not the doxy. If she'd told Beth he'd been visiting her bed, oh, she would be in for a hiding.

"Mrs. Tavington," he said, drawing on the politeness of a gentleman as she gazed at him with an unreadable expression. "Might I have a word with you, alone?"

A request from a Colonel was not really a request at all. The women knew it for the politely worded command it was and they all filed out, save for Beth, who sat with several blankets over her knees. With a gesture to a Private to take care of his mount, he climbed into the carriage and sat opposite Beth, as the column began to move again. The silence stretched, Beth was staring at him with such an even, steady gaze, but she wasn't saying a single word. Her lips did not part, they remained resolutely shut. It was up to him to smooth things, it seemed. Again.

"My thanks," he began, "for sending Mrs. Garland with a bowl of stew this afternoon; that was very kind."

Now it was her turn, to thank him for letting her keep Thunder. Beth just continued to stare, not saying a word. Banastre tried again.

"What a blasted day it's been," he began. "My love, I know you must be exhausted, and dreadfully cold. You likely want nothing more than to curl up in bed beside a roaring fire. I promise, as soon as we're safe, I will commandeer a house and I will make sure your every need is satisfied. Warmth, food, a comfortable bed. As soon as I'm certain we're not being pursued by Burwell -"

"We?" Beth asked, arching an eyebrow. Her voice… Gods, it was colder than the chill outside, as was the smile that crossed her face. "I have nothing to fear of General Burwell."

It was a snide remark, meant to provoke him. So. This was how it was going to be. Banastre took a long, slow breath. She was still angry then. He heaved air through flared nostrils. In a tired, resigned voice, he decided simple honesty was the key. "Look, I know you're angry. Shadow Dancer… I can not tell you how sorry I am -"

"Don't," she whispered, holding up one hand.

"I'm trying to apologise, Beth," he said, "won't you at least hear me?"

"I don't want to listen to your apologies," Beth restrained the urge to lash out. To start screaming. She would be like Aunt Charlotte if it killed her. A gentle lady, even in her anger… She would let the other person say their piece and apologise, even if she knew it was all utter rubbish. She was nothing if not graceful. Despite her assertions to be just like her aunt, Beth was already not being graceful. She closed her eyes, waited, then started over again. "Very well. Please continue."

Banastre looked startled. "Oh... Well... I thank you. As I was saying this morning, I needed a sturdy, swift mount. It was a hard ride -"

"So I heard," she said, forcing her voice to sound calm, reasonable. "Your soldiers have told me of your march, several did so with tears streaming down their cheeks." They told her they were as good as starved by the time they reached the pastureland's where Burwell made his stand, and they had been exhausted, after having walked for two days non stop without food to sustain them.

"They did, did they?" Banastre asked, voice flat. "I see. Well. She served me well, she was brave and loyal -"

"Banastre, Shadow Dancer was not a Dragoon," Beth said. "I shall take no solace whatsoever in how _brave_ she was, or how _loyal_; especially when she had no idea what she was being ridden into."

Banastre paused a moment, unsure how to continue. "I do apologise for not bringing her home to you," he said. "And… for taking her in the first place. I should have left her here with you."

"Yes, you should have. What of the other things we have to discuss, Colonel Tarleton?" Beth said formally, believing that Charlotte would have fallen back on such formalities to get her through a difficult discussion. "The other things you… should not have done."

The letters. Banastre closed his eyes, lips tight.

"I should not have held them back from you," he admitted. "I just… I worried. I love you, Beth. You know I do. You go ask any man out there," he pointed out the window, "what lengths he would go to protect and keep the woman he loves. You will find that most will answer the same as me. Anything. They'd do anything for her. As I would for you."

Beth stared, incredulous. "If I did go and ask them that, Colonel Tarleton," she said in a flat voice, "I doubt very much that their answer would be that they would tell falsehoods to and steal from the woman they supposedly love. It's not the most…" she pretended to search for the right word, making a small show of it. "Chivalrous way to keep - or to treat - their woman. Is it?"

"I never stole from you."

"I beg your pardon? William sent me money, every fortnight. Thirty pounds, which would equate to one hundred and eighty by now. Did that money ever find its way to me?" She asked. After a long moment, he shook his head. "If you kept the money back to not rouse my suspicion that William had written to me, I could understand. If that is the case, where is it?" She held out her hand, palm up, fingers waggling as if demanding. Banastre clenched his jaw. "You spent it. You paid back your debts with my money. My inheritance. One hundred and eighty pounds. Do please tell me again, how you have not stolen from me."

"I…" Banastre faltered, trailed off, unable to give a sensible response.

"And the lies," Beth said when he trailed off, unable to give a sensible response. "You burned my letters, not just from William but from Cilla, Sarah, Rebecca. Harmony. So that I would not learn the truth and leave you. Well, I am guilty of that too. I did not tell William I was not a virgin, because I feared he would leave me, forever." He drew back, looking horrified and hurt - he had always managed to deny her great love for William, though she had never tried to hide it. "But you, you didn't do it solely to stop me from leaving you. You kept those letters back so you could keep my money," she was finding it very difficult to keep to Charlotte's calm exterior when rage burned through her like a furnace. She could feel it flood across her face, her cheeks burning bright. "So I would never learn the truth, and so you could keep my fortnightly stipend. Am I wrong?" She asked. His mouth worked but no sounds would come. "My husband was never unfaithful to me and you knew it almost from the beginning, from the first letter you kept back and burned." She tossed her head and made a huffing sound. "_Those_ were the lengths you went to, to keep the woman you loved. Am I supposed to celebrate you? Very well. Bravo, Banastre. Here's to your _gallantry_."

"There is no need for that tone," he said, anger rising.

"Don't try to turn the argument aside," she said. "There is every need for this tone, you should be glad I'm not screaming at you right now, you've kept me in a prison for months!"

"A prison!" He gasped. "What the devil are you talking about? I didn't force you to stay here, you could have left at any time! Prison," he scoffed.

"It was the truths you kept back, that kept me imprisoned," she shot back. "You burned the letters that would reveal the truth, so you could keep me in my little gilded cage of ignorance!"

"At least you call it a gilded cage now - not a prison! Do you know how many men I lost today, hmm?" He shouted at her. "And now I have to report to Cornwallis that I just lost a major battle! I have far more weighty issues on my mind, than burning a few of your letters!" His soldiers must have heard him bellowing from rods away but he was too angry to lower it.

"Don't you dismiss this - don't you dare! It doesn't matter how many letters there were, it was what they revealed that damns you! You've betrayed me, can't you see that? You stole my money. You stole - and killed - my horse! You captured my father, which, I found out today, you were chasing all along! It wasn't happenstance, you didn't find out afterward that the man you were chasing was my father, you knew all along and when you caught him, you boasted of it all over camp! You showed me this false, sad face, as if you were oh, so upset at having to do your duty and capture him, and then I find out that when I fell asleep and you left to join your men, you let the wine flow and celebrated right along with your troops!"

"Electa," he whispered, sure it was her who revealed this to Beth, for whatever reason. How else could Beth know?

"Yes, let's discuss Electa," Beth said. "And how you screwed her that night when you took her back to her tent, and you've been screwing her since."

"You're remarkably well informed," he said, drawing himself up. He was already thinking of ways to punish Electa for this; Gods, he'd have her whipped and set out of camp! How dare she go against him?

"Yes, I know all about it! Gods, Banastre! How could you do this to me? You told me you loved me! Every single day, you said it, I've lost count of how many times. But you've deceived me so utterly! You kept me here under false pretences, kept me believing I was right and William was wrong, and every day, you let me act the whore! You lied to me, you stole from me, you were unfaithful to me - in every sense of the word! And you tell me you did it all for love? How could you do any of that to someone you love?"

"I need you to stop this now!" He roared, shocking even her. Outside, all noise ceased, as if the attention of the entire Legion was trained on the carriage and listening to the argument within. Banastre seemed not to notice. All he knew was rage, fury, frustration, grief, all of those things and all Beth could do was rail at him as if his few lies were far more important than the battle he just lost! "I have told you, I have far weightier issues on my mind! Dead, Beth! Soldiers died this day! Others, taken captive! Many more might die yet! I came to you for support and all I get is this?" He bellowed. "It's no wonder I lost the damned battle, when my own lady can not support me!"

"Me?" It came out a squeak, incredulous, stunned. "You're blaming me because you lost the battle?"

"It's all your fault!" He blasted. "If you hadn't been keeping yourself distant, if you'd been more supporting, more loving!"

"Distant! More loving! What the devil are you talking about?"

"You changed, Beth," he pointed an accusing finger at her. "You've forsaken our book and you won't read it with me, you put me off whenever I mention it. And our lovemaking has been sorely lacking without it! You barely seem interested at all anymore, no longer giving yourself wholly to me! You've filled my head until all there is is you and everything was perfect but then you got a beef about that book and you go and turn it all upside down, you confuse and distract me until I can barely think! And now the baby isn't mine and there you are, demanding I reassure you, that I'll still support you! If you hadn't been playing your games, I never would have lost that damned battle!"

Beth gaped, utterly stunned. On the verge of losing all control, she began to chant to herself, _'be like Charlotte, be like Charlotte'_. Beth rallied and asked calmly, voice mocking, "is that what you'll write in your report to Cornwallis? _'My mistress made me do it?'_" Banastre's jaw dropped, red flushed his cheeks. Anger or embarrassment, Beth did not know which. Probably both. "Well, you might as well," she continued. "You lie to him about everything else."

"I do not lie to him -"

"You lie and lie and lie, all of the time. God, what sort of commander are you?"

That struck a nerve. "What would you know of commanding?" He sneered.

"You forget, _Colonel_. I am daughter to a Colonel, I was engaged to a Colonel, I am married to a Colonel. If any woman alive knows about commanding, it's me! I've got three to measure you up to and frankly, Banastre, when put side by side with them, you are sorely lacking!"

"Do I just?" He asked coolly, though her words cut him to the bone.

"When it comes down to it, yes, I do. You blame me for your defeat? A mere woman? If that's not passing the buck, I don't know what is. You are the Commandant of this Legion. It's your responsibility to _take_ responsibility, you are the only one who can be blamed, even if or when others are at fault! You did the same at Fresh Water, when your flank was attacked - you blamed your Captain for it, because he'd chosen to camp between the rail fences, making himself vulnerable. You should have taken responsibility, it happened under your Command!"

"Your father attacked them, killed my men -"

"That is neither here nor there. How dare you place the blame for your defeat on me? I find it incredible that you would even suggest it. Your men told me everything, Banastre. They were starving, they said. You drove them hard, barely allowing them four hours of sleep in forty-eight! They hadn't eaten since the morning previous! You sent tired and hungry men into battle but of course, it's my fault you lost," she gave a scathing laugh, "because I was a distraction. Almighty above. Everything that happened was your fault," she poked her finger into his chest, for emphasis. "You underestimated Burwell - honestly, Banastre, when you saw that line of militia waiting - one single line of militia - did you think that that's all Burwell would have had waiting to meet your charge? Gods, man, he has been fighting battles since you were in swaddling clothes!" She was panting heavily, so was he. His dark eyes glittered with a look she'd never seen before. He lifted his arm back, palm outward, twitching with the need to strike her. "Go ahead and do it," she hissed, not caring if he did. "Use your belt like William did!"

His face was twisted, she honestly thought he'd do it, and she curled her fingers - if he dared, his strike would not go unanswered. Nostrils flaring, he glared at her, he lowered his arm slowly. He'd always had more restraint than William. She'd always lauded him for that before, but in that moment, she almost felt scorn at his reticence.

"It's your fault, _Colonel_," she loaded the rank with scorn. "It's about time you started shouldering the blame. Maybe then, and only then, will you truly have a right to be called such!"

With an indrawn breath, he shoved the carriage door open and stepped out, while it was still moving. Banastre disappeared into the night and the carriage stopped only for long enough for the women to climb back in.

"We heard everything, are you alright?" Mrs. Garland asked, placing her hand on Beth's shoulder; Electa and Nancy both looked worried.

"I am… you really heard it all?"

"I think the whole Legion did," Nancy said. "The Colonel, anyway. He was shouting so loud!"

Beth glanced at Electa, who was looking quite pale. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to drag you into it, I don't think I even care that you were bedding him all this time. But it was still a betrayal and… I hope I haven't caused trouble for you."

"I hope so, too," Electa breathed.

Beth was still quite wound after the argument. "Lord, can you believe him? Blaming me for the battle… Gods, I've been so blind."

"Your eyes are open now, I think," Mrs. Garland said. "And it's good that they are. So. Lass. When do we leave?"

"We?" Beth asked.

"Nancy and I were just talking," Mrs. Garland said, glancing at the stricken lass. "There's nothing for us here. Not anymore. I don't want to stay serving him and I don't like the idea of you striking out alone. I think we should all stick together. If you'll have us."

"If I'll have you?" Beth embraced the other woman. "Are you mad? If you can bear to be with me after how I treated you both, then you are more than welcome. Oh, I'm so glad you're coming," Beth clapped her hands like a child and laughed with glee. "Nancy, I wish I'd thought of this. You'll stay with me, as my maid. We'll go to Gullah together, the three of us. I think you'll like my Aunt Charlotte. And the children - they'll keep us all occupied, my brothers and sisters. Lord, it'll be good to see them all again."

"Do you think there's a place for me there, too?" Electa asked, looking quite afraid. Beth, realising she had quite destroyed Electa's position in the camp just now, nodded slowly.

"Yes… It's my fault… I don't know what he'll do to you, so… I mean, he was about to strike me, just now."

"Oh, he wasn't," Mrs. Garland breathed.

"He was, he had his hand raised back and all."

"He would hit a pregnant woman," Mrs. Garland shook her head, she said this as if it decided her, she would leave with Beth. They all looked to her now, as if asking what they should do next.

"It won't be easy, slipping away. But there's been reports of men deserting; each time we stop, a few more have gone. Banastre can't afford to go looking for them, and he won't be able to come looking for us. What I suggest is…" She continued and the women began to nod, adding ideas as they plotted, each accepting her role in the escape to come.

* * *

Banastre's diminished force made another three miles down river, finally stopping at midnight. He did not return to the carriage to speak at all to Beth in that time. The argument ran through his mind, over and over again, her accusations and taunting words left him reeling. Electa. Lord, Electa had told Beth he'd been screwing her. That damned bitch. And Beth, shaming him as she told him he was no Colonel, that he did not deserve the title.

Their entire discussion had been madness. Now, miles from the battlefield and hours later, Banastre still could not get it out of his mind. He lay on his back, staring up at the sky. It wasn't raining, not now. Dark clouds billowed overhead in places, blocking the twinkling stars, unchanging, as if it was just another night. He lay there, mourning. So many of his men, dead. Captured. The number had risen steadily as the day went on and more reports came in. Major MacArthur was confirmed to have been taken captive. Captains returned with the numbers of confirmed dead and confirmed captured. There was still many he did not know about. Stragglers continued to flood in. A fellow - Alby Scott he'd called himself - an infantryman. Scott had trotted up to him earlier with a message from Beth, requesting permission to stay inside the plantation house situated within the perimeter of his camp. He allowed it. He needed the night without her. To clear his head. To think. To grieve. How had it all gone so horribly wrong? Burwell had been there for the taking. Wipe him out, Cornwallis had said. Capture him, Cornwallis had said. Cornwallis had also said he would be in position to hem Burwell in and pick up the enemy stragglers fleeing from the field. Where had he been? He should have been in a position to assist Banastre, the hammer to the anvil, just as they'd discussed.

But Cornwallis had not been there.

Several hours ago, Banastre learned why - because Cornwallis was still all the way down at Turkey bloody Creek! What was he doing there, still? The weather had been poor, yes, but Banastre had managed to get through and chase after Burwell as they'd planned. Why hadn't Cornwallis? Why hadn't he been there, in position, to reinforce Banastre? To supply provisions so the men, they would not have entered the battle starving. Why hadn't he sent word, that he was unable to follow? Banastre would not have committed himself to the attack, if he'd known Cornwallis was so far away. It was no wonder Banastre had lost, when he was denied the back up his own General had promised to provide! Banastre had been left alone, abandoned. Utterly forsaken. It was Cornwallis' fault. If his Lordship had been there, where he was meant to be, where he had said he would be, then none of this would have happened.

It was a long, restless, sleepless night. Well before dawn, the camp began to stir. The men broke their fast. Tents were taken down. Horses saddled, others hitched to wagons. Banastre sent a man off to the great house, to inform Beth it was time to move on. For a heartbeat, Banastre wondered if she would refuse to join him after their terrible fight yesterday. He wondered what he would do, if she tried to stay behind. Throw her over his shoulder and carry her out? He would not allow her to stay; the place would be crawling with dangers. Rebels. His own deserters - desperate enough to turn brigand, perhaps. It was not safe. They'd fought, he and Beth, but he still loved her. He knew he needed to explain himself, they needed to discuss what he'd done and why he'd done it.

All for her, to protect her. That's why he'd withheld her letters and destroyed them. Why couldn't she understand that? Tavington took his belt to her rump and struck and struck until she'd howled and was limp on the bed. The awful things he'd said to her - bawd and doxy and whore. That she enjoyed being on her knees. He'd thrown so many insults. Banastre had taken her away from that. And afterward, it'd taken so long, just to see her smile again. Weeks, before she had returned to her former self. And he was going to tell her about the letters? Let her discover what he had, that William had been faithful after all? She'd have been distraught to learn that she and she alone was the cause of her separation. That she was the unfaithful one. Banastre had protected her from that, he had sheltered her from it all.

He felt a pang of guilt at keeping the money, what must Beth think of him? That, Banastre should not have done. He was resolved to tell her as much, to beg her forgiveness. He would pay it back, every penny. That had been wrong of him, no matter how one looked at it. But the rest? He could not have had her rushing back to William, she'd have been returning to a violent marriage, out of guilt, because she had been the unfaithful one. Banastre had done what he did because he loved her and, yes, because he wanted her by his side; surely that was not such a terrible place to be? She'd understand, he was sure. Now that they'd both calmed down, he would apologise again. She'd had a comfortable nights sleep in a real bed, with a warm fire he hoped, and she was sure to have a full stomach by now. All of those factors would have contributed to her foul mood, but now they were no longer a concern, surely she would be of a more amenable disposition this morning. All would be well. He decided that he would promise to let her write to a few of her friends, and to let their letters come through. No point holding them back now, was there? And he'd promise to make sure she received all future stipends from William - she'd need to start providing for the baby and the father should pay for it. He needed to smooth the waters between them. Their fates were forever intertwined, his and Beth's. He'd renew his promise to raise the child, that would be the quickest way to smooth her ruffled feathers. At least he'd know for certain that the next child she bore would be his… It wouldn't be so bad, raising his own child's half sibling… Storms could be weathered, if the boat was strong and the sails set. He would be strong enough for both of them. Lieutenant Whitty came out of the dark toward him.

"Sir," he began without preamble. "We had more deserters during the night."

"I'd expected we would. How many?"

"Seventeen."

Banastre grunted. "The wounded? Did any die during the night?"

"None, Sir," Whitty replied, giving Banastre some welcome news.

They began to discuss the travel ahead of them. Banastre wished to reach Cornwallis immediately; no, they would not chase down the deserters, for it was imperative that Banastre reach Cornwallis that very day. They would not stop except with need, to rest the horses, and they would set out within the next half hour. The fellow Banastre had sent to fetch Beth rode in - carrying a torch - and came straight toward Banastre. The sky was beginning to lighten, from full dark to the first dark grey of approaching dawn.

"Sir," the Private said, dismounting and leading his horse the rest of the way. "Mrs. Tavington was not in the house, Sir."

"Has she already returned to camp?" Banastre asked, answering with, "good. Ensure she is given a repast if she has not yet eaten, and that her carriage is made ready."

"Ah, no, Sir," the private said slowly. "I mean, she never quartered at the house."

"I beg your pardon?" Banastre asked, blood growing cold.

"I approached the family, Sir, and asked that they inform Mrs. Tavington that it is time to withdraw," the Private spread his hands helplessly, "but Sir, they knew nothing about Mrs. Tavington. They said no one quartered in their home through the night except they themselves."

"An infantry man, Alby Scott? Came to me with a message from Beth, asking permission to stay in that house… Did she change her mind?" Banastre paused, then commanded, "search the camp, perhaps she decided to stay in one of the tents after all. With Mrs. Garland and Miss Nancy. Find them, she is bound to be with them."

The Private ran off, joined by Whitty and several others. Banastre was worried, but not overly so - Beth would be with the women, they'd likely talked her into staying with them rather than heading to some house with strangers. Yes, that was it. Whitty returned a short while later and when he began to speak, Banastre felt his world crumble around him.

"Sir, I hesitate to report this to you, but Mrs. Tavington, the carriage, the horses - including Thunder - all are gone."

"Dear God," Banastre breathed.

"Sir, I checked the muster rolls and - well - this Alby Scott you spoke of, he is on the list of deserters as of this morning."

"He deserted! But he carried her message…" Banastre trailed off, confused and stunned. "He helped her to leave…" He said slowly with dawning realisation. "There was never any intention of her staying in the Great House, she was just trying to buy herself time! The entire night, Gods! Mrs. Garland and the others helped her… Gods. Did they simply take the carriage and leave?"

"I believe it must be so."

"Question the sentries, someone must have seen something!" Banastre commanded. He began to pace by the fire while Whitty darted away again; a Private bought him a plate of food, which he forced down though it tasted like dust in his mouth. He needed to eat, his body required sustenance, even if the worry gnawing at him whipped away his appetite and threatened to bring the food back up. Whitty returned all too soon, with increasingly unwelcome news.

"Two pickets reported that the carriage passed through at ten o'clock last night. Mrs. Tavington was in the carriage, Sir."

"They just let her go?" Banastre roared, unable to contain himself.

"I said the same, I threatened to whip them raw. But they both insisted that Mrs. Tavington said she was leaving at your behest. She informed them that you had demanded she leave the camp immediately, because of the argument you had. That's what they said, Sir. She told them she had been expelled from camp. In letting her go through, they thought they were obeying your orders."

"Agh, Jesus Christ," Banastre's fingers curled into a fist, he wished he had something to punch. "She's all alone out there!"

"She's not alone. Two men - one of whom I suspect to be this Alby Scott - were driving the carriage. They informed the pickets that they were Mrs. Tavington's escort and had been sent by you, to protect her until she reached her destination."

"Without passes?" Banastre cried, throwing his hands wide. "They had no pass, yet the pickets let them on through? Where is the discipline, surely they know better than to do something like this?"

"Sir, they aren't regulars - we're speaking of colonial militia…" Whitty trailed off. As if to ask: 'what more can you expect from this rabble?'.

"Find Mrs. Garland and Nancy," Banastre spat. "I will discover what they know about this - Beth might have revealed her plans to them, they might know where she plans to stay, where she is going."

"Ah, Sir, they are gone, also; they were in the carriage with Mrs. Tavington. Electa, too," Whitty said warily. Banastre stared daggers at the Officer, then stormed off several steps, turned his back, fists on his hips. He whirled back to Whitty.

"So I do not even know which way she went? Or where she intends to go? To her husband, perhaps?" He ground out.

Whitty shrugged, helpless to answer. He waited for the Colonel to gather himself, Banastre was thinking, tight lipped, eyes narrowed. Would they be going to Turkey Creek as planned, or chasing down Mrs. Tavington? Whitty quaked, worried that his Colonel would choose the latter. It'd be the end of Banastre Tarleton, if he did. His future was already on the brink after that disastrous defeat, if he failed to go directly to Cornwallis and instead chased down his mistress, his career would be finished.

"Harry the camp," Banastre said, unaccountably calm. "I wish to reach Turkey Creek in as short a time as possible," he stormed away, then, and Whitty blew out a breath, relieved that the Colonel had enough sense left to make the right choice.

* * *

The conference had been going for hours, with Banastre being grilled for answers the entire time. Surrounded by Generals, Colonels, Majors, adjutants and the Lord Commander himself, Banastre was beginning to feel incredibly small. His rise over the last five years had been meteoric. Despite the whisperings that he was too young, untried, arrogant, he'd plowed upward through the ranks. Cornet to Colonel, far more swiftly than had ever been done before. He'd gained Cornwallis's favour and as a consequence, he'd gained enemies along with it. Those among the higher ups who had been jealous of his ascent sneered at him now, some went so far as to mumbled to one another that they'd predicted this would happen. The comments showed their disdain; as if with this defeat against Burwell, he was completely undone. He had finally shown his unworthiness at long last; all his prior successes were now being put down to blind luck.

It would have infuriated him, made him strong and indignant, if it weren't for the fact that even he was beginning to think that they were right. Banastre withered as the questions were hurled at him like the hottest fusillade. Questions demanding to know why he hadn't halted, why he'd marched on and away from Cornwallis, separating them by miles, why his men were sent - starving and exhausted - into battle. Why, why, why; asked over and over again, the same questions asked a hundred different ways to trip him up, all of them accusing. Major MacArthur and his force, captured. Hundreds, dead or taken prisoner. Horses - almost as valuable as the men - killed or taken. Two artillery pieces, Banastre's standards - his flags - taken, along with nearly one thousand fire arms. And - to add salt to the wound - nearly thirty-five of his wagons. All of his losses fired at him like balls from a canon. His every action deliberated in minute detail. Banastre's very worth, thrown into question.

_Too young_, he heard the Generals murmuring to one another. He'd heard this a hundred times before and had always put it down to the grumblings of old, jealous men; but thus far, his actions and successes had proved them wrong at every turn. Only now, he had given them a failure. One disastrous defeat to wash away his glowing victories and reinforce their ill opinion of him, as if this was bound to happen all along. Even Lord Cornwallis, who had ever been his ally, his defender, his supporter, was looking at him with a furrowed brow and increasing disappointment.

As if that were not trial enough, Colonel William Tavington stared at him across the table; cold, hard gaze unblinking and unbearable.

One thing became abundantly clear over the last few hours, they all deemed Banastre Tarleton to be at fault. There wasn't a single Officer in this council who thought otherwise. Where he'd in the past had at least a few supporters; now he had none. He stared at the table, trying not to squirm, as Lord Cornwallis began to speak. The interrogation was over, and the Lord Commander's voice was heavy, grim, not an ounce of sympathy in it.

"Our priority now is to remove General Burwell from the ground he now holds and to free our captured men," he said, clearly annoyed that he had to now extricate Major MacArthur and his Scottsmen from Banastre's debacle. "General Burwell has won the Grindal Shoals area and he will try to hold the country he has taken around the Broad River," he was looking down at a map spread out across the table before him, Banastre's eyes landed on the place called the Cowpens and slid away, his heart pounding. "Already he has had an entire day to fortify his position in the area; he would have started building his earthworks immediately after the battle, digging in to protect his position and to prevent us from entering North Carolina. We must not give him time to become too entrenched, we must strike as soon as possible. We leave as soon as General Leslie arrives to reinforce us and together, we shall fall on Mr. Burwell's position, we shall retrieve our Officers and -"

"And we shall finish what Colonel Tarleton was unable to," one of the General's said. Banastre's head came up, he stared at the General, aghast. He waited for Cornwallis to chastise the General, to speak in his defence. Cornwallis didn't. Nor did William, though once upon a time, he would have. No one said a word, to Banastre's dismay. Cornwallis let the moment stretch, to increase Banastre's discomfort.

"I was going to say 'our horses'," Cornwallis murmured but did not correct the General any further. He did not even rebuke the fellow for the interruption. Larger than life Banastre felt himself shrinking, becoming very small. Cornwallis was no longer his ally and he knew, now, that he was in very deep waters. Cornwallis returned his attention to the map. "We will cross the river, go directly up the Wagon Road and we shall reach Burwell's position tomorrow, before nightfall."

There was some further discussion and then finally, the conference came to an end. Banastre could make his escape. He was the first out of the tent, almost trampling Major Bordon, who was waiting outside. Saying nothing to Bordon, he continued to walk as quickly as he could, but not so fast that he could be taunted for running. Seeing Bordon reminded him of Tavington, who, in turn, reminded him sharply of Beth.

And the thought of her stung more than words could describe. He assumed they were together again by now; it would have been simplicity itself for Beth to discover where her husband was. She'd likely intercepted William on his way to camp where she'd have laid herself bare and begged his forgiveness. Had Tavington already bedded her? Was he exulting in his victory; both in having Beth back and learning that the child was his? As long as she was safe, Banastre tried to tell himself, that was all that mattered. In truth, it cut him to the bone; imagining her in Tavington's tent, reunited with her husband at long last, the two relishing renewed intimacy and laughing about Banastre behind his back. Thank God Above Cornwallis was arranging to move out of camp, Banastre did not want to bump into Beth here. He would soon return to his own Legion. During their council just now, Cornwallis had placed him at the front, the fore-guard of the battalion. William's Legion were to bring up the rear, with the battalion between them. At any given time, there would be at least three miles between himself and William and as such, he would not be pained with the sight of Beth and William, together again and happy once more.

"Tarleton!" Tavington's voice cracked like a whip and Banastre stopped dead, back ram rod straight.

_Come to gloat, hmm? To boast? _That was so like Tavington. Couldn't be gracious in his victory - he had his wife back but that wasn't enough, oh no. He had to taunt Banastre along with it. _Sweetens the deal for him,_ Banastre supposed. He wiped all expression from his face, adopting a facade of complete indifference, as though he couldn't care less that the woman he loved had gone running back to her unworthy husband. To the same man who'd beaten her, for Christ's sake. If it came to insults now, he would inform William that he had had his fill of Beth anyway and was done with her. It was not the sort of thing he relished saying of the woman he loved, but she had left him for her husband and he felt the sore need to save face somehow. He turned slowly to face the advancing William, drew himself up to full height and damned the other man for being so bloody tall. He hated that William towered over him, despised it, making Banastre feel so dreadfully small. William came to a stop, feet apart, body braced as he took on a fighting stance, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. He wouldn't dare draw it, but it unnerved Banastre all the same. He had left his sword with Whitty before entering the conference tent. For all his pent up aggression, William spoke with a surprisingly soft voice, just slightly louder than an intense whisper.

"Send word to your camp and inform my wife that she is to pack her belongings. Major Bordon will come for her within the hour. I will suffer no argument from either of you."

"Isn't she with you?" Banastre gaped, fear lancing up his spine. His voice was thin, high with panic. In all his dwelling over Beth returning to William it had never, ever, occurred to him that perhaps she hadn't. William's eyes slowly widened, his lips parted, Banastre heard the quick, indrawn breath.

"What the devil do you mean?" William asked. Bordon drew closer, a look of concern on his face.

"She left my camp last night, before midnight," Banastre admitted.

"Now why," William stepped closer, Banastre could feel the man's breath on his face. "Would she leave your camp, in the middle of the night?" William was using that low drawl on him, the same he used on others when he was pushed to fury and about to unleash that God awful temper of his.

"To return to you, or so I assumed," Banastre forced himself to admit. He, too, set his feet apart, taking on a fighting stance. If it came to blows, he would be ready. He might have been the shorter of the two, but larger men than William had discovered he was a fighter. William blinked down at him, as if trying to understand.

"And you just let her?" He asked, breathing faster.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Banastre shot back. "It's what you sent her father for."

William ignored this; his stomach churned, banked coals starting to flare. "And what," he asked, thinking of all the rebels and desperate deserters, "sort of guard did you send with her?"

"I didn't send her anywhere," Banastre snapped. His eyes darted and he kept his voice low, mindful of those passing nearby. "I didn't send her away from me. She left me, alright?" He saw, and ignored, Richard Bordon's start of surprise. "In the dead of bloody night, she slipped away from camp and I was none the damned wiser until the morning." Sweat slicked his brow, he was so worried it was making him feel nauseous. She was not with William. The feeling that surged up inside of him was not relief, it was terror. Gods, where was she? "She left with the guard she chose for herself, Tavington. Three women and two men. That's all I know."

"By damn!" William seized Banastre by the cravat and shook him like a leaf.

"Unhand me, Sir!" Banastre shouted, his fingers forming into a fist, he'd punch the bastard if he didn't release him on the instant.

William did not loosen his hold. "You lost her!" He shouted, giving Banastre another shake. Banastre reached his hand up, fingers flying for William's throat. He'd warned him, by damn! Then Bordon was there, between them, trying to wrest them apart. "Three women and two men!" William strangled out, his hands going for Banastre's throat also. "Hardly a worthy guard! Where is she, you damned bastard."

"Enough!" Bordon pushed his way between them and shoved them apart with those shoulders of his. He was built like a damned bull and just now, he showed the Colonels he had the strength of one, too. Banastre could have Bordon whipped - _should_ have him whipped, he was just a Major! He righted his jacket but before he could get a word in edgewise, William was closing in again, still accusing. "You let her go on her own! The entire territory is crawling with the enemy! She could be dead! Raped! Drowned crossing the river for all you know! I'll pummel you to atoms! How could you lose her? I'll kill you!" Bordon prevented him from reaching Banastre, using his body as a bulwark.

"Gentlemen!" Another voice cracked like a whip, this one made even Tavington spin around and stand at attention. Lord Cornwallis advanced on the three of them, his face thunder. O'Hara was hot on his heels.

"I demand that my Officers comport themselves as gentlemen and neither of you are exempt from this! Brawling like common rankers! This is unworthy of either of you. What the devil is this? Why are you at odds?"

Banastre and Tavington froze, neither knowing what to say, how to explain their argument. Neither wanted to admit to Cornwallis what the trouble was between them, it was sure to be the end of them both, if they did. Cornwallis was growing red faced at their silence and Richard stared hard at William, willing him to speak.

"My Lord," Richard spoke when the other two didn't. "Colonel Tarleton was escorting Mrs. Tavington back to Colonel Tavington, but she has gone missing."

Cornwallis stared hard at Richard, who tried to keep his face impassive, to not give away the lie.

"Why was Mrs. Tavington still with Colonel Tarleton?" O'Hara asked. "Did you not escort her to her sick sister?"

"I… ah…" Banastre's face flushed red. O'Hara drew himself up, slight changes played across his face as concern and puzzlement shifted to realisation - and disgust.

"She never was going to her sister, was she?" He asked, voice hard. "Tell me, Sir," he said too Tavington. "Was Miss Margaret Martin ever even sick?"

Tavington's jaw worked, his body stiffened and he shot a furious glare at Banastre.

"I see," Cornwallis breathed, his lip curled as if he could smell something unpleasant and is glare shifted from Banastre to William and back again. "Mrs. Tavington," he snapped, his voice was filled with loathing and contempt, his eyes narrowed and fixed on William. "Is not your concern at this time!"

"She is my wife, Sir," William said in a strangled voice. "And she is missing."

"Sir, if you'll permit, I shall take a score of men and will search for her," Banastre very unwisely began. Tavington whirled on him, ready to pummel him to atoms and even Cornwallis looked ready to do some damage. His Lordship jerked a finger at them both.

"You, Sir, are in quite enough trouble without worrying about chasing down your light skirt of a mistress!" Cornwallis snapped. The words hung heavy in the air, the insult to Beth was felt keenly by both her husband and her former lover. Cornwallis did not care, he glared at both men with equal fury and disdain. "That woman," he began, hissing the words out, eyes darting toward onlookers, his expression warning them all to be on their way. "Has succeeded in separating my Colonels when I need you both most! Marrying you," he spat at William, then shifted his contempt to Banastre. "Then leaving him for you, when she'd exhausted all she could from Colonel Tavington! No doubt she left you, Colonel Tarleton, for her work on you was done! She was a spy all along," he said, seeming to truly believe it. "She has managed to deal a blow to my ranks the equal to any enemy attack, with her working from within."

"Sir, I must object -" William began at the same time as Banastre started with, "with respect, My Lord -"

"Silence!" Cornwallis snapped and the objections died on both their lips. "We have more pressing matters to deal with than worrying what has become of Mrs. Tavington! She left of her own accord, after doing her damnedest to destroy you both. If she is found, she will be questioned and if she is found to be guilty of treason," he glared at them both, taking each one in by turn, giving them silent warning that he was considering executing her. "I will suffer no further discussion of her," he said, instead of threatening to hang her, as Banastre suspected he had been on the verge of doing. "The both of you will put her from her thoughts and focus on the matter at hand; I will suffer no further hostility between you over that woman! Do I make myself clear?"

"My Lord," William and Banastre agreed in unison.

"Good God, look at what she has reduced you too," Cornwallis spat, utterly furious. "My two best, the Officers I depend upon the most, she's bought you both to your knees! If separating you was not her design, she's still done a damned good job of accomplishing it! I find it very hard to believe it was not a deliberate act on her part, considering who her father is! Tell me again that she is not a spy, I dare you." When neither man spoke, Cornwallis forced himself to calm. "You will return to your Legions and be ready to ride with the battalions, we will journey to Burwell's camp at the Cowpens - where, I have no doubt, is exactly where we shall find Mrs. Martin-Tavington!"

Cornwallis whirled away from them both, O'Hara following after giving Banastre and William a long, thoughtful glance. Banastre and William exchanged one last, scathing look, before turning on their heels and stalking away from one another, with Bordon following after William. As Banastre strode toward a wary looking Whitty, he mulled over Cornwallis' words. Is that where Beth had gone? _'I have nothing to fear from General Burwell.'_ She'd said. And indeed, she did not. Lord, he hoped not, for if Cornwallis found her there with the enemy General, his suspicion that she was a spy would solidify to certainty and Banastre and William would be hard pressed to stop his Lordship from condemning her to a flogging.

Or worse yet, a hanging.

* * *

"I could send Captain Wilkins out," Colonel Tavington was saying. Bordon nodded as he filled William's cup again. Tea, unfortunately. They would not risk having anything stronger right there under Lord Cornwallis' nose, not after the dressing down. Richard studied William while trying to pretend he wasn't. He noticed the circles under William's eyes were darker now, his face paler. Where before, the trauma of having his wife leave him for another man had taken its toll, now it was worry over her safety that dragged him down.

"You could," Richard agreed. "It would be a smart move. Wilkins and his men know Beth, they would recognise her on sight," he poured another measure of tea for himself and then set the pot aside. He stirred in a single sugar and finished it with a few drops of milk. "If asked, they can say they are routing rebel stragglers, which of course they would be." Searching for Beth would be part of the mission, not all. A part that Cornwallis would not need to know about. "I think that His Lordship is right, however," he said as he settled back on the foldable chair, carefully distributing his weight so it did not topple him. "She's likely gone to Burwell."

"You don't know that."

"I don't," Richard agreed. "Look, she's bound to be caught, by ours or theirs. One way or another, she can not possibly hope to leave the area without being stopped and questioned. If they're loyalists who find her first, she'll tell them she's your wife. If they're rebels, she'll tell them she's Martin's daughter. She's not in danger, William."

"Unless she's stopped by deserters. Or brigands, who don't give a single shit about either side. They'll steal from her, rape her, and murder her," his pale gaze burned, boring into Richard's. The tea in his hands forgotten.

"Do you truly think," Richard said, as clearly and as calmly as he could, "that brigands would be stupid enough, to be out raiding here? Amidst the various units of two enemy armies. No William. I do not think she's in danger. Beth is smart. Or at least, she's resourceful," he corrected, thinking that her recent actions did not make her particularly smart. "And Banastre said she has two guards…"

"Two guards," William scoffed, then brooded. "Why did she leave him, Richard?"

"A question you'll have to ask Banastre," Richard replied. William gave him a look that said he'd rather stuff his mouth with burning coals.

"Colonel?" A familiar voice interrupted from outside the tent. Both Officers rose as O'Hara entered. It was far too crowded with all three of them standing; O'Hara unfolded a stool and they sat. Richard poured O'Hara a cup of tea. "The Generals," O'Hara began, "have been asking about the altercation between yourself and Colonel Tarleton."

William stiffened. There was no keeping it a secret now, his wife's affair with Banastre. All that rot about her visiting her sick sister, the story he put about to explain her absence, would now be known for the sham it was. He'd managed to fool even O'Hara, but not now. O'Hara sipped his tea.

"I have given them the same explanation you fooled me with some months ago," O'Hara said wryly and Tavington shifted uncomfortably. "They must be as great a fool as I was, for they appear to believe it. I am come to ensure you know the details." William gave a start; he shared a look with Richard. "Colonel Tarleton did indeed escort Mrs. Tavington to her sick sister. Her father had been summoned to tend his ill daughter, also. But, it turned out, Miss Martin recovered miraculously. Therefore, when Mr. Martin departed to resume his activities, Mrs. Tavington requested that he escort her back to you. They were en-route, however, their journey went awry when Colonel Tarleton captured Benjamin Martin." William drew in a long, slow breath, seeing where O'Hara was heading. "Martin was taken to Winnsboro and Colonel Tarleton named himself the protector of the wife of his dearest friend. He vowed to conduct her to you safe and sound." Another sip. "Only, when he pushed on ahead of his force to capture Burwell, he left too small a guard around his charge. The force was attacked by Loyalists - which, incidentally, is quite true - Tarleton's men did indeed dessert him and they attacked the baggage train. Mrs. Tavington was lost, during the fighting. You," he extended a finger toward the silent Colonel, "are angry with Banastre for not protecting your wife well enough. You even said it during your argument. 'You lost her', you accused Colonel Tarleton earlier. I have led the Generals to believe that this was the cause of your confrontation."

Not because Beth was screwing Banastre. But because Banastre had taken legitimate charge of her on William's behalf, and he lost her. William nodded, lips tight.

"We must needs reduce any suspicions," O'Hara warned. "For if any become suspicious, they might unearth the truth if they choose to do a little digging." William snorted and Richard understood the cause - just ask anyone in Banastre's camp and they'd learn the truth soon enough. "It is your task now, to ensure no such suspicions arise. There are two ways that this can be accomplished. The first, you hold fast to this narrative, and Banastre also. The second - you and Colonel Tarleton must appear to be at peace with one another. For my creation to be believed, the two of you must be seen together, repairing the bridge between you and behaving as the friends you used to be, before you return to your own Legions. You will do this not for your own sakes, though you will surely have a smoother time of it, if you are believed. You will do it for Lord Cornwallis, who has put so much faith in both of you, that he now stands on the brink of absolute humiliation, because of the breach that has opened between you and Tarleton."

It looked to Bordon as though every single muscle in William's body tightened. His jaw went hard, his fingers clenched, his back straightened. Richard willed his friend to accept these terms and be grateful. O'Hara had gone to great lengths, even though he was one of the General's who'd been lied to. Richard understood that O'Hara was doing this to protect Cornwallis. The Lord General had supported both Colonel's; if the other General's started questioning Cornwallis' judgement in the men he chose to back, they might very well question his decision making ability as well. With the disaster of the Cowpens upon them, now was the time to unite, to be strong, not to harbour doubts in their Lord Commander or the two Colonel's he relied upon so heavily.

"Well?" O'Hara asked, voice hard, demanding submission from William. To Richard's surprise and relief, he got it. William deflated, nearly wilting as he nodded agreement. His jaw was so damned tight, it must be aching. "Very good. I will send Colonel Tarleton in here. I will remain, I've already let it be known that I intend to mediate and broker a peace between you. We will keep the flaps of this tent open wide, so everyone can see us all together. When you part ways, each returning to his own camps, you will clasp one another's hand, you will slap one another's back and you will laugh and be happy. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir," William said.

"Very well," O'Hara stood. To Richard, he said, "you will need to brew another pot."

"Yes, Sir," Richard agreed, voice grave as the General departed to fetch Banastre. "Jesus," Richard whispered. "How the devil are we going to get through this without the two of you killing each other?"

"Can't kill him," William said bitterly. "Got to convince the others what grand friends Tarleton and I still are." His lips twisted. "Just like old times. Ban and I."

"What O'Hara has done… You should be grateful, William, even if it was done to protect Cornwallis," Richard said, voicing his thoughts from earlier.

"I am," William said, though he didn't look it.

"Well, one good thing to come of it," Richard said and William looked at him in askance. "You don't need to worry about gossip anymore. All there is to worry about is where the devil Beth has gotten too."

"Yes," William agreed, then returned to his silent brooding of before.


	138. Chapter 138 - Too Far From Gulla

Chapter 138 - Too Far From Gullah:

With a pinch of black powder in the pan and a small iron ball sitting snuggly within the dark confines at the end of the barrel, Beth's musket was primed and just _waiting_ to be fired. She held it trained on the man's chest and she was absolutely ready to pull the trigger beneath her finger. She was about as willing to kill a fellow human being as one could get. Her target did not quite discern the danger, however. He held his hands up as if in surrender but the gesture was full of mockery, his beard twitching with laughter.

"Not many men I know've been shot by a woman," he chortled, glancing to his left and his right, to include his comrades in the joke.

"Funny is it? You won't be laughing when the ball smashes into your chest," Beth shot back. "Lots of blood. Shattered ribs. Those will be the least of your problems however, for you'll be dead before you hit the ground. If you dare try to take my horse, or anything else from me, you will not live to regret it."

"Such a fine mount," Beard face said, utterly ignoring her tirade as if she hadn't spoken at all as he looked Thunder over. "Surely he's too much for a lass like you."

"You would be stunned to know how much I am capable of handling, Sir," she said, letting the double meaning have time to grow heavy before jutting her chin down at her loaded firearm. "You might be killed, in the learning." Why wasn't the damned bastard scared? She'd be terrified, looking down the barrel of a Brown Bess. But because a woman was holding it, he did not deem it to be a threat. It was because she was a women and therefore, not considered to be a threat. Damned bastard.

"Hold, Miss Martin," Alby Scott called from the trees, a little further back down the road. They had already decided that the Tavington name would be far too dangerous to use. When confronted by strangers, she would be called Miss Martin, until they knew which side the strangers were on. As Alby approached the carriage, Beth saw - to her disgust - that he was using his musket as a walking stick. Dear God, the carriage was almost surrounded by ruffians and Alby wasn't even trying to protect her! And where the devil was Adam Danvers? Disappeared entirely, no where to be seen! The bearded ruffian and his friends watched Alby's approach with a wariness that none had displayed when faced with Beth and her rifle. That got up Beth's shirt, that did. Beard Face laughs at her when she points a gun right at his stupid face but here comes Alby, musket pointing at the ground, and _now_ he is wary? Damn and blast him, if he tried anything, he would learn to his detriment how deadly in earnest she was. The gang did nothing to halt Alby as he came forward, likely because he wasn't waving his musket at them. Adam Danvers loped toward the carriage from another direction. Lord, they'd only stopped to tend the call of nature. And now they were confronted by this band of… God only knew what. It was the boy's fault, they'd taken so much longer than the women!

Who were Beard face and his friends?

Brigands?

Patriots?

Loyalists?

Patriot or Loyalist deserters _turned_ brigand?

Beth had no idea and she wasn't going to lower her musket until she knew either way.

"You see?" She told Beard Face in a fierce voice. "We are not so easy pickings after all, are we? I tried to warn you that we weren't alone and nor is this," she hefted her weapon, "the only loaded firearm in our possession. These two men are in my service and they are soldiers both. I have more in the woods, as well. One scream from me will have them here on the instant. Back away from the carriage, now. Vow you will leave us in peace and I will tell my men to spare your lives," Beth bluffed.

"You've men in the woods too, have you?" Beard face looked over his shoulder, he turned back at her with a dubious, mocking look.

"Do not toy with me, Sir, my patience for your foolishness is growing quite thin," Beth snapped. "Go pick on someone else and next time, make sure the target is somewhat closer to your own size!"

"Feisty, isn't she?" Beard face laughed to Alby.

"You've no idea," Alby sighed, planting one palm on the side of the carriage and leaning against it. At ease. As if they weren't surrounded by brigands. Or whatever these men were. To Beth, he said, "in your service, am I? Don't much like the sound of that. I'm not your servant, Miss Martin."

"I didn't say you were! You're my _guard_, Alby Scott, though you're doing a damned poor job of that at the moment, if you don't mind my saying!" She huffed a breath. "If you don't like taking orders from me, then go complain to my father - he'll put the damned fear of Christ into you, he will. Might even give you a whipping for not protecting me!"

"Feisty. And pretty too," Beard Face said, admiring Beth's heart shaped face and high cheekbones, the dark eyes framed by her sun kissed blonde hair. "Could do with a lass like you when I get back to the frontier. I need a wife brave enough to scare away the savages, they won't dare raid my farm with you there!" He chortled, blue eyes bright with mischief. "How much do you want for her?"

"Are you trying to provoke me?" Beth gasped, outraged. Alby began to laugh so hard he had to hold his stomach. Even Adam was chortling. He didn't have his musket levelled either, she saw.

"Hmm," Alby rubbed his chin, as if considering how much Beth would be worth. "I'd take five hundred for her."

"I'd pay double that if I had the money! Alas, I couldn't even pay half…" Beard face stroked his beard and eyed her with regret. Beth supposed it was meant to be a compliment - in some strange way. He turned to Alby and asked, "who is her da to, as our Lady put it, 'put the damned fear of Christ into you'?"

"That depends. You Patriot or Loyalist?" Alby asked shrewdly.

"Patriot, son, and damned proud of it," he said boldly. While Beth had to be careful of her identity until she was sure, Beard Face could admit to anything he liked. He had more guns.

"Oh yeh? Who you with then, or did you desert your militia Company?" Adam Danvers asked and Beth glared at the ruffian, waiting his answer.

"After giving Tarleton such a sound whipping, what need do we have to desert? As for our Company, we're with the Overmountain Men, from North Carolina."

"Ho now! You must have been at Kings Mountain! Y'all sure gave that Ferguson a whipping!" Alby cried, clapping his hands, the relief she saw in him was palpable. It was only then that Beth realised how tense both youths had been. The two laughing and jesting with the ruffians… It hadn't been because they were genuinely amused, they weren't being careless in their duty to guard her. They'd been worried that they were potentially facing an enemy of greater strength, from which they would be hard pressed, if their chat had turned sour and it had come down to trying to protect Beth. But now, if these were the Overmountain Men and if they were Patriots - and not deserters - then there was absolutely nothing to fear whatsoever.

If they were telling the truth.

"Sure was," Beard Face said proudly. "We pissed on that Britishers body on his way to hell."

"Charming," Beth murmured. "If it's true."

"If it's true?" Beard Face looked stunned. "What'ya mean, if it's true?"

"You could be lying, you might not be Patriots at all. Or you might have been Patriots now, only to dessert -"

"My lady," Beard Face lost all his amusement. "I like the look of ya, yer pretty as a peach and all, but if ye call me a deserter again, I'll be takin' ye over my rump."

"Miss Martin," Nancy groaned and Beth spared a quick look for the women in her company; worried, all of them.

"Very well, you're not deserters. Who, then, is your Commander in the Overmountain men?"

"Miss Martin -"

"Silence, Mr. Danvers. Just because he claims a thing doesn't make it so. Sir, who is the Commander of the Overmountain men?"

Beard face looked from Beth to the men, then back to Beth again. He cocked his head. "Colonel Shelby, though I can't see why that name would make a difference to you, lass."

"I have heard of him," she said, finger still firmly on the trigger. "Shelby was at Kings Mountain…"

"Yeh, lass, so was I," Beard face said. "Under command of Captain Ferguson. Not Major Patrick Ferguson, so don't start in with accusations that I'm a Britisher. I served under Captain Colin Ferguson."

Stunned, Beth began to lower the rifle. That description… Colin Ferguson… Could it be..? "What is Captain Ferguson's wife? Quickly now!"

"Why don't you tell me?" Beard face asked, folding his arms across his chest. "You're not the only one whose got a right to be suspicious. I've revealed my cards, it's best you reveal yours now."

"Mary," she said immediately, following her intuition. "If your Captain is the Colin I am thinking of, then his wife is Mary Ferguson, formerly Tisdale."

"So it is," Beard face broke out in a smile.

Beth heaved a sigh of relief and - finally - pulled the musket back into the carriage and set it on the floor. The ruffian noticed and arched an eyebrow.

"The names brings you some comfort, do they lass?" He asked her.

"I can't even begin to express how much," she replied. "Lord." She said to both Alby and Danvers. "What is Colin thinking, joining the militia? He fled to North Carolina months ago - I assumed he and Mary were living a quiet life in some cabin in the woods!"

"Guess he weren't content to sit this one out," Alby shrugged.

"Not when Ferguson - the Britisher one, not our one - started threatenin us all with burning our homes and taking us by fire and sword," Bead Face scowled. "Weren't none of us willing to sit that one out, I tell ye."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose so. Tell me about Mary!" She grinned at Beard face. "Oh, I miss her so much! What news do you have of her..?"

"Not much I can tell ye there, we talk about battles, not wives," Beard face said. He was eyeing her quite strangely. When she scowled at him for having no news of Mary, he said bluntly, "who the devil are you?"

"Alby has said my name at least twenty times now," Beth said, feeling positively giddy now that the danger was passed. The tables had turned and it was time for her to do her own mocking. Beard Face deserved it. "Didn't you hear him?" She asked sweetly.

"Miss Martin, he said," Beard face's frown deepened.

"And have you heard of the Martin's, Sir? If you were at Kings Mountain, and all," oh, she was positively enjoying herself now. The fellow and his companions were in the Patriot militia under Colin Ferguson. Did that not mean they were answerable to Colonel Benjamin Martin, also?

"I know of several that go by that name… A Colonel and his sons…" he said, his face falling when she flashed him an overly large and mocking smile. "Shit."

"Now is that the sort of language you would use if my father were here?"

"Damn and bloody blast it," he cursed.

"What is it?" One of his men said warily.

"You remember that bloody Colonel that bought his men up from the South? Colonel Benjamin Martin. She's his damned daughter," he announced.

"Oh, I don't think he is _bloody_. But goodness," she said, "looks like I didn't need my rifle to protect me after all. Should have just said my father's name… More deadly than a Flintlock," she laughed, ignoring Mrs. Garland's whispered protest, advising her to act more genteelly, in a manner one would expect a gentleman's daughter to behave.

"Miss Martin," Beard face said, brandishing his hat and giving her an elegant bow, "I'm terribly sorry for any offence I might have given."

"Oh _now_ you're sorry? Frightened my father will whip you, are you?" Laughter bubbled up and spilled over, it felt absolutely glorious - she hadn't laughed nearly often enough lately. Beard Face was startled for a moment, then he laughed with her.

"Yeh, I suppose I was for a moment there. But you seem the forgiving sort. What say we put the past behind us and start anew? The name's Drake Miller," he took her hand, she allowed him to kiss it.

"Mr. Miller, is it? Oh, well, very well, I suppose this whole affair was rather amusing. Though I'm most disappointed with the two of you," she pointed at Adam and Alby. "The shooting end is that end," she pointed at their lowered muskets. "Won't do much good, pointed down at the ground like that, unless you're hunting rabbits. Muskets have a far higher purpose than to be used as a walking stick."

"Ahhh, yeh have yer da's tongue," Drake Miller slapped his thigh.

Alby shrugged. "There's ten of them and only two of us."

"Three of us," she corrected. "And I was the only one prepared to put up any sort of defence. Perhaps you should be my servant man after all; you're not so well suited to be my guard."

"Don't matter if you can't afford the five hundred," Alby said to Miller. "Might be I hand her over to you for nothing." Miller laughed and slapped Alby on the back.

"You see?" Beth whispered to the terrified women. "I told you. If it was Loyalists or Patriots that found us, either way, we'd be safe. It was brigands we needed to worry about, and these are not brigands. You'll need to remember to call me Miss Martin from now on though, alright?" Nancy still held a death grip on Mrs. Garland's hand. "We'll be safe enough now. All will be well, stop worrying." To Miller, she said, "do you have any water? We were going to fill up at the river but then you came."

"Hand us yer flasks, lass," he replied, taking them and handing them to one of his men. In the meantime, he handed her a gourd that she and the other women could sip from. "Tell me, what are you doing all the way up here? It's a strange place to find Benjamin Martin's daughter, in the middle of hostile territory hundreds of miles from home. Ain't you lot from the Santee?"

"I am indeed. I'm sorry, but my reasons are my reasons and I am not at liberty to reveal them."

"Eh," he grunted but accepted her words. He cocked his head again. "Tell me, Miss Martin. Would you have shot me?"

"Yes, Sir," she said, fixing him with her gaze, her smile gone. "I was actually on the verge of doing so."

"Damnation, I can well believe it," he said. He shifted his gaze to Alby, who had Beth introduced. "And what of you, Mr. Scott? You said your answer depended on if we were Patriots or Loyalists. What would you have done, if we were a bunch of old Tory's?"

"Oh, I would've given you some cock and bull story," Alby shrugged. "I have the gift of the gab, as they say. It's why we didn't come in with our muskets raised, I knew I could talk us out of this, didn't matter who you was. I'd have thought of something to say that would have protected Miss Martin. She does have some loose connection to the British, I'd have used that to get us past you, then I would've high tailed it the hell outta here."

Miller laughed, but one of his men asked, "well that only makes me wonder - how do we know that _this_ ain't your cock and bull story?" To Miller, he said, "might be these are Tory's. As he said, he's got the gift of the gab."

"Eh. I believed her from the start," Miller said, adding to Beth, "soon as you started in about Colin Ferguson and his wife and all. Besides, you have that look about you, the blonde hair and brown eyes. Same as your brother's got."

"You know Gabriel?" Relief welled again. "Do you have news of him - was he at the battle? I'm so worried - Thomas might have been there too -"

"Met 'em both at Kings Mountain and they both faired fine then. I don't know 'bout this latest battle though. Didn't see yer brother Thomas there. The other one was there - Gabriel. I don't know how he faired, but I can take you to one who will."

"Who?" She asked.

"General Burwell."

"Oh," Beth deflated, with a groan she dropped her head to her hands, which were resting on the window frame.

"Is there something amiss?" Miller asked. "If you want news of your family, you'll find it in Burwell's camp. If your brother survived at the Cowpens, he'll be with Burwell now, I suspect."

"How far away is he? Is he still at that Cowpens place?"

"Good God, no," Middleton laughed. "He is not a fool, Miss Martin - he knows Cornwallis will be expecting him to dig in to hold the place, but he ain't stupid. He packed up and left that place as soon as the enemy captives were secure. He isn't going to sit still and wait for Cornwallis to show up and try to take the prisoners back. He's crossed back over to this side of the Broad and is high tailing it for the border. We're not far, though. We're one of the scouting parties he sent out to keep watch for enemy stragglers and signs of Cornwallis. The full regiment is less than a mile that way," Miller said. If he was pointing, Beth didn't see it, for she was still resting her forehead against her fingers, her eyes were closed. Burwell was one of the last people she wanted to see just then, she was feeling quite drained enough without adding her former fiancé into the mix.

"Then that is where we'll go," Danvers said, his voice hard, as if he was expecting resistance from Beth. She lifted her head, met his gaze. "I would have risked my life trying to get you to Mrs. Selton," he said. "Alby and me both. But with safety so close at hand, surely it's no longer necessary?"

"And we could report to Burwell," Scott said. "We have no one to pass information to, with Colonel Martin captured."

Danvers was nodding. He looked to Beth, and asked, "are you going to oppose this? For if you have a mind to, you should know here and now that I don't plan to listen. With safety so close, I'm not going to risk -"

"I wouldn't expect you to," Beth cut in, knowing what he was going to say. "You've risked life and limb enough for me already, Mr. Danvers, and I hope you know how grateful I am to you, for all that you have done. Mr. Scott, too," she looked to Alby. "As you are aware, I have history with General Burwell and my preference would be to keep on to my aunt and away from his forces, to avoid what is certain to be an unpleasant encounter. However, I would not risk your lives merely to save myself from discomfort, so," she drew a deep, shuddering breath. "To General Burwell it is."

"Just think, you might get word of your brothers there," Scott said, trying to comfort her. She smiled weakly.

"What history have you with Burwell?" Miller asked and Beth gave him an incredulous look.

"With all due respect, Sir, but have you been living under a rock?" She asked and Alby laughed softly. "Or in a cave… Where, precisely, have you been all this time?"

Miller cocked his head, he seemed to do that a lot.

"Reckon it's good that not everyone knows a whole bunch of things, aye, Miss Martin?" Danvers asked, he met her eyes and she blushed and looked away. Alby and Danvers had been spies in Tarleton's Legion, but they had been stuck with his infantry. They rarely had access to the Dragoon section of camp, but they had heard the rumours coming from it. The camp followers hadn't liked her particularly well back then, she could not blame them for back biting her about having her own tent but spending all her time in Banastre's. Beth hadn't known if Danvers or Alby believed the rumours or not. Until now. Danvers had just let her know, in a very subtle way, what he believed. Beth's face went white and she subsided, her laughter disappearing as if it had never been. Yes, it was probably for the best that no one knew much of anything. Especially that she'd been mistress to Tarleton these last months. She wished now that everyone was living under a rock or off in a cave someplace, so no one could ever hear of her again.

"So, a mile that way, you say?" Scott asked, rubbing his hands briskly. She wondered which way he believed. Either way, she prayed he did not think too poorly of her. "Will you do us the great favour of escorting us, Sir, or do you need to keep scouting?"

Miller pulled his curious eyes away from Beth. "I think this falls within me duties," he said. "I'll escort you. Never know what dangers we might find between there and here. Ah, your water skins," he gestured as his men came back from filling them from the river. They were passed in through the window, then the men fell in with the carriage, which Danvers and Scott began driving again.

"What is it?" Mrs. Garland asked fretfully when Beth leaned back into her seat with a heavy sigh.

"I just… Don't want to do this," she admitted. "I wish we could just keep going…"

"Are we in danger?"

"No," Beth laughed softly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. We'll soon be as safe as children tucked up in their beds. Still, this is not going to be pleasant at all."

"You're being cryptic."

"I think I already told you? I was engaged to General Burwell once," Beth confided. "It feels like so long ago."

"Oh, yes, you did mention it," Mrs. Garland said, sharing a look with the other women. "You didn't tell us what happened between you, however."

"We hit a rough patch," Beth shrugged. "Ill was done on both sides. Mostly on mine, I suppose I should admit… either way, our engagement did not end well. I've not seen him for a very long time and I find it difficult to imagine that seeing him now will be anything but unpleasant. For me, though; not for any of you. He's a good man; if he is still angry, he will not take it out on you."

"Well, that's good to hear," Mrs. Garland said. "But I'd rather he didn't take it out on you, either."

"Eh. I can hold my own," Beth shrugged. "And like Mr. Scott said, at least I might have news of my brothers. I look forward to that."

"But what happens now? Have we traded in one army for another?" Electa asked. "I was quite looking forward to this Gullah place you keep speaking of."

"Eventually, we will go there," Beth said, then she realised that it was still a very real possibility; even with this little side trip. The new plan spilled from her in excited, rushed words. "We'll go to General Burwell first. I doubt very much he'll want me in his camp for long, it likely won't take much to convince him to give us an escort to someplace where we can hold up until the armies have moved on and everyone's gone. Somewhere safe. To my friends parents, the Jutland's perhaps. It sounds as though Miller - and therefore Harry - is expecting Cornwallis to give chase. When the British army has passed us by, there won't be so many groups of armed men roving around. We should be able to start making our way down to Gullah without hindrance… I do worry over how he'll react when he sees me though. Lord, what if he saw Shadow Dancer on the battlefield?"

"Your… horse?" Nancy asked, frowning. She was still mourning her husband and was still very distant, she barely listened these days to the conversations around her. Beth had discussed this with Mrs. Garland, but Nancy barely listened to the conversations anymore.

"My engagement gift from Harry," Beth explained to Nancy, who was listening closely now. "He gave her to me and… She was my pride and joy, even after our engagement came to an end. Banastre," her voice hardened. "Took her to flaunt her before Harry, to taunt him during the battle."

"I'm so very glad we left him," Mrs. Garland said.

"As am I. Lord, how will Harry react when he sees me again?" Beth fretted.

"Harry is General Burwell, I assume?"

"Yes," Beth sighed.

"That was a rebuke, Mrs. Tavington, even if you did not discern it," Mrs. Garland said and Beth lifted her eyebrows. "He is no longer your fiancé, you can not call him _Harry_."

"Oh, I know… You're right, of course. He's no longer my fiancé. Lord, I hope he doesn't despise me."

The women could offer her no comfort or reassurance, for they did not know Harry Burwell, they could not predict what he would do. Nor did they know what had passed between him and Beth. Without that information, none of them could judge what Harry Burwell's reaction would be, if it would be good or frightful. Within the next hour, they were catching up to the rear of his force. To General Harry Burwell, whom she had not seen in months. Her courage failed her when they caught up to the first of his rear guard. Harry. Who had once been her fiancé. She'd kissed him, held him, pleasured him, had received pleasured in turn. Sweet God, was she really a bawd? A doxy? A whore?

_The appellation suits you well. _William's voice, his drawl, in her ear. God, she'd done those things - not only with William, but with Harry and with Banastre. Who would be the next? Just line them up, she could take one after another just as Electa did. As her stomach churned with self-disgust, her mind whirled with questions and doubts. Would Harry ask about her marriage? Did he know how it had failed? Would he rejoice? All of this made her think of William and her heart clenched as though seized by a fist. Her eyes stung and she struggled not to weep - unable to deny it to herself any longer.

She missed him, and had been missing him for a very long time. She felt Mrs. Garland's fingers close over hers, her midwife might not know everything, nor could she know the turmoiled train of Beth's thoughts, but she did sense Beth's uneasiness, her distress. Beth did not dare confide to the woman that she still loved and longed for William, for Mrs. Garland would seize on such a confession and use it as a bludgeon to browbeat Beth in to returning to William.

And that, Beth would never do, no matter how she missed him.

Still, her defences were down, they had been crumbling for days now and she had no choice but to admit the truth, if only to herself. God, she loved him. It crashed over her, like the entire sea had suddenly been lifted to the sky and then dropped on her head. Swamping her, drowning her. William. She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut, and tried to still her racing heart. It tried to pound right through her chest. Her eyes burned and she was wiping at her cheeks, until Nancy handed her a handkerchief.

Would Harry rejoice, would he take pleasure in learning she'd lost William, the man she'd loved instead of Harry? She did not think she could bear the taunting in his eyes.

"They're celebrating," Mrs. Garland said, gazing out the window on the other side. "Isn't it strange? Such a contrast. A far cry from Tarleton's camp, where everyone was angry, stricken, wounded… Here - look at these fellows," she finished, jutting her chin. Beth finally opened her eyes; sniffling, she wiped them again, hoped the tears would stop coming. Mrs. Garland was right, the men here were more than pleased, they caroused and cavorted as they marched, slapped one another on the backs, happy to be alive, overjoyed at their victory. Only a few wore slings to cradle a wounded arm, bandages around their foreheads, only a couple were trying to hobble along on a crutch. This was what it was to be the victor of a great battle. Not far in the distance, were the guarded prisoners. Lord, there were so many of them, trudging along and looking dejected. Loyalists, regulars, Officers, all lost to Banastre's folly.

The carriage continued onward. She saw one of Miller's men go on ahead and dread filled her heart; she knew he was going on to find Burwell and announce her presence. At least Harry would have some time to prepare himself; the Lord knew, she'd needed that herself. Not that it'd helped her much. She stared hard at where Miller's man had gone, and eventually she saw Gabriel waiting beside a tree, a grim look on his face.

"He's alive," she whispered, joy flooding her heart. But that face, oh, he did not look well pleased at all.

"Who, oh, is that your brother?" Electa asked. "He's incredibly handsome," she said, gazing out the window at Gabriel.

"And he's incredibly _married_, as well," Beth said tartly.

"A rebuke, is it?" Electa purred. "Most men are married. Not _incredibly_ so, though. How does one become _incredibly_ married?"

"You know what I mean," Beth said. "Gods, this is not going to be easy."

"Did you imagine it would be?" Mrs. Garland asked. Beth sighed and shook her head. The carriage came to a stop, Gabriel came forward, he was greeting Mr. Scott and Mr. Danvers, he then greeted Mr. Miller.

"You have my heartfelt thanks," Beth heard Gabriel say. "For bringing my sister to me. The Martin's are in your debt."

"No trouble, Sir," Alby knuckled his forehead. "We need to report, Sir, can we do that with you?"

"No, I have pressing business," Gabriel caught Beth's eye through the window and she quaked. "Make your report to Lieutenant Goldwin, he will ensure I get it." With that, he was opening the door. "Sister," he said curtly, gesturing for her to step down. She drew a steady breath, then climbed out. She caught Drake Miller's curious gaze and she knew he was wondering at her less than warm reception. Would he learn the truth? Earlier, she'd resented the laughter in his eyes and the grin that had split his face in half. Now, she found herself melancholy, worried that she would never see either again. Not aimed at her, anyway.

And the rest of the Company. It was clear which rumour Danvers believed. Would he repeat it now, to these men? If he did, how quickly would gossip of her spread?

"Gabriel -"

"General Burwell is waiting to speak with you," Gabriel said, voice firm. She looked up at him but he looked away, not willing to meet her eyes. His meaning was clear; Burwell wanted to speak with her, but Gabriel himself did not.

"I just…" Lord, this was going to be harder than she'd ever imagined. "Wanted to make sure my women were looked after, if they could be given a hot meal, if it's at all possible."

Gabriel looked into the carriage, then he cast a nod toward the fellow behind him - indicating he should take the women in hand. "This way," he said to Beth. Beth heard a soft gasp and she lifted her eyes from the ground. Miller was starting at her with astonishment. Having already seen to the call of nature and having already climbed back into the carriage before he and his men had surrounded it, he had really only seen her from the shoulders up. He was staring at the tell tale roundness of her stomach, eyes wide, and she covered the bulge protectively. Somehow, he managed to make that astonished look also seem slightly outraged. Of course. He had been introduced to her as _Miss Martin_. And here she was, a good five months pregnant. His thoughts were writ across his face, clear as day - he assumed he had his answer for Gabriel's curt greeting, that she'd been indiscreet and had disgraced herself.

Well, he wasn't wrong.

Beth shot Mrs. Garland a worried look, as Mr. Danvers began to drive the carriage on. Gabriel placed a hand on her arm to pull her along, they soon reached the tent and he left her there. Just left her. Without a word, he lifted the tent flap, gestured curtly for her to enter, then he let it fall back down - with himself on the outside. He wasn't even going to stay and speak with her. She did not have long to dwell on this, for there was Burwell, he towered over her, a deep scowl etching his features. All she could think of just then, however, was how little he'd aged. There were seats, two of them, but as he had made no move to sit, neither did she.

"Things did not end well for us, Mrs. Tavington," Harry began without preamble. "But I had no idea you that you had so little respect for me, so little regard, that you would send your… _lover_," he hissed the word down into her face and she blanched back a little, "to face me in battle, with my own wedding gift carrying him!"

"Oh, no, Harry," she gasped, her fingers twisting. It hadn't occurred to her that he might think she'd been in on Banastre's foul plan and it left her feeling sick to her stomach, that he did. "It was not like that at all!"

"Banastre Tarleton, my enemy, pranced Shadow Dancer back and forth along his front line, making certain I saw!"

"He is a bastard," she spat, furious and desperate to be believed all at once. "He has done so many unforgivable things, the list is as long as my arm but his use of Shadow Dancers was the worst of them all." He lifted his head, eyes still wary but now also showing slight confusion. He studied her face as she rushed to explain, "I did not give Shadow Dancer to him. I swear it, I vow on my honour." A strong oath, in the ordinary course of things, one that would immediately remove any doubt that the speaker was telling the truth. But did Beth have any honour left to swear on? She hoped he wasn't asking himself the same and she hurried on, not wanted to see the question flare across his face. "I did not know that he took her until he came back from the battle and told me that she… Lord, that she perished on the battlefield," reaching blindly behind her for the chair, she sat heavily."I wanted to curl my fingers around his throat," she hissed, balling the fingers of both hands into two hard fists. She waited for the quivering to stop and the rage to pass. Imploring, she continued earnestly, "you think low of me now, for everything I've done these last months; I know you do. But please, don't ever think I let him take her. I would never disrespect you so, I'd never… collude… in a plot that would see you taunted. And I would never, for any reason, _ever_ send my beautiful baby into a nightmare!" She choked off, Shadow Dancer's death striking her all over again. She did not fight the sharp and sudden pain in her chest as she imagined her horse, struggling for air, suddenly drop dead beneath the man who'd ridden her to exhaustion. Beth let herself feel the agony without trying to restrain it; Shadow Dancer deserved that much. Harry was staring at her with a stunned expression, lips slightly parted, eyes wide. He had believed it, he'd truly believed that she'd plotted with Banastre against him. She shook her head, expelled a breath. "I would never move against you like that," she said, feeling weak to her bones. "But if you don't believe that, at least believe that I would never have put my horse in harms way. When I found out," she cut short, her fingers curling again, her lips becoming two thin lines. Quietly, "what he did to her… She is half the reason I left him."

Harry pulled the other chair closer, set it down in front of her. He sat stiffly, elbows on knees, not quite ready to trust just yet. His face did soften, though. Slightly.

"And the other half?" He asked her, then made a guess. "What he did to your father?"

"No," she shook her head. "If father had been part of the reason, I would have left Banastre weeks ago. You might not agree but frankly, papa chose to be a soldier and soldiers die. Or they get captured. Father would have done the same to Banastre, given the chance. Don't look at me like that, you know it's the truth. You are all making your choices and at least Banastre has done what he can for father, to ensure his every comfort. At least I do not have to worry about him, I know that he is safe. He is being treated gently and is cared for and, well this is war and…" She cocked her head, noticing the slight recoil and the shock that now gaped from his face. "What is it?"

"Treated gently?" Harry asked, incredulous. "His every comfort ensured? Is that what he told you? That your father is being cared for."

"Yes," Beth breathed the word out slowly with growing horror. Yes, Banastre had said those things, he'd promised them. And she'd just believed him. How much of a fool _was_ she? "Isn't he?" She whispered.

"Of course not!" Harry said, throwing his arms wide. His warm hands enveloped her cold fingers, as if to give comfort while passing awful news. "Your father is being kept in some ramshackle building that has more holes in the walls and roof than not and there isn't even a fire to keep him warm. I doubt he even has a bed!"

Something broke. Deep inside her, at the discovery of yet another lie, another betrayal, something broke. The stool threatened to collapse beneath her as she bowed her head and began to weep. All these lies and at the centre of it all, there was Beth, believing every thing Banastre told her. It was like a cold hand, gripping her stomach and her heart, taking her breath with every sob. Harry was sitting near enough, his knees almost touching hers, all he had to do was lean forward. She felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her closer. Her head on his chest, her fingers clung to his jacket.

"I'm so, so stupid," she whispered when she was finally able to. Worse than stupid. And she'd done it all to herself. She could feel Harry shaking his head, but how could he possibly deny this? Her gullibility? "It's winter," she whispered, worry for her father blooming through the self pity and guilt. "And he doesn't even have a fire?"

"No," Harry confirmed. "I believe he is given a ration once a day but if I wagered that the ration consisted of stale bread and thin broth, I'd likely win."

"He said he was looking after him," she said into Harry's Blue coat. "He said he'd spoken with Cornwallis on my father's behalf."

"Was that before boasting his capture or after?"

Beth heaved a sigh. "I believed him. I can not believe that I believed him."

"You didn't want to worry about your father," Harry said. "You did not want to feel guilty for staying with the man who captured him. So you didn't question it."

It was an accusation, one she was guilty of. Nodding, she drew back, unable to look at Harry in the eye. She was too ashamed. He handed her a kerchief and even after wiping her eyes and face and nose, she still could not look at him. She'd believed because she'd wanted to believe it. Because acknowledging the truth would have driven her away from Banastre weeks ago, at a time when she felt she'd needed him most. He could do no wrong, not even capturing her father could send her from him.

"If your father is not it, tell me, what is the other half of the reason?" Harry asked when the silence stretched. Beth dropped her head back and stared at the canvas ceiling, fingers clutching the handkerchief.

"I left William because I thought he was having an affair," she said, meeting his gaze at last, seeing the look that crossed his face at the mention of her husband's name. Well, it was as hard for her to say it, as if was for him to hear it. "And I left Banastre because I discovered he'd known almost from the first, that William wasn't." Harry frowned and she realised she had some explaining to do, no matter how little either of them liked it. She found herself being brutally honest, flinching only slightly when she began to speak of becoming drunk while Henrietta Rutledge was locked away upstairs, of inviting Banastre into her chamber, when he came to bid her a good night. She felt Harry stiffen and saw the look on his face and she knew that he could not possibly love her any more, not after hearing all this. Her liaisons had not begun when she left William, they'd begun before she'd even married him. "He beat me for that, William did," she said in a faraway voice she wasn't even sure belonged to her. It was as though she were off in some dream, disconnected from the conversation even though it was her doing the talking."For lying to him. Or rather, for not telling him I'd already laid with another man. But what was I expected to do?" She laughed, there was no humour in it. "Standing in that church with Bordon towering over me and William at my side and his men all around us. Was I supposed to say 'oh, I do have something to declare'. Gods, he would have beaten me _then_," she paused, adding, "though in truth, I'd only delayed the inevitable." Her voice became matter of fact, as though she were looking at someone else's life, at someone else's shortcomings, and was able to ask 'well what did you expect?' "And what did _William_ expect?" She asked Harry. "I knew about Linda, I've known about her all along. When I saw them together, was I supposed to believe him when he said he'd been true to me since our wedding? Especially when Miss Cordell told me Linda had been boasting to her about screwing William again. How was I to know Linda was lying to Miss Cordell? She kissed him, right there in front of the tent, and she held his hand. Oh, the look she gave me, this little smile I wish I could wipe from her face, little victorious grin… Gods, was I truly going to believe his word over all that? After he told me he'd expelled her from camp and yet there she was, right there under my nose? With her bearing a different name so I wouldn't suspect who she truly was, and with him making house calls? Tent calls. I was meant to believe him, was I? Why would I have believed anything that came from his mouth when he was helping to hide her from me?" She shook her head. "Though as it turned out, he was telling the truth. I could have given him a fair hearing… Could have stopped to consider that perhaps Linda was lying to Miss Cordell to save face. But I just… I was so crazed. He'd put me through so much with that bitch of a woman…" She paused, drew a ragged breath. She should not be talking like that. Aunt Charlotte would never speak like that. "I'm sorry," she said. Harry's face was pale, drained of all colour, he was looking quite horrified. And not because Beth had cursed and called another woman a bitch. "You think I'm a whore, don't you?" She asked him. His blind eyes focused on her. "Don't worry," she reassured him. "So do I."

And with that she buried her face in her hands and was weeping again. It was a while before she felt his strong arms come around her shoulders, he'd hesitated this time and she didn't blame him at all.

"I think you're a very confused young woman who has been dragged to hell and back by those shameless scoundrels; I don't think you're a whore. Having said that," he said into her hair. "You have made some decisions that I most certainly disapprove."

Was this to be her only rebuke? She felt his fingers moving up and down her spine, comforting her even as he censured her. As far as condemnations went, this one was fairly light; she doubted it would go so easily if she ever came face to face with her father again. She lifted her head, blinked up at him. He coughed, let his hands fall, and looked away. His jaw worked, there was conflict in his eyes and intuition warned her that there was more to come, after all. When it did, his voice was harsh.

"I loved you, Beth. So damned much."

It stung, hearing that declaration made in the _past tense_. Why should it sting so? Would she prefer that he love her and carry his heartache 'til his dying day? To carry that painful torch for her forever… She should be pleased he'd spoken in the past tense, relieved that he was not pining for her, no longer in pain. Still… "And now?" She found herself asking - like a greedy child wanting all the candy - she knew she was being selfish, yet still… "Do you not love me at all? Do you feel nothing, now?"

He blew out a breath, squeezed his eyes shut. His lips moved, as if in prayer.

"I keep it at bay most days. But having you here before me… so close I can draw in your scent and breathe your air. I feel like my heart is being clawed from my chest," he admitted, eyes closed. He still loved her and she hated herself for the wave of satisfaction that washed over her. Selfish, selfish, selfish! He should find another love, marry, be happy. What sort of awful person was she becoming?

"I'm sorry," she said, contrite. "I should not have wrung that from you. It was wrong of me. Selfish - I just, needed to hear it, needed to know that someone still cares. I apologise."

"Don't," he said. Don't apologise. "I do not blame you, not for everything. I was at fault too." He sighed, the silence stretched. And then, "why did you do it Beth?" He asked, his heart in his voice. "I understand you leaving Tavington, I truly do. But you could have gone to Mrs. Selton, you could have gone anywhere! It's bad enough that you married Tavington but then you become some other man's mistress? _Colonel Tarleton's _mistress?" He looked very much like a man trying to understand her, the woman he'd once loved. The woman he loved still. But how could she explain when she barely understood herself? She'd already explained about seeing William with Linda but even that had seemed a thin excuse to leave her husband for another man, even to her. She had left him, without giving him the fair hearing which, as it turned out, he had deserved. Why had she left William for Banastre?

"He beat me," she whispered, voice haunted. Harry already knew this, too, but he could not have known how helpless she'd felt during, and how that helplessness had affected her. "I know that he was angry because I wasn't a virgin. But he lied about things too, he helped to hide her, _right under my nose._ Yet he just… threw me over the bed and held me down and strapped my rump with his belt. I know, I did wrong. I did. But still… Lord, he lied too! He might not have been having the affair I was told he was having, but he did lie. And he went to such lengths to keep her safe and hidden. He was angry when each month passed and I kept getting my menses, he wanted me to give him a child. He'd made me the Matron of the camp followers, but when the time came for him to hide Linda, he couldn't have me going down there anymore. So he used my lack of pregnancy as an excuse to keep me away. I needed to rest, he said. He forbade me from going down to the camp for I was under too much stress, which is why I hadn't conceived. But that wasn't it at all. He just didn't want me to discover his precious Linda. He lied - and it was a brutal, awful lie, preying on my worries of not conceiving! Yet could I beat him? No. I got a couple good slaps in and that was all," she recalled now and the memory still rankled. "If I'd been as strong as him, I could have beaten him. Just held him down and used my belt on him, for all the lies _he'd_ told. But could I? No. I don't have the strength. But _he_ does. Oh, yes, he does. So he gets to beat me raw and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. I think… I think that was the real reason I stayed with Colonel Tarleton. You're right, I could have gone anywhere when I left. Instead, I became another man's mistress. I think… maybe I knew it would hurt William as deeply as the beating had hurt me. He gave me the beating that I felt he deserved but was not strong enough to deliver. Now that I know the truth, I have no choice but to admit that my transgression was the greater. Still, if I'd hidden an old beau in William's camp, even if I wasn't bedding him, the result would have been the same. The frustration… I got a prodigious punishment and he got away with nothing more than a few slaps across the face."

"You stayed with Tarleton because you wanted to cause Tavington as much pain as he'd caused you?" Harry asked, looking stunned, shocked.

"I don't know. I think so? And because I wasn't thinking," she said. "You weren't there, you can't know. I was out of my mind. Crazed. Mrs. Garland says it's because I was already with child. Women can become entirely unreasonable and God knows, I was that day. If I'd been at all rational, I would have let him explain, like I said. I would have questioned Miss Cordell, I might have discovered she'd been lied to. But to be honest," she laughed softly, a weak thing, as if she were tired of it all. "I didn't want yet another explanation. I was so sick and tired of it by then. Things had been so good between us - except for me not conceiving - and I felt as though our happiness had all been a lie. Our troubles from the city were still with us after all, and I was just so damned tired of it. I didn't want to be convinced, yet again, of his innocence, I didn't want to foolishly believe him all over again. So I left him," she said, head bowed, eyes fixed on her hands in her lap. "And I believed _Banastre's_ lies instead." The silence stretched, she could feel sympathy coming from Harry like a warm, wonderful wave. Knowing that he felt low of her and despising it, she said, "I regret my actions. The shame I bought upon myself. On my family. I regret it all, so very much."

"Do you regret leaving Tavington?" Burwell asked, and Beth could hear something strange in his voice. Jealousy?

"No," she said, voice firm. "Not that. I did wrong, I know I did. But so did he," she held Harry's gaze until he nodded. "I don't regret leaving him. I regret that I…" it was hard to say, to admit, her voice came out strangled. "That I… shared quarters… with Banastre." _Please, let it lie at that_, she thought; Burwell was a gentleman, he understood that she was trying to save face and he allowed it without correcting her. "That, I never should have done. I could have travelled with him a time, until I was able to find my way to Gullah. I didn't have to… I should never have become his mistress. That is what I regret. The way I conducted myself with Banastre, and the shame I've bought myself and my family." She paused, tears welling, eyes burning. "Again."

"You've made your mistakes," he said softly. "But at least you're willing to admit them."

"Yes," she said, knowing that admitting her mistakes did little to mitigate her actions. But Burwell was a gentleman and she was grateful to him all the same. Still, it was more than Banastre was able to do. That man would go to his grave thinking he was right in his every deed, his every decision. At least she did not suffer from that particular failing. "No matter how difficult it is, at least I can admit when I'm wrong…"

"As can I," he said, taking hold of her hands again. She looked at him in askance, he was not meeting her eyes though, he was staring at their joined hands. "I should have married you," he whispered. "When I had the chance." She averted her gaze, agreeing wholeheartedly. "And not only because I had the chance," he amended, "but because of the… the things that passed between us. I should not have rushed away from Pembroke as I did. I abandoned you, and after doing the things we did together… I should have married you. I've disgraced your father as much as -" he cut short.

"As much as I have?" She asked, broken.

"I didn't mean -"

"Yes, you did. That's precisely what you meant. Don't worry, I agree. I've disgraced my father, his name, our family."

"As have I. I must own to a measure of the blame. I failed you, I failed us both." She cocked her head questioningly and he explained, "you were an innocent girl once, and that innocent girl - whom I proposed marriage to - did her utmost to protect me. You put your own self in danger, to do it."

She did not argue, she did not defend him to make him feel better, for it was the simple truth. "When it came down to it, it was as though none of that even mattered, all my efforts to protect you in the city were for nothing when you found out what I'd done with William," she shrugged, "and who could blame you? I did do the wrong thing by you. I wasn't faithful. I should not have… entertained the suit… of another man when I knew I'd soon be engaged to you," she'd hedged quite a bit just now, and she hoped he would let her get away with whitewashing her sins. _'Entertaining the suit' _of Tavington - she'd been intimate with William, kissing him, pleasuring him, accepting pleasure in turn… she'd done far worse than 'entertain his suit'. Again, Burwell was nothing if not a gentleman, he did not confront her with her sins.

"We were both at fault," he said, taking his measure of the blame and allowing her hers. He gave her fingers a squeeze.

"How much less complicated would our lives be now," she mused wistfully, "if we'd both done as my father wished? Set aside all that anger and blame… and just married one another," she wondered what it would have been like, to have actually married Harry Burwell. He never would have taken his belt to her, that was for certain. Then again, who knew? History might have repeated itself, but with Harry instead of with William, for she'd already given her virginity to Banastre by the time her father begged Harry that second time, to marry her. If Harry had agreed, her father would have arranged to have the wedding immediately, no waiting. And - again - she never would have dared reveal that she'd lost her virginity to Banastre. If Harry had found out months later, just as William had - perhaps then she might have seen an entirely different Harry Burwell. Perhaps he would have beaten her at that.

"You say that as though you regret your choice," Harry asked, feigning a casualness he clearly did not feel. "Do you truly wish you'd married me instead of him?"

"I don't know," she replied. "We're not happy… neither of us are." She squeezed her eyes shut while admitting this - not wanting to see the pleasure cross his face - the triumph.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said and when she opened her eyes, she saw none of the triumph she'd been expecting. He looked at her gravely, taking no joy in her pain. "I'm told most marriages suffer in the first year before getting better. Perhaps yours is the same."

"I don't think so. Not after I ran off with… well, not after everything that has happened these last few months," she whispered.

"Yes, well," Harry heaved a breath and she regretted reminding him of whose bed she'd been sharing more recently. She expected he would close to her again now. "That will certainly have an… injurious… effect on your marriage."

"It doesn't matter, I won't be going back to him anyway," she said, eyes lowered. She had no intention of returning to William, she'd never see him again, she was going to live with Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Mage and that was an end to it. Perhaps she would eventually find a reverend willing to call her marriage over, and they could both be free to live their lives happily until the end. Though in truth, Beth didn't think she would marry again even if she were free to. She'd been with three men, that was enough and too much for any woman of supposed virtue. "I just want to live a quiet life now, no more excitement. I was thinking that Mrs. Selton might be feeling the same, considering…" Did Harry know about Charlotte and Bordon? She had no idea and she wasn't going to be the one to reveal it. "I should have gone straight to her when I left Fresh Water, but better late than never. I thought we could live together alone someplace, a few servants, some quiet farmhouse near a small settlement. Maybe even up here in Grindal Shoals… I know people who live here."

"You do, do you?"

"Well, not personally. They're my friends parents. I'd like to try to find them, they must be dying for news of their daughter and I received a letter from her recently." Begging Beth to understand, pleading with her to forgive her and to be her friend again. Beth felt wretched, what she wouldn't give to have Harmony in front of her that very moment, she wanted nothing more than to apologise, for most of what had occurred between them was her own fault. She wished she could reassure Harmony of this. She wished they could reconcile, that things between them would be as they had been before.

"So I am not to send you back to your husband?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. He looked quite pleased about this - not gloating as she'd expected, just pleased that the woman he loved was not returning to his rival.

"No. I would like to go to Gullah. That's where I was heading when Mr. Miller found me. I have not seen Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Mage for so long and the children are there also. It's safe there. Harry, I have been thinking, I've got it all worked out. Mr. Danvers and Mr. Scott want to stay with you, now that we're all here. And it's going to be too dangerous for me to attempt to reach Gullah on my own, the way things are now. But Mrs. Farshaw, it's her parents I was speaking of, they live not far from here. Perhaps you could take me there. It'd be safe there, I could stay with them until the armies have passed and the threat of brigands is gone. Then, Mrs. Garland and my other women could begin making our way down to Gullah, to my aunts. I'd only have to stay with the Jutland's for a week or so, before the armies are all gone. I just need your help with finding the Jutland's, please?"

"I don't know. Well, I could help you find your friend's parents but I don't know about you going all the way to Gullah on your own. I doubt it'll be all that safe even after our armies have passed; it's a hell of a long way, Beth," he rubbed his chin, seeming to not notice the casual ease between them, the sort of relaxing that only came from heartfelt explanations and admissions of guilt. She rejoiced, seeing it as a sign that they had taken the first steps to repairing the damage between them.

"And not where Beth is going in any case." The tent flap lifted and Gabriel strode into the tent. Beth and Harry jerked away from one another, as if sitting so close and holding hands was something to be guilty of. From the withering stare Gabriel gave them both, he certainly seemed to think it was. Beth wasn't sure if it was the tent flap lifting that let in the sudden gush of winter, or if it was Gabriel himself who was making her feel so cold. Beth pulled her cape closer around her shoulders and leaned back from Harry, who was doing the same. She wondered how long Gabriel had been standing outside the tent. He had let her in, had he stayed there the entire time? Had he heard everything she and Harry had said? Gods, had he heard her confess to Burwell that she hadn't been a virgin before marrying William? Heat flared over her cheeks, they were blazing red. "Father has made his intentions very clear, Beth. You will return to your husband."

Beth's face drained of colour. "Gabriel, I -"

"No. No more from you. No excuses, no defiance," Gabriel curled his lip. "You've bought our family to the brink of disaster. You've bought yourself to the brink of disaster. No more. You are going to stay put, with me watching your every damned move and when father gets here, he will decide your fate. Do not doubt it, Beth. You will be returned to William. After everything you have done, what you want will no longer be taken into consideration."

His speech left Beth gaping. With another swirl of the tent flap, he was gone as quickly as he'd entered. Beth turned her horrified eyes onto Burwell, hoping to find her salvation there. He despised that she was with William, surely he would do what he could to help her, to prevent her returning? Burwell averted his conflicted gaze and she knew, in that moment, that he would not.

To William. Gods, they were going to take her to William. Her husband. The man she loved. The man who'd beaten her. Air. It was only then, when her lungs began to scream, that she realised she'd been holding her breath. For what? For Burwell to act? For Gabriel to return, to tell her it was a mistake? A joke? She drew in raggedly, sharply, then rose unsteadily to her feet.

"If you'll excuse me," she whispered, already stumbling toward the entrance.


	139. Chapter 139 - Thomas Visits with Family

Chapter 139 - Thomas Visits with Family:

Thomas was dying. He slumped in the saddle, rain pouring from the brim of his hat down his sodden great cloak, he rode hunched over himself as if nursing a terrible wound. Nathan slapped his back in sympathy. Or perhaps it was to help bring up the phlegm, as Thomas had begun coughing again. Snot ran down his nose, he wiped it on the back of his wet glove. He heaved a sigh and thanked the great lord above that they'd arrived to Mr. Singleton's Plantation, after having finally received word of his whereabouts. The dark mass of the Great House was visible through the driving rain now and Thomas urged his horse forward, wanting to reach a nice warm fire as quickly as possible. Watson, Nathan and the others did likewise. When they reached the steps, Thomas fell ungracefully from the saddle, tied off his horse and clumped up to the porch.

"Where are Mr. Putman's men?" Watson asked and Thomas gave a shrug. How the hell would he know? It had been at least a month since he'd last seen Mark, he couldn't know anything more about his uncle's militia than Nicholas did. Nor did he care, they were likely off wintering with their families or somewhat. But he supposed Nicholas was right - surely a sentry should have challenged them before now? Thomas wasn't thinking about any of that - his thoughts were solely on the prospect of a warm fire. And a warm brandy. Or whiskey. He was quite partial to whiskey, these days. Both the fire and the whiskey would go a long way to healing him right up.

In truth, if he was forced to admit it, he would have to say that he wasn't as sick as he had been. He was actually starting to get better; the stupid cold was running its course, at long last. To think he'd be inflicted with such a terrible flux, when he needed to be in the saddle the most. Was he struck down when the time came to follow Cilla's trail when she fled Fresh Water? No. Was he struck down with it on the ride to Fresh Water, when he and his brothers decided to inform William of his twenty murdered Dragoons? No. Was he struck down with it while waiting at Henrietta Rutledge's Plantation, where he and his brothers had waited for instructions from Burwell? No. Was he struck down with it, when Burwell's missive arrived, instructing Nicholas and Thomas to begin the search for Mark Putman, in order to gain back the seal and cipher, in order to rescue Thomas' father? No.

When he finally learned where Mark was, _that_ was when his body decided it no longer wanted to be the healthy, strong body Thomas needed it to be. That was when it decided to revolt against him, bringing on such chills and lethargy and vomiting that he hadn't been able to stir from his bed for an entire week.

His body had wanted to remain in bed for a month, but Thomas drew the line at six days. His father was still in the prison camp, had been for months now, he needed to be rescued, before he bloody well died. Burwell had given them his instructions and they had been delayed long enough. He and the others were on a mission to rescue his father, so what his wanted and what it got were two entirely different things. As soon as he was a little stronger, he forced himself out of his sick bed. Morning after morning for two days now, he climbed into his not so nice, wet, cold saddle, where he could not sleep but he did feel wretched. Day after day of being snot nose and red faced and coughing. What a way to recuperate. It wasn't something he'd recommend.

The door was already opening, he let Watson announce who they were and then followed Nathan into the candlelit hall. Thomas wondered what the mood of the house was, with Mark being reunited with his wife, who was living beneath the same roof as Charlotte. Both of whom had bedded Major Bordon. Didn't it bother Mark at all, that his wife had been in Bordon's bed? He'd condoned it at the time, for the information she was gaining for the Cause. He called it their sacrifice. Thomas thought that was a load of pig shit, but perhaps there everything was fine between Mark and Mage, perhaps it was only Thomas that her affair bothered. But what of Mage and Charlotte? Were the two women jealous of one another, two former mistresses tossed together in close proximity, two women who'd had the same lover?

A negro woman with a stern face was glaring at him and he snapped out of his thoughts to glance at his boots, becoming very aware of how wet and mucky they were and of the mud he'd trampled inside. Dropping back against one wall, he pulled them off his feet, then pulled off his wet socks for good measure. Upstairs, a baby wailed. Thomas knew just how the infant felt, he wished he could wail and tantrum as well.

"Nate! Thomas!" A girls voice shrilled and Thomas looked up to see his sister Susan hurtling down the stairs two at a time. He saw Anne make a vain grab for the lass, but Susan slipped through her fingers. All Anne could do then was watch with a horrified hand over her mouth as Susan threw herself down the stairs two at a time until she was leaping up into Thomas' arms. Thomas would have pushed the girl away because he was sodden and filthy and he was going to ruin her pretty dress, but she was too excited and he did not want to offend her. If she didn't care, then, he wouldn't either. He brushed back one of her pretty blonde curls. Gods, she was getting heavy, she was growing so much! And Anne - she looked strange, her stomach looked so big now. Thomas didn't think she'd appreciate the observation, however. She, and then Margaret, made a much more sedate descent. It made Thomas laugh, he was about to twit his sister for trying to copy Anne's natural dignity and grace, when Susan piped up again, the words like a punch to the gut winding him. "Aunt Mage is dead," she said, gazing up at him with two very large, blue eyes. "Papa isn't going to die too, is he?"

"What?" Thomas gasped out, his mouth falling open wide. "What?!"

"I'd hoped to tell you more gently than this," Anne said, coming to a stop before him, Margaret at her side.

"Hell's teeth," Nathan breathed. Anne's eyes grew to the size of saucers, but Nathan did not notice, his gaze was fixed on Thomas, as if expecting his older brother to tell him it wasn't so. Thomas shook his head, stunned.

"Oh my God, Mrs. Martin! What happened?" Lieutenant Nicholas Watson asked Anne.

"Why don't we sit down?" Anne gestured toward the parlour, giving them something to do, instructing them when they were too shocked to recall what they should be doing. "And take your wet things off first."

They were soon seated in the parlour. Charlotte and Mark joined them, Mark sat with his head in his hands, Charlotte held the baby that had killed its mother. Thomas looked to Susan, the grown child whose birthing had killed Thomas' mother. His mind could barely encompass it all. The thing, the boy, looked so innocent, so utterly unaware. Did he even know what he'd done? The midwives had cut Mage open to get him free of her…

Thomas cringed and looked away.

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Putman," Nicholas said.

Thomas thought that was the right thing to say, the thing that was usually said to a person whose loved one had just died. But… This was Aunt Mage he was speaking about. How could she possibly be dead? Men died - soldiers died - on the field of battle. He'd grown accustomed to that. It was expected. A comrade you set out with in the morning might not be with you by nightfall. But to come to the women of his family and find one of them had died? It shocked him. It wasn't meant to be that way. The baby squirmed against Charlotte's chest, his small face nestled into her neck, eyes shut. He looked so warm and peaceful. Thomas tried to recall Susan when she was first born, had she nestled as sweetly against Abigail? As uncaring, as this small boy, as their mother's life drained from her?

"I'm so sorry, uncle Mark," he found himself repeating after Nathan said it. That's what you're supposed to do, when a person lost a loved one. Dear God above. Mark scrubbed his face with his hands, he needed a shave. His blonde hair was unkempt. There were dark rings under his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" He asked harshly. "Last I saw of any of you, you renounced me and turned your back. Why are you here?"

"Brother," Charlotte laid one graceful hand on Mark's arm, fingers alighting softly as if she might draw the tension out from his body. He did soften. Slightly.

"I can not believe you came merely to visit the children," he said, his voice slightly politer. "You must have told Burwell by now. What does he say of it?"

Of Mark overextending himself, of reaching beyond the authority Burwell had placed upon him in his executing of those Dragoons.

"It can wait," Nicholas said, spreading his hands wide.

"The hell it can," Thomas said, drawing himself up. "I'm sorry, I truly am. If there was a better time, I'd wait but hell. Father's time is slipping by, hour by hour, day by day. As it is, he'll be stuck in that prison camp for at least another week. We can not wait, we must be on our way."

"On your way where?" Mark asked.

Thomas saw the girls share concerned glances with the olderwomen. No. It wasn't fair to call Margaret a girl, only Susan could be called such now. Margaret was four months past fifteen years old now, she was as much a woman as Anne was. She hadn't been _imitating_ Anne, she'd been acting as a young woman of breeding aught.

Would that Beth had learned that lesson…

"To get papa free of the Lobsters," Nathan said and Mark's eyes widened.

"What is this?"

"An offer, from General Burwell," Nicholas said. "You can't hide from justice, Mr. Putman. You and your men will be taken into custody, peacefully or not, and you will be tried by court marshal."

"And we will hang," Mark said, lifting his head, his lips thin, face too pale. _Now_ Thomas found himself wondering where Mark's men were, the militia who had sided with him, who had assisted in the executing of a score of Dragoons. Could he, Nathan, Nicholas and the others arrest Mark themselves? Should they? Wasn't he already going through enough?

"Not necessarily," Nicholas said, leaning forward, elbows on knees. Charlotte stroked the babies back and rocked gently. "We have come with an offer from General Burwell. We can arrest you now and take you to him for Court Martial. Or. General Burwell promises that long as you co-operate now, he will do everything in his power to keep your neck from the noose. And his power is quite considerable. I will show you the letter he sent to me, I believe he means to sweep the whole thing under the carpet, or at the very least, downplay your role in it. You'll be able to continue to live your life, to maintain your businesses, to raise your son," he pointed at the baby. "But not without General Burwell's assistance."

"And what will his… _assistance_… cost me?" Mark asked.

"The seal and cipher," Nicholas replied without missing a beat. Mark grew tense. "They were never yours, Mr. Putman, you should have given them to Burwell long ago. To keep them is treason, such weapons as they must only be used for the Cause, not for personal vendettas. If you wish to escape justice, to have the crime of murdering twenty men forgiven, you are to give me the cipher in order for me to use at his direction. Frankly, General Burwell needs Colonel Martin. And your nephews and your nieces, need their father to not die in a prison camp. How much, exactly, is your life worth to you? And the lives of your men? This is a very generous offer, I encourage you to take it."

"Why? You going to try and rescue him?" Mark asked.

The girls - the women - drew a collected breath and held it, eyes wide and staring at Mark. General Burwell had been right to nominate Nicholas Watson the speaker, rather than Thomas and Nathan. Nathan was too timid for this sort of negotiation and Thomas would have resorted to screaming obscenities and charging around like an angry bull. Watson, however, knew how to strike. Mark's eyes slid toward his excited nieces and nephew, and back again.

"An easy enough feat with the right equipment," Nicholas said. "Yes, we're going to get Martin out of prison camp and to a place where he can recover."

"Recover!" Margaret gasped. "Is he ill?"

Thomas and the other boys had no idea, either way. But Nicholas had sown the seed and now he played to it, deliberately coaxing worry and fear.

"He is being kept in squalor, his cabin is open to the elements, he is barely being fed, he could be dying as we speak," Nicholas said, hitting hard, doing nothing to soften the blow. Why would he try to reassure the women, when he wanted them on side, helping to convince Mark? Thomas wanted to tell him to stop, for Margaret was turning a sickly shade of green and Susan had started to cry. But as awful as this was, this distressing of his own sisters, he knew it was needful. "Give us the seal and cipher, allow us to use them in the recovery of your brother, and General Burwell will speak on your behalf, when the time comes for your court marshal. Indeed, if you do this, I do not believe there will even be a court marshal."

"Oh, please, uncle," Margaret gasped out, shifting in her seat to face Mark. He gave her a stricken look. Mark had disowned the Martin family, but it was clear to Thomas that Margaret, Susan and William were not included in his disavowal.

"It costs you nothing," Charlotte said, gripping Mark's sleeve. "And gives us everything."

"You speak for him too?" Mark sounded incredulous and Thomas wondered what Charlotte had been telling him. That his father had spurned her? Had she told her brother the reason why? Had she dared? "You're considering marrying Mr. Singleton," he said as if reminding her.

"That is neither here nor there. Benjamin is our sister's husband. He is the father of our sister's children. Children we love. He is part of our family and he needs to be rescued and here are your nephews, willing to risk their lives to see it done. Can you truly do no less?" Mark's lips tightened; Charlotte pressed him. "For our _sister_, Mark. Gods," she broke, tears welling. She did not shed them, but her voice was raw. "And for me."

Thomas gave her a startled, confused look, before shifting his attention to Mark. He could see the conflict warring across Mark's face. To see Benjamin freed, Mark would have to abandon his quest for vengeance. Thomas couldn't understand why the man was burning to see Tavington and Bordon dead, but surely his need for vengeance was not stronger than his obligation to his own family? Would he really let Thomas' father rot in the pit of doom, to see Bordon and Tavington killed? He was about to ask, when Mark slumped back in his chair.

"Very well, I accept," he said, much to Thomas's vast relief. "If it means you'll not hang my men… I'll have Farshaw draft up several letters for you, he is quite well practiced in O'Hara's handwriting and can recreate it perfectly. I suggest you account for several different scenarios and choose the letter you need accordingly. Watson, you will help him with the wording, you know better than anyone what eventualities must be accounted for. For now, if you'll excuse me," he left the room quickly, as if he could no longer endure the sight of them. By now, refreshments were being carried in and a negro woman informed them that water was being heated for the men to bathe in. Thomas wondered where this Mr. Singleton was. He wondered where Farshaw was, too. Was it going to take long, the drafting of the letters? Thomas itched with the need to be on his way again; the sooner gone, the sooner there, the sooner they could rescue his father. If nothing went wrong… Gods, no, now was not the time to start worrying about that. Coughing, he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Disgusting," Margaret said, wrinkling her nose as she handed him a kerchief.

"You look dreadful," Charlotte observed.

"Thomas has seen better days," Nicholas replied for him.

"I'm on the mend though," Thomas added.

"You do not look it and you do not sound it. Perhaps you should stay here a few days, to rest?"

"Aunt, do you know what a disaster that might prove to be?" Thomas asked, somehow making his voice firm, without revealing the depth of his fear. She nodded, then leaned back in the chair and caressed her nose along the baby's cheek.

"How is my husband?" Anne asked, reminding Thomas that she was, indeed, married to Gabriel. It was hard to imagine at times, Gabriel a married man. To Anne Howard, no less. It made him think of Colin's sister, Miss Lucy Ferguson, the girl he still had designs on marrying. Would he make it there, one day? Would Nathan find it as incredulous, as Thomas found Gabriel's marrying Anne?

Had Charlotte found it just as strange, when her older brother married Mage Middleton? Thomas' heart clenched on a stab of grief.

"He was well when last I saw him," Thomas said, turning to the mundane despite the earth shattering blow his family had suffered. He hoped, prayed it fervently, that there was not another blow to come. They would get father free of the prison camp, he could feel it in his bones. No point worrying. No point dwelling. "He talks of you an annoying amount," Thomas said, "reckon if he'd known our uncle was with you when we set out to find him, Gabriel would have ignored Burwell's command to rejoin him in the north."

Anne smiled, blue eyes bright. "An annoying amount, hmm?" She said, seeming well pleased by this. They discussed Gabriel for a little while longer, spoke of the battles and their travels with the army.

"And Beth?" Margaret asked, eager to hear tell of her sister. Thomas looked at her, gave her a good, long stare.

What would they do, if Margaret turned out like Beth? It was good she was here with Anne, he suddenly decided, despite being on the verge of twitting her earlier. He realised now that it could only be a good thing, having such a role model in her sister in law, a thing Margaret failed to have in a sister. Thomas felt another pang but he stifled this one. He loved Beth dearly and had been her champion so often before, but now… What she was doing… He wondered if perhaps he should not have championed her before. Had they all gone wrong with her? Letting her ride and hunt like a man; hell, her own brothers had taught her everything they knew. She'd had no female figure to learn from, to base her conduct on, until their father finally relented and sent her to Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Mage. Not like Margaret, who was looking to Anne for that. Beth had had Charlotte and honestly, Charlotte was no better than Beth! The image of Charlotte up against the wall, legs wrapped around Bordon's waist, his breeches around his knees… Thomas shoved the image away as if it were a viper. Was it any wonder that Beth had turned out the way she had, with only brothers and a harlot to raise her? Two harlots, for Aunt Mage had bedded Bordon too. Thomas felt a flare of anger at his father, who'd spent so long grieving his wife, his inattention might as well have ruined his eldest daughter. Then came a stab of guilt, for thinking ill of the man who was living in such desperate circumstances, he surely deserved nothing but Thomas' sympathy. His father was sitting in a prison camp for goodness sake, now was not the time to throw stones or cast aspersions. Still, Beth was bringing their family to the brink of disaster - again! - and Thomas was well pleased that with Anne to model herself from, it was very unlikely that Margaret would do the same.

"She was well, the last I heard," Thomas lied. What else could he do? He ignored Nathan's incredulous stare. What did Nate want him to do, tell his sisters the truth? That Beth was off whoring herself with Banastre Tarleton?

"You did not go to Fresh Water?" Margaret seemed greatly disappointed.

"No. They're not there, Tavington shifted out a short while ago. Lord, who is going to tell Cilla?" They'd avoided speaking of Mage until now, but her passing was in the forefront of their minds. "She can't know already? Have you sent word to her?"

"I believe Mark intended to tell her in person," Charlotte said and Thomas felt the air woosh from his stomach. Mark had intended to kill Bordon, freeing Cilla of her unwanted marriage, of taking her in hand and caring for her himself. All of that had changed now, he was going to give up the seal and cipher, and his dreams of vengeance with them.

"He is wrong about them anyway," Thomas said softly. Charlotte cocked her head. "About Bordon and Cilla. He loves her, I'm certain of it. And she loves him. I'm certain of that, too. Sure, Middleton arranged it all and she might've been forced to marry Bordon," and was that really enough to kill the man? "But no matter how they came together, they are happy with each other now."

"How could you possibly know this?" Charlotte asked with a grimace. At the mention of Bordon? Likely. Was she jealous that her niece was married to the man she… The image rose again and again, Thomas banished it, though he was unable to shove away the flare of anger at Charlotte.

"I saw them together," he said, forthright, ruthless, refusing to care if it bought Charlotte pain. Did she love Bordon? No. She'd bedded him out of necessity. To protect Thomas' father. So _she_ said. Maybe she only said that in the hope that his father would still marry her, after it became clear that Bordon wouldn't. "We went to Fresh Water under parlay, to tell Tavington about the men our uncle killed. We had just learned that papa had been captured by the British and we were worried that they would take those deaths out on him. While we were there, we asked to see Cilla, who was terribly sick. I've heard she is much better now, but back then… she was dreadful ill. Almost as sick as I was this last week." He ignored Nathan's scoff of derision, instead he studied Charlotte's expression for any hint of jealousy, for any hint that she was in love with Bordon. What sort of woman lifted her skirts and offered her quim as a means to distract a soldier from his duty? A prostitute in want of coin might. But surely his Aunt Charlotte could have conceived of a more appropriate method? No. The first thing she thought of was to fuck the man. Thomas was unable to quell the flare of contempt and disgust. Christ, between her brothers and her Aunts, Beth had never stood a chance.

Ho! Was that why Mark was so intent on killing Bordon? For bedding his wife, his sister and then marrying his daughter? Good God, the thought struck like a bell ringing, leaving Thomas gaping. Thomas would hate any man who dared to make him a cuckold. Sure, Mark had agreed with the idea, but Bordon hadn't known it. He'd known Mark, he'd dined in Mark's home. And he had bedded Mark's wife. No mater what Mark's motive in allowing it to happen, Bordon had shown utter disrespect, in the taking of Mark's wife. Hells teeth, it fit so perfectly, it had to be so! Mark wanted to kill Bordon for bedding his wife, his sister, and for marrying his daughter! It left Thomas reeling, all the pieces had fallen into place, it all fit so perfectly. He finally understood what had driven Mark into such a frenzy, a bloodlust aimed at Bordon.

"You saw them together when Cilla was sick?" Charlotte prompted. The new understanding, the startling revelation had so filled Thomas's head, he'd quite forgotten what he'd been saying.

"When Gabriel, Nate and me went to Fresh Water. William let us up to visit Cilla, she was right sick with a flux." He wiped his nose again, he knew now how Cilla must have been feeling! "It must have been catching, because I got sick straight after."

"Three weeks after, and you weren't as sick as she was," Nathan scoffed again.

"Shut it, Nate. Bordon was at her side, looking worried sick, like he hadn't slept in days. And Cilla was murmuring things about Bordon in her sleep like we wasn't there, she kept reaching her hand out to him and all. Aye, Nate?"

Nathan was nodding agreement. Charlotte scowled. Jealous? That her niece had found happiness with the man she herself had wanted?

"For goodness sake, do not say any of that in your uncle's hearing," she said. "Not if you want his co-operation."

"Why?" Thomas asked bluntly. "It's the simple truth. It's about time everyone accepted their marriage." _And I mean you too_, Thomas thought defiantly, certain Charlotte was still carrying a torch for her lover.

"Accept their marriage," Charlotte breathed, looking stunned. "Are you forgetting Bordon tortured him?"

"I -"

Damn and blast it.

_Forgotten_ wasn't really the right word. It was just… to Thomas, that had happened in a different life. A life before William married Beth, before he became a man Thomas actually liked. And it was before Bordon married Cilla, before he became a man that Thomas could clearly see was in love with his wife. No, he hadn't forgotten… He'd just… _forgotten_. He wasn't making the connection between the two men of now and the two men of _before_, though he guessed that Mark would not ever see the distinction. And nor should Thomas, really, he knew. He couldn't just up and forgive William for torturing his uncle, just because he liked William now.

William had been a party to the torture, but it had always seemed to Thomas as though Mark hated Bordon the greater. And now Thomas understood why. Not that he would say any of it now. Especially not now.

"We haven't forgotten," Nate said, looking as startled as Thomas, as if he too had forgotten without forgetting. Thomas was glad he wasn't the only one. "It's just, we whipped him, you know. William, I mean. Well, I didn't. But da did, and Gabriel and Thomas. William was whipped until his back was stripped and bloody. I don't think anyone could go through something like that and still be the same man. The score was settled."

"Oh, do, please, go ahead and tell that to your uncle," Charlotte said scathingly, looking appalled. "That the score is settled. A whipping; in return for hours of torture. Please, do."

"Mrs. Selton," Anne said, a gentle warning. Or a plea. Either one, Charlotte took it to heart and she heaved a breath, Thomas watched her as she struggled to wrestle herself back into her polite facade. A lady of gentle rearing and good manners. Who wrapped her legs around Bordon and - _Jesus, would you stop seeing it!_ Thomas growled to himself.

Her voice was polite, calm, smooth, even as she pointed out, gently, that "it was two men who tortured your uncle. And only one was whipped? I fail to see how settles the score."

She was right, of course. Damn and blast her.

"You didn't seem to mind Bordon all that much back at Fresh Water," Nathan said and Thomas's eyes bulged almost as much as Charlotte's did.

"Can we talk about something else?" Margaret asked hurriedly, her face burning crimson. She'd seen it, her and Beth. And Brownlow and Tavington and half the damned staff, too. "Something that isn't going to make us quarrel."

"Alright," Thomas said, noting how Charlotte shifted slightly in her seat to subtly turn her back to them. "Why don't you tell us what you've been doing with yourself since your return to civilisation?"

Talk steered to a safer path, they avoided speaking of anything that might provoke them to another heated discussion.

* * *

Baths had been drawn at Mark's command and by the time the boys were dressed again, Mr. Singleton had arrived back home and the letters hadn't been completed. He kept Thomas and Nathan in conversation and before they knew it, it was almost dinner time. They allowed themselves to be coaxed into spending at least one night, for there surely was nothing to be gained by setting out in the dark. They allowed themselves to be settled into nice, warm beds, just for one night. Not even an entire night, not truly; for the boys were up well before dawn and were preparing to leave by lantern light. Thomas had had to force himself out of his bed, he'd wanted to stay between those blankets with the banked fire only a few feet away, for the next two weeks. But his father had no such luxury, and Thomas forced himself from his. The sooner gone, the sooner to Winnsboro, the sooner they could free his father. Then they could all enjoy the simple freedoms of a warm bed and a fire. Mark and Watson had dictated to Farshaw several letters to cover every conceivable scenario that they might face. Nicholas was to judge the circumstances and gage which one he should use. They had the seal and cipher to carry back to Burwell, the letters, the Redcoat uniforms Nicholas had acquired. They were ready. All there was left now was to get there. Thomas shoved a pair of dirty, wet socks into his bag, then threw it over his shoulder. No one else was up, only a few slaves and the boys. Thomas had a brief flare of guilt. Mr. Singleton had shown Aunt Charlotte an attentiveness she did not deserve, he was ready to marry her, thinking she was simply Mrs. Selton, as devout a Christian as Mr. Singleton had shown himself to be. She was anything but. She'd been having an affair with Thomas' father for years, and then a nasty little fling with Bordon… Surely Mr. Singleton deserved a warning? Was there time to pen a letter, or should he wake the man up and tell him? He did love Aunt Charlotte, but could he condemn an innocent gentleman to a life with her, after all she'd done? She was not the innocent Mr. Singleton thought her to be.

"Tom, get moving!" Nate hissed, giving Thomas a shove toward the door. Heaving a sigh, Thomas decided to let it go. Charlotte was his Aunt, his own flesh and blood. And she'd suffered too, Thomas knew that. Perhaps marriage was the thing that would settle her down.

Like it'd settled Beth down.

He almost laughed. Pulling open the door, he stepped out into the hall and headed for the stairs, away from Mr. Singleton's room. Once outside and mounted - in the damned pouring rain again! - Watson edged his horse closer to Thomas and Nathan. They were not alone, the men who'd accompanied them - Thomas's father's men - carried fire brands that threatened to hiss to darkness with every rain drop. Keeping his voice low, Watson whispered, "Mr. Putman has blonde hair."

"Yeh," Thomas said, eyebrows down, one side of his face quirking upward as if to say _'you're a madman'_. "Blonde hair. Sure."

"Mrs. Putman had blonde hair," Watson pressed. "Mrs. Bordon has blonde hair."

"Alright… are you feeling well?" Maybe Watson had caught Thomas's cold.

"In the right light, that babies hair looks red," Watson said, even more quietly. "Where'd he get his red hair from?"

"…Bordon…?" Nathan breathed. Watson nodded sharply as if his own suspicions were now confirmed.

"Mark might think that boy is his, but damn me to hell if I can't see otherwise."

"Jesus," Thomas muttered, swallowing hard. Gods. Aunt Mage and Aunt Charlotte, both harlots.

Beth had never stood a chance.

* * *

It couldn't be this easy.

Oh, in his fancies it had been, but Thomas hadn't ever held any real hope that it would be. This was the British army after all.

Even if it was a British army weakened and decimated by yellow fever.

Several days after striking out from Mr. Singleton's with the letters, they now stood in a small office that overlooked the prison camp, near to Cornwallis' head quarters at Winnsboro, with two real Redcoats standing at attention on either side of the door - their only way out - while General Johnson stepped outside to give the order that would have Thomas's father fetched from his prison. It could not be this easy.

This was the _British army_.

This was also the portion of the army that Cornwallis had left behind because a vast number of its soldiers were too sick to travel. Yes, this was the British army, but at least three quarters of them had the fever. Even the doctors were ill with it. As was General Johnson, who'd been dragged out of his bed to attend Watson's demands, which he believed came directly from O'Hara. He _actually believed_ it.

Oh, he had taken _some_ precautions. When Mark and Nicholas composed the letters, they did so O'Hara's copied cipher and his code. The Commanding Officer had sat at his desk and, using the same cipher, had decoded the letter Watson had handed him, the one Watson had felt best suited the situation, before rising again and stepping outside. Thomas had heard the man's voice, commanding someone beyond to have Martin fetched from his prison.

It could not be this easy. Sweat slid along Thomas's spine. Any moment now, they would do something to give themselves away. Or the Commanding Officer would suddenly, somehow, become aware that he was being duped.

"Stop squirming," Nicholas whispered. "Regimental soldiers don't squirm."

"It itches," Thomas complained, casting a look down at his red coat. Gods, he was a Redcoat. He looked the part and not only because of the stolen jacket. He'd shaved his face raw, he'd combed until his scalp felt scalped, but at least there was not a single knot in his dark brown hair. He was clean in a way he hadn't been in months. Not that all Redcoats were clean and kept, but he was supposed to be an officer, so yes. He looked the part quite well. As did Nathan. They looked wrong. Thomas tried not to scowl at the crimson surrounding him like a blood soaked burial shroud.

"It doesn't itch any more than the ratty old jacket you usually wear," Nicholas said reasonably.

"The colour itches," Thomas said. Nathan laughed softly.

It could not be this easy.

Except, it was. Perhaps the Commanding Officer was too sick with the fever to see through the ruse. Perhaps Farshaw had done an excellent job of forging O'Hara's hand writing and, coupled with the cipher, as all looked to be in order, the fever ravaged Officer had no reason to question it. As he was the Commander, his decision would be final. And if he didn't question the letter, then no one else was going to. He came back into the room, his face red and blotchy, his walk unsteady. He dropped into his seat with a groan, as if every muscle in his body caused him pain. He still held Farshaw's letter; the fake wax seal - which Farshaw had gone to so much effort to replicate - had been broken with barely a glance.

"I still think this is a poor trade," he said, voice weak. Thomas wondered if the fellow would die. Perhaps they hadn't roused him from his sick bed, so much as his death bed. He certainly looked like he was dying. His face was grey.

Grey. Like ash.

"How so, Sir?" Nicholas asked. It had already been agreed that he would do all of the talking.

"Tarleton for Martin," the General replied. "We let loose the hound to nip at our heels again, while we gain back the popinjay. A very poor deal."

That was what Nicholas had told the man. Earlier, after sizing up the army and learning as much news as they could, Nicholas had decided to choose the letter which stated that Martin was needed in a prisoner exchange. When the Officer asked who had been caught, Nicholas replied that it was Colonel Tarleton. Hearing that name, Thomas had felt a swell of good cheer, as if it was indeed true. If only his people had caught Tarleton. Oh, what fun they'd have, keeping him prisoner. Alas, it was not true. Of course it was not. But the Officer did not know this, news coming from the main army at a snails pace. For all he knew, Tarleton had been caught that very morning in some battle someplace, and O'Hara had moved swiftly to see the exchange made. For everyone knew how well Cornwallis prized his favourite pet. The Officer sniffed, and Thomas didn't think it had anything to do with mucus clogging his nose.

"Let the rebels keep Tarleton. It might be what he needs to bring him down a peg or two."

"Might be," Nicholas agreed. "But he is needed in the field."

"Eh. Tavington does as well, as does Simcoe. Between you and me, I think his Lordship puts far too much store on Tarleton. Oh well," he rose unsteadily. "O'Hara has commanded and who am I to disobey? The Lord General simply can not do without his favourite and therefore we must lose our prized prisoner. The man Tarleton himself captured…" the General smiled. "Poetic justice, perhaps? After all his strutting about, he goes and gets himself captured and the price for his freedom is the release of the very same man he crowed about capturing." He laughed, then coughed until his face turned purple.

"Perhaps you should return to bed, Sir?" Nicholas asked, feigning concern.

"Yes, that is precisely where I am heading. Where most of the damned army are right now. You are leaving immediately, are you?"

"O'Hara's command, Sir," Nicholas confirmed. "The rebels were very clear, Martin must be returned to them immediately if we are to gain Tarleton back."

"We should not be negotiating with them, they should not be allowed to set the terms at all," the Officer growled. "We aren't even supposed to be doing prisoner exchanges just now. Not after they hanged Major Andre up north." Thomas felt a flare of fear - was this what would reveal them? The blanket agreement that there would be no trading of prisoners? The General heaved a furious sigh. "But anything for Tarleton, aye? You should have seen what a fit Cornwallis was in, back when Tarleton was sick. When Cornwallis discovered that Tarleton was sitting pretty in some farmhouse with only a few Dragoons to protect him, he went into apoplexy. Tarleton was moved at once, lest his little favourite get captured by the enemy. Now he is captured," the General scoffed. "I'm not surprised Cornwallis would go to these lengths to get Tarleton back. Not surprised at all. Wait outside, Martin will be bought to you shortly."

"You have my gratitude, Sir," Nicholas said as he took the paper - the pass - that would see him riding from camp with the prisoner.

They turned and left the office, marching out of the house, stride purposeful. All three of them. Backs straight, heads tall, as if they had every right to be there and be doing what they were doing. They joined with Thomas's father's men, all of them wearing Redcoats, all of them waiting with an air of confidence. Thomas could taste their fear though, it was like a tangible thing that the real Redcoats did not notice. Nicholas asked in which direction would Martin be coming? He needed to be on his way, he said, therefore he would meet Martin rather than wait to have him bought to the house. Was he showing impatience? Would the Redcoats discern it? Thomas wanted to caution him against this, maybe they'd look too eager, too afraid. But the Redcoats took Nicholas' request in their stride as well. They looked bored, the Redcoats did; they looked sick, too. Thomas thought that as soon as his lot were on their way, these soldiers would be finding a nice quiet, warm place where they could wish they would die.

Mounted, they began to make their way through the bedraggled camp. Some soldiers were up and about, but most of them were laid out in their tents, with camp followers and other soldiers tending them. Burwell knew how weak the battalion at Winnsboro was, he could have a third of Cornwallis' ranks captured in one fell swoop, without losing a single man! Thomas imagined the Continentals and militia falling upon this place, slaying and capturing, pushing past the thin defences with the ease of a warm knife slicing through butter.

It wouldn't be much of a victory.

"I can't believe this," Nathan whispered and Thomas nodded, feeling exactly the same.

"Don't get too excited," Nicholas warned. "We still have to get out of here."

"No one is excited," Thomas said, feeling a bit peeved. How stupid did Nicholas think they were? "I'm waiting for the hammer to fall. I keep expecting it and it isn't coming but I know it has to. It can not be this easy."

"Stay cautious but don't get nervous," Nicholas advised. "Unless Tarleton or O'Hara come along, we should be well enough."

"That was luck, pure and simple," Thomas said. "What made you think of saying it was Tarleton? Who was captured, I mean. Was it a premonition? Providence? I'm not sure this would have worked, if you'd said any other name."

"I'd say Providence," Nicholas said grimly. "Let's pray our luck holds. If I'm recognised…"

It was a fear he'd expressed several times before. That former comrades would see him and denounce him for the traitor he was. But the army was massive, what were the odds that any of Nicholas former comrades were stationed here, overseeing the prison camp? Besides, if there was anyone from Nicholas' regiment there, they were likely dying in their tent, or busy tending to the hundred extra duties that each individual now needed to perform, the healthy picking up the workload of the sick. No one was looking at them. Not even out of curiosity. They rushed to their next task with barely a look at the small Redcoat detachment riding through their midst. Thomas started to feel like they might actually win free of this place. It was working. His father would soon be rescued, he would be well.

Only Benjamin Martin was not well. Thomas's heart clenched when he saw him. His father, who was always so tall and strong and vibrant was a mere shadow of what he'd been. There was more grey in his hair than there had been. His flesh hung loose on a too gaunt face. His body looked old, frail. He ambled. Where was his strong stride? Thomas felt like weeping. Benjamin's eyes were wide as he was bought forward, they had been from the moment he saw them. Surrounded by Redcoats himself, he remained silent and Thomas thanked the Lord Above that his father's wits hadn't been taken from him along with his good health.

The two groups came to a stop; Nicholas, Thomas and Nathan dismounted.

"So. Who am I to be -"

"The prisoner will not speak." Astonishing them all, Nicholas seized the front of Benjamin's filth covered jacket, then shoved him hard into Thomas and Nathan. "Get him mounted. If he speaks again, shove a cloth in his mouth." To Benjamin, Nicholas said, "you are to be exchanged, but that does not mean you have to be alive."

Thomas threw an accusing look at Nicholas, but his father shot Thomas a look, and Thomas knew he was to shut the hell up. Benjamin shrugged Thomas and Nathan off him, he looked at them and the others - his own men - then deliberately spat from deep in his throat. The great globule struck the ground with a damp slap. He was showing his contempt for the British, but Thomas felt it was more personal than that. Seeing his own sons wearing the Redcoat, his disgust was easy to summon.

"This way, rebel," Thomas gripped his father's arm and made a show of dragging him along to an empty saddle. He had to help Benjamin to mount and the need to sob suddenly flared again. Benjamin saw it, he gave Thomas a ghost of a smile and a slight shake of the head, and it was all the reassurance Thomas needed. The boys mounted and, with Benjamin between them, they followed Nicholas at a stately pace through the camp. Not too fast. Not so slow that they might be easily called back. Not a single one of them looked over their shoulders for signs of pursuit. They were men who had every right to be doing what they were doing.

A good half hour later and Thomas's nerves were frayed. He didn't think he could take much more of this. Thankfully, he did not have to. Nicholas was showing his pass for the last time to the last of the pickets and then they were free of the prison camp and riding like the hounds of hell had been set on their trail. Thomas looked to his father to see how he was faring, would the hard ride damage him further? Was Benjamin sick, did he have the fever all the soldiers had? Or was it deprivation that had him looked so weak and worn? There was no time to ask, no time to help. They needed to get as much distance between them and the British army as possible, they needed to get away from the dense camp and the local village, where there were no eyes to report their passage. They might have succeeded for now, but the British would realise their mistake sooner or later and the pursuit would begin. Thomas hoped for later. Tomorrow, perhaps. Or next year.

"Colonel. Martin, I am so desperately sorry," Nicholas said later when they stopped to rest the horses. Making an escape from the British camp and putting distance between them was all well and good, but horses could not run forever. Benjamin was ripping rabbit meat from the bone with a gusto that made Thomas proud, and well pleased that his father was not sick. Weak, yes. But he was not refusing food, therefore he did not have the fever.

"Iss a'right," he said around the morsel in his mouth before swallowing it down. He continued to speak even as he resumed his attack on the bone. "I knew what you were doing. Good choice, tossing me against these two," he gestured with greasy fingers at Thomas and Nathan. "Thought they were going to give me a big hug for a moment there."

"I was not," Thomas protested. Such a move would have given them away immediately. Nathan opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and looked guilty. Thomas gave him an incredulous look and Nathan blushed. It was no wonder Nicholas threw Benjamin into them, he must have seen that Nathan was about to embrace his father! Dear God above. Thomas shook his head at his brother's foolishness.

"You're lookin' worse for wear," Danvers said. "We got to get more food into you, get meat back on your bones."

"We got to get me up to Burwell, is what we've got to do," Benjamin said. "How far is he?"

"By now?" Thomas replied. "God knows. Won't be hard to find though, I'm sure." His force was large enough that following it would be easily done.

"What day is it? The date?"

"The 17th," Nathan replied after thinking about it for a bit. "I think. Yeh. January 17."

"Jesus. I lost track of the days… I've been out of this for far too long. Danvers, how are the horses?" Benjamin called, a sharpness to his voice. An impatience.

"Let's give them another few minutes there, Martin," Danvers replied. "We rode them pretty hard and we've got a ways to go yet."

"Always the voice of reason," Benjamin muttered. "Christ, if only you'd been able to get the others out. I could use Billings right about now. Still," he gripped both Nathan's shoulder and Thomas's, fingers squeezing with a strength Thomas rejoiced to feel. "You did well back there. My brave boys. Dear God above, you've both got some stones, walking into hell and getting your old da out like that. Come here," he jerked Thomas close first, hugged him hard, then did the same for Nathan. "My brave lads. And you," he seized Nicholas's hand and shook it. "You have my heart felt thanks, Lieutenant. You would have hung if they'd discovered you. You risked your life…"

"I didn't think it was too much of a risk, Sir," Nicholas said modestly. "We prepared well before we went in and yes, it was a risk, but I didn't think it was a high one. Besides, you're needed. Burwell needs you."

"Yeh. He does," Benjamin shot a look at Danvers, who was still fussing over the horses. At length they were deemed rested enough to ride and the journey commenced.

That night, they made camp in the woods and posted sentries. Thomas watched his father, noting how nervous he seemed. The last time he'd made camp with his men, Banastre Tarleton had fallen upon them from all directions, cutting off any chance of escape. Benjamin kept looking over his shoulder and peering into the dark, as if worried that they were about to be surrounded again. Thomas worried along with him. Did the Commanding Officer back at Winnsboro know the truth yet? Did he know he'd let his prisoner go, giving him over into the hands of rebels? Had he sent out a pursuit? Suddenly the few sentries they'd posted did not seem like enough.

"Come here, Tom," Benjamin called and Thomas obeyed, joining his father on the overturned trunk, sitting before the fire. Benjamin clasped Thomas's shoulder again. "We're only staying a few hours. Enough to get a little shut eye, then we'll be on our way. We'll keep moving, therefore we should be able to evade Cornwallis' patrols. All will be well."

_You're reassuring me? _Thomas thought, thinking how his father was the one who needed reassurance. "We'll be with Burwell in no time," he said and Benjamin nodded.

"Tell me, how is Mark coping?"

Talk had been sporadic on the ride and during rest stops, Thomas had managed to tell his father the most important news but often hadn't been able to go into detail. Thomas knew Mage's death had hit his father hard, not only for how unexpected it was, but for the manner of it. Dying in childbed, just as Thomas's mother had.

"I don't know, if the truth be told," Thomas replied heavily. He could not help but notice how tired Benjamin looked and he wished they were heading home to Fresh Water, instead of to Burwell and more fighting. Impossible of course, but he wished it. "He didn't speak with us any more than he had to. He didn't even dine with us. He closeted himself with Watson and Farshaw to draft up the various letters. I don't think he is coping well."

"There isn't much I can do for him…" Benjamin trailed off with a regretful sigh. "How are the girls and William?"

"Bigger," Thomas replied with a grin. "They've grown so much, all of them. Margaret is becoming quite the lady, her manners are as fine as Anne's." No twitting, not now. He doubted he'd ever twit Margaret's emergence into womanhood again. He was too grateful for how well she was turning out.

"And I'm missing it all," Benjamin lamented.

"You made your choice, father," Thomas said softly. Benjamin shot him a started look. "Well, you did. I'm not saying it was the wrong choice. But it has consequences, doesn't it? Stay home with your family and let the war pass you by, but if you do that you can't complain about how it turns out or who wins. Go and fight for what you believe in and your family grows on without you. You can't complain how they turn out either."

"You've grown," Benjamin said, studying Thomas intently. "No tomfoolery… Where is my boy, what have you done with him?"

"He's still here," Thomas grinned. "He's just damned tired."

"No. He's turning into a man," Benjamin complimented and Thomas felt himself glowing inside. "You're right, I can't complain - I wish I could be there for the younger ones… Luckily Margaret is turning out fine, as you said."

"Beth hasn't." Benjamin stiffened and Thomas worried he'd pushed to far. Ruined the good mood. Now was not the time for confrontations. "Susan asked me to give you this," he said, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a strip of cloth. "She's been practicing her sewing under Anne's careful gaze. It's her first sampler."

Benjamin allowed the tense moment to pass, he took the cloth in hand and tilted it toward the light of the fire. It was a handkerchief and it had the names of all the Martin children, young and old, including Samuel. And Anne. "My family" was stitched in the centre.

"Beautiful," Benjamin said, his voice thick. He folded the handkerchief carefully and held it, Thomas worried for a moment he was about to witness his father weep.

"And I reckon William's almost ready to begin shaving," Thomas said it as a joke but he realised that he probably wasn't far wrong. William, the youngest boy in the family, was ten years old. "He's still a runt though," Thomas said, for William hadn't grown any. "Susan is almost at my shoulder, but William is not taller than he ever was."

"As tall as that, hmm?" Benjamin asked. He heaved a sigh and Thomas knew his father was still thinking of all he was missing. "Boys don't have their growth spurt until they're at least fourteen. You of all people should know that," Benjamin said.

"Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke? Good, I finally have my da back," Thomas said, grinning.

"That you do, thanks to you and Nathan," Benjamin said.

"And Watson. And Burwell. And all your men. We didn't do it alone," Thomas said, though he beamed at the praise.

"Now he is humble, too," Benjamin said. "I really would like to know what you've done with my Thomas."

They shared a grin.

"So. Your aunt. She's thinking of marrying this Singleton fellow, is she?"

Thomas studied his father carefully, while trying to pretend he wasn't. "He appears to want to, he was very attentive of her."

"And what of her? Head over heels, is she?"

"No. She appeared resigned, truth be told. If they do marry, it'll be for mutual benefit, not for love."

"Is she pregnant?" Benjamin asked.

"Uh… she doesn't appear to be. Do you think they're…"

"Who knows? I don't care if they are, but if she's pregnant, the child might be mine." Thomas shifted uncomfortably, his father might consider him to be a grown man now but that didn't mean he was at ease speaking of such things. Benjamin said,. "She can do what she likes. If she was pregnant, then I would have done the right thing and married her myself. She would be showing by now, if she is and it's again, who knows? If she was pregnant, it could just as easily be Bordon's. I'm glad she's not. If she was, I would have done the right thing by her and knowing my luck, wound up raising another man's bastard."

Just as Mark was. There was no way to know for certain, but Nicholas was fairly adamant that Mage's child was fathered by Bordon. Thomas noticed how angry his father had begun to look, since the moment Thomas mentioned the possibility of Mr. Singleton marrying aunt Charlotte. Or was it jealousy? Thomas wondered. His father hadn't spoken this poorly of Aunt Charlotte in months. Was he doing so now because she was entertaining Singleton's suit?

"I'm glad too," he found himself saying, rather than addressing the other. "Life is complicated enough."

"Damn it is that," Benjamin heaved a breath. "Have you any word of Beth? Is she still with that…" Benjamin's lips twisted as though the name clogged in his throat.

"I haven't heard anything, I assume she is still with him."

"Not for much bloody longer," Benjamin ground out. "If Tavington has left Fresh Water and is traipsing after Cornwallis, then he'll be getting Beth back himself. Hopefully he has already. He isn't going to suffer the humiliation of having his wife off screwing some other man, not when it is within his power to stop. I just wish we could do something about the fall out."

"Fall out?"

"It depends on how many people know where that girl has really been. If too many do, we might not be able to hide it, no matter how hard we try. Thank the Gods Gabriel is safely married to a woman of quality, but I don't hold out much hope of seeing the same for you and the other boys. Or a decent gentleman for the girls. No family of decency will want to touch us with a ten foot branch thanks to Beth."

Would the Ferguson's really withdraw their support for Thomas and Lucy? Thomas was quiet for so long that his father shifted his gaze and stared broodingly into the fire. No doubt Benjamin was having uncharitable thoughts of Beth, while Thomas mulled the question over; would her actions impact on his intention to marry Lucy? The Ferguson's had always liked the Martin's, but would they still, after Beth? And after Mage rogering Bordon. And Charlotte rogering Bordon.

And his father rogering Charlotte… Hell, even Benjamin himself had put their family at risk, having an affair with a widow but never getting to the point that he would marrying her.

"Let us hope the Ferguson's don't find out," Thomas said. Benjamin nodded sagely, as if he'd been thinking the same. Only Thomas knew his father was blaming Beth - all of it was being blamed on Beth. Thomas, annoyed at his father as much as with Beth, said, "about Beth and Tarleton. About Aunt Mage and Bordon. About Aunt Charlotte and Bordon and," he paused, holding his father's gaze with a fierce one of his own, "about _you_ and Aunt Charlotte." Benjamin's jaw dropped, his mouth falling wide open. When he was a lad, Thomas had learned to fish. He caught his first catfish when he was barely five years old. The fish, plucked out of water, had gaped, mouth opening and closing as it gasped for air. Benjamin looked very much like that fish had. "You're right. No family of decency will want to touch us with a ten foot branch if the conduct of _all _of ours becomes known." Benjamin snapped his mouth shut. Quite satisfying, Thomas felt. As he did not want a prolonged argument over who had done what to who and whose actions were wrong and who had done the most damage to their family, he said, "I don't think you should tell Burwell we have the seal and cipher. Uncle Mark would have lured William into a trap in an attempt to murder him; and we've saved him from that. Even if he doesn't bloody know it. Anyway, Burwell might not intend to kill William but he does intend something. I reckon we should toss them both. The seal and cipher, I mean. Not Burwell and William. Throw them into the river, destroy them, so no one can use them for ill."

Benjamin's jaw was working. Thomas knew, because he could see the ball of his father's jaw moving beneath his skeletal flesh. He hadn't enjoyed Thomas' observation regarding his own bad conduct, it seemed. Honestly. How could any of them have thought Beth could have stood a chance? Even Thomas himself was guilty of poor conduct, and Beth knew it. He hadn't taken Lucy's virginity, but they'd done things together they aught not to have done until they were married. It definitely was the conduct of _all_ of them, not just Beth. Thomas bit back the complaint, he saw the conflict pass across his father's face, and then it was gone. Benjamin decided to let it drop, just as Thomas had.

"I can't do that son," he said and he did sound apologetic. "It's too important a tool to pass away that easily. There are a hundred ways it can be used, to create havoc within any of the British detachments. With the cipher and seal, we could send the British anywhere he wish, away from our own forces for instance. Or we can gain information we wouldn't otherwise be granted. Mark's sole purpose was to kill William and Bordon. General Burwell is not so unimaginative, he will have a much wider use for the seal and cipher."

Thomas nodded slowly. William was just one among thousands; Burwell would use the seal and cipher to target when and where he could, William was in no more danger than the rest of the British Officers and those under their command. Burwell's plans would work, but they likely wouldn't lead to William's death. He would use them to further the Patriot cause and as that was dear to Thomas' own heart, he finally relented and agreed with his father, the seal and cipher were too useful to their own Cause to cast aside now.


	140. Chapter 140 - Harmony's Sacrifice

Chapter 140 - Harmony's Sacrifice:

The two story cabin was made of logs of pine stripped back to the heart. It had steps leading up to a porch, the front door was at the centre of the facade and sported a sash window on either side. The house at Fresh Water was considered small by most Planter's standards. This house was half the size again. Smoke trailed in a comforting upward spiral from the chimney. It was surrounded by pine and oak and hickory, the trees that made up the backwoods of South Carolina.

It was home.

Never had a sight been as welcome as this one was. Harmony continued to set one foot ahead of the other, as she had done for nearly three miles. She had been travelling through the back country with the British Legion for weeks now, and as soon as the surroundings became familiar enough, she had set out on her own. Packed a small bag, left all her dresses behind, and simply walked away from the Green Dragoons. From Richard. It'd been far easier than she had imagined it would be. Although she was asked plenty of questions on her way out of the Legion, not a single one of Tavington's soldiers had tried to stop her. Considering the guard that Richard had placed on her, she'd thought it would be impossible. was constantly situated around Linda, Harmony had thought she'd need a pass to leave, at the very least. Then again, she was not Linda. She had not earned Tavington's fury, he had no cause to force her to stay, likely because he probably never imagined she'd try to leave.

He should have done. Richard too. They both knew how close they'd bought her to home.

_Maybe he wanted me to go_, she thought and the heartache that shot through her bought blinding tears to her eyes. She halted a moment, breathing heavily, until the pain passed. That could be why she got out so easily. Perhaps the boys at each checkpoint had been told to _let_ her pass. _It doesn't matter if he wanted you to stay or to go_, she thought. _What Richard wants doesn't matter any longer._ And if he didn't want her anymore, why should that hurt her so? She no longer wanted him. So why worry about it? Why dwell on it? It was over. She herself had ended it and for very good reason. To this day, she could not understand how Cilla could possibly forgive him. Richard might be heartsore at her leaving, or he might be relieved. Either way, Harmony was determined to not let it matter to her.

She'd needed to stop often, she was nearing her term; this miles long walk in the woods was not as easily accomplished as it had been in her younger, not pregnant days. She hadn't been on foot the entire time, she'd ridden on the occasional wagon for as long as it was going the right direction. She even knew the drivers, though she hadn't seen them in five years. It was good to catch up on local news. She'd had to walk the last half mile though and she continued on now, setting one foot before the other, not at a ground eating pace but it was enough to deliver her to her father's house. The door was opening when she was still several rods away. Her sister's face went from curious to astonishment in a matter of heart beats.

And Harmony had thought the house had been the most welcome sight she'd had in a long time.

"Oh my God, Mamma! It's Harmony!" Amberley's shriek split the air, Harmony grinned to hear it. It drew forth others from the house, one face in particular had Harmony trying to run.

"Mamma," she cried, jogging with difficulty. A startled moment later and Alice Jutland hoisted her skirt and coats, her heels kicked up dirt and mud as she closed the distance. It'd been at least four years and it felt like a thousand. Harmony finally felt her mother's arms around her again.

"Dear God above," Alice whispered into Harmony's hair, her voice on the edge of breaking. They clung to one another, Amberley stood beside them, dabbing moist eyes with her apron. Harmony pulled back slightly, made an opening for her sister and Amberley joined the embrace.

"I've sent for mamma," a womanly voice intruded softly. "And to have Hamish and your papa come down from the mill."

Harmony stiffened in her mother's arms. She hadn't thought of this. Hadn't anticipated Calvin's sister being here at the exact same moment as Harmony arrived. But she was. Claire Farshaw. And she'd sent for her mother. Because they were friends, as old as the hills, so close that the line between family and friend had blurred well before Calvin and Harmony's nuptials had joined them in the legal sense. Of course Claire would send for her mother. And why wouldn't Claire be visiting at this exact same moment? Grace Farshaw had likely sent some of her baking around to the Jutland's. The two families lived in one another's pockets, near enough, one could not exist without the other. The women stood back from Harmony and Claire, smiling and oblivious, threw her arms around Harmony's neck. Of course she would. They couldn't possibly know what had been happening all these years.

"Lord, look at you," Claire said, drawing back, her grinning, emerald eyes - just like Calvin's - dropping to the swell of Harmony's stomach. "You're ready to explode!" She clapped her hands together. "How wonderful, my first niece! Or nephew…" Her eyes lifted to Harmony's. "A cousin for Jeffrey."

"Jeffrey?" Harmony whispered. Lord, her child had nothing to do with the Farshaw's. It wasn't Claire's anything, it was Richard's bastard is what it was. And Claire was _so_ excited.

"Your nephew," Claire said, pointing back at the house. A small boy was climbing down the porch steps, he must have been nearly two years by Harmony's reckoning. He still wore the gown of a baby, though he'd likely start wearing breeches soon. Calvin's nephew, and as such, Harmony's as well. He totted toward them, arms outstretched for his mamma. Claire picked him up and shifted him on one hip to show him off proudly. Jeffrey looked so much like Calvin it twisted Harmony's gut.

When her child was born lacking the Farshaw raven hair and emerald green eyes, would they guess the truth? Did she even want to lie about it? In her heart of hearts, could she truly let them think the child belonged to them? She didn't want to deceive anyone; when she'd decided to come home rather than continue waiting for her father, she'd always intended to tell them the absolute truth. She hadn't considered the Farshaw's. Now, standing before the reality of her family, she wasn't certain _what_ she should do.

"So much has changed," Harmony said, stroking the boy's face gently with her fingers, praying to herself that when he grew up, he turned out to be nothing like his uncle. "You're married and you're a mamma…" Wait, who was it Claire had married? A local lad for certain, one Harmony likely knew. "Who did you marry?" She asked and after a startled moment, Claire threw back her head and laughed.

"Gods, you have been gone a long time!" She teased. "I thought you knew though! I married Hamish, Harm."

Hamish. Harmony's brother. Dear God. She looked at Jeffrey again and again the fear reasserted itself. The Jutland siblings had both married the Farshaw siblings. Their children - cousins though they would be - should look more like brother and sister.

She had never intended to lie to them, she had come here knowing she would tell them the truth. But now, she knew she had no choice either way. Gods, what were they going to say?

"We've so much to tell you," Amberley said, winding her arm through Harmony's. "And you've got a story or two as well, no doubt."

_None you'll like hearing_, Harmony thought grimly.

"Let's go inside where it's warm, where you can put your feet up. Where have you come from, anyway? And where is Calvin?" Harmony's mother asked, holding Harmony's other arm.

"Calvin is… ahhh…" Lord, Harmony had no idea. And how had she come to be here, how could she explain it all? She hadn't thought this through; her longing for home, her desperation to see her family, she simply had not thought of the stories she would tell. And those she could not. How could she possibly tell her family and Calvin's the truth? "I don't know exactly," she said as they made their toward the house. "But I do know he's with a rebel militia."

"He's back fighting for the rebels?" Alice snorted. They climbed the porch and entered the house. "I would have thought almost dying for their Cause at Savannah would have taught him. We thought he was dead for months and we had no idea where you were either. Why haven't you sent word to us?" Alice gestured toward a chair within the separated off sitting area of the large chamber, then sat across from her.

"I did," Harmony frowned. "Several times. I sent a letter just recently asking da to come and get me. You never got it, did you? I was wondering why he never came." _Gods, I sent money with that letter! _

"Well," Alice brushed crumbs from her apron. "Correspondence has been disrupted, with the war…" She trailed off. The door was shut and the house was immediately warmer for it. Within, it was one large chamber, a large table served as a divider and what passed for a kitchen at one end, comfortable chairs and sofa's at the other. Amberley and Claire retreated to the far side of the cabin and began pouring something hot from the kettle into cups. Harmony hoped it was her mother's wild berry cider. "Are you hungry? Lunch isn't far off," Alice said and Harmony's stomach rumbled. She gave her mother an almost shy smile and nodded, feeling so much at home she felt she might begin weeping again. The aromas from the kitchen were making saliva fill her mouth. "As soon as your father and brother are here, then," Alice said. Amberley passed Harmony the hot cup - cider as she'd hoped - and she and Claire took their seats, with Jeffrey climbing into Claire's lap to try to drink from her cup.

"Where have you been, Harm? How did you get here?" Amberley asked. After a moment's hesitation, Harmony decided to tell a version of the truth, one that did not include Richard Bordon or her affair. The truth would have to come out eventually, but now was not the time for it. She spoke about working in the city at Mr. Ingles and then taking up work with the army as a camp follower. She hoped they did not enquire about dates and the like too closely, for she was leading them to believe that she'd left the city with Calvin, who - after returning from the dead - had become a British soldier and come to fetch her. Alice and Claire gaped like fish when she said this, clearly they knew nothing of it, knew only that Calvin had lived after Savannah, but nothing else.

"We should wait until the others are here," Claire said. "Harm is only going to have to repeat it all, all over again."

"That's alright, she can do that," Alice said. "I'm not waiting. So what happened? He's with the rebels again now?"

"I guess his heart never changed," Harmony shrugged. "You know how ardently Patriot he is."

"I remember," Alice's lips tightened. "He told his commander of your father's leanings and we almost had our house burned down because of it."

Harmony nodded. "Well. Hamish and papa _were_ in the Loyalist militia," she said. "In Calvin's defence, he did try to keep that secret for a while."

"Not for long enough. Anyway. So, he is off with the Liberty Caps somewhere? Grace is going to be so worried. Lord, I wish you'd waited, Claire. Grace will be on her way here thinking that Cal is here too. She's going to be so disappointed that he isn't."

"It didn't occur to me to wait, Mamma Alice," Claire said. "In fact, I wouldn't dare wait, not with something like this. Mamma would have had my hide. Oh, you're just tired, aren't you?" Almost in the same breath, Claire was speaking to them and then turning to her boy, her voice heightened in pitch the way ones does when addressing small children. "Let's get you to bed. No, no fussing now," she was already rising and heading for the narrow stairs. "Mamma can have my seat. I'll be down shortly, as soon as Jeffy is down."

"See you soon," Harmony said, realising that Claire lived in the house now. With Hamish and their son. Of course she did. Where else would they go? Just as Harmony had moved in with Henry and Grace Farshaw, when she'd married their son. Lord. She'd come here thinking she would take up occupancy in her room, the bed chamber she'd had as a child. But they'd be expecting her to return to the Farshaw's now, wouldn't they? Because what excuse could she possibly give, to not to? That was her real home - everything she owned, that she'd left behind, was in the room she'd shared with Calvin, in his parents house.

"Do you remember Mr. Howard Dawson?" Amberley asked and Harmony nodded, forcing herself to focus on the conversation. "Well, he has proposed to me," Amberley said, bouncing on her chair with excitement.

"Truly!" Harmony gasped, well pleased for her sister despite her troubled mind. "Lord, you'll be doing well if he does!"

"It's a good match," Alice said as if it were of no moment. As if it were only natural for the daughter of a little farmer to marry a grandee Planter's son. Howard was the first born too, Harmony recalled. He would inherit the lion's share.

"It's a wonderful match," Amberley corrected. "I'll be a Plantation mistress, can you believe that?" It was almost a squeak. "Not that I care about that, I truly don't. I'd marry Howard even if he were a little farmer like da. But he isn't," a grin split her face. "He purchased three hundred acres on the other side of the Pacolet and is building us a Great House. We'll have servants and I'll never have to peel another onion or empty a pea pod again. I won't have to cook, no baking, no making beds, no worrying over how much something costs when we're looking over cloth or getting shoes made or… Anything! Oh, but please, I sound like a fortune hunter and I really don't mean to. I do love him, ever so much. But I don't think it's wrong to be excited about becoming wealthy; it's not just me who will advance now, this is going to be so good for all of us, for papa and Hamish, even for the Farshaw's. For you and Calvin. None of us will want for anything, ever again. I do feel quite terribly that I'm not bringing as much to the match as Howard is, though," Amberley's excitement dwindled a little. "He could marry a wealthy lass with some big dowry and hundreds of acres, so his own family can benefit as well."

"He is marrying you because he loves you," Alice said. "Besides, you bring more to this marriage than you realise."

"The mill?" Amberley laughed. "That's the Farshaw's, not ours."

Claire had mentioned this mill earlier as well and Harmony gave a start of recognition.

"Not Calvin's lumber mill?" She gasped.

"Yes, Calvin's lumber mill," Alice replied. "Henry has built it up from where Calvin left off, it's bringing them a nice income. He had your father's and brother's help of course."

"Which is why Uncle Henry has promised that the Dawson's can have free use of it, as part of my dowry," Amberley said. "I've got you and Calvin to thank for that."

"By the sounds of it, you've got papa and Hamish to thank for that," Harmony said weakly.

"And they've got uncle Henry to thank," Amberley said. "Yes, they've been helping uncle Henry build the mill but I don't think Howard's father would have been so happy for me to marry his son, without our connection to the Farshaw's."

_Imagine that. _Harmony reeled. When had the Farshaw's surpassed the Jutland's in wealth and rank? So much so that Mr. Dawson will look favourably on Amberley Jutland, because of… Because of _Calvin_? Good God above. _Because of Calvin! _She just could not wrap her mind around it.

"Have the Banns been announced yet?" Harmony asked, feeling sick to her stomach. She sipped her cider and hid her misgivings in the cup.

"Not yet, but they will be soon. And then -"

The door was slammed open and Grace was hurtling through, she covered her face with her hands and gasped as Harmony began to rise. All of this had made Amberley cut short but Harmony knew what her sister had been about to say. And then, the wedding. Which was made possible because of Henry Farshaw's success with the lumber mill Calvin had got underway all those years ago. The Jutland's were now indebted to both the Farshaw's and the Dawson's. The Farshaw's, for showing their friendship as they always had, by adding to Amberley's meagre dowry with promises of the use of the lumber mill. And the Dawson's, for allowing their son to look so low for his bride.

And here was Harmony, carrying Richard's bastard, one she could not - would not - lie about. _Sweet Lord, I am going to ruin everything._

"Oh! Harmony!" Grace Farshaw came forward to cup Harmony's face with her hands. Calvin and Claire had their black hair and green eyes from her. "Oh, you're a sight for sore eyes!" Her eyes lowered to Harmony's stomach, much as Claire's had, only Grace's lit up with a joy bordering euphoria. Without a sound, her hands lowered to cup Harmony's stomach, her eyes lifted again and now, they were filled with tears. "Oh, another grandchild!" She wrapped her arms around Harmony's shoulders and held tight, as if to thank her.

And it was then that Harmony was forced to face a heartbreaking truth; she could not stay here. She wiped her own tears, the longing she felt for her family - both her families - was strong enough that now she was with them again, she never wanted to leave. But her love for them was even stronger and she knew that for their sake, she must. Her very presence could destroy the closeness the two families shared. They would soon know that the child wasn't Calvin's. She would tell them, or they would see for themselves when the child was born. A child between Calvin and Harmony would look much like little Jeffrey, so when Harmony and Richard's did not, the two families would suspect. And there was Amberley to consider. Her sister's happy marriage was at stake, as was her families future wealth. That the Dawson's had lowered their expectations for Howard was already pushing incredulity; though Harmony knew Mr. Dawson well enough to guess his reasoning. While the Jutland's had never been wealthy, Mr. Dawson had always known them to be principled. A family lacking in wealth but rich in morals would not make such a bad tie.

But Harmony could never, ever, imagine Mr. Dawson continuing his approval, when it became known that the Jutland's eldest daughter had returned, after committing adultery, and was now carrying another man's child.

Oh, Calvin was far from innocent, in all things he was not. He'd committed adultery. He'd beaten her. Forced her to bed his superior for the benefits whoring his own wife gave him. He'd kicked her stomach until the child she was carrying passed from her body, bringing on a miscarriage. He was a reprehensible human being and his own actions risked tearing their families closeness asunder and put at stake Amberley's future, for Mr. Dawson would not want to tie himself to a man like Calvin, either.

But Calvin was hundreds of miles away, he was a problem for the future. Harmony, on the other hand, could destroy them all here and now.

Lord, she really hadn't thought this through. Harmony pressed her face into Grace's neck for a moment, she held on tight, and then released her mother in law.

"Where's Cal?" Grace asked and Harmony was again forced to tell her white washed version of the truth. Her father, papa Henry and Hamish soon arrived and Harmony had to go through it all over again, adding to the tale how she had come to be here. Out of necessity she blended truth with lies, for the time was not right for anything else. She told them of Calvin's inability to stay true to the British and his abrupt departure. That caused some consternation with Henry and Grace. Had their son abandoned his wife in the British camp when he turned coat? Both looked quite uncomfortable, even embarrassed, as if worried that Calvin's actions would offend the Jutland's. Lord, if only they knew the whole of it. Harmony explained he hadn't. Then how had they come to be parted? It was Papa Henry who asked this. Harmony said that when various units, detachments and Companies went out on missions, the camp followers - such as herself - stayed behind, protected within the confines of the camp. Calvin was sent on such a mission. She claimed that the unit Calvin was with were miles and miles away, when it was discovered that Calvin had been spying on his own detachment for the rebels. It was true, in part. He'd been helping Cilla to spy, though Cilla had only ever confided that to Harmony. To this day, Richard was unaware.

Henry looked disapproving, still.

"He couldn't come back for me," she said. "He'd have been hung." Now that was absolutely, most certainly, truth. He'd murdered a British Officer in cold blood. She continued on, speaking of her place in the camp, her friendship with the Colonel's wife and the Colonel himself. She felt it important to mention Tavington, for he was now going to be her excuse, he was about to become the reason she could not stay with her family. Her visit had become just that, a visit only. But she knew she'd need to provide them with a damned good explanation, as to why she was not to stay. "Colonel Tavington," she said, again twisting truth and hating herself for it, "asked me to nurse his child when it comes. He has offered me quite a high stipend, too."

There was a heavy, momentary silence, before noise erupted from them all. "You're not staying?" Was asked in unison.

Harmony hung her head, stared at her hands in her lap, and said, "no, I am not." _If I stay, you'll be ruined. I can't do that to you. _

The argument began immediately. Her place was with her family. It was far too dangerous, travelling with an army. There might have been the need before but there certainly was not now. This Tavington fellow could find another to be wet nurse to his child. She was the wife of a traitor, how quickly before Tavington turned on her? Her father, a Loyalist to his core, doubted this possibility, but it was still a concern to them all. Besides, she was about to bear her first child, which bought them back to their initial argument; that her place was with her family.

"I don't care how much he's offered you," Alice said, voice prim. "We're not so hard up that we need you to risk yourself out there in the middle of a war, in the middle of winter, to earn a little more coin."

"You're needed here," Grace said. "I've lost Claire to your mother, I need you home, Harm."

"And we need our grandchildren home, all in one place," Alice added.

"Think of Jeffrey and your little one growing up," Claire said, having returned from putting her son to sleep upstairs. "All of our little babies, going on up to visit Amberley on high in her Great House," she gave Amberley a teasing grin. Amberley blushed, but nodded enthusiastically.

"There's really no need," she added to the argument. "Why should you have to be nurse maid to someone else's baby when I'm living in such a comfortable situation? I'd feel awful. Howard will look after us, all of us. I promise Harm, you don't need to scrimp anymore."

"She doesn't even without this coming marriage of yours," Grace said, sniffing primly. The Farshaw's themselves were doing well for themselves, there really was no need for Harmony to leave to earn her bread. She sighed, knowing she could not stay but having no heart to argue further right now.

Taking her silence for agreement, the family surrounded the large table and the women - including Harmony - bustled about, fixing the meal. Harmony lost herself to the familiarity, relished every moment of their company, knowing it would end soon. She seated herself next to her brother, nudging him with her rump to make him make room for her on the long bench. They shared a grin, it was just like old times. It was then that they heard the horses. It started as a low drumming at first, but Harmony recognised it immediately.

It seemed Richard _hadn't_ told the sentries to let her pass if she tried. He hadn't wanted her to go.

And he was not going to let her stay.

She couldn't find it within herself to be angry with him for coming after her. Oh, if he'd arrived a few minutes after her arrival, she would have sent him on his way, with very harsh words. But now, with her new understanding of how her presence could very well destroy everything her family held dear… She knew she wouldn't even need his persuading.

"What in damnation?" Her father murmured as he began to rise. He was reaching for his rifle, resting against the wall.

"It'll be Colonel Tavington," Harmony said, knowing in her bones that it was. And Richard, too. The drumming was louder now, the family were sharing worried looks. "Truly, I doubt there's anything to fear," she said, also rising. She climbed back over the bench and began making her way for the door.

"There was a battle just a few miles from here, up at Hannah's," George, her father, said. "Could be rebels, or deserters."

"The rebels are still at Hannah's, father," she replied. "And I know all about the battle."

She heard the men talking outside, heard boots pounding up the steps and recognised Tavington's tread. She opened the door and came face to face with the Colonel. He looked awful. Richard was just behind him, looking even more wretched.

"Dear God, thank you," she heard Richard whisper. So. He hadn't been certain where she'd gone and was relieved to find her here, safe.

"Jesus, Harm, do you have any idea how worried we were?" William said, voice hard, lips thin, eyes glaring. "What were you thinking, taking off like that?"

"I wanted to see my family," she felt her father behind her, the sheer strength of his presence making her feel protected, safe, loved. Maybe she _could_ stay. She could make it work. She would tell Grace and her mother the truth, she wasn't going to lie to them. But maybe the others didn't need to know. And Calvin, when he returned, perhaps he'd try to be a better husband, under his parents watchful eyes.

"Now is not the time for excursions Harmony. Beth is missing," William said, looking very much like a man on the verge of hysteria. Oh, the panic was not there to be seen, his face was as cold and hard and boulder like as it always was. Except to those who knew him as well as she did.

"What do you mean, missing?" She asked, her own troubles forgotten.

"She's gone from -" he cut off with a short glance at Harmony's father. "She's gone. We need you, Harm. Cilla and I," he drew a deep breath, and added, "I need you. You _have_ to come back with me."

"Alright," she whispered, drawing out the word as her mind reeled. Where the devil was Beth? What had happened?

"Now just wait a damned moment," George pushed past Harmony to confront William.

"Father, please -"

"No, daughter. We just got you back and frankly, I do not give you leave to leave. And I know your husband would not, considering his own leanings. I assume you are this Tavington fellow my daughter spoke of?" George shifted his attention back to William. "With all due respect, Sir, as you can see, my daughter is heavily pregnant and is in no condition to be travelling. I'm afraid you will have to find yourself another nurse maid for your wife's baby, Mrs. Farshaw is going to stay with her family."

Harmony met William's eyes over her father's shoulder, she made a gesture with her hand, a quieting, silencing wave. She saw him struggle, but eventually he recalled his manners and his rank, and he inclined his head and held out his hand.

"Colonel William Tavington of the British Legion," he said. "And Major Richard Bordon, of the same. We are at your service."

"Well," her father nodded. "Yes. Well. You are both most welcome beneath my roof. We were about to sit for lunch, you are welcome to join us, if time allows you."

Harmony met Richard's eye, quietly willing him to decline. Richard accepted and soon, he was stepping past her into the house and in a matter of moments, Richard, as well as Captain Brownlow and Captain Wilkins, were all sitting at the table, with Hamish staring goggle eyed.

"What is this about Beth?" Harmony asked, grabbing William's sleeve as her father returned to the table.

"I can not believe that you left like that, as soon as our backs were turned," he hissed down at her, looking furious. A slow blush crossed her features but she lifted her face, stubborn. It had been the perfect time, with William and Richard in Cornwallis' main camp, having their conference. She'd seized the opportunity but damned if she'd apologise for it. "That was very ill done of you, Harmony. That was ill done indeed."

"I had every reason to go and none to stay," Harmony hissed back. "Besides, it's not like I can help you find her."

"No. You can not. But you would be a comfort to Cilla, who is worried sick."

"And not you?" She asked, eyebrow arched. "Are you not worried sick?"

"Of course I'm worried," he heaved a breath. "And imagine how I felt when we returned to the Legion only to be informed that you had disappeared too! Good God, woman. As if it's not bad enough, losing Beth! We're to lose you too? What were you thinking, can you not understand how dangerous it is for a woman alone? You can't defend yourself against deserters or rebels!"

"What was I thinking?" She asked. "Of my family, William, who I have not seen in bloody years, who were only a few miles away, so close I could almost see the smoke from their chimney! And you would deny me a visit with them?"

"Of course not, if that's what this is. I would have bought you here myself! Are you coming back with us?"

Did she really want to move back to her room in the Farshaw's and be Calvin's wife again? He wouldn't want to raise a bastard, and despite her attempt at deceiving him, it would become as clear to him as the nose on his face, that the child was Bordon's. Nor could she stay with her parents, the house was full to bursting as it was, and her very presence could sink them so low.

Amberley would never forgive her if she lost her Howard.

Her shoulders slumped, she dropped her gaze to the floor, and she nodded. "I am." She felt his relieved breath on her face. "But not because you need me," she said, stubborn again. Her voice softened again. "But because I can only bring harm to my family, by staying."

"Indeed?"

"My brother married Calvin's sister. Our families are as tightly knit as always. And now my sister is about to make a very good match, with the son of a wealthy Planter. What's going to happen when they find out about me and Richard? And Calvin and Emily Wilkins. And his beating me. And this baby being Richard's. And… so much else. The Dawson's would refuse to support a match between their son and Amberley, which would break my sister's heart. My parents and Calvin's friendship would be torn apart. I couldn't stand to be the cause of any of that. If they're to be in peace, I must leave."

"That can not be an easy decision for you." She could hear the sympathy in his voice.

"Of course it isn't," she sighed. "So. I'm sorry if I gave you a fright. I'm not sorry, however, for leaving as I did. But I shall return with you." There was loud talking from the table, everyone was jovial again now, she even heard her father laugh. She met Richard's eyes, despite her narrowing her gaze at him, he stared at her with such longing, it stunned her that her family couldn't see it. She looked away, determined not to give him even a shred of hope. "You'll have to make it clear to him that I'm not returning with you for his sake," she said to William. "I am not returning to be with him, no matter what he wants. I need you to be absolutely clear with him, when you tell him."

"I think he knows that by now," William said. "He was worried and had no intention of being left behind when we started our search. But I believe he knows it's over between you."

"Very good. So now that's all settled, why don't you tell me what's happened with Beth?"

"Hamish, you mustn't!" Harmony heard Claire's panicked voice from the table but she paid it little heed as William began to speak.

"I wasn't going to tolerate any gossip about Tarleton, Beth and I, so when the damned conference came to an end, I followed Tarleton and I demanded he return Beth at once. He told me she left him. She told him she was going to spend the night in some Planter's manor house only the following morning when he sent for her, she was gone."

"Dear God."

"She'd left during the night, with three camp followers and two men, deserters from his Legion. They were likely men she knew from home, or she never would have gone with them."

"William," she said gently, "I didn't have company at all, and I made it here just fine."

"You were foolish for leaving the camp," he said bluntly, "and you were lucky that you made it here safely."

"Foolish, am I?" She folded her arms over her chest.

"I do not want to fight with you, God knows I've enough on my mind without that. But you had me damned worried, me and Richard both," he had the sense to lower his voice when speaking Richard's name. "Yes, Beth has an escort. Wonderful. Won't be much good to them if they face greater numbers now will it?"

"Greater numbers of who? Rebels?" Harmony chewed the inside of her lip as she thought. "Won't she be fine if it's rebels? She can just say 'Martin' and the rebels will fawn all over her."

"If, Harmony. If. If it's deserters, there won't be anyone bloody fawning. The not knowing is killing me."

She gazed at him thoughtfully. "All this time you've been speaking as though you don't want her back. Isn't this a Godsend?"

"Are you mad? Things are far from well between us but I don't wish her to be harmed!"

"Alright calm down, I had to ask."

"You had to bloody ask," he spat. After several heavy breaths, he got himself under control again. "Tarleton and I came to blows."

"Oh dear God," Harmony ran a hand over her weary brow. "Is he still alive?"

"Unfortunately. I told you I followed him after the conference? When he said Beth was gone… I punched him one and would have done worse had Cornwallis not separated us. And then, I had to sit in his company," he said intently, his lips peeling back from his teeth, "and I had to smile, Harmony. When I wanted to tear him limb from limb, I had to smile and pretend all was well. I had to act like nothing was amiss between us."

"But, did no one see you brawl?" She frowned. "How could you go from a public brawl to friends again and expect anyone will believe it?"

While William explained Cornwallis and O'Hara's expectations of him and Tarleton, Harmony began to notice a restlessness among her family. While listening to William, she looked to the table and saw that Claire was weeping. She had her head buried in her hands and Hamish was comforting her. Why was Claire weeping?

"There might be those who will begin to doubt if rumours start to emerge from Tarleton's Legion. But neither of us will acknowledge rumours of an affair. O'Hara has put it about that my burst of anger toward Tarleton stemmed from his losing Beth; which I have supposedly forgiven. We are both to stick to this story or face condemnation from Cornwallis," William finished. "We do not have to seek one another out to put on a public show but if we happen to be in the same place at the same time, we're to smile for all we're worth even if it kills us."

"That sounds… uncomfortable," Harmony said distractedly, her eyes on Claire. "Come get something to eat, William," she pulled on his sleeve to get him moving toward the table. She met Amberley's tear filled eyes. What the devil?

"Hamish has decided to return to the militia," her sister answered Harmony's questioning look.

"What?" Harmony exploded, rounding on Richard, the only one who could be guilty of causing such a thing to happen. "What the devil did you do?" She strode toward him, fury in every step. "You recruited my brother? You goddamned bastard, how could you do such a thing?"

George, Hamish and Henry gaped at her, stunned that she would address the Major so. Richard threw his hands up as if in surrender.

"It wasn't me," he said.

"I recruited your brother, Mrs. Farshaw," Captain Wilkins turned on the bench to face her. Her fingers twitched with the need to slap his calm, unapologetic face. It was only when William's strong fingers enclosed around her wrist that she realised she'd been about to do that very thing. If she slapped Wilkins, then Tavington would be forced to reprimand her, a thing she knew he would take no joy in doing. She relaxed her arm.

"It's not as though I needed my arm twisted," Hamish said, looking outraged. "How dare you speak to Major Bordon in that manner, Mrs. Farshaw? You will apologise at once."

"Not bloody likely," Harmony spat, glaring at Richard even harder. "You speak in ignorance, brother. You have no idea of my history with any of these men. I will not apologise, not if I was tied to a whipping post."

"No apology necessary," Richard stepped in and she wanted to slap him, now, instead.

"Sir, my wife and I count your sister as one our my dearest friends," William said to Hamish. "As do Major Bordon and his wife. As such, Mrs. Farshaw has a certain amount of… latitude, in her address toward us."

"She called him a bastard, Sir!" Hamish said in a strangled voice. "Is that what you would call latitude?"

"Perhaps if we were in public, we might have taken exception," William said, looking to Richard, who nodded.

"As if that would stop me, considering," Harmony said under her breath, though her words carried and were heard. Richard flushed red, James and Patrick shifted on their seats, discomforted.

"Will others formerly of the Loyalist militia answer our call to arms?" William asked, his voice overly loud as he seized control of the conversation.

"We disbanded long ago, when we came up against the Rangers. I'm sorry to say they decimated us, and those who survived returned to their homes, their fight was gone from them," Hamish said and George nodded. Both had been in the militia, Hamish had been a Captain. "We simply did not have the numbers any longer and it was folly to continue. But now," his face was shining with Loyalist fervour, "your presence here has changed everything. If you sound the call to arms, Sir," he said to Colonel Tavington. "You'll have dozens flocking to your side. I shall give you a list, Sir, and we will call on them, one and all. They'll come with us, I do not doubt it. Your being here has given me heart and I do not doubt it will strengthen the resolve of others, as well. I'll make contact with all the men in my unit."

"Your unit?" William asked.

"He was a Captain," Harmony sighed, touching her fingers to her brow. "I should never have come home. Claire, I'm so sorry." She rounded the table and put her arm across Claire's shoulders. If she hadn't returned, William and Richard would not have come after her. Hamish might not have rejoined the army. "This is all my fault."

"Don't be absurd," George said, throwing down a napkin. "You're where you need to be, lass. You're where _we need_ you to be. The days are going to be hard on all of you," he said, eyeing his family one by one. He looked a little embarrassed as his eyes lifted to Tavington. "I fought in the Cherokee War, back in the day. And I was at my son's side, in the militia. Unless you think I'm too old -"

"Oh, George, no," Alice dropped her face into her hands.

"I would ride with my son again," George finished.

"If you can sit a horse and fire a musket, you're welcome to join us," William replied, though Harmony heard the grief in his voice. He gave her an apologetic look; he had no desire to recruit her father, but even she understood that he could not turn away willing soldiers.

"This is mad," she rubbed the tears from her own face. To her father and brother, she said, "you could be killed. Both of you could be killed."

"Might as well make my death matter then. And if I come face to face with any of those Rangers, I'll send as many as I can to hell. Too many died that day, their souls are restless and thirst for blood. Their deaths will go unanswered no longer." George rose, he embraced Alice momentarily but after that, he ignored his wife's weeping as he began moving about, packing his saddlebags. The same as he'd done during the Cherokee War. The same as he'd done five years ago, when the Loyalist militia was called to war. By now, William had come around the table to stand at Harmony's side.

"I'll do my best to keep them safe," William whispered in her ear and she nodded.

"What of you, Henry?" George asked Calvin's father, who shook his head.

"Someone has to hold the fort," Henry replied and Grace's sigh of relief was audible. He looked to the Officers, his face flooding crimson. "I'm not a coward, never think that. But I can't fight, not knowing I might shoot my own son."

"No one here will question your bravery, Mr. Farshaw," William said and Harmony gave him a grateful look; she knew William despised Calvin. With Calvin, the apple had fallen as far from the tree as it was possible to fall, Henry Farshaw was a good man and did not deserve to be tarred with the same brush as his son.

"I suggest you close the house," George said to Alice, who was still weeping but listening. "All of you go and stay with the Farshaw's. You and Claire can share her old room," he rubbed Alice's shoulders. "And with Cal gone, Amberley can share with Harmony."

Sharing a look with William, Harmony became very still.

"Sir," William said. "Mrs. Farshaw has agreed to nurse my child when it comes -"

"With respect, Sir, I have already said, you can get a wet nurse any place," George interrupted. "I'm sorry, Sir, but my mind is set. Mrs. Farshaw's place is with her family and besides, it's too dangerous for her in her condition. It's too dangerous for her either way."

"You're going," Harmony pointed out.

"I'm a man," he said, as if puzzled how she could make the comparison.

"My wife is in the same condition," Richard said, not meeting Harmony's eyes. "And it is Mrs. Farshaw that she wants at her side. Not only as a nurse, but as a companion to Mrs. Bordon and to Mrs. Tavington alike. I assure you, she will be quite safe."

"Safe!" Alice gasped. "There are so many dangers beyond these walls, I don't think I need to list them for you. Besides it being winter, we are at war. You would have her travel with you into that, just to keep your wives entertained?"

"They are my friends, mamma," Harmony said. "I think I should go back."

"Absolutely not," George said. "Your husband is a Patriot soldier, Mrs. Farshaw. I am a Loyalist and that will never change, but you - you took on your husband's political views the moment you married him. If he were here, he would not permit you to leave with his enemy. You are not going."

"Mrs. Farshaw will be paid handsomely -"

"While we might not look it, we are not so hard up as that. I will need my sister as my own companion," Amberley said to William, as if she were already the mistress of a great Plantation.

The argument continued to rage, her family were adamant that she was not to leave and they were voicing their opinions so strongly that even William looked worried over what might be the outcome. Richard's hands were fists and he looked ready to punch anything that got in his way of him and his unborn child.

"Mrs. Farshaw is not far from giving birth," Grace added to the argument. "She should have started her lay in months ago. My grandchild will be far safer here, being born at home."

With this last argument made, Harmony knew what needed to be done. For all that her family might despise her in the next few minutes, she steeled her spine and made ready to present an argument of her own.

The truth.

"Colonel Tavington, Captain Wilkins, Captain Brownlow, will you give us some privacy, please? I need to have a candid talk with my family." The Officers agreed, they rose - the two who were sitting - they bowed, and began to cross the room. When Richard made to follow, Harmony grabbed his arm and whispered, "not you. I am going to tell them everything, Richard. You will have some things to add, I'm sure," she said ruefully. Richard gave her a startled look, then a defeated one. He nodded. _I am going to tell them everything_, she'd said, and Harmony realised that he thought she was going to reveal what he'd done to Cilla, as well. She had no intention of it but judging by the look on his face, he thought she was. Yet instead of running for the door, he was taking his seat again, preparing for the worst. That shocked her, it was entirely unexpected.

The members of her family were staring at her, some eyes curious, most were wary. Drawing a deep breath, she began at the beginning.

"It all started when Calvin and I left here for the city four years ago, a few months after he joined the Second Regiment…"


	141. Chapter 141 - At Beattie's Ford

Chapter 141 - At Beattie's Ford:

"May I speak frankly, Mrs. Tavington?" Mrs. Garland asked, looking more serious than Beth had ever seen her. Beth pulled her shift down and stepped away from her kneeling midwife, who had just that moment finished an examination of Beth's distended stomach. There was plenty of movement within her body, her child's way of letting them all know that he, or she, was alive and well, despite the rigours Beth was forced to put her body too. The constant travel and fear might cause their toll on someone older, but Beth was young and healthy.

"When don't you speak frankly, Mrs. Garland?" Beth asked, trying for levity. The woman was staring up at her, face grave. It couldn't be anything bad, not regarding her pregnancy anyway.

"In this, you might prefer that I keep my thoughts to myself," Mrs. Garland said wryly, moving to stand.

Nancy helped Beth to pull on a robe, then the women took seats before the fire. It was damned cold outside, with an icy rain that left a chill in the soul. Luckily for Beth, Burwell had found a house for her to spend the night, and had hired for her the chamber that he - as General - should have taken for himself. It had given Beth and the women some much needed time in the warm and dry. They'd slept three to the bed - God knew where Electa had spent the night, for Beth did not. The rain had lashed the windows something fierce all night, but had finally died down to a dull patter come dawn. It would pass over completely soon, leaving the ground a muddy mire. The rivers had swollen to the point that Cornwallis, who was pursuing slowly, could not hope to match their pace in order to catch up.

Thanking Nancy for the warm milk she was now taking from her maid's hand, Beth spent a moment dwelling on the day ahead and the very real possibility that she would be back in a tent that night, before setting such frets aside and inclining her head toward Mrs. Garland, encouraging her to continue.

"Frankly. Um. Yes," Mrs. Garland began, looking oddly nervous. Then she straightened her spine and looked Beth dead in the eyes. "It is not seemly, how much time you are spending with General Burwell."

Beth hesitated, taken completely by surprise. Mrs. Garland looked very much like a woman who'd unburdened herself of heavy thoughts, both relieved and wary at once.

"I'm not having an affair with him, if that is what you're implying," Beth said.

"Of course you are not," Mrs. Garland said with so much emphasis, Beth knew the woman believed her and wasn't just saying it. "However, it is clear to me that others are not so certain. Do you not see the looks you're getting?"

Oh, Beth had seen the looks. Her face flamed red and she buried it in her cup of warm milk. Mrs. Tavington, escorted by Alby Scott and Adam Danvers, picked up by one of Burwell's scouting troops in the middle of no-where. There was a story there that the men could only guess at. What was Colonel Tavington's wife doing wandering about a countryside torn by war? Pregnant, and calling herself Miss Martin? She'd become the second most talked about topic, after the victory at the Cowpens. The gossip swirling around her was rife; there were soldiers in the army who'd served under Burwell for years, who already knew of Beth disgracing herself with Tavington in the Simms' manor house while she'd still been engaged to Burwell. Those men were not likely to keep her dishonour to themselves, especially not with her mysterious and sudden appearance, and with her married to the man she'd debased herself with. They might never learn of her affair with Colonel Tarleton - they did not need to learn of that for them to despise her, they hated her already.

Burwell's soldiers detested her. And his Officers… She shuddered, wincing as she remembered their disdain. None of them would look her in the eye. It was always with curled lip and nose in the air that they passed her by. The times they sat to dine with her, they let her know in subtle ways that her presence in their company was not welcome. They accepted Burwell's invitations because to refuse would offend their General. But not a single one of them relished being in the same space with her. None spoke to her, unless at absolute need._ 'Pass the salt, please, Mrs. Tavington.' _No attempt to engage in conversation, which they surely would have done, had they not considered her to be a fallen woman.

"I've seen," Beth said, wishing she hadn't. Ever.

"So you understand my concern."

"I… think I do. I… well, not entirely. I'm not getting those looks because I am spending time with Harry, Mrs. Garland. I would have been getting them even if he wasn't here. They know that I was unfaithful to Harry while we were engaged," Beth whispered. "They know I've done wrong to a man they love, with a man they hate. That's more than enough for them."

"You're wrong right now," Mrs. Garland sat back in her chair, hands across her stomach, feet to the fire. Her eyes never left Beth's face. "Yes, they do know you've done wrong. But there's more to it than that. You are the wife of an enemy Colonel and therefore not to be trusted -"

"Except her father is who he is. Her brothers, too," Nancy said. "Should balance out, ain't?"

"Her brother isn't speaking to her, hasn't spoken to her since we arrived. That tells the soldiers that Mrs. Tavington's own family disapprove of her. So. At the very best, Mrs. Tavington is the wife of an enemy Colonel," Mrs. Garland repeated, as if she hadn't wanted to lose the flow of her sentence. "And at the very worst, in addition to being Tavington's wife and unfaithful to Burwell while she was engaged, she is also now an adulteress who doesn't know who fathered her child." Mrs. Garland leaned forward. Beth's fingers were a death grip on the glass.

"I… I don't think they know of that, and they might not ever learn of it," Beth licked her lips. "Alby Scott and Adam Scott Danvers, they didn't know for certain themselves. And even if they did, I don't think they'd spread the gossip from Tarleton's camp. For my father's sake, I'm sure they won't say anything. "

"I agree, I doubt the army knows. Yet," Mrs. Garland said. "But General Burwell knows the truth. That is why you should not spend so much time in his company."

"I fail to -"

"Because you are being dense. No - you told me to speak frankly and so I shall. Child," her voice warmed, lost its edge, became placating, as if she were begging Beth - a stubborn lass - to understand her reasoning. "You are an adulteress, you have shared the bed of a man not your husband. There is no denying it, you have done these things. And Burwell knows it. Which could give Burwell - a gentleman, I am sure, but one that is clearly still in love with you - incorrect expectations of you. It might bring hope you would do those things again. With _him_."

"No - I… No, he wouldn't disrespect me so…" Beth trailed off, realising how ridiculous that sounded. When they were engaged, they had been indiscreet with one another. Now she was fallen, it stood to reason that Burwell might want to be indiscreet again. Respect - or lack-there-of - had nothing to do with it. Respect was not much of a bulwark against naked desire. He could love her. He could respect her. But if she'd offered it, he'd wouldn't hesitate to _fuck_ her.

"There are all sorts of rumours flying around about you. Would you like to know the latest, the one I heard of you this morning?"

"I'm not sure I do," Beth said in a small voice.

"The men believe that Burwell has taken a lover. Can you guess who -"

"Sweet Lord," Beth ran a tired hand over her eyes. She heaved a breath, slumped in her chair. "Madness. I'm not bedding him."

"I know you're not. But those men out there - they don't know it. They think you are. And you being who you are - I'm speaking of you being the wife of an enemy and the daughter of their highly respected Colonel - and they think you are bedding their General. That does not bode well for either of you. General Burwell is losing the respect of his men, Mrs. Tavington. Don't you see how you could bring him down with you?"

Beth sniffed back the wetness trickling down her nose and rubbed at flooding eyes.

"Are you asking me to give up my only friend, Mrs. Garland?"

"Yes, Mrs. Tavington. I am," Mrs. Garland said.

A sob burst from Beth's chest. She felt the glass being removed from her fingers - Nancy, afraid Beth might drop it. Beth bit her lip until it hurt so much it almost replaced the pain in her heart. She could see it as Mrs. Garland could. She did not want to ruin Harry. And if she continued to spend so much time with him, ruin him she would. She was done with being selfish. She would not drag her only friend down with her. She nodded.

"Alright," she said, sniffing again and wiping her nose and her eyes.

"No more dining with him," Mrs. Garland said. "Breakfast, lunch, dinner…" She trailed off, shaking her head. Every meal, every stop. Every spare moment, Harry Burwell sought Beth out.

"He will be here soon, I suppose. I will tell him I have a headache. Or… hell, maybe I should just tell him the truth. God, how galling. That keeping company with me could bring him to ruin. Fallen woman that I am." Another sob escaped before she could reign her emotions in. Fact was, her destruction was her own fault, there was no point wallowing in self pity. She would take the high road now, acknowledge that she had indeed ruined herself, and do what she could to prevent Burwell being ruined alongside her.

It proved harder than she thought, trying to keep away from him. Initially, he left her alone, when Nancy told him of her 'headache'. But it was clear he needed to see her, was desperate to show her something. He continually returned to her chamber, asking to see her, asking if her headache was gone. He had a surprise for her. Couldn't she not manage just one, short walk? They would be leaving shortly, setting out from the small settlement, constantly on the move to keep ahead of Cornwallis' laborious pursuit.

"Dear Lord," Beth said, her head in her hands. She was sitting on the end of her bed, Mrs. Garland was standing by the fire, while her arms were folded across her chest, her face was not unsympathetic. "He is going to ride alongside the carriage again, anyway. What have I accomplished, trying to keep him away with my supposed headache?"

"The truth, then?" Mrs. Garland suggested.

"Yes. The truth. Will you send him in, Nancy?"

"You will do no such thing," Mrs. Garland said, seizing Nancy's arm. Beth understood immediately - having General Burwell in her bed chamber would not redeem him in the eyes of his men and Officers. Not even slightly. "You will go for this short walk - this one last time. See what this surprise is, accept it if it is not… unseemly. And tell him then. No more walks. No more solitary dinners. No more forcing you into the company of his Officers for the same. No more riding alongside the carriage. You tell him straight: you are going to distance yourself, for his own good. If you don't mind the suggestion."

"No. That's a good way of putting it. Thank you," Beth stood, smoothed her skirts.

"Nancy, you go with her. We'll be leaving soon, I'll stay here and pack," Mrs. Garland said.

Beth wondered if the older woman had made this offer just to stay by the fire for a bit longer. And she didn't blame her in the slightest. It was cold out, Nancy draped a heavy cape around Beth's shoulders, and she pulled gloves over her hands. A short while later, Beth was stepping out onto the porch, the cold air hitting her like a physical blow. Harry offered her his arm and she accepted it - the wooden steps looked awfully slippery and she was carrying a child, after all. Nancy followed close behind, as they began to pick their way across the muddy, churned ground.

When they were away from the house, she saw Beard Face, or more correctly, Mr. Miller across the churned up road. He glanced over at her, paused with a look of horrified recognition. He'd looked conflicted for a moment, as if uncertain how to act. He knew her now, she was not a stranger to him. Decorum dictated that he tip his hat and incline his head, even ask her how she fared.

But she'd gone from innocent Miss Martin, to pregnant Miss Martin, to pregnant Mrs. Tavington who'd one been engaged to General Burwell only to spurn him for, and act disgracefully with, Colonel Tavington during that engagement. Miller seemed to consider this all in that momentary glance; he jerked his gaze away and continued on walking.

Instead of giving her a polite greeting, he chose to ignore her entirely, turn on his heel, and walk away. He wasn't the first to have made this choice and he wouldn't be the last, the entire camp was shunning her in some way or other now. And they said its women who indulge in gossip. She hoped, prayed, that the soldiers and Officers did not lose respect for her father, because of her actions.

They might already losing respect for Harry.

"Where are we going?" She asked, not quite ready to face the discussion that needed to be had.

"There is somewhere I'd like to take you," Harry said.

"Oh? Is this place outside of the camp, perhaps?" She asked, keeping her voice light and teasing. It took a great effort. "Do you have a company of soldiers who will spirit me away to Gullah, so I won't have to return to my husband?" Harry knew she did not want to go back to William; she'd spoken of little else, when the two were truly alone, with no one else to hear her.

"Is that what you want?" Harry asked, slowing her right there, in middle of the road, his arm pulling in to squeeze her fingers gently. He gazed down at her, she could see the conflict cross his face. "I would lose your father's friendship forever," he said.

"It was a jest, Harry. A poor one, but a jest at that. I would not place you in that position for all the world. And I don't believe I'll ever dare to defy my family ever again." She was terrified enough of the interview to come with her father - how worse would it be, if she tried to make a run for it before he even arrived? No. Her days of running were over and done with.

"Good," he said, and they continued to walk. "For a moment there, I was tempted to run off with you to Virginia."

She glanced up at him, his tone was light but there was a look about him… "You say that like you're joking, but I don't think you are." Lord, Mrs. Garland was right. She was completely, utterly right.

He clenched his jaw, then swallowed hard. "Your father's friendship means the world to me. But I'd give him over in a heart beat."

"I won't become another man's mistress," she whispered. "Not ever again."

"Well. It'd only be until I killed Tavington, and then you'd be free to marry me," he said, and this time she could tell he was jesting. Or at least half jesting.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "I don't think I'd make you a very good wife. Look at how your men look at me. They might never know about Colonel Tarleton and I, but they do know I've been up to no good with Colonel Tavington in the city while I was engaged to you. They have a very poor opinion of me and the longer we spend in one another's company, the more they are starting to think lowly of you, too."

"They wouldn't dare -"

"It's not a thing you can will away with stubbornness," she interrupted him. "You are the Commander, you must be above reproach. And the more time you spend with me, the more tarnished your reputation becomes. You know this, Harry. It's partly why you didn't marry me in the first place." That shut him up, his lips became a thin line and his jaw worked. In that moment, they both remembered the conversations that had taken place so long ago. When Harry refused to marry Beth, because she'd fooled around with Tavington. He'd refused to marry her not only because she'd betrayed him, her fiancé, but because he'd known how it would reflect upon him, taking such a woman as his wife. "All that you said then, it was true," Beth pressed on; she was not angry, she was simply trying to reach him. Trying to make him see. "It's coming to pass, right here, right now. You are losing your respectability, because of me. And we're not even married!" She said emphatically. "Think how much worse it'll be, if we were! Lord, look at that - the scowls from your Officers - that's what you'd have to put up with, for the rest of your life." He did look, and he glared when he saw several of his Officers were staring with profound disapproval. She hadn't meant to throw them under the carriage just now, but she would not waste the perfect opportunity to press her point. They hopped to it, those two Officers, the General's glare sent them scarpering. "It doesn't change what they're thinking. And it won't be that easy," she warned, her eyes fixed on the Bluecoats damned near running away. "When we're sitting in church and the good-wives are scowling at our backs because you married a fallen woman and dared to bring her to their community. They won't leap to obey at a glare from you and nor will they run away. For your own sake, we need to spend less time with one another, Harry. And you need to stop this talk of us being together. Our opportunity has come and it has gone, we both squandered it and we'll both have to live with it. I'll always think fondly of you, though," she smiled up at him to take the sting from her words. "I'm so glad I have these days to make things right with you."

"Me too," he said, staring down at her. "Me too. I'll always regret, however."

"And I'll always wonder," she said. He looked at her in askance. "What it would have been like, to marry a true gentleman," she finished and he gave her a sad smile. "I think we would have been happy."

"I know we would have been," he replied.

"You understand then? Why we must spend less time together?" She asked and his expression became as stubborn as a mule. "Harry…"

"I know what you are saying, I see it for myself. I have eyes, lass, and I've been on this earth far longer than you. You will be taken from me soon enough, however. I've given my all to this damned war and I've given all of myself to these damned men. I'll be damned if I can't have a little something for myself, and blast what those damned fops say. As if they are little innocents," he snorted and Beth wondered what his Officers had done, for him to say such thing. "I will not press you for more than you can reasonably give, Beth. But I will spend time with you, whether they," he nudged his chin toward his men. "Like it or not."

_Well. At least you warned him… _Beth thought. And in truth, it suited her as well. She didn't want him ruined, but she hadn't been lying to him; these last few days had been healing in a way she had not expected. To make things right with at least one of the people she'd wronged had had a restorative affect, leaving her heart lighter for it. She wanted him to be light of heart also.

"I want you to find someone," she said impulsively, thinking that would be the best thing for him, the thing to lift his spirits. "Someone with an impeccable reputation, manners, conduct, virtue. I want you to find her, and I want you to fall in love with her, and marry her."

"Easier said than done, when my heart is already owned by another."

"At least one of us should be happy, Harry," she said. And it wasn't going to be her, she knew it in her marrow. "You've the rest of your days ahead of you, I'd have them be filled with joy and children and grand children."

"Lord, I don't have the energy for either," he laughed softly. "I'm an old man already."

"Hardly that," she said. "So. Where are you taking me?"

Harry had steered her off the road and into the trees, past the rows of soldiers tents to a grove where the horses were picketed.

"I don't like to see you so melancholy, Beth. Frankly, I'd like to see you smile again. A genuine, soulful smile, before your father arrives and takes you away from me," Harry said. "It is my very great pleasure, therefore, to present to you -"

"Shadow Dancer," Beth whispered, seeing her horse, the lead rope tied to a branch. She covered her mouth with her hands and stared, unable to fathom the sight before her. It was definitely her, no horse had markings like her girl.

"I did not want to give you false hope," he said in an apologetic voice. "Which is why I have not told you about her sooner until now. She was in a bad way when I had her bought off the battlefield. I'd seen that…" his voice hardened, "bastard on her and when I saw her fall, I made sure she was bought to me. I thought she was wounded, shot from under him. But it turned out it was exhaustion which had felled her. It also should have killed her, but I have an excellent groomsman, one who has bought back horses from the brink of death before. It was touch and go these last few days but just this morning, I was informed that she has passed the danger period and, although she is still quite weak, she will survive."

"Oh, Harry," without thinking, Beth threw her arms around his neck, she held on tightly and wept into his cravat. She felt him hesitate but his arms came around her back and he held her. "Thank you. Oh, Gods, thank you so much. Is she still mine?" She asked, drawing back slightly and meeting his gaze. "I won't hold it against you if you decide to keep her; as long as she's alright, I -"

"Gods, Beth, I wouldn't show her off to you if I meant to keep her for myself. I've wronged you but surely you know that I am not that cruel."

"I do know," she rested her head against his chest again and smiled, staring at her horse while still in the circle of Harry's arms. At length, she drew back again but she felt resistance when she went to step away. Harry was holding on to her, she smiled up at him and he eventually, reluctantly, let her go. Lifting her skirts, she stepped over twigs and dirt and horse manure, picking her way carefully to her horses side.

"Halloo, dear heart," she called and hearing her voice, the mare threw her head up and an explosion of sound burst from her flared nostrils, she pawed the ground with an excited hoof. "Oh, I know," Beth said, laughing and weeping at once as she reached up to rub Shadow Dancer's muzzle. "I missed you, too. Oh, I thought you were dead! He was awful, oh my poor darling, he treated you so terribly. I'm so sorry, I didn't know he'd taken you and I never would have allowed it, my sweet girl," she continued to croon and whisper as Shadow Dancer danced about, pushing Beth with her muzzle, almost lifting her from the ground.

"You'll need to be gentle on her in the days ahead," Harry warned, patting the horses flank.

"Thank you, Harry," Beth whispered, rounding the horse to hug him again. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you so much, you don't know what this means to me."

"I do know," he said gravely. "I want you to be happy, Beth. When he," he stressed he in such a contemptuous way that Beth knew he was speaking of William. "Causes you distress, at least you'll have Shadow Dancer to lift your heart. Try to keep her out of trouble this time though."

"I promise," she smiled, then turned back to the horse. "When did your groomsman say I can start riding her?"

"Another few days yet," Harry replied. "Can you wait that long?"

"For her, I'll wait a year. For as long as she needs. I'll always take care of her, always," she promised and he inclined his head, then stood back to take pleasure in watching Beth reunite with her horse.

* * *

During the week that followed his rescue, Benjamin and his men often received news of the happenings beyond their small band. There'd been a great battle between Tarleton and Burwell, over and done within an hour of its commencement, ending with Tarleton running away with his tail between his legs and over half his force captured or killed. A sound whipping that lightened the hearts of all Patriots. With great excitement, they passed through the battle site, and a local from the area described everything in great detail, as if he'd been there to witness it himself. He hadn't been, the man confessed, but the battle was on everyone's lips and he had heard tell of it twenty times over, so often he could give a decently accurate account. After enjoying the wonder of the now still and quiet Cowpens, the band moved on. By now, they understood that they were following Cornwallis, who had set forth from Turkey Creek to fall upon Burwell at the Cowpens, only to find Burwell long gone.

According to the information they were given, Tarleton was at the front of the army and Tavington was at the rear. Thomas thought that was a wise move, keeping William as far back from Tarleton as possible and putting an army between them. It did make him wonder though, where was Beth? At the front with Tarleton? Or at the rear with her husband? Thomas hoped for the latter. He prayed for it constantly. Surely Tavington would have taken matters into his own hands, he would have removed Beth from Tarleton's camp as soon as he was near enough to do so. That raised another question, another worry. If Tavington had indeed removed Beth from Tarleton, what then had he done with her? Would he be keeping her in his camp, or would he have sent her off someplace? Where would he send her, though? The plan had been for Thomas' father to take Beth her Aunt Charlotte. Tavington didn't even know where Aunt Charlotte was. No matter the scenarios that played out in his head, he was still plagued with the question. Where was Beth? It was not something they were able to discover without revealing their presence to Tavington, who was Cornwallis' rearguard. Yes, he was family, but they knew better than to test his Loyalty, especially where Cornwallis' escaped prisoner was concerned. Instead, Benjamin cautioned patience, they would know where Beth was soon enough. The escaped prisoner did not want to close on Tavington's Legion, son in law or not. The band kept well back and after crossing into North Carolina, they took another road entirely, the one Burwell himself had taken, and they made good time as they skirted up and around from the road the British Army was travelling.

A small band of men could move with far greater swiftness than a massive armada, though it seemed Cornwallis was pushing as hard as he could. The weather was against them all; driving, relentless rain bogging down the roads, preventing the passage of carriages and wagons. Or, at least, making such passage damned hard. Men on horseback fared much better, though it was still arduous going for Thomas, his father and the little band. Still, they at least were on the same road Burwell had taken and after a few days of travelling after the General, they finally came upon his rear guard at a place called Beattie's Ford.

Thomas was completely recovered from his cold. He was also entirely recovered from any desire to ride a horse, ever again. When his father commanded that he and Nathan go on ahead and announce their presence to the friendly force ahead of them, Thomas had given his father such a withering glare. The boys returned with Gabriel and the unhappy news that Beth was not with Tarleton, nor was she with Tavington.

She was with the Continental army.

Benjamin's face was stone as Gabriel explained. In the end, Tavington hadn't had to forcibly remove Beth from Tarleton, she had left of her own accord. That was good, wasn't it? A step in the right direction? She could not undo what she'd done, but perhaps she was turning over a new leaf? Thomas had been on the verge of saying so, until Gabriel told of the most recent events, that appeared to suggest that Burwell had replaced Tarleton as her latest conquest.

"I don't like it at all, father," Gabriel was saying. The Martin men stood facing one another in a small circle, ringed by their horses. No one was close enough to hear but still Gabriel spoke in a hushed voice, eyes darting beyond their equine barrier. "There is talk, and none of it good."

"Where Beth is concerned, when is it ever good?" Benjamin asked. Thomas shuddered to hear the lethal tone in his father's voice. "Have you said anything to Burwell?"

"What could I say?" Gabriel asked. "How could I ask such a thing? I didn't want to voice my suspicions in case I'm wrong. I know he isn't perfect, he has bedded camp followers before and I wouldn't put him above taking a mistress. On the other hand, surely he would not do that to you; he would not disgrace his friend, by taking up with your daughter."

"But you do think it's true. Why?" Nathan asked.

"Because he never leaves her side, Nate," Gabriel spread his hands wide. "Always there. Riding along beside the carriage, riding _in_ the carriage at times. Dining with her. Every single evening. And breaking his fast, every single morning. Luncheon. Every stop. 'Let's walk here', 'let's walk there', always together. And the day before yesterday, he gave her back Shadow Dancer." Gabriel said as if this was a deciding factor, then he added ominously, "and it was reported to me that a woman has been seen leaving his tent every single night. The sightings started shortly after Beth arrived."

Benjamin drew up short, eyes as wide as they could go, lips thin as a razor.

"He hardly ever bothered to have his tent set up at all, before Beth arrived," Gabriel said, adding, "soldiers have seen her, father. Leaving Burwell's tent and walking back to her own, always before dawn."

"And you have done nothing?" Benjamin snapped.

"I did not know about the night time visits until today," Gabriel defended himself. "The soldiers have done well to keep that from me. I thought 'enough is enough' and I was on the verge of confronting Burwell this very moment, but then Thomas and Nate rode in to tell us you're here. And frankly father, she's your damned daughter - you're here now, you can deal with her. Be thankful that I came here to give you fair warning."

"Alright, alright, let's not lose our tempers," Thomas said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.

In a gentler voice, Gabriel said, "I came down myself so I could tell you all this now, before you arrive." He paused. "And so I could see my da." The catch in his voice made Thomas choke up a little.

"I'm well, lad," Benjamin gripped Gabriel's shoulder, answering the concerned look on his eldest's face. "I look wretched, I know. I tire easily, I'm not what I was. But I'm not about to up and die on you. I'm not so fragile as that. I'm sorry for laying into you just now. It's just… that damned girl…"

"I know," Gabriel said. "And Burwell. They are not helping themselves at all - spending every waking moment together."

"And sleeping too, it seems," Benjamin said, voice filled with fury.

"Talk is rife throughout the Regiment."

"About her and Tarleton?"

"No, they don't know about that; Alby and Scott said that at the very least, Tarleton and Beth did take some measures toward discretion. All the talk is about her and Burwell. I don't want to believe it. I don't even want to acknowledge it. But they're all speaking of the same thing; that Mrs. Tavington is sharing Burwell's bed. Some of the men here were at Pembroke when Burwell ended his engagement to Beth after being told that she'd been unfaithful with Tavington. When she showed up last week, those men started gabbing about that all over again, telling everyone who didn't already know, of how she fooled around with Tavington while she was engaged to Burwell. So now, we've got two camps of thought being bandied about all through the regiment. Some say she regrets being unfaithful and wishes she could have married Burwell and is making up for it by warming his blankets now." Thomas whistled low and shared a quick, concerned glance with Nathan. "The others are saying she's tricking him, bedding him to gain information that she will carry back to her husband." Gabriel's face was bright red and Thomas doubted it was from the cold wind. Anger and embarrassment, more likely. "Either way, no matter what they believe, they know she's sharing his blankets. Thank the Gods only Danvers and Scott know where she's really been these last few months, and they promised not to say a word, out of respect for you. That would just add fuel to the fire, if that were widely known. The men think she's a bit of a whore as it is, a married woman chasing after her former beau. If they knew about Tarleton…"

"It always comes back to that," Benjamin said. "If they knew about Tarleton. They might eventually. And then our family will be in disgrace. But it seems to me that Burwell is helping to drag us there all the sooner…" Benjamin trailed off, lips tight. Without another word, he mounted and with a gesture from him, the band moved out.

Benjamin was aware of the eyes on him. Many men, Regulars and militia, as he rode along to speak to the General. Twenty years ago, Benjamin had served under Burwell in the Cherokee War. The French and Indian war, the British called it. So did the French. But to Benjamin, it would always be the Cherokee War. He'd been young, then, as had Burwell. Benjamin had been a Captain, Burwell his Major, later his Colonel. Back then, the two of them had served under Colonel Austin, who in turn answered to a British General. Because, of course, the British could not trust the Colonists to wage their campaign without a _Britisher_ to lead them.

South Carolina born Austin curried favour with General Harper, by allowing the British General to fuck his wife. And favours the fellow got in plenty.

Benjamin had found the entire affair and the Officers conduct despicable. Now, feeling these eyes on him, under the weight of that collective stare, he could not help but wonder. Did they think he was an Austin, and that Burwell was the same as that British General? Did they think he was currying his General's favour, by allowing his daughter to share Burwell's bed? It rankled, it left him feeling sick to the stomach. It made him determined - absolutely and utterly - to ensure no one believed such a thing of him. He would put an end to Beth and Burwell's affair here and now. He'd put a Goddamned end to Burwell, too. His gloves creaked as he formed a fist on the reins. And the soldiers continued to watch him as he passed them by.

Fury hot in his blood, he wanted nothing more than to lash out. To pummel Burwell into bloody regret. To shake Beth hard enough to see sense. He was denied this outlet even as he approached Burwell, from coming in from the opposite direction was a unit of troops, some seven hundred of them, all wearing the blue uniform of Continental soldiers. Benjamin looked to Gabriel, who - looking oblivious - gave his father a shrug. Burwell stood in the centre of a clearing, seeming not to know who to greet first - Benjamin, or the new Continental detachment. In the end, Burwell gave Benjamin a quick nod, before turning his full attention to the latter.

And rightly so, for this was Major General Nathaniel Greene. Benjamin's private troubles had to be set aside for there was to be a council of war, he needed his wits about him.


	142. Chapter 142-It Starts With the Patriarch

Chapter 142 - It Starts With the Patriarch:

There were so many soldiers. Hundreds and hundreds of them, all spreading out from Beattie's Ford. And in the centre of them, Colonel Benjamin Martin was sitting beside his peers and superiors, on overturned logs, talking stratagem. It was no place for Thomas, lowly militiaman that he was. After his father took his leave and joined the meeting, Thomas had set about to finding Beth. When he failed, he decided to find food, instead. And then he'd needed to relieve himself, which was no easy thing when there was no privacy what-so-ever. He didn't mind taking a piss behind a tree, but there was no 'behind', not here. Men were all around, all over, among the trees, sitting at campfires and eating, or tending gear. He did stumble upon Alby Scott and Adam Danvers, that'd been a riotous ruin and had included a flask of whiskey that Alby would have been flogged for concealing, had he been a Continental soldier like Thomas. Thomas could be whipped for it, being a Continental Officer. There was something to be said for keeping life simple - certainly, the uniform looked grand. And it looked grander on Thomas. But Gods, when you can't take a shit without asking permission, then what sort of life was that? All the rules, the structure, the tedium. He was finding it stifling. Bad enough being under militiaman's rules, and they were far laxer than the rules of the Regimental Army's. And he'd been so keen - hell bent, even - on becoming a Continental. Now that he was one, he couldn't help but think, what sort of a damned fool was he? As he walked among the men, he saw Gabriel chatting with Nathan and Nicholas Watson. As they weren't handing a whiskey flask among them, Thomas disdained their company. He'd been with Nathan and Nicholas for weeks and weeks and weeks - he could do with a few hours without them.

There was a particularly beautiful woman, hair a lustrous black, smile every bit as lustrous - or lust filled - as a hot blooded man could like. As she was swaying past him she stopped, her eyes raked him from the tips of his boots to the peak of his tricorn, one lip as full and round and sweet looking as a peach caught between her teeth. He tried to strike a manly sort of pose; chest out, shoulders wide, he was handsome even without the uniform - Miss Ferguson had told him so. But this woman, this beautiful specimen, did not seem to consider him up to her standard. For a disappointed look crossed her features, and he heard her say "too young," before moving on her swaying way.

"I'm seventeen!" He said with a mortified frown. She continued on, not looking back, her womanly laughter ghosting behind her and making his face flush with warmth. Attraction, he told himself. Not embarrassment. Bloody women. It didn't matter - she wasn't that pretty. Not really. Not as pretty as Lucy, anyway. He continued on again, kicking at a rock that dared to be in his path. Too young. Bloody woman. Winding his way through the trees, he was wishing that Alby's flask hadn't come up empty. It'd been enough to warm his blood and make him feel like singing, but the good feeling would wear off soon enough if he did not find some more. But among all these goody-goody Continentals, would any be carrying? Surely not Greene's men, and definitely not Burwell's. Thomas heaved a sigh and reconciled himself to his forced sobriety. He stepped around some bushes there, finally, he found his sister. Beth had her back to him and was mostly pressed forward against a broad tree, only her head was cocked in such a way that it was clear to Thomas that she was peering beyond it, without wanting to be seen. Two more women did likewise around their own trees. Thomas picked his way carefully, so the turned women would not hear him.

"…looks so thin," Beth was saying.

"I've told you, Mrs. Tavington; you need not worry. He wants decent feeding, but he looks to be healthy enough besides."

"He was in that camp for so long… I don't think he looks healthy at all, Mrs. Garland. He looks emaciated. Gods, if I had Tarleton in front of me right now…" His sister trailed off, but her voice had been filled with so much fury and venom, he had the feeling that Beth would quite easily take to Tarleton with his own sabre, had he been standing in front of her right now.

"If you wish it, I will look him over," said the woman - Mrs. Garland Beth had called her. "Though truly, now he's here, one of Burwell's surgeons would do just as well."

Thomas could see through the trees to the clearing the women were spying on into. It was where Greene and the other Generals and Adjutants were sitting as they conducted their council of war. Beth was as worried for their father as Thomas had been. Whatever she had done, whatever else she was, she was still Beth. She was still family. Just as Benjamin was still his father, despite carrying on an affair with Aunt Charlotte all those years. Thomas was still angry with Beth, and he had no intention of defending her to their father. But that was for later and just then, all he wanted was to see the look of stunned amazement on his sister's face, when she turned around to see him standing there. It would be quite a laugh, to be sure.

"Ho, Beth!" He called and she turned sharply, whirling around to face him. "Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to eavesdrop?"

"Tommy!" She cried, looking delighted. Must have been contagious because he found the same joy spreading across his chest. Must be the whiskey, he thought. She took two full steps toward him - then she stopped as if an invisible barrier had sprung up to bar her way. Her smile fled as quickly as it came, her large brown eyes grew wide, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn't. Her fingers found purchase in the folds of her skirts and she held on with a death grip. "Brother," she said more formally and oh dear God, was that a curtsy? Thomas almost spluttered, would have spluttered, if he'd had something in his mouth to splutter on. It was such a quick thing, a slight bending of her knees, gone as soon as it came. But he was sure. Beth curtsied for him. Sweet Lord above. And she wasn't coming any further, she just stared at him, as if fearing what he might do, should she throw herself into his arms. Fearing he would reject her.

As Gabriel had.

Again.

Gabriel had told them he hadn't spoken to Beth since the first day she'd arrived to Burwell's company, and that was weeks ago. And here was Beth, thinking she should expect the same from Thomas. He felt his will crumbling. He'd intended to keep Beth at arms length, to treat her with the coolness her actions deserved. He heaved a frustrated breath, angry with himself for allowing this turmoil to twist him this way and that, when his path should have been clear. She'd left her husband, had an affair, was pregnant and only the Lord truly knew who the sire was. She'd bought shame and ruin to her family, the like of which Thomas, Nathan, William, Margaret and Susan would still be feeling the effects of, for perhaps decades to come.

But so had his father, and Thomas was still speaking to him…

There was bound to be a heated discussion later, but for now, Thomas grinned like there was nothing wrong in the world, like she hadn't been off screwing Tarleton all these months. He closed the distance himself, several long strides, his arms already outstretched as he said, "what, no hug? Do I smell or something? Well, actually I do, but you're family and family shouldn't care."

"Tommy." And there it was, Beth hurtled against him as she would have done before, if she hadn't been expecting a rejection. He enveloped her into his arms and held her shaking body as she wept against his great cloak. Damn and blast it, he was digging himself a hole now. Letting her think all was well between them when they were far from it. But he'd started it, what else could he do now, but see it through to the end?

"You should have known after last time that I wouldn't turn my back on you," he said.

"But I've d-done… so m-much worse… this t-time," she stammered out.

"Yeh, you have," Thomas agreed, relieved to have this opening. "I don't want to spoil the mood and all, but you need to know Beth, this time I'm as angry with you as the others are." She clung tighter, as if - with this said - she was expecting him to pull away and was trying to stop him.

"I'm so, so sorry."

"Well, I'm pleased to hear that," he said gently against her hair, vaguely aware of the other two women as they withdrew to give them privacy. It was more than his father had given, Thomas couldn't remember Benjamin giving an apology at all. He thought Charlotte might have, for screwing Bordon, but Thomas had been so angry he couldn't recall for certain. But Beth was apologising. That was something, wasn't it? "Papa thinks that it's going to hurt us, you know. Gabriel will be alright, he's already married. But me. Nate, William, Susan, Margaret. He thinks we might not be able to marry so well, because of…" every time he worked his way through that sentence in his head, it always ended with _'because of you being a harlot.'_. But the words stuck in his throat, he could not say them, not now. Not to her.

"Because I'm a fallen woman," she said, and Gods, she sounded exhausted. Not the physical type, of doing a days labour, but as if her spirit was completely, emotionally drained. He wouldn't call her harlot to her face, but he did not argue with her, either. No more defending her, not after what she'd done. "I am sorry, Thomas," she said, bringing her arms inward, curled between their bodies. She gazed up at him in earnest. "I'm going to return to William, I won't fight it, not anymore. Anything I can do to fix this, I'll do it, I swear. I will."

_I'll be a good girl now, I promise. _The unspoken words hung in the air between them.

Thomas nodded, he glanced around for a place to sit and saw a large boulder. He took her arm and steered her toward it, were they sat side by side. She seemed at a loss for something to say, or, going by the concentration on her face, she was searching for the right thing. More reassurances perhaps? How she was going to fix everything? In truth, he didn't want to talk about it anymore, didn't want to hear about where she'd been or her sins and wrong doings. He had news he needed to unburden himself with, and so he wrapped his fingers around hers, as much to take comfort as to give it.

"I have something to tell you," he began. "It's… There's no easy way to do it…" He drew a shuddering breath, aware of her eyes on him. "It's Aunt Mage, Beth. She was with child and… in the birthing… She didn't make it."

"What?" She whispered, her eyes bulging over fingers pressed to her mouth. "Aunt Mage…?"

"She is in a better place now."

He gave her time to work through her thoughts, rubbing her back as he wished someone had rubbed his, when he'd been told Aunt Mage was dead. Susan, too little to understand, just blurting it out like she had… Thomas shook his head and closed his eyes.

"Did she… suffer?" Beth asked, her voice high pitched, shaking, and Thomas wondered if she was struck with grief or fearing what might happen to her in the coming months. Probably both. Her hands were splayed across her stomach, as if she could keep the child within from escaping. "The child, is it -"

"A boy," Thomas said, thinking of Bordon as he always did, whenever he thought of Mage's baby. He wondered if he should tell Beth what was more than merely suspicion. "And he is fine. And yes, Beth, I believe…" He pictured it as Mark had described. The macabre scene of Aunt Mage, splayed under layers of bloodied sheets, the child sliced from her body to save it, when the midwives could not save her. "I do not believe she faired well, during." His throat caught, voice thickening. "Makes me wonder, what did mamma go through at the end?"

"Oh, Thomas." They sat together, heads pressed against one another, his arm around her body, her fingers through his. Perhaps this was why he was so quick and ready to act like nothing had happened? Because he needed her, or rather, the comfort she would give him unconditionally. Thomas had no mother. One Aunt was dead and the other, well, the other… he pushed away the vision of Charlotte and Bordon up against the wall in the alcove. He hadn't seen it with his own two eyes, but it wasn't hard to imagine what the scene must have looked like. She was not someone he could turn to in times of grief as he had as a child. He had no wife and his sweetheart, Lucy, was miles away, he hadn't seen her since after the battle at Kings Mountain three months ago. She was not here, he could not hold her, could not take the comfort he hadn't realised until this moment he so desperately needed.

"I feel like our family is shattered, Beth. Like a broken mirror. And we're not ever going to be able to put the pieces back together again."

"Maybe you will," Beth said sadly. "Though some of the pieces will be missing."

'Maybe you will'? Her choice of words were not lost on him. Their mother, their aunts and she herself, were pieces that would never come together to make the whole again. But she was wrong, there. "You are one of the pieces that we need, to make us whole again," he said, knowing that was what she had meant. "It's only the dead that we can't get back. Even if we have to try for the rest of our lives, you are a piece that we'll make fit again." And it likely would take the rest of their lives, her transgression being what it was. He looked at her, she was biting her lip, eyes closed, tears sliding down her cheeks, and she appeared to be holding her breath. On more sobs? She shuddered, then released the breath slowly.

"Perhaps," she said, though he could tell by the way she said it, that she didn't believe it. "Does Uncle Mark know? And, Gods, Cilla!"

"Uncle Mark knows," Thomas said. "As for Cilla… No, she hasn't been told, to my knowledge. Perhaps Uncle Mark wrote her a letter? I'm not sure. But I think that you might be in a position soon, to tell her for us."

Beth nodded. "Yes, I believe so. She'll have questions, Tom. Lots of them. You'll have to tell me everything you know."

So Thomas did. Beth had asked for everything, and so he gave it to her, even down to his certainty that the child was not Mark's, but Bordon's. They both agreed that neither of them would be telling Cilla _that_. He continued until he had nothing more to tell, and then finally, he started asking questions of his own. He could see it was not an easy conversation to have, but nor did she baulk in giving her answers. Even when his temper started to rise - honestly, to stand there screaming at her husband when he tried to explain he was not having an affair, and then to ride off with another man entirely, to share his bed for the months following? "What were you thinking?" He finished, voice snapping. He'd pulled away slightly, his fingers no longer entwined with hers.

"I wasn't thinking," Beth whispered. To her credit, she did not fire up and scream back at him, as she would have done in the past. Nor did she run away weeping, as most girls would do when a man raised his voice. She sat there and, well, took it. "I was blinded by fury, I could barely contain it. I… He'd lied to me so often, I thought he was lying again. That whore, she boasted of bedding him, to Miss Cordell. I saw her kissing him outside the tent, then he went in there with her. What was I meant to think? And then he belted me, why would I stay with him when he would use his belt on me?"

"That was no reason to run off and fuck Tarleton, Beth!" Thomas snapped and she blanched. But the words were out and he couldn't have them back. He lurched to his feet, deciding he wouldn't have taken them back even if he could. She was staring down at her hands while he began to pace.

"I know, I wish I hadn't, I keep wishing I'd gone straight to Gullah, instead of…"

"To his bed?" Thomas snapped. "Three months, Beth! You are a married woman, yet you went off with another man! Now, I never found out why he took his belt to you, likely because you wouldn't shut up and let him explain! But we whipped him raw for doing it. And we told him if he ever did again, we'd be back there with our whip in hand. But I tell you now, after what you've been doing these last few months, I'm not sure that we should retaliate, if he did choose to use his belt on you again!" Her gaze was still fixed firmly on her fingers as she worked them in her lap. "After you were off screwing Tarleton, I don't think I could blame him! Can you?"

Beth gave a listless shrug.

"You say you were crazed?" Thomas ranted. "You weren't thinking? You were blinded by fury? How do you think he was feeling, when you wouldn't bloody let him speak?"

"You've started without us, I see."

Thomas whirled and Beth's head jerked up as their father's disapproving voice interrupted them. Gabriel and Nathan flanked him, one on either side. Benjamin approached, then came to a halt before them. Beth had jumped to her feet and was again clutching her skirts with that grip of death. She stood stock still, not making any move to embrace their father. And Benjamin made no move to embrace her, either.

"That was not William's reason, Thomas," Benjamin said, his upper lip curling slightly. "He had far more provocation than frustration at Beth not listening. Didn't he, Beth?" She lowered her eyes and when she did not answer, Benjamin's voice cracked like a whip. "Well? Your brother asked you a question. What is your answer?"

"I'm not saying William didn't have just cause," Beth said to her father, the only two in the clearing who knew she'd lost her virginity before marrying William. Her voice quavering only slightly. "But Thomas asked why I did what I did. And I've said why. Though I did not know it at the time, I was already with child and I have come to realise that my outburst was made more unreasonable because of it."

After a startled moment, Benjamin threw back his head and laughed. Not the jolly laughter of hearing the punchline to some grand and intricate joke. It was the contemptuous, disbelieving laughter of someone refusing to be deceived.

"Very good," he chortled darkly. "Clever. Using your pregnancy as a means to excuse your conniption which, the time of which conveniently places William as the father, because of course you were pregnant the day you left Fresh Water." All mirth - even black as it was - slipped from Benjamin's voice. He towered over Beth, lips peeling back as he whispered, "and I thought you could stoop no lower."

Beth drew in a sharp breath, eyes widening as far as they could go. Thomas closed his eyes, jaw clenching. _I will not defend her._

"I know you think lowly of me," Beth's soft voice came to Thomas' ears. "I can only imagine the… disappointment, the… shame, you must feel toward a daughter who has done the things I have done. But father, William is the father of this child. Mrs. Garland is my midwife, and the first time she examined me, she told me I was five months along. That was three weeks ago. I'm nearly six months, now. I left… Fresh Water…" Thomas had the distinct feeling Beth had been about to say "William", before changing it. "Four months ago."

Thomas opened his eyes, to judge his father's reaction to this news.

"Well, I'll be praying that that's true, Beth, because if that child isn't his…" Benjamin trailed off ominously. Eyes on the ground, Beth nodded, and Thomas could see it was already a fear of hers. What would Tavington do if the child wasn't his? "So?" their father snapped. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry," Beth whispered. Thomas could see the tears in her eyes, but she was keeping herself in check, not giving into them. _Good tactic, _he thought. _Don't show your throat to the wolf, you might just get it ripped open._

"You're sorry," Benjamin said, voice flat. "That's it?"

Beth went to open her mouth to say more, but snapped it shut again when Harry Burwell approached them.

"This is a family affair," Benjamin snapped and even Thomas was taken aback from the tone in his father's voice. He'd never, _ever_, heard him speak to Harry Burwell like that. Nor had Burwell. The General stopped dead, lips parted, eyes wide with shock. "You need to leave, now, while you can still walk," Benjamin threatened and Burwell's mouth fell open. Suddenly Nathan and Gabriel were moving, Gabriel to stand before Burwell as if to keep him back, and Nathan rushed to stand in front of his father, as if to do the same. Thomas was slower to react but when Beth began to back up as if trying to put herself out of harms way, he finally understood. There would be a fistfight, started by Benjamin, if the boys did not stop it. Thomas went to join Nathan, knowing fully well that Benjamin was the one in need of being held back.

"What the devil is this?" The General snapped when he'd recovered himself. He took a step toward Benjamin, as if Gabriel's arm was not there barring the way. Thomas met Gabriel's eyes, his older brother nodded, flicking his eyes toward their father. _Keep him back, no matter what_. Because if the Colonel landed a punch on the General, it would be as good as signing his own death sentence.

* * *

"What the devil is this?" Benjamin roared the question back at Burwell while the finger of one hand pointed accusingly at Beth. "You were my closest friend, Harry, Goddamn it. After all we've been through, how could you do this to me? How could you disgrace me like this? We were as brothers! Well, no more. Do you hear me? We are friends no more! And this thing between you? Your disgusting little affair? It ends now. I'm taking Beth back to her husband, you will never see her again. You will never see any of us, ever again."

Harry stood there, looking dumbfounded.

"Papa, how could you think -"

"How could I think it?" Benjamin rounded on Beth. "After everything you've done, I don't think it lass. I know it." He jerked an angry finger toward her and she fell silent. "I dare you to deny it," he ground out, eyes fixed on hers. "I dare you, daughter."

"I do deny it, whatever the consequences. I am not having an affair with General Burwell," she said, voice strong, back straight, head held high. "I am not."

She said it with such conviction, not a hint of dissembling. Burwell looked as guilty as a school boy caught out at some mischief or other, but Beth…

"Come on, Beth," Gabriel said, sounding both tired and disbelieving. "You have been seen leaving the General's tent almost every single night since you arrived here."

"I have, have I?" Beth managed a contemptuous scoff. Jesus, no wonder William took his belt to her, Benjamin felt like doing so now - the defiant little hussy! Benjamin was about to call her down for her tone, at the very least, but she ploughed on ahead with, "last I looked, Electa was far taller than me. Far slighter, as well; she doesn't have this," her fingers splayed across the large swell of her stomach. "I guess my sins have given me greater height."

"Electa?" Gabriel asked, and they all looked to Burwell. Benjamin saw the slow, embarrassed flush climbing his neck. "You and… Electa?"

"Electa and I, yes. Not Beth and I," Harry confirmed with a short nod, he looked embarrassed at admitting it but they all knew he had no choice. Looking to Benjamin, he said, "perhaps you could have enquired, before accusing me?"

"Well, how the hell was I supposed to know it was Electa?" Gabriel asked, looking aghast at his mistake but angry at the same time. "Everyone here is saying it's Beth. What did you expect us to think, considering?"

"Of me? I'd expect you to think the worst, I suppose," Beth said, and even Benjamin was taken aback by the resignation in her voice. "But of Harry? What has he ever done to make you think so low of him? You owe him an apology." Beth dared to look at him, Benjamin, as she added, "you both do."

A flare of red washed across Benjamin's vision and before he knew it, he was pushing past his sons and marching forward to seize Beth by the arms. He jerked her upward to the tips of her toes, leaning down at the same time, so they were nose to nose.

"You dare take me to task?" He hissed. "You dare demand apologies from me?"

"Father, you're hurting me."

It wasn't a plaintive plea like one would expect to hear. It was said with such matter-of-factness and it was like ice water thrown in his face. He released her immediately. She didn't even rub her arms though he knew they must be hurting, she just stared up at him as if waiting for the next blow.

"Ben, go easy on her, will you?" Harry asked but his mouth snapped shut at the imperious finger Benjamin threw up to silence him.

"You," he said to his daughter, "what you have done… it sickens me," he said, and he watched as her face became less composed, shifting from expectant to horrified. "I feel sick… to my stomach… when I look at you." His words were clipped, deliberate, enunciated with excruciating care. His body trembled, slivers of rage that made him want to scream. He kept his voice low, even. Devastating. "It sickens me, to call you daughter."

"Father -" now she was plaintive, her brown eyes welling with tears. Her mother's eyes. Gods, she looked so much like his Elizabeth on the outer, how could she have become so wrong on the inner? He spoke over her.

"I will not entertain explanations. I will not suffer further disobedience. No more defiance. You will return to your husband and you will become the dutiful wife you swore - you _bloody swore in a church!_ \- that you would be, or by God, I vow, I will never, ever see you again." He watched as it sunk in, her face draining of colour. "Nor will I ever lift a finger to help you. Nor will your brothers. If you leave him again, do not even think of coming to us, for none of us will take you in."

"And if he doesn't want me?" It came out a squeak.

"I can tell you right now, he doesn't," Benjamin said cruelly and Beth's face blanched, "and if it comes to pass that he refuses you, if he turns you out through no fault of your own, only then will we help you, and even that will be at a stretch because by God, Beth, if my wife did to me what you've done to him, I wouldn't have her back either."

"He beat me," she whispered, fingers clutching her skirt. "He strapped me with his belt!"

"I know. And he was punished for it. I also know why he did it, Beth," he said and her face turned a little grey. "Should I tell your brothers why, Beth? Shall I tell Burwell?"

"Harry knows," Beth said, eyes cast to the ground. "He knows."

That took some of the wind from Benjamin's sails. He shot Harry a look. Harry nodded, confirming Beth's claim.

"I see. Well. And yet you still go off gallivanting around together for the whole damned week."

"It was hardly gallivanting," Harry said, offended.

"All of your men think that _you are fucking my daughter,_" Benjamin was deliberately crude; he hardly ever cussed like this and it was having the desired affect. Beth shied back as if he'd struck her and Harry began grinding his teeth, because he had nothing to say in his defence. To Beth, he said "You wonder why I'd easily believe you bedded Burwell? After all you've done, is it any surprise I'd jump to that conclusion?" She lowered her eyes, her tear wet cheeks flushed. "I thought it, the entire camp thought it!" To Burwell, he said, "you must have known they were thinking it. That they were saying it. Did you do anything to dispel the gossip? Anything at all?" Benjamin saw the rise and fall of his friend's chest, the stubborn look on his face, and he saw the guilt there too. No, Burwell hadn't done a damned thing to stop the rumours. "Tell me, Harry. Did you think about it?" Benjamin advanced on the General, but was thwarted by Gabriel, who stepped between them. "Did you consider having an affair with my daughter?"

"Father -"

"Silence!" Benjamin roared, rounding on Beth. "You will not speak until I give you leave." _Let's see how long that lasts. _Beth folded her arms, shoved her fisted up into her armpits. She looked as though she was gnawing out her own tongue. Benjamin ignored her, turned his attention back on Burwell. "Well? You knew I'd be sending her back to her husband. Did you consider making off with her? Taking her back to Virginia, making her your mistress?"

"The thought crossed my mind," Harry said and that red rage flooded Benjamin's vision again.

"So you admit it. You have no respect for me or our friendship whatsoever."

"I have enough to have not pressed the issue," Harry said. "I love her, Ben."

"As if that's all the excuse you need. Fools in love," Benjamin spat. "You love her so much that you'd take her as your mistress, after refusing to marry her? That's love, is it? If you loved her so bloody much, you should have married her. You have done as much to disgrace her and me, as Tarleton ever did." He did not need to remind Harry of the details, his friend knew exactly what Benjamin was referring to. Harry's shoulders slumped. "You ruined her as much as Tavington ever did." Another step forward and this time, Gabriel gripped Benjamin's arm to stop him going another and closing on Burwell. "At least Tavington was gentleman enough to marry her after indulging in her!"

"You compare me to him and you find me wanting?" Harry gasped, stunned.

"In this, most certainly. You had your chance to marry her. You fooled about with her like you were married already but when you found out about her and William, you fled your responsibility like a fox fleeing the hound. When I offered it again, _you still said no_. All this talk of loving her? You had the chance to marry her - twice! - you refused both times Yet now you'd make her your mistress?"

"It was considered for a moment only," Harry said, sounding apologetic. "I never would have done it, I never would have disgraced you."

"You disgraced me by considering it, even for that moment," Benjamin said. How could Harry not see that? To Beth, Benjamin said, "and Harry's intent, brief though it might have been, was a reflection on you. A poor one, for no gentleman would make such a suggestion to a woman he considered to be virtuous. It reflects poorly on you indeed, for he knows you have become the sort of woman who would flee her husband and become mistress to another man. Or did you take his suggestion as a compliment?" He asked snidely. _Let's see how far she's fallen, if that's how she viewed it._

"Of course not," she whispered. "It was an insult to me, one Harry has apologised for repeatedly since he proposed it."

_Oh, so he actually proposed it, did he? _"And how did you answer him?"

"I refused."

"After a moment's consideration?" He shot back with a dark laugh.

"No, father. I refused immediately."

"So, there's hope for you yet," Benjamin curled his lip. "So much for a moment's consideration," he said to Burwell. "If Beth had accepted your… proposal… I daresay the moment would have stretched on for years, with the both of you living nice and comfortable in Virginia."

"Until her husband died in battle," Harry agreed. "Then I would have been free to marry her."

"Christ, Harry! We've gone from 'a moments consideration' to a full blown plot! Jesus, you _were_ free to marry her!" Benjamin shouted, throwing his arms wide. "You both were!"

"I don't believe Harry would have gone through with it, papa," Beth said softly. "Even if I'd said yes."

Benjamin considered her for a good, long moment. It stretched until it felt like days, until Beth was shuffling under his stare. Even Nathan and Thomas were growing restless, unsure of what was to come. Who Benjamin would scream at next. He felt some of his anger drain as hopelessness poured in.

"I begged you," he said to Harry, the fire in his voice gone. "I humbled myself, like a starving man begging scraps. I pleaded with you to marry her. And you said no." He shook his head. Harry's shoulders slumped a little more. "And yet you think so lowly of me, that you would consider making her your mistress, instead." He threw his arms wide. "How much would be different now, if you hadn't refused? If you'd said yes, the path we'd all be on would be a far cry better to what it is now. You wouldn't have to entertain thoughts of making off with her to be your mistress, despite what it would do to our friendship, and I wouldn't be here suffering the disgrace Beth has done my entire family!"

"You blame me?" Harry asked. "For all of it?"

"Will you pretend those nights never happened?" Benjamin shot back. "She was still a virgin after you were done, but the damage was done and you never bloody married her!"

"Harry has apologised for that, father," Beth said, defending Burwell. "We have both apologised, for we were both at fault. Harry has treated honourably with me since I arrived here -"

"How would you know? How would you recognise true honour, when you have so little of it yourself?" Benjamin asked. There was a collective gasp among the boys - they were as wroth with her as he was, but it seemed this was going too far for them. None of them understood, nor would they understand, until they had daughters of their own. Beth began trembling all over, shaking from head to foot. She stared at the ground, seeming not to know what to say, or do. Reaching blindly behind her, she set her hand on the a large boulder and sat heavily, as if her knees were unable to hold her. What had she been expecting? A happy reunion? She was supposed to get off lightly, was she? For traipsing off with another man, for gallivanting about, for being his willing whore? "You've disgraced us all," he said, trembling himself, unable to hold back his fury a moment longer. "You have disgraced our family. You have disgraced me. Your husband. You disgraced _yourself_! You let that filthy little rogue put his hands on you! You allowed yourself to become his… his… strumpet!"

"Strumpet?" Beth squeaked, then buried her face in her hands and began to weep in earnest. Benjamin was glad he no longer had to look into Beth's eyes, her mother's eyes, the eyes of the woman he'd loved so desperately.

"Imagine if your mother were here," he said, gasping the words out, the agony as great as it had been when he'd just lost his Elizabeth, as if he were kneeling at the foot of grief's door all over again. "Imagine how disappointed she'd be."

Beth was sobbing now. Burwell made a move to go to her but stopped when Benjamin flexed his arms, ready to start the brawl he'd promised, if he tried.

"If mother were here, none of this would be happening," Thomas whispered. Benjamin jerked his head in ragged agreement.

"Elizabeth would have kept Beth on the straight and narrow," Benjamin said woefully.

"Mother would have kept you on the straight and narrow too, father," Thomas said, and Benjamin tensed, seeing iron enter his son's eyes. "You would never have been allowed to disgrace us, either."

Benjamin drew himself up, shoulders back, his face an incredulous scowl. Not this again, surely? Thomas had come so close to flinging his affair with Charlotte in Benjamin's face a week ago, but the boy had backed down. Benjamin waited, letting the silence stretch, giving his son time to do so again.

Only this time, Thomas didn't.

* * *

_I championed her before, back in Pembroke. And where did that get us? Beth went off and married Tavington and the next thing, she was off having an affair with Tarleton. I will not champion her again. Not this time._

"You dare speak of apologies?" Father was saying. Gods, his grip looked so tight, the tips of his fingers looked like they were really digging into Beth's flesh. Thomas almost stepped forward but he forced himself back. _There has to be consequences. I will not champion her again._

"Father, you're hurting me."

Beth was being rather brave, to speak with such calmness under the circumstances. Thomas had to admire that. Any other woman would have been in tears. Perhaps Beth was accustomed to it by now though, their father seizing her as he did would have to be a trifling to the strapping Tavington had given her. His sister, accustomed to savagery and violence; Thomas didn't know how to feel about that. His father released her, he looked quite taken aback. Had he expected tears and begging, as Thomas had?

"What you have done, it sickens me."

Thomas closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, slowly, as his father's tirade continued. He wished he was suddenly deaf so he could not hear the awful things being said. Beth was far more affected by their father's awful words than she had been by the violence of his grabbing her arms. Thomas almost said something but again, he held back. Father began to lay down his ultimatums, ultimatums Thomas agreed with. If Beth left her husband for another man again, why should any of them help her? He was glad that father would assist her in the event that Tavington set her aside, though.

"He beat me," Beth said. Thomas shook his head. He couldn't ever imagine taking his hand to Lucy and he'd certainly been fierce with the whip when it was his turn to flog Tavington. There were consequences, after all. But what was she thinking? That Tavington would sit down and offer her a cup of tea after learning that she'd already given her virginity to Tarleton before becoming Tavington's wife? Everyone knew he was a madman. They didn't call him Butcher for nothing. And Beth went and married him. And was surprised when the madman surfaced? Jesus. "He strapped me with his belt!"

"…did you tell him why William beat you?" Father asked in _such_ a way. "Shall I tell him, Beth?"

Thomas looked to his father, seeing him for the first time, in an entirely different light. He'd always known Benjamin could be formidable when his temper was roused. He hadn't ever known his father to be outright cruel, though. Finally, Benjamin began unleashing his temper on a stronger foe and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief as Burwell began to cop it. It wasn't that he wanted Burwell in the firing line, but he felt strongly that Beth needed some breathing space.

"Did you consider making off with her? Taking her back to Virginia, making her your mistress?"

"The thought crossed my mind," Harry said and Thomas suddenly decided he was quite happy for Burwell to be in the firing line. The discussion continued, with the boys - and Beth - remaining wisely silent. But when father said "if you loved her so bloody much, you should have married her." Thomas had to bite his tongue. Dear God, how hard he bit it. The pot calling the kettle black. Thomas had discovered this past week, that his father was a hypocrite. Samuel had been right on that score. But Thomas said nothing, for now was not the time. Besides, he was quite determined. He would not champion Beth.

"You were free to marry her! You both were!" Father shouted.

_And you were free to marry aunt Charlotte_, the thought sang through Thomas' mind. Thomas stood quietly at Nathan's side, ready to intervene if it came to a brawl, as his father continued to rail at Burwell. Thomas listened in silence, even when Benjamin shifted his attention back to Beth. He had to steel himself again, he would not be Beth's champion and besides, his father was right. Beth had disgraced them all. But…

"You let that filthy little rogue put his hands on you! You allowed yourself to become his… his… strumpet!"

Thomas turned back to his father, stunned. He'd just called Beth a strumpet. Beth reached behind herself, she sat heavily onto the boulder, and Thomas's heart seized. She couldn't even stand. She looked just as stunned for all of a heart beat before burying her face in her hands and sobbing as if her heart were breaking. Jesus. Yes, Thomas had used the word harlot when thinking of what Beth had done. Charlotte and Mage, too. But he'd never said it outright. And in truth, he never really meant it, either. But for Benjamin to call Beth a strumpet… His own daughter. Their father was going too far.

"Imagine if your mother were here. Imagine how disappointed she'd be."

Thomas remembered his mother quite well. Her gentle hands, her calm smile. Her warm embrace. The stroke of her fingers along his back whenever he needed comforting. The soft hand brushing unruly hair back from his brow, her musical laughter whenever he did something that amused her. He had tried hard to amuse her, just to hear it. Their family, large though it might be, had fallen apart without her. With her passing, they'd begun to shatter. She had been the rock that they'd all clung to, Benjamin included.

"If mother were here, none of this would be happening." Thomas meant it, too. Beth would have been far more gently reared, under their mother's guidance, imbued with their mother's moral compass. His father would never have strayed to Aunt Charlotte, if his mother had lived. Their mother would have kept Beth from Tavington, she would have steered her, and the rest of them, along the right path for them all. His father was nodding, as if in agreement. He didn't understand Thomas's meaning though, not at all.

"Elizabeth would have kept Beth on the straight and narrow."

The words seared into Thomas like a hot poker driving into his flesh. Elizabeth would have kept Beth on the straight and narrow? As if she hadn't had a father who could have done so? Their mother had died, yes, but with her passing, they hadn't bloody become orphans.

"Mother would have kept you on the straight and narrow too, father," he said, holding his father's startled gaze. Thomas drew himself up, let his hands fall to his sides, and faced his father. "You would never have been allowed to disgrace us, either." The silence stretched. Nathan whispered something at him but Thomas ignored it. Now was not the time for distractions. "Look, I'm as angry with Beth as the rest of you," he began, looking from Nathan to Gabriel and finally to their father. "But honestly, what did you expect from her, considering how you raised her?"

"How I raised her?" Benjamin spluttered, outraged no doubt, by the accusation behind Thomas' words.

"Who else can be blamed, father? When mother died, _you_ disappeared," he threw his arms wide and shrugged.

"What are you talking about? I never left!"

"You were there with us but you weren't there _for_ us," Thomas amended. "You know, it occurs to me now how well 'The Ghost' fits you. You were the Ghost well before the British started calling you that. You were like a spirit moving along the corridors. There, yes, but frankly, useless. We were left to our own devices, all of us were. Aunt Charlotte visited - and we all know now why she did!" He spat, accusing and his father opened, then snapped his mouth shut. "Beth got some small influence then, no where near as much as Margaret and Susan are getting from Anne. Gods, you should see her, looking like a young lady, walking like one, talking like one, all under Anne's guidance. Aunt Charlotte wasn't there often enough and when she was, she spent as much time in your chamber as she did out of it, didn't she, father?" Benjamin stared, Thomas could see the struggle within him. He wasn't enjoying this, not at all. But nor did he argue. He did not defend himself. How could he? When Thomas was speaking truthfully. "Beth saw her, father," Thomas pressed on, taking several steps forward, meeting his father eye to eye. "She saw our Aunt go into your chamber, wearing nothing but her night robe, she heard the two of you kissing and carrying on together. That was how she learned the two of you were having an affair. What sort of impact would that have, do you think?"

"Not a good one," Burwell said softly, as if remembering. "Beth was quite distraught that night." Thomas had almost forgotten that Burwell had been there, but he realised that she must've gone straight to Burwell to express her confusion and doubt. Was that the same night their own dallying had started up? Not the sort of question he could ask outright, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he became. Beth had started dallying with Burwell on the very night she'd discovered Aunt Charlotte and their father's affair.

"And you expect her to act differently, do you?" Thomas pressed on. "When she sees you conducting an affair with the one woman she's ever had to model herself on. Well, except for Aunt Mage but we all know she was no better, either. And here you are, confronting Burwell about the things he did with Beth, and taking him to task for not marrying her. I agree, he should have done and you are well within your right to be wroth with him. Most certainly, he should have married my sister, after all he did with her. But you, you did so much more with Aunt Charlotte, enough that you worried you might have sired a child on her. And yet you never married her. Father, are you a hypocrite?"

Benjamin blanched.

"What the devil are you playing at, Thomas?" Gabriel strode forward, fists clenched like he was ready to throw punches. "Aunt Charlotte bedded Bordon! Right there outside the kitchen! And you want father to marry her?"

"Oh, aye, he won't marry her _now_, because of what she did with Bordon. But father was bedding Aunt Charlotte for years before that, Gabriel, so what was his excuse back then? What was your excuse, father, for not marrying her?"

"I wasn't ready to move on from your mother," Benjamin said, voice clipped.

"It seems to me like you were," Thomas barked a contemptuous laugh. "Every time you saw Aunt Charlotte."

"You go too far!" Benjamin shouted even as Nathan shouted "Thomas, that's enough!" Beth had stopped sobbing, she was sitting quietly now, pale faced but listening. A realisation hit Thomas like a smack about the head - damn and blast it, he was championing her.

_Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound._

"I'm not going nearly far enough," Thomas said. "You say Beth has destroyed our family with her conduct? That's only because her conduct has become public, _while yours hasn't._ Hers has been no worse than yours - the only difference is, hers has become known! You blame her, that the Ferguson's might withdraw from our arrangement? What would the Ferguson's say about me marrying Lucy if they knew about you and aunt Charlotte?" He let the words sink in, he wanted his father to understand that his own conduct had been a far cry from what it should have been, for a man wanting the best marriage matches for his children. "If they knew about you and Aunt Charlotte, Beth could move to France and turn into a nun, and I'd still have no chance of marrying Lucy. Because of _you_. Just because you kept it all quiet and therefore our family hasn't been damaged by it, doesn't make what you have done alright."

"You're right, I should never have had an affair with your aunt," Benjamin said, Thomas thought he sounded reluctant.

"_Or_ you should have married Aunt Charlotte the very next day after the first night you spent with her," Thomas said. "You denied us a mother for so damned long. In keeping Charlotte as your mistress, you denied us further! She could have become our mother. The two of you, a properly married couple, showing us with your conduct what ours should be. Instead, you kept her all to yourself. You enter into an affair and you tried to keep it secret for years. Is it any surprise that Beth would do as she has, with such examples as you and Aunt Charlotte guiding her? Again I ask you, why should she have done any different?"

"Because she's my damned daughter," Benjamin spat.

"Oh, do as I say, not as I do is it?" Thomas scoffed. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, father. Aunt Charlotte was someone's daughter too - I wonder what grandfather would say about you right now, if he were alive? You honoured one of his daughter with marriage while dishonouring the other with an affair. Well, father? What would my grandfather say of you, do you think?"

"Nothing good, I would imagine," Benjamin ground out.

"If you'd wanted Beth to be the perfect daughter, you should have been there for us!" It wasn't until that moment that Thomas realised just how much he'd resented it. The losing of his father at the same time as his mother. That complete and irrevocable walling off from his own children. He'd lost two parents the day his mother died. "You turned away from all of us. You left us to raise ourselves because you were incapable; choosing solitude in your grief and completely forgetting you were still a father to eight children! We were grieving too!" He cut short, his energy spent. Quietly, he said, "we needed you. And you weren't there. How we turned out as adults…" he shrugged. "That was for you to determine. And you have. And you can't complain about it now." Thomas looked at Gabriel and then Nathan, waiting for them to argue against him. To defend their father. Neither did. Gabriel was staring off into the woods, in an entirely different direction, as if he were unable to meet their father's eyes. Nathan was conducting an intent study of his shoes. Beth was as quiet as a mouse, staring at the hands she had twisted in her lap. Benjamin seemed also to note his sons' unwillingness to defend him. His eyes became bright, swimming, and Thomas had to look away, struck as he was with guilt. Maybe he'd gone too far. Perhaps he shouldn't have -

"Is that how you really feel?" Benjamin asked, voice ragged.

"Yeh, I guess it is," Thomas shrugged. "Though I didn't know it until just now. But here we are, and there it is."

"I'm sorry, son," Benjamin said, his voice thick. He swallowed hard. His eyes looked puffy. "I am sorry. I have not been the best of fathers."

"No. And as such, you can not expect Beth to be the best of daughters," Thomas said softly, pressing his point, though he was certain it'd been made. "And you can't expect your boys to be the best of sons," he said, Samuel's name springing to mind. Lord, when was the last time they'd seen him? When was the last time they'd thought of him? Guilt twisted in is stomach like a live thing. Thomas had told Beth earlier that she had perhaps ruined the chances of her siblings to make a decent marriage match. He'd listed his siblings - and he hadn't mentioned Samuel at all. "Samuel," he said now, as if to rectify that. "You took him, a boy of what, barely twelve years? To murder Redcoats, papa! And look what that did to him!" Visibly distressed, Benjamin squatted on his haunches, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His sons offered no words of reassurance, for in this, they all felt the same. The boys did not move to comfort him. But his daughter did. Thomas watched as Beth rose from her rock, she went to stand beside their father, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. Still clearly shaken herself, still reeling from the awful things their father had said to her, the _strumpet_ still had enough compassion within her to offer their father what solace she could. Benjamin - his face buried in his hands - must have felt the light touch, but at first, he made no move to acknowledge it, not at first. He must have known it was Beth's hand and not they boys, for it was a very feminine thing to do. After a few moments, Benjamin rubbed his hands over his face - to dry tears, Thomas saw with chagrin, and eventually he placed his hand over Beth's, still resting on his shoulder. That was some progress, at least.

"Gabe, Nate, Beth, Sammie and me, none of us are perfect, papa," Thomas said softly. "But perhaps you'll do better with Margaret, William and Susan. They're still young enough for you to steer in the right direction, as long as you stay on course yourself. As for the rest of us, you can't blame us for how we've turned out. Besides, I'm sure Beth's as sorry as can be, for what she's done."

"I am," Beth whispered. "I'm so sorry and I'm going to do everything I can to make it right."

"Don't see how you can," Thomas said, "but I appreciate the sentiment." To his father, he said, "it might be nice for Beth to have that burden relieved a bit by her own da _not calling her a strumpet_."

Benjamin cast his eyes upward toward the sky and blinked several times, as if willing back tears. His gaze shifted to Beth, Thomas saw his father's fingers flex as he gave Beth's a gentle squeeze. "I am sorry, daughter. I should not have said that."

Beth gave a listless shrug. "You think low of me. I deserve it." She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and kept her eyes averted, not meeting their gazes. _It must be hard_, Thomas thought, _suffering the condemnation of an entire family. _

Brushing dirt from his buckskins, Benjamin stood and Beth's hand fell away. They made no further move toward one another, no embracing. That might come eventually, after many, many small steps. But for now, Benjamin strode past them and Thomas heard him mutter about needing a drink. The siblings exchanged uncertain glances, should they follow? Would the discussions continue now? Was the fight part over?

"Come on, let's find something to eat," Burwell said, giving them the direction Benjamin had failed to give. Yet again. Burwell held an arm out to Beth, who stepped past her brothers to accept it. She leaned into Burwell as if, without his support, her legs might not support her.

They found their father at a campfire away from the Continentals, he was sitting with several of his own militiamen Thomas recognised from his father's militia. Burwell and the siblings joined them, Beth sat rather awkwardly as though she wasn't certain if she should stay or go.

There was a bottle of whiskey being past about. Earlier, Thomas had started out his walk pleasantly tipsy and light of heart. Eyeing the bottle as it moved about the group, he hoped that soon, he could reclaim that feeling. When it was his turn, he took a generous swig and prayed that when this one was empty, some kind soul would produce another.


	143. Chapter 143 - Benjamin Reacts

Chapter 143 - Benjamin Reacts:

Beth and Nathan watched helplessly as their father got rip roaring drunk. A jug was being passed about the militiamen at the camp fire, quickly hidden from view anytime a Continental regular happened by. Benjamin sat between his two children on an overturned log, he swayed where he sat, his shoulder touching Beth's when he went too far to the right, and then Nathan's when he went too far to the left. If they weren't there, Beth wondered if he would keep sloping one way or the other until he fell onto his side completely. Thomas was no help, he'd almost pounced on the jug as soon as it appeared. He was well on the way to being in a condition similar to their father's. Gabriel had disappeared as soon as the jug was produced, he was a far better behaved Continental than Thomas was. Alby Scott and Adam Danvers where there, sitting next to Adam's older brother Bill Danvers, Curly and lastly Reverend Oliver - who was the last person in the world Beth wished to sit with, considering where she'd been these last months.

A clergyman and a sinner. No doubt, if he became aware of her recent past, he would do his utmost to redeem her devil owned soul. She wasn't even sure if that were possible.

For a wonder, the Reverend was turning a blind eye to the drinking. There were several from Benjamin's old crew - those who called themselves veterans of the 'Battle of Fresh Water'. All of them, except Reverend Oliver, had helped Benjamin in the attack against Tarleton's force, attacking the small unit that had foolishly camped between rail fences. Mr. Rollins, his sons Bryson and Kevin. Mr. Danvers. Curly. Matthew Black, to name a few. And all of them were fiercely loyal to Benjamin. Beth appreciated that, but she wished the loyalty didn't extend so far to helping their commander get well and truly soused.

"These here, Beth. These are the men that will carry it, all the tales they've heard, and all the tales they're going to hear." Benjamin said softly in her ear, pointing discreetly beyond their own campfire to the militia and the Continentals beyond. His words were slurred and his breath stunk of whisky. "This scandal with you and Burwell, which they still believe to be true. When they go home, your tale will go home with them. They'll tell their wives. Their children. Their mothers and fathers. Their friends. These are the men that will carry the tale of you, Beth."

"What can we do?" Beth asked dubiously.

"We make sure they know you're not bedding Burwell, that's what we do. Oh, and we hope like hell that they never hear about you and Tarleton. But let's just deal with one step at a time," Benjamin said. He tipped his head back and gulped from the jug. Nathan plucked it from his fingers and passed it to Mr. Rollins, who was sitting on the other side of him, out of ear shot.

"I don't think it matters if they carry ill news of me back home, papa. I'm ruined in Pembroke anyway. They know I was unfaithful to Burwell with William. Then I married William, and then _he_ burned down the town…"

"Doesn't have to be worse than that though, does it? Don't mean they should go home thinking you've got even more to be guilty of. We need to stop rumours of you and Burwell while we still can."

"How? Do I say something to them?" Beth looked around at the militiamen, then looked beyond it to the multitude of campfires. If she stood before them all and denounced the rumours of her and Burwell, would she be believed? She doubted it. "I don't think that's a good idea, father."

"Besides," added Nathan, "You can try tell them she's done nothing with Burwell, but they all know what she did with Tavington in Arthur Simms chamber."

"Like I said, it doesn't have to be worse than that, does it? Anyway, that's old news and besides, she's married to him, aye? How many girls go to the alter with their bellies out to here?" Benjamin said. He held his hands three feet away from his stomach, mimicking a pregnancy and Beth's eyes bulged. Gods, he was drunk, to suggest such a thing. "As long as she marries the fellow who got her into that state, it doesn't matter much. A bit of a frown, but not enough to bring the whole family to its knees. Don't worry about that. It's this Burwell rot we need to stifle."

"I honestly can't see how I can," Beth said incredulously.

"Not you. I'm the one that's going to have to do it," Benjamin laughed. Laughed! Beth exchanged a worried look with Nathan. There was no humour in their father's laughter, no amusement. It was a bitter chuckle, one crippled with anger. At her? He'd certainly been furious earlier. But now he sat there on the log with her, whispering, conspiring, and there hadn't been a thread of anger directed toward her the entire time. It was confusing, to say the least.

"Will they believe you? Will it work?" _Can the standing of our family be saved?_

"Maybe. Probably not if they start hearing rumours about you and Tarleton, or about me and Charlotte," he shrugged. "Don't matter. We can only fight one battle at a time. We'll do what we can to stem the damage. In truth, I'm already damned," he laughed again, took a long pull from the jug that had come back around again. The light from the roaring flames flickered over his lopsided grin.

"No one knows about you and Aunt Charlotte," Beth said, hoping to make him feel more at ease with what he'd done. She'd done far worse. "Or not enough know, not outside the family."

"Eh. I'm not truly talkin' 'bout me and your aunt. I'm talkin' more 'bout you marrying the Old Butcher. Many here are wonderin' why I'm not sending you away. My daughter who married a Britisher. They say I should be shunning you. Not because of the gossip that's goin' round about you and Burwell. Though that's part of it, they'd be wonderin' it even without that. Colonel to the Patriot Militia, whose daughter up and married a Colonel of the Redcoats. They're all wonderin' why I'm sitting here with you, why I'm not cutting all ties to you. Perhaps they'll be questioning how dedicated I am to the Cause. That's why I'm damned. Greene knows by now too. He'll be thinkin' those things, too, no doubt."

"I'm sorry," Beth said softly.

"You've said that a lot tonight," Benjamin said and Beth felt the rebuke keenly. The first one, since they had all sat down together. She picked up a stick and stabbed the fire with it.

"Got a lot to be sorry for," she said, willing back the tears. She'd made her bed, now she had to lie in it. "What will happen?" To her father, as a consequence for her marrying Tavington in the first place.

"Eh. Might start doubting my commitment and my loyalty. I hold a Superior rank over men Greene needs to fight the British," Benjamin nodded as if to himself. "If I'm not true, I could easily cause some havoc among them, if I were so inclined. At least for a little while. Until they hang me for it."

"He doesn't think you're a spy!" Beth gasped.

"It's him not knowing me well enough to know either way, that's the problem. Doesn't know me from Adam, and here he is, with reason to doubt me."

"Because of me," Beth whispered. The jug came round again and she was hard pressed not to take a swig. Doing so before her father would solidify his poor impression of her, so she handed it on to him without taking a drop. In a stronger voice, she said, "well, I'll be going soon enough. Maybe it'd be better that you don't come near me between now and then. Make it look like you want nothing to do with me." As things stood between them, surely that wasn't far from the truth?

"Nah," he said, shrugging.

"Why not? If it's going to make your position with General Greene more… solid… then why not?"

"Because I don't know when I'll see you again," he said, putting a drunken arm around her shoulders. "Because you're my daughter and, thanks to Thomas climbing down my throat, I know now that I haven't been the best of da's."

Drunk or not, it felt wonderful to have her father's arm around her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, glad now of the whisky he was drinking, for making him affectionate. Maybe he would avoid her tomorrow when the whisky was gone from his body and he was sober again, but for now, it was pure bliss.

"I haven't been the best of daughter's, either," she said. "I don't blame you for my actions."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not taking the full blame," Benjamin said. "I told you I wouldn't cut you off if you went back to him, and you're goin' back to him. So I ain't goin' to cut you off. That means I'm not goin' to start avoiding you, just to make Greene and the others happy. No matter what they all say I should do. Besides, fuck them."

"Papa!" She gasped, hands flying to her mouth. She heard him cuss so rarely, it was jarring, when he did it.

"Twenty-five years, I've been in the militia, fighting right alongside most of these bastards. The older ones, anyway. I was nearly killed in the war, helping to keep our border secure from the French and the savages. They wouldn't have nothing to fight the British for now, if we'd lost back then. And what of all the hours of all the days I gave to the Assembly. Politics," he spat. "Bah. I'd take all those hours back, if I could, and I'd give them to you, Gabriel, Thomas, Nate and Sammie. And now I'm back in the thick of it and I'm failing the youngun's as I've failed you older ones. I've got two sons serving in the Continentals, I've got Nate now, constantly at my side, doing his part too. Any one of them could die like that," he snapped his fingers, "and I could lose them forever. I have lost my home, it's a damned British fort now. And these bastards would dare doubt me because you up and married Tavington?" His voice was rising, others around the campfire were listening intently. He wasn't calling them the bastards, not his most loyal men. Silence fell among them as they hung on his every word. It was those men further afield, under Greene's command, some under Burwell's, and some from other militia companies. Never Martin's own - they were loyal to him to a fault. It was those outside Benjamin's circle, they were the bastards. "They don't have the right to tell me how I should deal with you or this marriage. Me being in this army, sleeping on the ground, breaking my back, killing Redcoats; that don't give them a right to tell me how to deal with my family, or to look down their nose and doubt me when I don't do what they think I aught. Fuck them. If they want me gone, I'll fucking go." He lurched to his feet as if he intended to go then and there. Beth realised just how drunk he was. He weaved precariously - Nathan grabbed his arm and Thomas appeared from around the fire to grab his other, both of them keeping their father from falling into the flames. Benjamin continued to rage, his tirade rising to a crescendo. "They think what I've got to offer the Cause is less than the scandal of my girl fooling with and marrying that Britisher? Fuck 'em. I'll just go home. Let them deal with all this rot themselves."

"Father, sit down," Thomas commanded. Benjamin ignored him.

"They think all my years as a militiamen count for nothing? They reckon my time fighting off the braves and the French for this Goddamned state ain't worth a damn? I'll kindly take myself home and thank you all for coming," Benjamin bowed, one hand behind his back, the other tipping his tricorn, a gentlemen taking his leave. Some of his men applauded. He plopped his hat back on his head. "After all I done, my daughter missteps once - once! - by falling in love with the wrong man, and all I done counts for shit? If that's how it is, fuck them. And fuck you too, Burwell." Beth whirled on the log and saw the General striding from the dark into the light of the fire, drawn by Benjamin's yelling like a fly to honey.

"Please calm down, Sir," General Harry Burwell said, taking on a formal stance and tone.

"Why. What you goin' to do. Hang me? Flog me? For telling God's own truth. Where's the gratitude, can you tell me that? All I done. All I sacrificed. All I've lost. Greene started his own militia what, seven years ago? I've been doing this for more than three decades!"

"Your term of service to this country is not in question -"

"No. But my loyalty is, because my daughter married a Britisher. And fuck everything else I've done, eh?"

"You are drunk, Martin, and frankly, you're setting a poor example for your men indeed. Retire to your tent, Sir. That is an order."

"Oh. I'm a poor example, am I?" Benjamin laughed that same laugh of earlier, only this time, fury outstripped the bitterness. "You taken up with that pretty hussy - there's a grand example for you. And to put the feather in the cap, you let everyone think it was my daughter between your sheets instead of, of - what's her name?" He asked Beth.

"Electa Alden," she whispered, shocked.

"Electa Alden!" Benjamin shouted. "Yes, General, let us speak of examples when you've let everyone in camp think that it's my daughter you got in between your blankets at night instead of pretty Electa Alden!"

"I told you, Benjamin, I did not know that was the rumour!" Burwell ground out, stepping closer, looking furious. "If I had, I would have quelled it immediately!"

"Oh, you would've? Jesus man, it ain't quelled now! They're all still thinking it! You there!" Benjamin shouted at some poor fellow who was standing amidst quite a few more, all of them watching with a sick fascination as the two Commanding Officers went toe to toe. "Do you believe the rumour to be quelled? Or do you still think my daughter is screw-"

"Father!" Beth lurched to her feet, stunned that he would confront the gossip so brutally, so publicly. He said he was going to speak to them. She'd thought he meant _individually_. Or in small groups. Quietly cajoling them to believe over a few jugs of whisky. Not this… this -

"- _screwing_ your General?" Benjamin shouted and Beth wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. The fellow was as silent as a stone. He began to walk backward until he had disappeared in the crowd.

"Father, stop this!"

"Is it because you wanted her to be? You wanted it to be true, so much so, that you let everyone else think it was. That way every time you were ruttin' away on top of pretty Electa Alden, you'd feel like you were on my daughter?" Benjamin shouted at Burwell over Beth's head. "Take her to Virginia, will you?" Benjamin lurched forward so suddenly that Beth was pushed out of the way. Someone caught her as she fell, and several more caught Benjamin before he could close on the General. He fought to get past his own militiamen and his sons, but his time in the prison camp had taken their toll, he was not as strong as he used to be. But his voice was still as loud as it ever was. "You talk about examples? Because I've had a few whiskeys and am telling y'all the truth? What of you, wanting to fuck your best-friends daughter?" Beth dropped to a log and stuck her fingers into her ears, but it was not enough. Her father's words came to her - muffled - but still entirely too coherent. "How's that for an example? Best you retire to your tent, Sir. Best you take your bawdy woman, for you won't ever be taking my little girl!"

"Seize him and put him under guard until he sobers!" Burwell's shout was as audible as Benjamin's had been and Beth watched in horror as several Continentals began to come forward and her heart began to pound as Benjamin's militia began to rise and move in to position, as if to stop them.

_My God, will they battle one another? _Beth thought. Her fingers were still in her ears, she shot a glance at Burwell, whose eyes were fixed on the militia who were moving in to protect their leader. Burwell looked… Less than pleased.

"What of the other rumours, aye?" Benjamin shouted. "You let them all think she was in your bed. You let them drag my girl's name through the mud, and all because she married a Britisher, instead of you? You could have married her, but you refused! You want to kick me out of the army? I'll go my Goddamned self!" He shouted, before striding off from the camp fire toward the Continentals. Two of them, looking unsure, fell in behind him, as at least ten militia fell in behind them. Still protecting their Colonel. Beth's eyes whirled to Burwell, fearing that he would order them taken in hand also, and what would happen, if he did. When he made no move that could lead to a civil war within his own ranks, all she could do was sit there reeling, stunned. Nathan dropped down beside her. He seemed to be reeling too as he groped blinding for her hand. To comfort her? Or to get comfort.

"General, I'm so sorry," Beth said, rising again, "I've never seen him like this."

"I have," Harry said. "The last time his world crumbled around him. Please, Mrs. Tavington, I will take my leave of you but before I go, please know that I did not know of the rumours. I thought they disapproved because of the time we were spending in one another's company, you being my former fiancé and now married to my enemy. I never imagined that they thought... If I had known, I would have put a stop to it, I vow on my honour. We've come such a long way since you arrived of settling the unpleasantness of our past. I thought we'd found true peace between us. I beg you, please believe me, I did not have a hand in those rumours. I would never do anything to hurt you. Not again."

"I know," she said, taking his hand and squeezing his fingers. Then releasing the hold just as quickly; they were not alone, she couldn't count the amount of men watching outside the circle of her father's now abandoned campfire. "I agree. I'll treasure this last week, for the peace it's bought us both. General Burwell, what is going to happen to my father?"

"I'll arrange for him to be given a tent, with a bed, and a brazier to keep him warm. I'll ask his own men to watch over him, rather than use mine. He'll sleep it off and tomorrow, he can make his decision about what he intends to do. Stay or go."

"If he goes, we go, all nine hundred of us," Rollins, the only one to have stayed behind, warned Burwell. "You can be sure of that. Sir."

"Yes, well…" Burwell trailed off, not seeming to want to deal with the implications of that just now.

"My father, he's just… he's angry," Beth said into the silence. "Frustrated and feeling immensely unappreciated. Perhaps I did more damage to his place in this army than I ever realised possible by marrying a British Officer. But that was my choice, one he was vehemently against. Should he really disown me, a daughter he loves, just to keep hold of a standing that he has already earned ten times over?"

"More than most Officers here, I daresay," Thomas snapped, visibly angry. "If the mis-step of his child is all it takes to undo all of the good my father has done for the Patriot Cause, then I have to tell you, it makes me have second thoughts about committing my life to it. It makes me worried. And all of you," he pointed to the crowd beyond them, "should be worried of the same. What is the point of going to all these efforts, risking so much, and in my father's case, putting his whole life into something, only to be spurned because of the deeds of one of your children? Is the Continental Army truly so fickle?"

"Here, here," Rollins said, folding his arms across his chest and staring hard at Burwell. "Reckon we aught to shed ourselves of the Continentals and go protect South Carolina on our own."

"If we fall here, we all fall," Burwell said, finally addressing the second problem - the potential loss of at least nine hundred militiamen. "We must stay united. If we break off into all those small bands again, we won't stand a chance against the British."

"Then fight for my father, Sir, because you are this close to losing him," Nathan said, holding his thumb and finger only slightly apart to indicate a very small gap.

"And put paid once and for all to all these hideous rumours regarding my sister while you're at it, the vile lies being said about her by _your own men,_" Thomas spat. "What did my father do to deserve that? Or is my sister to be so despised in her choice of husband, that they'll say anything they like about her and get away with it? Find out who started that talk, and make them face us, my sister's brothers."

That was a terrible idea, but it did have its merits. How was Burwell going to quell the rumours? By telling his men they were lies? And demanding they believe him? That would only make them believe the gossip even more. With Thomas confronting Burwell here and now, before such a large audience, demanding the culprits be bought forward to admit they'd seeded lies, would be far more effective, than Burwell denying it on his own.

She doubted there was one single instigator, however. Not one man for her brothers to question and force the truth from. As soon as these soldiers had started seeing her with Burwell, constantly in one another's company, they all would have started thinking the same thing. In the eyes of these men, her virtue was already in tatters. Yes, she'd married Tavington, and yes, dallying with him could be forgiven, for she had married him. But not by these men - they would never forget or forgive, not when - in dallying with Tavington before marriage - she'd been unfaithful to Burwell, her fiancé, their commander. The rumours would have sprung up from one hundred untrusting men at once.

Would Thomas have their brothers fight them all?

"You will not be able to find them, brother," Beth said, lifting her voice to be heard by one and all. "Besides, father has revealed the identity of the General's… visitor… Soon, the army will know that it's Electa sharing his bed, not me. This entire conversation is unseemly and I will entertain it no longer. General Burwell, if you could put an end to my involvement in these horrid rumours, I would very much appreciate it."

"It will be done," Burwell said, using his formal tone. "I hope you will accept my humble apologies, Mrs. Tavington. I feel ill to my core, knowing my actions have bought unto you such suspicion and foul comments." _Not your fault,_ Beth thought but did not say. "You are a beloved and dear friend and I vow, I will rout the seed of this horrid rumour and have the instigators whipped. I will do everything within my power to wash this stain from your name," Burwell declared and Beth had to stifle laughter.

_Dear heaven, no one in this world is powerful enough to do that,_ she thought.

"I will be content to have my innocence restored, Sir." And that was God's own truth; though she doubted it ever would be. Harry bowed again. Beth turned to Thomas and waited, wondering if he would continue to make his unrealistic demands that might end with some poor innocent soul being whipped. He seemed on the verge of speaking, then snapped his mouth shut, as if uncertain what to say or how to proceed. To put a final end to it, Beth said, "will you escort me to my tent, brothers? I wish to retire." Without waiting for an answer, she began walking away. Nathan and Thomas fell in behind her, and it was one of the hardest things she'd even had to do, trying to keep her head high under the weight of the stares of Burwell's men as she passed through them and into the night.

* * *

The Martin family convened in Benjamin's tent the following morning. Burwell had lifted his guard, the tent outside was now surrounded by Benjamin's trusted militia, all of whom were standing far enough away from the tent, to give those within the privacy they needed. Beth was sitting on the straw strewn ground next to her father, who held a hot cup of cider in his hands. Across from them and to either side were Gabriel, Nathan and Thomas.

"You're all Officers," Nathan was saying. "Are they just letting you go? Isn't that desertion?"

"Oh, after last night, I believe General Greene is quite happy to see the back of me," Benjamin snorted.

"It wasn't so easy as that," Thomas chided and Benjamin made a placating gesture with his hand.

"No. He haggled like a fish wife, I guess he realises I'm worth something after all. He is letting me return with my men to South Carolina, but he is not allowing me to 'retire' from the Continentals. I am still a Colonel, but am no longer under Burwell's command, I answer directly to him. All of this on the condition that I continue to lead the militia and not let them fall apart again," he laughed softly, as if he could not have cared less, as long as he was allowed to leave the main army and Burwell's command.

"You spoke to him?" Beth asked softly. "What did he say?" Her father had said some unsavoury things about Greene the previous night, which surely must have reached the General's ears by now.

"Greene made an inspiring speech about my valour," Benjamin said. "My bravery and my dedication to the Cause. He told me he was grateful for all I had done and asked that I not retire at this time. I told him I can not serve under Burwell and he agreed, considering what Burwell's men have been saying about my daughter. At least I had his support there; his opinion is that Beth has been defamed, slandered and ridiculed in the worst possible way, and he puts it down to being maliciousness toward the wife of an enemy Officer. He apologised," Benjamin lifted his eyebrows, indicating that he was still surprised by that, even now. "On behalf of the Continental army, for the unworthy treatment my daughter has received."

"Oh," Beth sat up straight, her eyes widening. "I… I didn't expect that…"

"Because everything they said about you was true, lass. Only they had the name of your lover wrong," Benjamin said and Beth slumped and averted her gaze. "What I am saying," Benjamin continued, "is that you don't expect anyone to stand up for you at this time, because you know you have done the things you're being accused of; you just didn't do them with Burwell. I do not mean to be harsh, but that is the reason you don't expect a personage as high as Greene to defend your virtue. I, too, was somewhat taken aback by his ferocity - he was outraged that a woman of your standing - a gentleman's daughter - would be humiliated by those beneath her. To be honest, I couldn't help but to think _'if only you knew'._ Not just about you, lass. But about me, too. As Thomas has pointed out, my own actions have been less than honourable. So no, I was not expecting such vehement support from him. Not in this. But I'm well pleased he did. So, to cut a long story short, Gabriel and Thomas have decided to transfer accompany me, Gabriel wishes to transfer to my command, their requests were also accepted, and therefore we are going home."

"You can't go home," Beth said. "Fresh Water is occupied by the British and you're still an escaped prisoner."

"I didn't mean Fresh Water. I just meant 'home'. South Carolina, to where my children are. Where I can visit them, which I intend to do far more regularly. I won't be settling down any time soon; as I said, I will continue to lead the militia in raids against British forces, which will require me to move from place to place, always in hiding. This isn't over, not by a long shot. But for now, when we leave here, it will be for the Ferguson's." Thomas lit up by this and Benjamin nodded in acknowledgement. "You will want to visit with Miss Ferguson, I expect?"

"I certainly would," Thomas grinned.

"We will stop there for a spell. That Greene can haggle like a fish wife - I'd hoped to be on my way home today, but he's managed to convince me to linger here for a few weeks, to harass Cornwallis' force as best I can as they follow Greene, who is going to continue northward toward Virginia. When the British Battalions are gone and this area is quiet, we'll drop back down into South Carolina, see what we can do about the forces at Winnsboro. With Tarleton and Tavington gone, I expect we'll have far more success in keeping the British subdued there, we might even be able to take back Charlestown. Mr. Rutledge is still the Governor of South Carolina, despite the British occupation. I will find him and go where he orders. At some point, Greene will be too far to send me orders, so I will take them from Rutledge instead. It will be far more preferable, serving under Rutledge than Burwell."

"Is your friendship over?" Beth asked, unable to keep the sympathy from her voice.

"He wanted to make you his mistress. My daughter," Benjamin's lips tightened. "Given the slightest encouragement from you, he would have done so; and you'd both be on your way to Virginia by now. Those are not the actions of a friend, Beth. Forget him, my mind is set," he said, voice hardening as Beth opened her mouth to argue against his ending of such a long standing friendship, because of her. "The only thing you need to think about now, is what you intend to say to your husband when you see him."

"Oh dear God," Beth pulled her knees up as far as her pregnant stomach allowed and buried her face in her arms. There was some comfort, pretending there was nothing more to life than the darkness floating behind her closed eyes.

"I am going to send you with a letter," Benjamin continued, ignoring Beth's distress. "You believe that your marriage is beyond repair. No doubt, so does he. I intend to inform him that he has a choice; that if, after you are reunited, he finds it impossible to repair the divide between you, if he can not make your marriage work, then he is to take you to Mr. Ferguson's house, where you will be safe until such a time as I can come for you. I don't intend to tell him that I'll be near by, that is not something he needs to know. I will inform him in this letter that in taking you to the Ferguson's, his decision will be final and your marriage dissolved and he is to return control of your inheritance back to me."

"How can you so easily dissolve my marriage when I could not?" She asked, stunned. "I asked the reverend in Tarleton's camp and he refused!"

"He isn't a family friend," Benjamin said grimly. "I have Reverend Oliver, lass, and he has agreed to see the job done, if that comes to pass. I intend to make it clear in my letter to Tavington, that if he does take you to the Ferguson's, Reverend Oliver will consider it abandonment and deem your marriage void."

"Can it truly be that easy?"

"With the support of the Clergy," Benjamin shrugged. "And Reverend Oliver is all the Clergy we need. So, if that is what William decides, then I will take you to your aunt and you will live with her until my time with the militia is done. If the war is decided in our favour, you will reside with me at Fresh Water. If the British win, we will have your mother's money and we'll work out what we'll do from there. Either way, we'll see the rest of our days out in peace and quiet."

Beth lifted her head. She shifted her legs until they were crossed again and she placed a protective hand over her stomach. "You will help me raise my baby?"

"Yes, I will help you raise my grandchild," Benjamin said and Beth smiled as overwhelming and vast relief flowed through her.

"Can't we just do that?" She asked carefully, not wanting to rouse her father to anger. "Can't we skip the rest?"

"No. No easy road for you. You're going to try to make it work and if he doesn't let you, well, that's his choice. Tavington needs the opportunity to make his decision, we owe him that much," Benjamin said and Beth sighed. "Reverend Oliver has said that a husband abandoning his wife is one of the few ways a marriage can end in such a way that allows the wife to remarry without censure. Without one of you being widowed, that is. If you are inclined to marry again, Reverend Oliver has said you will be allowed to, though you'll have to wait a few years, as the abandonment law requires. Less, if William actually writes intensions to that effect. What I am trying to say is, it won't be considered bigamy, if you remarry."

"Oh," Beth said, feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. "I was never really thinking that far ahead, to be honest."

"As your father, I have no choice but to think that far ahead. It is why I am going to write the letter. Tavington will know he has an escape route if he can't handle being with you again, but he will also know that he can't come back in two years time thinking he can reclaim you then. His decision, once made, will be final."

"When do we leave for the Ferguson's?" Thomas asked.

"Today. As soon as we've finished here." Benjamin, however, made no move to rise from the hay covered ground. Beth could see he wasn't feeling the best - his night of drinking had left him feeling ill, sapping what little energy he had. His voice was hoarse, from all his bellowing. The siblings looked uncertainly at one another, unsure if they'd been dismissed to begin preparations to leave, or not. At length, Benjamin spoke, and his voice was even more raspy than before. "When your mother died, I…" He trailed off for a moment and Beth felt herself going stiff. She shared a glance with her brothers, Nathan and Gabriel looked weary but Thomas became ice. He was the one who'd confronted Benjamin with those home truths, accusing him of being a hypocrite, dishonourable and a poor father. None of them had wanted to discuss it since and now that Benjamin had broached it… They were all weary, especially Thomas, the instigator.

"We don't have to talk about that, father," Gabriel said, shifting uncomfortably where he sat.

"Either speak for yourself or shut it," Thomas said. "I want to hear this. I think we deserve to hear this." For a wonder, Gabriel's lips closed. While the others kept their gaze averted, Thomas met their father's eyes, stare for stare.

"Yes, well… when your mother died… I was bereft. I felt like I was drowning in the ocean, with nothing to cling to. You accused me of being a ghost… Yes, that was an apt description, I think. I felt utterly alone and entirely incapable of accepting the help of others, though many tried. I was aware of you, but I did indeed feel apart from you. I could not engage. If I could go back and change anything, it would be that. I'd return to my children, my grieving children, and I'd try harder to be your strength. You were all so young, back then. Only the older of you could even understand what had happened," he said, looking to Gabriel and Beth. "I would change that, if I could." He seemed to be far away, as if, when he looked at them, he saw them as the children they'd been when their mother had died. His eyes were filling, Beth curled her fingers around his as he dashed at tears with his other hand. They had come a long way since yesterday, she realised, when he did not pull his hand from hers. "But I can't. I can't change it. I can't change that I sought solace with your aunt, I can't change that I did not marry her, which in turn denied you a mother. I can't change not being there for you, not giving you the guidance and assurance you desperately needed. I need to ask you, all of you, how I can make amends. How can I redeem myself in your eyes?"

"Bring us back together," Thomas said immediately, no hesitation. "Our family is shattered. First with mamma's passing. And now with Aunt Mage's. Beth taking off and… doing what she's done. Aunt Charlotte... also doing what she's done. We can't bring back the dead, but it's time we put what pieces we can back together. And we can't do that without Beth. We probably can't without Aunt Charlotte, either," he finished, seeming reluctant to admit this last part.

Benjamin nodded. Giving Beth's fingers a squeeze, he said, "I am sorry. For the things I said yesterday -"

"Don't be," Beth replied. "I deserved it."

"Your own father called you a strumpet. No daughter deserves that," Benjamin said softly and Beth's eyes shot downward as the pain of hearing those words seared through her body once more. "I'm sorry, I should not have said it."

"And I'm sorry," Beth whispered. "For everything. All of it."

"I know you are," Benjamin squeezed her fingers again. "Thomas, I apologise for being a hypocrite. Do you, all of you, do you want me to marry Charlotte?"

At this, the siblings exchanged another look.

"I think that might be out of your hands now," Gabriel said. "If she's going to marry Mr. Singleton. Besides, there's no point if you're going to be miserable."

"We're sending Beth back to be miserable," Thomas pointed out.

"Though I really could kiss you right now, the glaring difference is, William and I are already married," Beth said reluctantly.

"And marrying aunt Charlotte now won't fix the past," Gabriel added.

"Do you want to marry her?" Nathan asked and their father became quiet, reflective.

"Yes, do you want to?" Thomas repeated. "Have you forgiven her?"

"She told me that in doing so, it would be me finally making a sacrifice for her for a change," Benjamin sighed. "I think… I think I'm getting close to it. The way I've been feeling without her… Well. Would you be for or against it?"

"Definitely for," Beth and Thomas both said. Nathan was chewing the inside of his cheek, his gaze averted.

"I don't know," he said finally, shrugging. "I think… She did wrong, but she could have been flogged helping me get the younger children away. I know she loves you… I think I'm for."

"I think…" Benjamin said. "I think it is a discussion she and I need to have. If, as Gabriel said, it is not too late."

"Do you love her?" Beth asked.

"I did, once," he replied. "And I do still."

"Then why didn't you marry her? Before Bordon, I mean," Thomas said.

"I built that house for your mother," Benjamin's voice was quiet as he tried to explain. "I couldn't have another woman living there." Thomas arched an eyebrow and Beth knew what he was thinking. _But you could couple with another woman there…_ Luckily he did not say it. Her father must have sensed what Thomas was thinking, for he rushed on. "And I didn't want to live at Drakespar, with John's memory walking the halls. I couldn't see a way around it, so perhaps a year ago, I purchased another property." The siblings expressed surprise but Benjamin continued speaking, leaving no opening for questions. "I was going to build on it, give Charlotte and I our own place, a place neither Elizabeth or John had claim too. A place that was entirely mine and Charlotte's. I had plans drawn up for a double mansion, one to rival Drakespar. Elizabeth was always content with the smaller great house and in truth, I knew Charlotte would be as well, she would have been happy living at Fresh Water, as long as she had me." He paused, the words weighing heavily upon him. She loved him, he was all she'd ever wanted. She'd been trying to protect him, she would do anything for him. After contemplating this for a moment, he remembered what he'd been saying and continued. "But - well, I have my pride." A sad smile crossed his face. "I wasn't going to marry her and gain her husband's wealth, and then make her live in a house half the size of the one John built for her at Drakespar. I was going to wait until the house was built, then take her there and propose. The plans for the house were finalised, construction commenced. I don't know what state it's in now - I never told the overseer to stop… In the end, I found I couldn't wait for the house to be finished to propose, not when she -" He cut short, his face going momentarily slack. He whispered, "not when she protected you against Tavington, she bought my children back to Fresh Water, leaving Drakespar burning behind her… Gods, how could I forget what she did for you?" He rubbed a lax hand over his creased brow. The siblings were silent; Beth hadn't been there, but the others remembered. Aunt Charlotte, doing everything within her power to protect Benjamin's children. He was looking quite disgusted with himself now. "It's what prompted me to propose," he whispered. "I couldn't wait another minute longer. But then…" He drew a ragged breath. "Well… Bordon. I barely remember anything that came before Bordon. Lord, I'm as bad as Burwell, who forgot everything Beth did for him, as soon as he learned about Tavington…"

"As you said, this is a discussion you should be having with Aunt Charlotte," Nathan said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"But I want to know what you think. How I can redeem myself in your eyes. Will marrying Charlotte help that in any way?"

"I think having the discussion with her would be enough," Beth said, shifting uncomfortably. "I can't really weigh in here, I have a lot of redeeming to do, myself. But Aunt Charlotte is our flesh and blood. I believe you should try to reconcile with her, at the very least. As you said, she's done so much to protect us, she's done so much _for_ us. And I think you need to remember, she was trying to protect you that night, to give Josiah more time to reach you and warn you. It went too far, it got out of hand. She loves you. She did what she did, for you. There was no malice behind it. She did not lust after him. Her affections never strayed."

"She enjoyed it," Benjamin said, making it clear he was struggling to get past that.

"Our bodies betray us," Beth said, face crimson, eyes on her hands. It was not an easy conversation to have with her father and brothers, but it needed to be said.

"Talk to Aunt Charlotte," Thomas agreed. "Marry her, don't marry her. But talk to her. Tell her what you just told us. Listen to what she has to say in return. If you don't marry her, at least make it so that next time, when we all come together again as a family, it can be as a family. And find Samuel. Talk to him, too. Apologise for forcing him to do what his mind was not ready to comprehend. Do better with the little ones. That's all I care about."

_So blunt_, Beth thought as she felt her father stiffen beside her.

"Do you want me to retire? From the Continentals and the militia?" Benjamin asked softly.

"Absolutely not," Gabriel said, voice firm. He glared at the others, as if daring them to argue. "The Cause needs you, father. We need experienced soldiers, if we're going to win this war. Don't leave the army, father," his tone mollified slightly as he continued, "though I think we're doing the right thing, returning home. It'd be good if we station ourselves near to where the children are so we can visit them more often. That will be enough. You might not have been there for us as much as we'd have liked, and I know you want to change that with the little ones. But that doesn't mean you should stop fighting, the Cause is too important to abandon now, and we need men like you, experienced in battle, men who can anticipate the British."

"You don't think I'm abandoning them?"

"For another year, at most? No," Gabriel said. "The children are fine for now, a year won't make too much of a difference. We grew up without a father for nearly nine years." Benjamin tightened his lips, looking very much like a person who'd been punched in his stomach. "I didn't mean it to come out like that," Gabriel said. "You gave us everything you were able to - a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes on our backs. I know plenty who never even had that. We all," he waved his hand to the others, "had the same upbringing and it's only Beth who…" Gabriel stopped dead and Beth felt her stomach sink. She was the only one who'd failed the family. "Well, I mean, that's only one out of five us, isn't it?" Gabriel finished. He did not back track, did not try to deny or fix what he'd been about to say. What he left unsaid, was a thing he believed and embarrassment spread through her; Beth had turned out no good.

"Well, two out of five," Thomas corrected. "I haven't exactly been a pillar of virtue. Mr. Ferguson isn't going to be able to withdraw his support of my marriage to Lucy, because Lucy and I… We…"

"Oh dear God," Benjamin groaned.

"Not that!" Thomas said quickly. "We just… Did a bit more than kissing. I guess I aught to admit that, with all the accusations I've made in the last day. So yes. Two out of five. And then there's Sammie, whose gone off and doesn't want nothing to do with us. So three out of five and swinging the wrong way." Thomas paused, his amused fleeing. "Are they really such good odds?"

"Jesus, Thomas," Gabriel snapped.

"You want me to coat it with sugar? I won't. Sammie is gone, because of da. Beth needed better guidance. She did not have it. She made ill choices that she will have to carry to her grave. End of story. Do you think this would have happened if we'd had the privilege of our father's influence and attention?"

"We'll never know," Gabriel said.

"Now you're just being fool stubborn. What did you say to me last night? Grow a back bone, Gabe."

"What did you say last night?" Benjamin asked.

"Nothing, I… I was agreeing with Thomas, is all."

Thomas began to laugh.

"Very well," Gabriel said reluctantly. "I was saying that if Anne gives me a daughter, and if Anne passes away, leaving me to do the raising," he looked sick, grief stricken just at the possibility, "I will not leave her to be raised by her brothers."

"You've learned from me how _not_ to raise children?" Benjamin asked and while Beth thought he might have been trying to sound amused, he was unable to hold back the bitterness from his voice.

"I'm sorry, but yes, I guess so. Fact is, you let her wear breeches and run off with Thomas and Nathan to go hunting, with Colin Ferguson. I'm glad that Beth has some ability to protect herself. She knows how to shoot and it'll make an attacker think twice. But for the rest? How often was she alone, sometimes for days on end, with Colin Ferguson and only these two buffoons to chaperone her?"

"I swear, on everything holy, on my life, on papa's, on mamma's grave, on anything you want, nothing ever happened between me and Colin," Beth begged, worried they would not believe her, considering her recent past. "I swear, I never -"

"We know that," Gabriel cut in. "But my point is, papa should never have let you run off in the first place. Combing the woods for game. Sleeping rough. Learning to cuss when she should have been at home, working on her needlework. Or reading. Fifteen years old and running around in breeches out there in the wild. Might've been alright if it was just us, her brothers, but there was Peter Cuppin too, and Colin. I'll never allow that for my girls. Never. I'll teach them to fire a rifle, I do think that's important. But the rest? They'll be staying home and helping around the house or learning their lessons and if Anne is gone, I'll get them a governess to teach them what a mother aught. I want to raise wilful girls that will voice their opinion to their husband's, like Anne does with me. But I won't be raising hellions, my girls won't be thinking that it's alright for them to behave just like a man does, that's for damned sure." Silence reigned. Gabriel became rueful, regretful. "I'm sorry, father. I'm sorry, Beth."

Beth nodded, though she said nothing.

"It's not all bad," Gabriel said to his father. "It's not as though you were never, ever there. We did learn from you as well. Thomas has his eyes set on a nice girl from a good family. He's hard working and is not lacking the courage of his convictions. Nathan is doing the same. None of us are thieves, liars, we don't cheat or swear or drink -"

"Much," Thomas snorted.

"Well, you more than any of us," Gabriel said. "Anyway. Our upbringing couldn't have been all that bad, now could it?"

"Unless you've turned out the way you have _despite_ me, not _because_ of me," Benjamin said with the bitterness of before. He appeared to need a distraction, he rose abruptly and went to stand at the small table. His back was to them, Beth had the feeling he needed to compose himself. The siblings were quiet, giving him the time he needed. When he returned, it was with a glass of milk, which he handed to Beth before resuming his seat beside her. She looked at it, startled. "Mrs. Garland has said you need to drink milk. Drinking it now will help you to produce it later and if yours and William's child is anything like all of you, you're going to have a big eater on your hands."

_Yours and William's. _He was acknowledging that her child was not a bastard. Beth smiled, relieved.

"You spoke to Mrs. Garland?"

"Yes. And she told me all the reasons why she knows this child is William's. She has this little book, she sat down and showed it to me, explained a few mid-wife facts I never would have known. If she says you're six months along and that you were already pregnant back at Fresh Water, then I guess I believe it. Perhaps you were right, maybe that is part of the reason you fired up at William like that - your mother had a temper during her pregnancies, also."

Beth didn't know what to say, settling for, "thank you for the milk." She took a sip. If she was startled before, she was stunned when his arm came about her shoulders.

"I do love you, you know."

Her face crumbled and she worked to fight back tears. Nodding wordlessly, she buried her face in her glass.

Thomas was watching thoughtfully, some of his stiffness faded. "Just bring the shattered pieces back together, father," he said. "That's all."

Benjamin nodded, agreeing.

"I will do my best," he promised. As he removed his arm from Beth's shoulders, he said, "as for William, I suspect he will question you, about Burwell's intentions."

"I won't tell him, I won't tell him anything, I promise -"

"You go two steps forward and one step back," Benjamin sighed. "Lass, I'm not asking you to betray your husband. Not for us, not ever again. I know you intend to be faithful to him from now on, if he decides to keep you. You can't be faithful with your body only - you must be true to him in all things, from this point on. Your brothers will not put pressure on you to spy," he glanced at Nathan, who had done exactly that, not so long ago. "When he questions you, you will tell him everything."

"I know a lot," she warned. "Like how my father intends to go to South Carolina to harass the British forces there."

"Eh. That's a given, isn't it? But I've said nothing of where I intend to be," he said wryly. "I won't be at the Ferguson's long enough for him to hunt me down there."

"That was a deliberate omission, wasn't it? Where you'll be later?" She asked. "I'd bet you already have it all planned out up here, don't you?" She tapped his forehead and he grinned at her. "But you're not telling me, because you've said I have to be honest with William when he questions me."

"And you will be. I'm telling you to reveal all and be honest, but I'm not stupid. You can't tell him what you don't know. He won't actually gain any advantage from anything you say. I won't help the British, lass."

"I'll have to tell him you said that, too," Beth said, smiling. "I just realised though, he will ask me who helped you to escape," she said, sobering. "If I tell him that, and if Thomas, Nathan and Lieutenant Watson are captured later, they might be hung for it."

"Watson will hang either way, should he be caught," Benjamin pointed out. "I won't ask you to lie, Beth. Not anymore."

"Perhaps she can omit certain things, though?" Nathan asked.

"Her position will be precarious enough," Benjamin said. "And yes, that is her own fault. But no, no hedging either. She can not do that, not anymore. He will ask his questions. You will answer honestly. It's up to us now, to change plans accordingly and to protect ourselves by not getting caught and falling into his hands. We will not hide behind your sister."

"When are you going to make contact with him?" Beth asked when the silence stretched.

"I have scouts trying to determine his exact location already. When I know where he is, I'll send him the letter along with directions. I doubt you'll be at the Ferguson's for long, before he comes for you."

Beth felt both drained and resigned. "At least I'll see Cilla and Harmony again."


	144. Chapter 144 - Start of the Slow Road

Chapter 144 - Start of the Slow Road:

The Legion was moving so slowly, it felt almost stopped. Occasionally, a Company within the Legion would stop to prepare a meal or mend equipment. The rest of the Legion continued onward, yet the Company that had stopped never fell behind. They were making a mile, perhaps two, a day. Certainly no more than that. The Dragoons were rarely present - they'd split into several smaller units, with Captain Wilkins, Captain Brownlow, and Tavington himself riding at their heads. Recruiting. Or the luring of more young men to their deaths, as Harmony considered it. She rarely saw her father or brother, both were almost constantly with Tavington, doing their part to recruit more men to the British ranks. She wondered how many of those boys would make it home, when the war was over. She wondered if her father or brother would.

Major Bordon was left in charge of the Legion, a constant presence of military command. Harmony did everything she could to keep as far away from him as possible, even going so far as to put the entire Legion between them, at times. Miss Cordell had become something of a maid to Cilla Bordon. And Mrs. Andrew's was Cilla's midwife. Therefore Harmony hardly ever got to see the three of them, as they were always in close proximity to Richard. Harmony had been with the Legion long enough by now, that she knew plenty of the other women and had found welcome with several camp followers who worked for an Infantry division, cooking and cleaning and - in Harmony's case - treating small wounds and other inflictions that the soldiers were too embarrassed, or scared, to take to the Legion's surgeons.

Trouble with that was, she was travelling with soldiers, but with no proper escort. Young men who knew she was once Bordon's mistress, men who thought Bordon had shed himself of her. Men who wondered if she might set her eyes lower, now that she was without a husband or lover to protect her. At almost nine months pregnant, she was fending off suitors and she thought it utterly absurd. One such fellow looked over to her as he passed her by, he tipped his hat in greeting, smiled widely at her. Did he think she had money? Was that why this one tried to sweet talk her? It was marriage he was after, she did not doubt that. They probably thought Bordon had settled a stipend on his former mistress. Or that the Colonel himself might provide some sort of dowry. It was no secret that Tavington favoured her, he visited her every time he returned to the Legion. Did her would be suitors think they might benefit from that, somehow? Harmony scowled and the fellow, looking quite startled, lowered his hand, his smile slowly fading.

She had no intention of marrying again. Even if she was free of Calvin now. Her family and his had both decided that Calvin had made such a misery of things, they simply could no longer be considered to be married. It hadn't occurred to her that her marriage could be so easily put aside, but as her father had said, "you weren't church wed". She was carrying another man's child, Calvin could not be expected to raise it. And after all the violence Harmony had suffered by his hand, she could not be expected to return to him. She hoped the friendship between the Farshaw's and the Jutland's could one day be what it had been, and with Henry Farshaw declaring that Calvin would answer for what he had done, she thought they just might. This should have caused a schism between the two families, but the friendships between the parents had proven stronger than the folly of their children. Calvin should never have laid his hands on her in anger. He should never have forced her into Colonel Clements bed. Grace and Henry Farshaw had both been horrified that their son could do such a thing. The Farshaw's were embarrassed and felt terrible guilt over the rigours their son had put his wife to. Harmony hoped that the two families could recover from the devastating report she'd given, detailing her life these last two years. Calvin's actions were not their own, but they still felt that they were to blame.

She had freed herself of Clement, she told them. And she should have returned home immediately after and told them everything back then, her father had told her. Instead of staying in the city and eventually taking up with Richard, and then falling pregnant with his child.

They were both to blame, Harmony had admitted. Calvin a far cry more so than Harmony, but in staying in the city and taking up with Richard, she had played a part in her own downfall. As soon as she'd gotten word that Calvin was dead at Savannah, she should have left Mr. Ingles employ and returned home. No, before that. As soon as she'd freed herself from Colonel Clement. No, before that. The first time Calvin had struck her. Her family was just that - her family, and they were there to help her.

Somewhere along the line, Harmony seemed to have forgotten that. She'd thought that in keeping herself away, she would be sparing them. But hindsight had made her realise that she'd likely made things worse for herself.

"What time do you make it?" She asked the soldier standing before her as she wound the bandage around his arm.

"Ah, perhaps eleven," the fellow said. "Nearly midday."

"And you're already soused," she said, arching an eyebrow. She saw his face turn crimson, his eyes widened with chagrin. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell. But if Tavington orders one of his inspections, and if you're found to be drunk, you'll get a whipping to be sure. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Farshaw," he said, staring at the ground. He weaved slightly, unable to keep entirely still.

"If you injure yourself again because you're drunk, then they might not pay you. You're no good to them when you've been in your cups, you're putting yourself and others in danger."

"You promise you won't tell?" He asked, glancing up at her.

"I said I wouldn't and I won't," she heaved a sigh. She'd warned him, there was nothing more she could do except tell Tavington and that, she would not do. "All done."

"Thank you, Mrs. Farshaw," the freshly bandaged soldier said.

"You're welcome," Harmony replied to the infantryman. Almost as many accidents happened on the march as they did in battle, though the wounds were not usually as serious. The soldier had tripped and cut his arm badly enough to warrant a plaster tincture and bandage, and it was to her that he came rather than his Companies surgeon. The surgeon would have smelled the whiskey on the soldiers breath - which Harmony did not doubt was the cause of the trip - and would have informed the lad's superiors. To avoid a flogging, the soldier came to Harmony, who was well known to have knowledge of treating such wounds. "Tell the others I might start charging," she called to his retreating back. She'd gained a reputation for her discretion, hence the rising number of soldiers coming to her. This one paused, his back going rigid, and she grinned as she toyed with him. "A shilling a visit. At this rate, I'll be as wealthy as a lady."

"You're already a lady, Mrs. Farshaw. Don't need no money for that," the soldier said as he turned. He bowed and tipped his hat to her. "And my gratitude is all I can afford to give you."

"Gratitude won't fill my belly. Luckily for you, it's already full," she tapped her pregnant stomach. "I'm only jesting," she laughed softly and he grinned back, before turning and going on his way. Harmony began packing away her small shears, bandages and various other assortments when she spotted Miss Cordell walking toward her.

"Mrs. Bordon says you must come at once, Mrs. Farshaw," Miss Cordell said before Harmony could give her the warm greeting she'd been on the verge of. "Mrs. Tavington is here."

"What?" Harmony gasped. "She's here? Now?"

"Yes, she just arrived. She's with Mrs. Bordon and you have to come at once. That's what Mrs. Bordon said."

"Dear God, is Colonel Tavington back yet?"

"I don't think so."

"Alright, well…" Harmony threw the bag over her shoulder. She looked at the wagon she'd been riding on, it was quite a way ahead of her now, as it hadn't stopped when she'd gotten off to tend the soldier. She could see it, but it was more than twenty rods away and going in the wrong direction besides. She heaved another sigh. "Let's go."

With Miss Cordell at her side, Harmony began to pick her way over the muddied ground as quickly as she dared; both her heavily swollen stomach and the worry she might slip and harm her child were the only two factors keeping her from running. Miss Cordell - who was not heavily pregnant and therefore could have walked much faster - instead matched her pace to Harmony's, her hand hovered just above Harmony's arm as though she were a frail invalid who Miss Cordell might need to stop from falling.

"You don't need to rush, Mrs. Farshaw," the younger woman said, sounding worried.

"It's been months," Harmony replied. "Oh, this is so damned frustrating, I wish I could bloody ride." If she tried to mount, she'd likely fall flat on her face in the mud. "Where is a damned cart when you need one?" All morning long, carts and wagons travelled back and forth along the thin tracks all throughout the traveling Legion but right now, when she needed to make haste, was there one? No, of course bloody not. She stopped walking, wiped sweat from her brow - and never mind that it was the middle of winter and bloody freezing - and tried to catch her breath. "Gods, this child - I need it to come out of me. I can't breathe. I can't go five minutes without needing to pass water. And I can't walk five steps without it killing me. I have no idea how I made it to my parents, I must have covered miles that day and now, I can barely go five yards. It's bloody awful, being pregnant."

"Well, I suppose I'll know for myself one day, but I'll have to take your word for it for now," Miss Cordell shrugged. "Oh, a cart! Shall I flag it down for you?"

"Yes, yes!" Harmony whirled to see the cart for herself and she started waving frantically for it to stop. The driver - a private who may have been reluctant to go out of his way to drive a camp follower - stopped immediately for Harmony and began making room for her on the back, between two barrels. Being Richard's former mistress came with some benefits. With his and Miss Cordell's help, Harmony was soon perched on the end, her long legs dangling over the side. "Come up," Harmony held out her hand to help Miss Cordell.

"No, I… I think I'll go see if I can find Mrs. Andrews. She was checking in with Mrs. Cox and she might need my help," Miss Cordell said. She was quite pretty, in her way. Black hair and black eyes, pale skin despite having to work out in the weather. Mrs. Andrews always ensured the girl wore a wide brimmed hat, to protect her skin from the sun, even in winter. Her nose was a little on the bold side but her figure was fine. She had an even temper, bordered on the shy, and just now, she cast her eyes down to the ground, her arms wrapped around her body.

"You're afraid of her," Harmony said and Miss Cordell turned her face slightly to one side.

"She might yell at me again, like she did at Fresh Water."

"I -" Harmony paused, chewed the inside of her lip. She'd been about to reassure the lass, but in truth, Harmony realised, Miss Cordell might be perfectly right. Who knew what was in Beth's thoughts? She'd returned, yes, but she might still be as angry now as she'd been when she left. She hadn't answered a single one of Harmony's letters, though many were sent. And it was Cilla who'd sent for Harmony just now, not Beth. Did Beth even want her to come? Or did she want Harmony to come, only to confront her? Was she still holding a grudge? "I - we - have to talk to her. Explain our side -"

"What side is there? We did exactly what she accused us of. We knew Linda was here and we never told her," Miss Cordell became thoughtful. "Linda wasn't having an affair with Tavington, Mrs. Tavington was wrong in thinking we'd helped to hide some secret liaison, but we did do some of what she accused us of. Anything we say could have her yelling at us again and, to be honest, once was enough for me. I'm not going to come -"

"Miss Cordell -"

"To me, she was always just…" the lass paused, as if trying to find the right words. "The First among camp followers. Our Matron, I suppose. Our Leader. I was never in her intimate circle… She doesn't need me there to greet her."

"What did Mrs. Bordon say? Did she instruct you to come back with me?"

"No. She sent me to fetch you, that is all."

Which meant that Miss Cordell had only been returning with Harmony to ensure she arrived safely. It had been for Harmony's sake, not out of any desire to see Beth. But with Harmony's conveyance assured, there was no need for Miss Cordell to worry - or to escort her. Harmony nodded, smiling sadly. "Well, I thank you. I'll be safe and sound now," she tapped the cart with an open palm. "When you find Mrs. Andrews, will you let her know that Mrs. Tavington is here? She might want to meet with her."

"I doubt it, but I'll tell her," Miss Cordell waved and Harmony waved back. The cart dipped as the private climbed up onto the driver seat, and it resumed its slow plod along the muddy road, pulling away from Miss Cordell, who continued to wave at Harmony. It made her quite melancholy, that Miss Cordell felt the way she did. And Mrs. Andrews too, it seemed. In truth, she was not entirely certain of what her own reception would be, she had no idea how Beth felt about her these days. But it was best to confront it head on, she thought. At least then she would know where she stood. Better to know from the outset, rather than skirt around the issue and wonder for days on end if she was still despised. If she discovered that Beth was still angry with her, she'd hail another cart and return to Miss Cordell and Mrs. Andrews, and tell them. The Legion was big, nearly a thousand and nearly one hundred women. Harmony could hide in such a mass, she need never see Beth at all, if that was how Beth wanted it.

It would hurt, though. Of course it would. The heartache of Beth spurning her would almost equal the pain of ending her affair with Richard. She closed her eyes as a wave of that flooded over her. It wasn't getting any easier. Time healed all wounds, isn't that what they said? Yet the sun rose and it set with the passing of each day and she still cried herself to sleep every single night. Being in his company was agony, which was why she did her utmost to avoid it. Something she might not be able to do, when she gave birth to their baby. Richard had told her parents that he intended to be a proper father, as much as one could be to an illegitimate child. And Cilla was doing nothing to discourage him; quite the opposite. Harmony suspected that Cilla was excited for the child to come. Which was mad, of course.

Cilla was such a puzzle to her. A few months ago, she would have wanted Harmony and the child - her husband's bastard - to disappear. Now, she cooed over Harmony's stomach, chatted nonsense to the baby, and called herself Aunt Cilla of all things. At times, Harmony felt as close to Cilla as she'd once felt to Beth.

At other times, she felt as if there was an ocean between them, and she knew it was because she was trying to figure out what in the world was wrong with the woman. Because Cilla could forgive the horrid thing Richard had done to her. She was most certainly a puzzle. Harmony was glad for the friendship, however. She might very well need a shoulder to cry on - and someone to speak for her - if Beth spurned her.

The cart slowed to a stop and dipped again as the driver jumped down. She barely heard what he said as he took her hand and helped her to the ground, though she did murmur her thanks. Nerves rife through her stomach, she rounded the cart as it began to pull away, and her eyes landed on Beth, who was standing beside a carriage with three women Harmony had never seen before. One was a small woman with brown hair, about Harmony's age. There was a sadness about her. Judging by her clothes - threadbare, worse for wear, dirt splashes up her skirt - she certainly did not come from money. A camp follower, or camp straggler would be a more apt description. The sort of woman Emily Wilkins would have demanded clean her chamber pot. There was an older woman; stout, grey haired, a little older than Mrs. Andrews. And the last was one of the most beautiful women Harmony had ever seen in her life - with lustrous black hair, deep blue eyes, heart shaped face, and a figure other women dreamed to have. And going by the way she held herself, she knew it, too. Her clothes were better kept and more expensive than the first woman's, but the way she wore them made Harmony wonder - was she a whore? Almost certainly. Harmony could recognise the type from a mile away. Had Beth taken these women under her wing?

Had this beautiful, black haired whore replaced Harmony as Beth's dearest friend? She wondered if she should just leave now; like Miss Cordell, she should not have come. Miss Cordell's worries became her own - what if Beth started yelling at her? Or worse yet, would she give her the cut direct? What if, when she saw Harmony, she simply turned her back and snubbed her? Heartbreaking, and humiliating. Harmony stood stock still and unsure as she stared at the group, at Beth, and at the black haired woman that might have become her replacement.

But after a few moments hesitation, she steeled her spine - her doubts did not vanish but she had to confront this head on. If Beth wanted nothing more to do with her, she would deal with that, but she needed to know.

Beth was still speaking with the other women but her eyes flicked to Harmony, away, then back again as she did a double take. Here it came. The anger. The snub. Only it didn't. Beth's startled expression shifted to one of longing and regret; she nudged her way through the women as if they were no longer important. Relieved and smiling, Harmony walked forward to meet her halfway. Beth, weeping by they time they came together, threw her arms around Harmony's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry. Oh, Harm, I'm truly sorry. I was awful, how can you ever forgive me?"

Miss Cordell was wrong. Thank the Lord Above.

"Here I was thinking you wouldn't forgive me," Harmony murmured. The embrace was awkward with Harmony's pregnancy - and with Beth's - God, she was with child? - But they clung to each other as best they could. "All those letters I wrote and you never wrote me back, not even once -"

"Because he was holding back my letters," Beth said, drawing back slightly. She wiped her eyes with her hand and stared at Harmony as if trying to soak in the sight of her. Harmony did the same, until they both giggled, giddy as two little girls. "Oh, I missed you. So very much."

"And I you, every single day," Harmony hugged her again and then they stood back from one another, the fingers of both hands clasped together. "You're pregnant," Harmony said, sober and grave.

"I am," Beth matched her tone, both knew this was going to cause problems with Tavington.

"So. He was withholding my letters, was he?" Harmony asked, wiping her own wet face.

"Bastard. He was a complete and utter bastard. I wish I'd never gone with him. Mind you, I don't regret leaving. I just wish I'd never gone with him," Beth spat and Harmony drew a sharp breath of surprise. If that was how Beth felt, there wouldn't be much of a reconciliation with Tavington, would there? Why had she bothered to come back at all, if she did not regret leaving?

"He didn't hurt you, did he? Did he hit you?" Harmony asked, wondering why Beth was finished with Tarleton.

"No. He came close to it, once. But he has slightly more control of his temper than… well, anyway. He didn't hit me. And I left him shortly after. I wanted to try to get to Gullah, where my aunt's were meant to be. Hopefully I'll be back with my father before long."

"You're not staying?" Another surprise, another blow. How could Beth and William possibly mend the rift between them, if she hadn't come back to stay?

"I don't know yet, that's up to him. I'm here because my father made me come. But he did say that if William wants to send me away, I can go and live with him."

"How did your father tell you any of this? Did you visit him at Winnsboro?"

"No. My father isn't there anymore," Beth whispered, she was beginning to look rather pale. "He escaped, Harmony."

"Jesus," Harmony said under her breath. "How in the world -"

"So much has happened since I… left. I've so much to tell you -"

"I think you do. And I you," Harmony said.

"And we will, I promise. We'll talk. But Cilla needs me just now. I just wanted to speak to you, to make sure all is well with us. And to ask that you look after the women," she said with a sheepish nod at the three who were still waiting by the carriage. Harmony spared them a glance.

"Who are they? Where are they from? What do you want me to do with them and why does Cilla need you?"

"They are Mrs. Garland, Nancy and Electa. They came with me from his camp, and after helping me, they can't ever go back. Mrs. Garland is my midwife and Nancy is my maid and Electa is… Well, I don't exactly know what Electa is, but she's with me also. I thought you could find them a place to eat while I tend to Cilla. As for Cilla…" Beth's voice caught, she closed her eyes, lifted her head and drew a long breath. She opened her eyes and Harmony was startled to see they were glistening with tears again. "I bought with me some heavy news, her mother passed away in childbed."

"Oh," Harmony grunted, shocked.

"I know. I can still scarcely believe it myself."

"Was she ill?"

"In a way. I doubt she was living well in Gullah, and by the end of her term, I don't think she was very strong. When her labour began, she did not have much to give and from what I'm told, it was a particularly difficult birth. She lost too much blood and was so weak she just… Passed away. To save her son, they had to cut him out, or he would have perished also."

"Good God," Harmony breathed.

"I'd hoped to tell Cilla in private in a tent or… But the only private place here is my carriage. She's in there now, I have to get back to her, but I needed to reassure the women that we'll be able to find a place for them as soon as you got here. Can I introduce you to them? I really do need to get back to Cilla. We'll talk later properly, I promise. But for now, can I put the women in your care?"

"Of course," Harmony murmured as Beth - still holding her hand - pulled her along to the carriage, where the women watched her approach. Beth had started making the introductions, when the carriage door opened with a bang and Cilla, having heard Harmony's voice, clumsily climbed out.

"Harm, oh Gods, Harm, my mother… My mother is…"

"I know," Harmony pulled Cilla into her arms, wrapping the smaller woman into her embrace. Cilla collapsed against her, sobbing. Harmony met Beth's stunned eyes over Cilla's head. "For this, I think she might need both of us," she said to Beth, whose lips were parted in astonishment. Cilla was clinging to her, weeping uncontrollably and although she despised Mage Putman, Harmony was determined to be there for Cilla. Beth had been away for so long, she had no idea the two women had grown close. Though Harmony did not mind running errands for Beth, now was not the time for her to be getting these new women settled in, they would have to fend for themselves. Mrs. Garland looked capable enough. "Colonel Tavington has placed Mrs. Andrews in charge of all camp followers," Harmony said to Mrs. Garland now, while wondering what Beth would think of her position being usurped by Mrs. Andrews. Then again, if she didn't intend to stay long, perhaps it didn't matter. "Any soldier or Officer here can direct you. Tell Mrs. Andrews I sent you, tell her I asked that she see you fed and to find a place for you on one of the wagons until Mrs. Tavington sends for you. Otherwise, I can take you later, but you'll have to wait -"

"Those are simple enough instructions, Mrs. Farshaw," Mrs. Garland said. "You could be here for some time yet, so we'll take ourselves out of your hair. Mrs. Andrews, you said?"

Harmony nodded and began steering Cilla back toward the privacy of the carriage. As she helped Cilla back into the coach, she heard Beth speaking with the women.

"Thank you. Mrs. Andrews will look after you - please tell her… Tell her I need to speak with her. And Miss Cordell, if she's still here?"

"She is," Harmony replied over her shoulder.

"I have apologies to make, to both of them," Beth admitted to Harmony before turning back to Mrs. Garland. "This will only be temporary. Tonight, when we make camp, I'll have you bought back closer to me. I just don't know when that will be. Or where, for that matter."

"It's my job to do the worrying, Mrs. Tavington, not yours," Mrs. Garland said.

Harmony heard nothing more, for she was sitting on the seat beside Cilla, holding her as she wept on her shoulder. As soon as Beth climbed in, Harmony shifted places. It was only right that Beth - who had been so sorely missed - sit beside her cousin. They were blood after all, and they were both grieving a lost loved one.

Heavy news indeed. Now, sitting across from Cilla and Beth, Harmony wondered what she would do, when her mother died? It would be heart wrenching. It had been hard enough bidding her farewell last week. The carriage began to move again, slowly but surely, its driver keeping pace with the slowly plodding Legion.

"I thought I'd see her again," Cilla gasped out between sobs. All Harmony could do was hold Cilla's hand while Beth rubbed her back. "I never thought, for one moment, that I'd never see her again!" Cilla was overcome with weeping as she struggled to speak.

Harmony had despised Mage. With every ounce of her being. Mage had looked down on her, had bedded Richard… While the manner of her death had been gruesome and not something she would wish on anyone, Harmony could not find it within her to grieve for the woman herself. But her friend was heartbroken and wretched and for Cilla, Harmony felt an ocean of sorrow. Harmony despised Mage, but Cilla's mother was dead.

"I'm so sorry," Harmony said softly. "I'm so terribly sorry, Cilla." Beth was nodding. Harmony supposed, as Mage had been her aunt, it was no surprise that Beth was grieving also. Childbirth truly was an awful, dreadful way to die. All three of them were pregnant, any one of them might face what Cilla's mother had. A body too tired to go on, loss of blood draining life away, a stomach sliced open to free a life from a dead womb, lest the boy suffer the same fate. To avoid a double tragedy, the midwives had done the unthinkable. And the same could happen to any one of them.

"M-my family is broken," Cilla said brokenly. "We'll n-never be whole again!" There was nothing Harmony, or Beth, could say. Both women remained silent, as Cilla continued. "I wish… G-gods, I wish I c-could have seen her… J-just one l-last time. T-to tell her I loved her. That it wasn't her fault. That I'm happy now, that I forgive him, that I'm with child again. She's not ever going to see her first born grandchild!" Cilla wailed, choking off, overcome with grief. Harmony saw it when Beth, who was wiping her own cheeks, shot a frown at Cilla.

"Forgive who?" Beth asked.

"I'm sure she knew," Harmony said, cutting in quickly before Beth's question could be explored. Harmony would never understand Cilla fully, she could not understand how Cilla could ever forgive Richard for what he'd done to her. But she had and she'd made it clear that it was not to be spoken about. What Richard had done to her was not news. It was not gossip. It was not something to be discussed over tea, as one would discuss the weather. The few who knew were already too many, so Cilla said. Cilla had been furious to learn that Richard had confessed to Harmony, for in doing so, Harmony was another person who knew. Another person who would judge Cilla's husband. Another person to despise him for something Cilla had long since forgiven him for. Harmony would never understand Cilla, but she did respect her wishes. "That you loved her. She knew that, Cilla."

"It's not the same," Cilla gasped out. "It's not the same."

"I know," Harmony gave Cilla's fingers a squeeze. As Cilla continued to weep and lament, Harmony kept her face carefully composed, showing only sympathy, giving away none of her thoughts. Quite a difficult feat, considering where her mind was taking her.

Down the path of blood lines and lineage. Harmony was counting back the months from now to Charlestown. To when the child had to have been conceived. At least nine months ago. And nine months ago was when she'd discovered that Richard had been rutting with Mage Putman. Harmony had been working at Mr. Ingles, trying to pay her own way, and in doing so, had left her lover feeling deprived. Harmony's fingers convulsed on Cilla's, but the grieving woman did not notice. Deprived. As if it was her own fault that he'd looked elsewhere. As if he hadn't been able to go more than a few hours without fucking someone. With Harmony making herself unavailable, he'd turned to Mage. And others.

But it was Mage who had died giving birth, nine months later.

Perhaps the child was Mark Putman's, but he had to have sired it before being thrown into prison. Mage's pregnancy would have been long indeed, for Mark to have been the father. Besides. Cilla was twenty-two years old. Mark hadn't sired another child on his wife in all that time, but then Richard comes along and Mage is suddenly, miraculously pregnant? Coincidence? Harmony doubted it.

The certainty that the child was Richard's was growing, and every breath Harmony took was laboured. Richard was virile. The child growing in Cilla's stomach and the one in Harmony's was proof of that. And this was the second he'd gotten on Cilla. Yet Mark and Mage had been married over two decades, with only one child to show for it. What were the odds that this child was Mark's?

Grim. The odds were grim indeed. It was more likely that Mage had gone elsewhere to fall pregnant with Cilla, than for Mark to be the father of this newborn boy. Harmony could barely hear Cilla's weeping now, though she was still distantly aware of it, and she still held Cilla's hand, still wore that expression of sympathy, which hid the trail of her thoughts.

Gods, Mage's child was Cilla's brother. And Cilla's husband's bastard. And Cilla's child's uncle, and its brother. And Harmony's child's brother. Harmony shut her eyes, her mind whirling, stomach nauseous. When she was a little girl, she had at times found it diverting to spin in a circle. She would hold her arms out from her body and start spinning slowly, getting faster and faster with each rotation until she was a blur of moment. And then she would stop suddenly and try to keep her balance while her mind continued to spin. The feeling had been unpleasant, she wasn't never sure afterward why she did it at all.

She felt much the same now.

An urgent voice came from outside and the carriage stopped, the door opened, and there was Richard, filling the opening. Harmony tensed, her expression hardening. Richard shot her a quick look, he knew better than to speak to her by now. He barely acknowledged Beth, even as he reached a hand toward Cilla.

"Cilla, what's happened?" He asked, sounding worried and tense. Someone must have reported seeing Cilla weeping outside the carriage. Seeing her husband, she began sobbing wretchedly; her hand snapped back from Harmony's comforting grasp and she lurched to her feet, stooping beneath the carriage roof as she threw herself into her husband's arms. "My… My moth… mother…" Cilla stuttered, barely able to get the words out. He was holding her close, his hands rubbing her back as he looked to Beth and Harmony.

Harmony looked away from the pair. First was a welling of jealousy, her lover was holding another woman. Then came the feeling of being abandoned, by that very same woman. She and Beth had been comforting Cilla well enough, or so she'd thought. Yet as soon as Richard appears, she leaps up and rushes into his arms? The man who'd hurt her so incredibly. Yet, his comfort was more preferable to Cilla than Beth and Harmony's combined. She couldn't help but feel hurt, and somewhat confused.

"Her mother what?" Richard asked her.

"She died, Richard, in childbed," Harmony got in before Beth, unable to speak without spite. "It seems she fell pregnant back in Charlestown, and it killed her." She said in such a way, letting him know without saying it, that the child was likely his. Richard's mouth fell open, blue eyes gaping at her. She lifted her lip in a sneer and jerked her gaze away again. From the corner of her eye she saw Richard half carry his sobbing wife away, and someone outside closed the carriage door. Harmony sniffed, arms folded over her chest, she stared out the window on the other side.

"What in the world…?" Beth asked, sounding bewildered. "Why would Cilla go off with Richard like that? She despises him!" Harmony's mind was elsewhere, she did not answer, even when Beth said, "doesn't she despise him?"

Harmony had other matters on her mind. The child was his. It had to be. After all those years of marriage, Mark Putman hadn't sired another child on his wife. Yet along comes Richard and nine months later Mage gives birth to her second child? The likelihood of it being Mark's was slim, at best. It made her wonder if Cilla was even Mark's at all. She kept the snide thoughts to herself but she couldn't help but wonder - had Mage had a fling previously, because her husband couldn't do the job? Might be the reason why Mage started fucking Richard in the first place. To give her another child.

"Harm, what the devil is going on?" - The sudden and abrupt question damned near made Harmony jump out of her skin, she'd completely forgotten Beth was there. She unfolded her arms and shifted her gaze slowly back. - "The way you looked at Richard just now. The way you spoke to him… You should have seen your eyes, Harm. They were daggers. Yet Cilla falls into his arms like a woman in love. It was the other way around, before I left. It was Cilla who despised him and you were his everything -"

"Much has changed since you left," Harmony said, voice tight. "It is over between Richard and I. It has been for some time now."

Beth gave her a searching look, as if not quite certain she could believe it. Harmony held the gaze steadily, letting the truth of her statement shine through. She'd been with Richard for so long, they'd hid their affair several times, when the need arose. But not to Beth. She'd never hid it from Beth. She'd never had to. She saw the change come over Beth's face, sadness replacing doubt.

"I'm sorry," Beth said softly, reaching across the distance to take hold of Harmony's hand. "What happened?"

"My eyes were opened," Harmony said, sorrow and disgust flaring as she averted her gaze from Beth's. And she'd felt jealousy at seeing him holding Cilla? The disgust was as much for herself as it was for Richard. Beth gave her fingers a squeeze, but didn't press her for more. Perhaps she thought Harmony would talk about it when she was ready. But no matter how much she wanted to unburden herself, Cilla had asked her to keep those secrets close.

"You know, don't you?" Beth asked.

Harmony felt as though she were moving through molasses as she shifted her gaze back to Beth, suddenly wary. Did Beth know? Had Mage told Mark? Did Mark know? Had he told Beth's family? Was Harmony trying to keep secrets that everyone already knew?

"Know what?" Harmony asked, playing the innocent for now. If Beth knew already, Harmony would unburden herself fully to her friend and Cilla could not fault her for it.

"The way you spoke to Richard just now. The way you said childbed. And all the rest, making sure he knew she was pregnant since Charlestown. You said it with accusation. You know the child is Richard's."

"You know the child is Richard's?" Harmony asked incredulously.

"We assume," Beth replied as she pulled the blanket up beneath her chin, giving a shudder against the cold. The carriage was moving again, a gentle sway at times, jolting as it hit rough road at others. "My brothers are fairly certain. They told me they'd heard gossip that Richard had an affair with aunt Mage, gossip that Nicholas Watson said was true. The child, he is not blonde like uncle Mark and Cilla."

"He isn't?" Harmony breathed, her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest.

"His hair is darker," Beth said. She lowered her eyes and added softly, almost reluctantly, "redder."

"I fucking knew it," Harmony spat, angry enough to curse and not even care who heard her. "And what does Putman think of his wife dying to give him a bastard?"

"He doesn't know," Beth said gravely. "He attributed the redness of the boy's hair to some recent ancestor. I'm not sure what he'd do, if he knew. My uncle's not right anymore. In the head, I mean. He's become a madman, he despises Richard and William so much he murdered twenty Dragoons and he was going to lure Richard and William into a trap that would have meant their death."

Because of Cilla's rape. Harmony knew it must be so. She expelled air slowly, her anger ebbing as nerves began to writhe in her stomach as she pictured Richard's rent and broken body lying in a pool of blood.

"It was because they tortured him," Beth explained. Harmony grew tense; she knew why Cilla's father must hate Richard and it had nothing to do with the torture he'd suffered at Richard's hands. Well, perhaps that was some of it, but it was what Richard had done to Cilla that caused Mark Putman's hatred. But Harmony was not permitted to speak of that. "If he knew that Richard - on top of torturing him - had messed about with Aunt Mage; that the child was almost certainly Richard's and not his…" Beth shuddered, her voice grew quiet and solemn. "I don't like to imagine what uncle Mark would do to the baby."

"I… I wouldn't wish harm to come to the boy," Harmony said, picturing a helpless infant in the clutches of a hate filled madman.

"Let us hope my uncle never guesses, then. I don't like to deceive him but his madness is such that he might dash that babies poor little brains out."

"Oh God, don't say that," Harmony placed both her hands over her stomach protectively. "This child is Richard's as well."

"Don't worry. You're protected here, my uncle can't hurt your baby, even if he was inclined to. I'm not even sure he'd hurt Mage's child - but it's possible. It's different though, she was his wife and he will now be raising the baby on his own. So I don't know what he'd do, if he knew. But I doubt he has plans to harm your child."

Harmony, who wasn't so sure, was pleased now that her father and brother had enlisted to the Legion. She had them to protect her. And William. And Richard, she thought reluctantly. The chance of Mark being able to reach her or her baby, if he was inclined, was small indeed.

"Then again," Beth said, looking worried as she pondered. "Farshaw is with him."

"What?" Harmony burst out. "Calvin is still with him?"

"He is and he was part of the plot to lure Richard and William into that trap. It was because of him, that it might have worked," Beth said. Harmony listened with growing horror and no little terror as Beth explained what Calvin and Putman had intended to do. They'd had it all planned out, down to stealing what was needed to make William believe he was acting under O'Hara's orders. William and Richard would have been lured to their deaths. And Harmony…

"Did he say anything about me? About what he intended to do with me? You only think there is a possibility that your uncle might harm or kill the baby if he found out Richard was the father. Well, I know for damned sure that Calvin would kill mine. He'd do it, there's not a doubt in my soul. My baby - how can I protect my baby -"

"Harmony," Beth's fingers closed over hers. "It won't work. It can't work. Not now. They don't have the seal and cipher anymore; they can not be used against anyone, not now. And Farshaw would not dare try to enter this camp; he'd be seized at the first picket, no matter what orders he was carrying. Besides, you have an entire army around you, Harmony. Farshaw can not hurt you."

Harmony nodded, but her heart continued to pound and her stomach was liquid. She would have to tell her father and Hamish about this, they needed to know that Calvin was still a threat. Even if he could never reach her, just knowing that he might be considering it left her feeling nauseous. Beth was still speaking, her story unfolding, Harmony had to concentrate to take it all in, her fear had her so deeply in its grip. At first, she had to. But as Beth continued, Harmony began to be drawn in, the fear began to ebb and she was soon engrossed. Initially Beth spoke about the more immediate; what her brother needed the seal and cipher for, and her father's escape, or rescue, from Winnsboro. Her recent reunion with Burwell and then with her father and brothers. Then she went further back, telling Harmony everything that had happened since she'd gone away with Tarleton, to Tarleton keeping back her letters and her money, and finally blaming her for his defeat at the Cowpens.

By the time Beth was finished, Harmony was not surprised at all that Beth had left him.

"He nearly killed Shadow Dancer," Beth said and Harmony could hear the grief and anger in her voice. "He took her without telling me, into the thick of battle. He risked her, almost killed her, for the soul purpose of taunting Harry Burwell. Gods, I hate him now. I've never hated anyone, not truly. But I hate Banastre. General Burwell saw her fall, though, and when Banastre's forces retreated and the field was empty save for the dead, he went out to check on her for himself. And she was alive, Harm. Thank the Lord Above, she was alive. Barely. One of his groomsmen had miraculous skill with horses, he nursed her back to health. I was with Harry for a few days, when he gave her back to me. He didn't tell me at first, because it was touch and go and he didn't want to give me false hope. Only when his groomsman was certain she would survive, did he present her to me." Beth continued to unburden herself as she told Harmony of the fall out between Harry Burwell and Benjamin Martin. There was so much more to tell, but Beth did a damned good job of summing up nearly three months in the space of perhaps an hour. Harmony glanced out the window. One hour, and the Legion had travelled perhaps a quarter of a mile. If that. Such slow going, Harmony wondered what was the point of moving at all. Might as well stop and make camp until winter was over.

"My father gave me his ultimatum," Beth shrugged. "And so here I am."

"Oh, Beth," Harmony heaved a sigh. "Honestly, did you really think you'd be allowed to go to your aunts? That everyone would just let you stay there?"

"Yes, I did. And why not? I've been in Banastre's bed for months now, William doesn't want me back anymore than I want to be here."

Oh, yes. The beating. That was the reason Beth hadn't wanted to return, because William had taken his belt to her. And yes, Beth knew that her father had captured William, that he and her brothers had taken a turn whipping him, for that belting. He would never take his hand to her again, for fear of further reprisal. But he never should have, in the first place. That was what Beth said and Harmony did not disagree. Still…

"You've done each other great harm, Beth," Harmony said. "I'm not going to pretend that this will be an easy road, but surely you can both try to work towards forgiveness?"

"On bended knee, he said. He wouldn't take me back if I begged on bended knee. And I told him I'd never, ever beg. I meant it, too. No, Harm. I'm here because my father has forced me to come, but I am under no illusion that William and I will have some happy, wonderful marriage where everything is stupendous and as a marriage should be. That's what we'll show to the world, if we can stomach it, but it'll never be that. Not for either of us. Frankly, I'm hoping he will take my father up on his offer," Beth stared out the window, her brown eyes shining with tears. "I'd love to see Mary again."

Harmony studied her friend in silence. Was Beth serious? Or was she bluffing? Maybe she thought she meant it, maybe she was stealing herself against what she thought was already preordained. That William would send her away. But surely when they saw one another again, they would remember how much they loved each other?

Sure they will, Harmony scoffed to herself, feeling very much a fool. Just like you and Richard. She thought scathingly. Just spend some time apart and voila! You remember how much you loved each other and just like that, all is forgiven! The circumstances were somewhat different, William and Beth had hurt one another equally, there was forgiving and reparation to be done on both sides. But Richard had done all of the hurting all on his own, Harmony had never done a damned thing to cause him pain.

So maybe it was possible for Beth and William, after all. Maybe, after one look, they would remember their love for each other, recall how much they'd longed for one another, and they would decide to put the past behind them.

"We'll see," Harmony said, not sure if she believed it or not. "The two of you might change your mind when you're together again."

"Change his mind?" Beth asked, spinning back from the window so fast she was a blur. "What do you mean, 'change his mind'? Has he spoken to you about it? Would he rather I was not here? Is that what you mean, is that what he might change his mind about?"

Harmony arched her eyebrows. So much for Beth not caring one way or the other. "I'll be brutally honest with you, Beth; at first, he didn't want you back."

"Oh," Beth breathed, her face twisting with pain. She lowered her head, Harmony saw a tear land on her glove as she whispered, "and now?"

"Wait, let's just… let's start from the beginning, shall we? When you left. He was devastated, Beth. And furious. Gods, he was like a tempest, for so damned long. But…" Then I found out that Richard had forced himself on Cilla, with William's knowledge, and I let him know in no uncertain terms, what a two faced, deceitful, self serving hypocrite he was. Harmony heaved a frustrated breath, knowing she could not say any of this. "I became angry with him one day and I pointed out his own many short comings. It was not easy for him to hear it, you know how proud he can be. But after a while, after several of these… let's call them conversations…" Harmony said with a snort, recalling the times she'd shouted at him and hurled obscenities, for all he'd done to Cilla, and to Beth, frustrated that he could still consider himself to be the one wronged. "He began to see things my way. And then one day Cilla spoke with him -"

"Cilla! She never went near him when I was at Fresh Water, not if she could help it."

"She still doesn't, not really. She tolerates him and he is making an effort - which is more than he ever did at Fresh Water," and it was a damned good thing for him that he was, and it was proof that Harmony's constant haranguing had achieved the desired effect. Or maybe it was Cilla's confronting speech, that had forced him to acknowledge the darkness lurking in his soul.

"But Cilla spoke on my behalf? What did she say to him?"

Harmony remembered every word, as if the conversation had taken place a few hours ago. The speech had struck such a chord within her, she'd been deeply moved and in awe of Cilla's strength and her ability to restrain such raw, wild fury. She'd forgiven Richard, but she'd never forgive Tavington.

"So she ran off with Tarleton." Cilla's words rang in Harmony's ears as they had several weeks ago. She recalled Cilla, no taller than Beth, both short of stature but strong of heart, standing before the towering Tavington. Somehow, Cilla had managed to make William seem the smaller. "Committed adultery. I can't say that I blame her. Everything that she has done, her every wrong action, has been preordained from the first moment you set her feet on this dark path. All of it is a direct consequence of all the ills you visited upon her. You sit there on your high horse, as if you have every right to embrace the injury she has done you, using her infidelity as an excuse to your righteousness. But you are not righteous, Tavington. Far from it. You are not honourable. Noble. Or pure. You are a vulgar monster; you tortured my father, and you let Richard force himself on me. You allowed it to happen."

Harmony had seen Tavington's jaw working, his pale gaze had been narrowed and his teeth seemed to be clenched. Harmony had almost wished, at the time, that she hadn't gone to Cilla at all. But she'd felt as though she was getting no where, with her continual speeches, her repeated attempts, trying to make William see that he truly was no better. He'd done so much harm; to Beth, to others. Yet when Beth has the audacity to harm him, he wallows in his heartache and her treachery? Like an injured lamb, the abused innocent. She'd been trying to make him see it for months and, feeling as though she was failing, that she was not getting through to him, she turned in desperation to Cilla. Cilla had listened to Harmony gravely, nodding in agreement with Harmony's concerns. Then she'd risen from her seat, her spine straight and her face set, as she walked right up to Tavington, and calmly demanded a word. Harmony had seen the look on Tavington's face, he'd been taken aback, had inclined his head and gestured to his tent, but Harmony recalled the wariness in him. Not knowing if she was supposed to follow, Harmony had been unable to do anything but. Like hell was she going to be on the outside of this particular conversation. When she entered the tent behind them, neither William nor Cilla sent her away, so she sat calmly in the tents only chair. And she quickly became horrified, awe struck and stupefied all at once, as Cilla finally confronted Tavington for his part in what had been done to her.

"Tell me, when Richard presided over your wedding, when he asked if either of you had anything to reveal, that might prevent you from marriage, did you reveal that?" Cilla had curled her lip. "That is most certainly something you have admitted that would have stopped the wedding from taking place. But of course you didn't, you wanted Beth to marry you. So you didn't say a word. Just as she wanted to marry you, so she didn't reveal that she was no longer a virgin. You both withheld your secrets so the wedding could take place but frankly, not telling you that she'd lost her virginity to another man before marrying you is far cry less of a crime than you allowing Richard to do what he did to me. Even adding the months she has spent in Tarleton's bed is still less of a sin, than the part you played in the torture done me that day. I dare you to disagree. I dare you." Even speaking softly, Cilla had been so fierce that day. And Tavington hadn't dared. He'd been rendered speechless, shame that had stolen his tongue. When he could not answer, Cilla struck the sword deeper. "You judge my cousin? You?" She'd scoffed softly. Derisive. Contemptuous; her narrowed eyes taking him in from head to toe, her lip curved upward in a sneer. "That's like the devil, who glorifies in nothing but sin, judging a starving beggar for stealing a loaf of bread. How can someone like you judge anyone? 'He whose house is made of glass, should not throw stones.' Particularly apt for you, I think." Cilla had held his gaze, her look dripping contempt, and then - as if there was absolutely nothing else that needed to be added to the discussion - she'd turned on her heel and strode for the tent flap, indignation and disgust in her every stiff stride, in every line of her body.

For the longest time, Harmony had sat there, staring blindly at nothing, stunned to her core. Dumbfounded. At length she'd shifted her gaze to William, who was staring at the tent flap with the same expression of disbelief Harmony had to have been wearing. Only his was mingled with shame and guilt, Harmony knew him well enough by now to recognise both etched across his face. He'd looked at her, and Harmony had wished she hadn't followed Cilla, hadn't seen and heard what she had. She'd felt embarrassed to witness Tavington's humiliation, no matter how he'd had it coming. She'd also felt so very proud of Cilla; the true lamb in all of this had finally stood up to the wolf. William had marched out without a word, and in all the weeks since Cilla's confrontation, Harmony hadn't heard him once denounce Beth for what she'd done, not in Harmony's hearing.

"I don't know what was said for sure," Harmony said, ignoring the guilt as she lied to her friend. She was following Cilla's wishes, this was Cilla's secret to tell or to keep, as she saw fit. "I think she pointed out William's short comings, reminding him he'd done as much to harm you as you have to him, that he set you on this path in the first place. Mrs. Tisdale has likely given birth by now and Linda is about to. That's two bastards on the way or already here. Cilla pointed out that he's hardly in a position to judge, when his own actions are wanting." That was true enough, though Cilla hadn't mentioned Tavington's bastards.

"I'll have to ask Cilla what she said, and thank her. And thank you, too," Beth smiled weakly. "Thank you for speaking for me. I don't know what good any of it will do when I can't stop thinking about him holding me down and thrashing me like that. It was humiliating and painful and so damned frustrating because I couldn't hit him back. I'm not any better disposed to him than he is to me, but if what you and Cilla said means he won't be lording it over me, perhaps we can find some common ground at least. So. Linda is still here?" Beth asked, lifting her chin.

"Until she gives birth," Harmony paused, reluctant, but Beth had to be told. She ploughed on quickly, "when it is born, Linda will be flogged for deliberately setting you and William up -"

"Flogged?" Beth murmured.

"And sent away with her husband," Harmony confirmed. "Who is to be transferred out of the Legion. The child, however, will stay with William."

Beth dropped her gaze to her hands, where her fingers fidgeted in her lap. "He is going to raise the child?"

"I'm afraid so. He wants me to nurse it."

"And you agreed?"

"The child is as innocent as Mage's son. I won't let it starve, Beth."

"Of course not," Beth drew a shuddering breath. It couldn't be easy for her, to learn that her husband would be raising his bastard in his household, a thing Beth - newly returned from her dalliance with another man - would be expected to accept.

"And your child," Harmony began delicately. "You're certain it's William's?"

"Yes. I have perhaps two months before I give birth. I was pregnant before I left. Mrs. Garland thinks the reason I reacted so harshly and violently was because I was with child," Beth replied. She was repeating herself, she had told this to Harmony already.

"He might not believe you, you know," Harmony advised carefully.

"I know. My father didn't believe it either, he thought I was using my pregnancy as an excuse to justify my actions. I wasn't, by the way - I take full responsibility for my behaviour but I do believe that was the catalyst. I was awful that day, to William - though I don't regret that overly much after he belted me. But to Mrs. Andrews. Miss Cordell." She lifted her eyes. "To you."

Harmony reached out and covered her hands over Beth's. "I had a part to play in that. I should have told you that Linda was there, even though he wasn't seeing her that way anymore. I should have been honest -"

"I should have listened to you, when you tried to explain. I should have listened to all of you - even William. Instead I became a madwoman and left with Banastre. I've bought shame to my family, to myself. When I was with Banastre… I acted like a bawdy woman. I barely knew myself. Not until my final weeks with him, when I started to wonder what the devil I was doing. There was this book… a peddler sold it to Nancy for me; she didn't know what it was. When I started reading it… Well, Banastre had already read it and he was overcome with excitement that I… Well, it's not your ordinary novel, you see. It's… coarse. Filled with descriptions of… coupling." - Harmony's eyebrows began to climb her forehead. - "I really must be rid of it for once and for all. Anyway, I would read from it while he and I…"

"Beth!" Harmony gasped, laughter bubbling up despite herself.

"It's not funny," Beth said, voice begging. "I should never have indulged in it, I certainly should not have enjoyed it. But I did, every moment, which in itself is an indication of how far I've fallen. I should have been insulted when the peddler suggested that book for me. Well, I was insulted, but I should have burnt it and had him chased away from camp. Instead, I read from it faithfully whenever Banastre asked and I became so debauched with him, doing with him the things that were described in the book. I just… if I'd listened to you. Back at Fresh Water. To William. I might not have left as I had. There would still have been trouble between us because of not telling him I was not a virgin, but at least I wouldn't have become as debauched as a whore with Banastre. I wouldn't have done so much injury to my family. My father has to try to cover everything up - again! And he won't be able to this time, not fully. What sort of daughter am I? I'm like a tornado sweeping through the forest and he has to tidy up the paths of destruction I leave in my wake," she choked out, sobbing as the words poured from her like water from an upturned bottle. "My sisters and brothers, their futures are at stake, they have to live with the mess I've left behind me. But still, he covers for me. I have vowed, no more. If William keeps me with him, I'll be the perfect wife, which hopefully will make the inevitable rumours that are sure to circulate about me that much harder to believe. And if he sends me away, I will go and live with my father and I'll live quietly and without excitement, I won't let any man court me, ever again. Papa thinks I'll marry again someday but I honestly don't care for it. I'd rather just live quietly, with my child, and with my father looking out for me. That's all I want now. It truly is -"

"Shh, don't cry," Harmony crooned, moving to the seat Cilla had vacated and pulling Beth into her arms. "Shh. It's alright. Everything will be alright." She was lying, they both knew it, but it seemed to have the desired affect. Beth's weeping began to quiet. "I'm sorry for laughing just now," Harmony said, kissing Beth's cheek.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

"I know. Me too," Harmony heaved a sigh and guided Beth's head down to rest on her shoulder. They sat there in silence, moving slightly to the sway of the carriage, Harmony's arm around Beth's shoulders. As the quiet deepened, she worried that with Beth's story told, she might soon be asked to tell her own. But anything she said might skirt too closely to things Cilla wanted to be kept secret. She might unintentionally reveal things she had promised not to, things that needed to come from Cilla's own lips, if ever she was inclined to. She wondered how she could explain her parting from Richard without going into details, to Beth who she had always confided all.

"I'm so tired," Beth whispered, sounding groggy. Harmony felt a thrill of hope, perhaps her friend was too tired to hear Harmony's story.

"Then sleep," Harmony said, shifting the blanket around them until it covered them both.

"I am dreading seeing him, Harmony," Beth said. It sounded like a confession.

"Do you still love him?"

"So damned much," her voice broke. "I never could get rid of it. Like thorned vines, rooting deep, digging in, slicing into me. I thought I'd die of it."

Harmony heaved a sigh, her response dying on her tongue. 'Well there you go,' is what she'd been about to say. 'You still love him and I know he still loves you. It might be difficult at first but you'll get past your troubles in no time.' But that was the flippant response. Besides, the way Beth had described it, her love sounded like a death sentence. Harmony knew by now, by her own experience, that love most certainly did not conquer all. "Well, it has to happen sometime," Harmony said instead. "And if it is to be unpleasant, then it's best to get it over with. Face it head on. And then, the only thing you'll be able to do is to take each day as it comes. I'll be here and so will Cilla. You'll have to face him sometime and yes, that will be hard. But you won't be alone, Beth."

"No, I won't, and I can't tell you how grateful I am to have you. I'd thought for certain that I'd lost you."

"Because we quarrelled?" Harmony cocked her head and smiled. "Did no one ever tell you? Disagreements like that make the friendships stronger. The good ones, anyway," she said, thinking of Linda. Their friendship had never recovered from their big argument, and it likely never would.

"I'm glad ours is one of those. I hope it is," Beth said uncertainly.

"It is," Harmony began stroking Beth's hair, almost feeling the other woman's exhaustion. "Close your eyes for a bit, you might get some sleep before he comes. It'll be better for you if you're rested a bit before you have to face him." She could feel Beth's nod against her shoulder. Eventually she could hear soft snores, as Beth's body relaxed against hers. Harmony placed a pillow against the side of the carriage and rested her head.

The first she became aware that she'd fallen asleep was when the carriage came to a stop. Her eyelids fluttered open, awareness returning to her with the sound of William's voice. She jerked her head away from the pillow, a thrill of unease flaring inside her. "Beth," she whispered, "wake up. He's here."

"Mmm?" Beth murmured, not waking entirely.

"He's here. William. Wake up," Harmony urged, tapping Beth's sleepy face with gentle fingers. The carriage door was opened by the driver and there was William, stern faced and jaw set, intense gaze fixing on Beth. With a small gasp Beth lifted herself up and away from Harmony, her own dark eyes as large as orbs as she stared back, unblinking. Neither said a word, neither looked away from the other. The tableau seemed frozen in ice. Harmony broke it. "Help me down, will you?" She asked William, sliding the blanket back and holding her hand out to his to be taken. His eyes flickered to hers for an instant. He complied with her request, taking hold of her fingers to guide her down, but his eyes went immediately back to Beth. "Remember what Cilla said," Harmony whispered in his ear and she heard the sharp intake of his breath, before he gave her a curt nod. Perhaps it was a low blow, reminding him of that now; but Harmony wanted Cilla's words ringing in his ears - words that told him in no uncertain terms that he was no better than Beth - before he sat down with her to discuss their future. She wrapped herself in her cape and began to walk away from the carriage, even as William climbed in and closed the door behind him. She longed to stay and listen, she could walk beside the carriage for a bit and in doing so, she would hear every word. And would be destroying their privacy and their trust in her. Stifling her curiosity - surely Beth and William would both tell her the details later from their differing perspectives - she began to pick her away carefully along the road while looking for a wagon she could ride on.

Only a few rods back from Beth's carriage was Cilla's carriage, also stopped. Harmony approached it, thinking that Richard would be gone by now and perhaps Harmony could ride with Cilla, who would not want to be alone just now. When she saw that Richard was still in there, she continued to walk past, quickening her pace. However, the door opened and Richard climbed out, he fixed on her with much the same expression that had been on William's face when he beheld Beth just now. His long legs closed the distance swiftly, his face was thunder.

"Why didn't you send for me? You should have done so as soon as you learned her mother was dead. She is my wife, Harmony. I am her husband. Did it not occur to you that she might need me?"

"No. It did not," Harmony admitted, taken aback. Did he expect an apology? An explanation? He would get neither. "Beth and I had the situation well in hand."

"Well in hand…" Richard shook his head, looking dumbfounded. "Well in hand. Cilla needed only the two of you, did she? I know you despise me, Harmony, but I will not be discounted in this way. By damn, I will not."

"Feeling left out, are you?" Harmony couldn't help but sneer. As far as she was concerned, he had no right to his anger. None. And it was time to let him know why. "Because your wife's mother died and we didn't think to send for you? Your wife's mother, who you fucked," she spat, all the bitterness and fury rising up in her breast. She'd never forgiven him his affairs, in all the months she'd stayed with him afterward. It hurt just as much now as it had when they'd still been together. "You do know that the child is almost certainly yours, don't you?"

"You've made that clear, Harmony, and would you keep your voice down?" He demanded, his eyes darting to see if they had company nearby.

"Can't have your wife hearing about that, now, can you? You never did tell her about Mage, did you?"

"I have bared my soul to Cilla, there is nothing she does not know," he said shortly, his words causing Harmony to stare, dumbfounded. It felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest. Like the ground was tearing open beneath her feet. Like he'd balled his fist and slammed it with all his considerable might into her stomach.

"You never bared your soul to me," she whispered, eyes welling, the sting making her blink several times. Wetness on her cheeks; she dashed at her tears with a quick gesture. "There was plenty I didn't know."

"I was a different man back then," he said, his tone gentling. He reached out a hand to her but she recoiled, and he dropped it uselessly back to his side.

"She changed you when I never could," Harmony said softly, feeling inadequate.

"You are the two halves of me that make me whole. You both changed me, Harm," Richard replied gravely. She shook her head, sunk her teeth into the flesh of her lip. The pain gave her something to concentrate on, helped her to hold back her tears. She heard a loud bang of something slamming behind her and when she turned to look, she saw Tavington striding away from the carriage. She released her stinging lip and stared incredulously at his retreating back. "Harmony," Richard said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -"

"Leave it be," she stepped away from him, turning her back and wiping her eyes. She felt his hand close on her elbow but she shook him off, flinging her arm to evade his grasp as she started walking back to Beth's carriage. She heard the sobs before reaching it. Her own pain was not forgotten, nor was it diminished, even when she stepped inside and saw Beth sprawled across the seat, weeping hysterically into her hands. Beth glanced up, her face was bright red and ravaged with tears.

"The - the b-blanket slipped. He - he took one look… saw m-my stomach… and w-walked out again," Beth wailed.

"Oh, Beth," Harmony sighed. She climbed in, sat down and took her weeping friend in her arms.

"It's his… I swear, it is his…" Beth wept.

"Shh. It's alright," Harmony crooned, adding other such nonsense, her heart heavy for herself and for her friend. William had abandoned Beth without giving her the chance to explain about the baby. And Richard had unburdened himself to Cilla, he'd trusted her with everything; a trust he'd never extended to Harmony, who was his mistress. He'd changed for Cilla, when he never had for her. The difference between a wife and a lover? Perhaps. But it hurt more than Harmony could bear.


	145. Chapter 145 - Ramsour's Mill

Chapter 145 - Ramsour's Mill: 

"I have to tell him about my father," Beth said quietly, when she was calmer. "I don't want to speak to him, but there's so much I have to tell him."

"Perhaps he'll come back," Harmony said as she rubbed Beth's back. "When he's calmed down a bit."

"Maybe. I don't think this can wait for him to decide he feels up to chatting. Will you go to him, Harm? Will you give him this?" she tried to hand Harmony the letter. "And then come back and tell me what he said?"

Harmony stared at the letter, then groaned. "I'm far, far too pregnant to be go between, Beth. Walking kills me as it is, let alone back and forth, to you to him, to deliver messages you could give to one another yourselves."

"I doubt you'll have to. Give him that, he'll soon know my father is free and he'll come back here for the rest of the story swiftly enough," Beth said bitterly. "That's definitely something he will wish to talk about."

"Now?" Harmony asked, unsure. "Are you up to speaking with him again so soon?"

"It doesn't matter if I'm up to it or not. He needs to know and I will not be accused of withholding it from him. If he doesn't come back - then it'll be his problem, not mine."

"Do you want me to speak to him about the baby?" Harmony asked.

"No. He went flying out of here without giving me the chance to tell him, clearly he does not want it. Or me. I can hardly blame him either, with what I've done. I've done what my father wanted, Harmony. I came back to William, it seems he is rejecting me far quicker than my father imagined he would. I am going to go to the Ferguson's. My father will help me raise the child."

"I'll go talk to William," Harmony sighed.

* * *

Harmony stood at William's side, waiting for him to finish speaking to Brownlow. Although he wasn't snapping at Brownlow, there was definitely a tension in William's voice. In his gaze. In every line of his body. His face was cold, hard, as if he'd forgotten to smile. Eventually, the new Captain doffed his hat to Harmony and went on his way, and William turned to face her.

"It's yours," she said. "The baby."

In an instant, his features shifted from tense to outright fury. His eyes narrowed, his brows drew downward, he took a full step toward her and hissed, "don't. Don't you dare."

She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening as she took an involuntary step back. Recovering herself, she lifted her chin. "Very well. She asked me to give you this." She held out the letter. "It's from her father."

"How did she come by a letter from her father? He is at Winnsboro."

"No, William, he is not. Her brothers helped her father to escape Winnsboro."

"What..?" He breathed, his mouth falling open.

"Colonel Martin has been rescued," Harmony said. Tavington stared for another heartbeat, before brushing past her. He would return to the carriage now. She pressed the letter against his chest, stopping him in his tracks. "Take it. Read it first, before speaking to her."

He glanced down at her hand, lifted his gaze to hers, then snatched the letter from her fingers and strode away.

* * *

The Legion was moving at a crawl, the carriage trundled along so slowly William did not have to wait for it to stop before climbing back in. He did not let his eyes drop any lower than Beth's shoulders, though in truth, her stomach was hidden again by the blanket, which she now clutched at her neck. She met his eyes and looked away, tensing visibly at his entrance. She'd been crying, her eyes were swollen and red, her cheeks wet. He stared hard at her.

"What is this about your father?" He asked crisply.

"My brothers helped him to escape," she replied simply. He gave her a withering glare. No one escaped the British camps - no one. He wanted a more in-depth explanation. Very well. She folded her hands in her lap. "Do you know that Calvin Farshaw was a spy for the rebels?" He nodded curtly. "He listened in on conversations. He copied every important missive that crossed Major Fallows' desk. And he forged a copy of O'Hara's and Fallows' seals out of clay, and copied their ciphers as well. Added to that, he practiced copying their handwriting until he could mimic it perfectly."

William was staring at her, face hard and horrified.

"When Calvin fled Fresh Water after killing Fallows, he went in search of my father. You know the rest -"

"Yes, your father used Farshaw as bait, to capture me," William said harshly. "So he could whip me, for giving you that strapping."

"I daresay they did far more damage to you than you did to me," she said. It came out unapologetic but in truth, she wasn't entirely certain how she felt about it. If they'd strapped William the same as he had her, with a belt for instance, well, fair's fair, isn't it? An eye for an eye? But they had strung William up, and they each took turns in using a whip on his bare back. She shuddered, just thinking about it. William - she knew - had no idea of her thoughts or her conflict; she saw rage flare across his face a split moment before his hand darted out and his fingers seized her jaw, pushing her head back. He leaned in close.

"They did," he ground out. "Shall I show it to you? The scars?"

She glared at him over the fingers holding her, he was not releasing her, so she slapped her hand against his face. Not a hard slap - just enough to let him know she was having none of it. "He told me what he said to you," she said crisply. "The warning he gave. Beat me again, and you'll regret it."

He snapped his fingers away and curled his lip. "What does Farshaw have to do with your father's escape?"

She smoothed her skirts, taking the time she needed to compose herself.

"My brothers told me they came to Fresh Water to inform you of Captain Dalton's death, and the murder of his unit," she said and saw a dangerous glint enter his eyes. "I'm sorry for him, for them, but most of all for Dalton. He was a good man."

"I do not care for your condolences," he said and she drew a shuddering breath. It hurt more than she cared to admit.

"Fine, then. When they left Fresh Water," she adopted a more formal tone, voice crisp as she clung to the facts, "General Burwell commanded them to find my uncle and retrieve the seal and cipher. Thomas, Nathan, several of my father's militia, and Nicholas Watson -"

"I beg your pardon?" William leaned in again. "What did you just say?"

"Watson survived the shooting in Charlestown, he helped my uncle get to safety," she said matter-of-factly.

"Your brothers mentioned nothing of that when they told me of your uncle!"

"Take it up with them," she shrugged. "I'm telling you now. He is an Officer, holds the rank of Lieutenant, in my father's Company. Burwell charged him and the others with retrieving the seal and cipher. Which they did. They found my uncle. Farshaw was with him, likely still is now. They came to an agreement -"

"What agreement?"

"Burwell would speak for Uncle Mark if his killing of your Dragoons ever comes to court-martial with the higher up Patriots, like Rutledge. He will defend Uncle Mark. He is actually going to try to make sure it doesn't even get that far. Uncle Mark will get away with killing your men, for his cooperation."

"That God damned bastard," William breathed, stunned.

"My uncle took the offer; he handed over to my brothers and Watson the seal and cipher, and had several letters to cover different scenarios, written by Farshaw in O'Hara's forged hand."

"Your brothers colluded with Farshaw?" His voice rose and his face turned an ugly shade of red blotched fury.

"My brothers would have done anything to get my father out of the death trap Cornwallis put him in," Beth replied, iron in her voice. When she continued, her voice was soft again, formal. "Watson chose the letter that best suited the situation he found himself in when he reached Winnsboro. He told one General Johnson, that it was a prisoner exchange, authorised by Lord Cornwallis. Their plan worked, General Johnson handed my father over to them, though Nathan attributes the General's poor health as a factor of their success- he was so ill, he was barely able to stand."

William stared at her, eyes hard. She held his gaze for several long moments, before returning to her inspection of her fingers. "Where is your father now?"

"I do not know," she replied. "He has removed himself from Burwell's command and he said he will be staying in the area for a while before heading back into South Carolina -"

"Why did he remove himself from Burwell's command?"

"They had an argument," she replied shortly. "They are friends no longer."

William snorted, as if he didn't believe a word of it. "Why is he staying here?"

"He is following General Greene's orders to harass the British forces while Greene continues the drive back toward Virginia."

"He told you that?"

"Yes."

"You said your brothers bought you here. Were they going to return to your father, after leaving you here?"

"Yes, of course they did," she replied.

"By which road did they travel?"

Her breath caught, William had taken in everything she'd said, and now he intended to go after her brothers, and her father. After all she'd just told him, what would happen to her brothers if he caught them? Tell him everything, leave the protecting of us to us. Her father's advice, before they parted. Beth opened her mouth, told William precisely by what road her brothers had travelled and how many men they had with them.

"How long ago?"

"It's been a few hours since I arrived."

He nodded. He snapped open the letter and began to read. She watched the differing expressions playing across his features - frustration, anger, incredulity. At one point, his lips thinned and his fingers gripped the parchment so hard, she thought it might tear. My father telling William the child is his, she thought. This thought was confirmed when William's eyes flew up to hers, she could see the scorn and disbelief there, before he threw them back down to the letter. When he reached the end, he said, "the Ferguson's, hmm?" He met her gaze. "Very well." He reached for the door, began to step down. She felt a moment of panic, Beth seized his sleeve and held on tight, stopping him. Poised with his foot on the step down, he flung his head to her.

"Yes?" He snapped. "You have something more to say?"

Don't send me away. Gods, I love you so much, please don't send me away!

Her fingers released their grip, her hand fell away.

"No," she said softly. "I don't think there is anything more to be said."

He gave her a curt look, stepped down and closed the door behind him.

* * *

The Legion was moving at a crawl, the cart trundled along so slowly that Sergeant Cox was able to keep pace while walking along beside it. As part of the baggage train, the carts were at the rear of the Legion, with an infantry unit marching behind to protect it. Linda sat at the end of the wagon, leaning against the side, her legs dangling over the end. The her husband was close enough that they could chat in privacy, without the other women on the cart hearing much of the conversation.

Her husband the Sergeant. At least William had seen fit to keep his promise. He'd said if she married Private Cox, he would promote Cox to Sergeant. And he had. He was going to flog her and take her child away, but at least he made her husband a Sergeant. She wished William wasn't so good at keeping promises.

Then again, perhaps he wasn't that great at it. He sent her away as soon as he married his bitch of a wife, didn't he? After promising her that she'd be his mistress forever. Well, perhaps not forever, but certainly longer than a couple fucking weeks.

Linda plucked dry mud from her skirt and scowled. It'd been a while since she'd seen William - which was likely a good thing, considering his anger toward her. She glanced up at her husband, unable to help but to compare him to her former lover. Jeffrey's little kindnesses every single day had worn away at her until she found herself becoming infatuated.

Not in love the way she'd been in love with William. Not the blind, raging love and lust. The desperate need for him. Why had she wanted him so badly? What had made William so special, anyway? That a man of his rank would choose her, over all the other doxies? Not a particularly high bar to strive for, especially when he only wanted her to fuck. To be his mistress. Why should she have been so proud to be a gentleman's mistress? Had she thought so little of herself that even she hadn't considered herself worthy to be his wife? She'd been so very flattered back then, though. Enough so that she'd fallen head over heels in love with him.

As the cart moved beneath her, she began to think of all the times William had hurt her, insulted her, injured her, even though he knew she loved him. The times he called her 'Beth' in bed. The time he took Mariah and Sandra to his bed, walking on by her - his mistress - like she didn't exist, even though he knew he was being cruel and knew how much he was hurting her. Looking back now, she was sure he had done it for precisely that purpose - because he was hurting, so he wanted her hurting too. As if hurting her might make himself hurt less. Pushing her away when she did try to speak to him, when she tried to reach him.

And the time he sent her away from him entirely, after promising she would be his mistress. And now. Refusing to speak with her or even see her. Declaring her punishment, that she would be whipped. And, even worse, he was going to take her child away from her. The child she had chosen to bring into this world. Yes, she'd thought about being rid of it - but she had come to love it and now, William was going to remove it from her, he was going to leave her with no choice. Her child. The one she could feel moving in her stomach, the one she'd grown to love even more than she had ever loved William. And it would be removed from her as soon as she gave birth.

"You're crying again," Jeffrey said softly. He climbed up onto the end of the cart to sit beside her. Once settled, he brushed her hair back from her scalp.

"Why do you love me?" She asked wretchedly. "I am an awful person. I've done things… I'm a whore."

"You're not a whore anymore. You're my wife," he came closer, close enough to kiss her brow. They'd had this conversation so many times before, when she was at her lowest, her most wretched. She leaned into him, put her arms around his chest and buried her face in his neck.

"I'm your wife now," she said. "I would have been his mistress, until the end of my days, if he'd had me. But I think… I would have been miserable. I was already miserable," she paused, closing her eyes, gathering her thoughts. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "With you, I'm not miserable."

"I'm glad to hear it," he gave a half laugh and she smiled.

"I'm far from miserable."

"Might you be happy?" He asked slowly, suggestively.

"I think… I am, with you. Or I would be… But… I don't want to lose my baby. I want it to be the three of us. Why won't he let it be the three of us?" She placed her hand over her stomach. "Whip me if he must punish me. But why can't he let me keep my baby?"

"Because it's his, and a father has the right," Jeffrey said gently. "Linda, I will give you another. And another. Ten, if you wish. I'm so sorry, my love, but this one, you'll have to bid farewell to."

"You could give me fifteen babies and there will always be a hole in my heart if this one is taken from me," she said. "When will he take it?" She asked brokenly. "As soon as it's born? Will I have a chance to look at my baby? To hold him?"

"I don't know," he admitted, troubled. "There is nothing I can do or say that will bring you solace, except that at least you know the child will be raised in comfort. At least you know your baby will want for nothing."

"Except a mother," Linda whispered, her hand on her stomach, her eyes haunted. "He'll never have his mother."

* * *

After William sent Captain Wilkins and three score of Dragoons to follow the Martin's boy trail for as far as they were able, he rode his horse back to the baggage train, to find Shadow Dancer. The mare needed to be saddled for the long ride ahead. The letter from Martin was in a pocket inside his jacket, near his chest. He imagined he could feel it burning through his clothes.

Beth was pregnant, but it was not the child William had been longing for. It wasn't even his, no matter what Benjamin tried to tell him. And how could Benjamin possibly be so certain? Beth had had her menses, month after month after month, as reliably as clockwork, only falling pregnant when she left. But OF COURSE the child was William's. Because Beth had thrown a tantrum back at Fresh Water. The day Linda duped her into thinking he was having an affair, Beth had become unhinged. And the reason, according to Benjamin, was because she had already fallen pregnant before she left.

William curled his fingers into fists, clutching the reins with a death grip. As he knew she'd been faithful to him during their marriage, and as she'd become unhinged the very day she left him, Benjamin was trying to make William draw to the conclusion that only he could be the father.

How dare they? What sort of a fool did they think he was? Beth and her father both. They knew - they must have known - that with her pregnancy, everything would change.

When Benjamin failed to extricate Beth from Tarleton camp and his bed, Tavington had decided to see the job done himself. With Harmony's nagging at him and with Cilla's adding her pennies worth, he'd finally decided that, instead of sending Beth to her aunt's as he'd planned for Benjamin to do, he would instead take her back and uphold the facade of a respectable marriage. He'd informed Benjamin as much in a letter he sent to Benjamin while he was still in prison at Winnsboro. Benjamin was aware of Tavington's new intentions, but he must have also known that such a plan did not extend to the raising of Tarleton's bastard. Beth and Benjamin would know that he could never pretend to a respectable marriage while she was carrying another man's bastard, they weren't fools either.

And so they come up with this cock and bull story, because she was returning to him, pregnant with Tarleton's child.

They would lie to him, plot against him, blame her pregnancy for her outburst, for the sole purpose of the timing of that outburst, all to make him think she was already pregnant when she left. Trying to make him believe that the child must be his. That corner of his mind that raged silently as he rode toward the horses vowed that he would never forgive Benjamin for this deception.

He finally arrived - he could see Beth's carriage in the distance but he ignored it for now. Shadow Dancer would soon be saddled, he would go and get Beth then. He dismounted, greeted the horse as warmly as she did him, as she nudged her muzzle into him, stamped her legs, and made happy, welcoming sounds. William scratched her cheeks and shoulders, his fingers digging deep to the skin beneath her crest. He could almost feel her smiling. Hearing another horse whinny, he glanced up and to his astonishment, he saw Thunder bearing down toward him, lifting his legs high, a playful gallop, as if he were dancing.

"Thunder!" William bellowed, releasing Shadow Dancer and rushing to meet his horse, his beautiful boy. Thunder reared before him, hooves pawing the air, then dropped down to paw the ground. He galloped about William in a circle, then almost pushed him over with the force of his nudge. The ground was muddy, William did not relish landing in the muck, so he seized Thunder's bridle and tried to calm him. His own heart was racing and for the first time in months, he grinned from ear to ear. "Ah, at least they did something right!" He crowed as he rubbed Thunder's neck and slapped his shoulder. "Was it Gabriel? Or Thomas? Aye, boy? Who sent you back, hmm? Did they look after you? If they didn't… Gods, what does Thomas know of looking after a beast like you? Let me see you - here, lift your hoof…" With that, he started an inspection, he went over every inch of Thunder's body, from his hooves to his mane to his teeth. William had a groom bring him a brush and he went over every inch of Thunder's fur, looking for sores and the like. Nothing. The horse was in exceptional health. "Well, perhaps he knows more than I thought," William grinned, as excited as Thunder.

He had both horses saddled, he lifted himself up into Thunder's, and took hold of Shadow Dancer's bridle to lead her back to the carriage. His mood darkened sharply.

It was time.

* * *

William returned far sooner than Beth expected. Having no desire to be alone, she'd just been thinking that perhaps she should go and find Harmony, or join Cilla in her carriage; God knew, Cilla had need of company. Beth should be with her, offering comfort and support while Cilla grieved for her mother. She was just about to do so, when Tavington returned. He was mounted astride Thunder, he was holding Shadow Dancer's guide ropes, and he had a two score of Dragoons at his back.

Her gaze alternated between him and Shadow Dancer and what was clearly a Dragoon escort for travel, with growing horror. What she'd suspected he would do was coming to pass, he was taking her to the Ferguson's. It was Brownlow who dismounted and opened the door for her. She stared at him, eyes wide, as he held out his hand to her. Her mind worked, but she was unable to understand the gesture. Finally, it snapped into place. He was going to help her down. She hadn't seen him since her return, the last time she'd spoken to him, it'd been to scream at him for helping to hide Linda and William's affair.

Only, he hadn't.

She had no words, had no idea what to say. Now he was here, to help her out of the carriage, so that she could be taken to the Ferguson's and dumped there. Her hand trembled violently as she placed it in his, her knees felt weak before she even stood. Her free hand clutched her cape around her shoulders, in a vain attempt to hide her pregnancy. Too late. William knew, and he was sending her away because of it. Or perhaps he was simply sending her away because her father had presented that as an option. It's not as though he'd invited her to come here. He hadn't even known she was on her way. Lord, he hadn't wasted any time in the deciding, had he? Tears burned her eyes, she forced herself to climb outside.

Brownlow's face was sympathetic, he gave her his arm and let her cling to it as they cross the short, muddy distance toward Shadow Dancer. He held the horse's bridle, angled the stirrup for Beth to use. "I'm sorry," she said to him and he cocked his head. "For yelling at you. And for Dalton."

He nodded. "Thank you, for both," he said gravely.

"Dalton was a good man, I thought highly of him. He didn't deserve that death. Or any death. But especially not that one."

"I couldn't agree more. He thought highly of you, too," Brownlow said and Beth felt like it was an afterthought.

"He couldn't possibly have," she whispered, then gripping the bridle, she mounted. She didn't want to look at Brownlow now, she just stared straight ahead. But he wasn't moving away from her stirrup and the silence was stretching, becoming uncomfortable. She finally glanced down at him.

"You're wrong, Mrs. Tavington," he said solemnly. "The two of us, we talked quite often about what a couple of cads our superiors were." He kept his voice low, there was no way possible for his Commander to hear him. "For the longest time, it was Tavington and Bordon that we thought lowly of. You were always kind, considerate, thoughtful, honest." She almost choked, hearing that; there had been times when she'd been very far from honest. Brownlow continued, "you were good from the start, until you fell in with them. When you push, and push, and push, well, people snap eventually, even the best sort."

She stared down at him in astonishment. He blamed William, not her. She felt her tears slide down her cheek and she wiped them with the back of her hand. "It takes two. Well, in my downfall, it took three… But I am not guilt free. I thank you, though. What you just said - it means more than I can ever express."

He nodded, then smiled up at her, patted Shadow Dancer's neck, then walked away to mount his own horse. As the column began to move out, Beth trotted closer to Tavington. "Will you at least let me farewell my cousin? Her mother just died! And Harmony, I've barely seen either of them. Can't I at least say good-bye?"

William frowned at her. "Whatever for? We'll be back soon enough."

Beth grew still, pulling Shadow Dancer back away. William continued on ahead, the Dragoons began to trot past her, and then Brownlow was at her side.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just… I thought… where are we going?" She asked him.

"Ramsour's Mill, Cornwallis' temporary headquarters," he replied. "Colonel Tavington said you've got information for the Generals?"

"Oh," she breathed out slowly, realisation dawning. William wasn't galloping her off to the Ferguson's. He might yet, of course, but that was not now. Now, she was to face Cornwallis, O'Hara, and whomever else wished to question her about her father. Beth shivered, and it had little to do with the cold.

"How is Miss Martin?" Brownlow asked as he got Beth moving. "Have you any word of her?"

"Oh, yes, my brothers saw her recently. She is with my Aunt still, they say - my brothers, that is, that Maggie is becoming quite a proper young lady."

"Indeed?" Brownlow smiled. "Tell me."

* * *

Colonel Tavington has sent word up the line to Lord Cornwallis and General O'Hara, informing both that he was on his way and requesting an urgent meeting. He had glanced back down the column of Dragoons once and only once, to ensure that Beth was riding with them. He did not turn back to her again; if there were any concerns or if any problems arose, Brownlow would inform him, he was riding at Beth's side. He did what he could to distract himself from his irritation, but found only other irritations and nuisances and frustrations ready to take place of Beth, her father and the damned letter that told him he was the father. As soon as he pushed that out of his mind, in came roaring his resentment at being made Cornwallis' rear guard. He was suffering for his Lordships displeasure, forced to eat Cornwallis' dust.

Or in this case, with the weather being what it was, forced to walk through Cornwallis' churned up mud.

He should be at the front, not the damned back. Tarleton, who was in no higher favour right now than William was - still, Tarleton got the front. In between, were Colonel Simcoe and the weight of the British army, Battalions under Cornwallis' Command. They had all gone first, and now William had to pick his way through mud that came up to Thunder's knees.

He was in quite a remarkably muddy state, by the time he reached Ramsour's mill. William cleaned himself as best he could, splashing water from a trough all over his boots, then stamping to flick the water off. Tents surrounded a small Plantation House near the mill, Tavington was escorted into the house and into his Commander's presence.

Without preamble, he began to explain, to both O'Hara and Cornwallis, that Beth had returned and had bought information with her. Her father's escape from Winnsboro, of the traitor Ensign Watson's survival and defection, Farshaw and his forgeries of the seal and cipher, and his ability to mimic O'Hara's hand. The General's face turned white and William knew he, O'Hara, would be circulating a new cipher forthwith. And he would adopt a knew signet for his seal, too, no doubt.

"Where has she been? Your wife," Cornwallis snapped, finding it difficult to come to grips with what William was telling him.

"I…" William frowned - he hadn't discovered from Beth, where she'd been. He only knew how she'd reached him, because of Benjamin's letter. He had no idea where she'd gone when she fled Tarleton, who she'd fallen in with along the way, how she'd managed to become reunited with her father. He hadn't asked. From the moment the blanket slipped and revealed her pregnant stomach, he hadn't even been able to look at her. But she had found her father somehow, William knew that much. "With her father," he replied reluctantly.

Red began to creep up Cornwallis's neck and across his face, his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, filled with wrath. "Her father escaped Winnsboro and was waiting for her outside Tarleton's camp."

"My Lord -"

"Silence," Cornwallis spat. O'Hara and Tavington shared a worried look. "This confirms it. All my suspicions of her. She wrought trouble with Tarleton in his camp and her father was there, waiting for her when it was time for her to leave!"

"Sir, I do not -"

"Bring her in here!" Cornwallis shouted, furious. "I will question her alone!"

Tavington sat stiffly, barely able to move. He slowly, as if his body wasn't listening to his commands, began to rise. A jerky movement, none of his usual grace. O'Hara rose with him and they began to make their way toward the door.

"His mind is already set," William whispered. "He is going to hang my wife."

"No, William. He will see reason," O'Hara said calmly.

It was meant to be soothing. Reassuring. William took no solace from it.

* * *

Having just come in from the freezing cold, the chamber was boiling. A fire blazed in the fireplace, making it too warm for her cape, but Beth kept it wrapped around her shoulders and pregnant stomach as she sat to face Lord Cornwallis, to hide that she was with child. It had been some months since she'd seen the Lord General. He was looking tired now. Older in a way that had nothing to do with the passage of time. The war was letting its effect be known.

"Alone, I said," Cornwallis said crisply to Tavington, who hadn't taken a seat, but wasn't leaving either.

"My Lord, if I could just show you this," William pulled a book from his pocket. Beth glanced at it and the blood drained from her face.

"My diary!" She breathed, her eyes rushing up to meet William's. "You would show him my diary!" It could be used as evidence, that damned book. She'd written entries about the ambush against Burwell, of her conflicting emotions at sending Harry Burwell warning of the trap. He'd promised never to reveal her betrayal to anyone, especially not his Superiors. Was this how he would get rid of her then? He didn't need to send her to the Ferguson's - perhaps that was too far to travel. Too bothersome. This way was far more immediate and he only had to travel the intervening miles between himself and Cornwallis. She would be tried for treason now, and because of the diary, she would be found guilty. She would be hanged, or put in prison, or… She knew he'd never forgive her for leaving him for Tarleton but dear God, she never imagined William would do something like this to her!

"There are entries, my Lord, that prove my wife did not marry me at her father's behest, to gain information or cause trouble, as you have accused. Some were written well before we married, when she returned to her father's home."

"You read it," she breathed. "Gods, you read my entire diary?" William shot her a dark glance and she stared back, appalled and confused. No. Violated. He'd dug deep down into her soul and learned all her darkest secrets and desires, without her ever knowing he'd been there. No, not confused. This was a violation.

"You see here?" William had the diary open and was pressing the two exposed pages under Cornwallis' nose. "Here, she writes of becoming engaged to Colonel Burwell and her despair that she is not engaged to me. So you see? Her father had nothing to do with it. My Lord?" He asked, when Cornwallis said nothing. The General wasn't even looking down at the diary, he was staring up at Tavington, his face livid.

"I will speak. To Mrs. Tavington. Without you present. You will leave." He bit out, drawing a ragged breath between every third word.

Taken aback, William snapped the diary closed. Another moment he lingered, before turning on his heel and marching for the door.

Beth recalled the time when, what felt like years ago but could only be a few months, she had sat on her bed with William and shown him her diary. She'd shown him the portrait she'd drawn, so she would not forget his face. She'd read aloud to him, a few excerpts, that held the most meaning to her, that expressed the most sorrow at their parting. She'd read them to him. That had been her choice. But now, William had taken it upon herself to read the diary from end to end, and it left her feeling naked, bared to the storm. Her cheeks flooded crimson, as she recalled giving information to Nathan after marrying William. She couldn't remember if she'd written of that in her diary, or what level of detail she'd gone into, if she had. And there was so much else, of her heartbreak at losing William, the silly beginnings of her growing love, the excitement she'd felt each time he sent her a letter or came to visit her in the city. She'd poured her soul into those pages, and William had read it, from the first page to the last.

"Do you understand why you have been bought before me, Mrs. Tavington?" Cornwallis asked. His crisp voice jerked her back to attention.

"For the reason my husband just gave," she said and she saw his eyes widen until she could see the white all around the blue of them. It was an insolent reply. Then again, it was a stupid accusation.

"Where have you been?" His Lordship snapped.

"Do you mean when I left Tarleton, after he stole my money, lied to me, and nearly killed my horse?" Gods, get control of yourself, what is wrong with you? William read my diary. From cover to cover, he read it. That is what is wrong with me. Dear God above. "Is that when you mean?"

"Yes," Cornwallis bit out. "Then."

Beth told him. She left Tarleton's camp in the dead of night. Following day, encountered rebels. Burwell's men. When she told them she was Martin's daughter, they escorted her there. To Burwell. Cornwallis was growing more outraged with every word, she could see it in his face, the set of his shoulders, the way he slowly drew back from her, bringing himself to full height in his seat. He looked as though his head might pop. She continued anyway. She was in Burwell's company for a week. Was reunited with her father when he arrived after escaping Winnsboro. Was told she would be returned to her husband, who may or may not want her back. And now, she was here. At the end of her recitation, she shrugged. Cornwallis was staring at her like she was a new and strange insect he'd never seen before.

"You never had any doubts about me, when we were in the city," she pointed out, still unable to modify her tone or be anything less than insolent. Perhaps it was the pregnancy. Perhaps it was her earlier fear that William was riding her to the Ferguson's to be shed of her. Perhaps it was disgust at herself, for feeling that fear. That desperate need to not be discarded by him, the awful desire to be with him. Perhaps it was all of those things combined.

Or perhaps it was because she was bloody hungry.

She hadn't eaten for hours and she was damned well starving. Her eyes flicked toward a far table, upon which was heaped platters and tureens of corn cakes and casseroles and soups and… Her mouth began to salivate, she swallowed and pulled her gaze away.

"You quite liked me then, if I recall," she continued. "It was not until my cousin was revealed to have been spying on Brownlow and Dalton, that you decided we were all of the same ilk. Because of course, if my uncle is, and my aunt is, and my cousin is. And if my brother is a soldier for the rebels and my father - well, he joined later, but still. If they are all rebels and active ones at that, then I must be as well. I suppose it makes sense, when you come down to it. It stands to reason you'd suspect me. Everything you knew about me was thrown into question. But I shall tell you, here and now, while looking you straight in the eye, that you are wrong."

Cornwallis continued to stare at her, his lips pressed tight, his fingers curled around the arms of his chair.

"Fool girl that I was, I loved William. Almost from the first moment I laid eyes on him. Gods, he has this way about him. How he could charm a complete stranger and make her love him within moments…" She shook her head, realising only when it was too late that she had begun to cry. She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, angry with herself. "This is what it comes down to, Sir. If I am guilty of what you've accused, you are going to have to hang, or flog and or imprison, the wife of one of your high ranking Officers. Do you truly believe my guilt strongly enough for that?"

He lifted his chin, his eyes had been fixed on hers, weighing, judging. He'd barely blinked since she began.

"I shall admit that in the city, I did repeat things William and Colonel Tarleton told me back to my uncle," she continued. "But I didn't know he was some grand spy master. He said he was worried about us living in the city and anything I repeated to him would help him to feel safe. Or to at least know if the hammer was about to fall on him. And so I did. I told him what I was told. I didn't know I was betraying the Crown or William or…" She shook her head. "I understand how it looks to you, with my father being who he is and now that there is a rift between my husband and Colonel Tarleton with me at the heart of it. But the truth is, those two were already drifting apart. I think even before they met me, they were. There was resentment between them and a competitive streak that was growing too strong for their friendship. And they were vying for me from the start. Oh, I don't mean to give myself airs, I know I was just a pawn in their silly game, the stakes being fifty pounds given to the victor who bedded me. Do you know of the wager they made?"

Cornwallis drew a shuddering breath, his face blotched red. "Yes." He said and she heard the full weight of his disappointment behind that one word.

"They embarked on quite a ruthless campaign, neither caring how it would effect me, all their courting and me being so innocent and stupid back then, I got thoroughly caught up in the romance of it. With William, anyway. Not that he cared. He was ready to seduce me and discard me. They both were. However, somewhere along the line, they fell in love with me. What goes around comes around, I suppose. Some divinity must have been looking down at them with disapproval of yet another attempt to vie for the affections of a woman for the sole purpose of one of them being a victor and fifty pounds wealthier," she paused, cocked her head, the added, "that's my way of telling you that I wasn't the first."

"I see. I hadn't known," Cornwallis replied gravely.

"Well, you do now. And that divinity perhaps thought 'oh well, I shall teach you both a lesson then.' Perhaps it was Cupid? For the punishment for their actions was that they both fell in love with me. But I was punished too, so perhaps it wasn't Cupid, perhaps it was the devil, drawn to William and Banastre's mischief, like the moth to the flame, and deciding to up the ante. For me, I fell in love with William the first day I met him," her eyes welling, she stared past Cornwallis at a fixed point beyond his head. "He would have won," she whispered. "I would have given myself to him. I would have bedded him. But he wasn't going to marry me, and I hadn't lost myself so much that I would let him seduce me, knowing that he wasn't going to marry me. No, William - even after realising he loved me - had no intention of marrying me; he wanted me as his mistress only. Because he had some other silly fool back in England with a fortune that he was engaged too. That only changed when he realised I came with a fortune too. Can't you see what I'm saying? You say that my father and I somehow made William marry me so I could spy on him? Gods, I loved William, and he loved me. And even then, I could not secure him, not until he realised that I came with a fortune of my own. Only then did his mind turn. It's not as though I crooked my finger and he came running to the alter and I stood there laughing because my father and I go what we wanted," she paused only to draw breath. "I had nothing to entice William to matrimony until he discovered my wealth. And as for my father - he was all the way at Fresh Water, fending off Burwell's constant attempts to get him to join the Continentals. He wasn't even in the army, when I - no, wait," she paused, thinking over her recent past. Somewhere along the line, she'd lost her insolent tone and was speaking in a more conversational voice. "Yes, he was, he had just joined the army, when I married William. The day before, if memory serves. And no, before you accuse him, he is not like my uncle. He was not spying. He did not try to encourage me to keep company with William in order to spy on them. He tore strips off my uncle, for doing precisely that -"

"Mr. Putman pushed you into Colonel Tavington's company to spy on him?" Cornwallis asked, to get clarification, he was finding it a little difficult keeping track - this was more a bombardment than a conversation.

"Yes, but as I explained before, I did not know he was a spy at the time, nor did I realise that the information I was repeating was being used by spies and passed along to Burwell, I will swear to that on my own life. But yes, Uncle Mark let all of it happen, William and Banastre's courting of me. Even Ensign Watson. My uncle threw me in with them as often as he could, not realising that I was falling in love with William. When my father found out… Well, he was livid that my uncle used me so. As for my father, he was all the way to Fresh Water and hadn't even met William. How could he have anticipated that William would, at some point, decide he wanted to marry me? And if that was his design - to have his daughter marry a British Officer in order to gain intelligence and cause rifts between Commandants, why would he refuse Banastre, when Banastre asked his blessing for precisely that? If my father wanted to use me in some plot to drive a wedge between the Colonel's?"

"Colonel Tarleton asked your father for your hand?" Cornwallis asked, looking surprised.

"Yes. And he was refused. Why would he refuse Banastre and wait for William, who he could not be certain of? If there was a plot, he would have seized on the opportunity and left nothing to chance. It would have worked just as well with Banastre as with William," she saw that Cornwallis had become thoughtful. She said earnestly, "but my father would never use me like that," she spread her hands wide. "To actually put me into the bed of someone he despised, and even worse - to marry me off to one of them? I am his daughter, Sir,"she said firmly. "Father wanted me to marry General Burwell. Absolutely, unequivocally, that was his intention. When that did not come to pass, he engaged me to Mr. George Howard who was absolutely, unequivocally, a Patriot -"

"Was?"

"Was," Beth confirmed. "He and his father were supplying the rebels. When Colonel Tarleton found out, he sought the Howard's out. He never did find Peter Howard but his son, George, was hanged."

"Tarleton hanged your fiancé?" Cornwallis leaned back in his chair, astonished.

"He didn't know he was my fiancé and he didn't hang him because he was my fiancé. It was just… Coincidence. Happenstance. I don't know. But yes, Tarleton hanged George. First, Burwell abandons me because he heard about William and I in…" she trailed off, gnawed at her cheek, her face warmed with embarrassment. "You know about that, I'm sure? At the Simms ball?"

"I do know," Cornwallis said.

"Burwell ended my engagement, because of that. My father blames me, and rightly so. But he also blames William. And then Tarleton hangs George Howard, removing from me the possibility of redeeming myself in my father's eyes with a Patriot boy of my father's choosing. Honestly, my Lord, do you truly imagine my father would want me to marry either of them, after all that?"

"No, I don't suppose he would," Cornwallis said.

"If it's true?" Beth asked, anticipating what Cornwallis left unsaid. "You don't suppose he would, if what I've said is true? Everything I have told you can be easily verified I am sure. Talk to Tarleton, I'm sure he'll tell you about hanging George and my father refusing him my hand. My father refused William also, by not answering the letters Sir Clinton sent, suggesting the match -"

"Hmm," Cornwallis interrupted, musing. He frowned, for he'd quite forgotten this. "I suppose if it was your father's design to marry you to a British soldier for the purpose of spying on us, he would not have ignored that opportunity."

"That's right," Beth gasped, realising it was so. Clinton had written several letters to her father, putting William forward as a suitor for Beth, for marriage. Her father had ignored them, one and all. "Plus, I was already engaged to Burwell, and then to George Howard! Honestly, at what point did my father suddenly decide to marry me to William, instead? To spy on him and wreak havoc…"

Cornwallis was nodding and Beth couldn't help but feel elated. And bloody relieved.

"I nearly lost him the day I married William. My father, that is," she said softly, remembering. "When Major Bordon captured my father and bought him to Fresh Water. He was so angry with me, so disgusted."

"How do things stand between you now?" He asked.

He believes me. Beth collapsed into the chair back, the relief was overwhelming. "I think we've a long road ahead of us, but maybe one day he'll forgive me." She paused, then said, "not for marrying William - I think he accepted that a long time ago. I mean, for…" She lowered her eyes. "For leaving with Tarleton," she whispered. She gave herself a shake, recoiling from that line of conversation. "Back at Fresh Water though, when he just found out that I'd married William, initially he was going to disown me. I think he was, anyway. I waited for the hammer to fall, for him to tell me that he was through with me." Tears shone in her eyes, making her pupils appear as though they were floating in water. "And he might well have done, until my brothers and sisters spoke for me. And he recalled how much he does love me. And -" He discovered that Aunt Charlotte had fooled about with Bordon… With neither Gabriel or Thomas to take up the reins of the family, there had only been Beth. "Plus he needed me to look after the little ones, for there was no one else," she laughed softly, then sobered. "I regret - most heartily, I do - that William and Banastre are so set against one another now. I played a very large part in that, I will not deny it, I most certainly am not innocent there. But I did nothing on purpose. I had no long reaching design to have two of your Commanders at one another's throat in order to cause chaos in your upper ranks. That was just… an unhappy result of all our folly - theirs included."

Cornwallis drew in a long, shuddering breath. It was difficult to let go his suspicions when he'd been entertaining them for so long. It was even more difficult to admit he was wrong. But even he could not deny it, the girl spoke sense. O'Hara had said as much, even Tavington had. But Cornwallis had been all too ready to believe the entire family were traitors, from the moment Major Bordon revealed Miss Putman's guilt. And they were, even Mrs. Tavington's father - Cornwallis was not wrong, was he? He did have to concede, however, that Mrs. Tavington was far less guilty than he'd assumed her to be.

"Very well, I shall admit that what you have told me rings with greater truth than my suspicions," he said, inclining his head. His voice was smoother now, no longer crisp and angry. "Can you please tell me what happened, then? Why did you leave your husband for Tarleton?"

Beth lowered her eyes to her hands. "It's highly personal, my Lord."

"Two of my pivotal Commandants are at odds, because of you. You have convinced me that this was not an intentional design on your part or your father's. But they are at odds, Mrs. Tavington, and I wish to know why. I can not help them to repair the damage, until I know the full extent of it, and the reasons behind it. I need you to tell me - why did you marry one, only to take up with the other? If I have any hope of reconciling them, I need to know what happened."

"I doubt there is any hope of that," Beth shook her head.

"You will tell me, Mrs. Tavington," his voice was iron again.

Beth dropped her head back on her neck and stared up at the ceiling, trying to draw strength from… something. Anything. Gods, to go over it all again… She heaved a breath, straightened her spine, gave herself a shake, and began. "Back in the city, William had a mistress. Linda Stokes, was her name. When we married, I learned that he had bought her along with him, to continue their affair. The discovery was, cataclysmic for us. I demanded that…" And on she went, explaining all of it to this gentleman, a nobleman of high standing, a Lord - and as such, only one step down from Royalty. The story of his inferiors behaving inferior unfolded, from Beth learning that Linda was still in camp, Linda's pregnancy and her awful trick, Beth's fury. William strapping Beth, though she kept back the reason why. Gods, what she was revealing was damning enough, without informing this Lordling that she had lost her virginity to Banastre before marrying William. Perhaps William would tell him… But Beth would not. She continued, told him of leaving Fresh Water and the months of travelling with Banastre, her lover. He asked why she left Banastre, and although Beth had already told him, she did so again. Without the insolence. William had never been unfaithful, Banastre had known this almost from the start, and had not told her. Banastre's taking Shadow Dancer and leaving her for dead at the battle. The money - her fortnightly stipend - that she never received. "One hundred and eighty pounds, he stole from me," she said finally as she stared at her hands. In truth, this was the smallest of Banastre's offences. "What goes around comes around, I suppose. Even to me."

Lord Cornwallis spoke of this for some time, pulling answers out of Beth until she felt as wrung as a dish rag. And then he squeezed her for more. Her time with Burwell, every single thing she could tell him, everything that was said. Of Burwell's situation. How many men - soldiers and militia. Their morale. Their strength in arms and ammunition. Their intentions. Her father's. She was made to tell him ever detail she knew, of his escape from Winnsboro. She told of his fallout with Burwell, the reason behind it and when asked, told of his current position in the army. A Colonel still, but outside of Burwell's command. He was leading only militia now, a nearly one thousand strong group that would soon be heading back down into South Carolina.

"In truth," she said now, "I don't know how much I can believe of that. My father told me I was to tell William everything I knew - after being unfaithful to my husband with another man, I was to be utterly faithful to William in my allegiance. To not hold back out of some misguided attempt to protect him and my brothers, for they have made their choice and I made mine by marrying William. They would look after themselves, he said. He told me to tell William everything. And I have - well, that is, I've told it all to you and I suppose I will tell William, when he decides he can stand to be near me for long enough to hear it all," she sighed. "Anyway, I worry now that my father has misdirected me. I tell you that he's dropping down into South Carolina, because he instructed me to be honest with my husband, and that is what he told me."

"But it could be misdirection, as you said," Cornwallis agreed. "He might be staying on, a one thousand strong militia force waiting in the wings, that I'm supposed to believe is heading miles away from here."

"Just… keep your guard up, is all I'm saying," she shrugged. "And have O'Hara change his cipher. I know he will do that and not because I said so, but my father telling me that both have been destroyed might be misdirection too. They might hope that if I tell O'Hara that, then O'Hara will continue to use the same cipher, thinking the forgery destroyed. That way, they can continue to use the forgery."

"Indeed," Cornwallis nodded. "Tell me what you can about Farshaw. His spying. And Major Fallows."

"Oh, God, I don't want to talk about Farshaw and Major Fallows," Beth groaned. "I'm already going hoarse from all this talking, please don't make me talk about them."

Cornwallis gestured and one of his silent aides hovering against a fall wall came forward with a bottle. He poured wine for His Lordship and for Beth, then receded to his previous position of silent sentry out of hearing distance.

"Do you know if they were… committing…?" Cornwallis' lips twisted.

"You're going to insist, I take it? Gods. Yes, they were committing sodomy," she said and she wondered if her face was as pale as Cornwallis'. What I know is second and even third hand, and much of it was pieced together by my father, then told to me by my brothers. I know that they were definitely… having relations," her voice dropped to a whisper. "Because Farshaw told my uncle Mark that he was repeatedly raped by Fallows."

"Raped!" Cornwallis repeated, astounded. He shifted with discomfort at speaking of such things with a woman - not just of sodomy, but of rape. "He accused Fallows of…"

"Forcing him," Beth finished. "But my father doesn't believe it."

"Why not?"

"I don't rightly know," Beth admitted, cocking her head to one side. "It's the conclusion he drew to, I guess."

"What did Farshaw tell him about fleeing the Ferguson Plantation after killing Fallows, when he first joined with them? With the rebels?"

"Again, it's second and third hand. From my younger brothers - chiefly Thomas, who was in my father's company when some of the conversations were taking place. According to Thomas and Nathan, Farshaw had been spying for some time. As Fallows' clerk, he was in the perfect position to do so. He copied all of the messages and letters that crossed Fallows' desk and he repeated all overheard conversations to his fellow spies in the British Legion -"

"And they are?" Cornwallis leaned forward, pinning her with his gaze.

"They're names weren't told to me," Beth replied. "I'm not even sure Thomas knows who the two spies are, to be honest. They try to be very careful with that sort of information. Doubly so with me, considering I revealed to William the ones I did know of, and they ended up being hanged." Her gut twisted with guilt as it always did when she thought of Trellim, Banksia and the others.

"Very well. Continue," he waved his hand.

"Farshaw forged O'Hara's seal and cipher, and Fallows' seal as well. He practiced their hand, in order to write letters that would have O'Hara and Fallows' themselves believing they wrote them. Later, when my uncle arrived, he made contact with the spies at Fresh Water in order to reestablish his network of eyes and ears -"

"Mrs. Bordon," Cornwallis ground out, a red flush flooding across his face.

Beth drew in a sharp gasp, her eyes bulged. "No, no, no, no." The words tumbling out faster than a man can clap. "Not Cilla, she wasn't involved -"

"How can you possibly know she wasn't? You've been gone for months!" Cornwallis snapped. "And as you said, they're careful with that sort of information, especially around you! Frankly, you have no idea if she did or did not, but as it was her father who recruited her to begin with, and as it was her father who took command of the spies at Fresh Water upon his return, I have no doubt at all that she became involved!"

The colour drained from her face, she was a hair away from falling to her knees and begging. She hadn't extracted herself out of this situation only to dump Cilla into it!

"You thought the same of me," she breathed. "And you were wrong. You admitted you were wrong. You're wrong again now, my Lord -"

"Gods, you can think on your feet, I'll give you that," Cornwallis said, voice lashing like a whip. Beth leaned back from him, dread in her stomach. "I will speak with Mrs. Bordon alone, I will question her as to her in person, as to her guilt or innocence," he spat the word, showing it pure contempt. "Continue."

"Continue with what?" Beth rasped out, unsure where he wanted her to pick up. The wine soured in her stomach, she felt like vomiting. "I don't -"

"Farshaw. I will not discuss Mrs. Bordon with you. Continue with Farshaw. He practices O'Hara and Fallows hand in order to forge it. He had copies of the seal and cipher. He was reporting to your uncle. Then? What happened the day he murdered Fallows, did they discuss it with you?"

It took a few moments before Beth could resume speaking, and a few more before she could speak with strength.

"Yes," she said softly, her troubled mind barely able to focus beyond Cilla. "The day Farshaw killed Fallows. Right. Yes. My brother Thomas told me that when Farshaw showed up, he told my father and my uncle that he had been discovered to be a spy."

"Did he tell them he committed murder?"

"Yes. Thomas said Farshaw admitted to killing Fallows, he told my father and uncle that he was working on O'Hara's seal when Fallows' knocked on his door. He was unable to pretend that he wasn't in the room, for he'd been coughing before the knock came. Farshaw claimed that he shoved his work into a drawer but then couldn't find the key to lock it. He decided that the risk of Fallows going into the drawer was small. Fallows was waiting and Farshaw could stall no longer. He opened the door. They spoke. Fallows said something about wanting tobacco and did Farshaw have any? Next thing, he - Fallows - was opening the very drawer Farshaw had hidden the evidence of his spying. Fallows was going to have him arrested, so Farshaw picked up the knife that was on the desk and stabbed Fallows repeatedly in the neck. Then he sat down and wrote a pass - he'd been practicing Fallows' hand?" Cornwallis nodded. "He forged the pass in Fallows' writing, used Fallows' seal, packed his belongings and walked out."

"That's how he got the pass!" Cornwallis gasped, understanding how Farshaw had managed to escape now. At least one question had been answered in all this. Beth continued, telling Cornwallis of Calvin searching for and finding her father and uncle. Of her father's decision to use Calvin as bait in order to capture William, who had been sent out to search for Farshaw. Of William calling Calvin a sodomite, and of William telling Benjamin the truth of how Fallows' body had been found.

"That they were having relations was certain," Beth said, her face blazing crimson again. "My brother said that William told our father that Calvin had thrown in with Fallows for protection, because he knew that too many of William's men - including William, Bordon and Captain Wilkins - bore him nothing but ill will."

"Ahh, yes, Farshaw's affair with Mrs. Wilkins," Cornwallis paused, then wondered if perhaps Farshaw had spoken truthfully with this claim that Fallows had forced himself upon him? Then again… according to O'Hara, Fallows had been the receiver in this instance, not the giver. And the oils had been in Farshaw's drawers. That sounded more like an equal participant, than one being hunted. "Perhaps Farshaw mingled a little truth into this story he told to Mr. Martin and Mr. Putman?" Such as, Fallows opening the drawer and finding evidence of Farshaw's spying. But instead of it being tobacco, perhaps it was the oils that he was looking for. Cornwallis shuddered, considering the implications. "To ward off the Green Dragoons from having their retribution, he turned to Fallows for protection. And Fallows' price, was…"

"Can we please stop speaking about this?" Beth whispered. "I don't think there's anything more to be told, I truly don't."

"We know that Fallows was… what he was," Cornwallis said. "For we've questioned those he has put forward for promotion. There have been many, but only two remained within O'Hara's battalion. They are no longer with His Majesties army," he curled his lip with distaste, "but before they were asked to retire, they made it clear to us that Fallows was… well, what he was, and that they were of the same… persuasion. That he did not force any of them. He used his position to help them to climb, but he did not abuse his authority to make them comply, he did not force himself on them."

"Then I doubt he did with Farshaw either," Beth said, voice strangled. She did not want to be speaking about this! "Farshaw was very good at mingling truth with a whole lot of lies. I'd say what you proposed is far more likely than what he convinced my uncle happened. Now, please, Sir…"

"Very well," he raised one hand, he would continue no more. "It is as distasteful for me, as it is for you. Do you know where Farshaw is now?"

"With my uncle. When Uncle Mark killed Ensign Dalton and his unit of Dragoons, he was in mutiny. My brother Gabriel tried to stop it from happening but my uncle roused some of the militia to his side. When the Dragoons were killed, they split away from the rest of the unit. Thomas was sent to search for him in order to get the seal and cipher back, in order to free my father," she buried her face in her glass, embarrassed to be speaking of this before the General, whose face had flared with fury again. She rushed on. "Thomas discovered that they were staying at Mr. Singleton's Plantation, though I do not know where that is. If you do go in search of it, please don't harm my brother and sisters. They're innocents."

"I am not in the habit of harming children, Mrs. Tavington," Lord Cornwallis said stiffly.

"What of women?" She asked softly and he lifted his chin, eyes narrowing.

"I told you, Mrs. Bordon will be questioned. Beyond that, I shall discuss it with you no further."

Beth chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering if she should push him. It could cause more harm than good, and could land her in trouble again, when she'd only just dragged herself out of it. Still, she was in the chamber with him, right at that very moment, when would she get another chance to speak for her cousin?

"Mrs. Bordon is grieving her mother, who recently died in childbed," she said all in a rush, fearing he would stop her and prevent her from speaking further. "Please. Mrs. Bordon only found out today. She is going through so much -"

"You have said your piece, Mrs. Tavington. I will discuss it with her, as I have discussed my concerns over your allegiance, with you," he said, voice lashing like a whip. He stared at her so long that she feared he was still suspicious of her. She began to squirm. "The information you gave me regarding your circumstances has given me a perspective that I did not have before. I am no longer of the position that you committed treason. It was a series of circumstances, not design, which led to this wedge between Tarleton and Tavington. They are as much to blame as you. With your explanation, I can see the holes in my reasoning and I do agree with you that it was my distrust of your family that made me so ready to believe it of you, as well."

"As the saying goes, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," she said softly. Her family were in rebellion and even Beth had committed treason, several times over. "I will admit to being conflicted, quite a few times," she said, and that was as close as she would come to admitting she'd actually passed information deliberately. "My father knows this, and he knew you had become suspicious of me, which is why he instructed me to be utterly honest with my…" she trailed off.

"Your husband?" Cornwallis arched an eyebrow, as if asking 'is that really such a hard thing to do?'.

Beth lowered her eyes.

"Speaking of which," Cornwallis began. "While I concede that you are not guilty of espionage, you are hardly innocent. Now that you have returned, I must insist that you behave according to your station. That you uphold a moral standing higher than what you have shown thus far. I will suffer no more foolishness from you, what you have done thus far has already had a devastating effect on my men. I need for Colonel Tavington and Colonel Tarleton to have their wits about them, and you have been nothing but a distraction. I want them able to work together again, as they have done so well in the past. The effect you have had on them is devastating, I barely know them now, they are entirely changed since they met you, and not for the better."

"Funny, my father observed the same about the changes in me, since the day I met them," she said bitterly. "My father barely knows me of late, as well. The difference between he and you is, he blames them more than he blames me. I was an innocent. Maybe I am not that now, but back then, I was. They were the older. They were the wiser. They are the so-called gentlemen," she emphasised with scorn. "The way I see it, we each played a quite equal part in our downfall. While I'm deserving of your lecture, I'm not the only one who has earned it."

"Yes," Cornwallis agreed. "They certainly have and they have already received the admonishment from me that you have done."

"Oh," Beth slumped, she hadn't realised that. She'd thought Cornwallis was trying to blame her for everything that had gone wrong between his two Colonel's when in truth, he was just giving her her portion of the reprimand.

"I will be discussing it with them both again, however, now that I know the full extent of it. Tavington has done much to earn my ire of late, but learning of his pursuit of you, his determination to have you without a thought given to marriage…" Cornwallis twisted his lips. "Yes, I believe another conversation shall be had forthwith, with Tarleton also. I will suffer no more of these chases, these competitions, where a young girl's maidenhead is the prize."

"And fifty pounds," Beth added and Cornwallis nodded sharply. "What has he done that earned your ire?"

"The birching of Mrs. Wilkins," Cornwallis said.

"Oh, yes," Beth sighed. "I begged him not to do it, he wouldn't listen…"

"Well, he should have," Cornwallis snapped, voice waspish. "The trouble it has caused me with Mr. Simms! I shall suffer no more of his abuses."

He gestured to his sentry and the fellow came forward. "Inform Colonel Tavington that he may return." The fellow stepped out the door for a moment, then returned with William. The General gestured, William took a seat beside Beth, then Cornwallis began to speak and William's face turned to stone.

He bore it well, William did, his face a stoic mask, Beth could barely see his jaw working. As Cornwallis continued a tirade about William's poor use of women of the Colonial Gentry, from the birching of Emily Wilkins to his corruption of Beth. Cornwallis continued, spluttering outrage over a variety of ill conceived decisions from William, that have led to complaints and disaster. Beth began to disengage herself from Cornwallis' voice, her thoughts lingering instead on Cilla, and the trouble she was now in. But even her desperate worry gave way as she began gazing at the table with its heavy load. The smells were getting to her, she hadn't eaten for hours and hours, and being pregnant, she felt faint and sick when she did not have frequent victuals. Her mouth began to salivate and her stomach began to growl.

"…hungry, Mrs. Tavington?" Cornwallis asked, snapping her attention to him again.

"Pardon, my Lord?" Her eyes flew from the food to his face.

"I asked you if you are hungry?" Cornwallis repeated.

"I…" It would be impolite to answer that yes, she indeed was hungry, for then he would be forced to extend an invitation for her to dine - which would have to be extended to William as well, for he was her husband - and she doubted Cornwallis wanted to entertain either one of them. Her stomach betrayed her, it growled so loudly, it was as though it were screaming yes.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Oh, ah… we broke camp before dawn," she said. "And we had the last of our food, and then I came to the Legion, and I sent my maid away so that I could tell Mrs. Bordon the bad news about her mother - I told you she died, didn't I? And I only told Mrs. Bordon today?"

"When did you eat, Mrs. Tavington?" He asked, voice crisp. He was not going to be moved to sympathy for Cilla, that much was clear.

"Not since I broke camp with my father, my Lord," she replied. Cornwallis looked outraged. "Well, like I said, I sent my maid away. And then I fell asleep in the carriage. And the next thing I knew, William was bringing me here and…" she shrugged. Cornwallis turned his withering glare on William.

"Did it not occur to you, Sir, to feed your damned wife?" The Lord General shouted. William drew a sharp breath.

"No, it did not," William admitted. "Her father's escape from Winnsboro took precedence over all else."

"It is three o'clock in the afternoon! She hasn't eaten for eight hours, I can hear her stomach rumbling! Go and sit down, the both of you!"

"I don't like to impose," Beth said, though her heart leapt with relief and her stomach growled in gratitude.

"No doubt," Cornwallis began, struggling to gain some control over his voice, "those who were to dine with me, will welcome your presence. Many of them know you and have often asked of you these last months. This," he said, pointing a sharp finger at them both, "will be your first public engagement in months. O'Hara has gone to great lengths to let it be known that there is no discord between you." His look took them both in, when he continued. "This is an excellent opportunity for you both to make sure they believe it!"

Beth reluctantly met William's gaze, his was hard and thunderous, hers was reluctant and disinterested. In the end, she shrugged.

At least there was going to be food.


	146. Chapter 146 - Overwhelming Proof

Chapter 146 - Overwhelming Proof:

How do you sit next to the man you love, the man you wronged, the man you know could never possibly forgive you, and pretend everything is perfectly fine? How do you sit there, when every time he turns his false smile upon you, your soul shatters that little bit more?

Beth knew that the Generals wouldn't suspect there was anything more behind William's smile than the love and adoration he was pretending to project. Or was that anything less? For there certainly was nothing more behind the smile. It was an empty thing, as soulless as Beth was beginning to feel. She could see it, even if they could not. She knew him, where they did not. His arm across the back of her chair, not quite touching her but giving the impression that he had his arm around her shoulders. His body angled toward her. And that smile. It made her want to weep, to howl, to sob - seeing that empty thing that did not reach his eyes. She knew what it felt like to be smiled at by him - and this, this thing he was doing now - it was a sick parody. How could the Generals not see that? How could they look at them, and think they were happy?

They did, though, these Generals. Laughing and talking and toasting the couple on the sixth month of their marriage, one was now poking fun, jabbing his comrade while jutting his chin at Tavington and asking when they can expect the pitter patter of little feet running about? They giggled like girls, those two Generals. Beth pulled her cape tighter over her stomach, to hide the bulge there.

She wasn't wearing the cape now, that would be far too odd, to sit there with that around her shoulders - men didn't wear their great cloaks to dinner now, did they? No. She'd removed her cape, carefully while no one was looking, and then draped it across her stomach. An oddity still, but a lesser one, at least this way she could pretend she was feeling cold, and she got away with it. None of them saw her pregnancy.

Of course, if they had, they would assume the father was William, so in truth, she didn't really have to hide it. But she feared that that would be the straw that broke the camels back; his loving facade would snap like a twig, if he had to endure congratulations for a child he did not believe was his.

Better to hide it completely, than risk that.

She'd eaten her fill, her stomach was relieved, she set her fork down and sat back with a sigh. However, now that she no longer had her gnawing hunger to keep her mind off her troubles, her mind filled with the question.

How do you sit next to the man you love, the man you wronged, the man you know could never possibly forgive you, and pretend everything is perfectly fine? She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Stinging," she explained to the General seated beside her, giving him a smile as false as William's and praying that her voice didn't catch. "My eyes are. Must be the candles."

Talk continued around her, it included her, demanding she respond, to contribute. She did so, forcing a laugh when it was needed, feigning intensive interest as the situation required. And when William spoke - Gods, when he spoke… that low, deep, drawl, the voice she hadn't heard in months and missed so dreadfully, when he spoke… it was like her soul was singing, while being stabbed by William's sabre. His voice had her in a state of both joy and misery.

She wiped her eyes again.

Beth had answered all their questions. Yes, her sister was well now, much better, thank you. Yes, it had been quite harrowing, becoming separated from Tarleton's Legion, when Tarleton was meant to be escorting her to her husband after taking her previous escort - her father - prisoner. Thank you General O'Hara, for that quick thinking. She'd been told of this before the other Generals came to dine, she'd been instructed in what to say and she felt she'd done a good job of it so far, herself. But she could feel William's eyes on her, narrowed as much he would dare, the slight crinkling around the edges, the disapproval that only she could discern. She was doing the best she could, what more did he want? Or perhaps it was the mention of Tarleton's name that had him tensing up beside her.

Yes, she had said, she was awfully scared, but wouldn't you know it, with her father being who he is, she has friends among the rebels! None of them would wish for Colonel Benjamin Martin's daughter to be harmed, even if she was now married to William who - yes, of course!, she was absolutely delighted to be reunited with. Another stupid, false smile and a soft laugh. Gazing up at William hurt her soul but she did it, before shifting back to the Generals and continuing her tale. When she was confronted by rebels, all she had to do was tell them she was formerly Miss Martin and just like that, she was safe again. Not where she wanted to be, of course - that was with her husband. But she was safe. And where was she taken? To her brothers, she said. And was eventually rejoined by her father, who, she knew, the British Generals must be quite wroth with, for his escape from Winnsboro, but she had been well pleased to see him, just the same. Understandable, understandable, the Generals said gravely, while sharing dark and disappointed glances that their quarry had escaped. And on so they went, the conversation shifting to other topics when hers was entirely exhausted. Cornwallis and O'Hara were watching and listening, she was aware of them constantly, weighing and judging, finally relaxing as the Generals appeared appeased by hers and William's performance. There was no further mention of Tarleton, no suspicious stares, no one hinting shrewdly of the truths William and Beth were trying to conceal. All in all, it was proving to be a success.

Beth couldn't wait to leave.

* * *

"We're leaving," William said, voice blunt. "Are you ready?"

Dinner was over, Beth had been allowed a chamber to lie down for a bit, after pleading exhaustion. Cornwallis, knowing the rigours she'd been put to (without knowing of the pregnancy) had her shown to a chamber where she could lie down, while the Generals and William began a council of war. There was no need for her to remain for two hours of tedious talk regarding the war.

That meeting was over now, and William had come for her.

She pushed herself up on the chaise and sat for a bit, trying to get her bearings and rid herself of the grogginess. Then she reached for her cape and began to pull around her shoulders again.

"Yes, hide the baby," William said snidely. "Did you and your father truly believe you would be able to pass it off as mine?"

Beth said nothing, she'd known he would confront her eventually and it seemed now was to be the time. He'd likely been pushed and provoked too much during the meal, where he'd been forced to feign a perfect marriage, that he couldn't keep his frustrations in any longer. "I'm not trying anything of the sort," she said finally, tiredly. "It's yours. You not believing it or not will not change that."

He curled his lip; she could see he was still spoiling for a fight. "You thought I was going to take your father up on his offer, didn't you? Earlier this afternoon? You didn't know I was bringing you here, you thought I was going to take you to the Ferguson's."

She didn't like his tone; both provoking and contemptuous. It spread fire across her stomach. She met his eyes. "No," she lied, for she had indeed assumed he was taking her to the Ferguson's. "I was only hoping it."

His face shifted from contemptuous to astonished.

"You were hoping it," he said flatly.

"When I left him, do you honestly think I was coming here, to you? I wasn't. I was going to Gullah, to be with my Aunt Charlotte and my sisters in truth, and I'd likely be there by now if I hadn't been waylaid by Burwell's men."

"Is that right," he drawled down at her, his top lip curving into a sneer.

"Yes, William, it is," she said, for it was the plain truth. "That changed only at my father's insistence, otherwise I'd be in Gullah, right now, as we speak. You think claiming the child is yours is my father's and my attempt to have you take me back? I didn't want to come back here, to you. For what? More of your belt? Your awful comments every month when I couldn't conceive? Luckily I won't have to suffer any more of that," she laid a hand over her stomach. "No, now I'll just have to suffer your constant denials, your insistence that it's not yours. Do you think I wanted to come back for all of that? For more of your lies? My soul is laid bare now, I revealed to you the truth I was hiding. But you? I had to learn through Banastre that you were still fucking that whore, that you were bringing her to Fresh Water, that you intended to continue an affair with her after we were married. You didn't tell me any of that, did you? Oh and yes, there's your bastards, I learned about them through him too. And now you have a third one on the way. Four, if Vera Tisdale's child is yours. Do you honestly believe I wanted to come back to all of that? So much so, that I would collude with my father in some stupid attempt at making you believe this child is yours? To ensure you won't send me away. Dear Lord, you're deluded. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here!"

Oh yes, that's just wonderful. Let your mouth run away again, that'll save your marriage. She was powerless to stop herself, however. In some perverse way, Beth enjoyed seeing the contemptuous smirk wiped from William's face, enjoyed seeing it replaced with the realisation that she didn't choose to return.

"Then why the devil are you here?" William hissed, taking two steps forward to tower over her, blue eyes blazing.

"Because I've made a damned dogs breakfast of my life and yours and my father's and my father told me if I did not at least try to fix this, he was done with me. Forever and always. He would never see me again. And so I am here." She cut short, some of the steam evaporating as she realised that in this, her latest tirade, she was hardly trying to fix things. She sat down on the chaise, confused and exhausted and struck with grief, for she did love William and Gods, why couldn't it just be like it was before? "I'm sorry. I am supposed to be trying to fix things and I am failing at that," she said quietly. "Whether you send me away or keep me, I want you to know that I'm sorry. For leaving with him. For not listening to you. For… for not telling you the truth before we married. I should have," she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He was silent as the grave, tense as a drawn bow string. But he was listening. How he was taking what she was saying, she did not know; he was giving nothing away. But he was listening, and he might not listen again, so she continued, doing what she could now. "I am sorry, for not telling you when we found each other in Pembroke that day. I am sorry I married you without revealing it - please believe me, I wanted to. I am sorry for not revealing it later, when Reverend Fuller performed the ceremony a second time, making our marriage properly binding." She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. "I am sorry, for not waiting for you. I wanted it to be with you, I wanted you to be my first and only."

Silence reigned, until William turned on his heel and strode toward the door. Beth sighed, closing her eyes.

"I would prefer we try to find away to be together - " she began, but was interrupted quite harshly when he whirled back to her.

"Because you fear your father will spurn you!" He snapped.

"No," she said, shaking her head, opening her eyes. "He won't, not now. I've done what he asked, therefore, even if you send me away, I will always find sanctuary in his household." She noticed his look became grim, eyes narrowed, wrinkled at the edges. Outward signs of disapproval, frustration, anger. But she had no idea what he was thinking. "I would like to try, because I still love you."

There, she'd said it. But Gods, would he take this as begging? 'If you begged on bended knees, I will not take you back', he'd said. 'I'll never beg,' she'd replied. Would he construe what she'd just said now as begging?

Was she so filled with pride, that she would baulk and take back her words, lest they be perceived as begging? Shouldn't she be doing all she could to salvage their marriage?

Shouldn't he be trying, also?

Heaven above, her marriage was a battlefield. But how was she going to procure peace between them, when she was her very own war?

"We have choices," she said. "Thanks to my father. I think he actually likes you now. We can do as he wishes, and try to find some peace between us, try to find a way to be together. Perhaps even properly, not just outwardly for the sake of fooling others. Or you can send me away, but that will mean the end of us. Perhaps that is what you would prefer, for us to end - Gabriel told me you had no intentions of having me with you. If that is how you feel, then send me to the Ferguson's, and free us both. And when the child is born, you need never deal with either of us, ever again," she said slowly, measuring each word. He stared at her, breathing heavily, face blotched with fury. "I know I did… The worst thing… possible," Beth forced herself to speak with strength, not heartbreak and distress. "You tried to tell me the truth. You were faithful. I would not believe you. I left, with him, and I did the worst thing possible. I had an affair, I ruined myself, I ruined us all. That, I never should have done, and I will regret it to my dying day. But I am telling you the absolute truth, William. This child is yours."

He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer, before turning back to the door. This time, as he stormed out, she did not try to stop him.

* * *

"…And you are now under suspicion, Mrs. Bordon," William's crisp voice was saying as Beth entered the tent. She went immediately to stand in front of Cilla, hands outstretched and reaching for her cousin's.

"I'm so sorry, Cil, it's all my fault. As if you don't have enough to think about just now… I didn't meant to - it's just… My father, before we parted, he told me I was to be honest about everything. Brutally so. So I was. When Cornwallis asked about Farshaw, I told him that he and two others were spying and that when your father arrived, he took charge of them. I never dreamed that Cornwallis would immediately think of you, but he did, because you spied in the city and reported back to your father, so he assumes you would have done it again, when your father took command of Calvin and those others, he assumes that you must be one of the others. I'm sorry, Cilla. I've betrayed you."

"You haven't betrayed me, cousin," Cilla said with a sigh. She exchanged a look with Bordon, who was as still as a statue, his face as white as snow.

"And why is that?" William snapped out the question. "Because you weren't spying, therefore there is nothing to betray? Or have you proven yourself traitorous, yet again?" He asked Cilla directly and she gazed back, back ramrod straight.

"You have to understand, William, things between us weren't as they are now, not back then." Shockingly, it was Richard who answered. "It's much better between us now. But at the beginning, it was bad. You know that. Cilla had no reason to love or be loyal to me. Not as she is now."

"You knew!" William snapped. "And you're telling me that Cornwallis is right - she betrayed us! Again!"

"My wife and I have no secrets between us," Richard replied. "And yes, she did betray us again."

"Gods, Richard! She committed treason, she is guilty!" William spat.

"As is Beth," Richard said and William drew a sharp breath. "I kept your secrets. I helped you to protect the woman you love. I would hope you would extend to me the same courtesy now."

William's jaw was working, Beth could hear his teeth grinding.

"In protecting Beth, you and I both committed treason, William," Richard said, pointing out that they were also guilty of betraying the Crown. Not just that though, he was reminding William of his own sacrifice, in having done so. He could see by the tightness around William's eyes, that the point was made.

"I stopped months ago," Cilla said, as if she hoped that might make a difference. "I have not spied on any of you, since the day Richard bought me back to Fresh Water after I tried to leave him."

Beth shifted, she knew of this already, for her brothers had told her. But she was sure there was plenty more to be told.

"All that time before, from the moment you became Mrs. Bordon, you were spying on us," William ground out, barely able to contain his fury.

"Not from the start," she said. "A month or so after, I think, and it helped to keep me sane," she said. "Or have you forgotten why Richard and I married?"

William's face shifted from outrage to something resembling very real pain. He took a step back and lowered his eyes.

"Did I owe you something back then?" Cilla continued, cocking her head.

"No, you did not," William said softly.

"And I still don't," Cilla said bluntly. "Frankly, William, the scales of who owes what to whom are still very much in my favour." She held his gaze and he breathed out a long, slow breath. "Back then, Richard knew I was a rebel, and so did you. I wasn't loyal to any of you, and you all knew it. I was forced into a situation I had no desire to be in, and being a Patriot, when the opportunity presented itself, you'd best believe I seized it with both hands, you'd be a fool to think otherwise. And I honestly don't think you should be taking me to task for it, considering…"

William's face was well warmed now, the red stretching upward from his neck to his forehead. Beth frowned, feeling very much like she'd missed something.

"Considering what?" Beth asked, looking back and forth between them and she saw William's face grow very still. She was still holding Cilla's hands. "Cil, they know you spied in the city but from the moment you married Richard, it would have been taken for granted that you would not do it ever again." Cilla arched an amused eyebrow. "I just mean that that's what theywould have expected, anyway." Beth continued. "What I'm saying is, I can't understand why you would think William shouldn't take you to task over it."

The silence stretched as Cilla stared at Tavington. Beth had the feeling Cilla was making it stretch, on purpose. There was something happening here that Beth didn't understand, some silent communication between all three of them, that Beth couldn't hear and her suspicion that she was missing some vital information grew. She was about to ask when finally, Cilla turned to Beth. "I just mean that he knew I was a rebel," she shrugged as if to say 'what else could he expect from me?' - "I'd committed treason back in the city, he knew I was a rebel, so why would he think I would stop being one, just because I married Richard?"

"Be that as it may, he'd still be within his right to take you to task over it -" Beth began only for Cilla to speak right over her.

"William was there the day I was made to marry Richard. He knew I didn't want it. The only reason I fully surrendered, was because I realised I'd be at Fresh Water," Cilla squeezed Beth's hands and she smiled, "with you. But then you were gone and everyone was gone, and I had nothing. Then Farshaw came by one day and he told me my father was alive and Gods, what joy," Cilla's eyes brimmed and she struggled to maintain her composure, Beth knew she was thinking of her mother, who she would never see again. "I started straight away, I read Richard's journal, I listened at doors. One time, I went to speak with William, and he left me there in his office. I gained a lot of information that day. And I got word to Farshaw, every chance I could."

"Jesus. Goddamned. Christ," William spat.

"Let her finish, William," Richard said.

"Then, it all got too much," Cilla said softly, her eyes swimming tears. "Not the spying, but Richard. And Harmony. And their expectations of me. Harmony understands now, and she's sorry. But back then, it was horrid, Beth. I couldn't take anymore, I had to leave. So I did. And in the doing, my father killed twenty men, and Dalton died," tears began to slide. "I just… well, I realised I loved Richard and I also realised I… I couldn't do it anymore. Men had already died because of me. My father killed them…" Cilla trailed off.

"You love Richard?" Beth asked and Cilla gazed at her husband with adoration, then nodded. "So you stopped spying? Because you love him and because of what your father did?"

"Yes," Cilla said. "And because I didn't want more death, and I realised that if I continued to send word to my father, more men might die. I told Richard, too. All of it. As he said, we have no secrets between us now. He was livid, of course," she laughed softly, it sounded wet, like a sob. "But he loves me, too." Beth reached up and slid a finger along Cilla's cheek, her cousin leaned into the touch.

"So you both decided to keep it all to yourselves and not tell me," William accused. "What about the two men you reported too?" He shifted his gaze to Richard. "What did you do to them?"

"I… This is the first I've heard about there being two others," Richard shifted his gave to Cilla, who began to gnaw on her bottom lip. Richard approached her, he took her arm, which made her release Beth's hands. He pulled her gently to him, gazed down at her. Beth thought they looked like a giant towering over a child. Cilla didn't look afraid, though. There was no terror, only grief. She began to shake her head. "You have to," Richard said. "Cil, I thought there were no secrets between us. I can't have spies among the men. William will not tolerate it either."

"I can't. Richard, please," Cilla began to sob. She was already at the ragged edge with learning her mother was gone, she could not bring herself to condemn the two spies she'd been colluding with. "I stopped because I didn't want more death. If I tell you, there'll be more death. I can't… Please..."

Cilla couldn't do it. And Beth understood why. It wasn't only because she knew that her words would condemn two men to execution. But it was also because she had colluded with them, she was as guilty as they. Yet she wasn't going to hang, any more than Beth would, for her spying. The men would, for Richard's and William's protection did not extend beyond Cilla and Beth. Beth stood there watching Cilla weep. The men were watching her weep. And they were waiting for her to stop, to answer them, for they were unmoved by her tears. Beth could feel the tension growing from William, whom Beth knew would not let it rest here. Cilla would be questioned, badgered, coerced, shouted at, threatened, until she finally gave up those names and the doing of it might break her.

Trellim, Banksia, Simon Howard. Their faces all rose up in her mind, expressions accusing. Drawing a deep breath, Beth followed her father's instructions again. "Jack Statton," she said. "And Eric Clayton."

Cilla gasped, lifting her head. Richard and William both turned to stare at her. It was too Cilla that Beth spoke. "I'm sorry. I knew you couldn't do it. But it had to be done."

"Didn't Cornwallis ask you this already? Didn't you tell him you didn't know?" William accused hotly. "I thought you said your father instructed you to be completely, utterly, entirely honest, in all things pertaining to the rebels?"

"In all things pertaining to anything, yes," Beth corrected. "With you. I am to be honest in all ways, with you. Not with Cornwallis. Being honest with him was a choice, only."

"And would you have told me about them? These two spies? How do you know about them?"

"Thomas told me and," she cocked her head, thinking about it. "And yes, I would have. When I remembered."

"When you remembered," William ground out.

"I've only been here half a day, and we've not spent much time of that alone," she pointed out, trying to be reasonable about it.

"God damn it, Beth! Cornwallis asked you! You lied blank faced to Cornwallis!"

"And he believed her," Richard said. "Which is why Cilla is going to do precisely the same." He turned back to his wife. Her face was wet with tears, he thumbed her cheeks dry. "You will not tell him any of this. You will tell him you never met Farshaw. No one ever made contact with you. You were cut off from the rest of the camp, like a prisoner. You will tell him you did not know your father was alive, until you learned he'd killed Dalton and his detachment. That is what you are going to tell him." Cilla stared up at him, her dark eyes wide and her lips parted. Richard wound his hand to the back of her neck, bent down, and kissed her hard. It went on for some time, long enough for Beth to feel a little uncomfortable, for she was standing with three feet of distance between her and her husband, who used to kiss her the same way, but never would again. She lowered her eyes and turned away. Richard finally lifted from the kiss. Holding Cilla, he turned to face William.

"I kept your secrets. I protected you, and Beth. Will you do the same for me?"

"Damn and blast both of you," William spat. "How long ago was it that Cilla confessed her spying? Yet she said nothing of those two others, and they've been left to continue their work. Yes, you kept my secrets, you protected me. But she let them stay," he pointed at Cilla, his finger trembling with the force of his rage. "I will do the same for you, Richard, but they will hang. The spies. And Cilla, I want your word - your Goddamned vow - that you will never spy again. You say you owe me nothing and I could not agree more, considering. But despite previous unpleasantness between you and I, this is my Legion, and I will not suffer any more of this disease. Swear it on Richard, on your life, and the life inside you, that I can trust you at least in this. That you will do this no more."

"That's a strong oath," Cilla replied, her head resting against Richard's chest, her arms around his waist, as she peered up at William. "I give it freely."

"Goddamn it," William snapped and stormed from the tent, leaving Beth there with Cilla and Richard.

"Are you alright?" Beth asked, reaching up to brush Cilla's hair back from her face. "I'll come with you, if you like."

"You just came back from there, you'll be tired."

"I'd rather that, than to stay here and… Gods, I don't even know what's going to happen here. With him," Beth's eyes lingered upon the exit William had just taken. "I'll come with you."

"Thank you," Cilla smiled, reaching out for Beth's hand.

"Yes, thank you, Beth," Richard said. He was a little guarded, Beth noticed. A little cool toward her. Well, she had called him a hound nipping at William's heels, or some such thing. What was it again? William's faithful hound. One of the last things she'd said to Richard, before she fled from Fresh Water to become Banastre's mistress. Perhaps he had every right to be a little aloof with her. Then again, he had helped to keep Linda's presence a secret from her… "For giving those names when Cilla couldn't."

"What's two more faces haunting my dreams?" Beth asked, feeling sick to her stomach. Cilla squeezed her hand.

"Do as Richard said. Deny it utterly. Without evidence, Cornwallis isn't going to do anything," Beth advised. "You're the wife of a British Officer. It would reflect poorly, if he had to hang you for treason. He would do it, I think, if it could be proved. But as it can't…"

"He won't," Cilla drew a deep breath.

"And tell Cornwallis of the vow you just made to William. Richard and I can be your witnesses. You have honour - Cornwallis knows that, and I don't think he'll risk the ramifications of questioning your honour by doubting you," Beth advised.

"Alright," Cilla nodded. "Shall we get this over with?"

"I agree, best to get this done quickly," Richard said, taking up a cape and wrapping it around Cilla's shoulders.

"I'm glad you're coming with me," Cilla said, still holding Beth's hand.

"There's no where else I'd be," Beth said.

* * *

The Tavington marriage had once been a happy one, both in the privacy of the bed chamber, and outwardly for the world to see. There had been a time when there had been no doubt that Tavington loved his wife, and his wife had loved him. They'd had their share of difficulties and their arguments had, at times, been loud and unrestrained. Yet their great affection and love for one another had been overt and undisguised. They'd lived in close quarters with Dragoon Officers, soldiers and servants, the circumstances almost communal, rarely had there been true privacy.

Which was why William was forced to have Beth quartered with him in the Dragoon section of camp.

Doing otherwise would be a cause for gossip, whispers that tried to suggest that his was not a happy marriage. Very few people knew the truth, even among his Dragoons. And he was determined to keep it that way. His pride and his ambition would not allow ill news of him and Beth to take root, and there was only one obvious way to deter it. By returning to their almost communal living among the Dragoons, soldiers, camp followers and servants, and by pretending as though Beth had just returned from the place he had been saying she'd been all these months: visiting her sick sister, and later under Banastre Tarleton's protection, when he captured her father - her escort.

To promote this thinking, this idea that all was well, William needed to have Beth quartered with him, as he'd quartered with her before, at Fresh Water. Anything else would raise eyebrows. Ordinarily, it was common-place for a husband, within his own residence, to have his own chamber while his wife kept hers. But it was a practice William and Beth had never participated in before, preferring to be constantly together, sharing their chamber, their bed.

Therefore, how could he possibly have them sleeping in separate tents, now?

For so many reasons, Tavington was forced to return to their old arrangement, living intimately together as they had at Fresh Water. However, he had arranged to do so with one marked difference.

Beth was to have her own tent, set up in such a way that it was an extension of his, with a partition between them, that the happily married couple could step through whenever they wished to be in one another's company, while at the same time, giving his pregnant wife her much needed space.

That was what he was encouraging others to think, while hiding the truth of it from them all. He hoped no-one found it too strange, he hoped that his reasoning was accepted at face value, for he desperately needed the partition between them, no matter how thin.

The truth: He could not stand the idea of having his wife, so freshly returned from her adulteress affair, returning to Tavington's own quarters, to his tent, to his bed, as though nothing had happened. He needed his own space, he needed time, he needed privacy. He needed this separation, even if it was just a thin stretch of canvas, or he was certain he would go mad.

As it was, he wondered if he was already crazed. He could hear them, Beth's voice and these new women of hers, quiet murmurings of conversation and even laughter. Sitting at his small desk, his fingers curled around the quill he held until it was bent double, until it snapped in his hand. Overreacting, William, he chided himself. That's not Beth's laughter. The Lord knew, if it had been, if she dared to show merriment and amusement, he wouldn't be able to help himself. He'd be in her tent like a shot, shouting her down, decrying her, for how dare she know joy, after all she'd done? It was not her, however, and he knew it. It was that new one - the beautiful one, Electa Alden. Their voices were too low for him to know what she found so amusing, but he knew it was she, and not Beth, who did so. He picked up another quill and continued writing.

Beth had returned with Cilla and Bordon after Cilla's meeting with Cornwallis. While they were gone, Tavington had found the two spies and after a brief questioning, had hanged them both. Now, a few tents away, Richard was with Cilla - another traitor, one who would get away with her crime. Then again, perhaps she deserved to, he thought, as he recalled the dreadful sight of entering the dungeon only to find Richard behind her, violating her. She was right, what had either of them expected of her, considering..? How could William take her to task, after all she'd been through?

Perhaps if she hadn't done it again, after Richard's violation of her, he wouldn't feel the need to. Then again, Richard hadn't been punished, had he? Cilla had confronted William on that score once, several months ago now. It was a conversation he never, ever wanted to repeat. No. She'd given him that vow, that had to be enough for him. Richard had protected Beth, and William would now protect Cilla. He believed they both understood that if she did regress, that protection would evaporate immediately, he would shelter her no longer. Yes, he thought. She must know, she must understand that. Still, it might bear speaking to her about later. If she did break her vow, he would escort her too Cornwallis himself. And if that happened, there would be no bounds to Cornwallis' anger. For he had believed the lies Richard had trained her to say today, and the embarrassment of being duped would lend to Cornwallis unfathomable fury. William decided then, that he would speak to Cilla of this again, to warn her of what would happen, if she did feel tempted to do it again.

A private stood just outside the Colonel's tent, a constant presence ready to leap to attend or defend the Colonel on the spur of the moment. That private knocked on the wooden post outside, to announce the arrival of a visitor.

"Come," William called curtly and for a moment, the murmurings next door fell immediately silent. All talk ceased, as if William had called to them. He hadn't. A moment later, Mrs. Andrews entered and beyond the curtain, that murmuring started again. It sounded nervous, stilted.

"You wished to see me, Sir?" Mrs. Andrews asked, wary eyes flicking toward the partition. She kept her voice low a well, not allowing it to carry far enough for Beth to hear the conversation.

"Has she apologised to you?" William asked in the same low volume and Mrs. Andrews nodded. He gestured to the seat opposite him across the small table and she took it, her thin gaze nervous.

"She did, Sir. To Miss Cordell also," Mrs. Andrews continued to keep her voice pitched low, her words could not be heard a foot from the table.

"And you have forgiven her? I would understand completely, if you did not."

"Sir, I don't want any further unpleasantness. It is a relief, if I'm honest, for it to all be over. I am not the sort of person to hold a grudge, or if I do, it has to be over something far more serious than a confused young woman having a tantrum. She showed to me genuine remorse, and I am not the sort of person to allow another to bear pain. Especially when I did keep the secret from her. I for one wish to put it all behind us. Miss Cordell is in agreement, we will not be holding any ill feeling toward Mrs. Tavington."

Tavington lifted his lip in a quick sneer.

"She told you the same, did she? Her reasoning, that she must have already been pregnant? That she thinks it caused her… tantrum?" He asked carefully, cautiously.

The child was his, Beth said. And Benjamin wrote the same. Both trying to place him as the father, not Banastre. William's hands rested on the letter Beth had carried from her father, the parchment was crumpled for he'd screwed it up into a ball and only a last moment decision had saved it from being tossed on the fire. He'd instead smoothed out the creases and read it through again. And again. Beth was already pregnant, Benjamin wrote. They know this, because Mrs. Garland said so, and because of her crazed, deranged reaction to a situation that could have been easily explained, had she been in the state of mind to listen.

William did not believe it. Benjamin knew William well enough to know that William would never agree to raising Banastre's bastard. And so they had seized on this cock and bull story in an attempt to hoist the bastard onto Tavington.

Mrs. Garland maintained that Beth's pregnancy was longer in duration than her time spent with Banastre. But he found it far more likely that Mrs. Garland, Beth's midwife bought from Banastre's camp, had been bribed to be the mouthpiece for the Martin's, paid to say whatever they wanted her to say.

He trusted Mrs. Andrews, however. After Beth's… tantrum… he doubted she would lie for Beth, even if she was not the sort to hold a grudge.

"Yes, she did," Mrs. Andrews said.

"You would know more than I. Enough to not be fooled by such. Is it possible? Can a woman become so unhinged over a trifle during her pregnancy?"

Mrs. Andrews laughed. It held no humour in it whatsoever. "Pregnancy can wreak havoc on a woman's body, emotions, and her mind. I've seen some dreadful things happen to a woman during and after her pregnancy. As for a trifle - Colonel, let me be frank. Seeing you with Mrs. Cox was not a trifle," Mrs. Andrews said, forthright as always. "Any woman would have been hard pressed to take that in her stride, pregnant or not."

"I was not -"

"I know, I know," Mrs. Andrews held up a placating hand. "I know, Sir. But that was the impression Mrs. Cox intended and Mrs. Tavington believed it. A woman in love would most certainly react with passion. A pregnant woman in love…?" Mrs. Andrews trailed off, she appeared lost in thought.

"Yes?" Tavington asked. He had never been the most patient person in the world. Pregnancy can wreak havoc on a woman's body, emotions and her mind, she'd said. What did that mean? "You said you've seen some dreadful things? What did you mean?"

"A woman's humours are confused, when she gets with child. The balance shifts. For some women, the alterations are fairly mild. Their taste is heightened, food is more enjoyable. One might be overcome with tears by a happy story that would not move them to tears usually. She might be a little tired, and she might feel nausea or even vomit. Changes, but not too violent. Mrs. Bordon has been going through those sort these last two months, but she's mostly on an even keel. For some women, however, pregnancy can cause a raft of emotions from sadness so dreadful she might consider taking her own life."

"I beg your pardon?" William asked, eyebrows lifting incredulously.

"Those feelings can intensify after her pregnancy and last for a good few years. You've never heard of a new mother taking her own life? And or that of the child's?"

"Yes, but…" he trailed off, frowning.

"It's the humours. No one truly knows how or why, or even who might become effected. If Mrs. Martin was still alive, perhaps she would say she experienced the same, and we might not find it so strange, that Mrs. Tavington is thus effected."

"You're telling me that my wife is going to try to kill herself, and her child?" Or mine. Gods, would Beth kill my child?

"No, I am not saying that at all," Mrs. Andrews said quickly. "Mrs. Garland and I have spoken of it at length, and we both intend to keep a very close eye on her. Mrs. Garland has seen the same as I, and knows the effects wild swinging emotions can have on a pregnant woman or young mother. But Mrs. Tavington hasn't displayed the… let us call it melancholy… that we've seen in other women, whose humours are more drastically out of kilter."

"My wife isn't sad?" William spat, furious. "She goes off and screws Banastre for months, and she returns un-remorseful, she's not even sad?"

"Lord," Mrs. Andrews closed her eyes and lifted her chin as if praying to the heavens. "You have no idea what I am speaking about, and how can you? You're a man," she shook her head, opened her eyes. "Your wife is remorseful and that wasn't the sort of melancholy I was speaking of, anyway. But never mind. I am trying to tell you that I do not believe she is a risk to herself or the child. However, she has already shown she is capable of uncontrolled emotions when pushed to the highest degree, far more than what warranted the situation, therefore we shall be keeping an eye on her during and after her pregnancy, for she has shown tendencies that have us both concerned. As for your question - yes. I do believe that Mrs. Tavington was already with child when she left Fresh Water, and that her pregnancy heightened her humours, causing her to the highest degree of fury and unrestraint and inability to reason, after seeing you with Mrs. Cox."

William glared at her, this was not what he wanted to hear. He'd wanted vindication from this woman he trusted - he hadn't wanted her to vindicate Beth instead.

"You discussed this with Mrs. Garland?" He asked, voice harsh. She nodded. "I told you, I do not believe her. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that she has been paid off by the Martin's -"

"So you said," Mrs. Andrews agreed.

"I want your assessment of the situation, Mrs. Andrews. Not a repetition of hers."

"I am not parroting Mrs. Garland, I have examined Mrs. Tavington myself," came the reply. "I had her strip naked, I asked her a host of questions, all the while I measured and felt her stomach. It is my belief that she is almost six months along. Unless she is carrying twins. Nothing else can account for her size. I believe she conceived at the end of August."

"She had her menses in September!" William blurted. Only a couple weeks before Beth left him, she'd had her menses.

"I remember. She came to me, confided her fears, and your disgruntlement. She was desperate and in tears," Mrs. Andrews said, "for she was afraid she was barren." William tightened his lips at this reminder of his own poor conduct. "I believe her tears and her fear - while both were warranted - were exaggerated due to already being pregnant. As for having her menses - I recall her saying at the time that her bleeding had been very light. I remember because she remarked upon it, stating that it surprised her. We both put it down to the stress she was under, however…" Mrs. Andrews shrugged. "It is not unusual for there to be some light bleeding even when a woman is with child."

"You've all got answers for everything," he scowled.

"The difference is, Colonel Tavington, I am not here to deceive you," Mrs. Andrews replied. "You know that you can trust me. I would not - in a million years - allow you to believe that this child was yours, unless I truly believed it myself. I could still be wrong - even with all my experience, and with my examination of Mrs. Tavington and recalling things she said at the time, even then, I must draw to my own conclusions and at the end things, my conclusions are still only a guess. An educated one, one made after putting together all of the facts as I know them, but still just a guess."

"What is the chance that this child is Tarleton's?" William rasped out, hands balled to fists.

"Very, incredibly, slim," Mrs. Andrews replied, voice firm. "As you said, she had her menses a few weeks before she left. I say that is normal for pregnancy but then again, she might have had her menses simply because she was not pregnant," she said this in such a way that William knew she did not believe it. This was a 'for argument's sake' scenario only. And she followed up with another one. "I say that her stomach is of a size that would suggest her to be six months pregnant. But perhaps she is carrying twins," the woman shrugged. "Tarleton's twins. Perhaps. But there is her unbridled, unreasonable, unrestrained reaction to seeing you with Mrs. Cox - "

"Beth's temper has always been unbridled, unreasonable and unrestrained," William pointed out harshly.

"Yes. But if you recall, I did say that I spoke with her the morning she left. She mentioned then of feeling ill of late, and I worried she might be getting yellow fever. She had gone off her food and again, I worried about yellow fever. It had been rampant through your household and camp, and Mrs. Tavington spent much time with those afflicted. My first thoughts did not go to pregnancy as perhaps they should have done, they went to the possibility that she might be getting sick herself. Only, she never did, did she? So you tell me, Sir, why was she feeling nausea at that time? Why wasn't she eating certain foods? Why was she sitting there, weeping, because she could not fall pregnant and was terribly worried that she would disappoint you yet again the following month?"

"Surely that alone is enough to make her thus distressed," he replied stubbornly. "I should not have spoken to her as I did, but I can imagine her weeping when she spoke of it to you."

"Or she was already pregnant and it was the baby that exacerbated the weeping fit," Mrs. Andrews said and it was clear which she thought to be more likely. She sighed, blowing air out slowly. "You asked me to examine Mrs. Tavington and report my findings to you. I have done so, and I am as certain as I can be, that the child is yours. You will have to do with that what you will, there is nothing else I can say."

"Very well. Thank you," William uncurled his fingers and made a gesture toward the exit. Across from him, Mrs. Andrews rose, and he did also. A gesture of politeness so ingrained it did not take thought, but instinct only, to stand, bow his head and sit again. What did take his thoughts, what did explode through his mind, was the possibility that Beth and her father had spoken truthfully.

That the child she was carrying, was indeed his own.

Lips twisted and heart pounding, William poured himself a whiskey and returned to his seat, elbows on the table, breathing laboured as he glared at the partition, as if he could bore a hole through it to the silhouette that he knew was his wife, with his will alone.

They were all saying it. Beth. Benjamin. Mrs. Garland. Now Mrs. Andrews. The child was his, they claimed, each and every one of them. But by damn, he was not going to believe it. He might be a cuckold, but he was not going to be the fool as well. Despite what they considered to be overwhelming proof, until he saw the baby for the first time, until he saw himself in the child they claimed was his son or his daughter, like hell was he going to believe a single bloody one of them.


	147. Chapter 147 - Friends and Husbands:

_Author's note - I thought I'd get this chapter up before going to bed - it might be rough in places, some of it was an old draft I was working on but some of it's new and has only had a single edit. I'd go over it again if it wasn't so late and if I didn't have to get up so early :-) Thanks for your patience, I know there's been a bit of a wait between chapters, yet again._

_And thank you to everyone reviewing - sorry for not answering the Guest reviews personally this time around! But my bed is calling :-) But thank you, I'm very grateful of every single review! Take care and good night._

* * *

Chapter 147 - Friends and Husbands:

The tent was tall enough for the women to stand in upright and to move about without having to push past one another.

_The benefits of being the Colonel's wife_, Beth thought as Mrs. Garland and Nancy helped her out of her clothes. Strange, that she would get those benefits still, at a time when she couldn't have felt less married to her husband. Despite Banastre's Reverend refusing to make her separation legal, she'd never felt so divorced. Yet there she was, in a tent large enough to accomodate a full war council, with enough room to stand upright in and for her chest and a bed, a table and two chairs, the same as she'd been provided with in Banastre's camp.

Another strange thing. There in Banastre's camp, they'd kept the tent partitioned in order to pretend innocence, to alleviate gossip of an affair, that the two weren't doing anything untoward, such as bedding one another. Here in William's camp, the partitioned tent - which kept Beth in close proximity to William - was meant to make all beyond the canvas walls continue to believe the Tavington marriage was as good and strong as it always had been, that there was no discord between them, or anything of _that_ sort. The exact same set up in both places, but to convince outsiders of entirely different things.

Beth, standing still while Nancy untied her stays, glanced down at Electa. Beautiful, black haired Electa was lolling on Beth's bed, not lifting a finger to help, even as Mrs. Garland began to tidy.

"Remind me again why I bought you with us?" Beth asked.

"Come now, you know you like me," Electa grinned up at her, she lifted her arms high above her head in a languid stretch and gave a contented sigh. "Such a comfortable bed,: Electa was lying back on the blanket covered straw. "I could sleep here with you tonight, it's ever so cold, we should share the heat of our bodies."

Beth grimaced, her face flushing red at the temerity of the woman's flirting. Right here, in front of Mrs. Garland and Nancy. Not that Nancy noticed, the girl was distracted in her grief and barely spoke these days. She barely listened, either. It was as though she had the energy for neither. Mrs. Garland must have heard though. Would she discern the desire Electra was not so much as trying to conceal? The midwife barely batted an eyelid however, Beth threw Electa a glare.

"Nancy will be sleeping with me," Beth said, an edge to her voice.

"Lucky girl," Electa's eyes danced with mischief. Beth's blazed fury and embarrassment. "Because this tent is so large and warm." Electa added, as if that was her reason. That was for Mrs. Garland's benefit. Beth's lips tightened as she crossed the tent in her shift to sit at the table. Nancy followed, took up a brush and began running it through Beth's hair. The task was quickly done and Beth was soon kneeling before her chest with Nancy and Mrs. Garland on either side of her, going through her clothing. Mrs. Garland was careful of Beth's silks, they were folded, wrapped in cloth and set aside. Anything less costly - items made of wool and linen - were held up to scrutiny as the women discussed which items could be unstitched and sewn anew to account for Beth's expanding girth. William had bought the chest with him from Fresh Water and it was filled to bursting with clothes that Beth hadn't seen in months.

Within the chest was a smaller box, Beth opened the lid and saw nestled inside the rest of her jewellery. Why William had bought it from Fresh Water, she didn't know. What they were doing now - pretending to be a happily married couple - was a new idea sprung from General O'Hara's attempt at saving their hides. Before O'Hara stepped in and told everyone that Banastre had been escorting Beth to her husband all along, William had intended to send her to her aunt's as soon as he removed her from Banastre's camp. So why bring the jewellery from Fresh Water? Had he thought someone there might steal it? She gazed at the pieces, noticing immediately that he hadn't returned his grandmother's ruby pendant - the jewel William had given her the night he'd intended to propose, the pendant she had left for him when she fled the city to get away from him.

That wasn't in there, she saw.

Beth asked Nancy to hand her the pouch, it was still where she'd left it on the small table. Nancy did so and Beth reached inside and pulled out a plain circle of gold. Her wedding band. For a moment, she knelt there, poised, uncertain. Should she put it in the jewellery box with the rest of her jewels? She fingered it, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, undecided.

"You should wear it," Mrs. Garland said, making Beth wonder if she was that transparent.

"I don't feel married," she replied. "I took it off when I was with Banastre and I just… I don't feel like I should put it back on now I'm no longer with him, because I don't feel like I'm with William, either."

"Well, you are," Mrs. Garland said, voice crisp. "You're married to him, for better or for worse. It matters not how you're feeling inside." The older woman was making no attempt at hiding her exasperation. Beth was married, she was returned to her husband and it was as simple as that. Feelings mattered not at all.

"Well, I suppose appearances must be kept," Beth said, recalling why she was there. Why her tent was joined to William's. Why all of it. She slid the ring onto her finger and stared down at it, feeling no more married than she had a moment before. _The day he gives me back his grandmother's pendant, that's when I'll feel married to him again. _There was a questioning feel to her thought. An _if_. _If_ he ever returned to her the pendant…

"I don't understand your trouble, I honestly don't," Electa adjusted herself until she was sitting cross legged. "Dear God, he is a handsome one," she purred, jutting her chin toward the partition where William was. They couldn't see him, but Beth knew Electa was speaking of him. Beth glanced at Electa, catching her would be lover, her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips as she swooned over William. "I can't understand why you'd ever leave him, even for Banastre."

_At least she has the good sense to keep her voice down_. Still, it irritated Beth. "That's enough, Electa," she commanded quietly.

"Come now, three out of the four of us here have bedded Banastre," Electa continued, "we can all attest to his… prowess… We all considered him to be handsome enough to bed at one time in our lives. But if I'd had your fellow to choose over him, I daresay Banastre wouldn't have gotten a look in. What say you, Nancy?"

Nancy, kneeling beside Beth in front of the chest, averted her gaze.

"Do you understand even slightly what it means to mourn a husband?" Mrs. Garland asked, the question snapping like a whip. Electa arched an eyebrow, seeming to be uncertain what she'd done - or said - that was wrong. "Nancy is a widow now, she is grieving her husband. And you should not be speaking so flippantly about Tarleton as though he were some past love. And you certainly should not be speaking of him here, with Mrs. Tavington's husband just next door," she said in a hushed voice that barely carried to Electa, let alone through the partition. Nancy had no more to offer the conversation than Beth did, both women were as silent as the grave.

"It's not as though I yelled it," Electa shrugged. "I know to keep my voice low. It's just a quiet conversation among friends."

"Is that what we are?" Beth asked. "Friends. Who talk about how handsome ones husband is and how you'd choose him over another past love. Are you going to bed my husband if he comes to you, Electa?" Beth asked directly. She wasn't sure if William would; while he'd been faithful to her when she'd been with him, he was sure to have been visiting doxies during her absence these last months and would likely continue to do so even with her return.

"Would you rather I didn't?" Electa asked.

In a strangled voice, Beth answered, "Yes, Electa, I'd rather you didn't."

"Then I won't," Electa shrugged. "See? Friends. It doesn't stop me from admiring him though. Tell me Mrs. Tavington, are you absolutely out of your mind?"

Because William was handsome. Beth blew out a breath and was grateful that they were whispering. And relieved. In bringing Electa, she hadn't delivered up to her husband a beautiful new lover. Instead of answering - for Electa already knew the reasons why Beth had left - she said, "please extend the courtesy to my cousin, also." At Electa's blank expression, Beth said more clearly, "keep your hands off Major Bordon."

"Oh, of course," Electa laughed her pretty laugh. "You know, your brother looked me up and down like he wanted to spend some time with me."

"Gabriel?" Beth gasped, aghast.

"No, not him. Too virtuous for his own good, that one," Electa scowled, leading Beth to believe that the pretty doxy had at least tried with Gabriel, despite being in Burwell's bed. "The other one. Thomas."

"Thomas," Beth snorted. "He wouldn't have known what to do with you."

"Oh, I could have taught him," Electa said with confidence. "But I told him he was far too young for me. Quite put out he was, he told me he was all of seventeen!" She giggled and Beth shook her head, not at all surprised.

"Your dinner should have cooled a bit by now," Mrs. Garland said, helping Beth to rise. As Beth sat at the table Mrs. Garland hovered nearby watching closely, as if she feared Beth - in her sorry and heartsore state - would refuse to eat. She needn't have worried, for Beth was ravenous - her pregnancy made her crave food - especially meat. Even with her life falling to pieces could not impinge on what her pregnancy - or rather her baby - demanded of her. She ate with embarrassing gusto, closing her eyes with pleasure as her appetite was sated, very much as she used to when in bed with William. She felt the woman relax as it became quite obvious that Beth was going to eat every crumb. She set her fork down and leaned back from the now empty plate with a contented sigh

"That good, was it?" Electa asked. They were on field rations and while the camp followers did their best to make the meals tasty, due to a lack of seasoning and herbs, they often fell short.

"Hunger is the best sauce," Beth replied and Electa laughed.

"So tell me, Mrs. Tavington, are there any officers here who are not under your protection?"

Beth sighed and shook her head. "If they are not married or engaged, you can do as you wish," she said, knowing she could not control Electa or William's soldiers. "Just don't come running to me when you get with child and you don't know by which soldier and not a single one comes forward to marry you."

"I can take care of myself," Electa replied, rising from the bed. She started picking her way through the clothes that had been set aside for alteration. "I can help you with these," she offered. "I'm rather deft with a needle."

"Then for goodness sake, become a milliner!" Mrs. Garland said, frustrated with the beautiful doxy. "I know you're deft with a needle, I've seen your work - so let that be your occupation. It's far more respectable and far less hazardous, than your current employment."

Electa's eyebrows lifted, she looked as startled as a fish snatched out of the water. Then her face closed over and she shrugged. "I have no tools of the trade. I'd need more than some needles and thread, Mrs. Garland. Besides, my current employment, as you put it, pays ridiculously more in a week than a milliner could earn in a year."

"You're a stubborn fool girl!" Mrs. Garland spat. "Mrs. Tavington speaks truly - you will become pregnant and without a husband, you shall have no protection - you'll end up alone and giving birth by some roadside tavern, likely dying in the process! And that isn't even the only danger! One of your lovers might deliver to you some horrid disease and we'll have to watch you die in agony, utterly unable to assist you."

"Stop, please," Nancy said, looking to be on the verge of tears. "Just stop it!" Offended, Mrs. Garland drew herself up back straight, chin high. Nancy continued, "I know yer speakin' to Electa but the same can happen to me too! Ye shouldn't be scarin' us like that when there's naught we can do about it! We got to do what we got to do to get by and I don't need ye puttin' the fear of Christ into me about what might come of it!"

"Nancy," Beth reached out and took both Nancy's hands in hers. "I've told you, you don't ever have to return to that life, not ever. You're my maid now."

"But ye don't know for how long. Ye said yerself, yer worried he'll send ye off and if he does, how ye goin' to support me? I'll need to do what I always did, to look after both of us and yer baby!"

Beth was utterly aghast, she gasped and pressed her hand to her open mouth. "Oh sweet Lord, you will never, ever, have to do that for me and my child," she said, laying a hand on Nancy's cheek. "Lord… yes, I'm worried he's going going to drop me off at the Ferguson's when we get close enough, but I didn't realise you were worried about it too!" Nancy - her eyes filled with tears and panic, held to Beth's as if to a life line. Beth shook her head and spoke firmly. "If he sends me to the Ferguson's, he will be accepting my father's arrangement. Reverend Oliver will call our marriage quits, William will relinquish all rights to me and the child. Further, _he will be relinquishing my dowry back to me_." Beth took a ragged breath as she stroked hair back from Nancy's cheek. "My fortune will be my own again. No matter what happens with William, you are of my household now and as such, you are under my protection. You are safe now, my oath on it."

Nancy hung her head, she was weeping softly and Beth pulled her into her arms. Electa was watching curiously.

"I don't recall you despising our… profession… before. I seem to remember you liking it fairly well back them."

"I ain't never been in love before," Nancy said miserably. "And now he's gone," she whispered.

"I know," Beth sighed. Nancy stepped away and wiped her eyes. Beth could make her assurances which would stop Nancy from fearing what would become of her. But she was powerless to remove the young widow's grief.

"Alright, let's see what we've got here," Mrs. Garland said briskly, turning their attention to the pile of clothes. She picked up a jacket and gestured to its matching skirt. "We can cut out a section from the skirt to use on the jacket. If we undo the stitches down the seams here," she ran a finger along the side of the jacket. "We could sew in panels to make it larger. We won't need much, the skirt should still be loose enough," Mrs. Garland said glanced down at Electa, who nodded agreement. Taking material from Beth's voluminous skirts and adding them to the bodice would keep Beth looking how a higher ranking Officer's wife she was meant to look. "A task for tomorrow, when there is light to go by. I'll make sure everything we need is on the wagon, we should be able to work well enough there."

When a man's voice sounded beyond the partition, the women fell immediately silent. The soldier announced the arrival of Mrs. Andrew's and Beth threw Mrs. Garland a stricken glance. She received a soothing gesture for answer as Mrs. Garland stepped closer to the partition, to eavesdrop. They all edged closer for the same purpose, but to no avail. They could hear hushed voices, but could not make out the words. Until -

_"She had her menses in September!" _

It was William's voice, he sounded furious and frustrated.

"He is determined not to believe me," Beth whispered and Mrs. Garland gave her a sympathetic glance. The midwife's soothing expression quickly shifted to outrage when William said _"I want your assessment of the situation, mrs. Andrews. Not a repetition of hers."_

"And he is determined not to _trust me_," Mrs. Garland sniffed.

A few more snippets of the conversation came to them, despite William's and Mrs. Andrew's efforts to speak softly. Beth grew stiff and afraid as she heard Mrs. Andrews admit that even she couldn't be entirely certain that the child wasn't Banastre's.

"That's foolishness," Mrs. Garland whispered harshly. "Twins don't necessarily make a woman's stomach larger. I'll have to talk to her."

"Shh," Electa said, still trying to listen.

"He's not going to be happy until he sees his child with his own two eyes," Beth whispered back. She spoke quickly, for she was still trying to keep an ear on the conversation next door. "But that's not going to help anyone of us, if our child has my brown eyes."

"As it very well might. Your father is blue eyed, is he not? Yet here you are with your mother's brown. Your baby will likely take after you, that is no indication that he is not the father. None of it means anything. Your husband is a foolish man," Mrs. Garland said. She fell silent, but the conversation beyond the partition was over, Mrs. Andrews was leaving.

* * *

Beth lay awake on the blanket covered pile of straw, her body covered from head to toe in several more blankets. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable - she was warm and dry at least.

She did not need to strain her ears very far to hear William settling down for the night. The rustle of the blankets and then his breathing - slow and deep. Within minutes, his breathing changed, became deeper, huskier, a slight, whisper of a snore. He was sleeping already. She thought how nice it was for him, he mustn't be very distraught at all if he could go to sleep with Beth only a few paces away, a slip of material their only barrier.

In contrast to her husband, Beth's thoughts ran restlessly, an unceasing cascade. She recalled the time when he pursued her all the way from the city. He wouldn't have let a sheet of canvas come between them, not then. He hadn't let her family come between them, nor her friends, and not her fears. He'd bulled ahead, forging a path through all of it, in an attempt to be reunited with her. Not now. Perhaps her family and friends and her fears were more easily overcome, than this thin sheet of canvas, which she understood represented her infidelity and utter shaming of him.

And her? What did that thin sheet represent for her?

For there was once a time that she had given everything up for him. Her family, her friends, and her fears. _She_ could go to _him_, their marriage wasn't only his to fix. But she had her own obstacles - how could she overcome his beating of her? Or his infidelities? Not after they married, but prior - from the moment he met her, he'd been courting her. Yet there he was, screwing Linda nightly. And that barmaid, whatever her name was. And Vera Tisdale - their affair between them had begun the very day William had decided to court Beth. No. Not court - _seduce_. His courtship for marriage had come much later and even then, he'd continued to screw Linda Stokes, even bringing her out of the city and intending to continue with her after marrying Beth. He might have changed his mind, he might have been faithful from their wedding day, but he certainly hadn't been before, despite his intention to marry her.

And how could she get past his bastards? The two he'd left behind in Philadelphia, and now he has two more on the way?

That was what the thin sheet represented to her. That and his belt. She doubted she'd ever forget _that_.

He was only a few paces away. Time once was that she'd just reach out and stroke his hair, whether he was awake or asleep. He was sleeping now. How could he? Surely he was in as much torment as she? But there he was, his breathing, the deep, steady, untroubled rhythm of one in peaceful slumber.

_Be fair, Beth. He is a soldier and soldiers train themselves to sleep whenever they can. Soldiers can't afford to lay awake at night, tossing and turning and churning over their troubles. And nor should you. Clear your mind, no more thoughts, no more feelings, empty your mind and… sleep._

It was easier thought than done but eventually it began to work. Eventually Beth felt the oceanic wave of blackness swelling around her, pulling her under. Her body was too exhausted to resist for long, titanic troubles or not.

* * *

Standing in the tent with her cape around her shoulders, Beth stared at William, who was talking to Richard, Wilkins and Brownlow. They would be leaving soon, the tents were already being struck, Beth's was about to be taken down as well. She had broken her fast there, but she could hide in the tent no longer. Nor could she hide in the carriage, for it was not yet here.

With William standing right there, and her stepping out into the morning finally, she would have no choice but to speak to him. To perform a public display of a happy, untroubled marriage. Lord, this was going to be exhausting. She could not be in public with her husband without making a show of cheerfully greeting him. Why the devil couldn't the carriage be already there? She wished she could climb straight inside it and close the curtains so no one could see her.

Heaving a vexed breath, she steeled her spine and stepped outside. Nancy followed along, a constant presence that those of higher rank would take no notice of; except for Beth, to who Nancy's presence bought great comfort.

William glanced toward her, saw her coming. The ease of his stance disappeared as he stiffened, his face closed over, his eyes become cold and hard. Stupid man. What was the point of her putting herself through this if he wasn't going to do his part as well? The public display could not be one sided, for if it was, all and sundry would see through it like the charade it was.

Smiling broadly as if to make up for his lack, Beth reached out and took both of his hands in hers. She was yet to put on her gloves, and she saw it when William's eyes flickered downward and caught sight of her wedding ring.

"Husband, you rose so early! You should have woken me, we could have broken our fast together. Have you eaten something this morning?" she said, making a show of wifely concern. She worded her query in such a way that it suggested to those listening that William had slept in her bed with her. She saw his lip curl - every so slightly; he knew what she was up to. As she held his gaze, some metal entered into hers. Her fingers tightened on his, tightly enough that it might have even been painful for him. If he did or said anything to sabotage this…

"You were sleeping so soundly, I did not wish to wake you," he said and she relaxed her gaze _and_ her fingers. "Yes, I have eaten." He said.

It was done, their greeting was… sufficient enough. Richard and Brownlow knew the full truth - they knew the Tavington marriage was rocky at best, already over at worst. They understood that this little encounter was nothing more than a public display to throw off the suspicious. But James Wilkins was looking bored. He'd be looking shrewd, if he suspected anything was amiss. His men, Arthur, Michael, Marcus and a few others were not staring as if searching for signs of counterfeit or artifice. They were not suspicious either, they thought all was as it had been. At least it was working.

After exchanging some pleasantries with the other men and asking - with real concern, nothing feigned there - how Cilla was, the Officers began to dwindle away to whatever tasks they had to tend to. This left William and Beth alone in a crowd of busy soldiers, with only Nancy close enough to hear them. William, who had long since released Beth's hands, jutted his chin downward, his sneer far more pronounced.

"Wearing it again, are you? Do you think it makes us look more married, do you?" He asked, contempt in his voice.

"Yes, I do," she replied, chin raised high. As if that was the only reason she was wearing it - not because she loved him and cherished the ring, but for the public display. It was no longer a representation of their love but a visual cue to others that they were indeed married. His lips tightened with irritation. He opened his mouth and began to say something but was cut off when a soldier came to them, leading Thunder in tow. With a quick 'my thanks', William turned from Beth and began stroking Thunder's neck.

"At least your _family_ is capable of doing right," he said, intimating that Beth was not so capable. "Thomas did well in caring for Thunder, he did even better in sending him back to me."

"You think that's how Thunder came to be here?" Beth asked incredulously. William turned to her with a puzzled frown. "My God," she said, barking a laugh. "You really are a God cursed fool."

With that, she turned on her heels and began striding away, as best she could on the sloppy wet ground. Nancy caught up with her and began chiding her at once.

"_Why did ye say that?" _For Nancy was aghast. "What did ye say it for? He's goin' to be angry with ye now. Yer supposed to be tryin' to make amends and then ye go and say somewhat like that?".

Nancy continued, like a bee buzzing in Beth's ear, all the way back to the tent. Why had she spoken to William like that? Because Beth had gone to great _fucking_ lengths to protect Thunder, to spirit him away from Banastre's camp in the middle of the goddamned night and had been caring for him since. And _Thomas_ gets the bloody credit? Thomas is praised for being capable of doing something right? As if Beth wasn't capable. When she was the reason Thunder was there all along! Furious, she snatched up her gloves and shoved them on, threw her cape around her shoulders, then sat down. She intended to stay there - glowering - until the carriage finally arrived.

* * *

The trouble was, the men who'd been assigned the task needed to strike the tent. Beth couldn't sit there seething, where no one could see her and wonder why. Nor could she hide in the carriage, for it was not yet ready. Again, she was forced outside and this time, planting a pleasant expression on her face wasn't only exhausting, it was damned near impossible. She managed, however. Wilkins - returned from whatever it was he'd been doing, came to chat with her with Arthur and the others. Eventually William joined them. She noticed the stiffness between James and William, but it was nowhere near to what she'd expected it should be. Perhaps James had forgiven William for having the camp followers beat Emily? She didn't know and she wouldn't ask, even if she wasn't too damned angry to care about it.

As they talked - actually, as James and the younger men talked, William kept throwing her inquisitive glances. She could see his mind working. What had she meant? How had Thunder come to be there, if not through Thomas? He didn't ask, but she could see he was unsure now. Curious, but too proud to ask. For clearly, what she had made abundantly obvious, was that Thunder's appearance had nothing to do with Thomas and everything to do with Beth herself.

They were not talking for long when Bordon joined them, and then Brownlow came trotting over. Bordon had just finished telling Beth that the carriage was fixed now - she hadn't even known there was a problem with it - and that Cilla was waiting for her, when Brownlow - panting - ran up, saying that he has a missive from General O'Hara.

The men and Beth fell silent as William broke the seal and opened the letter. The British Legion had been positioned to be the rear guard for Lord Cornwallis' battalions and as such, were slow to receive news from the main camp. This could be a summons from O'Hara to join the General's for a meeting, or perhaps to direct the Green Dragoons to go in search of rebels. In the end, it was the latter. Scouts had sighted a nest of rebels on the road and O'Hara feared that they would cause trouble for the vulnerable rear guard. William and Richard were to disperse the rebels with a small detachment of no more than twenty, as O'Hara also feared that the rebels would see a greater force coming and would escape. A small force was far less detectable and had a better chance of routing them.

"With only twenty men," William said, frowning. "A small force, so that we can move more swiftly and to attract less notice. And I'm not to delegate the task to one of my Captains who could perform the task just as well; he has commanded that Major Bordon and I lead them."

William lifted his gaze, he met Beth's eyes and a chill slid along her spine.

"Is this it?" He asked her. "Your uncle's conspiracy against Major Bordon and I?"

The others began to curse and Beth swallowed hard, hands wringing.

"Thomas said… he said that they took the seal and the cipher," she said, heart pounding. "My uncle has them no longer. He can't… he can't…"

"Unless he took copies of both before giving Thomas and that traitor Watson those forged letters that freed your father," William said, already moving toward Thunder and his saddle bags. After a quick search, he pulled out a letter wallet, which held O'Hara's old cipher and the new. A quick scrutiny confirmed it - this missive was forged. William drew a ragged breath. "Farshaw's hidden skill," William said scathingly. "God knows, the little bastard is good for nothing else."

"Would it have worked?" Beth asked, coming to stand beside him. "If you hadn't known of my uncle's intentions, would this have worked? It's far too dangerous for small companies that stray too far from the main body. You wouldn't have gone off with only twenty men, just you and Richard? You would not have done that, would you? I mean, why would you?"

"If I thought O'Hara commanded it," Tavington said shortly. "It would have worked."

Beth pressed her hands to her stomach and closed her eyes as a wave of nausea and guilt swept over her. Her uncle had taken copies. He'd had Farshaw write the message, enacting his plan to murder Beth's husband and Cilla's. To kill William. And it might have worked. She was battling blame, as if - because Mark was her uncle - she was somehow at fault for his violent conspiracy. Only when she felt strong fingers close around her arm did she open her eyes.

"Thank you, Beth," Richard said earnestly. "If you hadn't told us… Thank you."

"But… you would have asked O'Hara, wouldn't you?" She asked, desperate to discern of a technicality that would have prevented Mark's plan from working. "You wouldn't have ridden off toward danger without asking him about it?"

"Why would we?" Richard asked. "As far as we would have been concerned, we have our orders." Wilkins was nodding, as was Brownlow. She looked to William, who inclined his head. In thanks? Couldn't bloody say it out loud though. At least Richard thanked her.

"We need to discuss this with O'Hara," William said, mounting. He glanced down at Richard, who nodded and turned toward his horse. William waited long enough for Richard to be in the saddle and then the two began to gallop away.

Beth was left feeling somewhat embarrassed. Richard had thanked her, but William surely hadn't. Had Wilkins, Arthur, Marcus Michael and Brownlow noticed William's lack of gratitude?

"Well, this is an unpleasant turn. William is in quite a hurry now, to inform O'Hara," she said, hoping they would accept this excuse for William's lack. "What do you think will happen now?"

"They'll likely use this opportunity to try and catch Putman, I'd say," Wilkins said and the others nodded.

"Oh," Beth said, that ill feeling returning to her stomach. It made sense, it was actually the obvious course, now Wilkins had pointed out. And if it worked, if they captured her uncle, there was not a doubt in her mind, what his end fate would be. "Please excuse me, I need to speak to Cilla," she lifted her skirt at the hem and began walking as quickly as she could, in search of the carriage. It was supposed to be driven to her but she could wait no longer.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Cill," Richard said softly, his hand cradling Cilla's. She was weeping again, and Beth was looking miserable across from them in the carriage. "I'm sorry, Beth. I know this isn't easy on you, either."

"It's not," Beth said, voice ragged.

"If I can just speak to him," Cilla said, begging between sobs. "If I could just convince him that I love you and want to be with you… This vendetta he has will stop and he will leave you alone. He won't come after you again, I know he won't. Please, Richard -"

"They do not intend to capture him because of what he intended to do to Richard and William," Beth interrupted and Cilla bit her bottom lip with a long wail.

"He murdered twenty Dragoons," Richard said gently when Cilla quieted. "He murdered them, Cil. Even Captain Martin said his actions were not sanctioned. Dalton. And the rest. And he was guilty of treason, back in the city. If he hadn't escaped… To be frank, Cil, he should have hanged months ago. I'm sorry, my love, but there is more to this than your father's vendetta. He is no innocent. And as Colonel Simcoe has orders directly from Cornwallis, this is completely out of my hands. There is nothing left to be done."

"Except pray," Cilla whispered, distraught.

"Why are they sending Simcoe?" Beth asked.

"We are needed where we are - guarding the rear. And Simcoe is already in the field, and near to where Putman was going to stage his little ambush," he gave Cilla's hand a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Cil. I just… I don't know what else to say."

"Then don't. There's nothing more to say. Gods, I can't believe this is happening." Cilla's breathing was quick as she tried to fight back tears and panic.

"How long before we know?" Beth asked Richard.

"A day, two at most," Richard replied.

"Will they let Cilla speak with her father? I mean, before… you know… if they…" If they capture and hang him.

"I'll see if can arrange it," Richard said, feeling helpless as he pulled Cilla into his arms. He wanted nothing more than to see that damned murdering pig good and dead, but could Cilla handle any more of this? If they did capture her father, she was going to have to. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing in her scent as he sighed.


	148. Chapter 148 - No Right to Act the Martyr

Hi everyone,

So, like the rest of the world, my family and I are confined to our house for the next month in the hope of escaping and eradicating Covid-19! I'm not set up to work from home, so there's not really much else for me to do - except write. Great for escapism! And for a short time, it helps me to forget all this is going on. I hope you are all keeping sane and safe during this insane time.

_Reply to guest: Oh yes, definitely jealousy. Beth would be crushed if Electa bedded William! And Electa would definitely have given William a go or two, hehe! But she'll respect Beth's request :-) The rest of your questions are answered in this chapter :-) _

It's short and in no way perfect, but it furthers the plot a little - so without further ado, here's the next chapter! :-)

* * *

Chapter 148 - No Right to Act the Martyr:

Astride Thunder, William trotted along a beaten path, winding his way through the Legion's soldiers. The men gave way as soon as they saw him coming - like an ocean parting just for him, then closing in behind him - he barely had to break stride despite the density of soldiers.

Ahead, he spied Harmony, speaking with an older rank and file soldier. The fellow stood before her with his mouth wide open and she appeared to be peering inside that gaping maul. She drew back and spoke to the fellow, though William was still too far to hear her words. She handed him something - likely some herbs of some sort, and the soldier tipped his hat and walked away. When he was closer, William dismounted.

"I hope they're paying you for your advice," he said as he came along side of her. She cocked her head and grinned.

"So you acknowledge that I'm providing a much needed service? You're their leader, perhaps you should be paying me," she said. William laughed softly. "As a camp follower, I do get a wage. But perhaps you'd care to increase it?"

"Whatever you need, you have but to ask, I am at your disposal," he said, proffering a bow. She grunted as they fell in beside each other, William leading Thunder by the reins. He saw Harmony grimace and place her hand over her distended stomach. "Is something amiss?"

"No. I've been having aches is all. Everything is fine."

"Are you sure?"

"And here you were, offering to pay me for my doctoring services. Of course I'm sure," she grimaced again and rubbed her stomach as if she wasn't even aware of doing it. "It won't be long now, before it starts."

"I could send for Mrs. Andrews?" He said and when she gave him an exasperated look, he continued, "or does your doctoring knowledge mean you'll be your own midwife?"

"Of course not. But haven't you heard?" She asked him.

"Heard what?"

"Linda has gone into labour, William. Mrs. Andrews is tending her," she pointed over the sea of soldiers toward the covered wagons. "They've made space for her on one of the wagons."

William glared at the wagons as if suddenly offended by them. He could guess which wagon it was, now he had this information. Linda and Cox were guarded with at least six soldiers at all times and he could see a wagon with three soldiers on each side keeping slow pace with it. "My child, born on the back of wagon." He tightened his lips.

"Don't be too high and mighty about it - Jesus was born in a stable, after all. If a stable is good enough for the Almighty's Son, then a wagon should be good enough for yours."

William snorted.

"So. I heard Putman got away?" Harmony asked, tension in her voice. "Did Calvin get captured at least? Or better yet, was he killed? Or wounded… At least he might die of those. No?" William had been shaking his head from the moment she began asking.

"I regret to inform you that no, Farshaw and Putman both got away, as did about ten others. Forty were captured or killed, but Farshaw and Putman were not among them - I took especial care to enquire."

"Damn and blast it," Harmony said. "When you told me that Putman was finally trying to put his plan in action, I'd hoped that this would be the end of it all."

"Me too," William said. "I was certain Simcoe would do a thorough job of it but it was not to be. I had a message from O'Hara yesterday to inform me of the outcome, I sent back immediately to discover if Putman and Farshaw were among the dead or captured. It took a while to be certain but this morning I found out that no, we were not so lucky. The only person who is happy about the outcome, is Cilla."

"I can't fault her that," Harmony said. "She was beside herself when she found out that Simcoe was going after her father. So soon after losing her mother, she can't bear to lose him also."

"Her father is stark raving mad, Harmony. Putting him down would be a kindness."

"Yes, I'm certain Cilla will look at it that way," Harmony scoffed. "Is that what you came to tell me? That my husband, who I was praying would be dead by now, has slipped the net yet again? That the Almighty Above wasn't listening to me, after all? Three days of praying, William. All for nothing."

"We'll get him in the end," William said grimly. "That was one reason I came. The other - Harm, Beth said something strange the other day. I made mention to her about Thomas returning Thunder to me -"

"And she called you a Gods cursed fool, for thinking it. Yes, she told me."

"If she told you that, then she would have told you the rest. If Thunder did not come here through Beth's brothers, how is he here?"

"How many days has Beth been here for, William? Four, five? And in that time, you've never questioned her about why she left Banastre, have you?"

William's face turned to stone.

"Don't give me that muley expression. You asked how Thunder is here, and the answer is tied to Beth leaving Banastre. Do you want to hear it, or not?"

William drew a shuddering breath, then gave Harmony a curt nod.

"Very well. There was tension between them for some time, because Beth had revealed to Banastre that he wasn't the father of the child," she made a deliberate point of beginning with this, while ignoring his thunderous expression. He had asked, and she would answer - she would tell him all of it. "So yes, they were already on the rocks, the tension had been building but on the day of the battle - that big one with Burwell, at the Cowpens - it reached a head. You see, one of the men who helped Beth to get away was one of Martin's spies. He was in the Quarter Master's tent and when a package filled with correspondence arrived from Fresh Water for Beth, he made certain she knew of its existence…"

* * *

It was hours later and pitch black outside, William lay on his cot, Harmony's words still thundering through his head. Banastre, burning Beth's letters and keeping back the money William had sent her. A gilded cage of lies, Beth had called it. Her attempt to leave him with her father's spies, only to be told that Shadow Dancer was gone. Banastre, riding in on Thunder and announcing that Shadow Dancer was dead. Lies and betrayal. It was what Beth deserved for leaving William, but she would have left Banastre months ago, she would not have continued to wallow in that sordid affair, if not for that. Which was why Banastre held back the letters - he couldn't risk losing his hold over his mistress. It was over between them the moment she discovered the letters, which - like a curtain lifting - had revealed to her the truth. And then there was the lengths she'd gone to, to ensure Thunder never left her sight.

Beth was alone next door, her women had retired and so had Beth. William squeezed his eyes shut, his arm over his face. Still he couldn't stop the onslaught - everything Harmony had told him. Beth not allowing anyone near Thunder, even having a screaming match with some pompous Ensign that tried to take him. It was because of her that Thunder was again with William, for when she snuck out of Banastre's camp that night, she'd bought Thunder out with her. Thomas hadn't handed Thunder over to her when he met her at Burwell's camp as William and initially assumed. Banastre had had Thunder from the moment he'd captured Benjamin, and when she fled, Beth had been damned determined that the horse would not be left behind.

Gods curse fool indeed.

That's precisely what he was, he knew it even as he pushed off the covers and lurched to his feet. He jerked back the partition - Beth wasn't in bed yet as he'd thought, she was sitting at the small table, a quill in her hand, drawing by candlelight. She jerked her head up, startled by his sudden appearance - he hadn't tried to be in her company since she arrived all those days ago. Now, he couldn't keep himself away. He was a man drowning and she was his salvation. His air. His life. In two strides he was across the tent and he pulled her to her feet, and before she could speak, he kissed her. For several devastating heartbeats his lips moved over hers, he groaned, it felt like salvation, holding her again.

But before long, sense returned and disgusted by his own weakness, he released her. Shrugging off her attempt to seize his arm, he stormed back to his side of the tent and to the sound of Beth's weeping, he quickly began to get dressed.

* * *

William sat across from Richard in the Major's tent, candlelight flickering across both their faces. Cilla was absent, off helping Harmony with the birthing of Richard's bastard. Richard's skin was stretched like tight leather across his features, he was taut with worry for his former mistress and their child. He could not be there for her, as she did not want him there. And now here was William, adding to Richard's burdens.

"Why?" Richard breathed. "If you do this, this will be the end. Martin's Reverend has likely already drawn up the annulment for you to sign and you won't be allowed to leave Beth at the Ferguson's without signing it, Martin has made that very clear."

"I am aware of that," William said. His hands were clasped tightly on the table to stop the shaking, he stared down at them, unable to meet Richard's eyes.

"I married you to her."

"Richard -"

"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. To death do you part. You both agreed to it, William."

"I hadn't realised you'd take this so personally," William frowned. "This is difficult enough, Richard."

"William, I was there. I presided over your wedding. And I bore witness to it when you repeated those very same vows, before Reverend Fuller. William -"

"She broke her vows," William argued and Richard snapped his mouth shut. "For months, she was in his bed. And she only left him because she was finally able to read Cilla and Harmony's letters, explaining the truth. I told her the truth, Richard, and still she left me."

"Shh, keep your voice down," Richard said and it was only then that William realised he'd raised it. He swallowed hard and tightened his lips.

"It isn't enough," he said softly. "Her leaving Banastre and bringing Thunder with her isn't enough. She wasn't coming here to me, she was trying to reach her Aunt, which means she would have taken Thunder there, to wherever Mrs. Selton is. Even learning the truth, she wasn't coming back to me. Her father forced her to that. I was on the precipice of forgiving her tonight -" he cut short, falling silent. Richard waited him out, as silent as the grave as he poured whiskey into two small cups. William accepted his gratefully. How could he confess to Richard how weak he was? To give in to his feelings so easily, just because Beth had brought Thunder back? She was with William because her father had forced her to be with him, and Thunder had been given back to him because the horse had just happened to be with her at the time. She hadn't made any especial sacrifice in coming to him or in bringing Thunder to him. She hadn't chosen William over Banastre. When she'd set out from Banastre's camp, she'd chosen a life without either of them.

"Martin said that if you do this, you forfeit all rights to her; to her fortune. You'll have to pay back every penny you've spent -"

"I haven't spent much," William shrugged.

"And that you forfeit your legal right to the child," Richard finished, ignoring the interruption.

"No one can enforce _that_," William said ruefully. "The rest, yes. But not that. If the child is mine, it'll still be mine regardless. If I choose to have the raising of it, then neither Martin or the reverend can prevent me taking it."

"You'll punish Beth the same way you're going to punish Linda?"

"The whipping will be Linda's punishment," William said harshly. "My removing my child from Linda is for its salvation, its protection."

"And your child needs protecting from Beth?"

"Beth's child isn't mine, Richard."

"Everyone else says it is," Richard said. Then he spread his hands as if in surrender, when William's face darkened. "If your mind is set…" he said, trailing off. Then there was no point in trying to convince William otherwise. William nodded once, it was set.

"I am taking her to the Ferguson's tomorrow," he said. "The house is a mile or two from here; I'll never be this close again. If it's to be done, it needs to be done now."

"If?"

"Figure of speech only. I am taking two score of Dragoons, the trip there and back will only take an hour, at most."

"You're right, if it's to be done, it must be now," Richard agreed and William arched his eyebrows. "Is Mrs. Ferguson there? Mary, Colin's wife?"

"I believe so."

"I think… I wonder - they've obviously agreed to take Beth in, do you think they will take Cilla in, also? Mrs. Ferguson wouldn't let them turn her away, surely? And Harmony and the baby."

"What?" William gasped, stunned.

"It's not safe here, William. It'll be weeks before we see the end of winter and even longer before the weather gets warmer. My son - or my daughter - will be outside, exposed to the elements, in the meantime. How am I supposed to keep him warm? Mrs. Andrews and Mrs. Garland have both been encouraging me to make Harmony stay someplace warm and dry, they told me that my child could die if I don't."

William nodded slowly, understanding.

"And we'll be moving much faster now that Cornwallis has commanded us to burn the carriages with the baggage. We've got rebels nipping at our heels - constant skirmishes to harass us. Mr. Jutland has approached me, he is as worried for Harmony and the baby as I am. It's far more dangerous for her than any of us imagined."

"Harmony agreed to nurse my child, Richard," William said.

"So we take your baby too, as soon as they are born. Do you think your child is any safer than mine is going to be? Mrs. Andrews' warning would apply to you, as well."

"Yes," William agreed. "And it will look less like I'm setting Beth aside, if Cilla and Harmony are to go with her. But what of Putman? He's still out there."

"He was no less a risk to you five minutes ago, when you were taking Beth on her own," Richard pointed out. "Besides, his force has been decimated - Simcoe said that he got away with barely ten men. And when the women are at the Fergusons' - well, Colin was one of our own men. Even retired from the Dragoons, he's not likely to advertise to Putman that the women are there."

"Very well. Will Cilla protest leaving you?"

"Almost certainly. But she'll also want to be where Beth and Harmony are, and I want her where she is safest, so protest or not, she is leaving. It's the Ferguson's I'm worried about - will they have enough room for all the women, and two newborn babies?"

"They'll have to make room," William said. He drank back his whiskey, hissed through his teeth as it burned down his throat and stomach. He set the cup down and rose. "I'm going to tell Beth."

"Jesus, William," Richard ran a hand over his head. Resigned, he rose and said, "I'm going to send for George and Hamish."

They stepped outside and parted ways, Richard to inform Harmony's father and brother of the decision, and William to inform Beth. He stepped into his tent and stood there, staring at the partition, unable to move toward it. A trembling seized him, his heart pounded and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead and down his spine.

_Weak_, he thought, chiding himself again. He was saved from approaching by Beth herself, who lifted the partition and stood there in her robe, gazing up at him. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes big and pleading, her misery tearing at his heart and his soul.

_Weak_, he growled to himself, firming his resolve.

"Tomorrow, you will go to the Ferguson's," he said. Her eyes bulged and she made a desolate sound that no husband wanted to hear.

Then again, he had just declared he was no longer her husband. Still, he had no desire to hear it and without a backward glance, he strode from the tent and into the darkness.

* * *

Harmony's tent was awash with light, candles and lanterns on every surface. This was not the tent she normally slept in - it was the one Richard had provided as soon as he realised she was in labour. The command tent, as large as William's, with enough room for her to walk around in. Which is what she was doing now, as William came in. Pacing, like a caged lion, not seeming to know what to do with herself. Cilla, William saw, was no where to be seen. Mrs. Garland was there, however, sitting patiently and knitting of all things.

"Have you checked in on Linda?" Harmony snapped by way of greeting. William frowned.

"This is why men are not allowed in the birthing chamber," Mrs. Garland said calmly. "The pain makes us so surly, men can not bear to be around us."

"Harmony is often surly," William said. "Is there anything I can do?" He asked Harmony.

"Don't be bloody daft," she said. "I wanted Mrs. Andrews. No offence," she said to Mrs. Garland, who shrugged. "But for months now, I thought she would be here, _she_ is my damned midwife. Mrs. Garland, I do trust you, I do. But -"

"But Mrs. Andrews was supposed to be by your side - a woman you know. Now you're stuck with a woman you've barely met. I understand quite well, Mrs. Farshaw. I can but reassure you that I will do all I can for you and for your child."

"I'm not Mrs. Farshaw anymore," Harmony said, baring her teeth as she strode about, her hands clutching her stomach. "I am no longer married, my father said so. Miss Jutland. Dear God, what were the odds that Linda and I would labour at precisely the same time? He's against right now, He must be."

"Who?" William asked.

"Him!" Harmony's forefinger pointed at the tent roof. To the sky, he realised. "Our Almighty Father. First, he lets Calvin live. He lets Calvin _get away_! And now, He has Linda and I giving birth at the exact same time. But oh no, Linda had to start slightly before me, didn't she? So she gets my midwife." She drew a shuddering breath, then said, "and I am being surly."

Mrs. Garland made a sound of agreement but was otherwise indifferent. William did not rise to Harmony's bait - he would not ask her about Linda or the baby - Mrs. Andrews would come to him as soon as there was something to be told.

Rounding on William again, Harmony said, "this is your fault."

"Mine?" He lifted an eyebrow. "With you, at least, I can say with absolute certainty that what you are going through is definitely not my fault."

"With me_ 'at least'_? You can say with absolute certainty that Beth's child is your fault, William," she snapped. "And that's not what I meant in any case. All that talking earlier, you drilled me for nearly two hours and the moment you left, this started."

"Ridiculous," Mrs. Garland said. "It was happening well before then. Take no notice of her, Sir. It was her time, is all. You did nothing to bring on her labour."

"I know," William said. "She is beside herself with pain and needs someone to lash out at. I know that feeling."

"Oh, don't you dare claim that you've felt anything like this before," Harmony said incredulously. "And yes, I am lashing out at you - a man, in a woman's birthing chamber!" Harmony gave a bitter laugh and gestured at the tent she was pacing in. "Such wonderful accomodations for an expectant mother."

"Don't be too high and mighty about it," he grinned. "Mary gave birth to Jesus in a stable, after all. If a stable is good enough for the Almighty's Son, then a tent should be -"

"Oh shut it," she said, making a shooing gesture with her hands to ward off his attempt at humour. "I could have been at home with my mother," she accused, jabbing her finger at him. "But oh no, not with you on your knees begging that I come with you. You and Richard both."

"That's not quite how I remember it," he said ruefully.

"Oh, what do you want?" She said, impatient and frustrated. Just then, she stopped dead and with a gasp, she gripped the table until her knuckles were white, a low keen ripping from her throat. William was at her side, taking hold of her arm.

"What is it, what is wrong?"

"It hurts, that's what's wrong!" She gasped out, wiping tears from her cheeks. He gazed at her with concern as she grimaced and panted. He threw a helpless look toward Mrs. Garland, who had set her knitting to one side and was watching warily from her seat. He could feel Harmony begin to relax as the contraction started to subside. Harmony then straightened her spine, took a deep, shuddering breath, and wiped her face with the back of her hand. In a calmer, weaker voice, she turned to him and asked, "why are you here?"

"Richard, your father and your brother will be here soon," he began, releasing her arm. He saw her eyes grow cold at the mention of Richard. "I wanted to speak to you first." He glanced at Mrs. Garland, who hesitated.

"I'll be alright. I doubt this will take long," Harmony said and Mrs. Garland put her knitting down, rose, and left the tent.

"You agreed that you would nurse my child. Will you still?"

"If I'm able. There's no certainty that I'll be able to nurse my own. If my milk doesn't come in, or if there's not enough… I'll do what I can," she said, taking up her pacing again, her arms behind her, her knuckles pressing into the small of her back. She was wearing only her night robe, but William barely noticed - he'd seen her thus undressed before.

"I need you to be its nurse, Harm. And I need you to be its..." He trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it.

"Its mother, William," she said, rounding on him. "The word you are looking for, is _mother_. And that, I can do, for now. However, I must remind you that it already _has_ a mother -"

"Linda is not my child's mother." Iron entered his voice and she raised her arms in surrender. This discussion had been had repeatedly, and at times it became rather heated; she simply did not have the energy to have it again now. It was his right, the child was his, and that was an end to it. "I'm sending Beth to the Ferguson's."

This stopped Harmony in her tracks.

"What?" She gasped. Just then, another contraction took her and she was again clutching at the table, her entire body tight as she bent over, that keen issuing from her lips again. He rubbed her back for her, not knowing what else to do.

"What can I do? Should I recall Mrs. Garland?" He asked, still rubbing her back.

"Not that," she drew away from his hand, she didn't want to be touched. "And no, just…" No more words - she just needed a minute, for the pain to pass. He gave that to her while watching with helpless concern. When it passed, she stayed bent over the table as she met his eyes, hers filled with tears, her cheeks wet from the pain. "That means you're ending your marriage," she said harshly. He wasn't sure if her voice was ragged from the pain or fury with him for making this decision. "Did nothing I said earlier sink in?" She hissed. There, he had his answer. "She left Banastre, the moment she realised the truth -"

"She did," he agreed. "She did not leave him to return to me, however. That, she was forced to do by her father. So what do you have, Harm? I should forgive her because she returned Thunder to me? She wasn't even doing that - that was mere happenstance."

"What do I have? You are not innocent! That's what I have!" She hissed, face flushed red with fury, her lips peeled back from her teeth. "You should forgive her _because you are far from bloody innocent_!"

He lifted his chin. It was an old argument between them - he'd pursued an innocent girl, seduced her, knowing she was falling in love with him, while he was having ill intentions toward her. His actions had nearly destroyed her reputation, a reputation that no one had had cause to doubt, until he came along. He shrugged. "I married her, didn't I? I made an honest woman out of the woman _Banastre_ ruined."

"Ooohhh you -" Harmony was about to go into full rage but William spoke over her, before she could.

"Any moment now, Richard and your father will arrive, to inform you that you are to go with Beth. It is too dangerous for you to continue on. Rebels are nipping at our heels. The baggage has been abandoned, we are going to move as swiftly as possible and will be skirmishing with the rebels the entire way. And when the armies meet - that is when, not if - that is not a place you and and a newborn child should be. And there's the weather - your child needs to be inside a house with a roaring fire, or it might catch ill and die."

Harmony blanched and she held a hand protectively over her stomach.

"You shall go with Beth and Cilla, to the Ferguson's."

"Where I'm sure Mary Ferguson will welcome me with open arms," Harmony said bitterly.

"That is neither here nor there. You will have Beth and Cilla, you are close to them both, that is all that matters."

"Have you told her?" She asked and he nodded.

"She knows."

"You're a bastard," she said. "I want it on the record, William, that I think you're a bloody bastard."

Another wave of pain hit her and he waited it out, back ram rod straight, face cold and hard, determined not to let her know how her words had effected him. Finally, she began to pace again.

"Wait," she whirled, suddenly realising what else he was saying. "I'm to look after your baby, while you go off traipsing with the army?"

"I would be very grateful to you if you would," he replied.

"And if you die?" She asked, hands on her hips. "What happens if you never return for your child?"

"I…" He stopped, for he hadn't thought this far ahead.

"Haven't thought of that," she accused. "I can't afford to provide for it, no matter how much I might want to. You'd better write your child into your Will, leave it something before you go off and die and leave it with nothing."

"That is sage advice," he said, not rising to the bait. "I will do so before we leave, I will ensure that when we part, you will have a copy with my intentions for the child."

"That's grand, but what are your intentions? For me to raise it, if you die?"

"I… Harmony, I have no one else," he spread his hands wide. "I can not send a bastard home to my mother. There is only you. Of all the people in the world, you are the only one I'd trust with my child. And don't harp on about Linda, I wouldn't trust her with someone else's child, let alone my own."

"You will give it your name though?" She asked and he nods. "That's a start… How much will you leave it? You are ending your marriage with Beth and her father made it very clear to you that if you did so, her dowry and inheritance were forfeit. You won't have a penny of hers, so how will you leave this child anything?"

"I do have money of my own," he said. "My child will not be penniless, nor will he or she become a duty incumbent upon you, in the event of my death." He cocked his head. "The talking of which, I note, doesn't seem to inspire much concern in you."

"You want me to grieve you?" She said, lifting her chin. "William, I don't believe I ever want to set eyes on you again."

His jaw dropped, he breathed out slowly, then closed his gaping mouth.

"You wanted to fuck her," she spat. "For fifty pounds. You cared nothing for what it would do to her. The pursuit. The seduction. Her heartbreak when she learned the full truth. The confusion. The desolation when it was over between you. And when everyone turned their backs on her. The lack of hope that she would ever be with you again. You tossed her off a cliff and no one was there to catch her, _least_ of all you. Until _he_ came along and got her soused and gave her all the affection she'd been denied and was craving like a starving child. You set her feet on the road to her ruin and after walking it with her only a short while, you'll leave her to continue that road for the rest of her life, alone. And for that, this leaving her, I'll never forgive you. For abandoning your child, I shall never forgive you."

His lips were tight, his face bloodless. He nodded curtly and turned to leave. Another contraction began to take her and as she bent over the table, she said through gritted teeth, "And don't you dare forget what you did to Cilla! Richard raped her, and you protected him! You have no right…! No right to act the martyr! None! I should have turned my back on you months ago - back in the city when all this started! You are no damned innocent, William!"

"I'll send Mrs. Garland back to you," he said, trying to recover his equilibrium. He bowed, then walked out of the tent.


	149. Chapter 149 - The Deserters

Reply to guest: Hi! Thanks for the review :-) _"Will there be a chance to change his mind and leaving her to the Fergunsons won't mean the end of the marriage but an act of keeping her safe? You can't let her father collect her."_

That would be a nice twist, that something goes down with the army and it turns out that Beth's life was saved by William taking her to the Ferguson's, and that their marriage isn't over.

But no :-) I didn't explore Benjamin's letter onscreen, because letters can be hard to write and Benjamin's would have been too 'wordy', and would have broken up the flow of that particular scene. You only know through Tav that the act of taking her to the Ferguson's is the end. This isn't a spoiler - I'm just clarifying details: In the letter, Benjamin told William that the annulment document (which Reverend Oliver has drawn up and left with the Ferguson's off screen) will be waiting there for William to sign, and that Colin and Colin's father will be his witnesses to him legally ending the marriage. Once that is signed, Beth's fortune will revert back to Beth's control, and William will have to pay back any money he's spent from her fortune. I've tweaked the previous chapter to make it a little clearer, and I have some of those details coming out in conversation in this chapter as well.

Basically, once it's signed, William would have to marry Beth again if he changed his mind later, but as Benjamin is sick and tired of them both, he'd take quite a lot of convincing before he'd allow that :-)

Still, anything is possible! :-)

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Chapter 149 - The Deserters:

The feeling that Samuel was doing good, that he was countering every evil act of his father, had been fading for some time. For several months now, Samuel had begun to feel that there was something wrong with Captain Gordon. The British Officer wasn't right - in the head. Perhaps it was the blow he took from the flat edge of Samuel's father's tomahawk. Or perhaps he'd always been that way. Whatever the case, there was something wrong with Captain Gordon. And with the men that had been joining Gordon's unit these last few months.

The way they looked at him sideways, the scowls they threw him when he thought he wasn't looking. The smiles they put on, when they realised he was. With these men, he'd thought he'd found a new family. Was it their increased number that made him feel so uneasy? So many strangers… but even among those who he'd started out with, he was beginning to realise that he did not truly _know_ them.

He'd thought they were doing good - Captain Gordon would inform him he received a missive from Colonel Tavington and away they would go, gathering information and at times - as their numbers began to swell - they would commit to attacks and skirmishes. Captain Gordon always said that Tavington commanded them; but in more recent times, Samuel wondered.

Now was one of those times. Gordon wasn't aware that Samuel had begun to spy on him: when Gordon instructed Samuel to stay back with the horses, he had always done so, he would wait out of ear shot, for the rest of the band to return from whatever it was they'd been off doing. That had changed some days ago, as Samuel's curiosity and suspicions began to grow. Right now, he was crouched in the woods, eyes fixed on the small cabin, his heart pounding as he listened to a woman's screams. Children were crying, their pitched wails slicing into Samuel's soul. He'd begun to suspect what was happening to the women in these houses and cabins the Captain found. His men - sixty of them now, all carousing and laughing around the house, while several of them were closeted inside. It was the same at each house, the only thing that changed was that it was a different group of men who went inside.

As though they were taking turns. The thought made Samuel shudder.

Last time, it was a large Plantation house with lots of women inside. Half the unit went in that time, and the sound of so many women screaming followed Samuel into his nightmares.

He saw Captain Gordon emerge from the house, his clothes were askew and his fingers worked the ties that laced closed his breeches. Seeing him, Samuel fell back through the woods to where he was meant to be standing sentry with the horses. As he got further away from the house, the sound of the woman shrieking and the children crying dwindled and faded until all Samuel could hear was birdsong, the rushing water of a nearby river, and the horses. They always left him out of ear shot of the houses - he was not meant to know what was happening inside them.

Surely Tavington would not command such evil? Samuel's hands shook as he wiped tears from his cheeks. His entire body trembled. He glanced at his horse and wondered if he should mount and ride, to get the hell away from what he knew now were madmen. Men such as this could not be considered family. His father had committed atrocities, but would he do this? Samuel couldn't imagine it. And he couldn't imagine that his brother in law would either.

Samuel had time, the men would be occupied for a bit longer. He set aside the horror of that thought as he made his way toward Captain Gordon's mount. After a quick glance back at the woods to ensure no one was coming, he opened the first saddlebag. It was disorderly inside, Gordon's clothes and other items shoved in any old way. This worked in Samuel's favour, Gordon would not notice that the messy tangle of clothes had been disturbed. He was looking for Gordon's wallet, the one which contained his letters from Tavington, the letters giving the order to… Samuel drew a shuddering breath.

Swallowing back bile, he pulled out the letter case. Another look through the woods toward the direction of the house to be sure - but he knew he was safe enough. When the house began to burn, that was when the men would begin to return. He squatted, set the open case on the ground, and began reading the letters. As his did, he felt his mouth go dry.

There was indeed a letter from Tavington, dated a few months ago, back to when Gordon and the unit had served under Banastre Tarleton for a short while. Samuel remembered seeing a superior officer handing Gordon this very piece of paper, a letter from Tavington. At the time, Samuel had been distraught that William was summoning the unit home, and that Beth would get into William's ear until William declared that Samuel was not a Corporal after all, that he wasn't even in the army. Gordon had reassured him that day. They had been made a covert group, Tavington's eyes and ears in the field. Samuel had asked if Tavington had commanded that he return to Fresh Water.

_"No son, you're one of us, your place is with us. You'll help us to dig out any and all information about the rebels, anything we can send back to Tavington, that will give him the edge he needs. You're with us, lad, and he knows it."_

But Gordon, Samuel knew now, had been lying.

The letter had been exactly what Samuel had predicted all those months ago. The unit had been recalled to Fresh Water - Gordon had been commanded to return with the men, had been ordered to bring Samuel Martin with him.

It was all lies. They'd never been a covert operation. They'd never been following William's commands and reporting back to him. If anything, they'd ignored his command and had done their own thing. Which could only mean one thing.

Captain Gordon and the unit were deserters.

All of them. The increasing number joining them - they were likely deserters too, from their own units. The other papers in the case confirmed it. There was even a proclamation, declaring Gordon and the unit to be deserters, they were to be hanged as soon as they were found. How Gordon got hold of it - or why he'd kept it - Samuel did not know. He snapped the wallet closed and shoved it into the saddlebag, and wondered what the hell he was to do.

* * *

In the days since discovering the truth, Samuel had been too afraid to desert the unit of deserters. He was young, but he was not a fool. If they woke one morning to discover he was gone, they wouldn't just let it lie. These were deserters, desperate and wanted - criminals with a death sentence hanging over their heads. They would not risk that he wouldn't reveal their location to the first rebel or British patrol he found. They would have hunted him down like a dog, and killed him.

Samuel wasn't even sure Captain Gordon would stop them - for he was a deserter too.

"Somewhat wrong, son?" Gordon asked as they rode along the beach. The landscape had been changing lately, from swamp to coast. Water splashed around the horses hooves as they trotted through the low surf toward the small island. Gullah, it was called. Something about it niggled in his memory but he couldn't quite catch it - he was certain he'd heard the name before. As far as the eye could see, there were crude batches mostly made of driftwood. There was a sea of people - all of them negro - working and living there. Escaped slaves? Yes, that was likely.

"No, nothing is wrong, Captain," Samuel said, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was around Gordon now. Was he going to hurt these people here on Gullah, too? There were many women and he doubted the men would be able to defend them - there were only a few carrying fowling pieces, they would be no match for Gordon's sixty armed deserters.

"You've been quiet these last few days," Gordon observed.

"Just missing home, I guess," Samuel replied. It was true, too. He missed Fresh Water. And he missed his family. His real family. His brothers and sisters. His Aunties, uncle, cousin. Even his father. He'd seen things since the attack on the Pembroke Road, things that made his father's brutal attack seem trivial.

Gordon laughed. "You were chomping at the bit to not be summoned home, and now you tell me you're missing it?"

"It's winter," Samuel said and Gordon laughed again, this time with understanding.

"Yes, it's been blasted cold. The winter we've had would make anyone want to be home. Sitting beside a roaring fire, a beer in one hand and a plate of meat in the other. I don't blame you for wanting to be at Fresh Water with your family, even if it meant being with that mad man you call father," Gordon said.

He was always saying things like that, Samuel realised. Always quick to turn their conversations into an attack on Samuel's father. It twisted something inside him, made him want to scream at Gordon that yes, Benjamin had murdered Gordon's men but at least he didn't rape innocent women! Didn't terrorise children and burn down their houses! Samuel's father was a madman? Gods, Gordon had far surpassed him in the race toward that title.

But that was dangerous thinking and Samuel needed to start being smarter than his emotions.

"I don't call him father," Samuel said, as he'd been saying all these months. Only now, it felt like a lie. Benjamin Martin was his father. Benjamin Martin attacked those British soldiers on the Pembroke road, for taking his sons - and his other men - prisoner. Benjamin Martin had saved the lives of his sons and men that day, for they surely would have perished on a prison ship by now, if he hadn't. These deserters had done far worse, at far less provocation. What had those women ever done to Gordon?

"There's a good lad," Gordon laughed again and ruffled Samuel's hair. Samuel again suppressed the urge to scream at him. Instead, he set his tricorn back on his head, so Gordon couldn't do that anymore.

"Why are we here?" Samuel asked, not really expecting an answer. "There's nothing here, just negroes and mosquitoes."

"Don't worry, we won't be staying," Gordon said. Samuel would have pointed out that that wasn't an answer, but he knew he had to continue to be the boy Gordon expected him to be. And that boy hadn't ever questioned Gordon, he'd trusted Gordon completely and utterly.

_Utterly wrongly_, Samuel thought.

"Tonight, when we make camp, we'll train, alright?" Gordon asked. Samuel tried to make himself appear excited.

"Alright, that would be great!" He said, as bright and chipper and stupid as the boy Gordon expected.

"Alright, son," Gordon grinned. "I need to talk to these folks - I want you to stay here with the men. We won't be long."

Foreboding lanced through Samuel's gut as the unit stopped and several of the men - including Gordon, dismounted. Those few crossed toward the shanties a few rods away. Wary negroes - who'd already stopped what they were doing at the sight of the unit - watched Gordon approach.

The other men - those still mounted - hadn't heard Gordon tell Samuel to stay put. Filled with agitation, he glanced at the nearest.

"I'm starved. Might go see if they've got something to eat," he said. The fellow - one of the newcomers, shrugged.

"Bring back a jug, if they've got one," he said.

"In this woeful lot?" Another asked. "You dream fondly, my friend."

"Worth a try," he replied.

"I will try," Samuel said. Gordon had his back to him, he did not see Samuel run to the back of the shanty. He circled around and then stopped when he came upon a dark faced woman working inside. "Have you food?" He asked. "And ale? I can pay."

The woman, looking terrified - no doubt at the presence of the soldiers - nodded and invited him in. As she gathered some provisions, Samuel sidled to the wall, where Gordon was speaking to the negro men just on the other side. He kept to the shadows, for the driftwood had gaps as large as his fist and if Gordon glanced to his left, he would see Samuel for certain.

The gaps worked against him, but they worked for him as well. He might as well have been standing at Gordon's side, he could hear every word they were saying.

"…Putman took 'em," the negro said. "Months ago."

_Putman! Did he mean uncle Mark? _Gordon's stream of cursing sliced into Samuel's thoughts.

"I was told they were here," Gordon raged when he stopped swearing. "They've all gone? Mrs. Selton? And the eldest daughter - Margaret is her name. She's gone too?"

"The children. Wife. Sister. All go with him," the negro said.

"Where?" Gordon asked harshly. He looked ready to pummel the negro to atoms.

"Plantation few miles from here. Singleton's," the negro said, taking a full step back.

As if he'd forgotten the negroes, Gordon began to rant to the other men. "This was a waste of time! I should have fucked that bitch when I had the chance. That piece of shit Brownlow stopped me. I could have gotten away with it - no way would she have told Tavington. I offered him a turn to placate him but the bastard refused. And then she escaped - the damned bitch, and she took the girl with her. And now she's gone again?"

"Have you directions?" One of the other men asked the former slave, who was looking horrified.

"Yes, we need to know where Singleton lives," Gordon said, rounding on the negro.

"Ah… I not know. I ask," the negro said, seeming to regret having mentioned Singleton's name. He backed away, then turned and ran.

"Don't worry, we'll find out where it is. He said it's only a few miles away," one of Gordon's men said. "And we're no Brownlow's, we won't stop you having at either of them."

Another one said, "I just wish Martin was there to watch us."

"Let's follow the negro, see who he talks to," Gordon spat. The men began striding in the same direction as the former slave. Samuel turned horrified eyes toward the woman, who stared back at him just as shocked.

"My family," Samuel whispered. "He's talking about my aunt. My sister. I know what they've been doing - these men. They… they force themselves on… and now they'll do it to my aunt. My sister. Please, you have to tell me where they are - where is Singleton's?" He was on the verge of panic and tears, he saw the woman's face soften as she realised he wasn't working with the other men.

"You know Abigail?" The woman asked as she quickly folded provisions into a cloth.

"Yes, she raised me, she was my nurse! Is she here?"

"She with your family. Before she go, she tell us not to tell Britishers where they go. Cuffy - that he outside, who told about Singleton's, he never should have. But no one will say more now, no directions given to Britishers. Only me, to you." She began to whisper precisely how to reach Mr. Singleton's Plantation. When she was finished, she handed him the bundle and he reached into his pockets for several coins, his trembling fingers dropped on the floor.

"It alright - you go, go," she said, dropping to the floor to pick them up. Samuel ran out of the shanty. Keeping the shanty to his back, he went around a longer route, taking the time to calm himself and to make it appear as though he had been in a different section of the settlement entirely, not in the shanty where he could eavesdrop on Gordon. By the time he returned, Gordon and the men were mounted and Gordon's face was thunder. He clearly hadn't received the directions he was after. Putting on a cheerful smile, Samuel pretended not to notice Gordon's fury as he handed the bundle up to the fellow who'd asked for ale.

"Sorry, no jug, but I did get some scraps for you." He'd made it look as though the fellow had _sent_ Samuel in - that Samuel had been performing an errand. He held his breath, hoping the fellow wouldn't say something to give the lie away.

"Eh, didn't really expect them too. My thanks," he took the bundle and Samuel released the breath he'd been holding. He fixed a grin on his face as he turned to Gordon.

"We going then?" He asked. He was nothing more than the eager, stupid boy again. "And we'll train tonight? You promised."

"Yes," Gordon said. "Just like I promised. Let's go."

* * *

It was almost nightfall and as the men didn't know the way to Mr. Singleton's, they had no choice but to make camp for the night. They would need to visit homesteads to ask directions and they could not do that in the dark, when the countryside had retired for the night.

When Gordon trained with Samuel that night, it was with a ferocity he'd never displayed before. Each blow of the practice sword was meant to be bruising. Samuel was strong now though, and he knew Gordon's moves, most of the blows were blocked before impact. Those that connected were punishing, the pain immense. The force behind Gordon's attempts grew with his mounting frustration - at not being able to hurt Samuel, at not being able to harm Samuel's family.

Yet.

Finally, Gordon called a halt. Perhaps some sense had returned and with it, Samuel's father figure. That's what Gordon had become, or so Samuel had felt. Up until now.

"We have an early start," Gordon said. "Go get some sleep."

Now this, _this_ is what Samuel had been waiting for. He tried not to look desperate, forced himself to be calm in his approach. "I'm wide awake now though, Captain," he said. "I can never sleep after training. Can I take first watch? Reckon I'll sleep like a baby afterward."

"As long as you don't fall asleep before, son," Gordon said.

"I've never fallen asleep on sentry duty," Samuel said.

"You've never been made to take first watch, either," Gordon said.

"Please? I won't be ready to sleep until I'm called to watch and then I probably _will_ fall asleep on duty."

"Yes, alright," Gordon said, seeing the sense in that. He told Samuel which position to watch from and Samuel set off. Gordon always positioned four sentries, one to watch each side of the camp. The sentries always kept watch from the saddle, they rode back and forth along their designated section, listening and watching for intruders. It was not unusual - indeed, it was expected - that Samuel fetch his horse.

Alone now in the woods on the outskirts of camp, Samuel made his preparations. By light of a firebrand, he packed his belongings into his saddlebags. Then, on a long stick, he staked an unlit firebrand into the ground. Anyone seeing it from the camp would assume that was Samuel, even well after he was gone. Now, still holding his lit firebrand, he mounted and began to walk the horse back and forth and away from the camp for a few yards, while the rest of the camp settled down for the night, safe and secure in the knowledge that the sentries would alert them to danger. Samuel kept watch filled with agitation. Lord, if Gordon had thought to ask around Gullah, he would have had the directions too, and he would have been at Singleton's within an hour.

_You have all night and some of the morning,_ Samuel thought. He had that long until Gordon reached Singleton's.

Samuel turned his horse toward the camp, he stretched his ears to listen for every movement and whisper within. He also kept his eyes on the other sentries, he could see their firebrands occasionally, which meant they could see his. When he couldn't see theirs, that meant they wouldn't be able to see his bobbing through the woods away from the camp when it was time to leave it.

Riding his slow circuit until the deserters to fall asleep left him with far too much time to think. It made him feel strange - how quickly he'd gone from 'these men are my family now' and feeling as though he were one of their number, to being an outsider among criminals. They were no longer his men.

They never had been.

Gordon, Samuel realised, had had a vendetta against Samuel's father from the start.

Captain Gordon had become a father to him, he'd taken Samuel under his wing, taught him how to wield a sword and more. Taught him how to be a soldier. Treated him like his own son. And all the while, he'd been intending to force himself on Aunt Charlotte, and from what Samuel heard, on Maggie as well.

Why had he feigned friendship with Samuel?

_Revenge on father, for killing his men. _As soon as the thought entered his head, he knew it to be true. His siblings had known it all along, they'd tried to warn him that Gordon was up to no good. But Samuel had thought his father was the devil back then, and Gordon his salvation. Samuel had been a party to the atrocity on the Pembroke Road, the brutal killing of half of Gordon's unit. He'd been so desperate to absolve himself, he'd been blind to Gordon utterly.

But his eyes were open now. Gordon had been unable to get his revenge on Benjamin Martin through the other children - so he'd sunk his claws into Samuel instead. But now the other children were near to hand and if Gordon got hold of them, they were all going to suffer.

Samuel was nothing to these people, he knew that now. It hurt, knowing the truth, tears blurred his vision and snot ran down his nose, he sat there in the saddle, huddled in his great cloak and wept like a child of seven. But he wasn't a little boy anymore. He needed to think like a man, now. A man in danger, surrounded by enemies, enemies who would do great harm to his family.

His family.

These men weren't his family, they never had been. Samuel had to protect his real family, his flesh, his blood, his brothers and his sisters. His Aunty. He forced himself to stop weeping, he couldn't hear the rest of the camp over that snivelling. Wiping his eyes, he waited in the cold, ears strained until he was certain that the last of the men had finally fallen asleep. Then, he rode slowly to the place where he'd staked a torch into the ground. From there, he watched the torches of the sentries keeping duty to his left and to his right. When he could no longer see their torches, he lit the staked torch, then turned and rode quietly away.

* * *

Samuel was not very familiar with the area at all, but the negro woman's instructions were very good. Initially, he stopped often to glance back for pursuit from Gordon's camp, but there was none. Perhaps the ruse with the torch had worked - though Samuel had worried that the other sentries would wonder why Samuel was saying in one place when they saw the torch hadn't moved, that they might come to investigate. Perhaps, at that very moment, the sentries were doing just that. Perhaps, at that very moment, Gordon's deserters were getting ready to come after him...

Once he reached the King's Road, he needed only to travel along it until he reached a grain mill and a lumber mill. Singleton's would be easy to find from there, the woman had said, and she'd been right. He judged that nearly two hours had passed since he'd left Gordon's camp. Now, he was riding hard up the carriage lane that led directly to the Great House.

He was challenged by Mr. Danvers before he reached the porch steps. Samuel pulled the reins and approached more slowly, as astonished as Danvers.

"Dear God," he said. "Is my father here, then?"

"Samuel," Danvers climbed down the steps and came to his stirrup, bathing his face in the light of Samuel's torch. "Jesus, you're alive! Your father? No lad, he's up in North Carolina. He sent me and some boys here to look after your aunt and the children."

"Thank God! How many of you are there?" Samuel asked. He'd gone to all consuming relief at seeing Danvers, for he assumed that meant his father was there. Then came crushing disappointment, to learn that his father wasn't. Now was relief again, for Gordon wouldn't have had such an easy time of his intentions, not with Benjamin's militia here.

"You say that like there's danger coming," Danvers said, having seen the expressions playing across Samuel's face.

"There is. That Gordon. I didn't know - I didn't realise it, but he's a madman. I thought papa was, because he butchered those men and you did to, we all did, we killed them and it left me feeling sick for the longest time and I was set against papa for the longest time but I'm not anymore. I know the truth now. Gordon wants to hurt papa for hurting his men, it's why he's been kind to me all this time, it's like he was trying to steal me from papa or something, which would hurt papa, wouldn't it? If another man stole his son -"

"It has hurt him greatly," Danvers said gravely.

"I'm sorry for it - I'm sorry I ever left. But I know the truth now. Gordon was going to… to…" Samuel drew a shuddering breath and continued on in a whisper, "force himself on aunt Charlotte - back when Tavington commanded him to whip her. But Brownlow stopped him." - Danvers nodded agreement and Samuel realised Danvers already knew this. - "Gordon hasn't ever forgotten it. He still wants to… do that… to Aunt Charlotte. And to Maggie to, I think."

"Jesus Christ!" Danvers muttered, his face stark horror in Samuel's torchlight.

"He's done it before, he's been doing it for weeks, maybe even longer, though he's tried to hide it from me. Every homestead we pass, it doesn't matter how little or how grand. If there's women there, they are… they are… Gordon goes in with his men and he… he…"

"I understand, lad, no need to say it," Danvers said, looking sick himself. "We already heard about it - Tavington the bastard has ordered those horrors to be afflicted on women whose husband's fight in the Patriot militia's."

"No. I mean, yes, but I didn't realise it was only Patriot women he was doing that to. I mean no - it wasn't at Tavington's command, I swear it on my life. I went through Gordon's things and found a letter from Tavington recalling Gordon. Gordon ignored it - which means he's a deserter. And I found a publication saying the same. They're all deserters - the British have said so, and when they're caught, they'll hang." Danvers mouth began to fall open with shock. "I swear it, Mr. Danvers, they are not acting on Tavington's command. I thought they were, Gordon said we were Tavington's eyes and ears in the field, a swift, mobile force, gathering intelligence. Only more and more men started joining us, and we weren't swift anymore. And nor were we only gaining intelligence. Instead, we began… I mean, they. Not we. I never did - I never hurt those women or burned their homes, I swear it on my life. I was told to hang back and look after the horses but I grew suspicious and I started to go look at what they were doing and what they were doing…" Samuel shuddered. "None of it was by Tavington's command."

"Alright lad, calm down now. I know you'd never do those things. I'm so glad you've finally seen sense and come home. You're safe now, you're safe here."

"But that's just it. I'm not. None of us are. I mean, depending on how many men you have here. How many do you have? Please say a hundred. Or five hundred -"

"Ten," Danvers said, becoming wary. "What do you mean, we're not safe here?"

"They're coming. Gordon has been looking for Aunt Charlotte, all this time. We just went to Gullah, where Gordon hoped to find her. But a negro there told him that Uncle Mark bought her and the children away to Mr. Singleton's months ago. Gordon started to rave about that, about wanting to get hold of Aunt Charlotte, to… to… and he wants to do that to Maggie, too. I heard him, I went inside a shanty where I could hear him, I heard all of it. I asked a negro woman where Singleton's was and she seemed to know - she'd heard what Gordon said too and was horrified so she told me how to get here, so I could come here and warn her. But you've only got ten men and Gordon, he has sixty!"

"Damn and blast it," Danvers said. "How far behind are they?"

"They didn't get directions, so they bedded down for the night. They're going to set out real early, they'll ask direction on the way, until they reach here. I took first watch, and as soon as the rest of them were asleep, I slipped away. I left a lit torch behind as a decoy, so they'd think I was still there. Then I followed the woman's directions. Took me nearly two hours to reach you, I think."

"We can't leave this to chance - we'll assume the worst - that they've discovered you're missing and are already on their way, for they very well might be. Come, lad, we have to wake the others."

"Thank God you're here," Samuel said as Danvers took charge of the situation.

"Thank God you came," Danvers said, slapping Samuel on the back.

* * *

"Sammie!" Maggie cried as she rushed into the parlour. She threw her arms around him and held on tight. She was far too much like a happy excited puppy to have been told what was going on. Samuel held her tight, shocked at how much his sister had changed. "Oh my God, look at you, look how much you've grown!" She said, stepping back from him. Under the circumstances, he didn't twit her for her tears, he felt like weeping himself. "I'm so glad you've come back to us," she stepped up to him again and began to weep in earnest. "You don't know how I've worried for you, and how much we all miss you. Thank you for coming back to us, Sammie."

"Thank you for not being angry with me," he replied, embracing her again.

"Oh, I am angry with you," she half laughed, half sobbed. "The scolding will start as soon as I've stopped crying."

Despite everything, he laughed. She wiped her tears and with a warm smile, she said, "happy birthday for yesterday."

"Oh my God," he whispered. He hadn't even known what day it was, hadn't even been thinking of his birthday. But here was his sister, doing exactly that. Overcome, he sat on the chaise and began to sob. Margaret sat with him, holding him and stroking his back. He felt the chaise dip and he looked up to see Aunt Charlotte had joined them, her arm was around him too. She looked grave and worried - clearly, she _had_ been told what was going on. Susan, who must be eight now, for her birthday was before his, threw her arms around him. William, still nine, for his birthday was still to come, hung back, grinning. "It was your birthday, too," Samuel half wept to Susan. "You're eight now. Happy birthday."

Birthdays. Real family knew when it was each others birthdays. Gordon hadn't ever thought to enquire.

"Do you have something for me?" Susan asked and Samuel barked a sobbing laugh.

"No, sister," Samuel said.

"Yes, you do," Maggie said, wiping her tears. "You've bought her you."

"I'm sure she'd have preferred a toy," Samuel tried to grin.

"No, I'm happy to have you," Susan said, climbing into his lap. He was astonished how big he'd gotten, that she could. Samuel looked at Aunt Charlotte, who stroked dark hair back from his face.

"It's so good to see you, Sammie," she said. "I'm so glad you've come back to us."

"I never should have left."

"Let's not," she shook her head. "Accusations, recriminations, our family has been torn apart and we need to put it back together. Let's not revisit what happened, you're here and that's all that matters."

It was then that Samuel remembered Aunt Charlotte's great sin, her betrayal of his father. How could he have forgotten? He stared at her gravely, not knowing what to say. He was saved the need of giving a response by Danvers and two others, who entered, firearms at the ready.

"Samuel has bought with him some deeply troubling news," Danvers said to the children. "It seems that Captain Gordon, you remember him?"

"Of course," Margaret said, frowning.

"Well, he is set quite firmly against your father. So firmly that he has made it clear that he means to get at your father by visiting great harm upon you," he gestured to them all. Maggie's face drained of colour. Danvers continued to speak of what they needed to do, but Samuel was looking past him at Anne, who was just now entering, looking terrified. He hadn't even known she was here. And she was pregnant, her stomach round with Gabriel's child. Would Gordon have visited his hatred upon her, as well? Samuel fought back the urge to vomit. "…likely got a very good head start on him, thanks to your brothers efforts in coming here immediately with his warning. But we're going to behave as though he's right on Sammie's trail. Now don't worry - Gordon _isn't_," Danvers said, reassuring them so they didn't panic. "But let's act like he is. I need all of you to get dressed, and then pack quick as you can. And pack only what can be carried on a horse - anything else can be sent for later."

"The baby won't last the night out in that cold!" Margaret said and Samuel frowned, glancing at Anne again. They'd need to be careful, to be sure, but Anne's baby would be fine, surely? Babies didn't get cold in the womb, if their mother's were outside, did they? He didn't know and before he could ask, Danvers answered Margaret.

"The deserters are coming here, Miss Margaret. Which means we need to be away from here. But we need not go far. I know of some good folk nearby who will take us in - you'll all be beside a warm fire again soon enough. Everything is in hand - you just do your part and we'll do the rest. Go, children, Abigail and Polly are waiting for you above," Danvers clapped his hands. "Go now."

Charlotte patted Samuel's back, then she and Anne followed the children upstairs. Samuel returned outside, where Benjamin's militia were preparing to leave.

"It's good to see you, Sammie," Kevin Rollins said as Samuel approached. "Danvers has told Singleton to send a man to the nearest British, to inform them where the deserters are," he said, shaking Samuel's hand.

"That's - - that's brilliant!" Samuel gasped. "I didn't think of that! They can go and capture the lot of them!"

"They'd need to get there in time," Kevin said wryly. "Might be that they find an empty camp, if Gordon's lot are already after you. The messenger will also tell the British of Gordon's intentions here, but you can't get excited about that, either, because the British might not be able to get here in time to intercept the deserters. Still, at least they'll know their general whereabouts. Until they're captured, they're a threat to your family, so we'd better get away from here as quickly as possible."

When Kevin asked, Samuel told him everything he'd told Danvers - it was good to get it all off his chest to those who would help him, and it helped to pass the time, as well.

At length, the children, Margaret and Anne emerged from the house and they were assigned a militiaman to ride with.

Samuel glanced to the porch, where Charlotte was speaking with a gentleman - Mr. Singleton, he was told. Mr. Singleton appeared to be trying to convince her of something, but she was waving him away. A young woman was fussing with a sling, tying it off around Aunt Charlotte's shoulders. Within it was an infant child, this was the baby Maggie had spoken of. Samuel stared, appalled, believing the baby to be Charlotte's, either by his father - or by Major Bordon. Was the timing right? He had no idea. She finally fended Mr. Singleton off and she approached Samuel.

"This is Matthew, he is your cousin," Charlotte said and Samuel took a full step back from her. If it was his cousin and not his brother, that meant it was Bordon's. Samuel stared at her with solemn eyes. "You're half right," she said, guessing his train of thought. "It's Major Bordon's, but it's not mine."

Samuel's horror eased to a frown.

"I've much to tell you, Sammie, and most of it isn't good. Can I ride with you?" She asked.

That awful foreboding seemed to be following him, he felt it again now, lurking along his spine. He helped her to mount then climbed up behind her. As soon as they were on their way, Charlotte's tale began to unfold.

* * *

"You look as exhausted as I feel," Harmony said to Beth. The two were sitting on Harmony's narrow bed - Harmony reclined against the pillows and Beth sitting on the side. Cilla, holding Harmony's baby, sat in a chair set before them, rocking the baby in her arms.

"Didn't sleep," Beth said, eyes on her hands.

"He's a bastard," Harmony said weakly, still exhausted after giving birth. "I told him I never want to speak to him again. I never want to set eyes on him again."

"Don't," Beth whispered, dropping her face to her hands. Harmony rubbed her back, but Beth hadn't started crying. She'd wept all night and half the morning, she didn't think she had any tears left. "Just, don't."

"I'm worried about you," Harmony said.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. It's not as though I haven't been through this before, isn't it? We're always hurting each other, it's probably for the best that it's over."

"You don't really believe that," Harmony said.

"I wasn't returning to him, remember? I wanted to go to my aunt Charlotte. I'm not claiming this isn't agonising." Beth paused to take a shuddering breath. "It is. It's… heartbreaking. Again." She heaved a sigh. "But… maybe we're just not… right for each other. We cause each other so much pain. I was in another man's bed - for months. His friend's bed. I wouldn't forgive him, if he did that to me. I _wouldn't_ have forgiven him, if he'd been bedding Linda like she'd led me to believe he was. I did that to him, and I knew it was probable that he'd set me aside."

"Well, he's a damned fool isn't he? He's throwing over a beautiful woman who loves him, as well as twenty thousand pounds and all those acres in the Low Country. You're better off without him," Cilla sniffed.

"He's not a fool for giving my inheritance up. I think it's quite telling, that he's willing to do so. It goes to show - he must have fallen out of love with me completely, I think, and not even my fortune is enough to keep him by me."

"Oh, Beth," Harmony heaved a sigh.

"I think you're right, Cil. I might be, in the end. Better off, I mean," Beth agreed. "He will be too. Apart, we can't tear each other to pieces and that's all we seem able to do. I'll be glad for this, one day."

Cilla and Harmony shared a disturbed look over Beth's bowed head. They could see by her too pale face and sunken eyes, her hunched shoulders and listless demeanour that William's intentions had wounded her deeply. Her words did not match her deep heartache.

"You can't simply get over it - don't try to ignore it, Beth," Cilla said, also worried. "I know that this is hurting you. Don't bury it."

Beth nodded wordlessly.

"And cry," Harmony added. "Let it all out. And if you're angry - and I think you should be - then let that out too. Scream at him. How dare he do this to you? You should be angry, Beth."

"That might come," Beth said softly. "At the moment, I'm just…" She choked off, struggling not to weep. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. "I'm not saying this isn't hurting me. It is. But I understand how it goes, now. The pain. Heartache. I've been through it, I'll get through it again. But the baby…" She placed her hand on her stomach as she opened her eyes. "It's his. Our baby is going to grow up without a father and that… That is what hurts most of all -" she choked off, her hand over her mouth, tears falling after all. "He's turning his back on our baby." The women were silent, Harmony rubbing Beth's back as she drew several deep breaths to rein back the sobs. "I understand why; he thinks it's not his and he won't set eyes on Banastre's bastard. But it's not. It's his."

"I know," Harmony said gravely. "And one day, when he realises that, he's the one that is going to be filled with regret and despair. And there won't be a damned thing he can do to mend it, for it will be too late. He'll never get those years back again."

"Another thing that saddens me," Beth whispered. "That he'll miss out on his son or daughter."

"His choice," Cilla said. "A poor one, and one he'll have to live with. But it's his and his alone - no one is making him do this."

Beth nodded and closed her eyes again. "Let's not… no more. This is a time to rejoice." Opening her eyes, she said, "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you last night."

"Are you mad?" Harmony gasped. "I understand completely why you couldn't be. I wish I could have been there for you."

"Now whose the mad one?" Beth asked with a wan smile. "I think you were going through quite enough."

"As were you. Besides, there's nothing you could have done for me - I had Cilla and Mrs. Garland," Harmony said. "So don't feel bad for not being here last night." Beth nodded and returned her attention to the fingers in her lap.

"Yes, you did have me," Cilla said, attempting to lighten the mood. "And oh, that was the longest night and morning of my life, oh yes it was!" Cilla cooed at the baby in her arms. "But it was so very worth it!"

"The longest night of _your_ life?" Harmony snorted from where she reclined in the bed. "It was the longest and most painful of _mine_."

"Oh, but she is so very worth it," Cilla said, using a silly voice for she was speaking to the baby, not to Harmony. "Oh, yes you are, Lydia Bordon. Little Miss Lydia Bordon. Oh, you have your father's hair, you do, and his eyes -"

"Mine are blue too," Harmony said peevishly.

"This is what my child will look like," Cilla said wistfully.

"Only much shorter," Harmony laughed.

"Oh, you," Cilla swatted playfully at Harmony's arm.

"Your baby will likely have your brown eyes," Harmony said, shuffling her exhausted body a little higher so she could gaze down at her daughter. Her voice softened. "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

"As beautiful as a tiny little angel."

"Oh Cilla," Harmony said, her voice cracking on a sob. "I am so grateful to you -"

"Whatever for?" Cilla gasped.

"That's your husband's bastard and yet you are holding her as if she's your own child."

"You are my sister and this child is my niece, Harmony," Cilla said, iron in her voice. "And I am falling in love with her already."

As Harmony began to weep, Cilla moved to sit beside her on the bed. She freed one arm from the baby and put it around Harmony's shoulders, comforting her. "Richard, Lydia, you and I; we are family." Beth, seeing how awkward the two looked, with Cilla cradling Lydia in only one arm, reached out to take the baby. Cilla, her arm free now, patted her own stomach. "Lydia will be sister to my own child. I know most wives wouldn't embrace this. Then again, most wives wouldn't want anything to do with their husband's mistress at all - former or current. But we're so far past all of that, I feel as close to you as I do to Beth. Besides, it's just the three of us now, with my stupid husband making me stay at the Ferguson's too, when he promised he would never leave me behind!" Her voice had become hard, but she forced the anger away. "All we've got is each other."

"I'm so pleased you're coming," Beth said to them both. "It's the only solace I take in any of this - that you're coming too. Even if you'd rather stay with Richard," she said to Cilla. To Harmony, she said, "and even if you'll be… raising that whore's child." Beth curled her lip. "He'll raise the bastard he got on her but he won't raise his own child?"

"What's he got to give your child anyway?" Harmony sniffed. "You were always the one with the fortune. I'll do my best to keep the child away from you."

"The child is an innocent," Cilla said, gently chiding Beth.

"I know. But she will also be a constant reminder of what that whore's child will have, and mine will not," Beth paused, then finished, "a father. He intends to come back for her, remember?"

"Well, the child is never going to have a mother, where yours will," Harmony said, as gently as Cilla.

"Yes. Small consolation." Beth gazed down at Lydia. At length, a smile tugged at the corners of her cold lips. "Cilla is right, she's beautiful, Harmony," she said as she handed the baby back to its mother.

"I find I must agree," Harmony said, taking Lydia into her arms and staring down at the angel's perfect face. Beth rose and straightened her skirts around her legs, then put on her wide brimmed hat.

"I'm going to head back and see how the packing is going. Are you alright?" She asked Harmony, who nodded.

The two women on the bed watched Beth step outside, they caught sight of Nancy and Shadow Dancer before the tent flap fell closed.

"Are you worried about her?" Cilla asked.

"Does bread need yeast to rise? Yes, Cilla, I'm damned worried about her."

"We'll need to keep a very close eye on her in the coming days."

"Good thing you're coming then, isn't it?" Harmony smiled and shoved against Cilla with her shoulder.

"Don't you start," Cilla said darkly. "I am in no way amused by Richard's decision, not one little bit."

"William's baby _is_ innocent, Cil. I'd hoped that Beth would come to feel the same for Louisa one day, as you do for Lydia," Harmony said, her voice still trembling.

"Oh, Harm," Cilla shook her head. "That's a completely different story and you know it. Like I said, we're family," Cilla whispered and Harmony nodded, wiping her eyes as she drew a deep breath to calm. "Beth will never look at Louisa and see family. Especially not with William ending their marriage now and acknowledging Linda's get while denying his own. Besides, Beth is likely never going to see Louisa, when William returns to take her away."

"If he returns," Harmony said. "He said he will leave Louisa a legacy, in case he dies. And in that case, I will have the raising of her."

"Even then, Beth won't see Louisa much - not in the long term. Beth will be at Fresh Water and we'll be… Lord, I have no idea where we'll be."

Harmony nodded. It was a different situation, Beth wasn't going to bond with her husband's daughter as Cilla was with hers. "I am so angry with him," fury entered Harmony's exhausted voice.

"Did you really say those things to him?"

"That I never want to lay eyes on him again? Lord, yes. Here he is, acting as though he's the only one with bruises. As though he's the only one to have been unfairly treated. He's been hard done by. As if he's innocent and has never hurt a soul. I reminded him that he hurt Beth plenty, back when she _was_ innocent. I couldn't mention that with Beth here, but I reminded him what he did to you - Richard forced himself on you, and William did nothing -"

"You said that to him?" Cilla asked.

"Damned right I did. He is making the choice to destroy Beth all over again, and now his child with her. As if he didn't do enough of that back in the city. I wasn't going to let him walk away thinking he's the poor, saintly victim."

Before Cilla could reply the tent flap stirred again and Richard entered. Cilla felt Harmony grow as stiff as a buckboard, as Richard stepped deeper into the tent, unsure of his welcome. Harmony handed Lydia to Cilla, then threw her legs over the side of the bed, her back to Richard. Cilla understood, she was to present the child to Richard herself, Harmony would have no part in it. Cilla, as angry as she was with Richard for forcing her to go to the Ferguson's, felt her heart break at the look on his face. Sighing, she climbed off the bed and rose, smiling up at her husband as she presented to him his daughter.

He stared down at the baby uncertainly, his eyes lifted to Cilla as if asking permission. Or, she realised, as if asking for instructions. "Like this," she said, positioning his arms as she laid the baby in them.

"So light," he whispered, staring down into the babies face.

"She has your hair," Cilla said.

"And her mother's eyes," Richard said, glancing at Harmony, whose back as a rigid post. Cilla shook her head, silently advising Richard not to bother. His stricken glance cut into her soul and she reached up to lay a hand alongside his face.

"Congratulations, husband. You have a daughter."

Moved beyond words, he could only nod. "She's beautiful."

"We were just saying that very same thing."

"And the name - Lydia?" He asked, looking at Cilla, and then to Harmony's back. "Are you in agreement? She doesn't have to be Lydia if you don't think it suits her -"

"It suits her," Harmony said shortly without turning.

"Harmony is honoured that you've given her child your mother's name. Aren't you Harmony?" Cilla asked, prompting.

"As long as she's been acknowledged, I care not who she's named after," Harmony said, still without turning.

"I always told you I'd acknowledge our child, Harmony," Richard said, frowning.

"You told me many things, Richard, and most of them were lies," Harmony snapped.

"So!" Cilla said brightly, over compensating in the hope of derailing an argument. "Mrs. Garland has said that little Lydia is the picture of health, she's got all her fingers and all her toes, and she's as pretty as a summer day is bright. It will take a few days for Harm's milk to come in, but Lydia is getting more than enough through other means - she's got an appetite to match her father's."

"Will it be safe for her, the journey to the Ferguson's?" He asked.

"It's only a few miles, you said. And she'll be in a carriage… Mrs. Garland suggested Harm wear her clothes in such a way that will allow for little Lydia to be carried against Harm's skin, to share warmth."

The tent flap stirred again and Mrs. Andrews entered carrying a small bundle. The bundle squirmed and made small noises. Linda's child, William's bastard. Cilla stared, aghast, as Mrs. Andrews came deeper into the tent. Innocent the child might be, it was still as difficult for Cilla to accept the child, as it was for Beth to.

"Miss Farshaw?" Mrs. Andrews said. "Shall we try again?"

"Alright," Harmony had turned and was now pulling at the top of her shift, allowing it to fall open. There was no modesty now - Cilla has seen Harmony in all her glory during the night and earlier that day, when Lydia had been put to her breast. Mrs. Andrews unwrapped the bundle and hovered over Harmony, laying the baby in Harmony's arms before proceeding to help Harmony to nurse.

William's child with Linda had her mother's dark red hair and her father's blue eyes. Cilla turned her back. William's natural child was innocent, just as Cilla had said. But still. To make a fuss over Louisa as she had Lydia would be to spit in Beth's eye and besides, Louisa was a bastard of a former whore.

Richard had turned away also, to Cilla's relief. He was giving his former mistress some privacy - but Cilla was just glad he wasn't ogling Harmony's breasts. There were noises behind them, slurping sounds, then Louisa crying, Mrs. Andrews' encouraging murmurs. By unspoken agreement, Richard and Cilla made for the entrance and were soon outside, standing in the chill mid afternoon air.

"We'll be leaving soon," Richard said, cradling Lydia. "Would you like to go for a walk, spend some time together before we do? This will be the last chance for us to be alone for some time. I'm going to miss you."

"Then don't send me away, you big dolt," Cilla said.

"Cil," Richard sighed.

"You should stay right here, for this could be the last time you see your daughter for sometime."

He smiled down at her, touched her face, then leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I love you," he said.

"And I you. Isn't that all the more reason to keep me with you?"

"No, you little dolt, it's all the more reason to send you away," he replied.

"Don't call me a dolt," she said and he laughed.

"It's going to get too dangerous, Cil," he said, sobering. "I've told you - we're the rear guard and the rebels are constantly attacking."

"I know. Did you hear that Miss Cordell's father was killed in the latest attack?" She asked and Richard nodded.

"She's going to need you. They're all going to need you. Harmony. Beth. Miss Cordell. Lydia. And I need you safe. You are pregnant and you've been through so much lately, with your mother and… I just want to know that you're safe and if you're with me, I'll be constantly worried that you're not. If anything happens to you, or to this child," he pressed his hand on her stomach. "I don't want to lose another, Cil."

"I know. Everything you've said makes sense, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. But you're right, Beth needs me. Harmony needs me. As does Miss Cordell. I will go with them, but by God, I'm going to be so worried for you, each moment of every day."

"I'll write as often as I can," he promised.

"That is no substitution for the real thing."

"I know," he smiled. "Perhaps Beth can be persuaded to sketch your likeness for me? And Lydia's?"

"Now there's an idea, and it might help to take her mind off… other things."

"How is Beth?"

"Distraught. I think she was half expecting it, but now it's happened… I don't understand it - why now?"

"I think it's that we're so near the Ferguson's, perhaps he thinks it's now or never."

"Hell of a reason to end your marriage."

"Now, you know there was much more to it than that, Cil. She was with another man - for months!"

"You'd better set me aside too, then. Or perhaps you are? Are you intending to come back for me?"

"You're being absurd."

"I was unfaithful with that exact same man."

"And I've yet to settle that score with him," Richard said darkly. "I was unfaithful to you, too, if you recall. Perhaps you're setting me aside?"

Cilla's laughter was high and bright.

"Or perhaps you're going to use this opportunity to run away from me again?"

"Never," she said, reaching up onto the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek. "When you return, I'll be there, waiting."

He pressed his forehead to hers and they stood there a while, soaking in one another's company, not knowing when they would see each other again. Eventually Lydia began to squirm and make little sounds.

"I think she's hungry," Cilla said. "Better take her back inside. Are you coming?"

"No," Richard shook his head as he handed the baby back to Cilla. "There's too much to do. How much time do you think Harmony needs? We need to take down the tent and get her belongings on the cart."

"A half hour, perhaps? To feed Lydia and get dressed?"

Richard nodded. "A half hour it is. I'll send someone for you and Harmony then." He kissed her forehead again, and the two parted - Richard for his horse, as Cilla turned back into the tent.

* * *

Wrapping himself in stony silence, William mounted Thunder, gave the signal, and the Company began to move out. He made it perhaps twenty rods when a junior officer galloped toward him, carrying a satchel.

"Your correspondence. It arrived just now from the main camp, Colonel," the junior said.

"Anything from O'Hara or Cornwallis?" William asked as he took it.

"No, Sir. It appears to be letters from England, and one from General Clinton," the youth said.

Nothing urgent then, if that were the case. William placed the packet in his saddlebags and continued on his way without a backward glance. He hadn't watched earlier as Beth climbed into the carriage. He hadn't been able to look Cilla or Harmony in the eye when he saw them earlier, either. This was hard enough, without that. The Dragoons were escorting two carriages and a cart laden with the women's belongings. At the front, down either side, and at the rear were positioned sixty Dragoons, for William had decided to increase the escort from two score to three.

His reasoning was, Beth had previously reported to William that Benjamin had somewhere in the vicinity of nine hundred men. It was Benjamin's militia that kept attacking William's Legion, Cornwallis' rear guard. At least William strongly suspected that it was - that Benjamin was leading those attacks. And here was William, about to leave the safety of the main army. As he was to be exposed for nearly two miles, he'd damned well do it with more than forty men.

While William would never hide behind women and children for safety, he knew that Martin would not attack William's sixty men while en-route to the Ferguson's, for Benjamin would not risk harming his own daughter and his niece and by extension, his unborn grandchild and great niece or nephew.

On the way back, however - when William was no longer encumbered with pregnant women and the children - all bets would be off. Benjamin hadn't hesitated to take William captive even while William _was_ married to Beth. And now that he was no longer that, if Benjamin captured him again, he was not likely to let him go.

As soon as he was no longer encumbered with the wagons, William intended to make a mad dash back to his Legion; he knew he could cover the distance from the Ferguson's in half the time, without the wagons. The element of surprise was on his side. It was his hope that by the time Benjamin was made aware that William had left the Legion with Beth, William himself would already be returned to the safety of his Legion.

* * *

This wasn't how Benjamin wanted to die. Laid up in bed, struggling for every breath. Pneumonia, it was said, was an old man's friend, but Benjamin was not an old man. He'd happily die in his sleep one day - it would be a good way to go. But not now, he was barely fifty years old! He had at least another thirty years, surely? There was too much for him to do yet. He had to find Samuel. He had to make his failings up to his children, to reconcile properly - even with Charlotte. His family - as Beth had said - was broken and he had to put the pieces together again, those pieces that were not lost to him entirely. He could not die now.

Ebenezer Jones, who served as Benjamin's doctor in the militia, wasn't entirely certain it was pneumonia, but Benjamin was so damned sick, he was treating the ailment as if it were.

Shifting his head on the pillow, Benjamin gazed out the window. The glass was clean but the distortions made the trees outside appear crooked, like he was looking through streaks of water. They couldn't open the window to give him a clearer view, because it was too cold. He couldn't get up and go outside for a better view, because he could barely stand, much less walk. He was hot and then cold, and weak constantly. He could barely keep the food down that Jones tried to shove into his mouth - Benjamin hated that too - the vomiting of food that he'd had no desire to eat in the first place.

It was horrid, whether it was pneumonia or not, whatever it was, it was horrid.

Thomas and Nathan blamed the British. They blamed his imprisonment, for making him weak to the point that a flux he'd normally shrug off in a few days would have Benjamin thinking he was going to die. The boys were terrified, they took turns sitting by his bedside, awaiting his every whim. He didn't have many of those - except perhaps some water now and then. Certainly not the food Jones forced him to eat. When he was better - _if_, not when - he was going to discharge that bastard from the damned militia.

"Do you want something, papa?" Nathan asked - it was his turn to sit vigil. It must be bloody boring for them, they'd been at it for days. Benjamin shook his head and Nathan subsided, returning to his book.

The door opened and Colin and stepped inside. He was grave, he moved in that cringing, hand wringing sort of way a person did, when they carried bad news. Weakly, Benjamin said, "you look like someone died."

"Tavington is coming," Colin said. Benjamin understood exactly what that meant. With a groan of dismay, he closed his eyes. Colin continued. "He sent a man on ahead, he'll be here in the next half hour."

"So that's it then," Benjamin said heavily, opening his eyes. "Decision made."

"It would appear so," Colin said.

"That bastard," Nathan muttered. "Beth must be beside herself."

"You said she was forced to return to him," Colin said. "Maybe this is what she wants?"

"It isn't," Benjamin said, knowing it to be true. He was overcome by a wracking cough that went on for some time, leaving him drained. Gods, his chest hurt, his ribs ached like he'd been punched a hundred times by a giant. His eyes were streaming when he finally subsided, he had to wipe them to see Colin and Nathan, the latter of which was standing over him, helping him to sit upright. "Lay me down," Benjamin whispered, voice breathy, barely able to form the words. Once he was reclined against the pillows again, he stared up at the ceiling, breathed in and out slowly, trying to get more air into his starved lungs. At length, he said softly, "you'd better send Thomas up here," the words were halted, Benjamin coughed between every few words now. "If Tavington sees him, it'll… be as good as announcing my… presence and then we'll be forced to take… him captive, when I promised… he would have safe conduct." Too many words at once, it was draining him. But he needed to be clear, absolutely and utterly. "I want no such… accidents. And Colin, make sure…he signs it before… he leaves," Benjamin said. "Beth's marriage is at an end and I will suffer no ambiguity on that score."

"Yes, Sir," Colin said. "I'll have the annulment out, ready and waiting." Colin turned back to the door and slipped out.

"Colin should summon the men up from camp, father. This would make for the perfect opportunity to seize sixty Dragoons, including Tavington," Nathan said.

"Colin knows… that I've commanded otherwise. To attack William now… when I've promised him safe conduct… would reflect poorly upon me… and on the militia. I gave my word. Therefore, he will be treated… as if he is under parlay… which affords him and his men… safe conduct here… and safe conduct back."

"If he's setting Beth aside, then we don't owe him nothing," Nathan complained.

"We owed him nothing… to start with, son. But I gave my word that… should he make the decision to… set Beth aside, he would… do so with immunity. My presence here… does not change that. I will not give the militia… the command to attack."

"Yes, papa," Nathan said, sounding incredibly disappointed.

"Now hush… let your old man… rest," Benjamin closed his eyes and was grateful when Nathan said nothing more. He hadn't spoken that much in days and it was taking it out of him - this talking and coughing. Thinking of Beth, he realised he had one more thing to say after all. Without opening his eyes, he said, "send her up… when she gets here… want to see… my little girl."

"Yes, papa."


	150. Chapter 150 - The Fraud and the Deserter

Chapter 150 - The Fraud and the Deserter:

South Carolina:

Samuel woke up on the floor beside the fire inside a small house belonging to Mr. Singleton's neighbour, Mr. Marshall. Sleeping on the floor did not perturb the young man at all, he was accustomed to worse conditions. The fire had provided a comforting warmth that almost felt like home.

Still, he hadn't slept as well as he could have - he'd managed snatches of sleep here and there, but much of the night was spent listening for the approach of horses that would signify that Gordon had found them. In truth, Gordon might only just now be realising that Samuel was gone at all. When Gordon broke camp, it would be to go to Mr. Singleton's, and Mr. Singleton hadn't told his staff or his slaves where they were heading, when he left with Samuel's family during the night.

They were as safe as they could be. Still, Samuel couldn't shake the feeling that Gordon was about to fall upon the house with his sixty deserters at that very moment. He shoved off the blankets, quickly crossed the cabin, pulled open the door and peered into the early morning gloom.

"All's well, lad," Mr. King said from where he stood on the porch. "No sign of the deserters."

"Thank you," Samuel said, unable to hide his relief as he stepped back inside and closed the door. William was still sleeping on the floor with Danvers' other men, only a few of the bed rolls were unoccupied, which meant only a few were already up. Danvers was one of those. The women had slept two and three to a bed upstairs. The baby Matthew had slept in a bundle of blankets inside an open drawer. Samuel could hear the floorboards creaking overhead, indicating that they were starting to rise as well. Good. It was past time to put as much distance as possible between Samuel's Company and Gordon's deserters.

Hearing voices, Samuel ventured deeper into the still dark house to hopefully find Danvers and discover what their next move would be. At least they'd past the night uneventfully - but now was the dangerous part. If the deserters showed up to Singleton's… Samuel took a steadying breath. When they fled the night before, Singleton had made sure that no one except he knew where they were heading. What his staff and slaves didn't know, they could not reveal. Samuel hoped Singleton's messenger had found a company of British, and that they reached Singleton's in time to prevent any atrocities and to arrest the deserters.

"…you were having misgivings anyway, if I recall," Charlotte said. Samuel hung back, realising it wasn't Danvers, but Mr. Singleton and Charlotte who were speaking. He wondered if he should turn back, give them privacy; then he decided against it. He wasn't entirely certain how far he trusted his aunt, these days. Hearing a conversation he wasn't supposed to be privy to - no matter how private - might help him to decide about her.

"You must admit, my concerns were valid ones," Singleton said. "I hadn't realised you were already engaged."

"And as I told you, my engagement is over."

"Which in itself is an issue," the gentleman said, but not unkindly. "Mrs. Selton, the act of becoming engaged is as binding as the marriage to come. It's a grave matter indeed, to end an engagement. And you still haven't told me the reason behind it." The silence stretched, making it clear to Samuel that Charlotte wasn't about to remedy that anytime soon. "Added to that, everyone all across the countryside seems to think you are still engaged. It's known far and wide. Does Martin know you've ended it between you?"

"I believe he is in agreement with me," Charlotte said. "Though we have not discussed it. I have not seen him a long time."

"Does he expect it to be over? Or will he be as surprised as everyone else on the Santee, when his fiancé marries another man?" Again, that silence. "He might protest it, when the banns are read."

Dear God, was this truly happening? Samuel reeled, shocked that Aunt Charlotte was considering marriage to Singleton.

"Mr. Singleton, I haven't accepted your proposal, if you recall," Aunt Charlotte said. "And besides, as I said, you appeared to be having misgivings."

Samuel heard the older man heave a sigh. "My concerns are valid, but not insurmountable. I do not withdraw my proposal; I still wish to marry you, despite the delicacy of the situation."

"Yes, well, even with the Great House burned to the ground, Drakespar is quite a prize, isn't it? Quite worth the risk of incurring Colonel Martin's wrath."

Samuel gaped, it was rare indeed to hear such a tone from his Aunt.

"Mrs. Selton!" Singleton objected.

"Do not trouble yourself, Sir, for I have thought long and hard on the matter and frankly, I find that I no longer have any desire to marry again. I thank you for your hospitality, you've been most kind and more than generous; you have earned Colonel Martin's gratitude several times over in the care of his children and I am certain he will display that gratitude when he returns home."

"You are refusing?"

"Yes, Sir, I am," Charlotte said. "I apologise for taking so long to reach this decision, but… I've reached it now."

"Very well," Singleton's voice cooled somewhat. There was a shuffling of clothing and shoes scraping the floorboards, and then what sounded like Singleton striding off down the corridor.

Samuel ventured closer, into the light, letting his aunt see him.

"Sammie! You're up already. Did you sleep well?" Charlotte asked, her voice returning to its normal, genteel timbre.

"I did. Is this going to be a problem?" He pointed in the direction Singleton had gone. "Do we need to fear that he'll reveal to Gordon where we are?"

"Dear Lord, no," Charlotte waved the concern away. "Have you spoken to Mr. Danvers, do you know what our plans are?"

"No, I was looking for him now to do just that. Have you seen him?"

"Yes, he's outside. As for his plans, we're going to leave soon - we can not linger here for risk of discovery. Gordon will search the area, as soon as he discovers that we're not at Mr. Singleton's."

"That was my fear also," Samuel said, relieved that he and Danvers were thinking the same. "Where will we go? I mean, eventually? Is there someone who can take us in, somewhere we can hide that is safe?"

"Not truly," Charlotte said. "Patriot families can not keep themselves safe, everyone is vulnerable. The only place that we will have any safety, is with your father. We're going to try to reach him."

"Oh. That doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it does," Charlotte said. "However, I agree that it is for the best. The children have no where else to go."

"We could go to Fresh Water," Samuel pointed out. "You only fled from there because of Gordon, but he most certainly is not welcome back there. We'd be safe there."

"I'll not return the children to the seat of our enemy," Charlotte said, her voice iron. "If you think that Tavington won't use us to gain control of your father somehow, you're very much mistaken."

"Alright," Samuel said dubiously. "Will it be safe for the baby to travel on horseback?"

"As long as he's bundled up and the going is gentle enough. To that end, we have acquired a carriage," Charlotte replied. "We will not travel at night - we shall find a place to stay in the evenings, or if we're forced to be outside, we shall sleep by a fire. The men are going to pretend to be my outriders, in case we encounter any British patrols. There are enough women and children here that we shall look like another family of refugees, homeless and wandering. We should be safe enough, only the meanest of the British would accost us under those circumstances."

"Gordon is pretty mean," Samuel warned.

"We'll escape him, Sammie. I promise you, he won't find us."

Samuel lowered his gaze and nodded, trying to stifle his fear.

"You'll need to be rid of that," Charlotte pointed at what Samuel was wearing - the Redcoat and tan breeches of a British Officer. Samuel was quite fond of his uniform and didn't like the way she was eyeing him up and down, with that expression of distaste on her face.

"I'm so glad you've come back to us," Charlotte's voice broke and Samuel lifted his head to find tears swimming in her eyes. "I've missed you, so much. We all have."

"You left me - you all took off and left me, at Fresh Water."

"I'm sorry. I truly am. But we couldn't be sure if…" She trailed off.

"If you could trust me?" Samuel asked and she looked stricken. He shrugged. "I suppose you couldn't, not then. I didn't believe then, that Gordon would hurt you. I was wrong. I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I'm sorry I didn't see it."

"Dear God, lad, you have nothing to be sorry for. This has been a confusing time for all of us. It's behind us now, though. We'll get through this, and we'll all be together again, I promise."

Samuel nodded again. "Not Aunt Mage though." He said sadly.

"No. Not Aunt Mage," Charlotte said softly. She stepped closer and held out her arms, Samuel could sense her uncertainty. He paused a moment, but then stepped toward her and into her arms. "Everything is going to be alright, Samuel."

He nodded, though he wasn't entirely certain of the truth of it himself.

* * *

Mr. Singleton, now that there was no hope of marrying Charlotte, made the decision to remain behind. This complicated matters for the family, for they were relying on Mr. Singleton's servant, Faith, who had been nursing Matthew. Faith and her husband were both indentured to Singleton, and he wasn't about to sell the indenture to Charlotte, for - as he explained - he would never split a wife and mother from her husband and children. Samuel admired this, it proved that Singleton was a good man.

However, Singleton also refused to lend her to Charlotte, even for a short time. No matter how good Singleton was, he was suffering from Charlotte's rejection and as a result, it seemed that his goodwill toward the Martin family was coming to an end.

Before Singleton left, taking Faith with him, Samuel shook his hand and thanked him for all he'd done, and warned him against returning to the house in case Gordon reached there before the British could intercept him. Singleton took the thanks graciously but it was clear to Samuel that the gentleman was too impatient to be gone to heed the warning.

It took some time to find another nurse - the militiamen were sent scattering in all directions to the various Plantations, big and small. It was nine o'clock when one returned with news of a negro slave who had been nursemaid to her Master's children. The children were older now, therefore the Master was willing to sell her. The slave had her own child that she was still nursing, therefore she still had plenty of milk. The militia set out with the Martin family, so that Charlotte could look the woman over. When they arrived, it was to find the slave woman on the ground in front of the house, sobbing and wailing, begging not to be sold. Her left eye was swollen shut and blood leaked from the corner of her mouth where the Master - who was still standing over her - had given her several slaps, and his hand was raised now, ready to strike again.

Charlotte strode forward, and Abigail and Polly - negroes both - ran to the fallen woman. Horrified, Margaret and Anne hung back with the carriage, Margaret clutching Susan's hand.

"What is this?" Charlotte asked. "I wish to purchase this woman and you're beating her!"

"Yes, well, you're going to have to have a hard hand with her too, if you wish to take her. Otherwise she'll be wailing like this all the way to wherever you're going," the Master replied.

"What's wrong?" Abigail asked, falling to the dirt beside the woman, Polly doing the same on the other side.

"My boy. I not leave my boy. Please not make me! My son - oh my son!" The woman began to wail again, her shrieks cutting through Samuel's ears.

"You can buy him too, can't you Mrs. Selton? You can purchase the boy?" Abigail had to shout over the woman's grief. Hearing this, the woman's shrieks quieted to sobs and she turned hopeful eyes toward Charlotte.

It was not unusual for negro families to be separated. First, slaves had to have their Master's permission before they could marry. But even with that marriage, husband and wife were both still owned by the Master, who could sell either or both as the Master deemed, even if it meant the married couple never saw one another again. The same for the children of slaves; they, too were owned by the Master and would go and stay as he saw fit. Mr. Singleton could have done the same with indentured servant Faith, but he was a kinder sort of man, than this Master was.

However commonplace, Samuel was aghast.

"We'll purchase the boy, too," Samuel said, riding forward, however Charlotte was already nodding.

"Yes, we will," Charlotte confirmed and now the woman began to weep with relief. "You understand that this lowers the price? The blood and the bruises."

Samuel's gaze snapped to his aunt, stunned by this lack of compassion.

"Both will heal," the Master frowned and Charlotte tossed her head.

"Only a fool would beat a slave right before selling her," she said.

"A fool I might be, but if you're not nursing your baby yourself, then I name the price," the Master said. "Unless you want it to starve?"

"You, Sir, are no gentleman," Charlotte rebuked him.

"I think he proved that," Margaret called angrily from where she stood at the carriage. "Beating her for weeping. Who wouldn't be distraught? She thought she was going to be separated from her child!"

The Planter drew himself up, lips tight.

"We're in a hurry, Sir," Danvers said. "Get the child and the papers and we'll be on our way."

Samuel, still perturbed by his Aunt's seeming lack of compassion, wondered how Charlotte would pay. He was shocked to see her open a letter case filled with bank notes. She caught his look and smiled. "Did you think I kept nothing at Drakespar? Mr. Talene retrieved my strong box before the house burned down."

"So we have money?" Samuel asked, finding the concept strange for some reason. He had not had to purchase anything for so long, it simply hadn't occurred to him that anyone would travel about with such vast sums of cash. "Then why… why did you say that to him - about the woman's bruises? All you cared about was lowering the price, and not about the pain she was in."

"I care, Sammie. But we have to be careful. I now have twelve men including you, plus six women, including myself, and four children to provide for. The men won't be able to spend time hunting, for we need to travel as swiftly as we can to avoid Gordon. But this is a time of war, and we have no idea what provisions we'll be able to purchase along the way, or how much they will cost. All this," she pointed to the money, "should last me years. And yet the entire lot could very well be used up before we reach your father. I care, Sammie," she said, her voice softening. "It's a dreadful thing that that horrid man was doing. And no, I would not have made her leave her baby behind. I do care - but I have to be careful, as well."

"Oh. Sorry," Samuel said for misunderstanding.

"It's fine," Charlotte said. "I know how it must have looked to you. Mr. Singleton left me in quite a quandary when he wouldn't allow me to borrow Faith… While I'm quite well pleased that we're going to save this woman and her baby from that horrid man, lad, I also intend to haggle with that so-called gentleman like a fishwife."

Samuel laughed softly, then stepped back to watch his aunt in action. As the Planter and Charlotte argued the price, Samuel heard her scoff, "good Lord, man. Open your eyes. The British are going to sweep through here and I know you must have heard by now that they're freeing slaves left, right and centre. You are in less of a position to haggle than you think - take what I am offering, for in a few days, she might very well be removed from you by the British, who won't give you a single groat."

The argument continued but Samuel could see that Charlotte was gaining ground. Polly and Abigail helped the young mother to her feet, they held her arms as they escorted her to the carriage. She was still weeping as Abigail asked her name, but Samuel heard her say Sibby, her name was Sibby. Her son was bought to her and she clutched him to her breast, still weeping as Polly dabbed at Sibby's bloodied lip with a handkerchief.

At length, the deal was struck; the price agreed upon and the ownership papers signed and stamped. The women climbed into the carriage, Abigail gave up her seat to Sibby, choosing to ride beside Mr. Talene in the driver seat.

Because of Singleton's refusal to lend Faith to them, it was mid morning when they were finally on their way, which was far later than any of them would have liked. Samuel couldn't find it in him to hold it against the gentleman, however.

They had been on the Kings Road for barely a half hour before a British Patrol appeared on the road ahead and approached them. Danvers escorted a British Officer to the carriage as it was important that Charlotte - his supposed employer - did the talking. Samuel watched warily from his mount, fearing that he'd somehow be recognised by the Officer. Samuel wore plain clothes now, the British uniform was now stowed in his saddlebag. Had he ever truly been an Officer? Gordon had called him Corporal Martin, but - as Samuel was realising now - Gordon had probably been lying all along about William assigning Samuel rank.

It'd been play acting, all along. Gordon and his deserters had been laughing at him behind his back, from the beginning. They boy watched sadness as the real British Officer stepped back from the carriage. Margaret, William, Susan, Anne, Abigail and Charlotte were made to step out, for a search was about to commence. Just because a family claimed to be homeless refugees, didn't make them homeless refugees. They could be pretending to be that, while carrying weapons or messages to the rebels. They could be spies, for all the British knew, and clearly this Officer wasn't going to take the risk.

The saddlebags would be searched also. What would they do when they found Samuel's uniform? It would be discovered soon - would he be considered a thief for having it? Or the fraud he was.

"The fire arms will have to be surrendered," the Officer said.

As Samuel struggled with his worry and melancholy over the uniform he'd never deserved, Danvers replied.

"Sir, with respect, how can I protect my Lady, without my rifle?" Danvers' voice was calm; he spoke with concern, not anger.

"I didn't make the rules," the Officer said. "No weapons, unless you've special dispensation. If I don't take them, the next patrol will."

The search was still going - the militiamen had to turn out their pockets and were allowing the soldiers to search the saddlebags, also. Samuel wished he'd realised sooner that this might happen, for his uniform might be considered incriminating. No one would believe he'd ever been a British Officer, they would think he was a thief.

Then again… He was still in possession of one item that might help him explain the uniform. He began pulling everything out of his own pockets and he waited patiently for one of the soldiers to get to him. He was just going to have to explain himself, that was all he could do.

"Can't you provide dispensation?" Charlotte asked and the fellow shook his head.

"That is outside my authority."

"We're not safe without our firearms," Samuel said. Charlotte gave him a shushing look but he ignored her. "Do you know about the British deserters?"

The Officer looked startled, then pitying as he drew to the conclusion that Samuel's family had been one of those attacked by the deserters. "Yes, we have been aware of them for some time. Last night, we received word of their whereabouts. Most of them were captured this morning and those have all been hanged."

Samuel drew a long, slow breath, trying to contain his trembling. Caught and hanged, the Officer had said. He'd also said 'most of them'. Which meant some where still out there. Was Gordon one of those who escaped?

"How many got away?" Samuel asked.

"Lad, you need not fear them any longer," the Officer said. "Of perhaps sixty, around fifteen got away. However, they will not stay free long, for there are many companies like my own, who are in pursuit of them. Even if a few of those slip through our fingers now, they will not be able to form up and continue the destruction they have been causing. The back of them has been broken. You are safe."

"Captain Gordon?" Samuel asked, coming straight out now and damn the consequences. He saw surprise cross the Officers face. "Did he get away?"

The Officer drew himself up, lifting his chin as he held Samuel's gaze. "Yes, he did. How do you know of Captain Gordon?"

"I'm the one that warned Mr. Singleton that they were coming," Samuel said. "And Mr. Singleton sent one of his negroes to warn you. I mean, the British. I've seen first hand what they've been doing."

"I see," the Officer came forward to stand before Samuel. "Mr. Singleton, are you related to him?"

"No. He is an acquaintance. Gordon was going to his plantation to find my family -" Samuel pointed to the women and children in the carriage -"but we slipped away during the night. Mr. Singleton came with us, but this morning he insisted on returning to his house. Do you have news of him?"

"Yes, and none of it is good, I'm afraid." - Samuel groaned as the Officer continued. - "I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Singleton suffered greatly at the hands of Gordon and the other criminals, before we were able to reach the Plantation."

Samuel stared, lips parted, he was barely able to draw breath. Not Mr. Singleton? Surely not. He glanced at Charlotte, whose face had drained of colour.

"I tried to warn him," she whispered. "I told him not to go back."

"We all did," Danvers said gravely. "Sir, is he..?"

"Dead, I'm afraid," the Officer said. Samuel felt like weeping.

"What of… the women? Faith, his indentured servant and -"

The Officer raised one hand and Samuel fell silent. "Mr. Singleton was the only one who perished, but Gordon… Well, several other atrocities were committed before we reached the Plantation and stopped it. By then, much of the… damage had already been done."

"Dear God," Danvers whispered. Samuel felt like vomiting. The Officer was watching Samuel, as if waiting for him to recover. He would likely need to answer several more question, and he prepared himself for that. He was still worried about giving up his firearm though, Gordon could do as much damage to the small group with fifteen men as he could have done with sixty.

"Please don't make me give you this," Samuel tapped his rifle. "We need to protect my family. Gordon is after them, he's after me too. He's a madman, I have no doubt he'll keep trying to find us, even if he's only got fifteen men."

"Yes," Danvers agreed. "Without his full force, the odds are mostly even now, but if we have to give up our weapons, the odds will be stacked against us once again."

"Why do you believe him to be after you and your family?" The Officer asked.

"I heard him say it," Samuel said. "I… Look, I was part of his unit, for a short time." He began, and he saw the Officer's eyebrows climb his forehead. "I know that sounds mad. I should have known it was all rubbish, but… You see, my sister, she is married Colonel Tavington and -"

He cut short, hearing a small gasp and he glanced at Charlotte, who was making strangling noises. He glanced at Danvers to see if the militia leader also thought he'd erred, but Danvers face was impassive - unreadable.

"Your sister is married to Colonel Tavington?" The Officer gaped.

"Yes, and we were all quartered at Fresh Water. That's how I got to know Gordon. And then Gordon was sent out by William - I mean, Colonel Tavington, to help at Camden, when it was under threat, because William was too sick to go and Fresh Water was too vulnerable to send his full force away from it, so Gordon went and I… I slipped away with him, I didn't want to stay behind. He'd been teaching me the sword and the like, and I was getting really good, too. After Camden, I thought William was going to recall us, because he'd sent me a few letters telling me to come home because Beth was worried and that was just… galling… to have to hurry home because my sister was worried. And I thought Gordon had become my family, because my father did some awful things and I didn't want to be like him -"

"Your father," the Officer was trying to keep up, he'd managed to put a few things together, for Colonel Tavington's marrying of a local rebel girl was known far and wide. Beth Martin, her name was. "The rebel, Colonel Martin."

"Yes, my father is Colonel Benjamin Martin, and he attacked Gordon's men - that was before we all got to Fresh Water - half of Gordon's men died on the Pembroke Road before we even got to Fresh Water -"

"The Pembroke Road Massacre," the Officer said and Samuel nodded.

"That's why Gordon hates my father, for killing those men. And I didn't like my father much then, because of it. I was there, I saw it all, and it really was a massacre. I became friends with Gordon, or I thought I did, but really he was using me all along, to get to my father. Here, look, I can prove it," he handed the Officer one of William's letters.

The Officer took the letter and began to read.

"Samuel, is it?" He asked and Samuel nodded. "Yes, according to this, Tavington is demanding that you return to Fresh Water Fort with Captain Gordon's unit and he rebukes you for leaving Fresh Water. You really were with Captain Gordon."

"I was," Samuel admitted. "It's how I know what Gordon was doing - it was…" he paused, the horror of it taking his words away. "Evil."

"I see," the Officer didn't seem to know what to do. He cocked his head and said, "it's dated October 18th. You've been with Gordon all that time?"

"Yes, but he wasn't doing those things back then. And before you ask why I didn't go home when I got this letter from William, it's because Gordon lied to me. Back then, there was only twenty men in his unit, and me. He told me that William - Colonel Tavington, I mean - had given orders to Gordon that the unit was to be a mobile force in the field, gaining intelligence and reporting back only to him. I saw him being handed the letter, and I believed him when he told me that William had changed his mind and that I was now a commissioned Officer in the unit," Samuel lowered his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassment and hurt. "He told me that William made me a Corporal, which I now realise is really stupid and William, he likely never made me a Corporal at all. But I believed it, because I wanted to believe it." He expected the British Officer to laugh at this but when he lifted his eyes, he saw only sympathy. Samuel flipped open his saddlebag and pulled his redcoat out partway. He stared at it for a while, before shoving it back inside and flipping the bag shut. "It was all lies, of course, but I only found that out yesterday."

"How did you find out?" the Officer asked.

"I got suspicious. The unit was increasing in numbers but the new men, there was something wrong about them, something… off. And the things they were doing," Samuel shuddered. "I couldn't imagine that William would ever, in a hundred years, command those things of his men. So yesterday, I went through Gordon's bags and found a letter from William - the real letter that I'd seen Gordon being handed that day. And there was no mention of being a mobile force or any such rot. It was a command to Gordon to return to Fresh Water Fort, and to bring me home, too. And I also found a later publication about them all being deserters. Last night, I waited until it was safe, and then I escaped them. I went to Mr. Singleton's, where Gordon had discovered my family to be residing. I knew he was about to attack them there, because of his hatred toward my father. The things he'd been doing to those other women? He was going to do that to my aunt, and maybe to my sister and my sister in law. I couldn't let them be hurt." He couldn't meet Maggie's eyes but he could feel her horror.

"I see," the Officer said gravely.

"Are you going to hang me?" Samuel asked.

"Of course not," the Officer said. "Why would you think that?"

"I've been riding with deserters," Samuel said. "Didn't know if you'd consider me one, too. But then, I never was a British Officer, was I? If I was never an Officer, I can't be considered a deserter." The sympathy in the Officer's face almost made Samuel weep. What a fool he must think Samuel was. "I never did those things - the awful things they did at those houses. I didn't even know they were doing it until about a week ago. They always left me back in the woods, saying they needed me to look after the horses."

"No one is going to hang you," the Officer said. He paused, then glanced at Charlotte and the children, then turned back to Samuel. "These are all your family?"

"Yes," Samuel said. "My sisters and my brother. My sister in law, and my aunt and… her son," he glanced at Charlotte. She looked startled, but didn't correct him - the was no point in Samuel giving the longer explanation of who Matthew belonged to. Besides, Putman's name was mud to the British.

"You're all Tavington's in-laws?" The Officer asked. He nodded, as if decided. "Right then. As this hasn't been rescinded," he said of the letter, "you are still under Tavington's orders. You are hereby under instructions to get you and yours as quickly as you can to Fresh Water Fort and to report to Colonel Tavington in person."

"That is our plan," Danvers lied, for they planned to by pass Fresh Water completely and head straight to North Carolina.

"What of my rifle? And theirs? What if Gordon finds us before you find him?" Samuel asked.

The Officer glanced down at the letter again, before handing it back to Samuel. "Yes, you may keep them. I'm not sure what the next patrol you encounter will say of it, however. You may have to give them up yet."

"Thank you, Sir," Samuel said.

"You really should have returned home as soon as Tavington summoned you," the Officer said and again, Samuel lowered his eyes.

"If he had, then Gordon still would have done the things he's done, only no one would have come to warn the family that Gordon was coming for them at Singleton's," Danvers pointed out.

"That is true," the Officer conceded.

"Besides, I was stupid," Samuel said. "Gordon told me I was part of his unit. A Corporal. And here was my new brother, demanding I come home because his wife - my sister - was worried about me. It was galling."

"How old are you?" The Officer asked gently. Samuel felt his face heat and he knew his cheeks were blazing red.

"Thirteen."

"I see," the Officer smiled. He seemed to regret rebuking Samuel for not returning to Tavington earlier. "At your age, I would have wanted to be where the action is as well, I certainly wouldn't have wanted to go home because of my worried sister. You're not stupid, Samuel. You were very clever to be suspicious, and brave to risk Gordon's wrath in finding out the truth. And for escaping and getting word to us. And you have honour. Don't go throwing that away," he tapped Samuel's saddlebag but Samuel knew he was indicating the uniform within. "I have no doubt that when you're old enough, your brother in law will commission you as an Officer in truth; I for one would be honoured to have you join the army. Corporal will suit you well, I believe."

Samuel drew himself up to his full height, pride swelling in his breast. The Officer smiled and patted his arm. He spent some time in writing a letter he hoped would help make their passage past other patrols more swiftly, then he motioned for them to continue on.

"One of the good ones," Danvers said when there were a few rods between them and the British patrol. "It's a pity they're not all like that."

Samuel became aware of Charlotte staring at him, he was a little nervous about meeting her eyes.

"I'm sorry that Captain Gordon deceived you, Sammie," she said.

Samuel nodded, feeling miserable again.

"You'll make a fine Officer, one day," Danvers said. "You wait long enough and your father will make you a Corporal in the Continentals. I'd rather that for you, myself. Blue suits the Martin family far more than Red."

Samuel laughed despite himself.

"You took quite a chance back there," Charlotte said. "I thought I'd die when you mentioned Tavington."

"He as going to find out anyway, they were searching the bags and when I packed this morning, I didn't think that maybe I shouldn't bring the uniform or the letters."

"It works in our favour," Danvers said. "Samuel here should be able to get us past Loyalist and British patrols, while the rest of us get us past Patriots and Continentals."

"Very well. I'm in no way an admirer of the British," Charlotte said to Samuel, "but I agree wholeheartedly, with everything that Officer said to you. You're brave, clever, honourable, and in no way stupid. I hope you never change, nephew."

Samuel gave a small smile at the praise, but it faded as he remembered Singleton. "He's dead," he said. "And the people at the Plantation… they were…" He shuddered. "Poor Faith…"

"I should have accepted," Charlotte said. "He'd be alive, if I had."

"You can't blame yourself, aunt," Margaret said.

"You didn't know he'd go home, or what would happen when he did," Anne said.

"We did know the deserters were going to his plantation," Charlotte pointed out.

"And he knew that too, when he chose to return there," Danvers said. "We all warned him, Mrs. Selton. We can mourn him, but we can not accept blame for his death."

Charlotte sighed. Samuel was silent as he trotted along beside the carriage. For him, he wasn't only mourning Singleton's death, but the manner of it, and the violence Gordon and the men would have visited upon the women, before they were stopped.

Samuel had tried - but people had still gotten hurt, and killed. He couldn't help but to feel that he hadn't done enough. Maybe he should have run Gordon through with his sword while the Captain lay sleeping, before Samuel made his escape?

For the Captain was still out there. His teeth had been blunted with the loss of his men, but he was still mad enough to try to pursue Samuel and his family, and if he found them, he could still do them great harm.

Praying that the British Officer - or one like him - caught Gordon, Samuel had no choice but to do his best and protect his family, with Danvers and the men helping him.

* * *

The Ferguson Plantation - North Carolina:

Electa Alden didn't know what to think of Mrs. Cilla Bordon. Beth Martin - Tavington, she knew. Nancy, she knew. Mrs. Garland, she knew. But Cilla had replaced Mrs. Garland in the group, and it was making Electa feel quite uncomfortable and awkward. She didn't feel she could be herself, or say the things she would normally say. Or even speak, for that matter. The high and mighties didn't like lesser women like Electa speaking freely in their presence most of the time. And as Bordon's wife and a daughter from a wealthy family, Cilla was definitely a high and mighty.

So Electa kept to her own council for a change, she stared out the window and lost herself in her thoughts. This lot were dour and depressive anyway. She'd had a choice. She could have ridden with Mrs. Garland in the carriage behind, but that would have meant putting up with two squalling newborn babies. And Mrs. Garland and Mrs. Andrews were much older. Mrs. Farshaw seemed like someone Electa could get to know, but she was saddled with the raising of two babies, her own and Tavington's bastard.

Electa had chosen instead to travel with young women her own age, but had discovered her companions were to be a dour lot. Nancy, because she'd lost her husband and was still mourning him. Cilla, for she'd lost her mother and was still mourning her. And Beth, for her husband - her stupid, foolish, dolt of a husband, was setting her aside, he was ending their marriage.

Perhaps the carriage with the screaming babies would have been preferable after all.

Electa looked at Beth, who was staring blindly out of the far window, Electa reached over and took her hand. Beth glanced at her, startled, then smiled weakly and returned her gaze to the window. She didn't remove her hand from Electa's though. Maybe there was hope for a tryst after all. Surely the lass will realise now, that men simply were not worth all this trouble? She ran her thumb back and forth gently over Beth's hand, and still Beth didn't pull away. A small smile tugged at Electa's lips.

Outside, there was one young Officer with big shoulders and quite a handsome face. He was kind, too. Some men were worth the trouble. Electa gazed at Captain Brownlow and began to lose herself in heart pounding and exciting thoughts, that involved Brownlow and Beth, thoughts that gave Electa a pleasant throb between her legs. Electa momentarily pulled her hand from Beth's and slid it back under her cape, in order to peel off the glove from her right hand. She was covered in blankets, the other women would have no idea what she was doing, if she was discreet enough. She returned her left hand to Beth's and was pleased when it was again accepted, their fingers intertwining. Perhaps Beth merely thought Electa was displaying a show of support and comfort.

Or perhaps Beth - like Electa - deemed their hand holding to be something far more intimate.

With the other women lost to their misery, Electa covertly felt for the pocket of her skirt, then slipped her ungloved hand inside. There was a slit in the pocket, high enough that none of her belongings could fall out, but wide enough for her hand to slide right through to her bare thigh. She parted her thighs slightly and gently caressed her skin until goose-pimples began to rise. Then, being careful to keep her movements small enough to not shift her blankets, she slid her hand down further until her fingers were caressing through the dark patch of curls. That felt nice. Her eyes were becoming hooded as she gazed at Brownlow, who was chatting with the Dragoon riding beside him. In her thoughts, he was stretched out on the bed in all his naked glory, watching eagerly as Electa knelt between Beth's legs. She was likewise naked, though her stomach was flat - Beth was not pregnant in Electa's little fancy. Electa imagined dipping her head down between Beth's legs, and Beth watching with anticipation as Electa took an experimental lick of Beth's flesh. The real Electa allowed her finger to dip lower until she was touching herself in the same place, a feather light caress at first, enough to quicken her breath, but not noticeably so. The Brownlow in her fancy swallowed hard and shifted restlessly as Electa's tongue delved deeper along Beth's clitorus. With strong hands, he cupped Beth's jaw and turned her face away from her avid stare of Electa's ministrations, and both of them groaned as they kissed. Brownlow's large member - longer and thicker than the hilt of his sabre - twitched with need and longing. Still kissing Beth, Captain Brownlow reached down to Electa, ran a finger down her working jaw, along her flickering tongue, then ran up Beth's engorged clit. Only for a moment, he drew his finger back so as not to interfere with Electa's good work.

The real Electa's gloved left hand tightened slightly on Beth's as her ungloved finger began to move more vigorously over her clit. Her lips were parted, ever so slightly, and her breath was coming faster, but still the other women did not notice. She saw from the corner of her eye when Beth gave her a startled look - she wasn't sure why Electa's fingers had tightened on hers - so Electa loosened the hold and held her breath, acting as normal as she could, until Beth looked away. She was free, then, to continue. She added her second finger and pressed a little harder in small, slow circles that moved no lower than her clitorus. A move downward toward her entrance would be thoroughly enjoyable but far more obvious. Besides, remaining at her clit was far less noisy - she was a fast moving stream down below by now and any move downward risked making the wet sounds of her pleasure.

As the real Electa continued to gently finger her engorged and hardened clit, the imagined Electa lifted her face from Beth's quim, she kissed her lovers hard - Brownlow first, Beth next, then she moved into position to straddle Beth's thigh. She was soon lowering her quim to Beth's, an awkward but deliriously delightful position, she seized Brownlow's arm for support with one hand, the headboard with the other, and she began pressing and undulating her pelvis against Beth's. Beth dropped back on the pillows, her fingers digging in to Electa's hips, their clits meeting as they began to writhe, gasping and panting -

Real Electa held her breath as her very real fingers worked her though a very real and delightful orgasm. It was the quietest yet most intense orgasm she'd had for a long time and it raked through her body, leaving her giddy and oh sweet Lord, more than satisfied. She released her breath in a slow exhalation, her entire body growing lax and sated. Her finger still hovered, paused, on her clit. Red flushed her cheeks as she glanced toward the women, but none of them had noticed. She gazed at the real Beth, who was completely oblivious, entirely unaware, and Electa prayed that one day her thoughts would be more than fancy. She dried her fingers on the inside of her pocket.

The carriage halted for a moment, the door opened and Major Bordon climbed in to sit beside his wife. Electa's face flooded red - she could feel the heat rushing across her cheeks. Lord, what if he'd come in just a few moments ago? She bit back an embarrassed laugh - Gods, that had been close.

"We've crossed onto Ferguson's Plantation," Bordon said. "We'll be at the house shortly."

Electa saw Beth's face go pale before Beth turned away from them all, angling her body in such a way that no one would see her face.

"We'll see Mary soon," Cilla said with what Electa thought was forced cheer. Bordon started chatting with Cilla - who seemed to perk up a little at his appearance. Electa settled into the seat, feeling far more relaxed than she had in days. Tension she hadn't known she was carrying melted from her body, leaving her feeling that she was basking in the glow of the sun. Having warmed herself, she gazed at Brownlow and, satisfyingly languid, she turned her thoughts to how best to gain his interest. She laughed to herself - the poor dear hadn't gotten very far in Electa's fancy - real Electa had reached climax before imagined Electa had gotten to him.

I'll make it up to you, she thought as she gazed at him wistfully, and she didn't mean in any fancies. She wanted to know if his member was as she pictured it - longer and thicker than the hilt of his sabre. Either way, it was sure to be very nice to ride. The real Brownlow turned toward her, she smiled warmly and waggled her fingers at him in a wave. His lips parted with surprise, then his face flushed red as he waved back at her. Her smile deepened - she knew how beautiful she was, and by his reaction to her just now, she was certain he'd be an easy seduction. He turned away, but quickly looked back at her, a double take, as if checking to see if she was still gazing at him. She was, and she let him know it. She saw his shoulders relax, a smile of his own twitched at his lips, and then he was turning away again.

Sated as she was, she relaxed into the sweet and simple fancy of sitting with Brownlow by a fire, kissing him gently. Lounging in her fancy, it was quite jarring to be suddenly ripped from it by the sudden sound of gunfire and panicking horses. Her heart leapt into her mouth and she whirled on her seat, looking all around herself, over her shoulder. The sound had come from the front, though, she realised. She jerked back around to the front and tried to see what was happening. Bordon was throwing himself out of the carriage and shouting for the women to stay put. The women were doing the same as she, whirling on their seats and trying to see what was happening. Brownlow was gone, there were shouts and then a man screamed.

"That was William!" Beth cried, and to Electa's horror, she threw herself out of the carriage as Bordon had.

"Beth!" She shouted and made a grab for her, tried to seize her cape and haul her back inside, but her fingers closed on air.

"What's happening?" Nancy gasped, eyes wide open with terror.

"We're under attack," Cilla said grimly.

"Beth!" Bordon bellowed, seeing Beth leave the carriage on the far side. And then, "Cilla, stay in the carriage!" Bordon was back at the door, his voice was urgent. "Stay down and -" he cut off with a shout and he fell to his knees.

"Richard!" Cilla shrieked, throwing the door open and falling out after him.


	151. Chapter 151 - A Hell of an Afternoon

_Thought I'd get out two chapters today :-)_

Chapter 151 - A Hell of an Afternoon:

_Earlier in the day:_

"Have you ever seen anything so sweet as those two together?" Mary asked, snuggling up to Colin on the chaise in the parlour. They were listening while Lucy played the spinnet. Thomas sat beside her, turning the music sheets.

"Yes, I have - you and I together," Colin grinned at Mary. She laughed, then returned her attention to Lucy's playing. When his sister came to an end, Mary clapped, complimented her, and encouraged her to play another. Lucy was half way through the next set, when Colin's father summoned him from the door. Colin disentangled himself from Mary and followed his father out into the hall.

"Putman is here," Lucas Ferguson said without preamble.

"What?" Colin gasped. "What the devil is he doing here?"

"He has fled a battle. His troop were attacked by the British, most were killed or taken captive -"

"His _troop_?" Colin scowled. "What _troop_, father? He doesn't have sanction from Colonel Martin or General Burwell, to have a damned _troop_. He is a renegade and any who follow him are renegades, none of whom are deserving of our assistance, if that's what he's come for! Where is he?"

"In your uncle's office, I felt it prudent to keep his presence here quiet."

"Does he know that Colonel Martin is here?" Colin asked, already striding down the corridor.

"I'm afraid so," Lucas answered. Colin bit back a stream of curses. He entered the office and there was Putman - and bloody Farshaw - both of them.

"What the devil is this I hear about your _troop_ being attacked?" Colin demanded. Mark looked startled by the greeting but Colin was having none of it. Had he truly expected a warm welcome?

"I had forty men," Mark replied warily. "I tried to lure Tavington out, but instead, Simcoe showed up, en-force. Tavington must have been warned of my intentions - by my traitorous niece, no doubt."

"I am not asking you what happened, Mr. Putman! I'm asking what the devil you thought you were doing, raising a militia? Do I need to remind you that your appointed rank was revoked? You don't have any authority to raise militia's in the name of our Cause - it has been rescinded! By General Burwell, by Governor Rutledge, by Colonel Martin!"

Mark's face was turning a furious shade of purple. Watson, who was standing in the corner, was nodding agreement with every word Colin said.

"Burwell said you would be forgiven for murdering those Dragoons," Lieutenant Watson said now. "He said nothing of reinstating you as Captain. And nor has Colonel Martin. You have overstepped - yet again - and now you've lost thirty good men."

"You could hang for this," Colin spat. "Do you not understand that?"

"After everything I've done, after everything I've been through -" Mark began.

"No!" Colin shouted, marching right up to Mark, his very approach a threat. Mark fell silent. "Not after _everything you've been through_. After _everything that you have done,_ more like! Oh yes, that's what this is about. Executing Dragoons without a trial when you had no authority to perform either! Suggesting to Sumter that he capture Mrs. Farshaw and to force his attentions on her!"

"My wife is a whore -" Calvin began hotly.

"At your instigation, you filthy prick. You don't speak here. You keep your damned mouth shut here!" Colin shouted.

"Son," Lucas said in a warning voice, but this had been building, for oh, so long. And now Mark was here, with a grudge and wanted revenge, as if what had taken place in the past wasn't his own damned fault.

"And don't think I don't know about you putting your wife into Bordon's bed!" Colin snapped at Mark, curling his fists at his sides. "And you burned down Mr. Middleton's Plantation! Your own brother in law!"

"He forced Cilla to marry Bordon!" Mark shoved Colin, but the younger man had been expecting it. He held his ground, but did not retaliate, though he desperately wanted to. "I demand to speak to Benjamin!"

"Do you? Is that what you want, Mark? Because God knows, we must all do what Mark wants us to do, when Mark asks it, no matter what shit storm may come of it! Well, Mark, I don't think you'll find a particularly warm reception, should I tell Benjamin you're here. He'll command that I throw you in chains, I have no doubt of it. So perhaps it might be a wiser idea, for you to bloody well leave before he does!"

"Why would you give him that option?" Watson asked incredulously. "He shouldn't be allowed to leave, he needs to answer for what he's done!"

"What I've done?" Mark said incredulously, rounding on Watson.

"Martin is too sick to be bothered with this, Lieutenant," Colin said and Watson snapped his mouth shut, then gave a grudging nod.

"What's this?" Mark asked, his body appearing to be trembling with fury.

"The militia bought Benjamin here a few days ago after he fell ill. He is here recuperating," Lucas said, trying to calm the waters. "My son is right, he should not be burdened with this. You came here for a reason, what is it you need, Mr. Putman? Provisions? Horses?"

"What, so you can pack me up and set me out the door? I need a place to bloody hide - the British are after me!"

"We should put our necks on the line, because you got yourself in trouble with the British when your unsanctioned attack failed?" Colin asked.

"No," Watson said. "Absolutely not. He needs to leave, and he needs to take that piece of filth with him," Watson pointed at Calvin.

"Why, what're you going to do if I stay, Britisher?" Calvin spat, puffing out his chest and advancing on Watson, who charged forward like a raging bull. "Traitor!" Calvin spat.

"Sodomite!" Watson shouted. The two lurched at each other, fists flying, smashing into furniture. It took Mark pulling Calvin back, and Colin and his father pulling on Watson, to stop it.

"Such a fine welcome I have among old friends," Mark said, utterly insulted.

"And you've such a fine way to treat those you _call_ friend. And those you call _niece, daughter. Wife_," Colin spat, throwing it in Mark's face again, his putting Mage in Bordon's bed. Colin immediately regretted it, as soon as the words were out. Mark looked stricken and astonishingly, tears filled his eyes.

"My wife is dead, you little shit!" He shouted. The door was opening again and Thomas was stepping in, looking wary. Mark shot him a glance, then turned back to Colin. "Do you think I didn't love her? I did! I craved her, like a starving man craves bread! She was my life, my heart, my soul, my everything! And I was hers! You didn't know her, not as I did! None of you did! You didn't know her resolve, either! She was a soldier, just like you and you and you," he pointed at Watson, Colin and Thomas. "She used weapons that you don't approve, but that was between me and her! I knew her, I understood her, I never would have allowed her to do it, if I thought for one moment, that it would hurt her! I loved her!"

"Allow her?" Thomas asked gravely. "Was it aunt Mage's idea?"

"Yes!" Mark spat. "You see? You think you knew her, but you never did! Her courage, her resolve! This is why I didn't want anyone to find out - because I knew none of you -" he pointed at the youths again, "could ever understand. My wife… She was my life! I would never hurt her. And she was too strong, to have been hurt by it!"

"Can you same the same for my sister?" Thomas asked. "She was hurt by it, uncle Mark, make no mistake."

"I've already discussed this with your father," Mark threw his hands up. "I've apologised, a hundred times! And what of my sister, huh? Thomas? What of my sister, and how she's suffered at your father's hands. What of that? Leading her along for all those years, never committing to marriage? Do you think your father is perfect? Blameless? Without fault?"

"Good God, no," Thomas snorted, finding the question rather amusing considering the magnificent argument he had had with his father back in Burwell's camp. "I'm starting to think there's not a person alive, who is without fault." He glanced at Colin's father, then added, "except Lucy. Lucy is perfect."

"You rallied yourself nicely from that one, boy," Lucas said, laughing. He handed Mark a whiskey he'd poured. "Let's just all calm down, alright? Ill has been done, the Lord knows, it has. But all this shouting, the fighting - this is not a barracks. This is my brother's home, where his wife lives, where my wife and daughter are, and Colin - _your_ wife! The women will be very disturbed by this, if we don't calm down. Not to mention my brother's furniture - Lieutenant Watson, pick up that chair will you? Gods, I hope you haven't damaged it, David will have our heads." While Mr. Ferguson fussed over the chair, Colin and Mark stared hard at one another.

"I am not going to tell Ben that you're here," Colin said finally. "I will not burden him, with having to make decisions about his brother in law, who continues to abuse his power even after it's been removed from him. Nor can you stay here. We can provide you with fresh horses if you leave your ones here. Provisions, like my father said. Your men can remain - they _are_ Ben's after all," he said with asperity. "But you, and most definitely you," he stabbed his finger toward Calvin, "will not be staying here."

"And if you think to argue further, you should consider thanking him, instead," Watson said. "He is being more than fair, Mark. I still believe he should be arresting you."

Mark's lips tightened. He drank the whiskey and shoved the glass at Watson, who took it without rising to the bait. "Horses and provisions, is it? I'll wait outside."

He marched out, and like an obedient dog, Calvin followed along behind him.

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"Colin, what is this I hear about you not allowing Mr. Putman to stay here?" David Ferguson asked. Colin, who was overseeing the provisions being set aside for Mark, turned toward his uncle. "The last time I checked, this was still my house, nephew."

"Uncle, I… I know. Yes, this is your house and -"

"I've taken you in because you are family. I've taken Benjamin Martin in because he is a Colonel of the army. And I've allowed his very large militia force to use my woods as it's base of operations. But despite the military presence, this is still my property and I don't appreciate you deciding who may come and who must go!"

"I am sorry, I overstepped. But uncle, you should not allow Mr. Putman and that Farshaw to stay here. I've told you what they've done, and now they've recruited men they had no authority to recruit and got most of them killed in an attack against -"

"Tavington. Yes, I know," David said. "Isn't that what we're supposed to do? Attack the British? Are we not Patriots, Colin?"

"Yes, Sir," Colin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Were you not yourself in Shelby's militia? Are you not now in Martin's?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then let me understand this. You are turning Putman away for fighting the British, because he isn't doing it under your authority?"

"Not _my_ authority. The Continentals. Burwell himself has revoked Mr. Putman's rank!" Gods, did his father not understand politics at all?

"You spoke of Governor Rutledge when you confronted Mr. Putman. Has Rutledge - our Governor - said either way if Putman holds rank or not?"

"Yes. Colonel Martin has exchanged letters with Governor Rutledge regarding My Putman. Governor Rutledge has very grave concerns, about Mr. Putman now," Colin explained.

"Well. Be that as it may, as far as I a concerned, Mr. Putman is attacking our common enemy! His methods might not be to your taste, but at least he is doing something! Therefore I - the Master of this house - grant him permission to remain here for as long as he needs!"

Colin drew a long, deep, steadying breath. He held his uncle's eyes and saw only firm resolve. His uncle was a good man, but clearly, he was feeling the effects of one being overthrown in his own home. He likely didn't care one way or another for Putman, but nor did he consider himself to be under Benjamin Martin's authority, or that Rutledge who was Governor of _South Carolina_, not North. Nor did he recognise the authority of the Continentals or the militia, and indeed felt as though all of these powers combined were trying to oust him from his own home. Colin sighed, understanding his uncle's reaction.

"What he has done - all of it - it was wrong, uncle," Colin said in a more reasonable voice. "And even this latest skirmish, he is killing our own men with what can only be described as a personal vendetta, against Bordon and Tavington."

"Which is quite understandable - both of whom tortured him, yes? He stays, Colin. For as long as he needs."

David Ferguson turned on his heel and began to stride away.

"You'd do far better to court Benjamin Martin's goodwill than Mark Putman's," Colin advised and his uncle stopped dead. "When this is over, it is Benjamin who will have the love of our people - not Mark, who put his own wife into the bed of a British Officer. And possibly his own daughter, as well." Colin watched as his uncle's back stiffened, then he hung his head.

"They can camp in the woods where the rest of Martin's men can keep an eye on them," David said, glancing at Colin over his shoulder. Colin nodded.

"Uncle, I truly didn't mean to overstep," Colin said, wanting to smooth the waters. "This is a tense time for all of us… You have been gracious enough to allow us to stay here, despite our ever growing numbers. Martin won't be here long; as soon as he's better, he will leave, and the men will not be depleting your woods of game any longer. If there are any more decisions that need to be made that concern your property and house, I will discuss them with you."

"Thank you," David said, inclining his head. His voice was back to normal now and Colin thought he looked embarrassed to have made such a ruckus over Putman. "You and yours, you'll always find welcome here, you know that don't you?"

"I know. You just don't want other people deciding who comes and go, or stays and leaves in your own house."

"It was far too close to what the British would have us tolerate. Don't forget, their Quartering Act is one of the reasons we fight them."

"Of course," Colin shook his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. He had been rather heavy handed, taking ownership of something that was not his. Exactly as the British do.

"Lunch will be ready soon - should I invite Putman to join us?"

"I'd really rather you didn't, uncle," Colin said. "I don't want him around my wife and sister."

David spread his hands and inclined his head again, acceding Colin's request.

The afternoon was, thus far, turning to hell, what with Putman showing up, the disagreement with his uncle, to the decision to allow Putman and that piece of filth Farshaw to stay. At least they weren't going to be in the house…

The day was not yet done with Colin, however; for not fifteen minutes later, a messenger arrived that sent the family into complete chaos again.

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The Ferguson men and Nicholas Watson stood in the grand hall as Tavington's messenger advised them that they had reached the outskirts of the property and would be to the Great House presently. He understood that they were only expecting Mrs. Tavington might come, the messenger said, but could their accommodation extend to allowing Mrs. Cilla Bordon and Mrs. Harmony Farshaw to stay also? And their servants. Oh, and two newly born babies.

Colin's fists clenched at his sides, he met Nicholas' eyes and saw the same stricken panic. Colin wanted to shout that no, of course the others couldn't bloody stay. Well, Cilla could - she was a dear friend of both himself and his wife, he would never turn her away. Mrs. Harmony Farshaw though? God, no, he'd not have her, and nor should Tavington expect him to take in Bordon's former mistress. But his uncle would have a conniption if Colin again made a decision as to who could stay and who couldn't, without consulting him. He glanced at his uncle now and dread welled in his soul to see him nodding.

Given the limited information his uncle had, why wouldn't he allow Cilla - Putman's daughter - to stay? And Harmony - Farshaw's wife? When he'd allowed the men to stay… But this went so much deeper than the surface. Colin was wishing he'd been more forthcoming with his uncle, instead of keeping to himself, the matters he had no desire to discuss.

"Of course, they are welcome here," David said. "We'll make room for them."

_Dear God, you aren't even asking me what sort of woman Mrs. Farshaw is, _Colin groaned.

More was discussed with the messenger and then they showed him to the door. His horse was waiting at the bottom step of the wide porch, he would carry the news back to Tavington that all was well with the arrangement.

"We can not, under any circumstances, tell Mr. Putman that Bordon and Tavington are coming," Colin said. Gods, this could not be worse timing. He'd expected that Tavington might bring Beth here. But why in the world was he bringing her _now_? When his uncle frowned, Colin continued, "please, uncle. This is your home, I am not trying to overstep. But this will end with disaster, if Mr. Putman is informed. Colonel Martin has granted safe passage - whether you agree that he should have or not is neither here nor there; Martin is the Colonel and he will be obeyed. We will let Tavington and Bordon leave, unmolested, for to do anything else will be breaking Colonel Martin's word on his behalf."

"I understand that," uncle David said stiffly.

"Can you see Putman and Farshaw complying?" Colin asked and after a moment, David shook his head.

"No, I can not," he sighed.

"We will inform Mark that his daughter has arrived, when we've allowed enough time for Tavington to have returned to his camp," Colin said.

"Where are they now?" Nicholas asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Farshaw is down at the camp. Putman is in the office," David said. "Penning letters."

"Dear God, he can't be here. Can you somehow encourage him out of the house?" Colin asked, knowing that Mark would make a scene as soon as Tavington arrived. The idea was to have Tavington leave, completely unaware that there were any rebels quartered there. "Tell him you'll show him the camp, or that you want to show him your dogs or somewhat - something that will remove him far from the house."

"He's not going to to want to look at my dogs," David scoffed.

"You're giving him hospitality - Putman isn't so lost to etiquette that he would refuse an invitation, no matter how insensible it might seem. He is a guest and he will not be discourteous."

"Very well, I'll invite him to come fishing with me."

"Perfect," Colin relaxed. "I'm going above to tell Benjamin."

"You haven't told him Mark is here yet," Nicholas pointed out.

"Nor will I. We will handle this ourselves, no need to burden Benjamin," Colin said, already heading for the stairs.

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"Jesus, with uncle Mark here, now is not a good time for Tavington to be coming," Thomas said.

"Don't I know it," Colin muttered. He'd just been upstairs, he'd informed Benjamin that Beth was coming, and Benjamin had repeated his orders to allow safe passage for Tavington and his men, and to not reveal that Benjamin was there. "I have to get the annulment for Tavington to sign. You'd better get up there, he said that if you're seen, Tavington will know Ben is here and then we'll need to capture Tavington, which will be going back on Ben's word. Gods, I can see this going to hell, so damned easily. If Tavington sees Putman, he'll try to arrest him and I just… damn and blast it. Has my uncle invited Mark to go fishing?"

"I don't know if he's found him yet," Thomas replied.

"Found him? Uncle David said Mark was in his office!" Colin began striding away, Thomas was hot on his heels. They nearly ran over Lucy and Mary, who came out of a side corridor.

"Is it true that Mrs. Farshaw is being allowed to stay here?" Mary asked incredulously.

"I… Yes, it is. Frankly, Mary, she is the least of my concerns right now! I have no time for this. Where is my uncle? And Mark? Where is Mark?"

"Your father and uncle are looking for him," Mary said.

"Looking for…" Colin trailed off, foreboding tracing his spine. "He was in the office. Dear God, you don't think he overheard us speaking to Tavington's messenger, do you?" He asked Thomas.

"I was in the parlour with Lucy and Mary and I didn't hear," Thomas said. "The office is on the other side of the house. He would have been lurking in a side corridor, to have heard you."

"Well, maybe he was! I would put nothing past him!" Colin said, beginning to panic. He strode toward the back of the house, the cold afternoon sun making him blink. Watson rounded the house and approached.

"We're looking for Mark, have you seen him?" Watson asked, sounding as panicked as Colin felt.

"No. I think… I think he was listening in, I think he knows, Nick."

"Dear Lord above," Watson groaned.

"Riders," Thomas said, pointed. They were mere dots at the moment, ten of them, galloping toward them from Benjamin's camp.

"They can't be here. Gods, they should not be here. Tavington can not see militiamen here. Jesus, this afternoon is turning to hell," Colin said. They waited, for there was nothing else to do. Colin's father and uncle, neither of them had been able to find Mark, came to wait with them. Eventually the riders were close enough for the group to make them out - Captain Rollins was at their head.

"What's happening?" Nathan asked, coming to stand beside Thomas.

"Hell," Thomas replied. "That's what is happening."

"That's not a _hell_ of a lot of detail, Thomas," Nathan quipped.

"This is serious, Nate," Thomas said. "We can't find Mark, we think he overheard Tavington's messenger."

"Jesus," Nathan breathed.

Rollins and the others drew rein. "Just need a little clarification, lads," he said. "I thought we were under orders to _not_ attack Tavington, if he came?"

"We are," Colin breathed.

"Well, that's what I thought too. 'Cept Putman is down there saying that Tavington is here, that Old Ben has changed his mind, and that we're to kill the lot of them."

"What?" The question was asked incredulously by more than one voice.

"You need to go back immediately, tell the men that Martin gave no such order!" Colin barked.

"Too late," Rollins said gravely. "I've made my lot stay put because I wanted clarification from Ben. But there's nearly three hundred who are already on their way, with Putman at their head."

"Get my horse!" Colin shouted, running for the stables. The command was echoed by the others, Nathan, Thomas and Watson, all shouting for the same. "Get back to the camp," Colin said to Rollins. "Tell any still there to stop - intercept any that you can that are on their way. Putman is bloody lying!"

Rollins and the others, aghast, twisted their mounts and began riding hard back the way they came. The Ferguson women stood in a confused and frightened huddle as the rest of the men mounted and in a panic of hooves and harness, galloped away.

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With nearly three hundred men at his back and more to follow, Mark galloped hard for the small column of Dragoons working their way along the trail through the woods. He carried two pistols, both of them loaded. This was it. The yearning burned along his tongue, down his throat, to his heart and stomach - yearning for vengeance.

For justice.

This was it, for once and for all. Lord, he hadn't thought it would be possible, not after being chased away by Simcoe and with most of his force captured or killed. He'd thought his hopes and dreams were dust. But God, yes, the Almighty, He was on his side. This was proof. He'd punished Benjamin with this illness, the doing of which had placed Benjamin's force in Mark's hands. Almost all of it. Rollins and a few others had refused to muster their men until the had been confirmed by Benjamin, the untrusting bastards. No matter. Three hundred would be more than a match for three score of Dragoons. They'd be more than a match for Tavington and Bordon. Mark felt the heat rushing through his body. It was the Holy Spirit, the Lord above, He was with Mark at this moment, and He was on Mark's side. This was proof of His design, for He hadn't only handed Tavington and Bordon over to Mark, but Cilla as well.

Beth had tried to warn Tavington, she'd betrayed Mark by telling the British about the seal and cipher and Mark's intentions, causing his mission to fail. But the Lord was stronger than the devil driving Beth, He was giving Mark another chance, showing him another way, so he could perform His Devine Will. And Mark seized it, with both fists.

The force of men galloping through the woods was not a quiet one, the Dragoons were aware of them before the first clash. They were panicked though, couldn't tell which way the attack was coming from, and they were too few. Benjamin's militia fell upon the British Company like a soaring ocean wave. Mark saw Tavington at the head and as soon as he was within range, Mark fired his pistol. It was the most satisfying moment of his life, to see Tavington topple from his horse.

Be careful of the carriages and kill the men. Those where the only commands Mark had given. And the men were doing that with thorough and exact precision. All around, Dragoons were knocked from their horses, barely able to get a shot off before receiving three or four in kind. The carriages had stopped, he saw his traitorous niece throw herself out of the front one, saw her running to her husband, who was on the ground. Mark's rear guard caught up and the battle increased in violence, blood and death. Mark could hear women screaming from within both carriages and the sound of a baby squalling. With a thought to Cilla not to worry for he would have her safely away soon, he searched for that piece of filth Richard Bordon. Seeing the Major throwing himself out of a carriage, Mark smiled. He aimed his second pistol, and the ball took Bordon in the leg. He'd been aiming for the bastard's chest, but still, it was most satisfying to see the Major drop to his knees, screaming, his pistols forgotten. A shot from a militiaman in the woods threw Bordon backward, knocking him to the ground, where Bordon lay as still and helpless as a newborn lamb. Mark feared that the shot from the woods had killed Bordon, depriving Mark of the killing blow. He dismounted, and he unseated his knife as he advanced on Richard, to see if he was still alive, for Mark desperately wanted the killing blow to be his. The militia were still firing indiscriminately at the Dragoons all around him, but he was not their target. As he strode forward, he saw Cilla hurtle out of the carriage. Mark stopped dead, drinking in the sight of her for the first time in… Gods, it'd been months. So, so very long. Love burned hotter in him now than the Lord's vengeance. Vengeance. Yes, that's what he was here for. To put the dog Bordon down, and to free his daughter at long last.

By now, Cilla - astonishingly, had fallen at Richard's side, screaming. Was she going to do the job herself? The dog's pistols were right there on the ground where he'd dropped them. If that's what she wanted, Mark would let her. He'd always wanted to be the one that killed Bordon, but in truth, Cilla had far more right to it. He was standing over her now and she glanced up when his shadow fell on her. He smiled and she stared, gaping.

"Papa," she breathed. "Oh my God, this was you? All you?"

"All for you, dear heart. It's time to go, Cil. I'm sorry it took so long, but I've got you free of him now, just like I promised your mamma I would. Here, do you want to do it? I can show you how?" His pistols were spent, both were haltered. But the dagger he held would do well enough.

She recoiled from the knife he held out to her, looking confused and aghast.

"I know, it's hard to kill a man," Mark said. "Don't worry, I wasn't going to make you. I'll do it. You need to move aside, though, so I can -"

"Papa, no! Please, I beg you, don't!" Cilla screamed when Mark came forward, fingers clutched around the dagger. Mark was quite taken aback, he'd thought she'd wanted this. That she'd come hurtling into his arms, glad that he was taking her home. Instead, she was pleading with him and covering Richard's entire body with her own. The men were still rushing in, chaos and violence surrounding him.

"Cilla, you need to move aside, right now!" Mark snapped, confused and dismayed by his daughter's reaction.

Cilla, kneeling in the mud and blood, whirled on her father. "He was sorry!" She screamed up at him over the sound of dying men and horses and gunfire. "You didn't have to do this, you've destroyed everything!"

Hearing this, Mark stopped dead. "What are you talking about? Are you mad? How can you say that, after what he did to you?"

"That is for me and for him to bear, not for you!" She shouted between hysteric sobs.

"How can you say _that_?" He said. "He tortured me for hours but the pain of that was nothing to the pain of knowing what he did to you!"

"You don't understand anything," Cilla shrieked, tears coursing her cheeks, she continued to sob and to hurl at him words Mark could not even begin to understand. "You haven't been here, all these months, watching him transform into the man he is today. The man I love, my husband, the father of my child, the man you've just killed!"

Disgusted, Mark grabbed her arm and pulled, trying to drag her away. If anything, her screams increased and she hurled herself backward, ripping her arm from his grip as she fell back in the mud. Shouting at her, Mark seized her arm again, he would drag her through the mud if he had to, but she kept fighting and was surprisingly strong. With a shriek, Cilla clawed at Mark's hand and pulled at the same time, until she was free again. Mark was becoming frustrated. The Dragoons remaining had started to rally in small clusters. The moment of surprise was over and the few that were left were forming up, causing the militia to be more wary. The Dragoons got off a volley, and then the militia began the onslaught again. Mark was aware of it but he did not move. Cilla was bent over Richard again, her hands cupping his face as she begged him to wake. Infuriated, Mark raised the dagger, he'd sink it into the bastard's black heart. Bordon looked quite dead, but needed to be sure of the bastard. A woman shouted warning to Cilla from inside the carriage. Mark shot the dark haired woman a murderous look and she fell back, terrified as she clutched another woman still in the carriage. He shifted his gaze back to Cilla, to find that she'd heard the warning and had thrown herself over Bordon's body, using her own as a shield.

"You hate him for what he did to me but you and mamma weren't blameless!" She bellowed up at him and Mark could feel the fury behind it. "I love Richard and you need to stop - stop!'

Mark's mouth fell open. Love? She thought she was in love with this vile monster who murdered her virtue? "And they think I'm mad!" He shouted. Disgusted by her reaction, he grabbed her by the shoulders and bodily threw her off Richard. Before she could recover herself he sunk his dagger deep into the Major's stomach. The Major didn't react which satisfied Mark - clearly the bastard was already dead. A blood curdling scream tore from Cilla's throat. Cilla leaped up as Mark raised his arm up to stab again. Before the dagger could land, Cilla launched herself at Mark and pushed him with all her might, shoving him several steps away and then raining her small fists all over him. He took the blows on his arm and when she couldn't satisfy herself with hitting him, she abandoned the effort and again fell upon Richard, howling. She pressed down on the wound, her fingers unable to stop the flow of blood bubbling up between them. The Major lay in the mud, as still as stone.

"He's dead, Cilla. I'm going to finish Tavington and then you and I are getting the hell out of here" Mark snapped but she barely heard him. He slammed the dagger into its sheath, pulled both his sidearms and proceeded to load them. He was tempted to put a ball between dead Richard's eyes, but that would have been a waste of lead. He needed both bullets for Tavington, now that the Major was dead. He turned back to the front of the column. Nearly four hundred rebels surrounded it, the remaining Dragoons were on the ground, wounded and defeated. He circled the carriage to find Calvin had his rifle trained on Tavington, who'd been shot from his horse but still lived. He was up against a tree, his fingers clutching his hip as he swore and groaned. Beth was on her knees alongside him, her body angled over his - she was protecting him with her body the same as Cilla had Bordon.

The difference was, Beth was not panicking. She was on her knees beside the Colonel, her back mostly to him. It was Calvin she faced and she had the Colonel's pistols in her hands. Both were aimed at Calvin. Which was why Calvin hadn't taken his own shot at Tavington - for fear of the pistols that were trained on him.

Calvin screamed at Beth to lay down the pistols and move, or he'd shoot her.

"I will kill you, Farshaw," Beth said in the calmest yet most direct way Mark had ever heard a person speak under such circumstances. Her eyes were fixed on Farshaw, the pistols trained with precision, one on his chest, the other straight at his face. Mark had never seen any woman look more deadly. Frankly, Mark believed every word.

"Don't be a fool," Mark spat, shoving Calvin away. "Go find your wife - Tavington is mine."

"You got Bordon!" Calvin snapped. "You did get Bordon, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," Mark said, meeting Beth's now stricken eyes.

"You said Tavington was mine," Calvin said, filled with tension. "You promised it."

"I've changed my mind. Here - you can have one hundred pounds, or you can kill Tavington. Which is it to be?"

"You'll buy the right to kill him from me?" Calvin said, lowering the rifle.

"You shot your share of Dragoons here, be content with that. Go find your wife, Cal. As soon as this is done, I'm going to get Cilla and we'll get the hell away from here."

"Alright," Calvin said, greed winning out over vengeance. He backed away. "Stupid bitch," he spat at Beth, before shouldering his rifle and running off. Beth, watching Mark take up the position Calvin had held, trained the pistols on him, instead. Again, deadly precision, one aimed at his chest, the other was sure to take him right between the eyes. But Mark knew better - he saw uncertainty replace that cold determination, and her hands had begun to tremble. She'd been prepared to kill Calvin Farshaw, but Mark was her uncle, her family, her blood. He made no attempt toward her, lest she panic and fire by accident, but Mark knew people and he could see that she was not going to shoot him with intent.

Someone was shouting from a distance. Lots of someone's, Mark realised. Colin had learned what he'd done and was coming to stop him. Well, he was too damned late. Just one more kill, and it was done.

"Did you tell Tavington about the seal and cipher, Beth?" Mark asked her. He held both his pistols at his sides, he hadn't levelled them yet. He needed to get Beth the hell out of the way before he made the shot, in case he hit her instead of Tavington. "Did you betray me?"

"You have betrayed yourself, and all of us, ten times over. Yes, I told my husband of your plot and your intention to kill him," Beth said.

"You admit to betraying me and you don't even sound apologetic."

"Woah," a voice intruded, Captain Brownlow stepped around the carriage behind Beth and Tavington. Mark immediately aimed his left pistol and Brownlow threw both arms up, to show empty hands. "The skirmish is over, Putman. You've won. The Dragoons have surrendered, we've laid down our arms."

"He killed Dalton and his entire detachment, do you honestly think he gives a Gods cursed damn if you've surrendered?" Beth said, her eyes never leaving Mark.

"Beth, get away from here, Beth, go…" Tavington groaned behind her. The fingers of one hand pressed hard against his hip, curling around the wound. His other hand was on Beth's back, he was trying to push her away. Beth ignored him, she didn't even budge. She kept her gaze fixed on Mark. She hadn't even glanced at Brownlow, when he skirted to the front of the carriage.

"Lower your pistols, uncle. If you try to shoot my husband, I will kill you," Beth said and Mark turned his attention back to her. His fingers shifted on the trigger, he wanted to pull, to shoot Brownlow, just to see what she'd do.

"Putman," one of Benjamin's men said, coming forward. Mark remembered his name - Matthew Black. Black looked uncertain and uncomfortable by the standoff, at Mark threatening an unarmed, wounded man. And Benjamin Martin's daughter. "They've surrendered."

"Leave us, I have one more thing to do," Mark said. After a moments hesitation, the militiaman walked away. The distant shouting was getting closer, Mark could hear the word _halt_ screamed over and over. He was losing his opportunity, Colin and the others would soon be here and there was no way he could kill Tavington then. He kept one pistol trained on Brownlow, but the other came up, aiming at Tavington's head. Without missing a beat, Beth angled herself upward into the line of fire and Mark shook his head, incredulous.

"Get her away from here before he kills her, Brownlow," Tavington commanded harshly. Mark curled his lip - from what he knew of the situation, Tavington had bought Beth here to set her aside. And now he was trying to protect her?

"Mrs. Tavington, please come away," Brownlow said, begging. "The Colonel doesn't want this. Not your life for his. Please."

"Be calm, Captain," Beth said. "My uncle will not won't fire with me right here."

Infuriated, Mark said, "earlier, I wouldn't have. But now? Maybe I care less for seeing you alive than I do for seeing your husband dead. You're a traitor. In every way that it's possible for you to be a traitor. And I very much want Tavington dead," he finished.

"You really are mad," Beth said with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. "Uncle, I know he tortured you -"

"But you married him anyway," he shouted. "They tortured me, him and that other piece of shit. Doesn't matter what they did to us, you and your father and your brothers, all of you keep siding with them, even now! Bordon, that vile piece of shit - he raped my daughter!"

Beth frowned, incredulous. "That's ridiculous, uncle, you've got it completely wrong! Cilla might have been reluctant to marry Richard, but she did agree, she said her vows willingly and consummation of a marriage isn't rape, no matter how unwanted the marriage is to begin!"

"That's what you think I mean?" He spat even as she continued, "Cilla loves her husband, and he does her! You have it all wrong, he would never hurt her!"

"You're a damned fool, you've got no idea what you're talking about!"

"What did you do?" Beth asked, hearing Cilla's screams. "Did you really… Is he -"

"Dead," Mark spat. "And that one will soon be too," he pointed at Tavington, who glared up at him, panting through the pain of his wounds. "You can share widowhood with Cilla. Get out of the way, niece, I mean it."

"Halt! Putman tricked you! Colonel Martin never gave the command to attack! Halt!" The shouts were distinctive now, Mark could even recognise voices. Watson. Colin. Thomas. Nathan. All of them, screaming it as they got closer.

"I knew it," Beth spat. "I knew my father would not do this. I will not let you finish this. I'm not moving from this spot. You'll have to kill me," she was protecting William much as Cilla had Bordon.

Rage flushed red across his vision. She couldn't cover all of Tavington - it was either his head or his stomach, with one vital part of him protected, the other vital part of him was exposed. That was as much as she could manage from her position. Mark lowered his aim from Tavington's head to his stomach. It was deflection only, he was making a feint, thinking that Beth would angle herself lower to cover Tavington's threatened lower half, leaving his head unprotected. Mark intended to change aim for William's head as soon as she bent to protect his stomach.

Instead, Beth fired both pistols at once. One ball slammed into a tree just beyond Mark's head, the other took Mark in the shoulder. He was thrown backward by the force of the shot and slammed to the ground. Brownlow rushed Mark, punched him in the face, then seized both pistols. Several militia saw the Dragoon attack one of their own and turned to rush Brownlow, but he immediately handed the pistols over and lifted his hands in surrender. They were confused enough by what Colin and the others were shouting, that they did not attack him.

"He was about to shoot an unarmed prisoner," Brownlow said, backing away to Tavington and Beth slowly, both hands in the air.

"Are you not listening?" Beth shouted at the men and pointing toward the trees in the direction of the oncoming riders. "My father did not command you to attack! My uncle deceived you - you need to arrest him!"

"Make way, make way!" Colin and the others were shouting. Thomas, Nathan and another hundred militia thundering from the woods, still screaming to halt the battle. The militia facing Brownlow lowered their arms.

The standoff had passed, Beth dropped the pistols from nerveless fingers and began to weep. She turned to William.

"I shot him, I shot him, I shot him," she whispered over and over, agonised by what she'd done. She couldn't bare to look, she buried her face in William's shoulder and he put his arms around her, cradling her against him and stroking her back as she wept.

Moments later, Thomas and Nathan dropped to either side of Beth and Tavington.

"I shot uncle Mark," Beth wept. "I shot him!"

"What?" Nathan turned and saw the man being helped up by the militia was his uncle Mark.

"He was going to kill Colonel Tavington," Brownlow said. "Mrs. Tavington did warn him she'd shoot. I guess he didn't really think she would."

"He's stark raving mad," Nathan said of Mark, who was clutching his shoulder as he was supported by the men, who half carried him. He was soon lost to the crowd, but Nathan didn't bother going to check on him. "He's alive," he shrugged.

William's fist returned to his side, clutching where he'd been shot. A sheen of sweat across his forehead, he was panting and writhing. Beth hovered over him, her hands cupping his face helplessly.

"Be still, you must be still," she coaxed. She pulled off her cape and pressed it down on the other wound, Tavington had been shot in the leg as well.

"Gods, I hate being shot!" He bellowed when Beth applied pressure to his leg. The lead must have broken a bone. "Is what you said true? Or did your father do this?" He gasped out at the boys.

"As God is my witness, my father did not do this," Thomas said gravely. He pulled Tavington's hand away and pressed down hard on the wound with the only thing he had to hand - a horse blanket. "This was my uncle's doing, he deceived the men, telling them that they were acting under Colonel Martin's orders. We did not betray you."

William nodded. He dropped back for a moment, struggling for air, then he lifted his hand to Beth, who was kneeling over him, weeping and helpless. After tying off a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, she was too scared to touch his leg again. He reached up with bloody fingers and caressed her face. "You shot him," he said. "Shot your uncle to protect me."

"He was going to shoot you," she choked out. "I couldn't let him kill you."

"I know. I love you."

She cupped his face and began to rain kisses over his face, his lips, her tears mingling with his sweat. "I love you," she whispered over and over. He kissed her back, his bloodied hand entwined in her hair, before it fell lax to his chest. "William?" She gasped, for he'd stopped responding, he was no longer kissing her back. His eyes were closed, Thomas immediately placed his hand over William's mouth to feel for air.

"He's breathing," he said, relieved. "He's alive, Beth, don't panic. He's passed out is all. It's better for him this way - he can't feel the pain. Still, we'd better get him to the house, we need Mr. Jones for this."

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Accepting Putman's bargain, Calvin ran off to find his wife. All around him, the militia were lowering their weapons, for the Dragoons were either dead or wounded. It was over, the smoke was clearing, and Calvin and Mark were the victors. Gods, this was a wonderful day. Now, the prize in his cap. His bitch wife, Harmony. He saw a group standing at the second carriage, rebels watching over the women. Calvin sauntered up, ready to seize Harmony. To his utter shock and horror, however, his eyes landed on George and Hamish Jutland, his father and brother in law. He stopped dead and stared at them where they stood up against the carriage. Neither bore arms and they were watching Martin's militia warily, so clearly they'd been part of Tavington's Company.

Harmony and that Mrs. Andrews stood between George and Hamish. Both were holding babies, and both babies looked identical, down to their red hair. Calvin marched up, ready to do murder. "You gave him twins?" He screamed. "I'll kill them both!" He reached out even as Harmony tried to whirl away from him.

"The hell you will, boy! You'll do no such thing!" George bellowed. Hamish moved to stand in front of the women while George squared his shoulders, violence in every line of his body. Calvin had believed himself to be supported by the militia, but none of those surrounding the carriage made a move to intervene. Instead, they were staring at Calvin, horrified.

"No one is killing children." The leader among them said, turning on Calvin, who darted uncertain looks at them all. "Farshaw, is it? I am Mr. Higgins. This fight is over, you need to calm down now. No one is killing anyone - especially not children. Understood?"

"You don't understand," Calvin said to Mr. Higgins. "That woman," he pointed at Harmony, who was cowering behind the other women, all of whom had formed a circle around her to protect the babies. "Is my wife and I am _not_ leaving without her."

Higgins glanced at Harmony uncertainly.

"This woman is my daughter," George spoke up. "And by mutual agreement, both Calvin Farshaw's father and I have dissolved the marriage."

"You _what_?" Calvin gaped. "You can't do that!"

"We _did_ do that," George spat. "Your father and I permitted this marriage and your father and I absolved it. She's not your wife anymore. And after what you've done to her -" George was unable to contain himself any longer. Despite the militia who were guarding him, he rushed forward and seized Calving by the front of Calvin's jacket and began smashing his fist into Calvin's face and body. George was heavier and despite having not fought for years, he knew even better than Calvin, the how. His fists caused meaty sounds and flares of agony as they struck Calvin's flesh and Calvin yelped and bellowed, tried to fight back but George most definitely held the field.

As George was not armed, and as this was a domestic issue, Mr. Higgins signalled his men to stay out of it. They'd all heard Calvin threaten to kill the babies. The militiamen did nothing to stop the beating, but Hamish eventually intervened. After letting it go on for a bit, he pulled his irate father back.

"She told us everything, Calvin," Hamish said. Calvin was still on his feet but he sagged back against a tree, his face covered in blood from the clobbering. George paced like a tense panther, wanting to strike again. Hamish continued, "she told all of it, to all of us. To your father. _And_ to your mother." Covered in blood, Calvin slipped to the ground, where he stared up at Hamish aghast. "You sold my sister into prostitution," Hamish said, standing over him. He seized Calvin by the front of his jacket and pulled him back up, up, until Calvin was back on his feet and again pressed against the tree. Hamish, inches from Calvin's face, said, "your mother knows what you've done. You are no longer welcome in their home, Calvin. They never want to set eyes on you again. _We_ never want to set eyes on you again. Do not plague Harmony, she is no longer yours to claim. If you come near her again, if you threaten her, we will kill you. Do you understand? I will gut you like the pig you are. Now get the hell out of here." He shoved Calvin back to the ground. Astonished and in agony, Calvin began to rise, his movements jerky from the beating.

"I told you, didn't I?" Harmony said, coming forward from the huddle of women. "I warned you I'd tell them, Cal. Those days are over. You should have seen the look on your mother's face."

Calvin swallowed hard, that was the worst part of all for him. That his mother knew.

"Get you gone," George said. "Or by God, I'll kill you now, even if these men try to help you."

"No," said a newcomer. Watson rode into the group, looking thunderous. "Seize Farshaw," he commanded of Higgins. "He gave false orders, he will face Colonel Martin and will likely hang for it."

"False orders?" Mr. Higgins said.

"Colonel Martin expressly commanded that we not attack Colonel Tavington. Mr. Putman and Mr. Farshaw lied to you, Mr. Higgins. Martin never changed his mind, he did not order the attack."

"Why, you little bastard," Mr. Higgins approached Calvin, who began to panic. He tried to run but could barely move two feet - he was quickly seized and held by the militiamen.

"I think that would be a better outcome for all, don't you?" Watson asked George. "I was listening from back there," he held out his hand in offering. "Lieutenant Watson, at your service." George, confused beyond measure, took it - shaking Watson's hand.

"What of Putman?" Mr. Higgins asked. "What's going to happen to him?"

"I don't know, to be honest," Watson said. "He is Martin's brother in law, but he deserves no special dispensation. Not for this. Still, Martin will have the deciding and we will abide by that decision. This one, I'm certain, Martin will hang without blinking," Watson said, pointing at Calvin. The blood drained from Calvin's face.

"So, Martin didn't order this?" Another man asked, pointing at the Dragoons and looking confused.

"No, Mr. Scott, I assure you, he did not," Watson said.

"He knew Tavington was coming, and we were ordered to let him pass freely. Why does Martin always protect him?" Another one asked.

Watson heaved a breath. "It might appear that way, Mr. Hardwick, but I assure you, he doesn't. You might not understand his decisions, but… You've been fighting with him for months now, have you ever seen Martin waver against the British, even once?"

"No. But when Tavington is involved…" Hardwick trailed off and the other men began to nod, even Mr. Higgins.

"No," Watson said, answering what they were thinking. "Martin would not protect Tavington, even if he is his son in law, nor would he hesitate to make a prisoner of him. Or have you forgotten the time he captured Tavington and whipped him?"

The other men shared uncertain glances as they shrugged and said 'that's true…' among themselves.

"Look, Martin gave safe passage because Tavington was escorting Martin's _daughter and niece_ to the Ferguson's. Look how many women there are - and two babies? Sir's, honestly. Do you truly believe Martin would order you to attack in this situation? Two carriages filled with women and young children? Even if Mrs. Tavington and Mrs. Bordon hadn't been among them, he still would not have attacked a Company escorting women."

The militiamen were beginning to nod agreement. Their leader, Mr. Higgins, was starting to look afraid.

"What was done here today…" Watson trailed off, words could not express his horror.

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"To you? Mr. Higgins, you didn't even try to get clarification, did you?" Watson asked and Higgins shook his head, ashamed. "You were deceived," Watson sighed. "I am certain Colonel Martin will take that into consideration. But our actions here now may ease his anger, if we act with honour." Watson hadn't been part of the Company that had attacked, but by including himself as one of the guilty party, he gained the cooperation of those that had.

"What can we do?" Higgins asked.

"Take Farshaw back to the camp and keep him confined. Round up the captured horses and keep them under guard. Despite how we came by them, Colonel Martin will not hesitate to keep the Dragoon's mounts, most of which were likely captured from our own forces previously anyway. But I do not believe that he will tolerate looting of the saddlebags, especially under these circumstances."

"No, he wouldn't," Mr. Higgins, looking deeply troubled.

"We shall carry the dead and the wounded to the camp where the wounded will receive medical aid," Watson continued. "I'm afraid," he turned to George and Hamish, "that you might as well consider yourselves to be prisoners."

"Oh no," Harmony gasped, laying a hand on her father's arm. "Oh, why did you join? You shouldn't have come, I told you you shouldn't! Mamma is going to be so worried! You… you…"

"Mrs. Farshaw, with Martin as their jailor, they will be treated fairly," Watson said.

"And my daughter?" George asked, moving to stand before her. "I will do what I have to to protect her."

"Beth won't let anything happen to me," Harmony said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Please, just be calm, everything will be alright."

"Not that anything would," Watson said. "Happen to you, I mean. I assure you, you will be treated fairly under Martin."

George and Hamish finally nodded. "We won't cause you trouble," George said and Watson gave him a grateful nod, for he hadn't wanted to use violence to make them comply. The attack had been unsolicited but that didn't mean he'd let any of the survivors leave. "My son and I were driving the carriage," George said. "Should I continue to do so?"

"I don't see why not," Watson agreed. The whole militia was there now, hundreds of men spreading back through the trees for several rods. It wasn't as though George would be able to escape.

"I can help with the wounded, too," George offered.

"I'm sure that will be appreciated. Ladies, if you'll return to the carriage, we'll make a start for the house," Watson said, trying to herd the uncertain women.

"I need to check on Beth and Cilla first," Harmony said, handing the baby over to Mrs. Garland. To Watson, she said, "I'm not going to try to run for it, I'll help my father with the wounded, too. I just need to know that Beth and Cilla are alright and I'll come straight back."

"Go," Watson said, nodding.

Harmony's carriage had been quite a distance back from Cilla and Beth's, and there were so many militiamen in between, Harmony had to wind her way through them, sidling around those who didn't step out of the way in time. She'd heard Cilla screaming though and was worried that she'd been shot. Finally she reached the other carriage and she pressed herself through the last of the men, to find Cilla on her knees weeping over Richard, who was sprawled on his back in a pool of blood and mud.

Harmony gasped, her stomach twisted and her hands flew to her mouth, eyes bulging. Cilla glanced up, her face ravaged with tears. "Oh, Harm," she wept. "They said he's going to die!" The agony of those words slammed into Harmony's chest like a kick to the chest.

"Oh my God!" She wailed, stumbling forward to fall at her knees near Cilla. She attempted to lift Richard, wanted to cradle his head in her lap.

"No, no - not his head!" Cilla gasped, stopping her. "He's bleeding - the back of his head, he's bleeding!"

"How…" Harmony's fingers trembled on Richard's unconscious face as she stared down him. "Richard oh God, Richard." The air rushed from her lungs, she could barely breathe. Her shaking hands caressed his face, he looked so lifeless. "Cilla," Harmony's voice cracked. She saw where Richard had been stabbed and despaired, a stomach wound was almost always a death sentence. "Cilla, we have to… do something… we have to…"

Cilla could only pressed her forehead down against Richard's neck, her body shuddering with the force of her weeping. Harmony's frantic mind took in small details, the men on Richard's other side, pressing down on the wounds. Several men beyond, fashioning a litter to carry him. These men - they did not think Richard would live. That's what Cilla had said. These men, they didn't know what they were doing, they couldn't help him, couldn't help Richard. Harmony leaped to her feet, she whirled and shoved her way back through the men, screaming at them to get out of the way, screaming for her father to come, come quickly, come save him.

For Richard was dying.


	152. Chapter 152 - Sentenced to Hang

_Reply to guests: Thank you so much for your kind words, I appreciate you taking the time to review. And I agree - Brownlow is a nice guy :-)_

_Not too sure if Rollins' joke here will fall flat. Bullets back then were called 'shot', or 'balls' as is the case here :-) _

* * *

Chapter 152 - Sentenced to Hang:

The Officers of Colonel Benjamin Martin's militia gathered around the large table in the dining hall, nursing warm sangaree while taking no joy from it.

"Any other time, I'd be rejoicing," Thomas said, staring into his second glass.

"It was a decisive victory," Captain Rollins agreed. "Forty-five dead Dragoons, sixty horse captured, all their arms and ammunition… I'd be rejoicing too." He drank back his sangaree, smacked his lips, then added, "if Putman hadn't deceived us into going against Colonel Martin's direct order."

"Has anyone told him yet?" Lieutenant Nicholas Watson asked.

"Nah," Rollins shot an amused look at Thomas. "Figured Corporal Martin here would do that for us."

"Yeh, good idea! Thomas is just the man for that," Nathan said, slapping his brother on the back.

"You're both bastards," Thomas scowled.

"Ben is aware that something has happened," Colin said. "But he doesn't know what. I say we don't burden him yet."

"I say we tell him," Mr. Higgins said. "We need to know what he wants us to do, what his orders are."

"So you can ignore those, too?" Thomas asked, meeting and holding Mr. Higgins gaze. The older man flushed and looked away. "No. My father is ill, Sir. We have the experience of two generations here in this room - we will decide among ourselves what must be done."

"All will be well, Mr. Higgins," Nicholas said, shooting Thomas a quelling look. Now was not the time for accusations and infighting. "Are the horses under guard?"

"Just as you ordered," Mr. Higgins said, as if to prove that he could still follow those. "The Dragoons baggage is secure, no looting."

"Thank you, you've done well. These might seem like small gestures, but altogether, they will go a long way in redeeming ourselves in Colonel Martin's eyes," Nicholas said. Thomas arched an eyebrow and Nicholas read the younger Officer's thoughts as if he were wearing them on his face. They had done nothing wrong; he, Nicholas, a hundred others. Why say 'we'? Because they were all in it together, one Company, one band. They would take responsibility together, as well - for they had been through too much together to do otherwise. "Putman deceived us all."

"I wish I hadn't demanded he stay," David Ferguson said. "This victory - decisive as it was - isn't worth all… it's not worth all this."

The repercussions - the uncertainty and guilt of the men who hadn't hesitated to follow Mark Putman, a known renegade whose word never should have been believed, not when it went completely counter to what Martin had told them in person.

"Doesn't say much about our discipline, does it?" Thomas asked.

"Enough, Corporal," Nicholas said, pulling rank to make the younger man shut it. Thomas scowled but said nothing more. "It is an issue that will need to be addressed, to be sure. That lack of discipline, I mean. But I think it's almost good that this has happened. A mistake was made - a large error in judgement. But the men can learn from it, it will make us stronger."

"I hope so," Colin sighed. "Captain Rollins, have you sent the men out to guard all the passes?"

"I have," Rollins replied. "As you're aware, before Martin fell ill, we led continual attacks against Cornwallis' rearguard. That is to say, Tavington's Legion. When we bought Martin here to recuperate, we left five hundred to continue that worthy work. Earlier, I sent a messenger to them, to leave that work and to fall back to help the militia here in the covering of any river crossing, bridges and trails that could lead the British here. For when Tavington does not return to the British Legion, they will start searching for him. We need to block them, so they are not able to get through and find us here."

"The survivors?" Reverend Oliver asked from further along the table.

"Being tended by Jones - with assistance. One of the prisoners was a field surgeon in the Cherokee War and has been practicing medicine in his settlement ever since. We've got him helping Jones. Mr. Jutland is his name. Turns out he might even know more than Jones. Jones thinks he's a bit strange though, for Jutland is insisting on boiling his instruments before using them between surgeries and is trying to keep everything clean. Jones says it slows Jutland down and he should just get on with it, but Jutland argued that you wash your hands before eating, why wouldn't you wash your tools before shoving them inside the body of the next patient? I don't know. Anyway, they're getting on well enough. Tavington has had his surgery. He has had his _balls_ removed," Rollins chortled at his own joke, covering his mouth with one hand and slapping his thigh with the other. "Ah, if only," he wheezed as some of the others laughed along with him. "If only."

"Will he live?" Colin asked.

"Jutland thinks so. Tavington's wounds aren't life threatening, unless they become infected," Nicholas said while Rollins kept laughing with the others. "Jutland and Jones are now working on Bordon, who they think definitely won't survive. Reverend Oliver, you might need to go down there, to say last rites?"

"His situation is that dire?" Oliver asked.

"Jutland and Jones both believe so. Bordon was shot in the leg and stabbed in the stomach. Another shot passed by his head close enough to do some damage to his skull," Nicholas said and the other men - even those who were now sobering after Rollins joke - all nodded their heads in understanding. "The damage inside is… well," Nicholas shrugged. "What you can expect. Mrs. Bordon is down there now, at his side."

"I suppose now wouldn't be a good time to ask for my rabbit's foot back," Nathan mused.

"What?" Thomas asked, making the squished up face one does when shocked and confused. "Your rabbit's foot of all things?"

"Well, it made her better, didn't it?"

"What the devil are you talking about?" Thomas scoffed.

"Gods, Tommy, you remember how sick she was, when we saw her that time at Fresh Water. Thought she was going to die, we did," Nathan said to the group at large. "So I went and found my rabbit's foot - it always gave me luck, and I gave it to Cilla for luck, so she'd get better. And it worked. When I heard Cilla was going to be here, I thought I could get it back from her and give it to papa, but she's going to want it for Bordon, I suppose."

Thomas was still incredulous but some of the other men were nodding agreement with Nathan.

"Your father should have it. He is far more worthy than Bordon," Captain Rollins said.

"It's a strange damned thing you know," Rollins' son Bryson said. "When I was down there earlier, I saw Mrs. Farshaw sitting right beside Mrs. Bordon, the two clutching one another's hands and comforting each other and sobbing. Mrs. Bordon must know that Mrs. Farshaw is his mistress, yet they're down there, wailing in each others arms."

"Women," Thomas shrugged. "Who the hell can understand them?"

"You say that at your age?" Rollins chortled.

"Oh yeh, understanding comes with age, does it? My father is older than you and even he says he doesn't understand them," Thomas shot back, but that only made Rollins laugh harder.

"Speaking of Mrs. Farshaw," Reverend Oliver began. "I'd like to request that her twins are kept someplace warm. Yes, the Dragoons and even their women are rebels, and Mrs. Farshaw is… well… ahem," his face reddened and the men knew what sort of woman he was suggesting Mrs. Farshaw was. "However, the babies are innocent. All children, no matter the manner of their birth, are children of God and it is our duty to protect them."

"Of course, Reverend," David Ferguson said. "Arrangements will be made for them." Oliver inclined his head in thanks.

"And the wounded? Should we try to find more tents and the like?" Nathan asked. "That pavilion you provided is perfect for Jones and Jutland to perform the surgeries in, but the wounded are outside, on blankets on the ground."

"They are prisoners, Nathan," Curly said. "We wouldn't be treated any better if we were caught by them."

"Unsanctioned attack, remember?" Nathan said. "Sure, we wouldn't be treated any better. Papa certainly wasn't. But after what happened today, it's a matter of honour now, isn't it? Just as Lieutenant Watson said."

"I have nothing else, Mr. Martin," David said. "Unless I set the negroes out of the cabins - but my nephew said he'd rather have the wounded close to the house and to Martin's camp. The slave cabins are a good two miles from here."

"I was thinking we could go for a ride," Colin said to Nathan. "You, Thomas, whoever else wants to come. We'll see if the locals hereabouts will lend us tarps or blankets and whatever else we'll need to make tents and keep the wounded comfortable."

"While our men sleep on the ground," Curly frowned.

"Were any of our men wounded in the attack today?" Watson asked and Curly shook his head reluctantly. "No, they were not. Colin, that's an excellent idea and one I'm sure Colonel Martin would agree to, if he knew about this."

"Good, we'll head out soon then," Colin said and the boys - and a few of the men - nodded.

"Where is Mark Putman?" Mr. Higgins asked.

"Putman is under guard but slightly away from the other wounded," Nicholas said. "Farshaw is under guard in a shed. Both are waiting Martin's judgement. This is why I agree with Mr. Higgins, I say we tell him about this. Certainly, we can make what decisions we can, with our combined experience. But we can't conduct the executions. Martin needs to make the decision."

"Father wanted me to send Beth up to him when she reached here," Nathan piped up. "We should let her tell him."

Thomas laughed. "That'd get me off the hook."

"I'll tell him what has happened and what we've done about it," Captain Rollins said. "Captain Ferguson," he said to Colin. "You go riding and see what you can beg, borrow or buy. Reverend Oliver, you go down to the pavilion and be ready to read Last Rites. Mr. Ferguson, you make those arrangements for the babies. Higgins, you join the men that are heading out to protect the roads and trails leading to here, and you can discuss the matter of discipline with them along the way." Higgins nodded, hanging his head. "And I will go above to speak to the old man."

"Good luck," Thomas said.

"I'll need Nathan's rabbit foot for that," Rollins said with a soft laugh.

* * *

"…should dismiss… the lot of them," Benjamin said, his fingers forming fists around the coverlet.

"Yes, we've discussed the lack of discipline, and it shall be addressed," Rollins replied. He sat at Benjamin's bedside, the Colonel was thin lipped and furious, his weak body quivering with it. "It wasn't only Higgins, it was just about all of them. Even Curly. Our Sergeants. I came straight here to find out if that really was what you commanded but… the others, they were rushing off before I even knew what was happening. You can't dismiss them though, Ben. Not for this."

"Went… against my… orders!" Benjamin ground out.

"They thought they were acting on them, at the time. They were deceived. As I said, this has shown us that there's a great, gaping hole in our discipline, in both the militia and the leaders. But how will it look for you, if you go and dismiss them for attacking the enemy?"

"Damned… bastard…"

"Me? Or Mark?"

"Both," Benjamin spat and Rollins laughed softly.

"All is in hand now. As I said, all trails and river crossings leading here will soon be protected, no Britisher will get through. Unless you disagree with our plans, the only matter we need you to settle is the one of Putman and Farshaw's deception. You need to pronounce judgement on them both."

"Mark's men? Were they… in on… it? ...Peter Scott?" Benjamin asked before a violent cough took hold of him. Rollins waited for it to pass, then he handed Benjamin a cup of water.

"They didn't know," Rollins said, having questioned Mark's men himself. "They have blood on their hands, to be sure - they're the ones that helped to kill Tavington's Dragoons when Gabriel commanded they be taken prisoner. While they are hardly innocent of wrong doing, they did not know Mark's plan. I believe everything happened too fast for him to apprise any of them except his little favourite, Farshaw."

"Hang Farshaw," Benjamin commanded.

"I thought you'd say that. And what of Putman?" Rollins asked.

Benjamin stared out the window, lost in thought. Rollins was quiet beside him. Both knew he was as guilty as Farshaw - more so, as it had been his idea to deceive the men with false orders. If Farshaw hanged, then so too should Putman. Rollins waited him out.

"Send me Cilla," Benjamin said finally. Rollins cocked his head, surprised. But he nodded and rose, spoke to someone at the door, and returned to Benjamin's bedside. Clearly, Benjamin wasn't going to make his decision about Mark until after he'd spoken to his niece.

"So. We've got fifteen Dragoon prisoners. What do you plan on doing with them, if they survive? Send them to Burwell's prison camp?"

"And give up… control of them… to the Continentals?" Benjamin coughed for half a minute, then fell back against the pillows. He shook his head. "They're ours. We'll send them… to Governor Rutledge… if they survive."

"Any other orders?" Rollins said and Benjamin shook his head. "I'll get on with it then. I'll let you get some rest before Mrs. Bordon comes up. I'll send one of the boys in for now -"

The door opened, Rollins turned toward it as Beth entered and closed the door behind her.

"Papa!" She said, coming closer. "Dear God, you look awful!"

"You're a… welcome sight," Benjamin said, raising one hand to her. Beth took the seat Rollins had just vacated, she wrapped both her hands around Benjamin's hand and pressed her lips against it.

"I guess I won't bother sending in one of the boys, then," Rollins said, leaving the daughter to tend her father. "He's tired, lass," Rollins said, placing his hand on Beth's shoulder. "Let him sleep, yes? You can talk to him later."

"Of course," Beth said and when she lifted her head to Rollins, he saw her face was wet with tears. He gave her shoulder a squeeze in commiseration.

"He wishes to see Mrs. Bordon, but I think that can wait," he met Benjamin's eyes, saw his Commander give a reluctant nod. To Beth, Rollins said, "when your father wakes, let the boys in the corridor know. One of them will go and get Mrs. Bordon."

She nodded, already turning back to her father, as if Rollins had already left the room. He did so now, stepping into the corridor quietly and closing the door behind him.

* * *

Benjamin heard Rollins speaking to Beth, saw her take up position in the chair beside him, and was gratified to feel her fingers around his hand. If he wasn't so damned sick, Benjamin doubted he'd be able to sleep, but he found himself drifting off within moments. When he woke, the curtains had been shut, every candle in the chamber was lit and Beth was showing Cilla in.

"I need… to speak… alone," he said to Beth, who looked startled at being dismissed.

"Alright… I suppose I can go and check on William," she replied, unable to hide her curiosity as she fussed with Benjamin's blankets.

"Come back… though? You'll come back?"

"Of course, papa," she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I love you."

"…love you."

Beth gave Cilla a sympathetic look, before leaving the chamber. Cilla looked terrible, her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen from weeping, her clothes were dirty, her hair unkempt. She came forward with her head bowed and hands trembling.

"Come here, Cil," Benjamin held out his arms to her and with a small sob, she climbed up onto the bed and lay down beside him, her head on his chest as she wept in the circle of his arms. He held her shuddering body and listened quietly as she cried. She stopped eventually and he continued to hold her. She was as still as the grave. At one point he thought she might have fallen asleep, God knew she must have been exhausted by now.

He was disabused of this notion when she whispered raggedly, "are you going to hang my father?"

"I need to ask you something, Cil," Benjamin said. After a moment, Cilla pushed herself up and after removing her shoes and dropping them to the floor, she shifted until she was sitting cross legged on the bed, facing him.

"Will my answer decide my father's fate?" She asked, wiping her cheeks and reddened nose dry with a handkerchief.

"It might," he admitted, eyes fixed on her. Gods, he was so tired. His men had been right to deal with the aftermath of Mark's attack without him - they'd done well, when he was too drained to have done anything. But now… he had to ignore the exhaustion, the swimming in his head, the aching lungs and ribs and his hot and cold sweats. This, this was something his men could not deal with. Right. To get down to it. He drew a shuddering breath, then asked bluntly, "did Major Bordon… force himself on you?"

Cilla stiffened, her eyes grew wide, her lips parted as she caught and held her breath.

"How… Did my father…" Her face was flushed and her eyes darted, as if realising how much of the truth she'd just given away. She was a wild animal that had just been caught and could not flee.

"Not outright but… Enough for me… to guess. Certain things… he's said. Did he?"

"You have to understand, I love Richard, and he loves me. What he did… I hated him, for the longest time. But we then were married and I was forced to live at Fresh Water in the same chamber, for months. In that time, I saw him for the man he truly is, the man who was devastated by what he did to me. I began to forgive him, and I fell in love with him," Cilla began to rave, the words tumbling out in a mad rush to convince her uncle of Richard's remorse. "That man - the one in the dungeon, that is not Richard. That was a monster of this wars creation. He never should have done what he did to me, he never should have taken his rage out on me, but he did and he can't change that, no matter how much he wants to and believe me, I know that if he could, he'd dig in to that piece of our lives with a dagger and he'd cut it out as a doctor would a tumour, but he can't. He can't, and I can't keep having this discussion, I can't keep doing this - Harmony and now my father, they looked at me like I'm mad when I told them I forgive him and that I love him. Too many people know, when I don't want anyone to know. He never did that before, he'd never raped a woman before. He did it to me and it was the most horrid, terrifying, painful, shameful moment of my entire life. And I know that ever since, it has been all of those things for Richard - for months now, he's been carrying it, he won't come out of the dungeon. I'm free but he's still in there, his guilt keeps him locked there and I can't coax him out, I can't convince him to forgive himself, as I have forgiven him. My father doesn't understand. Harmony doesn't understand. No one does. But no one has to. Only me. I'm the one who went through it and came out the other side. It's no one's business. I love him and now I'm losing him and still I'm having to answer this and I shouldn't have to, I shouldn't have to!" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. "I love him. He's dying - my father has killed him for what he did, not realising what Richard's death would do to me! The father of my child, my husband! I don't want to lose him, I don't want to be alone!"

"Shh," Benjamin heaved a breath, he took hold of her hands and held them through her storm of weeping. If he spoke quietly enough, he managed to get more words out without coughing. He did so now, and Cilla struggled to stop sobbing, to hear him. "I've often wondered, how marriages... that began like yours… worked out. It's happened several times… in my life time which… is far too often for my liking. I often wondered if… they ever found peace. I never imagined any could."

"I have, he hasn't," she whispered, head bowed. "I'd hoped he'd find peace one day but now he's going to die and he's going to carry it to his grave."

"Are you… angry with your father… for shooting him?"

"No," Cilla said. "I know why he did it. They tortured him, too. I don't think he ever would have forgiven them, even if he'd seen Richard evolve all these months." She drew a long, shuddering breath.

"Thank you for… your honesty," Benjamin said. "I'm sorry for asking you such a personal question and if you wish it, I vow not to tell a soul."

"I do wish it. Why did you need to ask me though?" She asked forlornly. "You suspected, only. Why couldn't you just let sleeping dogs lie?"

"Because I needed to understand… your father. What was driving his lunacy; what was fuelling his fury… I needed to know why he has… done the things he's done."

"Giving your men that false command in your name - that deception alone is enough to warrant his hanging, let alone everything else he's done. But he's your brother in law -"

"No, Cil, don't. Family connection will not… be taken into… consideration. That connection went… both ways… when he did what he did. He didn't care that I am his… brother in law, when he gave… that false command today. Indeed, he abused that connection… the militia believed him, because of... that connection."

"What will you do?" Cilla asked and Benjamin saw her features shifting to fear.

"I will sentence him to death by hanging."

"Oh God, no, Uncle Benjamin please -"

"However," he spoke loudly to be heard over her, but in doing so, he began to cough so ferociously that he ended up on his side, propped up on one elbow. He reached for a cup on the side stand, his hand shook with such violence that half the contents sloshed over the side before he could bring the cup to his lips. He drank deeply of the rest and swallowed. Setting the cup down again, he sank back against the pillows. Cilla was staring at him, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide over her fingertips. She seemed to be holding her breath. Oh yes, the 'however'. That 'however' was the only hope she had left to her. "However," he repeated. "Sometime tomorrow morning, I shall be informed… by my men that Mark slipped… past his guards somehow."

"Oh uncle! You're going to help him escape?" Cilla breathed.

"No. I will be informed of it… tomorrow," Benjamin corrected with a tired smile. "But yes, now that I understand his motivations, it shall be arranged."

"Thank you," Cilla reached down to hug him and Benjamin returned it.

"He is not… blameless though, Cil. He did… terrible things well before… Bordon did that terrible thing… to you," he said as she straightened.

"I know," Cilla nodded. She knew her uncle was speaking of her father allowing her mother to trick Richard into letting her be his mistress, for the sole purpose of spying. "I think papa thought he could handle it - mamma going to Richard's bed. But he couldn't. So papa had Harmony taken by Sumter, told Sumter to do those awful things to her. All to hurt Richard for bedding my mother. I know papa is not innocent. But Tavington and Richard - they tortured him. It was awful, you didn't see him in the dungeon, uncle. I did. Strapped to a chair, blood dripping from cuts and burns. And then waking to hear his daughter screaming in the next cell… he doesn't deserve to hang for the things he's done, not after the horrendous things he's been through."

"Exile then. He… can not return, Cil. To South Carolina. He'll need to start… a new life, elsewhere. And not only… because I have said it, but… because Rutledge will see Mark punished. Your uncle, Mr. Middleton… took to Rutledge a complaint against your father… for burning his home to the ground. Rutledge… also knows of… the other atrocities. He will view Mark as a… criminal and will punish… him accordingly. You will need… to say your farewells… for you may not see… your father again."

Head bowed, Cilla nodded.

"You have this evening… to convince him not to… attack Bordon again, should… Bordon live. For if you don't, then your father… Might return one day, to finish the job. Released, Mark is a… potential threat to your future happiness."

"I'll beg him, if I have to," Cilla said.

"And Cil, are you aware… that the child your mother -"

"Is Richard's, yes, I know. I do not know if papa knows or not. I'm not sure it would be wise to tell him, at this point."

"I would not encourage… you to lie. But yes, that particular truth… will be damaging. Mark will not… be able to raise the child however. He must be encouraged… to leave it either in your care… or your aunt's."

Cilla nodded. "How will my father earn his living? And is there anywhere safe for him? If the British get hold of him, or if Governor Rutledge puts a price on his head, will there be anywhere safe for him?"

"Your father is very resourceful," Benjamin said. "We're going to win… this war, Cilla. The British, they don't know it yet… but we will win. When we do, this land… it will be ours. And it is a very… big place. He goes where no one… knows him. Alter his name, maybe. Purchase some land. Remarry. Build a new life, as we're all going to… have to do."

"He won't be able to access his money, with a price on his head," Cilla pointed out.

"No. But _you_ will. I will help you secure a… tract of land and Mark will… be sent all his belongings. He'll need to keep… his head down and stay out… of trouble, but… he will survive, Cil."

Cilla heaved a relieved sigh. "You think we'll win?" She asked and Benjamin nodded. "If so, and if Richard survives, what will happen to us?"

"He is a prisoner of war. When the… war ends, he will be released. Where he goes… will be entirely up to the two of you."

"If he survives," she whispered.

"I am told his condition is dire," Benjamin said gently.

"He was shot in the leg, papa shot him," Cilla said, her voice rising hysterically. "And I leapt out of the carriage to help him. He _was_ still standing and I couldn't understand what happened when suddenly he jerked and was on the ground. He was just lying there, I thought he was dead, and I couldn't understand why because the shot got him in the leg! And then papa came and he stabbed him and -" Cilla gulped back tears and took several breaths, trying to calm enough to continue. "And I pushed papa away and then when I went back to Richard I saw blood on the back of his head. We later realised that someone else shot at him from the woods and the ball grazed past his head, knocking him unconscious. The doctors don't know the extent of the damage and… Mr. Jutland and Mr. Jones have told me -" her voice cracked. - "To prepare myself. Their words. Prepare myself. They think he's going to die."

"I know. I'm sorry for the grief… you may have to go through," Benjamin said. "And with no father to turn to… I will be here for you, niece."

"Thank you," she breathed out slowly. "I'm going to go back now." She kissed his brow and rose from the bed. At the door, she said, "is there anything I can get for you?"

"A new body," Benjamin muttered. Cilla smiled a sad little smile as she stepped through the door.

* * *

Publicly, to the entire camp, Benjamin had sentenced Mark Putman and Calvin Farshaw to death by hanging for their many crimes, including impersonating an officer and giving false orders. Both were to be executed at dawn.

Cilla entered the small tent where her father lay on a cot. Outside, Benjamin's men surrounded the tent. Now that Benjamin had decided to facilitate Mark's escape, it would be these same men that would see the job done. She could hear them moving away from the tent now so she and her father could speak without being overhead. Cilla met her father's eyes, saw his lips tighten, before he jerked his gaze away. She hovered at the entrance, before stepping in deeper and pulling over the stool.

"Doctor Jones said he got the ball out," Cilla began. Mark still wouldn't turn to look at her. "He said your shoulder is broken though." She paused, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but he would not. "As a Commander in the Continentals, uncle Benjamin had to sentence you to be executed along with Calvin Farshaw." She saw him stiffen and his jaw worked once. "He's not going to do it, of course. Well, I mean, Farshaw will hang at dawn, but you won't. You'll be removed from camp during the night, his men are going to help you escape. In the morning, uncle Ben will order his men to do a search but it'll be half hearted at best and you'll be far from here in any case. He couldn't be seen to be playing favourites, but he is going to help you."

Nothing from Mark. Cilla watched the various emotions waging war over her father's face and none of them were to her liking. It appeared to her that he was feeling abused and insulted, if she was reading him correctly.

"It'll be a painful ride, I'm afraid," she continued when he remained silent. "But at least you'll be alive."

His face twisted and she heard a soft, outraged scoff.

"You do want to live, don't you?" She asked gently.

"What the hell do I have to live for, Cilla?" Mark snapped, whirling back to her. "What the bloody hell do I have to live for? My wife is dead. My daughter thinks she's in love with the man who screwed my wife, tortured me and raped you -"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed.

"My own niece shot me to protect the Britisher that tortured me! Everything I've fought so hard to achieve has been _shat_ on by my own people and my own family! You think your uncle is keeping me alive for my sake? Because he loves me? It is _guilt_, Cilla. Benjamin can't bring himself to hang a member of his own family - he lacks the stones to do what our own law demands of him, the same laws he would uphold every other moment of every other day! But he can't, because he doesn't have the _balls_!" He glared up at her, his face like thunder. "I am guilty, Cilla. I impersonated an Officer and gave false orders. He should hang me and be done with it!"

"You are guilty of so much more than that." Her voice was soft but there was iron in it. Mark stared up at her, incredulous. "Everything you fought so hard to achieve? Was that for your people, was it? No, papa. You were not working with likeminded Patriots toward a common goal. You went completely your own way, did completely your own thing, the law of God and man be damned. This latest crime is not singular; it is the straw that broke the camel's back. And _still_, you're not being hanged for it. Instead of displaying grace and remorse, you lay there and accuse uncle Benjamin of cowardice. I'd expect you to show a little gratitude rather than this insolence."

"I should be grateful," Mark said incredulously.

"And I'm rather disappointed that you can't see _just how much_," Cilla snapped. "Because I know for a fact that you've _shat_ over people plenty - beginning with your own family. There's an age old question that still exists today. 'Which came first, the chicken or the egg?' Which came first, papa? You effectively put Beth into Tavington's bed, or her shooting you to protect him? It's not a perfect allegory," she admitted, "for only the latter has an actual answer. Her attachment to Tavington exists _only_ because of you. You could have stamped it out before it even began, but instead, you chose to use it for your own deluded purposes. And you betrayed General Burwell with that flirtation, even as you reported to him the information you gained from it. And now you cry foul because Beth loves William and has chosen him over you when you threaten to kill him?"

"You and I see things very differently," he said finally, an edge to his voice.

"Clearly. Let's try this one. Mamma and I convince you to allow us to spy on the British. I did so willingly and have done so again, with no encouragement from you. But you and mamma made a separate agreement between the two of you, which allowed for mamma to take her spying that much further. She insinuated herself into Richard's bed and reported all she learned back to you. But none of that sat well with you, did it?"

"I despised her being in his bed," Mark admitted, lip curled. "I loved your mother -"

"You agreed to it, but you could not handle it," Cilla said straight over him, his excuses meant nothing to her. "As you said of uncle Ben, you did not have the stones."

"Cilla!"

"Well, you didn't. And therefore, because you were outraged that Richard dared to cuckold you, even though you dangled a tempting fruit indeed, you had to get back at him, didn't you? When Sumter showed up in your camp and made it clear that he was itching to get revenge on Tavington and Richard for the burned down inn and the beating of his men, you had the perfect solution for him, didn't you?"

Mark lips tightened to a thin line.

"You knew Richard was in love with Harmony," Cilla said, voice soft and accusing, for she was speaking of people she loved, people her father had done great harm. "Harmony was innocent, papa. She never, ever, did anything to you. Ever. But because you could not deal with the jealousy of your wife bedding Richard - despite agreeing to it and gaining from it - Richard had to pay. Which meant Harmony had to be hurt. You would have done it yourself, you said, and frankly, considering what Richard did to me, I find it deplorable that my own father would ever consider doing the same to anyone! But as you couldn't reach her yourself, you set Sumter onto her, which is every bit as bad as you doing it yourself. He forced her to commit acts with him that I will not ever give voice to now. He was going to force himself on her and the only reason he did not, was because she got herself away."

Others had given him this speech before, had tried to drive home to him how evil it had been, what he'd set in motion with Sumter and Harmony. Mark hadn't given it any credence, however. But hearing the same from his own daughter… Shame welled up inside him, he could barely meet her eyes. His daughter, who'd been ravished, knew what he'd plotted to see done to Harmony Farshaw, because he hadn't been able to do it himself.

"She would have been raped," Cilla repeated. "Again, I ask you. Which came first, papa? Your torture and my rape, or all the provocation you gave Richard, prior?"

Mark drew in a sharp, shuddering breath that flared pain throughout his shoulder. In horror, he asked, "you blame me for what he did to you?"

"No," Cilla shook her head. "I blame him. Absolutely and completely. No one forced him to act as he did that day. I am saying, papa, that you are not _blameless_. There is a difference." She let that sink in for a moment, before continuing. "Richard is sorry - so very sorry, for what he did to me. Are you sorry, too? For what was done to Harmony, at your behest? For what you would have done to her, if you'd been in a position to?"

He stared up at her, barely blinking.

"Because I don't think you are," she said, unable to hide her irritation. "I think you're so justified in your anger that you can't see past it to your own faults. And I think that is a very dangerous and foolhardy, way to see oneself."

Mark gulped hard enough to make his Adam's apple bob as he shifted his gaze to a study of the ceiling.

"If you don't admit your faults, you will not make an attempt to change and you will continue to gain enemies, no matter where you go," she said. "And if you don't realise that your actions were wrong, you will repeat them, over and over, until some one does hang you. I think uncle Benjamin is taking a great risk, in letting you go. You are not redeemed. You have not even tried for redemption. He is letting you loose on an unsuspecting world and I am terrified for those who might be hurt by you. Perhaps he should end their future suffering by going through with what he has sentenced you to."

"You want him to hang me?" Mark said, his voice breaking. His own daughter wanted him dead?

"No, papa, never that," Cilla said, her eyes filling with tears. "I've already lost you once. And now I have lost mamma. I couldn't bear to lose you again. No. I want you to _change_, papa. So that no one else will be hurt by you. So no one else will want to hang you. And for yourself - you need to look deep down inside yourself, you need to acknowledge that you, too, have done great wrongs, that the things you did were wrong, so that you don't repeat them. Redemption. Seek it, papa, I beg you. Do not waste the life that uncle Ben is granting you."

"Do you despise me?" He asked and she saw his jaw working, he was trying not to weep.

"Never that," she rose from the stool and sat on the side of the cot with him. "But you need to know, what Harmony went through… the thing you orchestrated… She… It did as much harm to her as Richard's abuse did to me. I wouldn't want any woman to go through that, least of all one I love like my own sister."

She could see him trembling as he tried to reconcile with all he was hearing, she could see he particularly did not like that she had gotten close enough to Harmony Jutland - Farshaw to call her a sister.

"Well, whether you find redemption or if you even bother seeking it, remains to be seen," Cilla continued. "Uncle Ben is going to free you, either way. And I am here, papa, both to bid you farewell, but also because I need to know- I need to hear it from you - that if my husband survives, you will not return and finish the job."

"I just… I can not understand it," he began and she could hear the fury creeping back in. "How you can say you've forgiven him? That you love him. That he's sorry and that's enough for you?"

"He has done what you have not," Cilla said. "He has sought redemption."

"Lord, Cilla! So he says he's sorry and that's it? How can you -"

"I've been asked this so often," she raised one hand for silence. "And I shall give you the same answer I've given them. It is not for you to understand. I do not require you to understand. I require for you to respect it. Your need for vengeance was worth more to you, than my desire that you leave him alone. And now I am about to lose the man I love, because my father stabbed him. I love Richard. I have forgiven Richard. I am going to bear him a child, one that he might never meet, because my father stabbed my husband. He is struggling through each and every breath, and I sit there counting each and every heartbeat, terrified that the next one will be his last. The doctors have said he is going to die," her voice broke. "You have… what you have done… this latest act has been… devastating. Worry less for how I can forgive him, and more for whether I can _ever_ forgive you!"

She lurched from the stool and began to stride from the tent.

"Cil, don't go," he called to her and she stopped, her arms wrapped around her body, her shoulders trembling as she sobbed. "Please, Cil. I love you. I might not see you again. I need to make peace with you, I can't have us part like this."

She lowered her arms and slowly turned back to him. "Please," he whispered, gesturing. She returned to her seat and bowed her head. "You're all I have left of her," Mark said, reaching out for her hand and curling his fingers around hers.

The mention of her mother made Cilla weep. Mark rose painfully until he was sitting, he put his arms around her, she put hers around his waist and buried her face in his neck. "You and Matthew, you're all I have left of your mother." He whispered into her hair. "And I don't know if I'll see either of you ever again." Cilla stiffened - Mark felt it. He tightened his hold on her. "Did Ben mentioned the boy? Can I take him with me?"

"And how will you look after an infant? You'll be on the run, papa," she said, her voice breaking. She lifted her head from his shoulder and cupped his face. "You need to get far, far from here. If you stay, it'll be Governor Rutledge putting a price on your head, for your attempted attack on William and Richard -"

"What?" He gasped. "After all I did -"

"None of that, now," she said, her voice hardening. He fell silent. "No more of that. None of your attacks have been sanctioned, you murdered twenty Dragoons without trial! And you did not try to capture Richard and William for the Cause, you were going to murder them for your own ends. You've broken too many of our laws and you can not expect them to support you when you are running around doing your own thing, like a renegade. You are a renegade, papa, and the powers that be can not ignore that. So no more of that. No matter which side wins - and uncle Ben is certain that will be us - you will not be welcome in South Carolina." She held his gaze, tears swimming in her eyes as she watched him struggle with this latest blow. Her voice gentled. "But I still love you. I still support you. When I married Richard, it was with the agreement that he would have no authority over my wealth, he has no husbandly right to it, whatsoever. It is mine - my dowry and any money you choose to leave me, are mine. Uncle Ben will help me purchase for you a tract of land from your money, so you can establish yourself far from here. You are in exile, but that does not mean you will be poor. Papa, if Richard lives, I need your word that you won't try this again."

Mark's lips tightened. But her face was so close to his, her eyes holding his, she was not going to leave until she'd secured his word. At length, he lowered his eyes.

"I want him dead. I will be praying that God sees fit to finish what I started," Mark began. "But if he survives, I will not return to end him."

Cilla reeled. Her father was right - securing this promise might well be rendered moot, if God listened to the wrong prayers.

"What of Matthew?" Mark asked. "Can I trust you to ensure he gets a portion of my wealth? I never wrote him into my will, and with this exile, I don't even know if my holdings will be turned over to you or if they'll remain seized, either by the British or by Rutledge."

"With uncle Ben's influence, your property and wealth will be given to our family," she said carefully. Then, because she was always forthright and that should not stop now, she said, "and I will ensure that mama's wealth is given to her son."

She held his eyes as understanding began to dawn across his face. At length, he shook his head.

"No. She said… your mother said the child is mine. She was certain the child is mine -"

"And now he is here, and everyone who has seen him, is certain that he is not," Cilla said gently and Mark looked horrified. "If, in the coming years, he begins to resemble you more than Richard, I will inform you. Perhaps he can even come to live with you. But unless or until I believe he is your son, I will not give him a groat of your fortune. More, if I believe Matthew to be Richard's, I will change his name to Bordon. I do this not to be cruel to Matthew, but because I love you, and will endeavour to be fair to you. No child but your own should have your name."

Mark's body began to shudder, choking sobs tore from his chest, as he mourned his late wife, and now the possibility that his only son was not his after all. Cilla held him again, feeling his sorrow deeply.

She remained with him until it was time for him to go. While she was terrified that in her absence Richard might draw that last breath, she could not abandon her father at this time. Harmony was with Richard, while her father had no one. She would have regretted it forever, if she'd left him before they were forced to part. At length, Captain Rollins entered the tent and gravely informed Mark that his escort was waiting. The way was clear, the sentries were turning a blind eye. It was time to go. Father and daughter rose together. Mark had no belongings in the tent, everything he owned was on his horse, which had been bought to the tent. Holding Cilla's hand, he stepped outside to meet his escort.

Before her father could climb up into the saddle, Cilla embraced him in their final farewell, wondering if she was ever going to see him again. They parted, he gazed at her in the torchlight.

"I'm not going to apologise for what I did to him," Mark said, cupping her face with one hand while staring at her intently. "I want him dead."

"I know and I don't expect you to apologise. They tortured you… I want you to be remorseful for some of the things you've done, but I don't expect you to be sorry for trying to kill him and William. But it is in Gods hands now, and I ask that you leave it there."

Heaving a breath, he nodded. Kissing her forehead, he stepped back. It was a struggle to mount, even with help from the men, the pain was immense. When he was finally in the saddle, sweat dripped down his face and he had to breathe through the agony. This was not going to be a pleasant ride.

"Keep your eye out for the British," Cilla said. "If any of them catch you, they will hang you as soon as look at you."

"I know. I love you, daughter."

"I love you, papa," she choked out.

She remained by the tent, her cape wrapped around her body for warmth as she watched her father ride into the darkness of night until the pinpricks of torchlight finally disappeared.


	153. Chapters 153 - The Race to Death

Chapters 153 - The Race to Death:

The medical tent wasn't so much a tent as it was a pavilion. Cilla was too preoccupied to wonder where Dr. Jones had sourced it, or the four cots inside. Or the braziers, the barrels that served as tables, or all the equipment throughout. She barely spared a look at the other patients, or the other women tending them. Miss Electa Alden, Miss Mary and Nancy. Mary and Lucy Ferguson.

Cilla saw them, but she barely registered them, for Beth's Reverend Oliver was standing at the end of Richard's cot, looking very much like a priest about to read a dead man his last rites. Richard was so still and quiet. Fearing the worst, Cilla rushed to Richard's side.

"Doctor Jones gave him a hefty dose of laudanum," Harmony said raggedly from where she sat in the single chair.

"He's alive?" Cilla blurted with astonishment and could scarcely believe it when Harmony nodded. After a moment, Cilla began to see signs of life - subtle though they were. The rise and fall of his chest. A sudden frown and groan as his body reacted to pain the laudanum couldn't quite reach. She blew out a relieved breath. It had been a hard decision, to stay with her father while her husband lay dying. But she knew she'd have regretted it always, if she hadn't. But if Richard had died while she was gone… she would have always regretted that always, as well. It had been a gamble and she was grateful she hadn't lost. She was grateful that he still lived, for every moment she still had with him. She sidled in closer, taking the chair at Richard's head as Harmony gave it up to her. She took Richard's lax hand in hers and caressed his hair back from his brow with her other. She felt Harmony's hand on her back momentarily, but the touch disappeared as her hand was lifted and Harmony began to move away.

"Where are you going?" Cilla asked sharply. Harmony turned back to her.

"To check on the babies."

"Mrs. Andrews or Mrs. Garland will send for you when you're needed, Harm. He needs you now."

"He has you," Harmony replied. "I can't… I shouldn't care anymore. I shouldn't. Not after…" She trailed off, there were too many people in the pavilion for her to speak freely. Not after what he did to you.Cilla knew that's what Harmony had stopped herself from saying. "I'm betraying you, by being here," Harmony finished, and let the women make of that what they would. She felt Mary Ferguson's eyes boring into her back, agreeing wholeheartedly, even though Mary couldn't possibly know the whole of what she was actually agreeing with.

"We need you. Stay with me, Harm," Cilla insisted.

Mary, hovering over a patient nearby, gaped in astonishment.

"I can't," Harmony protested. "I can not forgive -" She cut off at the sudden silencing frown that flared across Cilla's face.

"If it is forgiveness you wish to speak about, I can find a verse in the Bible," Reverend Oliver said into the silence that followed. Harmony shot him a suspicious look, suspicious of his offer. Was it an allusion to her own poor character? Would he choose a passage that spoke of forgiving wantoness, whores and mistresses?

"He is dying," Cilla blurted, ignoring Oliver, her voice and body shaking. "I need you. Beth is already stretched between William and her father. Please Harm, I'm begging you, don't make me go through this alone."

"I'm here," Mary said, stepping away from her patient and coming to join the group as if to remind Cilla that she was there. She sounded offended. "I can stay with you, Cil."

"I know and I appreciate it, I do, and I love you for it, but you don't know him. You don't love him as we do…" Cilla, wringing her hands and ignoring Mary's and Oliver's looks of outrage, turned back to Harmony. "Please, Harm, I don't have the strength for this. I can't watch him die alone. Please don't make me."

Harmony choked back a wretched sob. She pulled over one of the other stools, sat it as close to Cilla as she could, and wrapped her arms around Cilla's shoulders.

Mary stared wide eyed, shocked to her core. Her sister in law Lucy was standing at a table and folding clean bandages. Trembling, Mary moved away from Cilla. Her voice was low as she spoke with Lucy, Harmony did not catch what was said. A moment later, Mary and Lucy were pulling on their capes. Harmony caught Mary's eye; she might not have heard what Mary had said, but her intent became quite clear as the two women turned their back and withdrew from the tent. Cilla didn't seem to notice being shunned, but Harmony did.

Reverend Oliver coughed delicately, then began reading passages from the Bible pertaining to forgiveness and thankfully, they were not about whores and mistresses. His reading was not a thinly veiled stab at Harmony. She drew her arms back from Cilla's shoulders and took a hold of Cilla's hand, each taking comfort from the other while sitting vigil over Richard. Harmony began to lose herself in his words, for Oliver had a very kind, hypnotic voice. While Oliver read, Doctor Jones continued his work on one of the wounded, Harmony's father did the same on another. Occasionally they conferred quietly with one another, each examining one another's patients and sharing advice. As those poor souls were removed to either live or die outside, others were carried in by Hamish and Elisha Miller for the surgeons to work on, for more lives to be saved. Nancy, Electa and Amity moved among the patients both inside the pavilion and out, assisting as Jones and Jutland instructed.

Eventually Beth came to sit with Cilla and Harmony at Richard's bedside, to spend with him his final moments. Victuals were bought in by Nancy and Amity. Harmony and Cilla ignored the food, though Beth ate with embarrassing gusto.

When Beth rose sometime later, Cilla shifted her attention from Richard, fearing that Beth was going to leave now as Harmony had intended earlier. But her cousin was merely handing her bowl over to her maid, Nancy. Cilla heard Beth asking Nancy and the other women if they had a place to sleep.

"Yes, they've set us up in a makeshift tent not far from here." Cilla heard Nancy say, before the maid asked, "how is Colonel Tavington?"

Mortified, Cilla realised another thing - she hadn't even thought of asking her cousin how her own husband was. Here was Beth, sitting vigil with Cilla and Harmony, supporting them in their hour of need, yet Cilla wasn't doing the same. She turned on her stool and was about to apologise but Beth began to speak her answer.

"He is sleeping soundly after his surgery," Beth said. "Luckily for us, my father has quite a decent supply of laudanum and is not so miserly that he would not share it with the prisoners. For now, William is fine, but who knows…?" She trailed off quietly, soberly. "Mr. Jutland said that as long as infection doesn't set in he'll be alright. If it does…"

"I'm sorry, Beth," Cilla said, she held out her hand and Beth came over and took it. "I never even asked about him. I'm sorry."

"You've more than enough on your plate," Beth said, giving Cilla's fingers a squeeze.

"Are you going to him now? We can walk you," Electa offered when Beth turned back to them.

Colonel Tavington and the other wounded were as comfortable as possible, in individual 'tents' made up of tarpaulins and other heavy cloths. William's was the only one with the brazier and that was courtesy of Thomas and Nathan. The patients quarters were not far, they were set up just outside the main pavilion, in case any had need of the doctors.

"No, I'm going to sit here a while longer," Beth said, giving Cilla a sympathetic look. It was clear to Cilla that Beth was expecting that it wouldn't be long now. Grief flared and she had to look away.

The other women withdrew and Beth returned to her stool; Cilla was seated in the middle of the three women, each holding hands. Cilla asked Reverend Oliver to read another passage, she didn't care what the subject matter was herself, but he seemed to focus solely on forgiveness. Cilla was glad for it, she hoped that Harmony was taking it all in; what a comfort it would be to Richard, if Harmony was to forgive him before he died..

At length, even Beth began to succumb. Harmony and Cilla wouldn't have been able to sleep even if either had laid down in the most comfortable bed, but Beth began to nod right there on the stool. Her eyes closed, head lolled, until she began to topple too far and she jerked back to awareness.

"Go to bed, Beth," Cilla said. Yes, she would have preferred Beth stay, but Gods knew, she'd gone through as much as everyone that day. She was pregnant, her husband had been shot, her father lay seriously ill in the great house. Cilla couldn't be selfish - besides, she had Harmony. Perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps, with Beth gone, Cilla could talk to Harmony of how important it would be to them all, should she forgive Richard before he passed. Suddenly, she felt a burning need for Beth to leave, so she could speak more openly with Harmony. "Go, I'll wake you if there's a change." With no clock to hand, it was difficult to tell the time but Cilla realised with some surprise that her father's departure at midnight was hours ago now.

Beth argued, but Cilla remained firm, even Harmony and Reverend Oliver both chimed in and told her to check her husband and get some sleep. Finally conceding, Beth rose. She embraced both women, whispered an apology. She gazed down solemnly at Richard for a moment, her expression making it clear that she felt this was farewell. That this was to be the last time Beth saw Richard alive. Fearing the same, Cilla drew a shuddering breath and pushed down her grief. Beth left and Reverend Oliver continued to hover near, ready for Richard's last breath.

But Richard drew another and then another, the minutes ticking past, turning into half an hour, then to an hour. The last of the patients, two of which died during surgery, were removed from the tent. Oliver laid down on one the beds and after a while, Harmony stretched out on another, the one nearest Cilla and Richard. Cilla leaned forward with her elbows braced on the side of Richard's bed and dropped her face in her hands; she just needed to shut her eyes, just for a few minutes.

* * *

It was past dawn and there was no need for torches; the tent was light enough without. More sunlight filtered in through the pavilion entrance. Cilla was still seated where Beth had left her, though as she entered, Beth saw that Harmony was gone.

"How is he?" Beth asked as she came to sit beside her exhausted looking cousin.

"Alive. I don't know for how much longer," Cilla replied gravely.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A little, though I'm paying for it now. I slept here with my head in my hands and now every muscle aches."

"You should have taken one of the beds," Beth chided.

"I couldn't," Cilla shrugged.

"No. I know. Where is Harmony?" Beth asked gently.

"She's gone to watch Farshaw hang," Cilla replied. She lifted her eyes to Beth's, the two shared a glance. "She wasn't well pleased to learn that my father escaped during the night."

"She has suffered a great deal of harm because of him," Beth said levelly.

"I know. I don't blame her. I just hope she won't become wroth with me, when she discovers I helped him leave here."

"You didn't really help; the men were following my father's orders, not yours."

"Your father gave those orders after speaking to me," Cilla said. She didn't elaborate further, she did not explain that her uncle had come to the decision not to hang her father after having his suspicions about Richard forcing himself on her confirmed.

"Well, even so, it was ultimately my father's decision and it's not as though you could have reported it to anyone to prevent it - William couldn't have done anything about it… You haven't betrayed her, Cil," Beth shrugged and Cilla nodded.

"She told me that she's pleased Richard is the victor."

"Oh? What is he the victor of?" Beth frowned.

"The race to death, she called it. Come to think of it, as Richard is still alive, he is the loser…" Cilla cocked her head, trying to think. It was difficult to think, she was so very tired. She gave herself a shake. "Anyway, I think she felt that if Richard died first, Farshaw would have been victorious. But she can look her husband in the eye now, and tell him it didn't work. That Richard isn't dead, and nor will he die in Farshaw's lifetime. I think she wanted to say the same to my father before he hanged, but his escape last night deprived her of that," Cilla said. "She'll return as soon as Farshaw hangs." She stroked Richard's hair and face. "Do you hear that, my love? This is a race you need to lose You hold on until Farshaw is dead, and for Harm to return. I'm not going through this alone," Cilla choked out.

"I'll stay with you, Cil," Beth said. When William woke, he would have need of her. And she would need to visit her father again before long. But as Richard looked even closer to the edge of death now than he had last night, she was certain that he would be gone well before then.

* * *

A crowd formed a half circle five men deep around a large oak tree. Harmony stood front and centre between her father and brother, her cold gaze fixed on Calvin. His hands were tied before him and two men pulled him along, both were large enough to manhandle him despite his struggling. More militia from the camp flooded in to watch the hanging, the crowd grew larger by the moment.

The traitor, Ensign Nicholas Watson and a familiar face that Harmony recognised as a former Green Dragoon - Colin Ferguson - came to stand before the crowd. In a loud voice, Watson began to bellow out a list of Calvin's crimes. In the recess of her mind, Harmony added her own to the list. The constant beatings. His infidelity with that high society Charlestown strumpet, Chastity Whitney. His forcing her to Colonel Clement's bed, in order to be able to pay for that silk stockinged whore. The beating that forced her first child from her womb far too early. The beating and rape of her, when he tried to escape with her from Fresh Water. And the half hundred other little tortures he'd visited upon her from the moment they said their vows.

"This is the better way," George whispered beside her. "Better that your Mrs. Farshaw the widow, than you return to Miss Jutland because your marriage was dissolved. You've a baby to think of now."

Harmony nodded once. Her marriage had ended weeks ago, the moment her father and Henry Farshaw had announced it was over. Harmony had thought to revert to Miss Jutland again, but her father was right. Miss Jutland with a bastard would be derided most places she went. Mrs. Farshaw the widow would fair much better.

Calvin was staring right back, he curled his lip at her. "You're loving this, aren't you? Damned bitch," he said. He made a disgusting slurping noise, and then he spat at her feet. George leaped forward, ready to smash Calvin to atoms; it took several men to haul him back. Calvin was already covered in bruises from his fight with George the previous day, and he cradled his left side as if his ribs were broken.

"Your plot failed," she said calmly. "Richard lives." Calvin's jaw dropped.

"Liar," he said, trying to push toward her. His captors kept him back, they kept him moving toward the tree. "You're a fucking liar, you always have been. Putman said he was dead yesterday."

"Putman was mistaken," Watson said. He glanced at Harmony and immediately understood what she was trying to do. She didn't want Calvin Farshaw to go to his final rest, thinking he'd achieved his goal. "Mr. Jutland and Mr. Jones are quite learned in the ways of medicine. It was a long slog, I'm told, but it appears that Major Bordon and Colonel Tavington are expected to make full recoveries."

"That they are," George lied. Harmony straightened her spine. Even if Richard died five minutes after Calvin, Calvin would never know it.

"You lost," she said, allowing a small smile to twitch her lips. It wasn't real, she did not feel even slightly amused or joyful, there was nothing humorous or enjoyable about any of this. But it was one last torment she was able to visit upon Calvin, and it got his back up; both of which were quite satisfying.

"Wait, where is Putman?" George asked, glancing around. "I thought he was going to be strung up beside Calvin?"

"Alas," Watson said, lifting his chin. "Mr. Putman somehow managed to escape during the night."

Murmurs rose up from the men around them, George was particularly vocal as well.

"It seemed he still had men loyal to him, that we were not aware of," Watson said. "When it was their time to watch over him, they fled with him instead."

Yes, those loyal men - Benjamin Martin is one of them, Harmony thought but did not say.

"But none were loyal to the sodomite," Watson said loudly. "They left him here to rot, and to hang. Bring him."

Calvin protested loudly and lunged for Watson, having no desire to be called sodomite in his final moments of life. Watson ignored the attempt for Calvin barely made it a single stride toward him, before he was hauled back and shoved until he was standing on the barrel.

"Why do you call him that?" Hamish asked, frowning.

"I'll tell you later," Harmony said, loud enough for Calvin to hear. "Your romance with Major Fallows shall be your legacy, husband," she said. Calvin made an inarticulate sound of rage before a gag was jammed in his mouth.

"Place a hood over his head, there are ladies present," Colin commanded. Harmony glanced over her shoulder to see which ladies he was speaking of, but there was no other women. Oh, he was calling her a lady. Huh. Interesting.

She appreciated his suggestion however, it was quite a sight to see a man hang without the hood. As much as she wanted to stare Calvin in the eye as he strangled to death, she knew she wouldn't be able to maintain the gaze if she was watching his eyes bulging from his head. This would do. She held his eyes as the hood was placed on his head, as it moved downward, as it covered his eyes. She knew he must have been feeling absolute terror, to be in utter darkness while surrounded by so many people who would not help him, people who would stay and watch as he struggled through his last moments. These were his last moments. Even the bravest of men soiled themselves at such moments, it was no surprise when Calvin did so now. Wetness spread across the front of his breeches, several men laughed and money changed back and forth, for some of them had put a wager on whether or not he would.

That's how little they cared, about the passing of Calvin Farshaw.

Overwhelmed, Harmony choked out a sob, it tore from her chest - not grief, Gods no. Relief. Relief, that it was all over. Her nightmare of losing Richard was only just beginning, but her nightmare with Calvin was, finally, completely over.

The men were acting like they were at a carnival, they were taking bets on whether or not Calvin's neck would snap. Some who hanged didn't, some did. For those that did, it was a kindness. For those that didn't, it was a long, drawn out death, filled with starved lungs and terror. George, Harmony and Hamish were the only ones showing a modicum of self restraint, not out of respect for Calvin, but for his parents and his sister, Hamish's wife.

Watson let the men's tomfoolery continue for quite a while, allowing for Calvin's terror to increase. Harmony just wanted it over with. She met Watson's eyes, made a hurrying gesture and for a wonder, it was heeded. Watson inclined his head and gave the order.

The barrel was pushed out from Calvin's feet and his body slammed down to stop suddenly on the short rope. There was a loud snap. No jerking or twitching, Calvin's legs didn't kick nor were there any suffocating noises. Calvin's body was immediately still, just a gentle sway as his feet hovered inches from the ground.

The men crowed and guffawed, more money exchanged hands as others cursed at losing the bet. Heart pounding, Harmony waited as Hamish and George were allowed to come forward to cut Calvin down from the tree. Colin helped, they assisted helping the dead weight to the ground, showing more respect for Calvin in death than they ever did in life.

"My apologies for prolonging it, Mrs. Farshaw," Watson said, looking contrite as he approached her. "I know it doesn't cast me in a favourable light, I'm ashamed to admit that I wanted him to feel the terror of the moment for as long as possible before it was done. I hope my actions did not cause you distress."

"They didn't. And I understand why you did it, but for me, I just wanted it over with. Thank you for not drawing it out further," Harmony said, eyes still on Calvin's body. The hood was removed and Harmony wished she hadn't stayed to be sure of Calvin's death, for his eyes had indeed bulged, his face was grey, death making him appear hideous.

He was dead, and she did not need to linger any more.

"Please excuse me," she said to Watson, before turning on her heel. She strode away, leaving her father and brother to deal with Calvin's remains.

Returning to Richard's side, Harmony sat across from Cilla and Beth, her eyes fixed on Richard in his suffering. The laudanum was wearing off, he was still insensible but was becoming increasingly aware of his pain. He lay there, his groans increasing in volume, as he struggled for every breath. It wasn't fair, Calvin's death when compared to Richard's. Richard had done great wrong to Cilla, but Calvin had done far, far worse to Harmony. It should have been the other way around, if it had to happen at all. Richard should have had the quick death, Calvin the longer, more painful. As she took Richard's hand in hers, she felt that in the manner of his death, Calvin had been given a mercy that Richard was being denied.


	154. Chapter 154 - Work, Not Hope

_Reply to Guest: It was nice to finally kill Calvin off, Harmony's life is her own again! __Thanks for your review! :-) _

Chapter 154 - Work, Not Hope:

"You were very lucky. The ball took you in the hip and didn't penetrate very deeply," Mr. Jones was saying. William glared up at this so called doctor from his cot.

"I don't feel particularly lucky," he ground out. He concentrated on breathing deeply as a means to stop himself from cursing from the pain. Lucky. Yes, that was what he was. Lucky to have been nearly killed, lucky to have been captured, lucky to be laid up in bed and in excruciating pain. This doctor was a damned fool. Beth stood at the rebel doctor's side, eyes downcast and looking miserable.

"You're luckier than your Major, the poor bastard," Jones gestured with his thumb toward the direction of the medical pavilion. They could hear Bordon, who was crying out in pain again. "At least you're done and dusted. I got the ball out and the scraps of cloth it took into your body as it entered. So. No more surgery for you, which is more than I can say for that poor bastard," he again thumbed in the direction of the medical tent. "Lucky for you, yes?"

"If you say so, rebel," William muttered.

"There's nothing left inside the wounds, Mr. Jones?" Beth asked. "What of his leg?" William had taken a shot to his leg also, which had shattered the fibula. The bone shards could cause problems for him, if Jones hadn't done his job well enough. Fortunately for William, George Jutland had assisted with the surgery - William wouldn't have trusted rebel Doctor Jones to have taken as much care.

"The ball went straight through. The wound was cleaned, packed and bandaged," Jones said. "He won't be walking without aid anytime soon. Might have a limp for the rest of his life. And he's going to need help with the privy for the time being…" He seemed to hesitate for some reason. Beth frowned up at him.

"What do you mean?" She asked, cocking her head. "What are you saying?"

"It's delicate," Jones replied. "He'll need help… answering the call of nature. You'll need to empty your bowels at some point," he said directly. "You'll need help with that. And with cleaning yourself after. Down there."

"I won't be able to wipe my own arse?" William asked, aghast. "You're mad, I've still got my arms!" He lifted his now, as if to prove it.

"You have been shot through your hip, up near your pelvis," Jones pointed out. "You won't even be able to get out of bed to perform the task. And even if you could rise, you won't be able to use a chamber pot, either."

William thought through the logistics of it and realised the damned old bastard was right. He could barely move, he wasn't going to be able to climb out of bed, squat over a chamber pot, and then clean himself after. He winced at the very thought of it. His face flushed red; yes, he was going to need help. "Damn and blast it." He'd need a bedpan and someone to clean him and take the bedpan away afterward. He met Beth's gaze, but her look was unreadable.

"I shall leave you with those happy thoughts, Lobsterback," Jones said, mocking William with his mirth. He inclined his head and strode out of the makeshift tent, returning to the patient who needed him most.

Bordon.

* * *

"Don't think I'm not relieved, for I am. But how is it that you always escape unscathed, Brownlow?" Tavington asked. "Not a single wound…"

The tent was not the usual white canvas 'A' frame William was used to. It was a square thing, it was little more than several tarpaulins strung from tree branches to form a roof and four walls. It was small; Brownlow was standing outside, speaking to him through the lifted corner of one of the tarps.

"Maybe I was a Spartan in a former life," he quipped.

"Have you been to see Bordon?" William asked gravely.

"Yes. He isn't doing too well, Colonel," Patrick replied, amusement fading.

From where they were positioned, with William's tent 'door' open, they could see across the churned up muddy track, straight into Richard's tent opposite them. The two shifted their gaze now to gaze toward it, though they could see nothing beyond the wall of women at Bordon's bedside. Mrs. Andrews was standing, Harmony and Cilla were both seated, and Reverend Oliver lingered like a dark cloud hovering over them all. William wanted to shout at the damned old parasite to get the hell away, that Richard wasn't dying, he didn't need an enemy reverend there, ready to read him last rites.

"No, he isn't. They expect every breath he takes to be his last and are amazed when he draws another," William said. "His condition is dire, he is not expected to live."

"No, he is not," Patrick agreed. He took a shuddering breath. "We've lost so many. Two more Dragoons died during the night," he reported and William drew a sharp breath. "The survivors are in tents much like this," he glanced around the makeshift tent. "And the women and a few of Ferguson's slaves are tending them, they're never alone. With luck and prayers, they might survive."

"We shall see," William said.

Mrs. Garland was looking after the babies in a room near the great house, but Mrs. Andrews, Miss Amity Cordell, Mrs. Nancy Thomson and Miss Electa Alden were caring for the Dragoons still battling for their lives. Eight or more Dragoons were in the makeshift tents much like William's, but unlike William who had a bed and a brazier, the men were lying on a blanket on the ground with no form of heat at all. Despite the small efforts that had been taken, the conditions were wretched. William doubted many would survive.

"Thank God Mrs. Tavington bought those women with her when she left… well, when she came here," Brownlow said.

When she left Banastre, was what Patrick had been about to say. William curled his lip but hid his distaste well.

"Yes, they've been a Godsend," he admitted, for they truly were. Most of Martin's men were keeping well away, hardly any of them lifting a finger to help the Dragoons. That left only Brownlow, the Jutland men, Elisha Miller and a few of David Ferguson's slaves to help with any heavy lifting that was required. Thomas and Nathan were helping. The women that had come with Beth were there almost constantly, providing a gentle hand and soft words that the wounded would not have gotten from the men. "Where have they got you quartered?" William asked, expecting Patrick to be sleeping outside under the stars.

"Tom and Nate have set me up the same as you, in a tent much like this," Patrick replied and William's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "I have a bed the same as you, too."

"Tom and Nate?" He asked incredulously. "They're Tom and Nate to you now?"

"Eh. They started calling me Pat, so… Besides, they're good lads," Patrick shrugged.

"So. You've a tent, too?" William asked, still surprised by the familiarity.

"If you can call it that. They ran out of tarp, so mine is constructed from rawhide strung up over tree branches - a roof and walls enough to ward off the wind and rain. I found out this morning that they went riding with Colin Ferguson yesterday to other Plantations to beg, buy, borrow and steal as much of everything that they thought we'd need. They took a small cart and when they got back, it was overladen with tarps and blankets, clothes and socks… whatever they could get for us, they got. That was kind, wasn't it?"

"Very," William agreed. "We're prisoners and can expect no such courtesies. But our situation is different, with Martin in charge and this being Ferguson's family. I'm pleased that Colin is still on side with us; he must be quite outraged at the attack of his former comrades. Still, we should be grateful for anything they do for us."

"I am," Patrick said. At a noise behind him, he looked over his shoulder and then moved out of the way for Beth to enter the tent.

She was freshly washed and had changed into clean clothes. William was taken aback, before remembering that the women had all their belongings with them, as he had intended for them to remain here. William and the men had only what they'd carried in their saddlebags. And as he'd thought to return to the Legion within a few hours, none of them had bought anything that would sustain them in a prolonged stay away from the Legion. It suddenly occurred to William to wonder about the fallen Dragoons belongings. Sixty horses had been killed or captured during the attack. What had happened to their accoutrement? He asked Patrick now, but it was Beth who answered.

"Lieutenant Watson secured it all yesterday after commanding that there would be no looting. Your saddlebags are under your bed. The other wounded have theirs in their tents, and those belonging to the dead are under guard, so that personal belongings can be sent back to the families of those who fell in the battle yesterday." She paused, cocking her head at his expression. "What?" She'd expected him to look grateful, approving. His face was thunder.

"_Lieutenant_ Watson?" He spat. "You mean that damned traitor, Ensign Watson?"

"Yes, I do mean him," Beth said, folding her arms across her chest.

William glared up at her, not only because Watson was a traitor, but also because he'd courted Beth back in the city. "The two of you still fast friends, are you?"

"I've barely spoken two words to him, William," she said, shaking her head and heaving a sigh as she lowered her arms. "I've been far too busy to be fast friends with him or anybody else. Do you need to pass water?"

Embarrassed, William's eyes shot past her to Brownlow, who immediately fell away from the tent and dropped the flap back in place. He shifted his gaze back to Beth, peering up at her suspiciously. Had she asked him this now, in front of Brownlow, to embarrass him? As punishment for berating her about Watson? Perhaps it was innocently meant, Beth had been asking William this every hour or so, therefore the question itself was not unusual. But he couldn't stifle his suspicion; she'd been very discreet about it before now.

"Yes, I do," he said. There was a small pitcher on the wooden box that served as a table beside his bed, it was the perfect shape for him to piss into while bedridden. She handed it to him now, then waited patiently while he lifted the blankets, pulled up his nightgown, took hold of his phallus, inserted it into the mouth of the pitcher and began. Easily done and most satisfying.

Now, however… _now_, the shame would come. As he handed it back to her to empty and clean, his stomach clenched and his face reddened. Humiliation he should not feel but could not help flared in his stomach. He would have said nothing of this other need, but to deny it would lead to an even worse disaster. It would be far more preferable to use a bedpan than to shit himself in his bed. Still, the words were stilted and thin when he spoke. "I also need… uh… the other," he said to Beth, heat flaring so hot he knew his face must be blazing red.

He wasn't certain what reaction he thought he would receive from her. Condemnation? Pity? Uncertainty? For surely she wouldn't have any idea how to help him with this new dilemma.

Beth reacted decisively. She lifted her voice slightly to Brownlow, who was still outside. "Captain, will you fetch Nancy for me? And tell her to bring warm water," she said. Patrick was already moving as Beth turned to the wooden box beside William's bed. She bent down - awkwardly because of her pregnant stomach - and when she straightened, she was holding a bedpan. He watched her, eyes wide, his breath coming in short bursts. How was he going to do this? How was she going to _make_ him do this? As he watched, she held the bedpan against the brazier. That was something, at least. The pan was made of pewter. This was going to be unpleasant enough, without suffering that gasping flash of cold as his bare cheeks connect with the metal.

"Nancy won't be long," Beth said as she continued to heat the pan. "Mr. Jutland keeps water on the boil, he's constantly washing his medical implements."

Sure enough, Nancy entered a few moments later. She was carrying a large bucket, and a basket with what appeared to be strips of linen and soaps.

"_It's delicate_," Jones had said. "_You'll need help_," he'd said. William cringed, realising what the linens were for. The worst of Jones' words came to him. "_…with cleaning yourself after. Down there."_

_"I won't be able to wipe my own arse?_" William had asked. He could almost hear Jones' mocking laughter.

Beth gazed down at William for a moment, as if considering her next move. William gazed back, eyes wide with trepidation.

"Nancy, you go on the other side of the cot," Beth said. "Pull back the covers and lift the Colonel's nightshirt, while I push this underneath him."

"Beth!" William gasped, shocked at her suggestion. His eyes darted to Nancy, the stranger who - if Beth had her way - was about to see him naked.

"Oh come now, I don't have enough fingers to count how many women have seen you naked, William," Beth said caustically and William stared at her incredulously. "You've never had a problem disrobing for pretty young women before," she bit out.

"Mrs. Tavington," Nancy said quietly, it sounded like a plea. Ignoring her, William's lips tightened as he stared up at his wife.

"Well?" Beth snapped down at him. "Am I wrong? Both hands, William," she waggled her fingers at him. "I don't have enough fingers on either of them. I could count my toes and still not come close. Nancy is just one more." William said nothing as Nancy pulled back the covers and lifted his nightgown and made an obvious point of looking away from his nudity to give him what privacy she could. Beth lifted the bedpan from the brazier, and muttered to herself as she waited for it to cool down to a desirable temperature. "You'll strip bare for a woman quickly enough to couple, but you balk at this?" She placed her fingertips to the pewter surface and then came toward him. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he said, voice tight and strangled. He braced himself on his elbows and began to lift up his back, but as he angled his hips slightly upward toward Beth, his wounds came alive with pain. He hissed out a stream of curses.

"William!" Beth's voice was worried now, he felt her hand on his shoulder as he breathed through the pain, the agony taking precedence over his embarrassment. "Slowly, just… are you alright?"

He breathed out slowly and nodded. Closing his eyes, he put much of his weight on his left elbow and angled his hips up as best he could. Beth slid the bedpan under him and he relaxed onto it. When he opened his eyes a few moments later, he saw that Nancy was gone.

He met Beth's eyes, embarrassment returning, this time with growing horror.

"I'll wait outside until you're finished," she said. Her eyes narrowed, her look becoming very direct. "I know what's bothering you. It shouldn't. I'm your wife and besides, I've done this before. Do not try to do this yourself, William. You will only do yourself a worse injury."

"Beth -"

"I helped to raise my younger siblings when my mother died," she said. "We had staff to do most, and Abigail cared for the rest. But I did help, William. I know how to… as I said, I've done this before."

"For little children!" He shot back.

"And now for my husband," she said, her voice far more gentle than it had been a few moments before. "You are still that, unless or until you sign that annulment. Look, no matter what it is you're going to decide, the fact stands that you need help and I'm likely the only person here that you'll feel comfortable helping you in this manner. Am I wrong?"

He closed his eyes, breathed out slowly. Opening them, he met her gaze and shook his head.

"Would you rather I get Harmony?" She asked.

"Gods, no."

"Mrs. Andrews? Miss Cordell? Any of the other women?"

"No," he said quietly.

"I know. So just… call out when you are finished." With that, she strode from the tent and he was left to his own… devices.

And to his own thoughts. There had been no opportunity to speak whatsoever since Martin's men attacked the day before. Everything had changed since, he'd been taken captive and instead of ending his marriage and leaving Beth at the Ferguson's, he was now stuck there as well. That did not mean they would remain married, however; and clearly Beth knew it. She would not assume anything.

They needed to discuss their situation, their expectations of one another, and what the other wanted. That meant delving into extremely personal and painful territory, which they had not yet had the opportunity to do. He'd been in surgery yesterday and had been dosed on laudanum all night. Beth was busy in any case, stretched between himself, her father and standing vigil over Richard.

Beth had told him she loved him. She'd shot her uncle to protect him, and she'd been aiming to kill. It was pure accident, that she'd missed. Clearly, she wanted to be with William. Also clearly, she was still bothered by the many women he'd been with - just as he was still bothered by Watson's attention of her and their friendship.

And her far more serious affair with Tarleton… He heaved a breath and shoved the thoughts away.

Finishing his necessities, he glanced over at the bucket with the cloths and the jug of water that Nancy had bought in, wondering if he could reach them. But Beth had - deliberately, no doubt - ensured that all were well out of reach. Maybe he could stand, surely it wouldn't hurt that much? He shifted as if to try but even that small motion sent pain flooding through his body. William wiped sweat from his brow and concentrated on not fainting.

He closed his eyes and shook his head - he had to call her back in, now. Steeling himself, he did so. Light flared as the entrance was lifted and Beth stepped back inside. He was aware of the stench he'd made and his face began to burn. She took it in her stride, however. Not a word was said as she came to his side. He rested his head sidelong on the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. Her impersonal, matter of fact approach eventually left him feeling somewhat at ease. She didn't tease, didn't complain about the smell, or of the act of cleaning him. She just go on with it. And then she was gone, he heard her speaking to Nancy outside. Beth returned empty handed, which meant she'd handed the bedpan and soiled cloths over to the maid to deal with.

"I'm going to wash your hair, there's still mud and muck in it from yesterday," she said and she urged him back upward slightly, his back off the mattress, braced on his elbows. She wrapped a thick cloth around his shoulders to keep his nightgown dry, with towels on the bed to keep that dry too. After wetting his hair, she lathered it with soap and massaged his scalp. Then with a wet, wrung out cloth, she reached up under his nightgown to wash under his arms, his torso and everywhere else she could reach without disturbing him too much. It wasn't ideal, in fact it was quite undignified but he understood why she had chosen to do this now. Washing him in bed was better than not washing him at all.

He had to admit, she'd thought of everything. And there had been no uncertainty, no hand flapping or discussing of what needed to be done while he lay on his cot nursing his own embarrassment and dire need to shit. The entire endeavour was already well thought out, discreet, swift and purposeful; it left William with little room for feeling shame. Within a very short time, he was reclined clean, dry, and reclined - not quite sitting but not lying flat either - and while his leg and side were afire with pain, he was feeling quite comfortable in other ways.

Brownlow entered to add more wood to the brazier and to remove the bucket. Beth leaned down over William, fussing with his blankets. "I'm sorry I spoke to you like that," she said.

"I shouldn't have made a fuss about Nancy," he replied. Cocking his head, he gazed up at her. "Thank you, Beth," he said, reaching up to brush his fingers across her cheek. She looked startled, but in that moment, Brownlow began to back out of the tent with the bucket. Beth's eyes flicked toward him, then back to William.

"For his sake?" She asked softly.

She was asking if the intimate gesture was him maintaining the facade of a sham marriage. He shook his head.

"No. For yours," he drew her down toward him and kissed her forehead. She looked ready to weep. She straightened, wiped her eyes, then knelt down beside the bed and pulled something from underneath. His saddlebags, that Watson had secured from Martin's thieves.

"Now I've washed the mud and blood from your hair, I'm going to comb it," she said, opening the flap.

"I received correspondence just as we were leaving camp," he said, feeling a moment of panic. "Is it still in there?"

Beth delved deeper into the pocket, before withdrawing a packet from inside.

"This it?"

"Yes," he sighed, relieved. Beth handed it to him, then moved around behind him to start working at his tangled and snagged hair, while William began sorting through his letters.

* * *

"I really should cut your hair," Beth said. She stood behind William, comb in hand, wondering where to start with the birds nest before her. At least she'd gotten most of the blood and mud out when she washed it. Still, it was wet and matted and she didn't know where to begin.

"I'm not letting you cut my hair," he replied, pulling the letters from the letter case. "My mother always says to start from the bottom."

"I know how to comb hair, William, but there is not a part of this that isn't matted - even the bottom," she said. She heaved a sigh, then pulled over a stool to sit on. This was going to take a while. She decided the best course of action would be to comb small section by small section. Before she could do that, she needed to tear away a small section from the rest of the nest. At least it was a place to start.

"Oh-oh," William said as she began pulling on his hair.

"What is it?"

"Two letters from Mr. Price," he said with real wariness in his voice. "My former fiancé's father." Beth's fingers stilled on his hair. He continued. "There are others, as well. Several from my mother. One from Clinton. But the two from Mr. Price…" Those were the ones that had him concerned. Those were the ones he wanted to read the least. He scowled at them before setting them aside. "Clinton's first, I think."

"Before your own mother's?" Beth asked.

"His will be shortest," William said. And he was right. It was just a few lines, but still, those lines left William feeling vastly uncomfortable. Clinton had written to confirm that, with William's marriage to Beth, Fresh Water Plantation was no longer a seized property but now belonged to William. He'd known Clinton would do this, that he would make it official. And he had - here was the deed to the property, the legalities all completed. Clinton asked after Beth and encouraged William to reply with news of the couple.

"What does he say?" Beth asked as she worked at his hair.

"He talks about the war," William lied, setting the letter aside. How in all hell was he supposed to write back to Clinton and tell him of his marriage? He rebelled at the very notion. Still avoiding Mr. Price's letters, he opened the first of his mother's.

She must have received the letter he'd sent her from Charlestown by now, the one informing her that he was ending his engagement to Eleanor Price in favour of Beth. He hadn't heard back from her before now, but surely this would be a reply to that. While he felt some misgiving - surely his mother would not be well pleased that he'd ended his engagement to Eleanor in favour of another woman, he was still looking forward to reading this letter. He always longed for news of home and took great pleasure in letters from his family, especially his mother. Hers were always the most comforting, a little slice of home to keep the bleakness of war at bay.

However, in this instance, a few lines in and any comfort he might have felt fled as he gave vent to a stream of curses.

"William?" Beth stopped working at his hair again.

"Bloody Vera Tisdale!" He spat, venom dripping from the name. "That damned whore! My mother says that Vera wrote to Mr. Price, and in turn, Mr. Price went straight to my mother!"

"She _what_?" Beth asked, incredulous. She abandoned her work on his hair, rounded the bed and sat on it at his side. William continued to read, his eyes scanning the page quickly.

"She must have written to him after the Simms ball," William reported. "Vera told him of my liaisons in the city. My mother says that Mr. Price showed up on her doorstep, demanding to know if she knew of my debauchery - Gods, Beth, he spoke of my affairs to my mother!" He met her sympathetic gaze. "He has condemned my actions, to my own mother! Mamma says how embarrassed she was and… shit…" William pinched his nose with his forefinger and thumb and closed his eyes. "Shit, shit, _shit_!" Beth was silent as William, seething, struggled to come to terms with his mother finding out - through Mr. Price - all about William's affair with Mrs. Vera Tisdale while William had been engaged to Eleanor Price. Eventually he blew out a laboured breath, he set his mother's half read letter aside. Feeling it wiser to read all of the letters in sequence after all, he picked up the first of Mr. Price's, in which he wrote of receiving a letter from Vera Tisdale, who went into great detail about his affair with her and several other women. Mr. Price declared himself to be furious but was hopeful that Vera was lying. In this letter, Mr. Price asked William to deny the truth of Vera's claims, for if it was true, Mr. Price would have no choice but to end William's engagement to Eleanor. At least, in this first letter, he'd been willing to give William the benefit of the doubt and requested William reply immediately with the truth.

William set aside the letter and, heaving an unhappy breath, picked up the next. It quickly became apparent that, between the two letters, several more had been received by the Price's. William's letter to Eleanor, cancelling their engagement. And two more from Vera, keeping Mr. Price apprised of everything William had been doing.

Fury wafted from the second letter, Mr. Price had filled the pages with condemnation of William's actions. William had broken faith with Eleanor and the entire Price family. He'd hurt Eleanor and had caused such embarrassment to her and the whole family, not only in breaking the engagement but in his deplorable conduct and faithlessness. It was clear that Mr. Price was no longer giving William the benefit of the doubt despite the lack of testimony from William - he believed Vera's account whole heartedly. It seemed that William's letter to Eleanor had been all the proof Mr. Price needed.

According to the next letter - this one his mothers - in retaliation, the livid father had confronted Mrs. Tavington, and then declared a decisive public split from the Tavington family; they would not share company with them ever again.

William reeled, understanding the implications for his mother at once. The two families associated with another fifteen families in their country village, each taking turns to hold events such as dinners and picnics and balls. With the Price's refusing to be in company with the Tavington's, the other families would have to choose to invite one or the other. And as it was William Tavington's scandalous conduct that caused the split, he knew which family the others would favour. Back home, the Tavington's were in disgrace for what William had done, hundreds of miles away.

He finished his mother's letter, in which she expressed how mortified she was - both at his debauchery and from the ramifications that she herself and his siblings, were being forced to endure. The embarrassment he'd caused the family name. "She begs me to tell her it's not true," he said forlornly. "That Vera is a liar. Damn and blast it!"

"I'm so sorry, William," Beth said, placing her hand on his thigh over the blankets. "Gods. I'm so very sorry."

William shook his head, barely able to accept that this was happening. He reached for the next of his mother's letters. Unfortunately, this one didn't get any better. "Shit." He heaved a breath. "Judging by this, Vera has been writing to Mr. Price all this time. She informed him of her pregnancy and asked that he tell my mother!" He glanced up at Beth. "How… What sort of woman… She's mad, Beth! It might not even be mine!" He said. "Banastre bedded her too! It could be his. Or hell, it might even be Adam Tisdale's! It might not be my bastard! She didn't know who was the father at the time of writing to Mr. Price! Yet she asked Mr. Price to tell my mother?"

"She's a vindictive bitch," Beth said, agreeing.

"When I wrote to my mother to inform her I was going to propose to you," William began. "I knew she wasn't going to be happy. Not because of you personally, but because of the broken engagement. I expected her to express as much in her reply. I was prepared for it, prepared to reassure her that everything would be alright. Instead she's forced to address something far worse. Gods, here she is, filled with despair that my dalliances might cause you to end _our_ engagement."

"You can tell her that yes, it was a difficult time for us, but we worked through all of that," Beth said, trying to sooth him.

"I doubt she'll understand." There were still more letters from his mother. Later ones, responding to William's that he and Beth had married. "Now how could she…" William trailed off. Beth was staring at him, waiting expectantly. "My mother knows of Linda's pregnancy," he said, frowning. "How in the world… Vera has told Mr. Price about Linda's pregnancy, but… How could she have known about that when _we_ didn't even discover it until we were at Fresh Water?"

Beth groaned, closing her eyes, aghast that William's mother knew of Linda's bastard. William's fingers tightened on the parchment, nearly tearing it.

"That damned whore keeps writing constantly to Mr. Price, keeping him apprised of all of my news. But how the hell could she know of that or any other recent news of me? How could Vera know of anything that happened after I left the city?"

"I don't know. Emily Wilkins, perhaps?" Beth suggested. "They're acquainted and Emily does like to gossip."

"Of course," William curled his lip. "Yes! Who else could it have been? She probably sent letter after letter to Vera, telling her everything that happened at Fresh Water! And bloody Vera wrote to Mr. Price, who has been telling all of it to mamma."

Beth closed her eyes and reeled.

"Mamma asks what sort of marriage do I think I'll have, with me siring all these bastards?" He said, then began to read from the letter. "_'The way you wrote of Miss Martin in your letter, I was convinced that you were in love with her'_," he quoted. "_'You are my son and I want nothing more than for you to be happy. To that end, I understood why you ended your engagement with Miss Price, even though I knew it would strain our connection to that worthy family. I accepted it, because I love you. But after learning of these affairs, I wonder how you could possibly be in love. And now I am informed that you wagered with another Officer for this girl's virtue -'_" William bit back a groan.

"Vera told Mr. Price about the wager," Beth breathed and William nodded miserably.

"_'Did this girl succumb to the seduction? You told me it was for love, but is that truly why you ended your engagement with Miss Price? Were you honor bound to marry this girl, after ruining her? If so, I would hardly consider her to be a fitting choice for you,' _" he paused, glanced at Beth. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't read this out loud."

"No, I need to know what to expect from your mother," Beth said and William nodded.

"_'You told me you ended the engagement for love of this girl, but with your actions I am forced to consider the possibility that the girl's father discovered what you had done, and forced you to marry her. Is that so, William?' " _

"That is not so," Beth said. "And if you'd like, I'll write to her myself and tell her. The idea that she thinks I succumbed to the wager…" She shuddered. "No, I can't have her thinking that of me. Things might not be well with us now, but I won't have your mother believe we married because you took my virtue and my father found out. I won't have her thinking that we married for any other reason than love."

William said nothing, he just stared at the letter, his stomach a pit of despair. "Gods, I can not believe she knows about Linda and the baby. She asks me how, if you are innocent and if we did marry for love -"

"At least she's willing to give me the benefit of the doubt," Beth murmured. William nodded but otherwise ignored the interruption.

"- she asks how you can possibly be content, being married to someone like me? My own mother, saying that. Someone like me. Gods. She asks how can you possibly forgive me the wager, my infidelity and siring bastards?"

Beth laughed softly, bitterly. "I've done far worse, since," she said.

William was silent a moment, before forcing himself to continue reading. "_'If that is so, then her father was right to force you to marry her. And perhaps I am being too harsh with the girl, in calling her unfitting for you. I should be worried less for her virtue and more for yours. Your actions have hardly made you a fitting husband for even the most ruinous of women. I received yours dated June 15 informing me of your marriage, and this letter should be my reply congratulating you both. I should be writing to my new daughter to welcome her to our family. But I find myself too embarrassed, too ashamed, for what has she received? What sort of family does my new daughter find herself secured to? You have now made Miss Martin __Mrs. Tavington__, and as you claimed to love her so well, I should be ecstatic for you. Yet instead, I find myself utterly deploring that this young woman shall forevermore be made miserable in the bearing our name. Your marriage has only just begun, and what a mess you've made of it.' _" He lowered the letter and whispered, "damn and blast it."

"If only she knew. Your mother doesn't have to fear there," Beth tried for a lighthearted tone. "You can tell her I started out innocent enough, but I've since done as good a job as you, ruining both our names. You didn't make a mess of our marriage. That was all me."

"It wasn't all you," he sighed. He could see she was jesting, trying to lighten his troubles. Still, it had been rammed home enough by now that even he finally agreed - their troubles were not solely Beth's fault. And now, receiving these letters from his mother and Mr. Price rammed them home far more effectively than Harmony's scolding or Cilla's quiet remonstrance ever could. It had been distressing enough, losing Harmony's friendship. But this?

Losing the regard of a beloved parent…

"What am I going to do, Beth? My mother knows all the things I've done. What am I supposed to say to her?"

"What can you say, William?" She shrugged. "You can't go back and change what you did; done is done. All you can do now is beg her to forgive you, and hope that she does. Tell her that you know what you did was deplorable, and that you are sorry, that you will never do such things again, and hope she accepts it as being enough."

He gave her a level stare. "That sounds very much like the apology you gave to me."

"And to my father," she agreed. "Admit to your wrong doing, apologise, and begin trying to mend your ways. I told papa I was sorry and I vowed never, ever to conduct myself in such a manner again. He believes me, his anger has cooled and he still loves me. It's not pleasant, when your parents are disgusted with you. You can't change it, that moment that your mother found out about you and Mrs. Tisdale, and then you and Linda. The awful grief and distress she would have felt over it. That has happened, it can't be altered. All you can do now is tell her the truth, that yes, you did those things, and you are so utterly sorry, and that you have changed, that there will never be a repetition. That she will never have to suffer the trauma of being given such awful news of you, ever again, for it will never happen, ever again. You tell her that yes, you have a bastard and are going to raise her. And then you tell her that Vera Tisdale can claim all she likes, nothing can be proven about her child. Admit that perhaps it's yours. Or her husband's. Or Colonel Tarleton's," Beth hung her head and added solemnly, "if she knows you're sorry and knows you're trying to be a better person, then in time she'll forgive you and everything will be fine, because she does love you."

As he stared at her, it occurred to him that she was speaking as much for herself, as she was for him. That she was trying, and she intended to never do anything improper again.

"You should also write to Mr. Price," she continued. "Apologise to him. Tell him you shoulder all of the blame, that you have shamed your family and that your greatest regret is the wedge it's driven between both of yours. Beg him, _and I mean beg him_, to make amends with your family that they can live peacefully together, without the rest of the village feeling the need to choose one over the other."

"I'm never going to return to England," William said. "Not after this. I'll make that my pledge to him - I'm certain that will help."

"To never see your mother or your brothers and sisters again? I'm not so sure you should promise that."

"It's the greatest sacrifice I can offer them," William said. "Perhaps the only one they'll accept. I need Mr. Price to make peace with my family, Beth. For their sake. And I can't do that by going home and waltzing about the village like nothing happened. I can't ever be in their presence again, not without ruining their standing with the other families."

"Well… Just think about it, for now. There's time to decide yet. Besides, you're not going anywhere for quite a while, I think," she motioned toward his wounds.

"No, I'm not," he said. "We haven't discussed… we need to talk, Beth."

"I know," she crossed her legs and began to fidget with her fingers.

"Why did you bed him? That first time. Why didn't you wait for me?" He blurted the question and she drew back as if it knocked her between the eyes. Still, she held her ground. He half imagined that she'd flee him, rather than discuss this.

"I don't know," Beth shrugged.

William frowned. So, she was going to stay, but still wasn't going to discuss it? _'I don't know'_ was hardly a satisfactory answer. "'I don't know isn't good enough, Beth. There was a reason, and I want to know what it was."

Beth made a sound bordering on petulant. "It's not easy, you know. Talking to you about it."

"It's not going to be easy for me, hearing it," he replied. "But I'm willing to listen. I suggest you at least try to explain yourself. Don't squander this, Beth."

"Alright," it was drawn out slowly, that single word, as Beth struggled to find the words to explain. "First of all, at that time, it was never a choice of waiting or not waiting for you. _I honestly thought I'd never see you again."_ She spread her hands wide and gave a shrug. _"_It's not as though I chose him over you; I thought you were gone from my life forever. And if I did cross paths with you again, then back at that time, I would have been married to George Howard by the time I saw you again. Either way, to my way of thinking, it never occurred to me that I might ever be with _you_. Really, it came down to it being a choice between _him_ -" she wasn't sure if she should say Banastre's name out loud now that they were discussing _this_. "- and George. But as to why I chose to give myself to _him_ instead of George… It sounds so stupid now. Petty, even. But it made perfect sense at the time. I was lonely, I thought no one in the world loved me. Until Hanger found me and took me to _him_," she said with enough emphasis that _him_ was now synonymous with _Banastre_. "And _he_ didn't hesitate to tell me how much he loved me. After weeks of rejection and ostracisation. Of being shunned, by my family, by my friends… suddenly there _he_ was, showering me with affection and wine until I couldn't think. Oh, that doesn't sound right," she dropped her face to her hands, the next words were muffled. "It's like I'm blaming him, as if I wasn't at fault at all," she lifted her face again. "I don't mean too; I made the decision to drink, he didn't force it down my throat but…" she stared past William at the wall of tarp, lost in the memories that came after that night.

The other occasions that Banastre plied her with wine, when he wanted his own way. The night he returned after being away from camp for a time, and he bought Electa Alden with him. Beth had demanded he send Electa away. Instead, he gave Beth whiskey and wine, glass after glass, until she was so befuddled and drunk that she hadn't known whose hand it was creeping up her leg, whose fingers were giving her such pleasure. The feeling of Electa's plump lips on her own, the ecstasy growing until that moment when she realised that it was Electa she was kissing, and it was Electa's fingers drawing that pleasure. She'd reacted violently, demanding Electa be shown to the door and for Banastre to sleep in his own chamber; she hadn't been so drunk that she would have allowed for _that_ to continue. But if she hadn't been drinking with them to begin with, she never would have allowed Electa to stay and play card games at all. Banastre had wanted it though, and so the wine flowed freely that night, as it did every night he wanted something from Beth that she wasn't willing to give, sober.

"But - as I discovered later - the wine always flowed freely when he wanted me to do something I would not do sober. But that's my fault too. Not just his. Or maybe it was his… I mean, that was my first time. I was still innocent then, still naive. He knew what he was doing, he knew that I might be more amendable soused, so he made sure I became so. I only realised later that that was a tactic of his and that's when I stopped drinking with him. Oh I don't know, I don't want it to sound as though I'm not taking responsibility because I… I did it. Maybe it's both our faults, though Harmony thinks it's more his than mine."

"Harmony always takes your side," William said and Beth's face fell. He softened his tone, continued reluctantly. "But yes, it's always been a tactic of his and yes, it does work particularly well on the innocent."

"Well, it wasn't just all that anyway," Beth said. She shifted again as she tried to sort through her thoughts to explain this properly. "Earlier on in the evening, Henrietta said something to me. Henrietta Rutledge?" William nodded, he knew who she meant. "You see, I had been forced into agreeing to marry George Howard, when General Burwell refused to have me because of… well, you…" she raised her hands and spoke quickly. "I'm not saying this is your fault, I'm just... Saying. It all went hand in hand. Because General Burwell spurned me as a result of my virtue being… bought into question… Henrietta warned me that if I wasn't a virgin on my wedding night, that George would know." She paused, thinking how _William_ hadn't known. Worrying that he was thinking along the same lines, she pushed on. "She warned me that if that were to happen, we'd have one hell of a marriage." How right had she been? Only it was with William and not George that Henrietta's prophesying had come true. "I assured her that what you and I did together… That I was still a virgin. I thought she'd be appeased, that she'd retract her warning. Instead, she shrugged it off like it didn't matter anyway after all. She said that I was ruined after what you and I did together. I was a ruined virgin so it made no difference." William's lips tightened, she saw him close his eyes and wince. That had been his fault and he knew it - she could see the truth of it on his face. "What she said cut me very deeply and she, I think, regretted it somewhat, because as soon as she said it, she went on to reassure me that after I was safely married, I would begin to be accepted again among the others in the Parish, especially if my conduct was proper in the future," her lip curled and her voice had a spitting quality to it. "If I prove that I've put my wild days behind me. If I was a good wife to George and a good mother to our children." Beth sighed, some of her anger fading. "She was offering me an olive branch and at that moment, I was desperate to take it. Desperate to do anything she said, to make all of it go away." Her eyes began to burn and she quickly wiped at them, drying them. "I was desperate for it to all go away. The shame, the embarrassment, other people's disdain. So I was happy to go along with everything my father wanted and everything Henrietta said. But later on that night… I grew resentful…" She trailed off. He was silent, listening. Not liking it, but he'd asked, so he was listening. "Henrietta's words rose up again like bile in my throat. Her warning, that if I wasn't a virgin on my wedding night, George would know and our marriage would be ruined. But also that I was already ruined, even being a virgin, so it made no difference. That if I was a good girl, and entered this marriage with George, then eventually, in time, one day, all would be _almost_ forgiven. That I'd eventually be accepted back among them. Everything she said flooded through my mind again and this time, I got so angry," she spat out. "Who were they to judge me? How many of them have hopped from bed to bed, the good wives and their husbands? Even my Aunt Charlotte and my father. So many girls my age, going to the alter with their bellies out to here," she held her hand a handspan from her rounded stomach. "Who were they to judge me? Who were they to _forgive_ me, for something I hadn't even done? And then I thought how I was ruined, either way. I'd already been sunk to my lowest, and it was horrid, awful, the worst time of my life. I was sunk without the enjoyment that preceded the sinking, so why not claim that enjoyment now? This is what I mean - I _know_ it sounds stupid, ridiculous, utterly ludicrous. But this is what went through my mind, _this_ is the reason why I did it. Maybe I thought I was punishing them by doing it, when I was really only hurting myself, but I found myself faced with a choice. Give myself first to the man my father was forcing me to marry? Or to Banastre, who, at the very least, was in love with me. I chose Banastre…" She said, anger draining from her voice.

"You wanted to rebel… You did it… to _punish_ them?" He asked and she thought how stupid that sounded coming from another person. But then he continued tentatively, "not because you loved him?"

"Is that… is that what you thought? Is that why you wanted to know all this? You wanted to know if I loved him? Dear Lord, William, my God. No. I never, _ever_ loved him."

"You left with him," he said.

"Yes, but not for love. I had no intention of staying with him when I left you. I was going to go to Aunt Charlotte. But then… I don't even know what happened, how it started… But it wasn't love. I never, ever loved him."

"Revenge against me?" William prompted.

"I think, a little?" She said. "When I left, I thought there was no further need for pretence. For you, I mean. I thought you wouldn't bother keeping it discreet anymore, that Linda would be sleeping up at the house, in _my_ house, in our chamber. Wearing my clothes, ordering my servants, acting like your wife. I know now that none of that was the case but it's what I was imagining, from the moment I left."

"Did you get into his bed that first night?" William asked, an edge to his voice.

"No. He wanted to, but no. I refused him, and for many nights following. I was still thinking that I would start making my way to wherever Aunt Charlotte was. But one night he came with wine, and…" She heaved a breath. "I can't blame him or the wine; I was weak for falling for it. I regretted it the next day. I don't think a day went by thereafter, that I didn't despise myself. I kept thinking that I should still leave, go to Aunt Charlotte. But… But then I discovered I was pregnant and he promised he would help to raise it. He was offering me security I desperately needed, that I thought neither you nor my family would give. But even before that, what was the point of leaving? I was already in his bed again. And I figured you were in Linda's."

"I was," he admitted and her eyes grew to saucers. "No, I mean… I didn't…" He heaved a sullen breath. "That first night, when you left me, I arranged for Linda to stay with a family nearby, and I intended to make her my mistress again. I went to her that first night, she had whiskey and I drank the whole damned bottle. I climbed into the bed with her, she gave me a massage that she thought would lead to relations, but I was too exhausted and drunk. I fell asleep before anything could happen."

"Oh," she lowered her eyes. Softly, she said, "that's what she quarrelled with Harmony about, in the shop at Pembroke, when Cilla overheard them talking. Linda told other people that you were bedding her but she confided to Harmony that you wouldn't. That you came to her but nothing ever happened and she was growing frustrated. It's how Cilla finally realised the truth."

"Yes," he said. "If not for Cilla overhearing that conversation, she never would have believed I was faithful to you. She would never have written you to tell you. Not that it mattered, with him holding back your letters."

"Not that it mattered, with me already being damned by then," Beth said, eyes on her fingers in her lap. "Though the damage was already done, I would have left him with that first letter, William. If I'd received it."

"I know."

They both fell silent, contemplative.

"Did you ever love Linda, William?" Beth asked.

"Don't be absurd," William snorted. "I only ever loved you."

"And I only ever loved you," she said, voice breaking. "I loved you so much I thought it would be my death."

"You shot your uncle to save my life," he said gravely. "You said you were aiming to kill him."

She nodded, biting her lip, tears welling. "Because I love you still and always will. And if you do decide to sign that annulment, I won't be with anybody else, I'd rather live my days out alone if I am not living them with you."

"Me too," he admitted. "So. We have a choice. Live a solitary and lonely life, or live it together."

"I was miserable when I left you," she said. "I was miserable when you were going to bring me here to end our marriage. But if my being by your side is going to make you miserable, then maybe we should part -"

He leaned up and pulled her down at the same time, and he kissed her, long and hard, holding her tight as if fearing she might well leave. "Call me a fool, but I love you too much. Staying together is the lesser of two evils. I would rather stay with you and hope we can overcome our misery."

"It'll take work, not hope. From both of us."

He touched her face. "When did you become so wise?"

"When I ruined my life and thought I'd never get you back," she replied. "Just so you know, I will not be miserable if I am with you. I hope that one day, you will be able to say the same."

"Work. Not hope. Remember?" He said, kissing her forehead.

Tears stung her eyes and pain welled because he hadn't denied that he'll be miserable at least for a time. She inspected her own feelings and realised that she likely would be too, what they'd both been through and what they'd both done to each other was too much to put behind them in so short a time.

"Each time we look at each other, we'll remember the bad times and we'll feel the sting of heartbreak and betrayal,"she said as she gazed down at him, her face inches from his.

"Then we need to start making new memories," a smile crossed his lips. "Such as the one we made just now."

"This sweet kiss?" She asked.

"Well, that too. But I was referring to you wiping my arse."

"William!" Beth threw her head back and laughed. And then almost immediately, with the realisation that he was willing to jest with her - which meant that he truly was ready to start putting their troubles behind them - she began to weep, overwhelmed to finally have him back again.


	155. Chapter 155-Hope, Despair &Understanding

_I'm so sorry for the super long wait - I really struggled with this chapter. Talk about writer's block! Sheesh! Hopefully now that the damn's been burst, the next few chapters should flow a little more easily. Fingers crossed! Thank you for your patience._

_And thank you to Guest for your lovely review. I had to look up Marc Almond's song 'A lover spurned', I hadn't heard of it before :-) But I agree, Vera is the perfect muse for it!_

* * *

Chapter 155 - Hope, Despair and Understanding:

One of the side tarps that formed William's tent was lifted at the corner. Having it open let in the cold, but being bed ridden was as tedious as it was painful and he was tired of being surrounded by four canvas walls, where he could hear everything happening outside, but he couldn't see any of it. Thomas had promised to make William some crutches so he could start moving about, but it would be some time before he got them. For now, he had to content himself with the small sliver of world view that the lifted canvas corner afforded him.

A gap a few feet wide and five feet tall. Enough for him to see people walking by. Beyond his this small view, he knew that several other tents had been erected among the trees, the same as his one. There was the large tent that the worst of the wounded occupied, those who needed constant observation. Richard Bordon was the only patient still in there and everyone was expecting him to die.

Beyond the little outdoor prisoner hospital quartering the captured wounded was the greater rebel camp and the Great House where Benjamin Martin was laid up, with almost everyone expecting him to die, too.

Some ten of Benjamin Martin's militia guarded the makeshift hospital and it's prisoners. Although none of them lifted a finger to help the wounded, they did allow the camp women - those that had accompanied Beth to the Ferguson's - into the confinement to do so. William watched as a beautiful woman with long black hair chatted with Brownlow. From her smile and the way she held herself - with her bosom pushed up under Brownlow's nose, William surmised that she was flirting. Electa Alden was her name. In a past life, he would have encouraged Brownlow into Electa's bed and would have enjoyed hearing all about the conquest afterward. Hell, in that past life, William himself would have given Electa the tumble she was so clearly craving from Brownlow.

That life was over and not because William had been incapacitated during the attack. That life would still be over even after his wounds healed. The damage he'd done himself and his family in England was every bit as crippling as the two bullets that he left him bedridden. As he watched, William worried that if Brownlow gave in to this beautiful temptress, then he might find himself embarking on the same road that had led William to _his_ doom. A short dalliance now, no matter how exciting, could spell societal doom for Patrick Brownlow later.

As amused as he'd been when he'd first seen the pair come to a stop in front of each other and at the flirting that had ensued, William made the level decision to speak with Brownlow, to try to deter him from taking Electa up on what was sure to be a wonderful, fulfilling promise. He heaved a breath. He wasn't certain he liked his chances at dissuading the younger Officer, whose spirits were surely low after the attack, the subsequent capture and the loss of fifty comrades. Now he was stuck in a prison camp, in winter, forced to live in crude conditions, his enemies watching his every move.

William wondered how the old him would react if a Senior Officer advised him not to take up with such a warm, voluptuous beauty, under such circumstances? Wild horses wouldn't have kept him from such a delightful comfort, and nor would the advice of that Senior Officer.

Perhaps he would need to make it a command… At the very least, even captured and confined to his bed, he was still Brownlow's Colonel.

It was a pity he couldn't hear what was being said between the two. When they parted, he saw Electa wave at Brownlow; her smile held promise and anticipation. Had the time for their clandestine meeting been agreed upon? He'd have to ask Brownlow. Only, the Captain was striding off in a different direction, away from William's tent, and was quickly lost to view.

Later then.

Others continued to walk on by; William saw Harmony come into view and when their eyes met, he gestured for her to come into the tent. They had much to discuss - William had heard that Calvin Farshaw had been hanged that morning; and Harmony had been standing at the front of the crowd to witness it. William wanted to hear her account of it, he wanted to wallow and bask in every single detail of that bastard's death. And William had much to share with Harmony of his own sorry news: what he'd wrought for his family back home. Not _all_ of his news was bad; he wanted to be the one to tell Harmony about his reconciliation with Beth. It was unlikely that Beth had had a chance to tell her yet, for she was up at the Great House, telling her family and tending her father.

However, Harmony - despite having seen the inviting 'come here' waggle of his fingers, continued on by, her face tight.

_Desperate to get back to Bordon, no doubt,_ he thought. There was still no change of news there, Richard's situation was a dire as it had been the day afternoon before - the day of the attack. The Reverend had been hovering around the medical tent like a raven ready to feast on the dead ever since Richard had been carried in.

"Major Bordon's suffering is great," Elisha Miller said a little later, when he stopped by William's tent. He solemnly added, "his wife is finding it particularly difficult, being forced to watch her husband die so slowly, with her able to do nothing about it. A quick end would be a kindness to both of them."

Perhaps it would, William thought. Elisha fussed around William, setting a tray laden with victuals near to hand, and then turning his attention to tidying the tent. Elisha was tending William while Beth sat with her father, who was deathly ill with pneumonia.

William scowled at several militiamen as they walked by.

"Pointless, guarding us. It's not as if any of us can move to flee," he said. Elisha nodded agreement, but William was already reassessing his viewpoint. He would have done the same, after all. George and Hamish Jutland, Elisha Miller and Captain Patrick Brownlow were still able bodied, they could slip away and get word to the first British patrol they found, if they weren't under guard. And there must be British patrols out there - his own Green Dragoons, for instance. When he hadn't returned at the time he'd told them he would, it would have reported to Lord Cornwallis and a search would have commenced. They would be out there, looking for him. Even with the recent discord between himself and the Lord General, Cornwallis would not let the disappearance of two of his Commanders and sixty Dragoons go unanswered. It was only a matter of time before the Ferguson Plantation was found to be hosting rebels, with captured British soldiers, no less. "It won't be for much longer," he said to Elisha softly. "Such a large camp as this won't stay hidden from Cornwallis for long."

"God willing," Elisha agreed.

* * *

"We could hasten our rescue if we could get word off the Plantation," William said later with a grimace of pain as he shifted on the cot. He'd sent Elisha off to find Brownlow and Hamish, and both men took up the scant space of his tent now. "You say they have around a hundred men here?"

"That is what Mrs. Andrews estimates," Brownlow replied. The prisoners were confined to a small section in the middle of the enemy camp. As the prisoners were unable to leave their little section, they were unable to see beyond to gauge the numbers of the enemy militia. Mrs. Andrews and Mrs. Garland had slightly freer rein, they cared for the babies up at the Great House as well as the wounded in the prison camp, and were able to walk back and forth between the two places at will. They were watched so they could not leave, but that didn't impede Mrs. Andrews ability to count. She had kept a tally of Benjamin's soldiers and was certain that there was no more than one hundred in camp presently.

"He had one thousand," William said. "Where are they? Off causing mischief against Cornwallis, no doubt."

"Well, we all know that none of them went searching for Putman," Hamish ground out.

"They're not going to search for him," Brownlow murmured unhappily. "They helped him to escape in the first place."

"Can hardly be called an _escape_ when they let him go," William scowled. He'd been fuming since he heard the news a few hours ago. That Putman had made a miraculous escape during the night, right before he was to hang, had left William livid. Calvin Farshaw was finally dead, by Benjamin's orders. But Mark Putman - who Benjamin had also sentenced to hang - had escaped his fate, an escape that was no doubt facilitated by Benjamin himself.

"Of course they did," Hamish Jutland said. "Otherwise this camp would have been an uproar. From what Mrs. Andrews said, they never even bothered to investigate."

William didn't bother trying to swallow his anger. He was uncomfortable in his bed, his wounds aching, and unable to find a position where they didn't. That Mark Putman had escaped only made it worse. If he were in charge, he'd drag Putman back by his toenails, and he'd hang the bastard for once and for all. Hell's teeth, if he were in charge, Putman never would have gotten away in the first place.

But William was not in charge. Not of Benjamin's militia. He wasn't even in charge of himself. He was completely at Benjamin Martin's whim and if Martin decided to let Putman go, then that was an end to it. There wasn't a damned thing William could do about it.

"It bloody rankles," William fumed. "What of all that talk of how remorseful they all are? It doesn't extend to letting us go, but they let Putman go, and he's the one that gave the order to attack us. Putman was going to kill me. And Martin just lets him leave? My own father in law. After all that talk about families…" He heaved a breath, equal measures of understanding and frustration. "Damnation. It's because Putman is family that Martin let him go. Why can't that man choose a bloody side and stick to it?"

"Do you mean choosing between Loyalist and Patriot - or between you and Putman?" Brownlow asked.

"Bloody both," William snapped. "Through Thomas, Benjamin has apologised to me for my capture, he said it was a stinking pile of dog shit - not sure if those were Ben's words or Thomas' - and that it was unlawfully done. But does he hang the man who had it done? No. He gave that order for show only. But does Ben let me go? No. He says I've been captured and he'll see it through to the end, despite it being against his orders. So his apology means jack bloody shit if you ask me."

"I couldn't agree more," Brownlow said.

"Well, I doubt we'll be here much longer," William huffed, his voice tight with anger. "Cornwallis must have sent scouts out to look for us by now, when we didn't return yesterday. Once our location is discovered, our own will fall upon this place like the hammer to the anvil." It was frustrating that they couldn't hasten their rescue by getting word to the searchers, but there was still no doubt that rescue was imminent. They were so certain of it, they had even begun to discuss the logistics and ramifications of moving their wounded and any enemy prisoners they took during the skirmish that was sure to come. They would need carts to carry the wounded and their worry was that some - especially Bordon - might not survive the journey back to the main Battalion.

"What of Colin Ferguson?" William asked, thinking that perhaps they could enlist his help.

"He quit the Dragoons, can we rely on him?" Brownlow asked.

William recalled his conversation with Colin back at Fresh Water and his reasons for leaving the Dragoons. His grandfather was ill, he'd needed to escort his family to North Carolina, for what they were certain was going to be a funeral. William had been willing to give Colin furlough, but Colin had been set on retiring, he'd wanted to leave the Dragoons entirely. William never would have allowed it, until Colin began citing the reasons as to why he preferred a permanent departure; all of which stemmed from William's own actions. _'You say you've done right by Beth? I say you've made an honest woman out of one you ruined.' _William winced as Colin's forthright accusations rose up like a dark cloud on a stormy day. William had been only too willing to release Colin from his obligation, after that confrontation. But Colin's recent actions indicated to Tavington that the former Dragoon was still an ally. The men that had been killed and captured due to Mark Putman's deception were men Colin knew, they were his former comrades, Dragoons he'd rode with and fought alongside of. Colin had proven he was still sympathetic toward the Dragoons, for he'd accompanied Thomas and Nathan on their excursion to David Ferguson's neighbours, to acquire what was needed to make his former comrade's stay slightly more liveable. That he wasn't a prisoner with Tavington was likely because he'd retired all those months ago.

That Colin was no longer a Green Dragoon didn't mean he'd have free rein to leave at will, however. Especially now that the Dragoons - his former unit - were being kept prisoner there. His Loyalty was likely being called into question.

"I agree," Brownlow said when William pointed all this out. "Which doesn't solve our dilemma of getting a message off the Plantation."

"We don't know for certain that he can't leave," William said. "We just need to ask him if he can."

"Yes, we need to find that out. So how do we get word to him?"

"I will ask Mrs. Andrews to carry a letter to him, requesting that he let us know his circumstances and how free his movements are, and whether or not he can leave to find the nearest British patrol or if he can only leave with an escort, which will make this entire endeavour moot. There's no point in him attempting this, if his movements are restrained."

If Colin could slip away and inform the British of where they were being confined, they would be rescued that much sooner. It was especially important that the British arrive while Martin's position was relatively weak. Before the rest of Martin's militia returned from wherever they were. It was certain to be a bloody affair but with only one hundred enemy militiamen here, it would surely be a British victory. The victory might not be so certain, if enough time was allowed to lapse that Martin's full force reappeared.

William tried not to think about the ramifications of the British falling on the Ferguson Plantation like a tonne of bricks, for he knew it would result in Martin's recapture. Only this time, his sons would join him. William shoved down any doubts; unlike Benjamin Martin, William knew what side he was on. Once he was safely surrounded by allies again, he'd ensure Martin and the boys were unharmed and Benjamin received whatever care he needed. The rest of the rebels here could go to hell, as far as he was concerned.

"Lord, imagine if he returns that he can leave at will?'' Hamish asked, excited. "We could be rescued by nightfall."

"God willing," Brownlow said as he handed William his lap desk. William wrote out the note for Colin, requesting that if Colin was able to, to head out as soon as possible and inform the British of their location, or to at least let William know if it was an impossible request.

It was handed to Mrs. Andrews, who continued to help the wounded for a few hours to not arouse suspicion. When she returned to the house; all that was left for the Dragoons was to sit back and wait. Hamish grinned as he imagined Colin arriving with the Green Dragoons and a few hundred infantry at his back. William tried to keep his own excitement under control, for if the enemy saw it, they might suspect that something was afoot. He warned Brownlow and Hamish not to show too much eagerness, for they'd draw unwanted suspicion.

* * *

It was warm enough in Richard's tent that when she arrived, Harmony realised she had no need for her thick, red velvet cape. Peeling it from her shoulders, she was suddenly beset with the memory of how she had come by it, how she had stolen it the evening she'd fled from Sumter.

Sumter, who Mark Putman had set upon Harmony like a loyal wolfhound.

Fingering the red velvet, Harmony glanced at Cilla, searching for signs of remorse. Or even unease. For Cilla had known what her father had set in motion for Harmony the day he'd made those loathsome suggestions to Sumter, as a means of getting revenge against Richard. Mark Putman had encouraged Sumter to abduct Harmony, and to rape her. Had Cilla known that Benjamin Martin would allow him to escape during the night, to avoid his hanging? She'd met with her uncle during the day, after the attack. Had she asked her uncle to spare her father? If so, did Cilla feel guilt, for not wanting her father - who'd done much to cause hurt to Harmony - to hang alongside Calvin?

But all Harmony saw in Cilla's face was grief for Richard.

Cilla was hurting enough, Harmony decided. Having her father survive, having him escape during the night, well, that was good for Cilla, wasn't it? As much as Harmony would have preferred to see Putman strung up alongside Calvin, she knew the pain of it might have been more than Cilla could bare. As it was everyone - including Harmony - was worried that Cilla might have another miscarriage, from carrying the weight of all this worry and grief for Richard.

No. It was better for Cilla that her father didn't die Besides, it didn't matter. What Putman had intended for Harmony hadn't come to pass. The worst part of it hadn't, anyway. Before _that_ could happen, she'd rescued herself by climbing out of the window and down off the eave, and then running all the way back to Tradd Street and to Richard's waiting arms.

She'd forgiven Richard then, for screwing Mage Putman, because she'd seen how distressed he'd made by her abduction and she'd known in that moment, how much he'd loved her.

He was in distress again now. He could die, now. And he was still very much in love with her. She wondered, as she draped the cape over the back of a chair, could she possibly forgive him again? She knew Cilla wanted her to. It was of utmost importance to Cilla, that Harmony make peace with Richard before he died because she wouldn't get the chance to later, is what Cilla said. But bedding a willing Mage Putman was hardly the atrocity that raping Cilla was.

Did Harmony _have_ to forgive him, did she even need to tackle the question? It's what Cilla had been encouraging Reverend Oliver to preach since the day before, though he hadn't known the reason why. But perhaps Cilla had it wrong. Why should you forgive a person for the atrocities they committed in life, just because they were dying now? Surely Harmony was allowed her disgust and her mourning both? Because despite her disgust and fury, Harmony _was_ grieving for him. How could she not, as he lay there, helplessly coming to the end of his life in such agony and distress?

Cilla was holding Richard's hand on the other side of the bed, weeping and praying quietly. With a sigh, Harmony took hold of Richard's free hand, reached across the bed for Cilla's free hand and joined her in prayer. She couldn't forgive him just because he was dying now, it didn't work that way. Otherwise, she would have forgiven Calvin, as the noose was pulled over his head. It simply didn't work that way.

But she couldn't simply stop loving Richard, either, and right now, she decided it wasn't a matter of whether or not she forgave him, but of acknowledging her own pain and heartache at the encroaching death of her former beloved, and the father of her child. And that had to be enough for Cilla, for Harmony could give Richard no more.

Cilla's fingers curled around hers and held tight.

* * *

A little while later and Harmony was still sitting across from Cilla at Richard's bedside. In her arms, she held her daughter Lydia, rocking her back and forth. It was important to Harmony that their daughter be in the presence of her father for as long as possible before his passing. With the braziers lit, it was warm enough in Richard's tent that the baby was comfortable. She and Cilla had been taking turns holding her while Richard tossed and turned and groaned, even under laudanum. Whenever he started to wake and get loud, before they could dose him again, Harmony would remove Lydia from the tent because his shouting was disturbing and frightening for the little infant. While Harmony was determined to keep Lydia in her father's presence, she was grateful that the lass was far too young to understand what was occurring, for the sight of Richard tied to the cot to keep his thrashing restrained was distressing enough for Harmony and Cilla, let alone for a little child.

Mary and Lucy Ferguson were in the tent too, for they frequently did rounds among the wounded. At that moment Mary was doing inventory and Harmony could hear her quiet voice telling Lucy that they needed to rip up more sheets for bandages.

Harmony was well aware of Lucy's continual glances; which Harmony intuitively took to mean that the younger girl didn't quite understand Harmony's place in all this. That Lucy was trying to make sense if it; and of Harmony. She felt that Lucy was trying to decide if Harmony belonged there. Was she another of Cilla's companions, much as Beth, Mary and Lucy herself were? But how could that be, when Harmony was the wife of _that lowly piece of shit_, Calvin Farshaw? The late Calvin Farshaw. Gods, that felt good. Even with Putman's escape, it felt damned good.

Lucy's continual glances didn't though. Feel good. Harmony wished she could tell the lass to stop staring but this was her uncle's plantation and Harmony was, for all intents and purposes, as much a prisoner as the Dragoon's. _AND_ she was the wife of that late piece of shit... She could see the cogs still turning in the younger girl's head. If Harmony, by some strange circumstance, was Cilla's companion too, surely Harmony's constant presence was a bit much; shouldn't she be taking turns with Mary and Beth and Lucy, who are also Cilla's companions? Cilla not budging from Richard's bedside was understandable, even expected, for she was his wife. But why would Harmony fix herself in that same place with the same determination? To sit there and hold Richard's hand…. What right did she have there? Harmony knew all of this must be going through the girl's mind, she could read Lucy like a book. Clearly her family hadn't burdened the innocent young lass with the truth. Or sullied her innocent mind, rather.

The girl continued to cast those she glances at Harmony; and she seemed to be preparing herself to begin the confrontation. Harmony suspected that the only reason Lucy hadn't told Harmony to leave before now was because Cilla herself hadn't sent Harmony away. The girl's uncertainty must have faded however, for she finally set down the scissors and sheet, and came over to Harmony.

Harmony steeled herself for the argument to come. No way was she leaving Richard's side without a fight. She knew Cilla wouldn't let anyone send her away, which meant she wouldn't need to fight that hard. Still, she braced herself, her every muscle growing tight.

Only to be completely caught unaware when Lucy leaned over to gaze with fascination down at Lydia.

"Oh, she's so very beautiful," Lucy said somewhat shyly. "Is this Lydia, or Louisa?"

"This is Lydia," Harmony replied after a moments shocked hesitation.

"Oh, she's a lovely, dear wee thing," Lucy giggled, seeming to relax. "Look at those fingers, they're so little! And the cute little nails!" The young woman smiled warmly.

Lydia was sleeping with one hand out of the swaddle, Harmony shifted her daughter so that the young woman could see her better, which was all the invitation Lucy needed. Reaching blindly for a stool to sit down beside Harmony, Lucy gently stroked Lydia's hand and gushed over the tiny fingers, fingernails and "even the wrinkles are tiny!" Lucy said. "I love her little nose and her tiny wee face!"

Harmony was reeling at the onslaught, until finally one thought penetrated her shock.

_Well, I got that wrong. _

All those glances, she'd been certain Lucy had determined Harmony's place and decided she to try to make her leave. Lucy's constant glances and her being constantly on the verge of speaking but not quite daring to, took on a new meaning now, however. It wasn't determination Lucy had been gathering, but courage. Courage to approach the new mother, who went tense and cold whenever Mary Ferguson was near, for Harmony knew what Mary thought of her. And as Lucy was always with Mary, the young woman had never seen a softer side and likely worried that Harmony was proud and inapproachable. But that must have been at odds with what Lucy had seen of Harmony's friendship with Beth and Cilla, so the lass had pulled together her courage, to find out for herself.

All that while, the girl had merely been curious about Harmony and her baby. Harmony had to remind herself then that not all well heeled women were the same. Not all of them were out to get her.

"How in the world do you know which is which?" Lucy asked and again, the question cut through Harmonys thoughts. Lucy spoke in a whisper, respectful of Cilla's mourning while not realising Harmony could do with the same.

"Ahh, Lydia's hair isn't as dark as Louisa's," Harmony replied with a puzzled frown. What a strange question, how could she not know the difference between William's daughter and her own?

"Twins," Lucy mused with a little shake of her head. "You've truly been blessed, though it might not feel that way now," she giggled softly. Harmony cast a horrified look at Mary, who quickly hid her face in the sheet she was cutting. Twins? Was that how they were explaining the two babies to Lucy? "Such a handful," Lucy continued wistfully, and by her tone, it was clear she'd gladly accept such a handful if given the chance. "Will you dress them the same when they're older?"

Harmony was breathing deeply to contain her anger. Who had told Lucy that Lydia and Louisa were twins? Gods, more lies to protect everyone else's precious reputations. She'd come to despise it, the genteel folk acting as they wished and then getting women like Harmony to lie about it.

"Come Lucy, don't disturb Mrs. Farshaw, her husband died today. Come help me," Mary said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I almost forg - I mean, my condolences," Lucy's face flushed red at almost letting slip that she'd forgotten Harmony's husband had been hanged that very morning. She leapt up, bobbed Harmony a curtsy. "Sorry for disturbing you."

"You haven't," Harmony replied with a pointed, accusing look at Mary. To Lucy, she explained, "my husband was a very bad man, Miss Ferguson. It might cast me in a poor light, but I won't lie and pretend I will miss him. He committed the crimes Colonel Martin accused him of, and far worse besides. He received the death he deserved and you haven't offended me in the slightest by not mentioning him. I'd prefer that no one mentioned him in my presence ever again." Lucy appeared troubled by this speech, but she gave grateful and relieved sigh, which confirmed to Harmony how the girl was feeling just then. Making an effort to put the discomfort behind them, Harmony answered Lucy's question. "When they are older, they will have the choosing of what they wear." Harmony herself wasn't lying but nor was she revealing the lies Lucy had been told. When the babies were grown, they would no longer be constantly together and nor would they be thought of as twins, for Louisa would be with her father while Lydia remained with Harmony. Therefore, there would be no expectation that they would dress as twins, for everyone would know by then, that they most certainly weren't.

"If I had twins, I think I would -"

"Lu, there you are," a young man entered and whatever Lucy would or wouldn't do with her twins was not revealed, for the young woman was immediately distracted. Although they hadn't been properly introduced, Harmony knew this was Thomas Martin, Beth's brother. Lucy smiled as though the dawn had entered the tent. As Lucy wrapped her arm through Thomas', the young man Inclined his head toward Harmony and Mary, then asked Cilla, "how is he, cousin?"

"No change," Cilla's voice was husky with grief, defeat and exhaustion. "All this waiting… I'm sure it's the hardest part."

Harmony understood what she meant, the waiting for Richard to die. Some part of her wished he'd stop lingering, so he could be free of his pain, and to free the women from their limbo.

"You never know, he might pull through yet," Thomas squeezed Cilla's shoulder, offering comfort and reassurance.''

"You're not doing her any favours; offering false hope," Harmony snapped, immediately irritated again.

"We're certainly not doing anyone favours by giving in to despair. While he draws breath, he is alive, yes?" Thomas said sagely. "You mourn the _dead_, Mrs. Farshaw, not the living. The living, you pray for, and you hope like Hell that God is listening."

Taken aback, Harmony drew a shuddering breath and focused on not screaming. He was encouraging Cilla to have hope, but hope was dangerous. There was even a saying to ward people against it. 'Don't get your hopes up'. Because it could be bloody crippling, when those hopes were dashed. And looking down at him now, his face grey and his breath coming in short spurts as he tossed and turned and groaned, Harmony couldn't conceive of the possibility that Richard might live. She had accepted that he would no longer be with them, and so had Cilla. She wished she could tell Thomas to leave them to deal with this as she and Cilla saw fit. She would not allow for hope to sap from her now the strength she would need for mourning later.

* * *

Still stuck in bed and staring out of the small gap, William experienced a sudden rush of elation when he saw Mary Ferguson pause and peer into his tent. He'd seen her earlier, visiting and caring for the other Dragoon wounded. But just now, as she'd been walking past, she'd glanced in and then did a little double take, looking away briefly before meeting his eyes again. Checking that the rebel guards weren't watching or within ear shot, perhaps? Excitement stirred, for if that was the case, surely it meant she had come with a message from her husband, who was unable to give it himself.

William hoped it was good news.

Patting at her apron, Mary peeled the tarp back, increasing the gap enough for her to step into the tent. After all these months, he still felt a stirring resentment toward her for telling Beth about Linda back in Charlestown; but if Mary was carrying a message from her husband, William was willing to set the ill feelings aside, whether Colin could perform the task or not. At least he'd know now.

"Is no one tending you?" Mary said. She hung back at the entrance, making no move to offer the comfort and solace she'd been providing to the other wounded.

"Beth will be back shortly," he replied. "And Mr. Miller tends me in her absence."

"Do you need anything while you wait for them?" She asked.

_Yes. I need you to tell me that your husband sent you here to inform me that he will do as I asked and go find my countrymen._

"Nothing that can't wait," he said. He cocked his head to one side. "How is Mr. Ferguson?" Perhaps bringing Colin up now would hasten the news from Mary.

"He is well," Mary replied.

"I see," William frowned, excitement fading to uncertainty. Had he miscalculated? _Had_ she come carrying a message from Colin? He was beginning to doubt it, for surely she would have given it by now. "And you? How do you fare, Mrs. Ferguson?"

Troubled, Mary placed one hand over the pregnant swell of her stomach and gazed down at the Colonel, who was lying so helplessly on the cot. He looked far older and more fragile than she'd ever imagined seeing him. He was a far cry from the man who'd frightened her silly, back in the city. He was no where near as strong and vital as he'd been before. If her mother could see him now, like this, would she still have wanted him? Mary doubted it.

"Mrs. Ferguson?" He prompted when she gave no reply.

"You had me terrified once. You're not so formidable now," Mary said bluntly.

Stunned, William stared at her, his mouth falling open. This was not what he'd been expecting.

"No, I suppose I'm not. Thank you for the reminder," he said, the full force of his resentment returning. She hadn't come with a message from Colin, and so he wondered why she'd bothered coming at all.

"I was at the heart of it, you said," she took a step forward and continued to stare down at him, her dark eyes becoming sharp, like chips of flint. "As if it were all my fault and none of yours. You made me cry and…" As angry as she was, Mary was still a lady. Therefore, she _would not_ start screaming at him. She would resort to no such thing; even though she desperately wanted to. "You accused me of spreading malicious gossip. As if what I told Beth about you was all made up and lies." She drew a shuddering breath as she tried to contain herself. "I wasn't spreading gossip, I was speaking the absolute truth, truth that needed to be revealed, for the safety and wellbeing of a beloved friend. It wasn't just Miss Stokes. You were bedding my _mother_! I had every right to tell Beth all the things I did. I had _every right_ to warn and protect my friend. It's called _integrity_. I owed you no loyalty whatsoever - why should I have kept your horrid secrets and intentions from such a dear friend? _Friendship_. Do you understand such a concept as friendship? I wouldn't have been much of a friend to Beth, if I had kept such damaging and hurtful secrets from her. You had no right to expect me to. You had no right, intimidating me that day."

William heaved a breath. Early in her tirade he had shifted his gaze to the ceiling and his pale eyes were fixed there still. The sting of it was, she was absolutely right. He'd had no right. To fly into her for revealing the truth to Beth. For using his position as her husband's superior against her, as if she should keep his secrets because of his rank, rather than reveal his deceitful behaviour to warn her friend.

Mary had fallen silent, she was waiting for him to say something. He shifted his gaze to her and she lifted her chin, as if trying to convince herself that she wasn't afraid of him.

"I apologise for making you cry," he said. "You love her. And I acknowledge that you would have been acting against her, if you'd kept it from her. You were right to tell her and I should not have berated you for revealing to Beth my poor conduct. I am deeply in love with Beth, not a single day goes by that I do not berate myself over my actions toward her."

Mary, quite taken aback, struggled to search for the right response. Eventually, she settled on a blunt, "good." William arched his eyebrows. The silence stretched, and then Mary continued, "I'm glad to hear it." He had apologised, but still she lingered. Tavington had erred against her in other ways too and she felt unable to leave while those other matters weighed so heavily upon her. She folded her arms across her chest and was unable to remove the glare from her features, despite it being ingrained in her that a woman of her station _never_ glared. "I was deprived of my dearest friends, because of you," she accused. Tavington assumed a questioning look, as if he had no idea what she was talking about. "My wedding."

"Ah, yes," he nodded, which only served to inflame her further.

"Beth had to flee because of you, so she was unable to be there. And then you put Cilla's entire family under house arrest and yes, I know the reasons why, they had committed treason. But then you tried to bargain with us, you said that Cilla could only come if Mrs. Farshaw was allowed to. You chase Beth away. You confine Cilla. And the only way I could have her was if I invited a woman whose ill reputation was known all over the city! To avoid such an outrage, I had to change my entire wedding plans; what should have been a large and glorious event ended up being little more than an elopement, because of your decision. Because of your actions. Because of you!" She drew a long, steadying breath, again trying to calm herself. "It's nothing personal against Mrs. Farshaw," she said softly. It still confused her, that Harmony used to bed Richard Bordon, she was his mistress; yet still Cilla and Beth both were so very fond of her. That was a matter to examine another day, however. "You drive away both my friends, and then try to bargain with me to have one of them attend. But would you have had a woman such as Mrs. Farshaw at your sister's wedding? You wouldn't even let your sister be in the same room as a woman like Mrs. Farshaw, I think; let alone attend her wedding. You have so little regard for us and -"

"I don't anymore," he interrupted. "My decision that day is another regret that I carry; it's another reason that your husband left the Dragoons. Having said that, you compare yourself to my sister, but I don't think she'd _ever_ berate a wounded man, no matter the provocation."

Mary felt her face flush and she knew she'd turned beetroot red. "I should have chosen a better moment?" She asked defiantly. "I'd rather confront you when you're weak, than when you're strong."

William remembered a previous observation of Harmony's, one that she'd given several months ago; that William could frighten a lion. He laughed, nodding. Mary cocked her head questioningly, no doubt wondering what he found so amusing. "You were right to choose this moment. A friend of mine once told me that I could frighten a lion," he explained. "I would have peace between us Mrs. Ferguson, if you'll allow it," he said. "To that end, I apologise for my poor conduct toward you. For frightening you when you had the well being of your dear friend, and the woman I love, at heart. I am sorry for insisting that Mrs. Farshaw attend your wedding. And I am sorry for the pain I caused you, when I…" He coughed delicately. "Well, with… your mother and I… Your family is split because of me."

"It was because of her, too," Mary said. "You didn't force her and according to my father, it wasn't her first affair."

"Be that as it may, I apologise. And I am heartily sorry for ruining your wedding."

"Well…" Mary trailed off as she thought of her wedding. "I didn't say it was _ruined_. It wasn't what we planned, but it was still glorious." As soon as the words were out, she wondered what in the world she was doing. She'd rebuked him for that very thing and now she was saying none of it mattered after all?

"You're a very kind person," he said and she shrugged.

But she had the answer to her question. She _was_ a good person and didn't like to hold grudges. She'd admonished him, he'd apologised, and she was now willing to put it behind her.

"I thank you for your apology," she said. "I've been carrying around a lot of anger toward you. Every time I think of you I…"

When she trailed off, William thought it best to remain silent. He could well imagine the punishments the young woman would love to visit upon him for all he'd done, but she was too well-mannered to give voice to those punishments, or likely even to acknowledge them in her own mind.

"I prefer peace," she finished with a shrug. Besides, she doubted she'd see much of him after the war anyway, so what difference did it make?

"As do I. Thank you."

"Are you sure I can't get you anything?" She asked. When he shook his head, Mary turned and left the tent, leaving William alone with his thoughts.

The conversation hadn't been entirely valueless; William felt a little more at peace with his past now, which was particularly important to him after receiving his mother's and Mr. Price's letters. And maybe, if Colin was feeling reluctant to help William and the Dragoons by telling the British where they were, he might prove less so after speaking with his wife, who was certain to tell him about this conversation.

If Colin was able to get off the plantation… So many ifs. William despised uncertainty. He didn't do well with waiting, either. As it happened he didn't have to do much longer of that, for shortly after Mary left, William received his answer.


	156. Chapter 156 - Dead in the Water

_Reply to Guest review: Thank you for taking the time to review :-) Some of your questions are answered here in this chapter. Yes, it's so easy to get the wrong end of the stick in social situations and Harmony is very touchy around women who are of a higher rank to her. Thanks again!_

* * *

Chapter 156: Dead in the Water:

30th January, 1781

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Captain Brownlow slogged through the mud of the narrow trail between the makeshift tents in the cordoned off area that was the surviving Green Dragoons prison. Brownlow kept his head down and his pace steady, resisting the urge to run. He passed Electa, but not even her sultry, beautiful smile was able to ease him. He had no time for the temptress, not now. He noted the other women in camp - Nancy, Miss Cordell, Mrs. Garland, Mrs. Farshaw and Mrs. Bordon. Mrs. Tavington was no where to be seen but there was nothing strange there; since their fraught arrival two days ago, she had been spending as much time at the Great House at her father's side as she did in the camp by her husband's.

Mary and Nancy Ferguson were gone, though, and Brownlow's anxiety increased. The large medical tent came into view on his left, where Richard lay dying. To his right was Tavington's tent where Brownlow came to a stop.

Brownlow found the Colonel where he'd left him - lying flat on his cot. At that moment, Tavington was lifting one leg and then the other, the wounded one slowly, to keep the blood flowing. He stopped this exercise when Brownlow suddenly filled the doorway.

"What is it?" Tavington asked sharply.

Brownlow glanced down the narrow, muddy trail again, then stepped inside the tent.

"In the last hour, the militia guarding us has increased from twelve to thirty," he said quietly. "And Mrs. Ferguson and Miss Ferguson appear to have been recalled to the Great House."

"Damn and blast it," William blew out a frustrated breath.

"What are we going to do?" Patrick asked, unable to keep the nerves from his voice.

"There's not a damned thing we _can _do," William replied. "It was a gamble from the start, we knew the risk. But still. Damn and blast it to hell."

"Do you think Mrs. Andrews was discovered?" Brownlow asked. "Was she caught? Or perhaps Ferguson was?"

"I fear for them both," William said solemnly. "Warn the others."

Brownlow did. George Jutland first, as he was in the medical tent across from William's small hovel. He then found Hamish and Elisha tending wounded Dragoons and warned both that there was trouble brewing. This done, Brownlow resolved to keep close to Tavington, to protect his prone Commander. Though he had no weapons, he could fight like a demon when he had to. Standing outside the tent, he stretched his arms and his legs, working warmth into both, preparing his body as best he could.

The fight, when it came, was over before it began. Even a demon would be hard pressed against twenty militiamen. To the sounds of protesting wounded Dragoons, Brownlow's arms were seized and he was dragged away from the small camp; Elisha, George and Hamish behind him.

At least he got a few good punches in, before the militia could subdue him. His own face was beginning to swell and blood dripped from his lip. But at least he had that.

* * *

William lay on his cot, useless to help his men as Brownlow was beaten and all four men dragged away.

"What's happening?" Harmony gasped, looking terrified. "Where are they taking them? _Why_ are they taking them?" She'd tried to stop the militia only to have been pushed back into Richard's tent and held back while her father and brother were taken.

"We tried to get word off the plantation, to advise Cornwallis of our whereabouts," William said.

"You what?" Harmony gasped. "Let me guess, it failed and now my father and brother are in danger!"

"I'm afraid so," William said. The noise of the Dragoon's seizure began to die down and five militiamen came to William's tent. He tried to keep a cold expression but inside, he was rife with nerves. Would Benjamin allow these men to beat a wounded man? His own son in law?

"Get back now," one of them commanded of Harmony. When she refused, she was made to obey, with two of the men taking hold of her arms and dragging her and threatening to put her in confinement if her protests continued. William shouted and tried to rise but again, was useless as he fell back in agony on the cot.

Suddenly Cilla was there, standing at the entrance to her husband's tent. "Unhand her, Mr. Scott," she commanded.

"Miss Putman, our orders are -"

"Mrs. Bordon," Cilla corrected sharply. "And I doubt your orders have anything to do with Mrs. Farshaw. Leave her to me, I will keep her in hand. If you do not, I will take the matter up with my uncle."

"If she tries anything stupid - if any of the women try anything stupid - we will be forced to take measures," he replied. "Don't force my hand, Mrs. _Bordon_."

Cilla nodded. She placed her arm around Harmony's shoulders, reaching up to do it for she was so much shorter, and guided her back to Richard's tent.

William fell back on his cot, profoundly grateful for the intervention, for there was absolutely nothing he could have done to help Harmony, not in his condition. The militia took up position outside his tent, letting no one near.

* * *

Ignoring the five militia standing outside his tent, William draped his arm over his eyes and lamented the failure of his plot, which might have put both Colin Ferguson and Mrs. Andrews in danger. And the rest of them, also.

Martin had been as indulgent as his guilt made him, but he would not ignore this.

If William had just been patient, none of this would be happening. Cornwallis would have found him eventually and this little rebel militia band would be bought to its knees. Cornwallis would still come, but now, because of William's plot, Brownlow, Hamish, George and Elisha could be hanged before he did.

William was not left to his brooding for long before the Martin children arrived, including Beth. Thomas led the posse, the others hot on his heels, Beth struggling to keep up on the narrow path.

"Are you out of your mind?" Thomas snapped, towering over William. "Trying to get word to the Lobsters. Are you mad?"

"Wait!" A gasping, female voice called out. And then Beth was there. "Wait!" Beth gasped breathlessly, she pushed past Thomas and then pressed her hands to her stomach, leaning over as she tried to catch her breath.

William stared coldly at Thomas. His body screamed with agony as he tried to push himself up on the cot; he knew he was being foolish, trying to sit up, but he did not enjoy having Thomas looming over him like this. Beth made a panicked noise and pushed William back down, so he shifted his glare to her. She ignored it as she took a seat at his bedside, then placed her hand on his shoulder, pressing hard to make sure he stayed down. He allowed her this small measure of control, for she was right - it was pure agony to try to sit.

All the while, Thomas continued to rant, with an injured looking Nathan standing behind him.

"Trying to get Colin to go to the British. You've gone and gotten Mrs. Andrews into trouble, there's talk of whipping her! And now Patrick, both Jutland's and Miller are all confined. There are those up at the House that say your wounded don't matter anymore, not after this. There's talk that maybe we should revoke medical care entirely, after this stunt!"

William wished he could call Thomas to heel. But William was the captive, and neither Thomas nor Nathan recognised his seniority over them. He recalled the day he first landed eyes on Thomas - and Nathan, and Mrs. Selton, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Cambridge. And Thomas as 'Daniel'. Thomas had punched William so hard in the mouth that day, William had thought he'd be spitting teeth for the next week. The lad looked very much like he wished to do so again now. William wondered when Thomas had gotten so damned big, and for a moment, he felt fear. Fear quickly shifted to shame, at feeling fear.

"Cousin, can I…" Cilla said, trying to get in. Nathan moved out of the way to allow her to crowd in. "They won't will they? Revoke medical care?" She asked Thomas.

"I don't know, but you can thank that damned fool if they do," Thomas said, throwing his hand toward Tavington, who was growing more livid by the moment.

Fool, was he? "I should have hanged you that day when I had the chance," he said to Thomas, more to remind to himself that he'd been strong and powerful, once. In command. It felt good to have Thomas draw back in surprise, felt even better that the lad was no longer looming.

"What were you hoping for?' Nathan asked, looking hurt. "That me and Tom would be caught by your British? That papa would? Isn't he sick enough for you already? Don't you care about us?"

"I would have protected you, Nathan," William said, frustrated. "I would have ensured you had better quarters than I've been provided." He spat, gesturing at the old tarps that were his only shelter.

"William, my brothers have done all they could to provide you with everything they were able," Beth chided gently.

He realised how ungrateful he sounded, but he was still too angry and frustrated to care. How the devil had they found out?

"You ask if I care about you," Tavington said to Nathan. "Well, I thought I mattered to you, also. Until I heard that Putman was allowed to go free last night rather than getting the hanging he deserved!"

Cilla shifted from one foot to the other, looking conflicted.

"Escaped," Thomas corrected.

"Don't give me that horse shit," William curled his lip.

"Is that why you tried this?' Beth asked, stroking William's hair. "Because of my uncle?"

"He was going to kill me, Beth, and your father let him leave. Just let him go. Yet Benjamin makes _me _stay, despite his remorse and his assertion that I was taken without his approval. I was captured under false orders, yet your father does nothing to correct it! He lets the one that gave the false order bloody leave though, doesn't he? If one of my men gave false orders, he'd be hanged!" William again tried to sit up. Instead, he winced as agony shot up his leg and through his pelvis. He lay still, panting through the pain. It didn't occur to him until that moment, just how much it bothered him, that Putman was allowed to leave after trying to kill William, while William was forced to stay. "I thought I was family now." He snapped when he was finally able to. Thomas and Nathan exchanged a glance, but neither said a word. William was aware of Cilla's eyes on him, but he could not discern her thoughts. "He allows the man that was going to kill me to go free. Because that man is family."

"So you think he must not consider you to be family?" Beth asked, voice soothing as her fingers curled over his. "William, my father was caught in a very difficult position. You are family, but you are also an enemy. Also, you are only being kept _prisoner_. Uncle Mark was going to hang."

"Oh, he was _never_ going to hang," William snorted with contempt.

"Actually, he was," Cilla said seriously. "And it's only because of me that he didn't."

William met and held her gaze.

"He tried to kill you. He tried to kill my husband. But he is my father, William," she said, her dark brown eyes shining bright with tears. "My father's actions forced my uncle's hand. Killing your Dragoons; Dalton and his men who were sent to search for the men who tried to rape me. Lying to my uncle's men and making them attack you thinking that Uncle Ben commanded it. I assure you, uncle Ben was determined to show no quarter. Until he sent for me." Something else entered her eyes, not just tears. A look of steel, pointed directly at William, willing him to understand what her cousins never could. "He asked me questions, about you. And Richard. And why I married him."

William drew a shuddering breath, his entire body growing tense.

"I answered him truthfully," Cilla said, chin raised high, her face marble despite the tear now sliding down one cheek. "I begged uncle Benjamin to let my father go. Understanding _why_ my father has been the way he has, what has been driving him to these atrocities, my uncle acquiesced."

William was breathing heavily. The rape. Gods, Benjamin knew Richard raped Cilla.

Beth and her brothers were exchanging glances; they knew that, despite being right there in the tent, they were being left out of the core of the discussion.

"Why did you marry him?" Beth asked, breaking the tableau between Cilla and William. Cilla's shoulders relaxed, a sad smile crossed her lips. She wiped the tear from her cheek.

"Because my reputation had taken quite a beating," she said. "Being cooped up with so many Dragoons for weeks and weeks. There were those in the city who were angry that father got away after being found guilty of treason. And there were rumours that I had been helping him. I don't know who started it, but someone must have been angry enough with me, and feeling discontent that I wasn't being punished, to start rumours that I was bedding the Dragoons in my father's house. Or," she shrugged, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps this person got their information mixed, perhaps they'd heard about mamma and Richard but thought I was the one bedding him. Whatever the case, I was ruined as far as my uncle Christopher was concerned. So he took me to Winnsboro and Richard marry me. I believe you know the rest."

Beth nodded, this had been intimated to her in the past but not in such detail.

"Uncle Ben did not mean to slight you when he allowed my father to go free," Cilla said to William, that steel entering her eyes again. "I think he felt I'd been through more than enough, without having to watch my father hang. Surely you agree?" This part was said tartly, again the true meaning of the question was for William and William alone.

William licked his lips, his heart thundering in his chest. At length, he too nodded.

"He settled for exiling my father," Cilla continued. "I know you will find that concerning, however I spoke to my father before he left and I managed to drag a promise out of him, and I believe he will keep it. He's not to return to South Carolina, he's not to come after you. Or Richard, if Richard survives."

"And you believe that will hold him?" William asked.

"With all my heart, I do," Cilla said.

"By God, I hope you're right," William muttered.

Thomas said, "if the British win, he won't be able to return. If we win, he still won't be able to. Rutledge might have papa's head for not hanging him when he had the chance. Our uncle will find no welcome in South Carolina, I assure you."

"Hmm," William gave a noncommittal grunt. "Wait, what of Ferguson?" He asked, remembering to be worried for Colin. "If Mrs. Andrews is to be flogged, what will happen to Ferguson? And how were they even caught?"

"Jesus, William!" Thomas scoffed. "Colin bought the letter to us as soon as Mrs. Andrews gave it to him. Colin is ours! He has been all along -"

"Ever since he reached North Carolina," Nathan spoke up loudly, interrupting Thomas, whose face flooded red for some reason. "When he arrived here, his cousins started in on him for having been a Green Dragoon. Gave him a really hard time. He said he left the Dragoons and wasn't fighting anymore, but that wasn't good enough for them. Although he had no intention of fighting for either side, they pressured him until he joined the militia."

"He turned," William said, feeling every bit the fool. "How long?"

"He fought with us at Kings Mountain," Thomas replied. "He was the Captain of one of Shelby's units back then."

"Didn't hold out for long then, did he?" William asked, sullen. The battle at Kings Mountain occurred shortly after Colin left Fresh Water for North Carolina. Days, perhaps a week of pressure was all it took. That, and William's conduct, which was the reason Colin resigned from the Dragoons in the first place. His actions toward Beth, his failings as a Commander, had lost him a very promising Officer indeed. Now he was learning that same Officer had turned completely and joined the other side. Just as Mr. Tisdale had, back in the city. Blaming himself, he wondered how often his past misconduct was going to come back to haunt him. "Is there anything you can do for Mrs. Andrews?" He asked the youths.

"They'll do nothing to her without my father's orders," Beth said, mettle entering her voice.

"What of Richard?" Cilla asked. "Will he really revoke medical care of my husband?"

"I can't say," Thomas said helplessly.

"But I seriously doubt it," Beth added. "He's asleep now, but when he wakes, I will speak on both their behalves."

"Speak? Or yell?" William asked, smiling up at her.

"I try not to yell now, but if I must, I must," she grinned back. "There's nothing I can do for the men, though." She said, her smile fading.

"I wouldn't expect you to," he said. He looked to the boys. "So what can I expect from your militia now?"

"Increased guard here," Thomas said with a shrug. "Beyond that, I just don't know, the end decision will be father's."

"Where are they going to be kept?" William asked, fretting. He'd spoken ungratefully of his shelter earlier, but at least it _was_ shelter. Would Brownlow, George, Hamish and Miller even have that much, now?

"I don't know, William. I just don't. Papa will decide and then we'll all know."

"Our attempt to send word out was only a means to expedite what is naturally going to happen, very soon," William warned. "You know that, don't you? Cornwallis will have already sent hundreds of men out in search of us. A day, maybe two, and we'll be found."

"You have no idea what's happening out there, William," Thomas said gravely. "I assure you, brother, no rescue is coming for you." With that, Thomas strode from the tent, clearly still irritated that William had tried to get a letter off the Plantation. Nathan followed him.

"I'm going back to Richard," Cilla said. "You'll talk to uncle Ben?"

"I will," Beth said.

When they were alone, Beth gazed down at William, face solemn. "I'm sorry, dear heart, but he's right. I really wish you'd waited for me to return, before you attempted this. If I'd known, I could have advised you…"

William's breath caught in his throat. "Tell me," he said, and she did. She spoke of the nearly two thousand strong force - combined of Martin's and Shelby's militia, who were at that moment covering every single road and river crossing, every trail, even the smallest. A rabbit could not cross that line without being intercepted. There was fighting out there, as Cornwallis - who indeed had sent searchers out - as his forces were battling with and being turned back by Beth's father's men, and those of Colonel Shelby's.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you're stuck here with your family," she said, smiling to cushion the blow.

"Why?" William breathed. "Why would your father go to such lengths to keep me captive, when I wasn't meant to be taken in the first place?"

"It's as he's said, he'll play the hand he's been dealt. He won't betray the Cause by letting an enemy go when one has been captured. And if he'd released you, he would have been putting his own men at risk of being captured. _And_ he won't risk that you won't reveal his position, which would be devastating for him. He's too weak to travel, William. He can't flee at the drop of a hat, if we learned the British were approaching because you told them where we are."

"I wouldn't have done that," William said.

"Oh, my husband," Beth laughed softly, kissing his forehead as she would a child. "That's _exactly_ what you tried to do."

William heaved a breath, then nodded agreement.

That was exactly what he'd tried to do.

"When your father wakes, tell him it wasn't personal, I didn't mean him harm. I meant what I said to Nathan, I would have protected him."

"I'll tell him. I doubt he'll see it that way, but I'll tell him." She was silent a moment, then brightened somewhat. "It's not as though he would expect anything else from you - you're his son in law, but you are on enemy sides. I don't think he'll take this personally." She paused again, then added in a troubled voice, "I certainly hope."

* * *

"Well, that plot ended… before it began," Benjamin said. His eyes were bloodshot and there was a grey pallor about his face. He was supported by pillows into an upright position, to aid in his breathing. Beth sat cross legged on the bed facing him. Thomas, Nathan, Watson and Colin took up other chairs or leaned against the wall. Benjamin glanced at Colin, then barked a laugh. "Giving the letter to you of all people… Gods, William's plan was... dead in the water!"

"While I'm relieved that you can see the funny side, I warn you not to laugh, father. You'll only start coughing again," Beth chided, handing him a glass of water.

Colin shared a grin with Thomas and Nathan. "I have to admit, it was the first amusing thing to have happen since the attack."

Nicholas Watson said, "we decided to increase the guard on the wounded. We also removed Brownlow, the Jutland's and Mr. Miller and have them in confinement. Brownlow fought like a damned fool so he's scuffed up a bit, but nothing too serious. Mrs. Andrews is being held in a room, also under guard."

"Some of the other Officers are calling for their whipping - even for Mrs. Andrews," Nathan said.

"Their reasoning?" Benjamin asked, surprised.

"Mrs. Andrews was allowed to come and go from the house where she was looking after the babies, to the hospital where she was helping with the wounded. She was given a measure of trust, which she betrayed, by plotting with our enemy."

"And this is where we all need to cover our ears, Beth gets quite shrill when she starts screaming," Thomas said.

"I just… What's the point in whipping any of them?" Beth asked, throwing her hands up. "As you said, papa - the plan was dead in the water. No harm has been done - it's not as though Colin was going to grab a horse and go riding off to find the first British patrol just because William asked him to."

"The point is, he _could_ have done," Benjamin said gravely. "The point is, William _tried_."

"As if you wouldn't have," Beth scoffed. "As if Thomas, Nathan and Lieutenant Watson here didn't do _exactly that_, to rescue you. With a letter, no less."

"That's different, that was us," Thomas said.

"It's not different. This is war, and soldiers will do their duty to the side they're on," Beth said.

"And when caught they are punished for it. Those Officers and Mrs. Andrews should be punished for it," Watson said.

"Were you punished for rescuing my father?" Beth asked, eyebrow arched.

"No, but I wasn't stupid enough to be caught," he shot back.

"The dead plan is all the punishment they need," Beth said. She turned back to her father. "Uncle Mark was going to kill William, papa. That was his intention. Attack the Dragoons, kill William, your son in law. You let Uncle Mark go -"

"He escaped," Benjamin said, raising one hand weakly. Beth laughed at him.

"Yes, we all believe that. Gods, papa, we're not stupid, we knew even before Cilla confirmed it. You let Uncle Mark go, yet you're making William stay. Now he thinks you value Uncle Mark more than him."

"Jesus, William is still… an enemy," Benjamin said. "I'm not going to… betray the Cause… by letting him go, no matter… how it hurts his… feelings."

"That's not what I'm saying," Beth said. "You can't expect him to sit still and not even try to get word to his people."

"No, we wouldn't expect that of an enemy," Thomas said. "But William knew what would happen if Colin had followed the letters instructions. The British would have come and we'd all be prisoners. He is grouchy that papa is making him stay, despite us being family? Yet he was going to do that to us, despite us being family."

"You're just going around and around now," Watson said, stepping in before the siblings could start bickering. "A decision needs to be made about their punishment."

"I need Mrs. Andrews," Beth said to her father. "She's helping to look after the babies."

"Where is Mrs. Jutland?" Benjamin asked.

"Mrs. Farshaw," Beth corrected.

"Mrs. Farshaw. Why isn't she looking after her own baby?"

"She is," Beth said. "But much of her time is spent at Bordon's bedside."

"That's his wife's place, that's _Cilla's_ right," Benjamin said, voice hard.

"Cilla is there too. Harmony is not usurping her place, papa. Cilla wants her there, she _needs_ her there," Beth said. Benjamin's eyes grew wide. "Well, I can't be there for Cil as much as I'd like, I'm looking after you and William. Cilla needs support and she has that in Harmony."

"It's not right," Benjamin said.

"Because Harmony was Richard's mistress? Harm and Cil have become as close as sisters, papa. If Cil wants her there, who are you to gainsay it?" Beth folded her arms across her chest. "They need each other, especially now. Mrs. Andrews and Mrs. Garland are looking after the babies, while the rest of the women are looking after the wounded. We're spread thin as it is -"

"Mrs. Andrews should have thought of that before -" Watson began.

"Mrs. Andrews is completely and utterly loyal to my husband and she should not be punished for that," Beth snapped, suddenly angry. "Jesus Christ, the _goddamn plan failed_! Dead in the water, remember? If you whip her, you'll incapacitate her, and that will be punishing me! Damn and blast it, I need her! We bloody need the men as well, unless you're going to make the militiamen help us! I'll have you remember that all this horseshit started because my father's militia - of which you are an Officer - don't know the difference between their Colonel's orders and false ones give by my uncle! If not for that, none of this would be happening, my husband and Mrs. Andrews and the sixty dead Dragoons would be far from here, alive and well! Of course William would try to bloody escape! But after everything that's been done to them, after everything they bloody lost, let the punishment for this attempt be their bloody failure. Nothing more is needed!"

"So much for ladylike," Nathan said and Thomas snorted.

"Do you have any idea what toll this is taking on me?" Beth asked, surging from the bed to her feet. "How little I've slept? How worried I've been? For papa, for my husband? And now there's all this rot to deal with. And you," she rounded on Watson. "You want to whip a woman? My God, Nicholas, what happened to you?"

"I do not want to whip a woman," he replied gravely. "But there was a conspiracy and the other Officers are demanding for the conspirators to be punished, and I fear that if your father does not, then it will be seen as favouring Tavington - yet again - and he can't afford to keep doing that, and continue to retain the Loyalty and respect of his men!"

"So make a joke of it," Thomas shrugged as Beth and Nicholas continued to glare at one another. "Get the men laughing at Brownlow's, Jutland's and Miller's expense. Humiliate them - just a little - that never hurt anyone," he glanced about the room, saw everyone was listening. "You know, tie them to the back of a horse and make them walk about camp, parade them where everyone can point and laugh at how stupid they are, thinking that Captain Colin Ferguson would help them. That will appease our Officers as much as a whipping would. Then they can all be sent back to the prison camp and everyone's happy. Except the Dragoons, I suppose."

"I refuse to allow Mrs. Andrews to be a part of that," Beth said, voice iron.

"I believe… That is my decision, daughter," Benjamin said, his voice every bit as hard. The room fell silent, all turned to the sick man who was still the Commander. "They will not be lashed, nor kept... separated. We do not have enough men… to tend the wounds they'll get from being whipped or to keep... them permanently separated from the others. Send them back… to the wounded. Retain… the increased guard… over the prisoners. Mrs. Andrews is denied the luxury… of the Great House." Benjamin began to cough - this was too many words at once - and the others had to wait, Beth slapping her father's back until the fit subsided. When he was ready, he continued weakly, "she is to be… quartered in the… prison camp… and she is not… allowed to leave. No more… free rein for her." He had to stop for another fit of coughing. Beth sat on the bed with him again, keeping the glass of water from shaking too violently as he drank. They waited for him to catch his breath. "The militia is doing… little for the wounded. I need Brownlow… and the others… to continue caring for them. Especially… George Jutland. The increased guard… is to watch them all at all times. Are the other women… showing signs… of dissent?"

"No," Watson and Thomas said in unison.

"Those women are mine, not William's," Beth said. "If William tried this with one of them, they would speak to me about it first. My women are not loyal to William, they don't even know him yet. Well, except for Miss Cordell, but she is Cilla's, not mine."

"And are you… going to try to get… word off the plantation… to have the Dragoons rescued?" Benjamin asked. She could see from the glint in his eyes that the question wasn't a serious one.

"Well, you did tell me to be completely and utterly loyal to my husband," Beth said glibly and her father laughed weakly. Beth added, with a pointed look at Watson, "then again, I wouldn't want to be whipped, so..."

Watson drew in a sharp breath, offended.

"Be that as it may, all of the… women are to be watched. None… are to leave the prison hospital without a militia escort. Mrs. Andrews may… not leave at all. If any of the women are… found without a guard outside… the prison camp, they better have… a damned good reason why," Benjamin shifted his gaze to Nicholas. "Tell any of the Officers who… do not opine this to be… sufficient punishment, to be careful. They are not wholly in my good books. I am less… concerned with losing their regard. After believing Mark's… false orders so swiftly, they should be more concerned… that they have lost mine."

Watson nodded gravely.

"Any who do continue to grumble are… to be sent directly to me," Benjamin finished, and as weak as he was, his voice of command was still strong enough to chill the room. "I am the Commander, my word will not be ignored again." It was a dismissal, an end to the discussion.

"Yes Sir," Watson said, before saluting and leading the way out of the room. Beth hung back for a short while but did not linger long - she had business in camp. With Jutland returning to the camp, there was no need to speak on Cilla and Richard's behalf, but Cilla was waiting for the outcome and Beth would not keep her in suspense. The women needed to be told of the new restrictions and warned that there would be no quarter shown, should any of them bring suspicion onto themselves by walking about the camp without a guard following. And she needed to speak to Mrs. Andrews, to ensure the older woman understood that she was on treacherous ground now. It was Nathan's turn to sit with their father; and after kissing her father's brow, she left her brother to it.

Stepping into the corridor, she was surprised to find Nicholas waiting for her. Though she had been in his company a few times these last few weeks, they had never been alone. She found it distinctly uncomfortable to be so now. Especially with him looking so angry. He towered over her, making her feel quite small. Where were Thomas and Colin? She glanced down the corridor, but both were already gone.

"_ 'What happened to me?' _What was that supposed to mean?" He asked, voice tight.

"You were talking about whipping a woman, Lieutenant," she reminded him.

"And you think I would have enjoyed it? If this plan had worked, if Captain Ferguson wasn't faithful to the Cause, there would be British soldiers crawling all over this place - how many of your father's men would be killed? And me? I'm a traitor, a turncoat. They don't treat kindly with my kind, Mrs. _Tavington_," he spat the name like it was an insult, loading it with with so much scorn it made Beth's skin crawl. "I would have been hanged. You make me sound like I'm a scoundrel of some sort, for advising that she be punished? How much worse has that bastard you call husband done, to women and children? And yet, it's me you look at like that?"

"I didn't mean -"

"Did you even care for me, back in the city?" He snapped, cutting her off.

"Of course I did," she said, reeling by the sudden change in topic.

"All that time I was courting you, you were already in love with _him_," Watson spat. "I was falling in love with you and you were stringing me along like it was nothing to you."

"Love?" She gasped, stunned. "Nicholas, I didn't know. No, I wasn't stringing you along. I told you from the start that I was engaged to Burwell, that you and I could only be friends."

"Friends," he snorted. "Yes, I knew about Burwell but I always held out some hope that you and I… I knew you didn't want to marry him. I always hoped that if I could prove myself; to you, to your family, that you and I… But no, you did throw Burwell over, but not for me. You threw him over for _Tavington_, for crying out loud. After everything that bastard did to you?"

"I am sorry you harboured the desire that I be with you, but I never, ever strung you along and I resent the accusation that I did," Beth said firmly. "I also do not appreciate you inferring that I did not want to marry Harry Burwell or that I was the one to end my engagement to him. I was going to marry Harry, I had every intention of it. In the end, I didn't throw him over for anyone, not even for William. _Burwell ended it with me._ Further, I never, ever said or did anything to give you the impression that I would set Burwell aside for you, or anyone else. You feeling it doesn't mean it was ever going to happen."

He stared down at her like she'd sprung a second head. Or torn out his heart. She wasn't sure which. She softened her voice.

"I'm sorry Nicholas. I know what it feels like, to love someone and them not love you back. I'm sorry if this is hurting you. I am sorry this is how you're feeling, but despite our rough start, despite our history, I love my husband and he loves me. I can't change it, that you despise him. His actions were such, that I don't think I'd even bother trying. But I forgive him, and I love him, and we are married and we are going to try to make it work. That doesn't mean you and I can't be friendly, though, does it? I was never my design to hurt you."

"Be friendly," Watson scoffed. "Gods."

"What else are we supposed to do? Ignore each other entirely?" She asked. "That would be so uncomfortable. Especially when I still like you. I enjoyed your company back in the city. You were always so calm. I always felt as though I were in the middle of a storm back then, but I always felt so comfortable and steady when you were near."

"Do you think… If you had never met him…" He was looking downward, staring at his feet.

"I do think," she replied. "If I hadn't already been engaged to Harry. If I'd never met William. I definitely do think that you and I…" She blushed, her face burning.

"It doesn't do to dwell on what ifs," he said sadly.

"It doesn't do to dwell at all," she replied. "So," she held out her hand to his, offering him to take it. "Friends?"

"Friends," he said, taking hold of her fingers and bowing over them. He did not kiss them as he had once done, and he released his hold quickly.

"Thank you," she said, relieved. "And thank you for staying back to talk to me; I think the air between us needed to be cleared."

"I stayed back because I was angry and wanted to confront you," Nicholas pointed out.

She smiled brightly. "Still, the air is clear, is it not? And now we're friends again."

He laughed softly despite himself.

"You'll find someone, Nicholas. Someone wise and beautiful, witty and kind. Pure, honest. Unsullied…" she trailed off. "I was those things, back then. But I haven't been for a long time. I'm not the same person I was then, not at all. Believe me, you wouldn't want me, not as I am now." She felt him tense, as though he were about to deny it, to defend her _to_ her. But she shook her head. "I don't despise myself, not anymore. I've accepted who I am because I know that I wasn't the only one who helped me to be here. But I am at fault, as well. I am with fault. You'll find someone who isn't; she'll be perfect, Nicholas. You'll see."

He gave a nod, but she wasn't entirely certain he agreed. She didn't have the time to coddle him, however; she was spread far too thin as it was. Giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she continued her way back to her husband.


	157. Chapter 157 - A New Kind of Normal

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, it means a lot to me._

* * *

Chapter 157 - A New Kind of Normal:

Samuel hung back to the rear of the small travelling party, for they were nearing the end of their journey and he wasn't certain how he felt about it. He was looking forward to seeing his father again, but at the same time… Nerves spun slowly in his stomach, an awful feeling of apprehension and promise. Those feelings didn't mix well together, not at all. What was his father going to say when he saw him? What were his brothers going to say? Perhaps Gabriel, Thomas and Nathan would turn their backs on him, perhaps they wouldn't even call him brother anymore. Was he still a Martin?

For days the small Patriot militia group had travelled, for miles and miles. And every time they encountered allies, they had all seemed so impressed when introduced to Samuel. For this was Colonel Benjamin Martin's son. He was the son of a Patriot and they were all such liberty boys themselves, they were almost in awe at meeting him - a member of the Martin family, who stood so strongly, staunchly, in favour of the Patriots.

_Papa didn't even join until his own family was attacked_, Samuel thought. Not with rancor, nor with bitterness, not anymore. But still, it was true. If these awestruck Patriots knew it, would they still consider his father akin to a God? Would they still hold the entire family on some pedestal, high up above their own?

Maybe. Who knew?

All he knew was that he didn't feel that he belonged here. Everyone seemed to go silly over him for being Samuel _Martin_, little knowing that the rest of the Martin's might exile him from their very midst.

Ahead of him, Kevin Rollins glanced back with a smile. Samuel nodded, returned a weak smile, and did nothing to catch up. He hadn't expressed his concerned to anyone; not his sisters, not Aunt Charlotte, and not the men who were so Loyal to his father. For even while he worried that his family might exclude him, he was feeling as though he did not belong with them anyway. It was strange, this disconnected sensation.

As they drew closer to Mr. David Ferguson's plantation, they began to receive news of their family and what was happening. They learned that the British Battalion under Lord Cornwallis was close by and in pursuit of Generals Burwell and Greene. They needed to pass through violently held Patriot lines. Luckily for them, as they made their way toward and across the Patriot lines and into safety, they encountered none of the British patrols they'd heard about. When they were deep within Patriot territory and no longer at risk of being captured by the British (a confusing concept for Samuel, who had thought himself a British Officer. Did that mean he was a British enemy now?) they discovered more about the British Patrols from farmers they encountered. They were search parties, and they were looking for Colonel Tavington, who had been captured along with Major Bordon and sixty Dragoons. As they drew ever nearer the Ferguson Plantation, they learned increasingly more. That fifty of those Dragoons had been killed, with only twelve still alive.

Aunt Charlotte had looked quite disconcerted by this news; Samuel knew, for he'd been watching her face closely to judge her reaction. While holding Bordon's son in her arms, she was informed that Bordon was at death's door and it was almost a certainty that he would pass through it at any moment. Samuel would have despised Charlotte forever if she'd shown the slightest hint of pleasure at the news, for what had occurred between her and Bordon was every bit as much her fault as it was his. Charlotte, however, had shifted her gaze downward, a look of concern for the boy in her arms.

The rebels' reactions were typically joyous, which Samuel found disgusting. Fifty men had died, more yet might, and they were grinning like idiots at a country fair. Samuel didn't like Bordon particularly well but he was his cousin's husband. And William was Beth's husband. Both were family, and these rebels were pleased at what had been done to them? Pleased by all the deaths? They called it a victory?

When they set out again, Samuel fell back a little further away from them, until several yards were between him and the rear of the Patriot escort, even as the large great house came into view.

* * *

Samuel entered the chamber slowly, quietly. A stranger was sitting beside the bed; he appeared to understand who Samuel was however, for he rose, nodded, and left the chamber. Samuel's eyes fell on the bed, and the sleeping man reclined against a pile of pillows beneath the covers. His father made the small bed look massive. The boy stepped across the chamber, silently so as to not wake him. Feeling the urge to weep, he reached down to wrap his fingers around his father's, were they rested above the covers.

"I've never seen you look so small," Samuel whispered. He collapsed into the chair and choked back a sob. "Nor so old. Or thin." Beth had tried to warn him before he came into the room but he'd never imagined…

_What if he… what if he doesn't wake up? _Samuel thought, ignoring the wetness that coated his cheeks. _'We mix his wine with laudanum, to help him sleep. It helps with the cough, too.'_ Another thing Beth had said. _That's why he's so still, _he reassured himself; the laudanum had pulled his father into a slumber so deep, he appeared to be as still as the grave. But still, his fears prevailed. _What if he doesn't wake up?_

"What if I… I never get to… I'll never be able to tell you…" Samuel began to weep in earnest then, his body wracked with sobs.

At length, he drew a shuddering breath and forced himself to stop. Or at least be silent. Beth had warned him - she hadn't wanted any of them to come into the chamber, and never mind how far they'd all travelled to get here. Charlotte, Margaret, William, Susan, they were all still in the parlour, having heeded Beth's warning and advice. Their father was sleeping soundly and that was such a rare event for him these days, and was so deathly important, that she had refused to allow them to see him, lest they disturb him. When he woke would be soon enough, she'd said.

Samuel wished he hadn't ignored her. He wished for so many things.

"Gods, I never should have left. If I'd known I'd never get to speak to you again, I never would have," he said, his voice a mere whisper. When the door opened, Samuel quickly wiped his cheeks and glanced away; he didn't want anyone to see he'd been crying. Especially if it was Thomas or Nathan. They might accuse him of putting on an act by weeping over their father now, the same father he'd done everything within his power to shed himself of before. The father he'd tried to replace with Captain Gordon.

Gods, what must they think of him?

"Good, you stay here with him." Samuel didn't need to turn to recognise Thomas' voice. "He's not to be left alone, so if you need to come out, fetch one of us straight away."

"Alright," Samuel said to the wall. He heard the door close again. He'd barely spoken to his brothers when he'd arrived. He'd barely spoken at all. Charlotte had done all the talking, had told the family where they'd been, what they'd been through, and why they were there. Until Beth told them that their father was gravely ill, Samuel hadn't said a word. But hearing that… after coming all this way, burning with desire to make peace… No-one was going stop him.

He glanced at his father's too pale face. Was he to be denied the chance? To explain, to speak his piece? To hear his father speak his? His fingers wrapped over his father's again and he fell into a grief stricken silence heavy with worry and fear and dark thoughts too weighty for a boy his age.

Had he come in time to watch his father die?

"Should have been Gordon," Samuel whispered, wishing fervently that it was Gordon on his death bed and not his father.

When his father began to cough, Samuel began to panic. It was deep, raspy, his father heaved helplessly as if he couldn't get enough air. Benjamin lurched upward, Samuel put his arms around him to steady him and to hold him up. He slapped his father's back, hard, trying to help shift the blockage. On and on it went and Samuel despaired. He found himself speaking instructions, to 'breathe in', repeating himself over and over and all the while, he wished someone else would come. Someone who knew what they were doing, someone who could help him. What had Thomas been thinking, leaving their father alone with Samuel?

Finally, the coughing began to ease and Benjamin drew in shuddering breath after shuddering breath. He'd been an awful grey hue but his colour was returning to normal now. He began to drop back against the pillows.

"My thanks, Nate," he whispered, as if even that was an effort. His eyes landed on Samuel and after a moments confusion, recognition dawned. "Sammie?" He gasped, sitting up again. "Sammie!" It was almost a shout, it almost had strength in it. Samuel's face crumpled as he nodded. Then he was being pulled by his father's frail arms up against his father's too thin chest - Gods, the man was skin and bones! - But the embrace, that was strong. Samuel doubted he could pull away if he wanted to.

And he didn't want to.

He held tight, his body shuddering, wracked as it was with sobs. After a moment, he realised his father's was too. They wept until his father began to cough again and Samuel forced himself to stop, in order to help him. Benjamin collapsed against the pillows, exhausted.

"Jesus," Benjamin finally whispered, staying at his son. "I can scarcely believe… that you're here. Do you know how… worried I was?"

_He can't say a full sentence without gasping for breath, _Samuel despaired.

"I know. I'm sorry," Samuel said and then words began to tumble from him; raw, worried, he'd never felt so exposed. "I'm so sorry. I never should have left. But I just… I couldn't stand what I'd done, what you made me do. What I saw you do. I trusted Gordon and oh, that was such a stupid thing to do. I'm so sorry papa, I chose him over you, I thought he was good and you weren't. I thought you were a demon. I thought my whole family had turned out to be demons and all along, he was the one. Not you. I'm so sorry. I love you, I've missed you, all of you. And then when I came in here -" Samuel's voice trembled. - "I thought I was too late to tell you! I thought I'd have to live with that my whole life, that I never got to say how sorry I am, how much I love you!"

"Ah, my boy, come here," Benjamin said and pulled him back into his arms. "I'm the only one who should be sorry. Me. I never… should have made you shoot those men, you… were far too young. And you've always been… gentle. I knew I was demanding too much of you and I did it anyway. I'm… your father, I'm supposed to protect you. Instead I pushed… you beyond what I knew… you were capable and I broke you. It's all my fault, lad. Anything… and everything that has happened… to you since. Anything you have done. All my fault." It took him a long time to push this speech past his lips, but he managed to do so without coughing.

"No," Samuel shook his head. "I didn't have to leave Fresh Water," he said, his voice high and thin. "I didn't have to go off with Gordon. Those were my choices. I put my faith in the wrong man. Gods, I called you a coward. How can you forgive me?"

"Easily. How the devil can you forgive me, boy? Besides, you were right. I was a coward."

"No. I understand why you fled when you saw the Dragoons coming. You and your men would have been slaughtered, had you tried to stay with us. You made the right choice. Flee and live to fight another day. We were safe enough; you knew that and you were right."

"A hypocrite then," Benjamin said. "And don't argue, for I know it's true. Thomas said the same. He has… he confronted me… I know I've been… a very poor father. And I'd like… to make it up to you. To all of you… if you'll let me."

"Of course I'll let you," Samuel said. Thomas called father a hypocrite? Gods, had Thomas called him a poor father, too? Samuel couldn't imagine a world where Thomas would ever dare to say such things, it was simply incomprehensible. "And I'll be a better son -"

"You're already that," Benjamin shook his head, refusing to let even the smallest measure of blame fall on Samuel's shoulders. Samuel blew out a long, slow breath and sent a prayer of thanks to the Almighty, for giving him this chance to speak with his father. He couldn't help but feel that God had bestowed a gift upon the unworthy; for despite his father's efforts, he still felt very much to blame. Benjamin requested some water, which Samuel poured. "You're going to have to tell me… how you came to be here. We've a few months worth… to catch up on.

_That can wait a bit, _Samuel thought. Instead of launching into his tale of where he'd been and what he'd done, he said, "Aunt Charlotte is here too. And Anne, Maggie, William and Susan."

"What the devil?" Benjamin asked, immediately alert. "Your uncle said they were safe at Mr. Singleton's. What happened that they had to leave?"

Samuel sighed. Gordon happened. As for being safe… None of them were, not really. Not until Gordon was dealt with. It seemed he wasn't going to be able to put off his tale, after all. He began with, "let me just start by saying that everyone is safe. Tired from having travelled all this way. And cold through and through - none of us feel like we'll ever be warm again. But they are all in good health, I promise. As for why they had to leave Mr. Singleton's..." He paused, drew a deep breath, and began from the beginning.

* * *

A little dazed, Cilla sat on the chaise holding her baby brother in her arms. Charlotte sat beside her, hovering close in case Cilla needed assistance. Cilla shied back and away from Charlotte, yet another woman of her family who had given herself to Richard. Besides, she had more than enough experience holding infants now, though this one was far heavier than Lydia, Matthew's sister.

Richard's bastards, the both of them. There was no doubt, Lydia had the exact same colouring in her hair as Matthew did, they had the same shaped face, the same colour eyes. It simply was not possible that the child in her arms had come from her father. She breathed out a slow breath, relieved that her father was no longer there; she would not have to tell him. Not in person, anyway. Richard's son. Gods, she was holding Richard's bastard son.

She'd held Richard's daughter often enough, but that was entirely different. Cilla wasn't _sister_ to Lydia. Cilla wasn't the _wife_ of Lydia's father. With Matthew, she was both.

"He should not have our name," Charlotte said and Cilla lifted her face with a glare. Charlotte raised her hands, placating. "I do not say this to be mean spirited. I loved Mage as a sister and for her sake, I accept this boy as… a nephew, I… I suppose," Charlotte frowned, uncertain. "I accept that I have a tie to this boy. But not through my brother. It would be a slap in the face to Mark if Matthew was to continue to bear his name."

"As it happens, I agree with you," Cilla said. "And I said as much to my father, before he left. I told him that if I believed the boy was no Putman, then he would not _be_ a Putman."

Charlotte nodded as if relieved.

"Middleton then?" Margaret asked tentatively and Charlotte began to laugh.

"Oh, that would go down quite well among the Middleton family," she said, highly amused. "No, your mother would not want to bring shame to her family name."

"This is Bordon's child," said Beth. "Matthew should be a Bordon."

"_If_ he acknowledges him," Charlotte said. "I've no doubt there are a multitude of bastards of varying ages scattered through the country gotten by that drunken despot." Her lip was curled and she scoffed softly, her speech and her expression making it clear what she thought of Bordon.

Cilla stared at her aunt in horrified shock, incredulous that Charlotte would say such a thing. It was almost as though Charlotte had forgotten Cilla was married to him. Cilla's stare wiped the condescending look from Charlotte's face, but did she apologise? No. She just sat there looking embarrassed at her outburst. Cilla was not appeased. It nettled her greatly, seeing that look in Charlotte's gaze, hearing that speech from her lips, as if it were somehow _Richard's_ fault, that she had shamed herself so awfully with him.

Lifting her chin, Cilla said to Beth, "I am so pleased that there is still one woman in my family who hasn't bedded my husband, though in truth I'm surprised he never tried with you as well; he's always had a thing for blondes."

Beth drew a sharp breath, her eyes immediately darting to Charlotte. Who recoiled as if slapped, her face flushing hot red, the blood rushing up in mortification. Cilla stared hard at Charlotte, the unspoken words hanging heavily between them. _Oh yes, I know_.

"Cousin!" Margaret gasped, aghast.

"No, Margaret," Cilla shifted her hard voice to the younger woman. "I will not have my husband disrespected so, especially by someone who is hardly innocent."

Charlotte swallowed hard, she shifted on her seat until she was facing front forward, her body stiff and her gaze fixed on the wall. Her situation was made more tense when neither Margaret nor Beth made a move to defend her.

"If my husband _lives_ to acknowledge Matthew," Cilla snapped at Charlotte, "then yes, my husband _shall_ acknowledge him, and he shall be a Bordon.

"Am I ever going to be forgiven?" Charlotte asked, shifting her tear filled but proud gaze back to the younger women. "Shall I be shunned by you 'til my last breath?"

"No, aunt," Beth said gently. "We've all… done things… we're not proud of. Except for Maggie…" Beth frowned, then cocked her head as she gazed at her sister. Reaching out to wrap her fingers over Margaret's hand, she said, "well, even Maggie if the truth be told."

"Me!"

"You let Captain Brownlow kiss you," Beth pointed out and Margaret's face flushed crimson. "Still, that's not a patch on what the rest of us have done." Cilla, who Beth knew had bedded Banastre Tarleton as well, cocked her head in agreement. "We've all sinned. Aunt Charlotte, the difference between you and us is that we don't lord it over others; we've sinned and we don't act as though we're better than others who also have sinned."

"I did not realise that was what I was doing," Charlotte replied defensively.

"You sit there wrapped in manners and regal bearing while you call my husband a despot," Cilla said.

"I have over thirty years, Cilla," Charlotte said, weakly this time. "I've been taught to hold myself this way since I was a little girl. I can hardly break nearly a lifetime's habit of comportment in one day. I don't mean to… lord it over others."

"Tell that to Harmony," Beth said. Charlotte snapped her mouth shut, her jaw clenched tightly. "Do you remember? At Fresh Water? You wanted me to shun her, you and Emily both joining forces against me. Because she was Richard's mistress. And all that time, there was Emily, lifting her skirts for other men."

"And you lifting yours for our father," Margaret added softly.

"Alright!" Charlotte burst out, deportment shattering into shards like a smashed mirror. She leapt to her feet and whirled to face them, tears coursing her cheeks as she began to sob. "Alright!" She choked out. "I am sorry! I know I never should have but Gods, I was in love and…" she clenched her hands together, then threw one hand toward Cilla. "And I know I never should have with Bordon, but I was trying to protect the man I love and… Gods, Benjamin wouldn't give himself to me wholly and I loved him so much it hurt, I just.. I had to take what I could of him, I had to…" She drew a shuddering breath, then buried her face in her hands and wept.

"Which is precisely what I did with William," Beth said, rising. "And what Harmony did with Richard." She placed an arm around Charlotte's shoulders, the older woman was so much taller however, so Beth steered her back to the chaise where they could sit and she could comfort Charlotte more easily. Margaret had risen also, she settled for kneeling on the floor before the women. Charlotte's shoulders shook under Beth's arm. "We've all made the same, very poor decision to sacrifice our virtue in order to have the small amount the man we loved was willing to give."

Her face still buried in her hands, Charlotte - still sobbing - nodded. At a coercing look from Beth, Cilla heaved a breath, then freed up one arm and placed it around Charlotte's back.

"I did the same. Well, not quite the same but… I did sacrifice my virtue," Cilla admitted. She met Beth's eyes again, and mouthed Banastre. Beth nodded. Though that had been for comfort, not for love… Still, she'd given over her virtue quite readily for that comfort.

Margaret hadn't seen the exchange between Beth and Cilla, she was still quite in the dark of Cilla's affair. Beth reached down to stroke Margaret's face. "Don't you ever, _ever_, make the same mistake as us, Maggie. If you do, I'll…"

"Come after me with one of papa's rifles?" Margaret offered and Beth nodded, grinning.

"Seriously, just… don't. Don't give in to it, Maggie. No gentleman - no true gentleman - should expect a woman to sacrifice her virtue in exchange for a snippet of his affection. If she is good enough to bed, she is good enough to wed, that is what I've learned. And the wedding should come first. With Brownlow in camp, I worry…"

"Don't," Margaret held up one hand, forestalling her sister. "Don't worry. I've seen first hand the damage that can be done. I won't kiss him again. I won't do anything with him again." She gazed down at her hands, looking melancholy. "Papa has already told me that I'm not to go down to camp, I'm not allowed to help with the wounded, because…" Margaret lifted her face. "Papa doesn't trust me."

"It's men around his daughters that papa doesn't trust," Beth corrected Margaret. "Especially one that not only showed an interest, but acted upon that interest. Then again, being in the company of William and Richard, I'm not sure that Captain Brownlow knew any better. Or if he did once, with those two influencing him, he quite forgot."

"Didn't he apologise to your father?" Cilla asked and Beth nodded.

"Back when papa caught William."

"Brownlow… apologised? Did he… regret it?" Margaret asked, confused and heartsore.

"He regretted his poor conduct toward you," Beth said.

This answer did nothing to appease Margaret, who was feeling as confused and heartsore as before. She couldn't ask for further clarification, as the older women would become suspicious of her continuing sentiment toward Captain Brownlow, who was barely a half mile away, a man she had been forbidden to speak with, a man who may or may not think upon that kiss as much as she did. She was desperately worried that he regretted it because she was too young or that he simply was not interested.

Aunt Charlotte lifted her face from her hands, dropped her head back and closed her eyes.

"Are you alright?" Beth asked gently and Charlotte nodded. "I forgive you, aunt," Beth said. "As you've forgiven me. Just… try not to forget, you know? That you've sinned too."

Without opening her eyes, Charlotte nodded.

"I forgive you too, aunt," Margaret said, taking a hold of Charlotte's hands. Charlotte lowered her grateful gaze to the girl. Then, as if it were the hardest thing she'd ever done, Charlotte turned to meet Cilla's gaze.

Cilla breathed in deeply, blew it out slowly. Finally, she nodded. "I was not married to Richard at the time," she said, adding, "I forgive you." The tension eased from Charlotte but Cilla hadn't finished. "But I will suffer no more talk like that about him. He is my husband and I love him. Nor will I suffer your attitude toward Harmony. She is my sister and I love her. You are my aunt, I love you, too. Equally. For as far as I am concerned, that is what you are. Equals. That is what we all are, that is what our sins have made us."

"If I am in her company, I will be civil," Charlotte said tiredly.

"That's all I ask," Cilla replied. She didn't expect Charlotte and Harmony to befriend one another; she doubted either would ever like the other. But civility cost them nothing. "Will you continue to look after Matthew? I need to return to my husband."

"Of course," Charlotte replied, taking hold of the boy, filling her empty arms with the warmth of the small, sweet baby.

As Beth watched, Charlotte pressed her nose to Matthew's hair and inhaled deeply, a look of deep contentment stealing over her face. Quite strange that. Then again, Charlotte had been looking after the boy these last months, it was only natural that she'd formed a bond with him.

"I'll walk with you, Cil," Beth said, wanting to return to William. "You'll care for papa won't you Maggie? I'll return tonight."

"Of course," Margaret replied.

Beth and Cilla left the younger girl in the care of the older women, including Anne and Mary. They chatted quietly about what had just taken place, both agreeing that while it had been unpleasant, if it made Charlotte less… stuffy… then they were pleased with the result. To their surprise, Samuel came running to catch up with them, he fell in with them, his gaze on the ground and his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Is somewhat wrong, Sammie?" Beth asked as she wrapped one arm through her brother's. Samuel shrugged. He was silent for so long, Beth didn't think he intended to answer.

"Papa forgives me for… well, for all the stuff I did. Taking off with Gordon and all that."

"Of course!" Beth gasped. "There was nothing to forgive, Samuel. You were confused and that awful man tricked you. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I feel like I do. Thomas is being mostly himself but there's something… and Nate. They're just not… the same. I don't think they trust me anymore."

"You've been away for a long time," Beth said. "But you're home now. Give it time, Sammie. It'll return to normal, I promise."

"You don't know that."

"I actually do," Beth snorted. "I was away a long time too - you have no idea…" Samuel looked at her questioningly but she wasn't about to tell him all about leaving William and becoming Banastre's mistress for several months. He'd find out eventually, she supposed, but not now. And not by her. "When I came back, it was so hard, I felt like we were all strangers. We've all changed so much. But we are blood, and we have love, and so I am telling you, give it time and all will be well. It won't return to the way it was, but eventually it will become a new kind of normal."

"She's right, Sammie. You should listen to her," Cilla said. Samuel didn't look convinced.

"I just feel like…" he trailed off. Beth waited him out, but instead of telling her how he felt, he said, "I need to speak with William."

"Oh," Beth said, startled. "Alright… you want to tell him about Gordon, do you?"

Samuel returned his gaze to the ground and nodded.

"Can I talk to him alone, Beth?" He asked, knowing she might not like the idea. She hesitated, then nodded.

"Of course."

* * *

William was standing. Gods, it felt good to be back on his feet, even if it was with aid. The crutches were quite well made, they were even curved off at the top, to sit under his arms without digging into the pits. They'd become sore after a while, the oak was hard and unyielding, but Thomas already had ideas to soften them by wrapping padding around the tops.

He was gone now, was Thomas. He'd stayed long enough to tell him that the rest of his family were approaching the house and he was going to greet them. He'd helped William to his feet, given him the crutches, then as soon as he saw that they were the perfect length and would need no altering, he'd bade William farewell and walked off again.

William hadn't been all that pleased to learn that Mrs. Selton was on her way, but he doubted he'd see anything of her, therefore it didn't really matter much to him either way. He wondered if Brownlow would make excuses to see Margaret, if Margaret started coming down with the other women to help with the wounded. If she did, and if Brownlow did, William would give his Captain a talking to - with the crutches, if need be. They would have uses other than helping him to walk, they would make fine weapons against his rebel guards and cad British Officers alike.

With the help of the crutches, William was finally able to see Richard for himself. It was a cumbersome walk, he would need to get accustomed to walking in motion with the crutches, while being careful that they didn't slip and slide in the mud. It was a short walk, he ducked into the tent and made his way down the centre, passing the other beds until he reached Richard's. Harmony glanced up at him, stiffened and looked away. William wasn't sure what that was about. He gazed down at Richard, who tossed and writhed on the cot.

"William," Richard whispered. His face was grey and filled with agony.

"Richard," William set both his crutches under one arm and used his free hand to clasp Richard's shoulder. William could stand now but couldn't sit comfortably on his bullet smashed hip.

"End it, William," Richard groaned, his blue eyes fixed on William's pleadingly. "The pain… Gods, please, William, just end it!"

William stared down at his Major, aghast.

"Time for more laudanum," Harmony said, rising. Richard continued to plead with William, who was struck speechless by his friend who wished only for William to end his life for him. He'd known it was bad, but Gods… Harmony administered the dosage and finally Richard's eyes rolled and his body grew limp. "He finds it difficult to rest, he feels the pain even with this," Harmony said, shaking the small bottle. "So it would be better if you didn't stay."

"And… ah… how are you, Harmony?" William asked, his eyes darting to Richard, thoroughly disturbed.

"How do you imagine I am?" Harmony asked sharply. "Please, William, you can't stay here, you'll disturb him. He needs what little rest we can give."

William stared at her, wondering at her tone. She didn't want him there and he didn't think it was because he might disturb Richard's restless slumber. Was she angry with him for some reason? "Harmony, what -"

"Colonel Tavington?" A voice at the entrance of the tent interrupted, drawing William's attention. It look a moment for William to place the lad, he'd grown much in the months he'd been gone. Samuel Martin had filled out across the shoulders, too and was beginning to look less like the boy who'd fled Fresh Water, and resemble more the young man he would become.

"Samuel," William said. The boy - no, the young man - bowed slightly and looked nervously impatient. Beth and Cilla arrived as well and the moment to question Harmony was now come and gone. William inclined his head to Harmony, then to Cilla who gave him a quick nod as she strode past him to return to Richard's side. Beth and Samuel waited as William positioned the crutch beneath his arm again and began that awkward walk toward them and out of the tent.

* * *

They stood outside the little tent that was William's quarters. As Samuel had requested, after seeing to William's needs, Beth had left them alone.

"You should not have gone to King's Mountain," William chided him. "Certainly not in the manner you did. Sneaking off with Gordon? What possessed you?"

"I don't know," Samuel said, eyes dropping to the ground.

"You could have been killed, Samuel."

"I could have been," Samuel agreed. He lifted his gaze. "But King's Mountain wasn't anywhere near the threat that Captain Gordon was. He was going to kill me, I think. He was going to kill my whole family. And he was going to…" his eyes darted to ensure no one was close enough to hear him. Seeing no one nearby, he lowered his voice anyway. "He was going to force himself on Margaret and aunt Charlotte."

"Yes, I'm aware," William said, cocking his head. "That's why they fled."

Samuel blinked in confusion, then shook his head. "No, I don't mean back at Fresh Water. I mean later. Now. Well, a few days ago. I realised it and I left Gordon to warn them. I realised he was a deserter too, ever since King's Mountain. All that time, he said he was taking orders from you but I didn't think you'd command him to… do the things he did… and I eventually realised he hadn't acted upon an order from you in months."

"Tell me," William commanded.

Samuel began, and as he was speaking to a military Commander who had seen death and worse, he left nothing out - he spoke of the women and children that were traumatised by Gordon and the men, while Samuel was made to guard the horses. He told William everything; except for one thing. He was far too embarrassed to admit to William that he'd thought William himself had given him the rank of a junior Officer, a Corporal in the British army. He couldn't stand the idea of being mocked by William, if he revealed he'd been gullible enough to believe that.

"I'm sorry, Samuel," William said heavily when the youth finished with reaching Ferguson Plantation. "I should have done more, I should have tried harder to bring you back."

Samuel shrugged. "I would have been resentful if you had," he said. "I was a fool back then."

"You weren't a fool. You were confused and you put your trust in the wrong person. I could have done much to prevent all of this, but I didn't. To be honest, I didn't want to be saddled with Beth's family. I wanted her, not the rest of you," William's smile was both warm and apologetic. "The more time I spent with any of you, the less time I was able to share with her. If I had been less selfish… Beth told me then that it should be me training you, not Gordon. I realise now that she was absolutely right. I'm sorry, Samuel."

"Thank you," Samuel said.

"I'll make it up to you when I'm recovered," William offered. "Though I suppose you'd rather train with your brothers and when he's recovered, with your father. I assume you will be joining them now, will you?"

"I…" Samuel shook his head, confused. He was a Corporal in the British Army. Oh, not officially. But in his heart he had been. "I don't know."

William arched an eyebrow, sensing the boy's turmoil. "You don't know where you belong, do you?" He asked. Samuel lowered his eyes and nodded miserably. "Well, you don't need to worry about any of that. All that matters is that you're here, your finally safe and -" sudden noise of men's panicked shouts and gunfire erupting cut William short. Safe? Claps from the rifle fire surrounded them completely. They were under attack and not safe at all. "Get down," William said, shoving Samuel toward and behind a tree. "Get back in the tent!" He screamed at Beth, Cilla and Harmony who had rushed out to see what was happening. William's able bodied men came to surround him; Patrick, Hamish, Elisha and George.

"Gods, I need a rifle!" Patrick Brownlow burst out as he and the others began to fan out, the four of them each trying to cover a side to watch the ensuing battle.

"I warned them," William said, his hand flying for the pistol he always kept on him, the pistol that was no longer there. The rebels were rushing past, stopping to fire their rifles before rushing on again. And then Dragoon horses came thundering into view, Green coated horsemen slashed with their sabres and fired their muskets. William's Dragoons had come to the rescue, just as William had predicted. Horses reared, hooves striking the air before falling with full force on rebels trying to race by.

"Stuff this," Brownlow muttered. He darted off, gathering speed as he shoved past the few very confused guards who had remained. George, Hamish and Elisha followed suit, helping to attack the guards and soon the guards were disarmed and subdued and William's men were returning with their weapons. Brownlow handed a rifle to Samuel, a pistol to William, then raced away again to join the skirmish. Hamish, George and Elisha were hot on his heels. Samuel, with his rifle loaded and at the ready, went to stand in front of William, covering him.

"I take it you are still on the side of the British then," William said to Samuel, who had, without thought, taken up a position to protect the Colonel when he could have gone off to join his brothers and his father's men.

Samuel glanced over his shoulder at William and shrugged again. "You're my brother and you're wounded," he said, the only explanation he thought necessary. William nodded agreement.

The fight didn't last long. Soon, the remaining rebels began falling back to the house, William could hear someone out of sight screaming for the retreat. It sounded like Thomas. A moment later a red something rushed by William, Harmony's red cape billowed behind her as she ran from the tents toward the house. He screamed for her to get back for balls and sabres were still flying in a most deadly fashion, but she ignored him, her long legs carrying her swiftly, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. He realised Beth was screaming for her too, as was Cilla. It was too late, she was gone.

The remaining rebels were retreating to the house; William saw the Dragoons try to push toward the house only to be repelled by those within. Windows were smashed, rifles aimed through the gaps and fired upon the Dragoons until the horsemen fell back out of range.

The siege had begun.

Harmony came running back, Mrs. Garland slightly behind her, both with a baby in their arms. Both women stopped to catch their breath; with Cilla fussing over Harmony and Lydia.

"Are you mad?" William snapped at Harmony. "Do you realise what danger you put yourself to? You could have been shot!"

"My baby, William!" Harmony shouted, holding Lydia close against her chest. "I wasn't going to leave her there with those bastards falling back to the house! They might have taken Lydia and Louisa hostage!"

"Oh, they wouldn't have," Cilla said earnestly. "They would have been safe, harm."

"_Richard's_ baby, _William's_ baby, both in enemy hands? It was not a risk I was prepared to take, Cil!" Harmony cried.

William tightened his lips. He was about to argue further, when James Wilkins and several Dragoons rode toward them and dismounted among them.

"That was short and easy work! Well met, Colonel," James said, looking as proud as a peacock.


End file.
